CHAPTER XXIII.
WORSHIPPERS OF THE SNAKE.
About a deep pit, filled to the brim with red-hot, glowing coals, swayeda long line of naked, copper-colored bodies. The glow of the flamingtorches illuminated weirdly the surroundings. Steep, rocky walls, bareof timber or vegetation, and the flat, basin-like floor of the deepdepression in the mountains formed the secret valley of the Moqui snakedancers.
In lines behind the braves, who were swaying their lithe bodies sorhythmically above the red-hot pit, were grouped scores of stolid-facedIndians. By not the twitch of a single muscle did they display thefrenzy that was already at work within them, but their beady, dark eyesglittered as they watched the weird gyrations of the swaying line abovethe fire.
All at once a low chant arose from the line. Its regular rhythm andbooming inflection marked it as being of religious character. Steadilyit grew in volume, till half the Indians in that rock-bound basin in thehills were intoning it.
As the line of chief chanters swayed back and forth, from time to timethe firelight gleamed on a row of earthen vessels, quaintly illuminated,which stood behind them.
Suddenly one of the dancers turned, and while the shrieks of his fellowsgrew more and more frenzied, he plunged his hand into the mouth of oneof the vessels. He drew his arm forth again, embellished by a hideousornament--a writhing, struggling diamond-back rattler!
The creature's flat head darted at the man's face, and its fangs seemedto bury themselves in his arm, but his bronze form danced more furiouslythan ever, and the singing grew louder and more frenzied. The Moqui hadreached a pitch of exaltation in which the venom of the serpent washarmless to him.
As the other Indians witnessed the sight their expression of stoicismchanged as if by magic. The excitement of the dance was upon them.Suddenly a blood-curdling yell echoed against the rock-bound walls.
A young brave, one of those who had been seated in the front row of theonlookers, sprang to his feet. He cast off his blanket with a shout,standing upright in the firelight, a nude figure of bronze. The play ofhis muscles showed plain as day in the glare of the glowing pit.Straight up to the earthen jars he gyrated, chanting the refrain of theweird ritual.
Uttering a wild screech, he plunged his arm up to the elbow into itswriggling, deadly contents, and drew forth a vicious-looking sidewinder,or desert rattlesnake--a distinct species from the big diamond-back--andeven more deadly.
Without the slightest hesitation, he thrust the monster's spade-shapedhead into his mouth, and with one clean bite severed it. He then spat itforth into the glowing pit, where it fell hissing.
Uttering a wild screech, he drew forth a vicious-lookingdesert rattlesnake.]
This was the signal for yet wilder frenzies on the part of the Indians.One after another the young braves cast off their blankets and rushedforward to repeat the nauseous performance of the snake eater. Theground at the feet of the chanters of the ritual was littered with limpreptiles' bodies. An overpowering, musky stench arose on the air, theodor of scores of burnt envenomed heads.
In the midst of that maddened throng there was but one quiet, unmovedcountenance, and that was that of a bearded man, who stood back somedistance in the shadows. He eyed the ceremonies with a look that washalf contempt and half pity. But he made no motion to interfere, nor didhe, in fact, move at all. And for a very good reason. He was bound handand foot to a post.
His face was white as ashes under its deep bronze, but not from fear,for not a tremor crossed his features. Perhaps a deep wound on the backof his head accounted for it. But Jeffries Mayberry--for our readersmust have already recognized the Indian agent--never knew less fear thanhe experienced as he stood at that moment, captive among a dangeroustribe, rendered doubly formidable as they were by copious doses ofcheap liquor and religious frenzy. The Indian agent knew well that therattlers which the young braves were beheading were far less harmfulthan the human beings, of whom he was, perhaps, the only self-possessedone in that rocky bowl.
But if Jeffries Mayberry gazed on the ceremonies with contempt, mingledwith pity, there was another in the valley who regarded them with almostsimilar feelings. That person was Black Cloud. The old chieftain hadmade as stiff a fight as he dared for Jeffries Mayberry's liberation,but had been hooted and jeered down. Diamond Snake was now in fullcontrol of the passions and adulation of the tribe, and Black Cloud, theonly friend Jeffries Mayberry had within it, at that moment gazedpowerlessly on the snake dance. One friendly turn, however, he had beenable to do for his white friend, and that was to dispatch the messengerto the ranch of Mr. Harkness. But as Black Cloud, not daring to raise avoice of protest, gazed on the dance, his mind was busy with intensespeculation. Even in the event of Mr. Harkness having been reached, itwas doubtful if the rancher would arrive in time. The old Indianrecognized the symptoms of an approaching climax in the ceremonies, andwhat that climax was to be he guessed only too well. No white man hadever seen the snake dance of the Moquis and lived to tell of it, if hispresence were known. That Jeffries Mayberry was to share the fate ofmany another unfortunate victim in the tribe's past history, was whatBlack Cloud feared. That his fears were well grounded we shall presentlysee.
