Chapter XIV
The Hate of the Hidden People
When Alan Howard fully understood, he felt his face go red with shame.There was in his soul something akin to timidity as he put his handforth for the hand of Kish Taka. And when the Indian nodded gravelyand gave his own hand, the white man's fingers locked about it hard.Still East was East and West was West, and again had two strong men metfrom the ends of earth.
'I have horses and cows and houses and corn,' said Howard, speakingslowly and simply that the Indian might understand clearly. 'What Ihave is my brother's. When Kish Taka wants a friend, let him come downinto Desert Valley and call to Alan Howard.'
The beady, bird-like eyes were void of expression as Kish Taka regardedhim steadily. The Indian did not so much as nod again. Like thedesert that had mothered him and his progenitors, he had the tricks ofsilence and of inscrutability.
From the few words which the Indian had spoken and from his ownsuddenly altered estimate of his new companion, Howard came tounderstand fully the amazing act which Kish Taka had performed duringthe night. The Indian had been near the limits of his strength andendurance when the white man had given him generously of his water.Kish Taka had drank sparingly and, because he was desert-bred andbecause the stock from which he was sprung was desert-bred, his bodilystrength had returned to him. He slept; Howard slept. But the Indianwoke, somewhat refreshed, in half an hour. He understood that in thecanteen there was not water for both. He promptly drank one of the tworemaining cupfuls, slung the canteen over his shoulder and struck offswiftly for the twenty-five-mile-distant spring.
Again, had he been other than a Hopi, less than the superb creaturethat he was, the thing could not have been done. Down in Oraibi to-dayan Indian boy will run eighty miles in a day for ten dollars, and onhis return will run races for fun. The American desert has made himjust as it has made the thirstless cactus and the desert wolf. He is aspecial creation, and Kish Taka was but doing the thing he knew. Onthe run he drained the canteen; at the end of it he stopped and drankand rested briefly. Then with full canteen he turned back to succourand save the man who had befriended and saved him. So it came aboutthat he found Howard in time.
All of that long hot day they sought to rest, lying inert in what scantshade they could find, eating a few bits of dried beef, drinking theirwater now and then. By the time that the first hint of coming coolnesscrept into the air Howard sat up, somewhat refreshed and again eager tobe moving. He turned to the Indian with a question on his lips, for athought had come to him.
'Do you know Jim Courtot?' he asked sharply.
Kish Taka's eyes were veiled.
'What man, Jeem Cour'?' he demanded expressionlessly. Then, with thenaivete of a child: 'Him your frien'?'
Howard tapped the sagging holster at his hip.
'For Jim Courtot I carry this.' he returned quietly. 'He wants to killme.'
'Then,' said Kish Taka, and through the veils in his eyes fire flashedand was gone, 'him better be quick! Me, Kish Taka, I kill Jeem Cour'damn quick pretty soon.'
Howard looked at him curiously, wondering just how the trails of thegambler and the desert man had crossed and what wrong Courtot had donethe other. For he did not doubt that the sin had been Courtot's.
'You have a big dog,' he said, still looking probingly into the beadyeyes. 'Big dog, big head, big shoulders, teeth like a wolf. Where ishe?'
If Kish Taka wondered at his knowledge, no sign evidenced the fact.His own teeth, white and strong as a wolf's, showed fleetingly, andinto his expression came merely a look of pride.
'You my frien'--See!' With a swift gesture he whipped from his sidehis long knife, pricked his arm so that a drop of blood came, set hisforefinger to the ruby drop and, leaning closer, touched the fingerpoint in the palm of Howard's hand. 'Kish Taka tell you true. Noother dog like the dog of Kish Taka! He run with Kish Taka, fight withKish Taka, hunt with Kish Taka--kill for Kish Taka! He smell out thetrail of the man not the frien' of Kish Taka. Now, Kish Taka say,"Dog, go home." And he gone. Yonder.' He swept his long arm outtoward the north.
'Far?'
