When they came to the prehistoric cliff-dwelling high in the rocks, they hurried by.
WATERLESS
MOUNTAIN
Laura Adams Armer
Illustrated by
Sidney Armer
and
Laura Adams Armer
Dover Publications, Inc.
Mineola, New York
“We Navahos call it the Waterless Mountain because on its top and on all of its sides there is not one spring; but no one Knows what may be in its heart. There are six directions always—east, south, west, north, above and below. “Below is the deep heart of things”
Copyright
Copyright © 1931 by Laura Adams Armer
All rights reserved.
Bibliographical Note
This Dover edition, first published in 2014, is an unabridged republication of the work originally published by Longmans, Green and Co., New York, in 1957 [First edition: 1931].
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Armer, Laura Adams, 1874–1963.
Waterless mountain / Laura Adams Armer; illustrated by Sidney Armer and Laura Adams Armer.
pages cm.
“This Dover edition... is an unabridged republication of the work originally published by Longmans, Green and Co., New York, in 1957 [First edition: 1931]”—Copyright page.
Newbery Medal, 1932.
Summary: Younger Brother, a Navaho Indian boy, undergoes eight years of training in the ancient religion of his people and the practical knowledge of material existence.
eISBN-13: 978-0-486-78250-8
1. Navajo Indians—Juvenile fiction. [1. Navajo Indians—Fiction. 2. Indians of North America—Southwest, New—Fiction.] I. Armer, Sidney, 1871–1962 illustrator. II. Title.
PZ7.A715Wat 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013027890
Manufactured in the United States by Courier Corporation
49288501 2014
www.doverpublications.com
To
LORENZO HUBBELL
WHOSE FAITH INSPIRED THIS BOOK
FOREWORD
N AUGUST 1924, my partner and I turned our two scraggly ponies and our treasured albino pack-horse loose in a corral at Oraibi and looked over the village. Hardly had we had time to buy a bottle of pop and roll a cigarette than we were informed that there was a lady artist in the schoolhouse, who had persuaded a Navaho medicine man to make a sacred sand-painting for her and, contrary to the ceremonial laws, leave it undestroyed for people to look at. Incredulous, we went to see. The lady received us with some restraint, our aspect did not seem to charm her. Still, she admitted us to her temporary studio, and there was the sand-painting, sure enough, complete even to the prayer-sticks around the edges, and many excellent pictures by herself to boot.
She grew more cordial after a while, and in talking with her about the Indians, we began to perceive the charm and sympathy which had won a medicine man to violate a dozen taboos for her. Finally she decided we were harmless. We invited her to our camp for a Navaho meal of goat’s ribs, and she, game lady, accepted. So we went and got ready.
We looked at ourselves as we had not in some weeks, and understood the coolness of our first reception — unshaven chins, the dust of the trail piled thick on filthy and tattered clothes, my partner’s golden hair turned a dull brown, we were the sorriest looking pair of tramps you ever saw. We got ourselves clean, Mrs. Armer came and shared our rather crude victuals, and friendship began.
Partly because of her paintings of the Navaho legends, in which the Indians saw an unusual insight and an expression of many things which they did not expect white people to understand, partly because she has been guided in her contacts by one of the wisest and most sympathetic of all the Navahos’ friends, and largely through her own personality, she has been able to come unusually close to these people in a very short time. Her knowledge of their real selves has enabled her to select a difficult theme for her book, the internal processes, the thoughts and feelings and growth of a Navaho boy who feels a vocation to become a medicine man. It is a daring subject for a white person to tackle, but within the limitations of a book for young people, Mrs. Armer has probably come as close to painting a true picture as anyone save a medicine man can do. Many readers will question the high religious ideas, the constant talk of beauty, the mysticism, that she ascribes to Younger Brother and his priestly Uncle; one can only say that, contrary to the general idea, many Indians are so.
February 1931
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
THE FRIENDS OF YOUNGER BROTHER
II.
YELLOW BEAK
III.
SPRING POLLEN
IV.
A NEW SONG
V.
A FRIEND IN NEED
VI.
THE FIRST SPINNER
VII.
THE YOUNG DAUGHTER OF HASTEEN SANI
VIII.
THE TRAIL OF BEAUTY
IX.
THE BASKET CEREMONY
X.
THE PACK RAT
XI.
CHRISTMAS AT THE TRADING POST
XII.
THE GIANT DRAGON FLY
XIII.
WATER FROM THE POOL
XIV.
THE DANCE OF THE MAIDENS
XV.
THE DARK WIND
XVI.
WESTWARD BOUND
XVII.
ADVENTURES OF THE PINTO
XVIII.
SECRETS TO SHARE
XIX.
BEAUTIFUL UNDER THE COTTONWOODS
XX.
THE WESTERN MOUNTAIN
XXI.
EXIT THE PINTO, ENTER THE FIRE HORSE
XXII.
BY THE WIDE WATERS OF THE WEST
XXIII.
STORY OF THE WESTERN CLANS
XXIV.
