Waterless Mountain

by Laura Adams Armer

  The Sun Bearer traveling to the west saw the little hand lifted toward him and he said with joy:

  “Surely the children of the earth are restored in beauty.”

  CHAPTER IV

  A NEW SONG

  OUNGER BROTHER and Uncle had succeeded in rounding up the horses. The Big Man from the trading post was expected in a few days to look them over and choose what he wanted. The next task was to find the steers. The little Navaho boy had been excused from herding the sheep so that he could help Uncle. They were riding their ponies up a narrow rocky gorge and keeping a sharp lookout for the red-and-white yearling that was missing. Tracks led to the water hole. There in the damp sand beside the water, new tracks were found, tracks of the mountain lion. Uncle said:

  “The Soft-footed Chief has been hunting. He is a good hunter and grows fat on our cattle.”

  Younger Brother hoped his yearling had not helped to fatten the Soft-footed Chief. Uncle had given it to him when it was just a little calf. He had watched it grow and was proud of his possession. He asked Uncle if they were to hunt the mountain

  lion.

  “No, my child. He is one of the pets the Turquoise Woman gave to our people. It is better that we leave him to follow his own trail of beauty.”

  “Uncle, where does the Turquoise Woman live ?”

  “On an island in the wide water of the west. There she waits every day in her turquoise house for her husband, who carries the sun.”

  “And when the Sun Bearer reaches his home in the west, what does he do with the sun, Uncle ?”

  “He hangs it up on a turquoise peg on the turquoise wall of the turquoise house of the Turquoise Woman. It goes Tla, tla, da, tla, as it sways on the wall. When it is still, the Sun Bearer, resting on the floor, lights his pipe from its fire. He cannot rest too long, for every morning he must start across the sky from the east, bearing the sun on his left shoulder.”

  “I should like to go to the wide water of the west, Uncle. I should like to see the turquoise house and the Turquoise Woman.”

  The two talked as they rode. They were following a narrow stream of water that traced its way under the tender green lacery of alders. The trail their ponies followed was narrow and overgrown. Sometimes Younger Brother wondered if it were a trail, it was so full of loose rocks.

  He was glad Uncle had let him ride with him. Uncle was a medicine man who knew the stories of the Holy People who lived in the land before the Navahos came. They were the people who built their dwellings in caves high up in the cliffs. They must have been a busy people, to judge from all the broken bits of pottery scattered about the country. The old pots were painted with black on white or red, and the designs were strange to the Navahos. Sometimes the Navaho mothers copied the designs in their weavings.

  Uncle had told Younger Brother many stories of the ancient people and he knew about the boy who wanted to find a new song. He knew how the boy had traveled on a rainbow to reach the House of Dawn. Younger Brother had seen the House of Dawn and the House of Evening Twilight, high in a canyon wall — so high that everyone knew they could be reached only by a rainbow trail.

  Younger Brother wondered if there were any stone houses of the ancient ones near where they were riding. Uncle had never before been so far up the canyon. Maybe no one had. It was very wild. The trail had given out and they were forced to ride up hill through brush and over loose rocks. They were still looking for the lost cattle.

  Breaking through the brush, they came unexpectedly to a clear space. There, at the foot of a cliff, they found a spring of water. It fed the stream they had been following. Younger Brother could hardly believe his eyes when he saw his own red-and-white yearling drinking at the spring.

  “Uncle,” he whispered, “the Soft-footed Chief did not kill my yearling.”

  “It is well, my child. I will rope him and we will lead him home to the corral.”

  While Uncle roped the yearling, Younger Brother rode around the end of the cliff. He liked this country with its rocks and mountains and trees. He felt light within, the way he had at the initiation. He thought he too would like to make a new song.

  Suddenly the stillness of the mountains was broken by a queer sound like the rattling of hoofs on stone. Looking in the direction of the sound, Younger Brother saw a tremendous round cave in the mountainside, filled with many little stone houses enveloped in blue shadow.

