The white boy led the way in his roadster and Younger Brother followed his tracks.
As he rode alone again he noticed clouds piling in the sky. The land was strange and new to him but the sky he could always read. He said to his pony, “The voice of the thunder will be heard in the land today.”
It wasn’t long before drops of rain spattered in the dust and on the sagebrush. It smelled so good, so fresh, just as it smelled at home near the Waterless Mountain.
The little pony jogged along, glad of the clouds which made shade for his going. He still followed the track of the roadster.
In the distance thunder was rolling and banging. By the time Younger Brother reached a high stretch of ground, he could see the opposite side of a rocky wash streaked with blue and red and yellow. Behind the mesa dark blue-black thunder clouds spit out streaks of lightning just like the darting tongues of serpents.
Rain began to fall in torrents. It washed away the tracks of the automobile and almost washed away the road itself. The water made deep channels, leaving a terribly high center in the road. Younger Brother followed the road until it forked on top of a steep bank. Below he could see water running in the wash. What had been a dry wash an hour ago, was now a raging torrent coming down from the mountains.
He wondered if his friend had been able to cross. At the forking of the road, Younger Brother turned to the right. He had not gone more than half a mile in the drenching rain before he found the white boy and his car stuck in the sand on the edge of the wash.
Younger Brother was wet to the skin but the white boy was dry. He had sat helpless with a blanket around him, after digging for an hour in the sand. The hind wheels were in mud to the hubs.
The white boy was glad to see Younger Brother ride up, and he motioned him to jump in the car out of the wet. There they sat, waiting for the rain to stop.
After a while the sun shone again, just long enough to say goodby, with a flood of orange and magenta light dancing on the rocky cliffs. The boys proceeded to make a fire. Younger Brother’s clothes must be dried. That was a problem as he had nothing to wear while they were drying. The white boy loaned him a blanket and as he sat by the little campfire he could see two Navaho horsemen on the opposite bank riding fast and furiously.
They slowed up as they approached the river and consulted about crossing. Then in Navaho fashion they dismounted, and urged their horses into the water to swim across. Each Navaho followed his horse, holding tightly to its tail while it swam. They crossed that way all right. Navahos are not strong on swimming. They let the ponies do it for them.
At the camp they sat down by the fire and joined the boys in a cup of coffee. They talked with Younger Brother and told him the machine might get lost in the night as the flood would get higher. One of the men said:
“What if it does ? Then the Pelicano will have to pay us for a pony.”
Younger Brother looked at the fellow. He had never met that kind of man before. He didn’t like his looks. He had little mean eyes and a cruel mouth.
Younger Brother said nothing for a while. He just sat, wrapped in the blanket, thinking. He knew the machine must be hauled back onto high ground and the sooner it was done the better. So he told the two men if they would help dig and push, the Pelicano would pay them.
“How much ?” asked the wicked-looking one.
“One peso,” said Younger Brother.
“It is not enough,” said the man.
“I think it is enough. It will buy much tobacco.”
The white boy was helpless in this situation. He knew that it was not safe to leave his car so near the water. He guessed that the men were bargaining so he held up two fingers and said, “Pesos.”
One man went to work with the shovel while the other brought sagebrush to fill up the soft muddy ruts. Younger Brother still sat wrapped in his blanket while the white boy jacked up the rear end of the car. After repeated trials of starting the engine and putting more brush in the ruts, the car was finally pulled out and off the road for the night. It was safe from the danger of a flood.
The white boy gave the men a dollar each and more coffee. As they rode away Younger Brother wished they had gone back across the water. He didn’t like them and he would feel easier to have a river between himself and the men.
The white boy was in the best of spirits because his car was safe. He thought what a lucky thing it was for him that he met the Navaho boy. It was good to have someone that could talk to the natives for him. He wished he could tell the Navaho that he liked him. Of course Younger Brother knew that he did, but white people always like to talk.
While the tent was being set up for the night, Younger Brother put on his clothes. They were nearly dry and he must attend to his pony, who was grazing a little way off.
He called the pony with a low sweet whistling sound. The white boy, busy driving tent stakes, thought he heard a mourning dove calling. He didn’t know that Younger Brother had taught the pony to obey that call. It had taken months to teach him but now he always answered.
The pony came up to have the saddle removed. He was a pinto pony marked with big white spots on red. A small white crescent between the eyes was the only mark on his red face.
Younger Brother took the buckskin hobble from the saddle and put it on the pony’s flanks. He went off to graze in the sagebrush.
A bucket of water was brought from the wash and left to stand over night. It was so muddy that it would take all night to settle. Everything was as cosy as possible inside the little tent and for the second night the two boys lay down to sleep.
The white boy was still wishing he could talk with the Navaho. There were so many questions to ask about cliff dwellings and arrows and old pottery and hunting. He knew that the boy had a bow and arrows but he hadn’t seen him use them yet. They were lying close to him with the bridle and the saddle blanket. The white boy thought the silver bridle was a beauty and he knew his mother would like to own the blanket with the red tassels on the corners.