THE MOVIE HERO SPEAKS
XXV.
THE HOUSE DEDICATION
XXVI.
ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP
XXVII.
THE PACK RAT’S NEST
XXVIII.
FOUR POTS IN A CAVE
XXIX.
COME ON THE TRAIL OF SONG
XXX.
THE SAND PAINTING OF THE WHIRLING LOGS
XXXI.
THE DANCE OF THE YAYS
XXXII.
THE SONG IN THEIR HEARTS
XXXIII.
THE DEEP BELOW
XXXIV.
CARRYING ON
ILLUSTRATIONS
When they came to the prehistoric cliff-dwelling high in the rocks, they hurried by
The Bumble Bee put his feet down in pollen
They leapt and danced on the stone floor
She ran east toward the dawn
The first of the prancing ponies ran into the light of the campfire
Mother took out the sheep
Clouds of dust enveloped the boy and the pony, helpless before elemental fury
Younger Brother wondered what had frightened them
She threw the bow and arrows in with these words, “Tieholtsodi, monster of the waters, take these also”
The Sun Bearer and the Turquoise Woman
The Sun sent a gorgeous rainbow for her to travel on
Take a bear, a snake, a deer, a porcupine, and a mountain lion, they will watch over you
It was a mile from the hogan to Standing Rock
The Pack Rat peered down from the ledge
Their gaze on the treetop where the robin flung notes of joy to the world
I alone saw the Soft-footed Chief as he walked in beauty past the child of my sister
WATERLESS MOUNTAIN
CHAPTER I
THE FRIENDS OF YOUNGER BROTHER
N THE month of Short Corn, when drooping clouds floated white against the blue, and fringed dust rose from the washes, Younger Brother tended the sheep. They were homeward bound, for the sun was in the western sky. Younger Brother was only eight but he felt much older because he was alone with his mother’s sheep. All day he had watched them and cared for the two little lambs who stayed so close to his side. No harm had come to them and soon he would have them safe in the corral under the sheltering cliffs.
Younger Brother was hungry. Already he could smell the coffee and the roasted mutton ribs that his mother was preparing inside the round mud house called the hogan.
He could see his father’s pony tied to the juniper tree. His father was a great silversmith. When he tired of making bracelets and rings, he rode about the desert to look after his cattle.
Younger Brother could remember sitting in the saddle in front of his father. That was a long time ago, before he had a baby sister. Now he was big enough to have a pony of his own but he must herd the sheep so that his mother could have wool to spin and weave, and mutton to cook. He would much rather ride a pony as Elder Brother did.
Elder Brother wore his long hair in a knot because he was a grown man. Uncle had given him his turquoise earrings, which were family heirlooms. Uncle was Mother’s brother and he was a medicine man. He told stories in the winter time while everyone sat around the fire in the middle of the hogan.
Younger Brother liked the winter time with its stories and its pine nuts, but he liked the month of Short Corn too, when the lambs were strong and jumpy, and the baby cottontails hid under the sagebrush. He liked every month and every day, and he liked to get home with his mother’s sheep.
“Yego, hurry !” he called, as he threw a rattling can of pebbles toward the flock.
Mother met him at the corral and helped him put up the bars. Then they entered the hogan for supper.
Baby Sister greeted them with a laugh. Like all other Navaho babies she was tied tightly in her cradle which was just a board. The tie strings which criss-crossed in front were like the lightning. The bow to hold the canopy was like the rainbow and the fringe on the side was like the rain.
Baby’s arms and hands were wrapped inside the blanket and she couldn’t move her body on the board. She could only move her head from side to side, but she was happy and content until she saw Brother eating. She too was hungry and she cried so loudly that Mother untied her and gave her a mutton rib all juicy and sizzly from the fire.
When darkness came everyone lay down on his own sheepskin and fell asleep. That night Younger Brother had a dream. It was about the Yay. Yay is the Navaho word for a god or holy being. Younger Brother dreamed of the first time he saw a Yay. That was in the month of Slender Wind, when his Uncle had given a sing, or healing ceremony, for Mr. Many Goats.
On the eighth day of the ceremony twenty boys and girls were to be initiated. They sat on the ground in a semi-circle, with their backs to the north. All the boys were naked but the girls were dressed in their very best velveteen jackets fastened with silver buttons. Strings of turquoise and coral hung about their necks.
The children had been told to sit quietly with bowed heads and wait for the Yays to come. Some of the girls had their mothers beside them but the boys were alone and trying not to be afraid. Younger Brother heard the cry, “Wu hu, wu hu !”
Looking up he saw the holy one with naked body all dazzling white and with a mask of deerskin over his face. The Yay’s long black hair fell over his painted white shoulders and a fox skin hung from his silver-girt waist.
Younger Brother was told to stand while pollen was sprinkled over his body. After that he was struck with two long yucca leaves. He was not afraid. He did not cry a bit. He was feeling queer. He had never felt like that before. It seemed as if the whole world were whirling light and warmth. He could feel life gliding over him in warm waves.