  Younger Brother still heard the clattering, rattling noise, and then into a streak of sunshine on the floor of the cave leapt seven slender deer. Just for a moment they paused in the light and then they leapt and danced on the stone floor and were lost to sight in the shrubbery in front of the cave.

  Everything was again still except Younger Brother’s heart. That was beating wildly and words were pounding in his head for release. He knew he had found a new song and the words poured out of him like the song of the bluebirds. This is what he sang:

  In the yellow sun they danced,

  Slender Horns and Slender Feet.

  Near their shadowed homes they danced,

  Slender Horns and Slender Feet.

  Then he rode back to Uncle and whispered:

  “The Deer People ! I saw them enter their houses.”

  Uncle looked at the child. His big brown eyes were opened wide. He was breathing fast and trembling. Uncle knew something had happened Probably the boy had been blessed with a vision. That was good. He would make a powerful medicine man if he had visions. He spoke to him.

  They leapt and danced on the stone floor.

  “It is well, my child. We will return to the hogan. Tonight you may tell us all about the Deer People.”

  Riding back and leading the red-and-white yearling, Younger Brother was very quiet. He knew he had seen the dwellings of the ancients. That night in the hogan by the fire he sang his new song for Uncle, who said:

  “It is a new song. Never have I heard it before. Now you must have a new name. I shall call you Little Singer and because the Deer People danced for you, I shall teach you their songs. It will take many years to learn them. Not until you are a man will you know them all, but we shall begin in four days.”

  Nobody believed that Younger Brother had seen a real cave with real houses. Only the Big Man believed because he knew that anything magic or wonderful could exist and did exist in Navaho land. Besides he had a photograph of the big cave with all the houses. He had never shown it to anyone because he too liked to watch the Deer People dance in the sunlight and he knew they never would if noisy people went to their homes with guns and canned goods. So he and Younger Brother kept the secret together.

  CHAPTER V

  A FRIEND IN NEED

  UT GRANDFATHER, I cannot pay for the wire.”

  “Why not, my child ? Did I not pay six pesos for your corn ?”

  “But Grandfather, I am poor. A little mouse chewed a hole in my wife’s moccasin.”

  The Big Man looked up from his desk in astonishment. What excuse would these Navahos make next ?

  “The little mouse chewed a hole in your wife’s moccasin, and then what happened ?”

  “I had to pay a medicine man to sing for her. That was very bad luck to have a mouse eat a moccasin.”

  “It certainly was bad luck, Hasteen —bad luck for everybody.”

  “So you see, Grandfather, I cannot pay for the wire.”

  The Navaho was very serious. He had driven fifteen miles with the corn and he must take back the barbed wire to protect his field. His wife was with him and she had a rug to sell. The trader weighed it and paid her in cash. She had intended to redeem her turquoise bracelet which had been pawned in the winter, but if her husband needed the wire, the money must go for that. She handed it to the Big Man, saying:

  “Is there enough to buy coffee and sugar, too ?”

  “No,” he answered. “There is not enough.”

  “When do you buy the cattle, Grandfather ?” the Navaho asked.

  “Tomorrow I start. I go up the wash first.”


  “I have only two steers, Grandfather. Will you look at them tomorrow ?”

  “When tomorrow comes I can tell.”

  When tomorrow came the Big Man drove up the wash in his car. He sang scraps of songs, when he wasn’t smoking a cigar. They were old-fashioned songs like:

  Say darling say,

  When I’m jar away,

  Sometimes you may

  Think of me, dear.

  Sometimes he would break into a Navaho song, which sounded like the howl of a coyote. He drove fast, but the wheel obeyed a steady hand and a clear head. Near a clump of cedars he stopped to speak to a young Navaho who was trying to catch his saddle horse.

  “I will help you, son.” With his machine he headed the horse toward its owner, who grabbed the bridle and mounted. The young man rode to the side of the Big Man’s car and said:

  “Grandfather, I need a dollar, for I am hungry.”

  The Big Man handed him a dollar. The Navaho took it and, with a winning smile, said:

  “I am sorry I did not ask for two dollars, Grandfather.”

