CHAPTER III
BLASTING THE ACEQUIA
A little crowd of these peaceful and industrious red men, in characterso unlike their wild cousins of the prairie and the sierra, were groupedaround the point of rocks. As Stephens approached them he heard theclick, click, of steel on stone; and as he came near the crowd made wayfor him, and the cacique saluted him: "Good morning, Sooshiuamo; youhave come at the right time. See how well the young men have worked atmaking the holes in the rock as you showed them yesterday. They havemade them quite deep now. Come and tell us if they are right."
Stephens looked into the ditch, where a powerfully built Indian waslaboriously jumping a heavy bar of steel up and down in a hole bored inthe hard, solid rock, giving it a half-turn with his wrists at eachjump. The Colorado miner got down into the ditch and took the drill hehad lent them out of the hands of the Indian, and tried the hole withit. His deft and easy way of handling the heavy jumping-bar showedpractised skill as well as strength. "That'll do right enough," he said,looking up at the cacique who stood on the bank above him. "You have gotyour chaps to do the business well. Are the other two holes as deep asthis?"
"Yes, deeper," answered the Indian. "See, here they are; try them; theyoung men have been at them since noon yesterday."
Stephens moved along to the points indicated and examined in a criticalmanner the work that had been effected. "Yes, that looks as if it woulddo all right," he said in approving tones. "Now then, you fellows, giveme room, and keep still a few minutes, and I'll show you somefireworks."
He produced from his pockets the powder and fuse, and proceeded to makehis, to them, mysterious preparations, the eager and inquisitive circleof red men pressing as near as possible, and almost climbing over eachother's shoulders in order to get a good view. Their excited commentsamused Stephens greatly, and in return he kept up a running fire ofjests upon them.
But it is not always easy to jest appropriately with men who stand on adifferent step of the intellectual ladder from yourself; and without hisdreaming of such a thing, one of his laughing repartees suggested to hisIndian auditors a train of thought that their minds took very seriously.
Stephens's action in ramming down a charge of powder, and then tampingit, had not unnaturally reminded them of an operation which was the onlyone connected with gunpowder that they had experience of. "Why, he'sloading it just like a gun," cried a voice from the crowd; "but what'she going to shoot?"
"Shoot?" retorted Stephens, without looking up, as he adjusted the fusewith his fingers; "why, I'm going to shoot the sky, of course. Don't yousee how this hole points right straight up to heaven? You sit on themouth of it when I touch her off, and it'll boost you aloft away upover the old sun there"; and raising his face he pointed to the brightlyglowing orb which was already high overhead.
At his words a sort of shiver ran around the ring of red men. Religionis the strongest and the deepest sentiment of the Indian mind, and therash phrase sounded as if some violation of the sanctity of what theyworshipped was intended. What! Shoot against the sacred sky! Shoot withsacrilegious gunpowder against the home of The Shiuana, of "ThoseAbove"? The deed might be taken as a defiance of those Dread Powers, andbring down their wrath upon them all.
Then came a crisis.
"Bad medicine! witchcraft!" exclaimed a voice with the unmistakable ringof angry terror in it. To the Indian, witchcraft is the one unpardonablesin, only to be atoned for by a death of lingering torture.
A murmur of swift-rising wrath followed the accusing voice. The Americanwas warned in a moment that he had made a dangerous slip, and he at oncetried to get out of it with as little fuss as might be.
"You dry up!" he retorted indignantly. "Witchcraft be blowed! You oughtto know better than to talk like that, you folks. I'm telling you truthnow. That was only a little joke of mine, about shooting the sky.There's no bad medicine in that. We Americans don't know anything aboutsuch fool tricks as witchcraft. Here's all there is to it. I'm simplygoing to blast this rock for you. It's just an ordinary thing that'sdone thousands of times every day in the mines all over the UnitedStates."
"Ah, but there are great wizards among the Americans, and their medicineis very bad," cried the same voice of angry terror that had spokenbefore. "Are you working their works? are you one of them?"
Stephens glanced quickly round the ring of dark eyes now fixed on himwith alien looks. He saw there a universal scowl that sent a chillthrough him.
"There's a lot of explosive stuff round here besides myblasting-powder," he said to himself, "and it looks as if I'd comemighty nigh touching it off, without meaning it, with that feeble littlejoke. What a flare-up about nothing!"
