The full moon saw a little Navaho maiden enter the firelight, carrying a juniper wand which Younger Brother had helped to make. It was trimmed with turkey feathers and sagebrush and long streamers of red cotton cloth.
The little maid was very serious and dignified. She held her head high. Her moccasined feet moved slowly across the sand until she approached the singers. She waved her wand and a young girl from the crowd of onlookers moved toward the men and chose one for her partner in the dance. Other girls followed her example.
The men were shy. They hung their heads in shame. They were reluctant to dance but the girls pulled them into the firelight and the quiet sober dance began while the little wand bearer kept time with her wand.
The full moon looked down on the maidens as they danced, and on the mothers sitting by, wrapped in their gayly-colored shawls. As the silver orb rolled westward through the night, the young men sang and sang till dawn.
Everyone was sleepy in the gray morning but the mothers were cooking in the green cedar shelters. Coffee was hot and bread was ready. At little campfires outside the shelter, families ate their breakfast and talked of the dance of the girls.
Younger Brother having helped in the ceremony before the dance could eat no meat, nor salt, nor sugar, nor hot things. He could have only corn and cold water for four days after the ceremony.
He was thinking how beautiful the wand had looked swaying in the firelight, and he was only half-conscious of the beauty of the girl who carried it. She had seemed so much a part of its grace that he did not separate them in his thoughts. She had held the wand high and had not once let it touch the ground. After the dance she had ridden toward the north on her pony, still holding the wand in her hand.
For three nights the girls danced but in different places. Hasteen Sani, the patient, stayed in the medicine lodge to be treated by Uncle. Of course he grew better and everyone was happy at the new water tank.
Sheep drank from the overflow, horses from the trough, and the people carried buckets of water from the covered tank to their camps.
Four days after the ceremony was over, Elder Brother and his wife and their two-year-old baby came to spend the day with Mother. Little Sister loved the baby. It was good to have someone besides her lamb to play with. Every spring Mother had given her a lamb for a playmate. In time she would own a flock of her own. Already she was learning to herd them.
She played with her lamb as a white child plays with a doll, only it was much better, because the lamb could run and jump into the air on its funny stiff legs. It could drink milk from a bottle and get into all kinds of mischief.
While Sister played with Elder Brother’s baby, the lamb was chewing the cork in a vinegar bottle. Mother had bought the vinegar to put in her dye.
The cork must have been just what the lamb wanted, for he gave it such a hard bite the bottle fell over and all the vinegar ran out on the floor.
He thought it was water, but when he tasted it he jumped right up in the air and bleated, “Ma, Ma.” He ran outside with Sister chasing him. She was laughing and looking very pretty with her black hair blowing in the wind and her bare brown feet skipping in and out from under her long full skirt.
She caught the lamb on top of a little hill and sat down all out of breath, holding him tightly in her arms. When Younger Brother came with the sheep, the lamb jumped away to run to its mother in the flock. Sister went into the hogan to play with the baby.
The whole family was home and they sat around the fire drinking coffee and talking of the wonder of the new water, the success of the girls’ dance, and of Younger Brother’s flight to the clouds.
Uncle said, “My Little Singer brought the water to us, because he sprinkled pollen on the clouds and prayed for the good of all of us.”
No one would think of disputing the wise medicine man, but Father couldn’t help saying:
“But he flew in the white man’s machine. We Navahos cannot fly.”
Uncle answered, “We can sprinkle pollen and pray. Each has his power. Little Singer is the first Navaho to fly to the clouds and the first to sprinkle pollen on them.”
“That is true,” said Father.
Mother was worried. If her child traveled on clouds, he must be one of the Holy People. They traveled on rainbows and sunbeams, and they always left the earth to the people of the earth.
She wanted to keep her child. She showed him the new saddle blanket she had woven for his pony. It was gray with black and white cloud patterns twisting across its surface. Mother told her boy they were summer clouds on a summer sky. She said the red squares in the corners were sunlight.
“Put it on your pony and be satisfied to ride on the earth, my son. See, I have made red sunbeam tassels to hang from
the corners.”
“It is a good weaving, Mother, and my pony needs it.”
Father said, “I am making a silver bridle for your pony.”
The boy answered, “I will like that. My pony will look fine with a new blanket and bridle.”
The lovely wife of Elder Brother had been listening to everything. She admired the skillful weaving and the silver work of the bridle. She spoke softly to Little Singer:
“I have nothing to give you, but I know that the clouds and the stars are calling you. I think if you sing of them, you will bring them to us. Will you sing, Brother ?”
“Let us sing together,” said Uncle. “Let us sing a Sky song.” This is what they sang, while daylight faded away.
From the house made of dawn,
On the trail of the dawn,
He is coming to us;
He is coming.
Now the Bearer of the Day
Sends a beam from the blue.
It is shining on us,
It is shining.
To the house made of night,
On a trail made of night,
He is going from us,
He is going.
Now the Bearer of the Day
Sends the stars to the sky.
They are watching above,
They are watching.
