Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  The pretty young maidens of the village would put up their hair so that it would form a large circle or wheel on each side of their face. It was different than the way Diné women fixed theirs, but it was very becoming to them. I would see many pretty young smiles, but I had no interest. There may be a day when I will see a pretty young face and will not walk past it, but that would be far in the future.

  Sometimes I would take a young man of twelve or fourteen summers with me, when I would hunt. I would teach him the ways of the animals. So that when I left there would be a few who knew how to put meat in the pots. The trouble with boys is they are impatient, and patience can be the difference between living another day or not.

  This day I was teaching a young hunter to stalk and kill a deer. There was a light cover of snow on the ground and the deer was moving from place to place looking for anything he could find. I showed the boy a grove of stunted pine where the ground was not covered. The buck was picking his way toward the grove and would end up there.

  I moved my young apprentice into position, where he would have a clear shot at the buck. As the deer moved with caution toward the trees, the youngster slowly pulled his bow string and waited. The buck’s head came up and the boy held the pull where it was. The wild animals will see movement before they will see anything else.

  He held his bow without moving until the buck’s head went back down. The youth had the makings of a hunter, and a woodsman. His string came back farther, he let it go. An arrow, the length of a man’s arm shot straight and buried its self deep into the flesh behind the left shoulder of the buck. The deer dropped to his knees crumpling to the snow and falling to the right.

  The young hunter leaped from his hiding place and ran to the fallen deer with knife in hand. I held out my hand to stop him, but he was already gone. I stayed where I was for a short time, searching the brush behind the boy. As I stepped out, I saw movement beyond him. I stayed where I was.

  Appearing as if by magic, a large gray wolf crawled from the brush and he was ready to spring at the boy. The wolf would not normally come around if a human was present, but he must have been hungry. And what is normal does not apply when there is hunger. The wolf growled to tell the boy to get away and leave the deer for him and his family.

  The boy was frozen to the ground. Another head appeared behind the wolf and another off to the side. The youth finally got control of himself and started to rise. The wolf was already coming out of his crouch and leaving the ground. He took two strides and was bunching his body for the attack, when I released my arrow. The only shot I had was his throat as his head came up. It struck him where throat and chest meet. I knew it was not a killing shot, but I was hoping to stop him or slow him. He was carried stumbling and snapping into the boy. Both were knocked to the ground.

  Coming out of my cover, I could see that the wolf was down and separated from the boy. I had the holy man’s ax in my hand. I would have liked to have had my lance, but it wasn’t a weapon for the forest. Rushing at the other wolves, I was yelling and swinging the ax. They disappeared into the brush.

  Turning, I saw that the youth on his back, propped up on one elbow, but his knife was in the other hand and ready to use. The buck was dead, but the wolf was still alive. It was snapping, and his rear legs were kicking. I grasped the wolf’s muzzle and held his jaws shut while I knelt beside him.

  “Brother, I did not wish to kill you.” I told the struggling head. “You are my totem, and I revere you, but the people need this meat as much as you, and I could not let you harm this boy. I will honor your courage and pray that your courage will give me courage.” And then I cut his throat. He was a large wolf, and would weigh nearly as much as the youth.

  The boy was staring at me, and I said, “Dress your deer boy; I’ll take care of the wolf.” He looked at me with questioning eyes, but he went to work on the deer.

  I pulled the wolf under the trees and carefully skinned it leaving the head, tail, and four legs attached to the pelt. I rolled it into a bundle and went to help the boy. Using the ax and our knives, we took as much meat as we could, and left the rest for the wolves. We needed to get away from that place before the others regained their courage.

  I took the wolf’s heart which I would eat to give me courage and strength. I was of the Wolf clan and my Diné name was Walking Wolf. He was my brother.

  My young companion had proved his courage and had learned a vital lesson about haste. More importantly he had shown the good sense to keep his knife ready to defend himself. And he had a story he could boast about. I had gotten a warm wolf skin to ward off the winter winds.

  When we returned to the village, I told the chief that the youngster had proven himself and had showed manly courage. He would make a good hunter and a warrior. I could see the pride in the chief’s manner. The Hopi were not a warring people, but there were other tribes who were. Strength and courage are respected by all people.

  Gray Raven, whose lodge I shared, quickly went to work on the wolf skin. It was stretched and scraped. I told him what I wanted. His eyes came alive, his weathered and wrinkle old face broke into a toothless smile, as he said, “Ahhh… Rubio.”

  Before the changing of the moon, I had a soft warm winter cloak, which had the head of the wolf as my own head cover. The lower jaw had been removed, but the snout and fangs remained. The front legs had been cut away and holes were made for my arms. Bones were removed from the rear legs and the tail hung nearly to the ground. I had my battle cloak. Scar Face the Red Hand would know no peace.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  The winter passed without problems other than chilled bodies and complaints about the weather, which were to be expected. Soon the sun was taking longer to make his journey across the sky, and he was moving farther north. The grass had not turned green yet, nor had the leaves started to show themselves. But the heart of winter had passed and it was time for me to leave my new friends of the Hopi village.