'Running,' answered Kish Taka, 'he go three day and night. Running hecome back, other three day and night.'
From other added fragments Howard gathered something of a story: KishTaka and his brother, the dog with them, had come from 'where theylived' far off to the north, seeking Jim Courtot. Yesterday Kish Takahad sent his dog back across the wastes, carrying a message. Themessage was in the form of a feather from his belt tied with a lock ofhair dipped in blood. The feather was grey, from a dove's wing, andgrey is symbolical of the Underworld with the Hopi; the hair was fromthe head of Kish Taka's brother. The meaning was plain. Theexplanation came stoically: Kish Taka pointed to the wound upon his ownhead. Jim Courtot, more cunning than they had thought, had surprisedhis pursuers, had even come out into the desert to take them unawares.He had killed the other Indian from ambush, had wounded Kish Taka andhad fled. Now Kish Taka's tribesmen would understand and anotherrunner would come to take the place of him who had fallen.
That the dog would understand to make the return across the desert to'where they lived' was also explained. Each man there had his dog,each man had his friend. These two men, kind to their two dogs,caressed them, fed them, sheltered them. All other men in the tribeabused these two beasts on sight, stoned them, drove them away. Henceevery dog had two masters whom he loved with all of the loyalty of adog heart and all other men he distrusted and feared and hated. Now,in the desert, Kish Taka had but to drive his dog from him, shouting athim, casting a stone at him, and the big brute to whom similarexperiences had come before out of as clear a sky, knew that he had afriend in the distant camp, one friend only in the world, and asstraight as a dart made off to find him. In three days' time he wouldbe leaping and fawning upon his other master, sure of food and kindwords. And, when in turn that other master turned upon him and seizeda stick with which to beat him, he would know that Kish Taka would takehim into his arms and give him meat and water. For such things had heknown since he was a roly-poly puppy.
There was but one matter further about which Howard wondered, and heasked his question point-blank. Point-blank Kish Taka answered it.
Jim Courtot, with lies in his mouth, had come to these desert folkseveral months ago. He had tarried with them long, swearing that hehated all white men, that he had killed a white and that the whiteswould kill him, that he would spend his life with the Indians, teachingthem good things. In time they came to trust him. He learned of themtheir secrets, he found where they hid the gold they used now and thento barter with the white men in their towns, he saw their hiddenturquoises. Further, he wronged a maiden who was one day to come tothe _kiva_ of the headman, the Hawk Man, Kish Taka. The maiden now wasdead by her own hand; Courtot that night, full-handed with histhievings, had fled; and always and always, until the end came, KishTaka would follow him.
Howard heard and looked away through the growing dusk and saw, not thescope of a dimming landscape, but something of the soul of Kish Taka.He understood that the Indian had given his confidence freely and heknew that it was, no doubt, the first and last time in his life that hewould so speak with a _bahana_. And it was because Howard had sharedhis last water with him and was, therefore, 'brother.' Kish Taka wasan implacable hater; he would follow Jim Courtot until one of them wasdead. Kish Taka was a loyal friend, for the Hopi who will bare hisheart to a man will bare his breast for him.
Further questions Howard did not ask, feeling that he had penetratedalready further into the man's own personal matters than he should havedone. He had heard tales such as all men hear when they come into theinfluence of the desert south-west, wild tales like those he hadrecounted about Superstition Pool to Helen and her father, wilder talesabout a people who dwelt on in the more northern and more bleak partsof the desert. Lies, for the most part, he judged them, such lies asmen tell of an unknown country and other men repeat and embro
ider.There were men whom he knew who maintained stoutly that the old SevenCities of Cibola were no dead myth but a living reality; that therewere a Hidden People; that they had strange customs and worshippedstrange gods and bowed the knee in particular to a young and whitegoddess, named Yohoya; that they hunted with monster dogs, that theyhad hidden cities scooped out centuries ago in mountain cliffs and thatthey were incredibly rich in gold and turquoises. Lies, perhaps. Andyet a lie may be based upon truth. Here was a high-type Indian whocalled himself Kish Taka, the Hawk Man; he hunted with such a dog; hecamped on the trail of a _bahana_ who had betrayed and robbed hispeople. That _bahana_ was Jim Courtot. What had taken Jim Courtotinto that country? And now that he was back, Jim Courtot was flush.And, when Sandy Weaver had mentioned certain tracks to him, he hadstared over his shoulder and turned white! Truly, there were manyquestions to ask; but Howard refrained from asking them.