There flashed across his mind on the instant a story of three strangerIndians, who by some unlucky chance had violated the mysteries of theSantiago folk and had never been heard of more.
For himself he had every reason, so far, to be satisfied with histreatment, but now, at last, he had happened to touch on a sensitivespot with the Indians, and behold, this was the result. He saw that hemust take a firm stand, and take it at once. He straightened himself upfrom his stooping position, dusting off the earth that adhered to hishands.
"Now, look here, you chaps," he said peremptorily, as he stood erect inthe middle of the ditch, "you want to quit that rot about witches righthere and now. There's only one question I'm going to ask you, and that'sthis--do you want your ditch fixed up, or don't you? You say it has beena trouble to you for hundreds of years, and here I stand ready to fix itfor you right now in just one minute. There's only one more thing to bedone, and that's to strike the match. Come, Cacique, you're the bossaround here. Say which it is to be. Is it 'yes' or 'no'?"
Salvador, the cacique of Santiago, was no fool. Personally he was asfirm a believer in witchcraft as any of his people, nor would he havehesitated for a moment to utilise such a charge as had just been made torid himself of an enemy. But he was also well aware that there weretimes when it was far more expedient to suppress it, and that this wasone of them.
"Nonsense, Miguel!" he exclaimed, turning abruptly on the Indian who hadfirst raised the dreaded cry; "this Americano is a good man, and nowizard, and your business is to hold your tongue till you are asked tospeak. It is the proper office of your betters to see to these matters,and you have no right nor call to interfere."
The lonely American heard him speak thus with an intense sense ofrelief. The power of the chief was great, and his words were strong toexorcise the malignant spirit of fanaticism.
"Good for you, Salvador!" he exclaimed, as the cacique's reproof ceased,and left a visible effect on the attitude of the crowd, "that's thetalk! I'm glad to see you've got some sense. Your answer is 'yes,' Itake it."
"Assuredly I mean 'yes,' Sooshiuamo," answered the cacique; "we want youto go on and finish your work. I say so, and what I say I mean. But ifall is ready, as you declare, before you strike the match we will offera prayer to Those Above that all may be well."
"Why certainly, Cacique," assented Stephens, "I've got no sort ofobjection to make. You fire ahead." He breathed more freely now, but hewas conscious of a vastly quickened interest in the religious methods ofthe Indians as he watched the cacique withdraw a little space from theedge of the ditch and turn, facing the east, the other Indians followinghis example, and standing in irregular open formation behind him, allfacing towards the east likewise.
"Didn't reckon I was going to drop in for a prayer-meeting," said theAmerican, with a humour which he kept to himself, "or I might havebrought my Sunday-go-to-meeting togs if I'd only known. But, by George!when I was mining over on the Pacific slope, the days when things wasbooming over there, if we'd had to stop and have prayers on the Comstocklode every time we were going to let off a blast, I should rather saythat the output of bullion in Nevada would have fallen off some."
He listened intently to the flow of words that the cacique, acting asthe spokesman of his people, was pouring forth, but they were utterlyunintelligible to him, for
the prayer was couched in the language of thetribe, and not in civilised Spanish. All he could distinguish were the"Ho-a's" that came in at intervals from the crowd like responses.
"I wonder what he's saying, and who or what he's saying it to?" hemeditated questioningly. "What was it that Nepomuceno Sanchez wastelling me only last week,--that they didn't have service in that oldRoman Catholic church of theirs more than once in a blue moon, and allthe rest of the time they go in for some heathen games of their own intheir secret estufas in the pueblo; he swore that one time he dropped onto a party of them at some very queer games indeed, on the site of anold ruined pueblo of theirs 'way off up on the Potrero de lasVacas--swore they had a pair of big stone panthers up there, carved outof the living rock, that they go and offer sacrifices to. I didn't morethan half believe him then, but this makes me think there's something init. What the blazes are they at now?" A chorus of "Ho-a's," utteredwith a deep, heartfelt intonation, like the long a-a-mens at a revivalmeeting, rose from the crowd. There rose also from them little tufts offeather-down that floated upwards to the sky, soaring as it were on thebreath of the worshippers, outward and visible symbols of the petitionsthat ascended from the congregation. The cacique took a step in advance,holding in his hands two long feathers crossed; he stooped down andbegan to bury them in the loose, light soil. Stephens, his curiosity nowintensely aroused, was moving forward a little in order to see moreclosely what was taking place, but an Indian instantly motioned him backin silence, finger on lip, with a countenance of shocked gravity, makingthe irreverent inquirer feel like an impudent small boy caught in theact of disturbing a church service.
