Apache

by Tanya Landman

Thinking perhaps that he reached for his knife, the woman made a sound – a high-pitched gasp that burst from her fear-pinched lips. She moved from the wall, thrusting the brood of children behind her as if to protect them.

  “She dreads us,” I said. “We must go.”

  But now Chee was angered by her fear for it insulted him. “Why should she dread us? We have done nothing! Why does she not give us food?”

  “Perhaps it is not their custom.”

  “Then why is she upon our land if she will not follow our ways?” he demanded.

  Chee stood, and put his hand forward to take the long cake that he might divide it in friendship between us. But the woman sprang wildly at it, and held it to her chest in one hand as though it were her precious babe. With the other she grasped the knife that had lain beside it, and made small stabbing motions at Chee as though to drive him away. Her eyes flashed with a look I had seen once before, and my heart sank in recognition. It was the outraged expression of the dark-haired Mexican I had seen long ago in a vision – he who had died defending his cattle from the Chokenne.

  And now I knew why I mistrusted the White Eyes. Like the Mexican, they had no understanding that the bounty of Mother Earth was made for all to share. Instead they snatched, and grabbed, and hoarded more than their needs, piling it all into a great heap that they defended like snarling dogs. Did they not see that they thus deprived their fellow men of the means to fill their bellies? A strange, greedy race indeed that now walked amongst us!

  “Come, Chee,” I said, laying my hand upon his arm. “Let us go from here.”

  At last he came away, vexed that his friendly openness had been met with mistrust. “She looked upon me as if I were a snake!” he exclaimed as he loosed his horse and led it away up the mountain path. Chee’s pride was much offended, but I was relieved this was all that had been hurt.

  As we crested the hill, I saw a White-Eyed man far below us carrying two dead rabbits. Seeing us, he sped towards his dwelling. The woman came out calling, screaming, pointing in our direction. The man raised his gun, but we were already far from him and he did not trouble to waste his shot. We moved out of sight swiftly, and naught else followed. But I was certain that if we had stayed longer in that place – had the man returned from his hunt while we were within – we could not have left without bloodshed.

  Chee, who had once welcomed the White Eyes, spoke no more of our land being large enough for all to dwell in. The woman’s look of loathing irked him constantly, like a thorn embedded in his moccasin. And yet this was but a small occurrence: a bee sting. Many worse hurts were daily being done to our brother tribes.

  That summer, three Black Mountain warriors who had married into the Dendhi visited their parents in our camp. They brought their families, and from their mouths we heard many terrible tales.

  The Dendhi had endured the settling of the White-Eyed soldiers. They had endured the coming of farmers who fenced the land as though it belonged to them. But they could not endure the arrival of those who mined for gold and silver, who hacked at Mother Earth and crawled in the wounds they had made, tongues lolling like hunger-maddened coyotes. A large settlement had sprung up at the edge of the Dendhi range and it had brought pain and suffering to many.

  These miners were worse even than the soldiers: reckless, with wild and vicious tempers. Seemingly these barbarous men had nothing but contempt for the Apache. They paid no regard to whose land they walked upon; they brought Mexicans from across the border to grow their food as they would not gather their own, heedless of the insult given to our people.

  Many skirmishes erupted: fights, arguments, small battles, each one started by the White Eyes. A warrior had been shot, a woman shamed, a child slain. Each family had gone first to the White Eyes’ chief to ask for justice. None was given. Thus each family took their own revenge, as is the Apache way. Ussen cares not for the squabbles of men: he trusts us to mete out punishment where it is needed.

  As yet, the Dendhi were not roused to take the warpath, and though troubled by these tales, there was no thought that our tribes would join and fight the White Eyes together. It was only when great wrong was done to Chodini, our chief, that the Apache nation was provoked to war.

  It happened thus.

  Perhaps one moon after I had become a warrior, we were surprised by a lone man – a White Eyes – riding boldly into our camp bearing a flag of truce. He led behind him the fine stallion taken from Chodini some time before by the soldiers at the spring. This man sought Chodini. Dismounting from his horse and clasping my chief’s hand in friendship, he at once began to address him in Apache.

