The cat bounded straight for the corral in great, long, graceful jumps, puffs of snow flying every time its paws hit the ice-covered snow. The bull backed up and bellowed, shaking his head, his shiny horns like big drawn knives ready to take an enemy. With Cougar in the moonlight, the sight picture improved but still was not good enough to kill a witch. In another slow count of five, Cougar would be over the corral fence and in a death match with the bull. I waited to fire hoping that in one more jump or two by Cougar I would have the light and the range I needed to kill it if it were a witch and to be certain I’d kill it if it were just Cougar.
I waited to fire until Cougar made his long leap into the corral. Time slowed, as it always seemed to when the shot had to be quick and perfect. I aimed for his chest, knowing the light was just too poor to aim for his eyes. The bull charged forward, its head down and twisted left and up to spike Cougar on his great horns. The rifle kicked against my shoulder, its crack of angry thunder making snow slide off my wickiup and fall out of the tree over it. I threw off the blanket and buffalo robe and jumped out of the wickiup to run for the corral, where Cougar, a long bloody streak running from just below the front of his shoulder across his back and disappearing near his hindquarters, snarled and crouched, ready to take the bull as it held its head down and twisted to one side. Cougar saw me coming and jumped over the corral fence, headed for the same pine grove where he started.
I glanced toward the bull, still snorting and shaking its head, and then looked directly at the place where Cougar had been. It had disappeared. I couldn’t believe it ran that fast and rubbed my eyes, but nothing changed, except to see little glittering places where it had broken through the ice crust as it ran. The bull relaxed and returned to his family. The tip of his right horn somehow didn’t look normal. I climbed on the fence and looked him over. He didn’t seem hurt, but a scar about a hand-length long lay freshly plowed on the horn he tried to use. I understood why my shot had not killed Cougar. The bullet had clipped the horn of the charging bull and deflected just enough to tear a furrow through Cougar’s hide.
Wrapped in my blanket and buffalo robe the rest of the night, I guarded the cattle in case Cougar returned. Studying the path between the far trees and the corral, I tried to understand, with no success, how Cougar got to the spot where I first saw him without my seeing him sooner.
A golden glow appeared behind the eastern mountains; then a seam of gold outlined the mountains, and the sun slowly rose above the jagged horizon. I shook the snow off my buffalo robe and walked, stiff and slow, out of the trees on my side of the canyon to the trail where the big cat had run. The air was cold and numbing. Even wrapped in a fine wool blanket and buffalo robe, I had to flex my fingers often to pull a fast trigger if I had to.
The hard crust of the snow broke and cracked into small pieces at the spots where Cougar’s paws landed as he ran away, making the shape of the tracks impossible to identify. Blood spots were sprinkled along the way and said the damage to Cougar was more than just a scratch. I followed it into the trees, sinking in the snow in some places up to my knees. A big tree, its ancient spreading branches starting near the ground, stood close to the canyon wall and showed the cat’s claw marks as it had climbed toward the treetop before jumping to ledges up the side of the canyon wall that carried him like the steps on Blazer’s store to the top of the canyon where he’d disappeared.
I returned to No Foot’s tipi. My story of first seeing some Apache, definitely not No Foot, and a while thereafter a big cougar that seemed to disappear when it needed, convinced No Foot the cougar came from a shape-shifting witch. I knew only it made cougar tracks, that it bled like an animal, and that I had seen a man in the trees a long time before I saw it. Big and smart and not afraid to raid around men, the cougar might well be a shape-shifter, but I didn’t know.
No Foot’s woman gave me hot, tasty venison, mescal, potatoes, and coffee with mesquite flour bread she had just made. I ate like a starving wolf. The meal brought me back to life while No Foot and his woman sat by the fire and watched me eat. As I drank another cup of coffee, I thought of ways to take Cougar. The only satisfactory one meant tracking and killing it rather than waiting for its return.
I asked No Foot to let me borrow his snowshoes. He rummaged in his gear behind him to find a pair and handing them to me said, “I go with you. Two trackers are better than one. I track better than you anyway. I can track anything anywhere.”
I grinned and nodded, “Enjuh. I’m glad you come, brother. This is a dangerous animal. He’s hurt and won’t hesitate to fight. If he’s a witch and I find him, he’ll go to the Happy Place blind.”