  The Big Man laughed and said, “I would not have given you two, my boy.” Then he drove on, smiling at the ways of these brown people, whom he loved.

  At the camp where Younger Brother’s family lived, Mother had been dyeing her wool. Yarn and bunches of uncarded wool were drying on the rocks.

  Some of the red dye had been left and Younger Brother had dipped a half-grown sheep in it. He had done it to make Baby Sister laugh, and they were both laughing as the Big Man’s car appeared from behind the rocks that sheltered their camp.

  The pink mottled sheep stood stupidly staring at the car, while Younger Brother grabbed Sister and ran into the hogan. He had never before seen an automobile go. He had seen this one parked at the trading post, but this was the first time the Big Man had visited their home.

  Younger Brother called excitedly to Mother:

  “The Big Man! He comes in the wagon without horses.”

  The trader joined the family inside the hogan, where they all sat on the floor, graciously hospitable. Mother left her loom to stir the fire and make fresh coffee.

  “I could eat mutton, Sister,” said the Big Man.

  Mother put some ribs on the coals to roast, while Father talked to the guest. They did not immediately talk of buying and selling. It is not Navaho etiquette to plunge at once into the business of the day.

  Younger Brother sat very quietly watching the Big Man as he talked. This was the second time he had seen him and he liked him just as well as before.

  After everyone had eaten mutton ribs and fried bread, the Big Man went outside to his car and brought in a flour sack filled with apples, sweet crackers and tobacco. He gave the tobacco to Father and the sweet crackers to Mother. Then he handed an apple to Younger Brother and smiled. He always smiled when he gave something.

  Because Younger Brother was so shy, he could say nothing. He only looked up at the Big Man the way he had looked up at bellow Beak. The smile made him sure of his friend.

  While he ate the apple the men went out to look at the cattle. The Big Man chose what he wanted and told Father to drive them to the post in a week. After shaking hands with everyone he stepped into his car. He must be off to the next camp to look at the two steers of the mouse and moccasin man.

  To his surprise his car wouldn’t start. “Some engine trouble,” he thought as he got out to lift the hood. He could find nothing wrong, but for ten precious minutes he worked and could not start the engine.

  Younger Brother watched every motion. He knew the Big Man was worried. He was not smiling. The little boy thought very hard. A friend should help a friend. The Big Man could not start his car. Like a flash the child remembered what Elder Brother had told him. “If a thing will not go, spit the juice of the juniper in its face.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation he ran to the tree where Father always tied his horse. He chewed a sprig of juniper and when he had a good mouthful of the juice, he boldly went in front of the radiator and spat at it. Immediately the engine turned over.

  Everyone was amazed. No one knew what had happened. The Big Man said, “It’s always that way with a car. When you do all the right things it balks, and then all of a sudden when it gets ready, it goes.”

  Younger Brother didn’t say a word but he knew he had proven the magical power of juniper juice. The car buzzed out of sight and Younger Brother felt so gay he chased the pink mottled sheep over a hill and back again.

  Baby Sister, who could walk a little, laughed so hard she fell right down in the sand just as Brother and the pink sheep reached the hogan. Mother picked her up and laughed too.

  Soon everyone was laughing and no one knew how it had all started. Even the pink sheep laughed “Baa, baa, baa, baa.” The burro joined in with his “He haw” and a blue jay in the juniper just screamed at the top of his voice. It all came about through the spitting of juniper juice and that surely was enough to make anyone laugh.

  CHAPTER VI

  THE FIRST SPINNER

  HE GRAY tiger cat lay stretched in the sunshine on top of Mother’s hogan. He was asleep but he must have been dreaming about something, for every once in a while his whiskers would twitch or the black end of his striped tail would shake a little. Maybe he was dreaming about Baby Sister and the fork she tried to jab into him before he jumped on top of the hogan for safety.