  “Brother, I come in peace. I bring your horse as a token of the goodwill between us. My own chief has much he wishes to discuss with you. He asks you to come and feast beside him. He camps on the plain and waits for your arrival. Bring your wives, your children. Come and share the bounty of the great white father.”

  It was a speech he had learnt with little understanding, for when Chodini replied, the man had to fall into Spanish once more. But I stood astounded that he knew any words of the Apache tongue and wondered how he had learnt them. I wondered too that he had entered our mountain home and found our hidden camp with seeming ease. Golahka looked as unsettled as I, and it gave Chodini cause to frown. But our chief was a man of peace and retained a vestige of goodwill towards these invaders. They had returned his horse: this, surely, was an act of friendship. So he agreed that he would bring his family to the White Eyes’ encampment in two sunrises.

  He did not go alone, and he did not go unarmed.

  Ozheh, his son; Naichise, his brother; and Naichise’s two sons – Naite and Parcohte – went with him. Zani remained within our camp, for being with child she did not like to ride so far from her own mother. Instead, Huten rode beside Naite, for Zani’s marriage had made them brothers. To show good faith, Chodini also took his two wives and his youngest daughter.

  Our chief went in trust; though he recalled how the Mexicans had poisoned the Hilaneh at Bavisco, these White Eyes were not Mexicans: they could not be so treacherous.

  Chodini was no fool. When the White Eyes asked the warriors to yield their weapons before they ate, he retained a knife, concealed within his moccasin.

  It was as well he did so.

  The White Eyes’ chief was no longer the hair-chinned man who had once sworn brotherhood, but a younger soldier whose face was burnt scarlet as a turkey’s by the sun. Chodini and his family were invited to sit within a tent. Much food was spread on blankets. Chodini waited to see the White Eyes eat before any of his family partook of the feast. Then, taking meat from the same dish as the White Eyes’ chief, he started to chew. All seemed well.

  The White Eyes do not move silently, as do the Apache. Chodini had tasted but little when he heard the heavy-booted feet of many soldiers surround the tent. Laying down his food, angrily he demanded its meaning.

  Blustering, the red-faced chief began to speak of a closed wagon that had been coming from the east. It had been attacked, its occupants killed.

  “They were important people – a judge and his wife – not poor settlers. It will not be tolerated. You must pay for this attack.”

  Chodini had heard no word of such an incident. Calmly he asked where this ambush had occurred. When the red-faced chief described the place of the attack, Chodini smiled, and explained patiently that this was in the territory of the Hilaneh Apache; the White Eyes should look to them if he wished for vengeance. He added, “But, my brother, you must know that the Hilaneh are a peaceful tribe. They are growers of corn and melons. To turn them warlike, the provocation must have been sore indeed. What hurts have been done to them by your people?”

  The White Eyes’ chief did not answer. He would not listen to reasoned talk. Peevish as a child, he slapped his hand upon the earth.

  “You savages are nothing but liars! You and your men did this! You shall answer for your actions. You shall hang. We will have justice in this land.”

&n
bsp; It was then the red-faced man gave words of command. Around the tent came the sound of many guns being loaded.

  The White-Eyed chief knew neither the speed nor the skill of an Apache. He had not moved from his place upon the ground before Chodini had slashed the skin of the tent and slipped through it. Ozheh followed. But now Red Face was screaming and laying hands upon Chodini’s daughter, catching her by the hair so she could not escape with her father. The soldiers thrust their guns against the back of Naichise, and seized the arms of Naite and Huten and Parcohte and Chodini’s wives as they tried to flee. Much noise was there as the troops fired upon the swiftly dodging Chodini and his son, but they reached the mountains without hurt.