  The wind still blew cold, but it was coming from the southwest and my ponies still carried their winter coats. I was warm enough with the fire of vengeance burning in my belly that I hardly noticed the cold. And the sun was no longer hiding behind the gray clouds of winter.

  I went west until I found the hunting grounds of the Havasupai, and then I turned south. I saw their signs and had no interest in meeting them. It would only slow me down. I had no knowledge of where the Mescalero Apaches made their home, but I knew it was in the south. I would have to travel through much Apache land before I reached my destination.

  Every bit of my skill as a tracker and woodsman would be tested before I returned to the valley of the rocks… if I ever returned. The Apaches were known for their superior tracking and fighting skills, but I would have to be better. There would be many tracks between me and the home of the Mescaleros…. I rode on.

  When I reached the great rim, I knew I was no longer in friendly country. If I stayed on top of the rim I would be in Mogollon Apache land, which was green and beautiful but deadly. But if I went to the lands below the rim, I would be in lands controlled by the Tonto Apaches. The Northern Tontos were said to be friendly to travelers and traders, but the Southern Tontos were friendly to no one.

  Not looking for any more trouble than I needed, I took my chances with the Northern Tonto tribe. At that point the rim was a hilly pine clad drop of maybe two times ten tall pine trees high. The lower level spread out onto a large basin as far as the eyes could see. The slope was slow and gradual, so it was an easy ride to the bottom.

  The way down was broken with ridges running from the upper rim to the floor. I found the ridges easier to ride and less of a strain on my horses. I could ride just off the top and see forever. If I spotted a horse or a man on the bottom, could fade away along the side of the ridge. I saw no one.

  Far off, near a low rock formation, I could see dust. It could have been caused by the wind or it could have been wild horses… or it could be a war party. I slipped on down the side of ridge where
we would blend in with the forest. Tying my horses, I found a tall tree that would look out over the basin. I watched as the sun moved slightly. The dust would appear and then go away, and it would reappear somewhere else. It was from the whirling winds that play on vast open areas. Or maybe it was some spirits dancing, either way; I was comfortable that it was not a war party.

  From high on the ridge, the land looked to be different colors of brown mixed the color of the puma. Mostly it was the color of the puma. I would guess it was the winter color of grass and other plants. It would be green and tall in a few moons. There was water down on the flat land. I could see steams and one strong river course with only a stream running in it. It would be full soon… there was much snow on the mountains.

  Reaching the low ground, I found it to be broken and much more uneven than it looked from above, but I expected that. Things always looked level and flat, when looking from above. The ground was deep with tawny grass. I expected to see buffalo, but there were none. They may not have found this place, or I may not have seen them yet…. I rode on.

  Chapter 11

  I rode for two days without seeing another person or a sign of another person. In my path was a low mountain range, where I hoped to find water. The grass had become thinner and poorer. There were cracks in the earth from drought, and the wind blew cold. The land was specked with low growing brush, the horses nibbled at it as we move on.

  Reaching the foot hills of the mountains, I chose to keep my bow strung and my eyes open for signs of people. I would let my horses find water, if there was water to be found. Loosening the rein, I let my horse wander. My other pony was at my side. There was no need to keep him on a lead; he would go where the other pony went. They had settled that some time ago.

  The sun had traveled only the width of my thumb when my roan turned into a small valley between two hills and then up the rocky side of one of the hills. I let him go, but I kept my bow strung. He quickened his pace, and so did the other pony. They could smell it. Coming over a small pass we came into a little valley with more tawny grass to my pony’s knees. He stopped and looked around trying to locate what had brought him there. The other pony passed us by and went in a straight line. The buckskin had the better nose after all.

  The buckskin trotted in a direct line to the water hole, and we followed. There was a small trickle running down from the rocks just above my head. We still had water in one of the water bags, but if we hadn’t found water today, we would be dry tomorrow. It was a good place to spend the night. I had killed a pair of jackrabbits, so there would be meat on the fire, with some left for tomorrow.

  I moved farther down the valley to a sheltered spot and made camp. The water bags were full and the thirst of man and beast had been satisfied. I didn’t want to scare away any wild creature that needed a drink.

  Darkness was closing in, and the valley was filled with shadows when I made my small fire. My horses were tied on a stand of tall brown grass. Much of it still had seed heads, which would give them a little extra. I was busy skinning the jackrabbits when I heard one of the ponies blow. I had my bow and ax and was in the brush before the pony finished his snort.

  I heard movement in the grass before I saw anything. The sun had disappeared, and it was suddenly dark. A horse nickered in the darkness and I pulled the bowstring a little tighter. A man appeared in the firelight. There were at least two ponies behind him. He just stood there waiting for me to come out.

  If a man comes into your camp or your village of his own free will, it is bad medicine to kill him, until he leaves. If he tries to harm you then the medicine is weak, and you can kill him. The trouble with those customs, is that not all tribes have them. This man was an Apache; most likely, he was of the northern Tonto tribe.