"Perhaps at this stage of the performances they'd like to have me takeoff my hat," he soliloquised. "Well, mebbe I will." He looked round atthe motionless figures reverently standing with bowed heads. "Do at Romeas Rome does, so some folks say. These Indians themselves don't have anyhats to take off, but they look so blamed serious over it that I'm deadsure they would if they wore 'em. Dashed if I don't do it; here goes!"and he swept his broad sombrero from his head, subduing his face to adecorously grave expression.
But the repressed humour of the American reasserted itself beneath thisenforced solemnity of his exterior. "Makes me think of the story of theman the Indians in California once took prisoner, only instead ofputting him to the torture they painted him pea-green and worshipped himas a deity. It's not so bad as that yet," he went on to himself, "but Idon't much like taking any sort of part in this show, nohow." He lookedat the hat which he was devoutly holding in his hand as he stood amongstthe congregation, and his face assumed a quizzical expression. "I wondernow if by doing this I aint, by chance, worshipping some blamed idol orother. I used to be a joined member oncet, back there in Ohio, of theUnited Presbyterian Church. I wonder what poor old Elder Edkins wouldsay now if he caught sight of me in this shivaree. However, I guess Ican stand it, if it don't go too far. So long as they stick to thistomfoolery and only worship those turkey feathers, or whatever they are,that the cacique's been burying, I'll lay low. But if they want to playme for an idol, and start in to painting me pea-green, there'll be arumpus. What a time their prayer-meeting does take, anyhow! Ah, thankgoodness, here's the doxology."
The cacique had finished his incantation over the crossed feathers, andinterred them properly. He now rose and dismissed the assembly, whichinstantly broke up, the serious expression rapidly dissolving from allfaces, as it does from those of a congregation pouring out of church.
It was on the tip of Stephens's tongue to begin, "Why, Cacique, you'veforgot to take up the collection. Where's your plate?" as he sawSalvador approaching him, but a sobering recollection of the awkward wayin which his last joke had missed fire checked the temptation to beflippant as too dangerous.
"My game," thought he, "is to cut the gab and come to the 'osses, as theEnglish circus-manager said; or else they might call on Brother Miguelto give an exhortation, and who knows which end of the horn I should beliable to come out at then?"
"Well, Cacique," he said aloud, "through? so soon? You don't say! Areyou really ready now?"
"Yes," answered the Indian, "now you begin. Do your work."
"All right then," rejoined the American; "if that's so, by thepermission of the chairman I'll take the floor." He sprang down into theditch, drew out a match, and turned round to the cacique. "Now,Salvador," he called out, "make your people stand clear. Let them goright away."
They did not need telling twice, and there was a general stampede, thebolder hiding close by, the most part running off to the distance of arifle-shot. The cacique gathered up the buckskin riata of his plumpmustang, which stood there champing the Spanish ring-bit till his jawsdropped flakes of foam, and retired to a safe distance. Stephens stoodalone in the ditch and struck the match. It went out; he took off hisbroad felt hat, struck another match, and held it inside. This time theflame caught, and he applied it to the ends of the fuses, and retreatedin a leisurely manner round the back of a big rock near by. He found twoor three of the boldest Indians behind it, and pushing them back stoodleaning against the rock. They squeezed up against him, their brightblack eyes gleaming and their red fingers trembling with excitement.They had never seen a blast let off before.
Boom! boom! went the first two charges, and the echoes of the reportsresounded through the foothills that bordered the valley. SeveralIndians started forward from their hiding-places.
"Keep back there, will you!" shouted Stephens. "Keep 'em back,Salvador. Tito," he said familiarly to the Indian who was next himbeside the rock, "if you go squeezing me like that I'll pull yourpigtail." Tito's long black hair was done up and rolled with yellowbraid into a neat pigtail at the nape of his neck. The Pueblo Indian menall wear their hair this way, and are as proud of their queues as somany Chinamen.