  Sickened to abandon his family thus, Chodini’s face was grim indeed when he entered our camp. At once he gave orders that we move, for the soldiers knew where we were, and all were at risk from attack. Without question, and taking only what could be readily carried, we left our tepees and went higher into the mountains, up a precipitous trail that was easily defended from assault. We had scarce set foot amongst the rocks of the topmost peak when we saw black smoke rising as our tepees, our warm hides, the food we had gathered against the coming winter, were all put to the soldiers’ flaming torches.

  Only when darkness came did Chodini speak of what had happened in the White Eyes’ tent. With cold, hard rage he told of the capture of his family.

  By the firelight his warriors gathered.

  In the grey light of dawn, we would ride against the White Eyes.

  It was not a war party. Not yet.

  We thought the White Eyes would take the family of our chief to Fort Andrews and hold them there. We could not attack the fort – it was too well protected – and even had we chanced it, we knew it would mean death for the captives.

  “I will go forth alone and ask for their release,” said Chodini.

  “They will not grant it,” said Golahka darkly. “The White Eyes will take you and then we will all be lost.”

  Chodini ground his fists into his temples in frustration. “These men are unreasoning! They are as wild as renegades! I do not understand their minds. How can we deal with such an enemy?”

  As I sat staring into the flames, I saw the face of the woman settler who had snatched at her cake and clutched it to her chest. I saw the look of the Mexican who had died in defence of a cow. I saw the smallness of the White Eyes’ souls.

  “Possession is all to them,” I said quietly. “Ownership. Trade. I think we must bargain with them.”

  Golahka caught my thought and pulled it into the light. “And to bargain, my chief, we must take captives of our own.”

  At the southern limit of the Black Mountain range a deep valley divides our territory from the mountains of the Dendhi, and through this pass the White Eyes sent many carts and wagons to supply the forts that had grown upon our land. Full well we knew that Toah, chief of the Dendhi, and Sotchez, chief of the Chokenne, had once promised the White Eyes safe passage. But that was before the coming of the miners; before the soldiers made allies of the Mexicans; before the White Eyes’ outrages upon our people had turned our friendship into enmity.

  Leaving sufficient warriors to defend the tribe, we rode to the pass. There we concealed ourselves high in the rocks. There we waited.

  After two sunrises, dust turned up by the wheels of a wagon appeared across the plain. It was driven by two men. Behind them rode five soldiers.

  “Once more you bring good fortune, little sister,” said Golahka. “We need but seven captives – one for each of our people – and here they are, steered towards us by the great hand of Ussen.”

  I started to smile at him, but he had turned away as if regretting that he had spoken. A pained spasm gripped me, as though Golahka had twisted his flint knife in my entrails.

  All unknowing, the White Eyes rode into our ambush. Their horses were shot from beneath them. Outnumbered as they were, they made small fight back. Before long they were waving a white flag and begging mercy. An easy thing to grant, for dead they were of little use to us. They were bound by the wrists and driven before us, cringing, towards Fort Andrews.

  Never had I seen men with so little dignity. They wept; they snivelled; they trembled like the leaves upon a tree. I was revolted by their cowardice. An Apache will look upon the face of death and meet its gaze full square. Had they no belief in the afterlife? Did these men know no god, that they cowered so?

  They were soft and could walk neither so far nor so swiftly even as an Apache child. To make the fort by sunset we at last sat them upon our horses, seven warriors – including Chodini – riding double behind them that they could not attempt to flee. My own horse was laden with the ammunition we had found upon the wagon, and so I too rode double with Golahka. Though I sat so close to him, the great distance between us remained. His face was shut tight against me, and for the whole of that long day he did not speak. Heart sore, I mourned the loss of his friendship. I knew not how to call it back.

  We reached the fort as the light began to fade. Our party of warriors kept back, out of the range of the soldiers’ shots. But Chodini, pushing his captive from his horse and leaving him for us to guard, rode forth alone and shouted for the White Eyes’ chief to come out and talk. He would not do so. In terror, the blustering young man remained inside, calling down to Chodini from on high, ordering us as though we were a band of unruly boys.

  “Go! Disperse from this place. Return to your homes!”