We found Cougar’s trail on top of the ridge above No Foot’s corral and followed it all day toward the great White Mountain across two windswept ridges leading up a deep canyon thick with tall pines and high, steep sides that had many places a cougar might make a den. Near the mouth of the canyon, we found a big tree with a high snow wall built up by snow falling off its branches all the way around it and up into its branches, the thing we looked for to catch deer after a big snow. We dug a tunnel through the wall to the bare inside place, cut a few low branches, made a small fire, and camped for the night, out of the wind, eating trail food No Foot’s woman had given us, and sharing stories of the old days. No Foot and I became good friends sharing this hunt and with the memories we had of being surrounded by the thick snow wall under a tall pine tree.
Light was coming, but had not yet appeared, when we built up our little fire, ate again, uncovered, and crawled out our hole through the snow wall. I stood up outside looking for a place to make water, but what my eyes saw, I did not at believe at first. I wondered if I dreamed. Cougar tracks were there. They went all the way up to the hole in the snow wall, and one step inside, backed out, and circled the snow wall before heading down the canyon following the path we had made the day before.
No Foot took one look at the tracks and said, “It’s the witch. It goes back and leaves us here. We must hurry.”
We ran all day in snowshoes. It was harder than running every day, day after day, when I had scouted for General Crook in the Blue Mountains, but we were able, and fear for No Foot’s woman and animals drove us. No Foot knew a shorter path back than the one we followed the day before, and we returned to his tipi when the sun was four fingers above the horizon. The fresh tracks of No Foot’s woman showed her running for the corral. We followed her down the canyon. In the distance, we heard the bull bellow, Cougar scream, and No Foot’s woman answer with a screaming yell, “Hi! Hi! Cougar! You go! You go!”
No Foot’s woman, strong and brave, stood with her back to the corral fence, her ax handle in both hands above her head defending her man’s property against the cougar, which was crouching, tail switching back and forth, one good jump from the fence and food. He hesitated, as if deciding whether to take the woman first or the beef. I thought, If he’s a witch, he’ll take the woman first.
I didn’t wait. The light was good. But I was tired and breathing hard in the cold air. The rifle’s hammer came all the way back, and my eye found the shaky sights. I paused, took a deep breath, and steadied on the cat’s left eye. The rifle sent sharp, cracking thunder echoing across the canyon. Cougar, starting to rise into his jump for No Foot’s woman, dropped like a full feed sack, and I had hit the other eye before it lay stretched in the blood-splattered snow.
No Foot and his woman stared at me in disbelief. No Foot, his heaving breath coming in puffs of steam, said, “Yellow Boy, you’ve saved my woman and my cattle. Never have I seen such shooting. Truly you’re Killer of Witches. We owe you much.”
I said, “Ussen gave me this gift for the People. I used it as he wanted.”
I kneeled by Cougar’s front legs. Side-by-side beginning in the middle of its left leg, three scars without any fur ran clear and straight down its leg and across its paw. Shaking my head, I thought, Now you no longer threaten my daughter, witch.
CHAPTER 42
PASSAGES
> No Foot and I carried Cougar to Nautzile’s camp. It was nearly dark when we got to his tipi, and all in the camp came crowding around to look at the cougar while we spoke with Nautzile and his di-yen to tell them all that had happened. We could hear every gurgling breath Nautzile took, and when he coughed, it lasted a long time as he struggled to breathe, his face red, nearly the color of blood and his hair, damp with sweat in the cold night air, but he smiled when he heard our story, glad we had sent Cougar blind to the Happy Land.
The di-yen, wrapped in an ancient, ragged blanket, stood by Nautzile and listened carefully, asking us many questions during the story. When we finished, the old man nodded and said, “I don’t doubt that you’ve killed a shape-shifter with your Power. It will wander blind in the Happy Land for all time. You’ve done a powerful thing. Our people are very grateful. We must burn this Cougar to rid ourselves of any evil it left behind.”
We burned Cougar in a big fire that night after the di-yen told the people what had happened and that they must stay away from it or risk getting Ghost Sickness. Everyone in the camp gave me a little present in thanks for saving them from the shape-shifter. I took them all, but I gave them to my new friend No Foot and his woman. The next morning, I left No Foot’s tipi, glad that I had a chance to use the Power Ussen gave me to help the People, but still not certain I had killed a shape-shifter.
