The Heritage of the Hills

by Arthur Preston Hankins

  CHAPTER XV

  THE FIRE DANCE

  The round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling thatOliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of thosestrange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression thatages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancypictured.

  The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines andspruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in thedistance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as amaudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune.

  In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almostimpenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings wereclustered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now andthen an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on thehill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the firein a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire'sedge.

  Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circleof brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and inthe flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to theskins of those who danced with him.

  For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, anddirectly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him asthe human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian,likewise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash uponthe fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they twowould strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet.

  Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like cannedfish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed fromtheir bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled andleaped at them incessantly.

  For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an oldsquaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which onlythe fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rankwould close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circlesmaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they musttouch each other always as they circled slowly.

  Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed redand yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell,with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whoseends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattlingof them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It was the toy ofchildhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children ofthe hills and canyons, simple-minded and serene.

  Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circledthe fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the constantthud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they brokeinto chanting--a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along thespine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruelheathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted theirfeet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained overthe last stamping step. It required many long minutes for the entirecircle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on andon till the brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in reality took onthe aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush.

  Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon thefire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands,growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dancewould grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while alwaysthe cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on.

  When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs thatblazed; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to theend of time.

  At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent,almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people.His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut wherehe had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then he hadbeen led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from theother nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then theslow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought hemust surely lose his reason.

  On his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and Chupurosa had notobserved it. Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feelingof being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him toleap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of themucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burningfeet.

  He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at himencouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces thatdanced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as thecircle went slowly round and round.

  An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. Frombeyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and draggedhim out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closerto the fire by the breadth of one human body.

  Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered withdoleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face--a young woman.She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body asthey dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so thathe scarce could lift his feet so high.

  Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by theintensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at once--oneinward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away;fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in theturtle shell.

  Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew theoutlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurriedoff to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still thepassionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping everyminute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in.

  The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered anddripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and thewhite man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancerforced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames.

  But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticismresponsible for this ordeal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, thoughobliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Something of the fierce, doggednature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dyingby inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him,became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and,held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, hestamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plightforgotten.

  And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggeredand reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dyingenemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of aChupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine.

  Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. Hisbrain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of thefire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had broughtabout. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills themoon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the firegleamed.

  Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now theonly sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and thestentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasionalheartrending grunt.

  On and on--round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand.Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of greyshowed in the eastern sky.

  Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plodded now about the failingfire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen ShowutPoche-dakas--and Oliver Drew! All were men, young men in life's fullvigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as thedizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn.


  Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silentassemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a wearysleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling.

  At once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arosetill it drummed in Oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep.

  Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands werejerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and hethought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotousshouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, andspiteful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were lockedwith those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they twowere over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet.

  How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreatedmuscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him andseared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long,concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid.Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd ofdark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction.

  A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the comingdawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high inwords which in English are these:

  "The evil fire god has been defeated. No barrier stands between thewhite man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of timehe who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spiritshall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!"

  Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English:

  "Seven hours and twenty minutes--the longest fire dance in the historyof the tribe!"

  And the new brother of the Showut Poche-dakas heard no more.