  Maybe he was dreaming about the big spider he had seen when he went hunting for field mice. That spider had a house in the ground with a hinged door. Tiger Cat had never seen such a big spider. Not being a Navaho, the cat didn’t know that the Spider Woman was very kindly toward the First People.

  Uncle knew that. He had told Younger Brother a beautiful story about First Man and First Woman when they sat singing by their spring of water.

  First Man sat on one side of the spring and First Woman faced him on the opposite side. They were singing because they were happy to have such good water.

  One day First Man noticed what he thought was a beautiful piece of fruit in the middle of his spring. He wanted it but couldn’t reach it so he asked the Spider Woman, whom he knew, what she could do about getting it for him.

  “I can spin a web across the spring,” she said.

  “All right. Do it, Spider Woman,” said First Man.

  So she spun a very beautiful, strong web over the water and walked out on it. When she reached the place where the supposed fruit lay, she found that it was a big shining, white shell. She took it to First Man and it made him happy to have it.

  For the next three days the Spider Woman was asked to spin her web and walk to the middle of the spring.

  On the second day she brought back a big piece of turquoise, on the third day she found an abalone shell, and on the fourth day, the black stone.

  First Man was much pleased. First Woman said, “I wish I could spin and weave.”

  So Spider Woman taught her how to do those two useful things. She taught her daughters and ever since then, Navaho women have known how.

  Mother was weaving under the summer shelter while the gray tiger cat dreamed and twitched on the roof.

  Lambs played about Mother’s loom and one of them tried to chew a ball of yarn. Baby Sister decided that, as she couldn’t reach the cat, she would try her fork on a lamb. Babies never think about hurting things. They just naturally kick and cry or laugh, without regard for grown-ups or pets.

  Mother thought that whatever Baby Sister did was cute and she never scolded her. It had been the same way with Younger Brother when he was a baby, and with Elder Brother, too though that was so long ago Mother had forgotten.

  Elder Brother was making a pair of new buckskin moccasins. Mother had colored the white skin with a mixture of alder bark, mountain mahogany and cedar ashes. She had dipped two corn-cobs in the liquid and beaten the leather with them for hours.

  Elder Brother had cowhide soles all ready to sew on to the buckskin, and enough silver dimes with copper
stems, to make a row right up the outside of each moccasin.

  It was hard work to sew with rawhide. He had to make holes in the leather with a sharp awl. He was patient because he liked to dress well. He was very proud inside, about himself. Of course he didn’t know what he looked like as there were no mirrors in the land but he felt handsome, especially when he rode out on his pony to hunt for rabbits and prairie dogs.

  Once he took Younger Brother hunting and they tried using an old-fashioned bow and arrow. Uncle had made them. Not many Navahos can do that.

  While the family sat working in the shade of the cedar bough shelter, Younger Brother came home with the sheep. He was glad to have some corn bread. He said he had been far that day and had seen a rattlesnake sunning itself on a rock.

  “What did you do when you saw him ?” asked Elder Brother.

  “Nothing but run away. What should I do ? I wouldn’t bother him because Uncle says that snakes were Navahos at one time. Uncle says to be respectful to snakes always.”

  “I have never killed one myself,” said Elder Brother.

  “If you did, Uncle would have to sing the Lightning Chant for you. That drives away all the evil things that strike and sting.”

  “I shall not kill a snake,” said the big brother. “I shall let him crawl as he pleases.”

  CHAPTER VII

  THE YOUNG DAUGHTER OF HASTEEN SANI

  ASTEEN SANI was a good friend and neighbor of Younger Brother’s family. He lived two miles from them on the high rocky bank of a little stream. A hill of cedars rose behind his house. From his door in the east he could see the Waterless Mountain with its long straight skyline. In the summer time the sun rose right out of the middle of the mountain and shone into Hasteen Sani’s doorway.

  One afternoon when Younger Brother was driving the sheep past Hasteen Sani’s hogan, he noticed signs of a ceremony. In front of the hogan a hole about four feet wide had been dug in the ground. It was two feet deep and filled with hot coals which a happy-looking woman was taking out and laying to one side.