I stopped at Dr. Blazer’s store on my way back home to tell him what happened. When I walked in the door, the clerk was warming by the big, black pesh (iron) fire barrel the Indah called stove. He looked surprised and said, “Howdy, Yellow Boy. That was mighty quick. How’d you get here so fast?”
“What you mean? I leave No Foot when sun comes. No ride fast. Three hand spans against horizon (about three hours) on trail.”
“You mean you weren’t in Nautzile’s camp this morning?”
“No. I was in No Foot’s camp, a hand span’s ride away from Nautzile camp. Why?”
The frown on the clerk’s face worried me. He said, “First light this morning, a man from your camp, I think his name is Beela-chezzi, woke up Dr. Blazer about dawn a poundin’ on his door. He told Doc he needed him to come to the camp and he had to find you. Doc told him he thought you’d gone to Nautzile’s camp to do some cougar huntin’. Doc asked him why he was needin’ him and to find you. Beela-chezzi said your little daughter was mighty sick and her mother asked that he come quick. Doc, he got his bag of medicines, told Beela-chezzi he’d send old man Parsons over to Nautzile’s camp to fetch you, and said for Beela-chezzi to get him back to your camp as fast as he could. They lit outta here a couple of hours ago.”
I turned to run out the door, but the clerk caught my coat sleeve and yelled, “Wait! Wait! I know you’re hot to ride, but drink some of this here coffee and eat some of these biscuits before you take off, or you’re liable to get sick. I’ll saddle you a fresh horse while you’re eatin’. Doc will be there takin’ care of the child a long time before you can get there.”
He let my sleeve go. I nodded I understood his wisdom and waited while he poured the coffee and handed me the bread he called biscuit before he put on his coat and ran out the door into the bright, freezing air to put up my pony and saddle a fresh one out of Doc’s barn.
I rode the pony hard and took no rest following the trail of Beela-chezzi and Dr. Blazer to my tipi. All the way, I tried to think what might have happened to Kicking Wren during the five suns I had been gone. The only thing I knew that took other Mescalero children in the dead of winter came from the poisoned air, the breathing sickness, of the Indah. But she had not been around any Indah except those at the agency, and they all seemed well. As my pony picked its way down the icy trail, I sang and asked Ussen to leave her with Juanita and me and the family who wanted her.
The trail up our canyon showed smoke, gray against the brilliant whiteness of the snow, pushing through the top of the lodge poles of every tipi. Many feet at the door of my tipi had tamped down much snow. I saw Blazer’s horse eating fresh hay in the corral with Beela-chezzi’s pony. Silence covered the camp. No birds called. No one laughed or spoke loud. Everyone stayed inside their tipis. The animals in the corral, with their ears pricked up, watching me ride into our camp, didn’t snort.
Shiyé looked out of Beela-chezzi’s tipi, saw me coming, and ran to take my horse. As I dismounted he said, “I have great fear for Kicking Wren. She has not felt good since the day after you left when we played outside. She came running to tell me she saw a warrior in the trees above us with a cougar skin headdress and a big rifle. I ran to look but saw nothing. I told Beela-chezzi. He looked and saw tracks, but decided it was just someone hunting. We look again the next day but the tracks were gone in the wind and blowing snow. Now he wishes he had followed them.”
“Thank you for telling me this, Shiyé. You are a good friend to Kicking Wren.” I thought as I clenched my teeth in anger and ran for Juanita’s tipi, Was it you, Shape-shifter, who made my little daughter sick? You won’t do anything like it again. I’ve killed you.
I pulled back the door cover and stepped inside. I would have rather entered the cave of a bear with cubs than enter my lodge and see my only child so sick that Juanita had called the most powerful di-yen, Dr. Blazer, she knew to help her. My feet moved like they had great stones tied to them.
Kicking Wren, her face covered with sweat, lay wrapped in a blanket with her feet to the fire, her pillow, Moon’s knees. Juanita knelt beside Kicking Wren bathing her face with a wet cloth as the child fought to pull air into her gurgling lungs. Dr. Blazer knelt by Kicking Wren’s other side, his left-hand fingers stroking his jaw as he stared at her with a frown of worry wrinkles across his brow and around his eyes. The smooth black ropes he held to his ears to listen to her heart and lungs were around his neck.