Suddenly the frenzy died down with the same rapidity with which it hadarisen. Above the rim of the rocky basin the silvery edge of the newmoon had shown. The height of the excitement was at hand.
Diamond Snake stepped forward from his place in the row of chanters andbegan to address the tribe in a high, not unmusical voice. As JeffriesMayberry gazed at his almost faultless form, gleaming like polishedbronze in the glare of the fiery pit, he realized what an influencethis fine-looking, fiery young Indian must sway among his people. Histalk was listened to with deep attention, and seemed to be impassionedand fervid to the last degree.
Although Diamond Snake spoke fast in his excitement, the Indian agentmanaged to pick out enough of the sense here and there to make out that,as he had suspected, he himself was the subject of the chief's address.
Had he been in any doubt of this, his uncertainty would soon have beendissipated, for all at once every eye in that assemblage was turned onhim with a baleful, malignant glare. If Jeffries Mayberry had ever feltone ray of hope, it died out of even his brave heart in that instant.
"Well, I guess Indians are all they say they are, after all," he thoughtto himself. "Just to think that, after all I've done for those rascals,they've no more gratitude for me than that! Go on, stare away!"
Jeffries Mayberry fairly shouted these last words.
"I wish, though," he continued to himself, while the young chief's voicewent on addressing his people, "I wish, though, that they'd turnedRanger loose. I kind of hate to think of him ever being an Indian'shorse, for of all maltreaters of horse flesh, they are the worst."
He turned his head--the only portion of his body which was free tomove--and gazed back into the shadows where he knew Ranger was tied. Forhours after his capture the splendid horse had fretted and raged, butnow he had grown quiet.
"Poor old fellow, they've broken his spirit!" thought Jeffries Mayberry.Which goes to show--in the light of what was to come--that a man can get"pretty close," as the saying is, to a horse and yet not know him.
Mayberry could not forbear winking back a little moisture that arose inhis eyes as he saw the well-known form of his horse dimly outlined inthe darkness behind him. Ranger's head was abjectly hanging down. Hiswhole attitude spoke dejection. As Jeffries Mayberry had said, thehorse indeed seemed to be spirit-broken.
All at once, while Mayberry's mind was busy with these thoughts, theyoung chief ceased his oratory, and the moment for action appeared atlast to have arrived. With a concerted yell, the band of naked warriorswho had chanted the solemn ritual of the snake dance rushed at theIndian agent. Even in that trying moment he did not flinch. He gazed atthem unmoved, as they cast him loose from the post, and then instantlyrebound his hands. His legs, however, they left free.
Strange to say, the dominant feeling in Jeffries Ma
yberry's mind at thatmoment was one of curiosity. He wondered what they were going to do withhim. For one instant a shudder passed through his frame. The fiery pit!Could they mean to thrust him into that?
Such, however, was evidently not their intention, for they led him roundto the farther side of the glowing coals, past the rows of seatedIndians and squaws, who growled and spat at him as he passed.
"You ungrateful bunch of dogs!" shouted Mayberry, fairly stung intospeech. "I hope after I'm gone you'll get what is coming to you!"
If only the soldiers would come, he thought; but realized that withouthim to guide them it would take the troopers hours, perhaps days, tofind the secret valley. No, there was no hope from that quarter. Itshould be explained here that, although Mr. Mayberry knew about theIndian messenger, he had little faith in the ultimate arrival of Mr.Harkness and the Boy Scouts. They _might_ come, but it would be toolate. However, any one would judge Jeffries Mayberry's character verymuch awry who should conclude that there was any bitterness in his soul.He accepted his fate as a brave man should, without complaint.
"Now what are they going to do?" he thought, as the young braves, havingled him past the hissing, spitting ranks of the squaws, arraigned himclose to the edge of the pit, which now lay between him and the crowdof cruel faces beyond. His eyes pierced the darkness keenly, but theglare thrown up at his feet prevented him seeing whether or not Rangerstill occupied his same position.
Jeffries Mayberry was not to be left long in doubt as to what his fatewas to be. A shudder ran through even his strong soul as he saw what theinhuman ingenuity of the Moquis had contrived for his execution.
His legs, which had remained free, were rapidly bound, and he wasforcibly thrown upon his face. As he measured his length, the chantingbegan once more, and the hand of Diamond Snake himself dived into thebiggest of the earthen snake jars. He withdrew it, clasping the largestrattler that Jeffries Mayberry had ever seen,--an immense creature ofthe diamond-back species, fully eight feet long.
As Mayberry's eyes encountered the leaden glint of the deadly rattler'sdull orbs, he felt that this was the beginning of the end.