Younger Brother didn’t miss the talking. Being an Indian he found entertainment in just lying still and doing nothing. Besides he was always thinking of the wide water where the Turquoise Woman lived in her turquoise house. He was content because he was headed toward the west. He fell asleep listening to the water roaring down the wash. It too was headed west and would some day lose its red, muddy self in the wide water, where the kind mother of all lived in her turquoise house.
CHAPTER XVII
ADVENTURES OF THE PINTO
URRAY for the desert !” shouted the white boy as he turned a somersault in front of the little tent.
“Hurray for the coffee and bacon,” he called, and turned another somersault.
Younger Brother stopped poking the sagebrush fire to watch the antics of his friend. He supposed he was performing some morning ceremony of the whites. Maybe it was his way of greeting the sun. Probably it was, for the whole valley shimmered in the glory of early sunlight. Everything was fresh and clean, washed by the rain of yesterday.
The air was invigorating and pungent with the smell of wet sagebrush. The swishing sound of water rose from the wash, which was still flooded from the cloudbursts of the previous day. The white boy knew he could not ford the stream for some time, so after breakfast he motioned to Younger Brother to go for the pony, indicating that he would clean camp, pack the car, and stay by the saddle.
So Younger Brother started out to follow the clear hoofprints in the damp sand. They led into the brush where the pony had grazed.
Probably he wasn’t far away. He never wandered too far from camp. For about a mile the boy walked, when he noticed the traces of two more horses. Still there was no sight of his pony.
Examining the tracks he realized that they were made by the horses of the two Navahos who had helped to dig the roadster out of the mud. He was alarmed for he could tell by his pony’s tracks that the hobbles had been removed.
With great anxiety he followed the marks back to t
he road he had traveled the day before. At a lone cedar tree the tracks led to the left and entered the brushy ground again.
Younger Brother was discouraged. Following on foot was slow but he kept on with only one thought. He must find his pony. On and on he trudged until he came to the edge of a deep gully made by the water from heavy rains.
Looking down the gully he saw a thin blue smoke rising above the far side of a bend. Carefully and quietly he walked in its direction, keeping on the crest of the bank. When he was ready to turn the bend, he hid in the bushes and listened.
He could hear the two Navahos talking. One was saying, “The pony will bring thirty pesos.”
“Who will buy it ? No one has thirty pesos.”
“If no one buys him, I, myself will ride him.”
“Yes, you say you will ride him but what shall I ride then ?”
“As you ride now.”
“Half of that pony is mine. We worked together.”
Younger Brother listened in wrath. That was his pony. Uncle had given it to him and he had trained it to do his will through the long days of sheep herding. They were the closest of friends. No one should steal the pony from him. No one could. He would get him back.
He crawled stealthily among the bushes until he was directly above the campfire of the horse thieves. He could see his pony with the two horses of the Navahos. He looked so beautiful, with the white crescent shining on his forehead and the pattern of big white-and-red spots marking the rounded grace of his body. He was not tied and was nibbling a few stray blades of grass on the margin of the gully.
Younger Brother crawled noiselessly through the brush to reach the windward side of the pony. There was just a little stir in the pure air and he figured it would carry the scent of him to his pony.
After a little while of patient waiting, he saw the pony lift his nose and sniff. Then he whinnied a little and pricked up his ears. The horse thieves noticed the actions and one of them said, “What does he hear ?”
“Nothing,” said the other. “I hear nothing.”
The pony decided to graze again, moving in the direction of Younger Brother. The two Navahos resumed their quarreling and while they were talking Younger Brother breathed his own special note of the mourning dove.
Immediately the pony ran toward the sound, whinnying as he went. He started right up the wet sandy bank of the gully. In his haste he dislodged big chunks of dirt, precipitating a small landslide.
The horse thieves jumped to their saddles to pursue. Younger Brother trembled with excitement as he saw them start toward the bank.
Again he whistled the mourning dove note and he could see his pony leap to the top of the bank. His head was held high and his nostrils distended.
Another big piece of dirt fell from behind him, uprooting a yucca plant which rolled down the bank, landing in the path of the horse thieves.
Younger Brother remained hidden, expecting to be discovered at any minute. He was alert, waiting for the right moment to emerge from the bushes. He could not see the thieves.
Suddenly he heard them yell in terror. They were calling “Chindi, chindi, ghost,” and as the boy peeked out from behind the bush he could see the two rascals riding up the opposite bank as fast as their horses could carry them.
Younger Brother was amazed. He wondered what had frightened them. Maybe they had seen his eyes peering through the bushes. He didn’t know what the dislodged yucca plant had uncovered. From the top of the bank he couldn’t see the prehistoric grave with its beautiful big pottery jar standing beside an ancient skeleton.
The thieves had seen it and they were horrified. They had no desire to own a pony who must be chindi himself. Why had he whinnied and looked in the direction of the grave? He must have known it was there.
Younger Brother wondered what had frightened them.
So the thieves rode away frightened out of their wits.
Younger Brother walked boldly to the edge of the bank and looked over. He could see the beautiful jar, so big it would take both of his arms to reach around it.