  I stepped out and greeted him saying, “You have the hospitality of my camp. There is meat we can share.” He took an involuntary step back and looked somewhat shocked. I realized that I was wearing my wolf cloak. He must have thought I was a demon… half man and half beast. I pulled the wolf head back so he could see that I was a person and not a monster.

  He relaxed and said that he had cornmeal for bread. He stepped forward and told me he was called, Far Wanderer, and that he was a Tonto trader on his way north to visit the Havasupai and the Hopi, and he would visit a few Navajo villages in the mountains. I gave him my Diné name, Walking Wolf, and that I was from the valley of rocks.

  He had three ponies, one he rode and two were loaded with pots and jars. While he took care of his animals, I built up the fire and found a flat stone for the bread. The jackrabbits were quickly readied and hung from long sticks.

  We each knew what to do around a campfire, so there was little talk until we had finished eating. “What brings you so far from your home, Walking Wolf?” He asked.

  “I am seeking the home of the Mescalero Apaches.” I told him.

  His eyes looked up and caught mine. “That is not a good place to go, unless you have friends there. And the Mescalero have few friends outside their own people. They have no love for the Navajo… or anyone else.”

  “I have no friends in the Mescalero villages, and I expect no welcome there. I seek one known as Scar Face the Red Hand.”

  He lowered his head and said, “I will throw dust to the four winds for your protection. The Red Hand is the worst of them all.”

  “I have met him before, and I must meet him again… he owes me a debt, and I must collect. Can you tell me how to get to his village?”

  He was not eager to tell me, but he did. My information had been very vague. I had been told that the Mescaleros lived west and south of the rim, but my guest told me they lived east and south of the rim. Going south would bring me into the lands of other Tonto people who did not welcome visitors. I was many days off my course.

  We spent the rest of the evening in pleasant conversation. He was widely traveled and had many stories to tell. He was a man of nearly twice my age, but he was fit and appeared to be strong and healthy.

  In the morning, we said our farewells and went our separate ways. He went north, and I followed the rim to the south east. He told me to follow the rim, until it came to the river. Then I was to follow the river upstream until it made a loop to the north and came back south. That would be Mescalero land. If I went farther east and beyond the river, I would be in Chiricahua land. Being a Diné on land claimed by either one was not something I wished for.

  Crossing back across the basin was no shorter, nor was it more pleasant then going the other way, and it cost me time. But that was the nature of things. Some things we just could not do anything about… we just had to accept them and move on.

  It had taken me two days to cross the basin going west and then several days going south, and now it would be three days going back. But I was much farther south than where I had first came into the basin. The ridges coming from the top of the rim were longer and higher in this place. Many were covered with pine, but they were full of boulders and outcroppings of rock.

  It would have been much easier to move out onto the grass covered plain, but it would have made me visible from the rim and the ridges. I wasn’t looking for company or friends, so I stayed close in and under cover of the trees. It made sense, not to invite trouble.

  Many days lay before me, and I didn’t want any more delays than was necessary. The weather was warming and I had started shedding my heavy clothing. My wolf cloak was heavy with undergrowth. Using a prickly pear as a comb, I was able to get the heavy matted winter growth out. I cut the rear part of the skin away, so that the cloak only covered my head and shoulders. It gave protection from the sun and it would shed water.

  My plan was to get to the Mescalero village before Scar Face and his companion rode out for a summer of raiding. I didn’t want to have to go into the village to destroy him, but I would. I would much rather find him on the trail, and kill him there. It may not be my choice.

  I had been riding along the base of the rim for five days, when I
came to a place where the trees had thinned and the slope that ran from the top to the bottom became a rock wall instead of a gradual incline. I had seen places along the way that were rock strewn from top to bottom, but they were not as large as this one, nor were they so straight up. There was a large talus pile at the bottom, which made me think that this section had fallen in the last few life times.

  The wall loomed huge from where I sat my pony. If anyone were to be up on top and saw me, it would take time to get down to the floor of the basin, so I took a chance and started across the open ground. I kicked my pony into a quick lope. I wasn’t concerned with the dust. If anyone was up there, they would see me as easy as they could see the dust. I felt the need to get under cover quick.

  I rode from one point to another as straight as I could without having to jump over brush and boulders. The points were far enough apart that I wouldn’t have been able to see a man from one to another. I had almost reached the next point when I looked up the ridge I was approaching and saw two horses coming down the side.

  Each horse was carrying a rider, and they were coming as fast as they could, given the rough ground and the descent. They were having to go back and forth. I made another running horse switch. I’d been riding the buckskin and leaped to the roan. He was fresh and he was faster.

  Kicking the blue gray pony, I could feel the surge of power. We had been running at a gallop already, but that animal went to a new level leaving the buckskin behind. I wasn’t worried… he’d catch up.

  The next point was not nearly so far, and the space between was wooded. I turned into the pines and raced between them wherever my horse could find a space. After a little back and forth and around running to confuse the trail I dropped into a dry water course and rode it to the next ridge before coming out.