Tito laughed and showed his gleaming teeth, as he nudged the boy next tohim at the American's joke. Boom! went the third charge. The practicalminer looked up warily to see that no fragments were flying overhead,and then stepping from under cover waved his arm. At the signal theIndians poured from their hiding-places and rushed eagerly down to thescene of action.
The blast was a great success. Some tons of stone had been shattered anddislodged just where it was necessary, and it was plain to see that theditch might now be made twice as big as before. Without any delay theIndians swarmed in like ants, and began picking up the broken stone withtheir hands, and carrying it out to build up and strengthen the lowerside of the embankment.
While the workers were thus busily engaged, the cacique came forward,holding his horse by the riata of plaited buckskin. He made a deep,formal reverence before the man who had wrought what for them wasnothing less than a miracle,--the man by whose superior art the solidrock had been dissipated into a shower of fragments, and who now stoodquietly looking on at the scene of his triumph.
"It is truly most wonderful, this thing that you have done," began thechief, "and we will be your devoted servants for ever after this"; andhe bowed himself again more deeply than before, as deeply as when hehad buried the sacred feathers a few minutes earlier.
The native humour of the American asserted itself at once. "Here's thepea-green deity business on," he murmured to himself. "So far, so good;I don't mind the deity part, but I draw the line if he trots out hispaint-pot; then I'll begin to kick."
"Since the days of Montezuma," continued the cacique, with an eloquentwave of his hand, "no benefactor like you has ever come to the red men;no blessing has been wrought for them such as you have done. Would thatour departed ancestors had been allowed to see with their own eyes thegreat, the glorious manifestation of power that has been shown to us,their children--" and his mellifluous oratory rolled on in an unceasingstream of praise.
"By George!" said Stephens to himself, "I wonder if right now isn't mybest time to bounce him about the silver mine. I did calculate to bringit up before the council of chiefs when I saw a favourable opportunity,but though the rest of 'em aren't here at this moment the ca
cique'stalking so almighty grateful that perhaps I'd better strike while theiron's hot." He listened a moment to the profuse expressions ofgratitude that poured from the red man's lips. "If he only means aquarter of what he's saying, I ought to have no difficulty in gettinghim to back me up. But perhaps I'd best tackle him alone first, and makesure of his support." He waited until the cacique had finished hisperoration.
"Glad you're pleased, I'm sure," said Stephens in reply, "and here's myhand on it," and he shook the cacique's hand warmly in his. "Just let'sstep this way a little," he went on quietly. "I've got a word or two tosay to you between ourselves," and the pair moved away side by side to adistance of a few yards from the site of the blasted rock.
"You see, working together like this, how easily we've been able tomanage it," began the American diplomatically. "I'm an expert at mining,and your young men have carried out the execution of this job admirably.Now, look at here, Cacique; what I wanted to say to you was this. Whyshouldn't we go in together, sort of partners like, and work your silvermine together in the same sort of way? I could make big money for bothof us; there'd be plenty for me and plenty for you and for all yourpeople, if it's only half as good as I've heard tell"; he paused,looking sideways at the Indian as he spoke to note what effect hissuggestion produced on him. At the words "silver mine" the chief's face,which had been smiling and gracious in sympathy with the feelings he hadbeen expressing in his speech, suddenly clouded over and hardened into arigid impassibility.
"I don't know what you mean by our silver mine, Don Estevan," heanswered frigidly. "There is no such thing in existence."
"Tut, tut," said Stephens, good-humouredly, "don't you go to make anymystery of the thing with me, Cacique. I'm your good friend, as youacknowledged yourself only a minute ago. I mean that old silver mineyou've got up there on Rattlesnake Mountain, Cerro de las Viboras as youcall it. You keep it carefully covered up, with logs and earth piled upover the mouth of it. Quite right of you, too. No use to go and leteverybody see what you've got. I quite agree to that. But you needn'tmake any bones about it with me who am your friend, and well postedabout the whole thing to boot."
In reality Stephens was retailing to the Indian the story of the mine asfar as he had been able to trace it among the Mexicans. This was thefirst time that he had even hinted to any of the Santiago people that heknew anything at all about it, or had any curiosity on the subject.Salvador maintained his attitude of impassibility.