'This Indian has played a white man's part to me,' he told himself.'And his business is his own and not mine.'
'Come,' said Kish Taka abruptly out of the silence into which they hadsunk. 'Cool now, we go.'
They had but little water remaining in Howard's canteen, and Kish Takascorned carrying water for himself; but he had outlined the trail theywould take and appeared confident that they would not suffer from lackof water. They struck out toward the south-east, the Indian swingingalong ahead, his body stooped a little forward, his thin arms hangingloose at his sides. Several times Howard stopped to drink; the Indiandrank once only before their arrival at the spring. Here they restedand ate. The night was already far advanced and glorious with itsblazing stars, and they did not tarry long. In half an hour they movedon again. As day was breaking Kish Taka led the way up a steep-sidedmesa and, catching Howard's arm, pointed out toward the east.
'Here we turn,' he explained. 'Not so far that way, maybe two hours,we find more water. Then we go that way,' and he indicated that theymust bear off a little to the south, 'and more water. Then we sleep inshade. Then at night, not too far, see your place.'
It came about that all that Kish Taka had predicted was so. They foundwater; they spent the long day in the shade of some stunted trees; theyate all but a few scraps of their food; they went on again at sundown.In the pink flush of another dawn they stood together on the uplandsback of Last Ridge and saw before them and below them the green ofDesert Valley. In the foreground, a thin wisp of smoke arose from thespot where the Longstreets were camped.
'Kish Taka go back now.' The Indian stood, arms folded across hisgaunt chest, eyes hard on Howard's. 'Back to the Bad Lands to sitdown. Soon Kish Taka's dog comes and with him a man. And while hewaits, Kish Taka will make many stones piled up on his brother.'
He swung on his heel to go. But Howard caught at his arm.
'Wait,' he said. 'Two things! One, where that fire is are two people.An old man and a girl. They are my friends, Kish Taka.'
Kish Taka nodded.
'My frien's,' he said simply.
'The other thing,' said Howard. 'Kish Taka, hungry, killed my calves.He left gold. When again Kish Taka is hungry, let him kill as manycalves as he pleases. But let him keep his gold.'
Again the Indian nodded. And this time Howard let him go.
The Indian went back toward the Bad Lands, swift, silent, and in alittle was lost in the distance. He did not once turn. Howardwithdrew his eyes and sent them questing down toward the wisp of smoke.His thoughts were wandering. And last they winged to Jim Courtot.
'Jim Courtot,' he muttered under his breath, as though the man werewith him, and as he saw fancied visions of things to be, 'I have it inmy heart to be almost sorry for you.'
Then he shrugged, filled his lungs with the fresh clean cool air whichrose up across the miles from his own pastures and set his feet intothe trail that would lead home--by way of the Longstreets. Now hewalked eagerly. In half an hour he had made his way down to the flatupon which the canvas shanty stood. He came on, the fatigue gone froma stride that was suddenly buoyant; there was a humorous glint in hiseyes as he counted upon surprising them; he would just say, casually,that he had dropped in, neighbour-style, for breakfast.
Then he saw Helen, her upturned, laughing face rosy with thenewly-risen sun. Before her, looking down into her eyes, was JohnCarr. Howard came abruptly to a dead halt. They saw him, and Helencalled something to him. Again he came on, but the joyous spring hadgone out of his stride and he realized in a dull, strange fashion thatfor the first time in his life he was not glad to see his old friend.