They all glanced at me when I came through the tipi’s blanket door, then turned their attention back to Kicking Wren. I knelt by Juanita and touched Kicking Wren’s face with the back of my fingers. Even with Juanita’s wet cloth wiping away the sweat to cool her off, Kicking Wren’s face felt hot, on fire. I trembled inside. I knew anyone burning up with fever this hot rarely lived.
I heard Juanita whisper, “Yellow Boy comes. His woman is glad. Their child tries to stay away from the Happy Land, but the spirits call her. She may leave soon. The great di-yen and your friend works hard to help us to call her back.”
Blazer looked at me and nodded. Juanita spoke true. Moon kept her head bowed as she sang a prayer to Ussen. Behind Blazer, Maria kept her face hidden in the shadows of a blanket over her head so I could not see her, as the custom required, even in a bad time such as this, although none of us believed in it. Sons-ee-ah-ray kneeled beside Maria with Lucky Star, my adopted sister, and my young brother, Little Rabbit, as they, too, prayed to Ussen.
Dr. Blazer had us give Kicking Wren many swallows of water and helped her to sit up to keep from choking when a hard, ragged cough started. He mixed medicine from the bottle in his leather satchel and gave it to us for her to drink. It was bitter water, but she slept in my arms after she drank it. The day stretched toward the night, her fever stayed high, and she often whispered to me, “Father, I think there’s an arrow in my side. Please pull it out,” or, “Father, I feel so hot, and I can’t breathe. Are we in a bad place, Father?” But Dr. Blazer said that was the way the disease made people feel.
Holding Kicking Wren that day, my mind wrestled with trying to answer what I had done to make an evil spirit attack my little child. She didn’t do anything to them. Why not attack me? I was ready for any attack by evil. Could this have been the shape-shifter or even the ghost of Sangre del Diablo come to take their revenge? I didn’t think so. I’d sent Sangre del Diablo blind to the Happy Land, and there he must stay. Maybe the shape-shifter had come earlier and had attacked us. I didn’t know. I just wanted something solid about them that I could get my hands around and squeeze until they stopped. Throughout that day, I asked, Why Kicking Wren and not me? All that long day,
Juanita was by my side, whispers coming from her great heart to her daughter’s ears and to mine as the gurgle and growl of Kicking Wren’s cough grew worse. I saw water in Moon’s eyes, and she chewed on her lower lip as she moved to sit back in the shadows with Lucky Star. Prayers never stopped from Sons-ee-ah-ray, Maria, Moon, Little Rabbit, and Lucky Star.
As the shadows grew long from the falling sun, I had to go out, and Dr. Blazer came with me. We went to the corral spot under the cave ledge where we were out of the swirl of cold air, and sat down wrapped in our blankets. I lighted a cigarro, and we smoked to the four directions.
I said, “Why are the evil spirits attacking my little daughter child? Why don’t they attack me? I’ll give them a good fight. I know they want it. Why little Kicking Wren?”
Dr. Blazer shook his head and said, “Kicking Wren has what the Indah call a sickness. Witches aren’t after her. I’m only a dentist, a di-yen of teeth, but I help when I can, and I’ve seen this sickness many times on the reservation.” He looked me in the eye and said, “Your little Kicking Wren probably will go to the Happy Land before the next sun. I’ve seen it happen this way too many times with Mescalero children. They fight hard for their lives, but the sickness is too powerful and takes them. This happens to Kicking Wren now. I, too, have prayed to Ussen for the Power to save her, but He hasn’t given it to me. A new di-yen, more powerful than me, soon comes to the reservation. But even his power won’t save children with this sickness. I’ll stay with her until she grows stronger or goes to the Happy Land and leaves us with our sorrow.”
My chest felt like I had been stabbed in the heart, but I thanked Ussen that the best di-yen on the reservation was here to do all he could for Kicking Wren and I said, “Dr. Blazer is a good friend to the Mescaleros.”
I held Kicking Wren in my arms as she fought the breathing sickness all night until her last gasping breath left her and escaped in the wind. I looked up through our tipi smoke hole and saw the gray light of dawn coming as the dark night of our spirits settled on us. Dr. Blazer crawled to me and held his listening ropes against her chest. He breathed a deep sigh and, with sad eyes, looked at me and shook his head.
Blood of the Devil Page 28