"I don't know who has told you all this," he answered, "but it is allnonsense. Put it out of your mind; there's nothing in it."
But in spite of these denials Stephens believed his shot about the minehad gone home, and he knew also that the cacique was reputed to be fondof gain.
"Oh, I understand you well enough, Salvador," he rejoined with easyfamiliarity. "Of course you're bound to deny it. It's the old policy ofyour tribe. That's all right. But now, as between you and me, it's timethere was a new departure, and you and I are the men to make it. I tellyou I know just what I'm talking about, and there's money in it for bothof us." He thought he saw the dark eyes of the Indian glisten, but hislips showed small sign of yielding.
"It's no use, Don Estevan," the latter said firmly. "I cannot tell you aword now, and I don't suppose I ever shall be able to. Keep silence. Letno one know you have spoken to me about such things."
At this moment loud cries broke out from where the workers were busy,and Stephens, wondering what was up, listened intently to the sounds. Hethought he could distinguish one word, "Kaeahvala," repeated again andagain. The cacique turned round abruptly. A huge rattlesnake, which hadbeen disturbed by the shock of the blast, had emerged from a crevice inthe rocks, and showed itself plainly to view wriggling away over theopen ground.
"After him, after him, Snakes!" called out the cacique in a loud voice."He is angry because his house has been shaken. To the estufa withoutdelay! You must pacify him."
On the instant there darted forth in pursuit half a dozen young men ofthe Snake family, and at the same moment Faro, with an eager yelp,announced his ardent intention of pacifying the snake in his ownfashion, and away went the dog, who had been compelled to endure, muchagainst his will, the tedium of the Indian prayer-meeting and theoratory of the cacique, and now proceeded to grow frantic withexcitement at the chance of joining independently in the chase.
"Come back there, Faro," cried Stephens, in an agony of alarm for hisfavourite; "come back there, will you!" But Faro was headstrong andpretended not to hear.
The cacique too was filled with alarm, but the object of his solicitudewas not the dog but the reptile. "Quick, quick!" he cried to the youngmen; "be quick and save him from that hound."
And then Stephens saw a sight that astonished him out of measure. TheIndian youths had the advantage of Faro in starting nearer the snake;they ran like the wind, and the foremost of them, overtaking the reptilebefore Faro could get up, pounced upon him and swung him aloft in theair, grasping him firmly just behind the head and allowing the writhingcoils to twine around his muscular arm. One of his companions produced abunch of feathers and stroked the venomous head from which the forkedtongue was darting, while the baffled Faro danced around, leaping highin his efforts to get at his prey. Stephens ran up and secured his dog,and looked on at this extraordinary piece of snake-charming with anamazement that increased every moment.
"But why don't you kill the brute?" he cried. "Don't play with him likethat; kill him quick. Tell 'em to kill him, Cacique. I never passed arattler in my life without killing it if I could; it's a point ofconscience with me."
The Indian looked at him with grave disapproval, as a parent might lookat a child who had in its ignorance been guilty of a serious fault.
"You do not understand, Sooshiuamo," he said in a tone in which reproofwas mingled with pity; "the snake is their grandfather, and they have toshow their piety towards him." Then turning from the scoffer, "Hasten,"he called to the young men; "run with him to the proper place"; and awaythey sped across the plain towards the pueblo, the writhing reptilestill borne high in the air, and the bunch of feathers still playingaround its angry jaws.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" said Stephens. "I never saw such a thing as thatin my life. I say, Cacique, what is it that you want to do with thebrute, anyhow? Do you mean to tell me that you make a deity of him?"
The cacique's face assumed the same rapt and solemn expression it hadworn during what Stephens had irreverently called the prayer-meeting.
"These are our mysteries, Sooshiuamo," he said with a voice of awe; "itis not for you to inquire into them. Be warned, for it is dangerous."
"Oh, blow your mysteries!" said Stephens in English, under his breath."Very well, Salvador," he went on aloud. "I'm sure I don't want to gopoking my nose into other people's business. I think I'll just saygood-morning. I've blasted that rock for you all right. Now you see ifyou can make that ditch work; if you can't, you come and tell me, andI'll see what more I can do to fix it for you. So long"; and withoutmore ado he turned on his heel and walked off down to the river.
Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine Page 4