  “The homes you have burnt?” Chodini answered. “How can we do so?”

  The man paled. Even from that great distance I could sense his panic. A muttered consultation, a whispered word of command, and suddenly Chodini’s two wives and youngest daughter were roughly pushed out of the gates. They knew the guns of our enemies were trained upon them and might at any time be fired, but still they walked proud, heads held high with the dignity of the Apache, across the great space to where the warriors waited. They reached us unharmed, and Chodini at once gave them horses and bade them ride swiftly to the high plateau where the rest of our tribe were camped.

  Our chief was a just man. Watching the women ride to safety, he ordered the bands of three captives to be cut, and they were released. In screaming haste they fled, running towards the stronghold like rats to a hole. The gates did not open at once to admit them, and one man, whimpering with blind terror, tried desperately to climb the walls. In panic the soldier who stood on guard fired upon him, thinking this was an Apache leading an attack. The man fell dead upon the earth and there suddenly rose a great clamour of angry voices berating one another.

  Chodini waited for the cries to cease, and then he called to the red-faced chief again.

  “I have four more of your men here if you wish to fire upon them. A strange sport you White Eyes play! For my part, I would now have the rest of my family returned to me.”

  The red-faced man had been made to look foolish, and he now turned scarlet with high temper. Had his men not killed one of their own, he might perhaps have thought more clearly. I know not if there was a moment when war could have been avoided. But when he screamed at Chodini that his family would not be released – that they would face justice – he sealed his own fate. And ours.

  Chodini rode – silent and grim – back to where we waited, and there on the plain beside the fort we made camp. Chee was there as a novice still, and he tended the horses without a word, before lighting fires to warm us and cook our food.

  As I ate, I marvelled at the stricken faces of our captives. They would not eat the dried meat we offered, but recoiled, sending the sour smell of their fear reeking through the night air.

  Seeing my wonderment, Golahka at last broke his silence. “They have died a thousand deaths this day, have they not?” he said. “A brave man dies only once. It is certain that these White Eyes have no courage.”

  I was indeed perplexed. I did not fear to die, and yet full well I knew that there were other things I feared. I recalled the horror
in the eyes of Denzhone after the Mexicans had shamed her. Did these men believe we would somehow hurt or dishonour them before death?

  “Why should they dread us so? And, feeling thus, why do they enter our land and settle themselves upon it? None force them to come. And we surely did not invite them. Why do they not stay in their own land, where they belong?”

  “I know not, Siki. I cannot comprehend their ways. But I feel we have an enemy here: one more deadly than the Mexican. For I have seen…” Golahka stopped and shrugged, finding no words to explain.

  “From Ussen?” I asked, for I surmised that he too had been shown a vision.

  Golahka nodded, frowning.

  “I also.” I spoke slowly, remembering the vision that Ussen had unrolled on the tepee wall. “I saw a monstrous child that stamped its foot and set our mountains shaking. A giant, yellow-haired creature that would not be satisfied, but must scream for more and more.” I stopped. I did not speak of the dark-haired man who had beckoned the child forth, for Keste was dead. I could not speak his name.

  Golahka looked at me piercingly. “We have seen the same, then. Would that I understood its meaning.”

  For some time neither of us spoke as we watched the flames leap in the darkness. So gladdened was I that I had his companionship once more, my face ached with the effort of self-control. In the warmth of the fire I felt the great chasm between us shrink and diminish until it was no more.

  Smiling, Golahka clasped me by the shoulder. “Ah, Siki… Sometimes I would wish we had peace for many moons ahead…”

  His voice was so soft, I dropped my gaze, for salt tears had begun to prick my eyes and I would not shame myself by weeping. When I raised my face, the chasm was there once more.

  “We are warriors,” Golahka said, his voice stripped of warmth. “It seems our fates are entwined in conflict. Sleep. At sunrise, there will be work to be done. We may yet see our brothers free.”

  But at sunrise all was lost.

  At sunrise we saw the White Eyes’ justice.