CHAPTER XIII
SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS
White Ann and Poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of theridge that upreared itself between Clinker Creek Canyon and the American.Occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhornsteers, each branded with the insignia of the Poison Oakers. Once a deercrashed away through thick chaparral. Young jackrabbits went leapingover the grassy knolls at their approach. Down the timbered hillsidesgrey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. Next day would markthe beginning of the full-moon period for the month of June.
Jessamy Selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. Her hat lay overher saddle horn. Her black hair now was parted from forehead to the napeof her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear,after the constant fashion of the Indian girls. So far Oliver Drew hadnot discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she didher hair.
"What are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpectedquestion.
"So we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?"
"Oh, no--not particularly. There's usually a smattering of method in mymadness. You haven't answered."
"Seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question.If you could narrow down a bit--be more specific--"
"Well, then, do you believe in that?" She raised her arm sharply andpointed down the precipitous slopes to the green American rushingpell-mell down its rugged canyon.
They had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovelswere tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of debrisbehind the craft in the middle of the river.
"That dredge?" he asked. "What's it to do with religion?"
"To me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "It makesme wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come upthat river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tinyparticles of gold in the earth and rocks. Ugh! I detest the sight of thething. The gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish oldwomen, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashingthere in that filaree blossom! It will buy silk gowns, and any spidercan weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. It will buildtall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of thesemajestic oaks which that machine may uproot? Bah, I hate the sight ofthe thing!"
"Gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her.
"I suppose so," she sighed. "We've gotten to a point where gold isnecessary. But, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only asGod intended us to be! I detest anything utilitarian. I hate orchardsbecause they supplant the trees and chaparral that Nature has planted. Ihate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that theydemand ruin rugged canyons and valleys. I hate railroads, because theirhideous old trains go screeching through God's peaceful solitudes. Ihate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into God'schapels."
"But they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," hesaid. "And all of them are not irreverent."
"Oh, yes--I know. I'm selfish there. And I'm not at all practical. But Ido hate 'em!"
"And what _do_ you like in life?" he asked amusedly.
"Well, I have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing,"she laughed. "But I'm only halfway approaching my subject. Do you likemissionaries?"
"I think I've never eaten any," he told her gravely.
But she would not laugh. "I don't like 'em," she claimed. "I don'tbelieve in the practice of sending apostles into other countries toforce--if necessary--the believers in other religions to trample underfoot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. All peoples, it seems tome, believe in a creator. That's enough. Let 'em alone in their variouscreeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion.Are you with me there?"
"I think so. Only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for thezeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another totry and bend them to his way of thinking."
"I respect all religions--all beliefs," she said. "But those who gopreaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the otherfellow's faith. And that's not Christlike in the first place."
He knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good timedisclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought thismorning.
"The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly."Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were graduallypushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influenceof the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture ofCatholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. Ihave as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to theSun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in asupreme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiestatomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is inreadiness. The _ramadas_ are all built, and the dance floor is up, andIndians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away."
"Will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so--that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to sayabout you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes,all the whites attend the _fiestas_. The California Indian is crude andnot very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the _fiestas_ arefascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; butthey're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal ofimagination. By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat theother day."
She unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her _chaparejos_, and handed hima small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper.
"Am I to open it now or wait till Christmas?" he asked.
"Now," she said.
The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster.
"Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turneda blank face to her.
"Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquidcourtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coatdries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply isexhausted."
She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes.
"It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "I had a bottle ofthe stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. Itseems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a decolletteballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer'sfingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisiblewhen it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit toyou in the fire dance."
"Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got myfeet wet. Come across!"
"Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinionthat you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Mariade Refugio tomorrow night."
"I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss--you have the wrong number. Idon't dance the fire dance at all."
"I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplastermight help protect your feet and legs. I put some on my second fingerand let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."
"Yes?"
"Well, I took it off again. But, honestly, the finger that had none onat all felt a little hotter, I imagined. I'm sure it did, and I only hadtwo coats on. I know you'll be glad you tried it, and the Indians willnever know it's there."
"I'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked.
"Well," she said, "after what passed between you and ChupurosaHatchinguish that day, I'm almost positive that tomorrow night you areto be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. And I knowthe fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider tomembership. White men who have married Indian women are about the onlyones that are ever made tribal brothers by the Showut Poche-dakas; so inyour case it is a distinct honour.
"I have seen this fire
dance. While a white person cannot accuratelyinterpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical ofall the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in yourendeavour to ally yourself with the Showut Poche-dakas.
"For instance, there's your white skin and your love for your ownpeople, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs,what you have been taught--and, oh, everything that might be against thealliance. All this, I say, is represented by the fire. And in the firedance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with yourbare feet if you would become brother to the Showut Poche-dakas."
"With my bare feet? Stamp out these objections?"
"Yes--as represented by the fire."
"You mean I must stamp out a _fire_ with my bare feet? _Actually?_"
"Actually--literally--honest-to-goodnessly!"
"Good night!" cried Oliver. "I'll cleave to my kith and kin."
"And never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father forthirty years? Nor whether the correct answer is Yes or No?"
"But, heavens, I don't put out a fire that way!"
"It's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "You join the tribe,and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours andhours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. Then the one who isto be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe--thechampion fire-dancer, in short--jump on what is left of the fire andstamp it out. Of course there are objections to you from the view-pointof the Showut Poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representativeof them. If the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objectionsare too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary ShowutPoche-daka. But if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feetthe ceremony is over, and you're It. And when the other Indians see thatyou two Indians"--her eyes twinkled--"are getting the better of thefire, they'll jump in and help you."
"A very entertaining ceremony--for the grandstand," was Oliver's dryopinion.
"Of course the Indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it onyou there. Hence this liquid courtplaster. It's worth a trial. Honestly,I held my finger on the stove--oh, ever so long! A full second, I'dsay."
Back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as,drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollickinglaughter out over the hills and canyons.
"I'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last."I can do so openly now--since you've won the heart of Adam Selden. Whatdo you think? He told me to invite you over sometime! But all thisdoesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled Colt I see on yourhip today for the first time. Explain both, please."
"Well," he said, "Selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examinedPoche's bridle and saw the B on the back of a _concha_."
"Ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips.
"And then he grew nice as pie--and that's all there is to that."
"And the six?"
"Well, I buckled it on this morning, thinking I might practice up a bit,as you advised."
"So far so good. Now amend it and tell the truth."
"I went down to Sulphur Spring after the Poison Oakers left me, and as Iwas examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and Igot my eyebrows wet. As I don't like to have anybody but myself wet myeyebrows, I'm totin' a six. And I rather like the weight of it againstmy leg again. It reminds me!"
"Who shot at you?"
He shrugged.
"_At_ you, do you think?--or into the water to frighten you?"
"Whoever fired could not see me, but knew I was in the bushes about thespring. Took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me atouch of highlife, don't you think?"
"I wonder if the bullet is still in the basin."
"I never thought of that. I ducked for cover at once, of course, and, asnobody showed up, rode back home."
She lifted White Ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks."We'll ride to Sulphur Spring and look for that bullet," she announced.
"And be ambushed," he added, as Poche followed White Ann's lead.
The Heritage of the Hills Page 13