“Yes, they are watching above, Little Singer. I can see them through the smoke hole. With your singing you have brought them to us. Now we can sleep.”
The young wife of Elder Brother lay down on a sheepskin beside her sleeping baby. The beads of her silver necklace clinked when she turned on her side.
The embers of the fire paled to gray while the family slept peacefully under the watching stars.
Only Younger Brother lay awake for a while, wondering what held the stars in the sky.
CHAPTER XV
THE DARK WIND
OMETHING was making Younger Brother restless. At night he dreamed of strange experiences and new places. He dreamed of floating down a river on a raft of logs. The river grew so wide he couldn’t see its other side. The water was blue, the color of turquoise. Younger Brother could feel himself gliding smoothly on the water until he hit something and awoke. Every night he had that dream of gliding in watery space until he hit something that awoke him. He never knew what it was that he hit. In the daytime he tried to reason it out and he grew restless.
He wanted to glide in the daytime and find the thing that awoke him. He knew he glided toward the west. It must be the wide water of the west that he saw in his dream. He had always wanted to go to the wide water. Perhaps if he did he could find the Turquoise Woman.
He came to think more and more about the Turquoise Woman of the western sea. Ever since he had dressed the juniper stick for the girl to carry in the dance, he had dreamed of the turquoise water at night, and thought of the Turquoise Woman in the daytime.
He was terribly restless. Mother’s weaving was beautiful on his pony; so was Father’s bridle, but he knew the Turquoise Woman was calling him to the west. Every morning he drove the sheep toward the west. Maybe if he went far enough he could find the wide water.
He grew to hate the sheep because he must take them back toward the east every afterno
on.
One morning, after awaking from his gliding dream, he told Mother he would not take the sheep out that day as he must be about other business.
“Son, are you crazy ? The sheep must be herded,” said Mother.
“Then you must herd them for today I travel west on my pony.”
Mother looked at him and did not say a word. What she had been dreading had come to pass. Her younger son was leaving her.
She packed dried meat and corn cakes in a flour sack and tied them on his pony’s saddle. She rolled a sheepskin in a blanket and tied that on.
Younger Brother put his bow and arrows in front of the saddle and was ready to leave. He shook hands with his father, merely saying:
“I ride to the west.”
He put his arms around his mother, who clung to him for a moment, then said:
“When you are hungry, the mutton will be ready.”
He mounted his pony and was off without once looking back at the hogan. When out of sight and hearing he sang wildly as he rode,
The Sun Bearer travels a trail to the west,
The Moon Bearer travels a trail to the west,
Westward the stars move. Westward move I.
The rocky cliffs answered back, “Westward move I.”
The pony neighed as he scented a coyote howling on a hill. A hawk screeched as it flew toward the west. Above the crooked rocks Yellow Beak circled in the blue. The boy stopped his pony and called to him,
“My trail goes to the west.”
He skirted the crooked rocks and rode far beyond. By the time the Sun Bearer had reached the zenith the boy had passed the Waterless Mountain. He never looked back. The west was calling.
When he stopped to rest on top of a cedar ridge, he tied the pony to a tree and lay flat on his back. Dim in the distance he could see the blue peak of the western mountain. In the valley ahead he could trace the wash by a rolling line of dust blowing along its course.
“That means a sandstorm,” he said to the pony. “We had better move quickly to shelter.”
As he rode toward the valley, which must be crossed, the storm increased. The sand blew higher in the air until it obscured the sun. The pony struggled on against the wind. The boy knew that shelter must be found. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. His ears and hair were full of the fine dust. He dismounted. It was impossible for the pony to struggle further against the fury of the storm.
Younger Brother unrolled his blanket, put it over his head, and stood close to the pony as if to shelter him. The sand was blowing so thick it was like a fog enveloping them. The boy knew there was nothing to do but wait.
He could not see ten feet ahead of him. Loose tumbleweeds flew past him. Sometimes they were hurled into the air, out of sight. Sand piled up against the sagebrush and in some cases covered the lower shrubs. Clouds of dust enveloped the boy and the pony, each standing with bowed head and closed eyes, helpless before elemental fury.
Darker and darker grew the atmosphere; colder and colder, the wind. Younger Brother thought of his mother’s warm hogan with the sheep skins around the fire, but he said to himself, “I must travel to the west.”
While he stood there fighting the thought of the cosy family group, he was startled by a cry — a long shrill cry of despair. He could see nothing.
The cry was human. Out of the wilderness it came, adding terror to the storm. Younger Brother did not move. The pony trembled. The cry came nearer.
Younger Brother opened his eyes for a second. He could see nothing but whirling sand and tumbleweed. He shut his eyes again and leaned close against the trembling pony.
Another cry pierced the air. It sounded nearer, much nearer. When Younger Brother opened his eyes again he could distinguish a form moving toward him.
He, too, trembled and clutched the pony’s bridle to hold him. The pony reared in an effort to escape the phantom-like form in the dust. The boy’s impulse was to mount and ride away but something kept him rooted to the spot.