He would like to take it to the white boy but, when he ran down the bank and saw the bones, he wouldn’t touch the jar. He knew it belonged to the ancient people. Uncle had always told him to leave such things alone.
So he went up the bank and mounted his pony, happy to have him again. He rode bareback to camp, where he found the white boy rather anxious.
Younger Brother was excited and tried to tell his story with gestures. He could not make himself understood.
By this time the water had gone down in the wash, so that it was safe for the roadster to cross. Younger Brother rode his pony in to test the bottom. It was rocky, so there was no fear of quicksand.
Once more the boys were westward bound. They stopped at the next trading post for gasoline. The trader was good-natured and allowed them to camp near the store and put the pony in the corral with a good supper of hay.
The boys spent the evening with the trader in his living room. It was a splendid big stone-walled room with Navaho blankets hanging on the walls and piled half way to the ceiling in one end of the room. The floor was carpeted with the blankets. A big stone fireplace suggested cosy evenings in the winter time.
The white boy asked the trader to find out what had happened to his Navaho friend that morning, and Younger Brother told about the horse thieves.
“They tried to steal my pony,” he said.
“What did they look like, my boy ?”
“Like the spittle of snakes, like dried coyotes, like chindi.”
“Hard to identify,” said the trader. “Try again.”
“One was squint-eyed, with a mouth that could kill.”
“Sounds like Cut Finger. He’s a bad egg,” said the trader, turning to the white boy. “The government’s looking for him. How did you get the pony back, boy ?”
“He came when I called him.”
“Well, well, as easy as that !” laughed the trader. “What became of the thieves ?”
“They rode to the north when my pony found the pot and the bones.”
“Found what pot, what bones ?”
“The big red pot with the black snake on the outside.”
The trader was excited by this time. “How big was the pot ?”
“So big my arms could not reach around it.”
“Will you show me the place tomorrow ?”
“No, I must travel to the west. It is not good to disturb the ancient people.”
Nothing could induce Younger Brother to guide the trader to the place of the pot.
The white boy was excited about the pot because his father was an archaeologist looking for old things. He decided to investigate for himself. He wanted to find the pot.
So the next morning he and Younger Brother parted company. He gave the Navaho boy a dollar for a present and watched him ride his pinto pony into the west.
Younger Brother was again free to dream of the wide water. He couldn’t help feeling a bit homesick as he rode past hogans or watched a flock of sheep herded by some child; but coupled with the feeling of homesickness was the urge to be free.
CHAPTER XVIII
SECRETS TO SHAKE
OUNGER BROTHER’S spirits rose as he traveled. He was unhampered by any routine duty. It was such a relief to be freed from sheep herding. The pony could graze at night and the boy could hunt for rabbits when he needed them. He still had dried meat in the flour sack. The corn cakes were gone, but he could always stop at a hogan if he wished. There he would be welcome.
With no material thing to worry about, he had time to dream to his heart’s content as he journeyed toward the west.
At times he was lonely, but not for any particular person. The loneliness came when he was the happiest. Then he felt the old longing to share his joy with someone, as he had wanted to share the secret of the cave when he was a little boy.
He had other secrets now which he wanted to share, but they were such sacred secrets he was sure no
one but the Turquoise Woman would understand them. She had understood the
loneliness of the White Shell Woman when the waterfall was calling. He was sure she could understand him. He was puzzled about all the things that were happening inside of him.
The songs of birds made him run to the hilltops. The hilltops made him sing when he felt like crying. The sage-scented wind made him sigh and when he touched the soft nose of his pony, a shivery joy ran all through his body.
He remembered all the beautiful things of the past — the deer dancing in the sunlight, the bumblebee and the pollen, the tail feathers of Yellow Beak, the deep, deep pool. Most of all he remembered the wand he had dressed for the girl to carry in the dance of the maidens.
Uncle had told him that the wand had something to do with the Turquoise Woman. He remembered the story of her journey to the west and he liked to think that he was traveling the same trail.
The Sun Bearer had urged her to travel west, because he loved her and wanted her to make a home for him there. They had discussed the subject while they sat on top of one of the seven sacred mountains, and she had told the Sun Bearer that she did not like to leave her sister and her sons. She asked, “Why should I move to a strange place where I should be alone all day ?”
He answered, “Your boys told me you would go.”
“I am not bound by the promise of my sons. I am a woman of freedom, who speaks for herself.”
“But I want you to go to the west,” pleaded the Sun Bearer. “I want you for my own.”
“No, no, no, no,” said the beautiful Turquoise Woman.
The fifth time that the Sun Bearer begged her to make a home for him, she said, “Well, what kind of home would it be ? I know that you have a good house in the east. I have heard about it.”
“It is a beautiful house,” said the Sun Bearer.
“Mine must be more beautiful,” said the Turquoise Woman.
The Sun Bearer smiled. He felt sure that he was winning her. She continued, “My house must float on the western water, away from the shore, because I do not want everyone visiting me. Certain people annoy me.”
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