He laughed without making any noise. He could smell fresh green things growing, though there was nothing but dry sagebrush about him. He could hear the song of the mockingbird and of Doli the bluebird. He could hear the notes tumbling and pouring over one another, though there was not a bird around. He could see colors shimmering about the white body of the Yay. He even felt as if his feet left the ground and he were lifted up into the air.
In his dream of this initiation, Younger Brother lived his ecstasy over again. He knew that, like the Navaho boy who was given wings, he could fly right up to the sky, and he did.
He played with the Star Children. They were lovely children dressed in brilliant sharp stones of blue and white and black and yellow. They sparkled from their own light and when they laughed, little specks of star-dust shook from their finger tips and toes. They carried bows and arrows. Sometimes they sent a shaft flying into the dark, and people of the earth said, “There is a shooting star.”
Just as Younger Brother dreamed of the shooting star he awoke. Everything in the hogan was still but through the smoke hole in the roof came the sound that star-dust makes when it falls to earth. Younger Brother looking up, whispered, “Big Star, I am your child, for I have heard your song.”
After that night of dreaming, Younger Brother noticed that many more wonderful things happened, even in the daytime when he was alone with the sheep. If a whirlwind came twisting toward him he sat very still and said, “Wind, I am your child, for your trail is marked on the ends of my fingers.”
It was the same with the clouds that he watched. They were living beings to him. He ran races with cloud shadows that purpled the mesas, and laughing he called, “Cloud, I am your child, for you have poured water in the rocks for me.”
He loved the rainbow best of all, for when it came to watch over the month of Short Corn, it stretched its beauty to the month of Tall Corn. Younger Brother, sitting in the shade of the tasseled corn, spoke to the Rainbow People:
“Rainbow, I am your child, for you have brought the rain to the parched earth and the corn is green.”
When the thunder spoke, Younger Brother was silent, for he felt very small then and wished he were home with his mother, her child in her arms.
One day when his mother had finished weaving a rug, she packed it with a sheep pelt on the back of a burro. She lifted Younger Brother up in front of the load and they started down the canyon to visit the trader.
Younger Brother had never been to a trading post. He had never seen a white person in all his eight years. Mother walked, leading the burro. The sun shone on the yellow cliffs and the shadows fell in welcome strips of coolness across the sandy wash.
Younger Brother was happy and excited for he was to see strange sights. Mother would know what to do. Mile after mile they traveled in the sand, sometimes passing little peach orchards on the edge of the wash.
When they came to the prehistoric cliff dwellings high up in the rocks, they hurried by, for the holy people live there and it is not well for the people of the earth to disturb them. Younger Brother was glad every time they were safely past.
The sun was almost overhead and Younger Brother was thirsty. He could see no water about, but he told Mother he must have some. She went to the edge of the cliff and dug a little hole in the sand with her hands. In a few moments it was filled with water that seeped in from below the dry sand. Mother always knew what to do.
It seemed a long time before they reached the trading post, but just as Younger Brother was thinking they never would arrive, they turned a bend in the canyon.
There at the base of a rocky hill stood a group of houses, different from any the boy had ever seen. They were not round like a hogan nor were they made of logs and mud. To Younger Brother they seemed huge and reminded him of the cliff dwellings.
He was frightened. Maybe the white people who lived there were like the holy people of the cliffs. Mother wasn’t afraid. He could tell because she was lifting him to the ground and tying the burro near a Navaho wagon loaded with sacks of wool. It must be a
ll right.
Mother went straight into the store with her blanket and sheep pelt. Younger Brother clung to her skirt. When he dared to look up he saw row after row of canned peaches and tomatoes piled on shelves to the ceiling. Lower down there were rolls of bright calico and velveteen and plush. This must be some kind of magic house to hold so many beautiful things that people liked.
Mother walked through the store and opened another door. There in a very small room sat a very big man. He did not sit on the floor as Navaho men did. His feet only were on the floor and he sat up in the air on a board supported by four sticks. Another wide board on higher sticks stood in front of him, and the Big Man made queer clicking noises on rows of little round white things that he pressed down with his fingers. The fingers worked rapidly and surely, like the feet of the Yays when they dance in a ceremony.
The Big Man did not look up nor say a word. He continued to press the little round white things as if his life depended on them. After a while, out of the object he was punching, he pulled a piece of white paper covered with small black marks.
Looking up he saw Mother. He smiled and held her hand.
She said, “Grandfather,” not that he was old, but because that is a term of respect among Navahos.
Then the Big Man patted Younger Brother on the head and said in Navaho, “Grandchild.”
Younger Brother thought he had never seen so kind a face and he knew right away that the Big Man must be a medicine man. He could feel power shining through the blue eyes, and tingling in the fingers that touched his head.
He thought how comfortable it would be to stay near the Big Man with the kind voice. He hoped Mother would bring him to the trading post every time she had a blanket to sell.
Waterless Mountain Page 1