Before he knew what was happening, the phantom figure fell at his feet. The cry was silenced. Younger Brother looked down on the limp figure of a white boy. He was dressed in khaki and wore high laced boots. His hat was missing and his blond hair curled in a tangled mass about his forehead.
Younger Brother leaned over him. The white boy looked up at the Navaho, with eyes as blue as Hasteen Tso’s. He spoke the only Navaho word he knew, “Toh.”
Younger Brother untied a canteen of water from the saddle and the white boy lifted it to his lips. The toh revived him. Together the two boys sat by the pony with Younger Brother’s blanket about them. The wind was abating.
By sunset the dust no longer flew and the boys could see the western mountain dark against a vermilion sky. Younger Brother rolled his blanket, mounted his pony and motioned the white boy to sit behind him.
Together they rode toward the western mountain.
Clouds of dust enveloped the boy and the pony, helpless before elemental fury.
CHAPTER XVI
WESTWARD BOUND
ILE after mile of gray sagebrush stretched toward the purpling mountain, the only distinctive landmark in sight.
The white boy was straining his eyes in search of a lone cottonwood where he had left his roadster early in the afternoon.
Younger Brother kept a lookout for smoke from some hogan, as he had no desire to sleep out on the desert.
The pony was the first to find a camp, for he scented water and galloped gladly toward it. Younger Brother let him have the rein and soon, around a little rise of ground, they came upon a spring. The white boy shouted with joy, as he recognized the lone cottonwood by the spring; and there was his roadster, the cause of all his trouble. It had run out of gasoline, five miles from a trading post. The boy had started to walk to the post for help, when he was overtaken by the sandstorm and lost.
He motioned to Younger Brother to dismount and the two boys proceeded to set up a tent that was stored in the back of the car. The white boy took out his pots and pans while Younger Brother made a campfire of sagebrush. Soon the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying made the boys realize how hungry they were.
“Gee, this is the real thing,” said the white boy, as he opened a can of sardines and put two of them on a cracker.
“Have some ?” he asked the Navaho. Younger Brother shook his head, “No.”
When the big yellow canned peaches were passed, they were not refused. They are not taboo for Navahos, but fish is. My ! They tasted good ! Younger Brother watched every move of his new friend. He was a big boy about fifteen and though strong and muscular, seemed tired out after his fight with the wind. That was because he had become frightened and lost his head.
After supper Younger Brother watered the pony, removed the saddle, and took the blanket and sheepskin into the tent. Then he hobbled the pony so that he couldn’t wander too far away.
He gave a parting look at the western mountain all purple against the darkening sky, then went inside the tent and lay down on his sheepskin. He kept all his clothes on. He was much interested in watching the white boy unlace his boots, take off his khaki clothes and put on his white pajama suit, which looked just like the clothes the old Navaho men wore all the time in the summer, only this suit was much whiter.
He watched the boy brush his short blond hair and they both laughed at the sand that shook out of it. Then he untied the woolen string wound around the coil of his own hair and let the long black mass hang over his shoulders. He had no brush so he just ran his fingers through his hair and managed to get a lot of sand out.
The white boy watched him coil and tie his hair again. To him it seemed funny that any boy should have long hair like a girl’s but he was learning many new and different things as he traveled.
The boys slept soundly all night and in the morning the white boy tried to make Younger Brother understand what he wanted to do. He pointed to the auto and he pointed down the road, said “toh” and shook his head for “no.”
> The Navaho boy thought he wanted water and started toward the spring with a bucket. The white boy gesticulated, “No.”
Then Younger Brother had an inspiration. He said excitedly:
“Jedi-be-toh. Jedi-be-toh.”
Suddenly the white boy recalled that the Navahos call gasoline “jedi-be-toh.” He was delighted that they understood each other. He realized that jedi meant the sound of the engine. Toh meant water and be meant its, so there was the Navaho word for gasoline — “automobile its water.”
He was so delighted he shook Younger Brother’s hand and pointing down the road and to the pony said, “jedi-be-toh.” After a while he succeeded in making himself understood and the two started out again, riding the pony.
At the post the trader interpreted for the boys. He asked Younger Brother where he had come from.
“From the Waterless Mountain,” said the boy.
“Why are you with the Pelicano ?”
“The Pelicano boy was lost in the black wind. I put him on my pony. Tell the Pelicano my pony needs hay.”
Half a dozen Navahos were standing around and leaning against the counter. They had never seen Younger Brother before. They thought he was a smart boy to get hay for his pony.
The trader told the white boy it was up to him to pay for hay as well as for gasoline.
“Sure thing. I expect to, but how am I to get back with this gas ?”
“Where are you heading for ?” asked the trader.
“Grand Canyon. I expect to meet my folks there.”
“I’ll ask the kid what he will do for you.”
Younger Brother said he was riding west and if the Pelicano wanted him to he would go with him. Of course they could not pack much gasoline on the pony, but enough to get the car to the post, where the tank was filled and everything set for a western trail.
Waterless Mountain Page 7