All of my possessions, may they be made to increase.
And my flocks, may they be made to increase.
The blessing was finished. The people outside now entered the hogan and sat about the fire. The women brought in the food they had been preparing all day and set it down for the men to eat. Younger Brother ate with the others, enjoying again mutton roasted over the open fire.
He thought his sister-in-law looked very pretty in her new dress. She sat on a sheepskin, with her two babies. Little Sister was playing with the baby strapped in its cradle and both were laughing.
After the fine feast was finished, the men smoked tobacco, which they rolled in corn husks. Then everyone talked for two hours before leaving for home.
The wife of Elder Brother arranged with Uncle to come again in four nights and sing his songs of blessing. She told him she would give him two sheep for doing so.
Younger Brother decided to stay at the new hogan for a few days to visit with his sister-in-law. He told her everything that had happened on his journey to the wide water.
She thought he was a wonderful boy. They were sitting outside the hogan, facing the Waterless Mountain. She was sewing on a little dress for her baby.
She liked the story of the Deer People who had walked past Younger Brother when he camped at the western mountain. She said:
“Were you afraid when you were all alone ?”
It was a mile from the hogan to Standing Rock.
“Sometimes I was afraid but always it was of hidden things. I was never afraid of what I could see and smell and hear.”
“You were just afraid of chindi. I know. They come out of nowhere. I do not like them either.”
The boy looked at her and said, “They cannot hurt you if you say, ’the trail is beautiful, be still.’ If you say that Estsanatlehi will drive away the bad ones. Uncle told me that long ago.”
“Uncle is coming tonight to bless my hogan. I am glad of that for I want only good dreams here. I will give him two of my best sheep for singing the songs of blessing.”
“That is only right. Uncle’s songs are worth that much.” Just then Elder Brother rode up on his pony. He did not dismount but sat in his saddle looking at Younger Brother’s pinto tied to a tree.
“Your pony looks fat and lazy,” he said to Younger Brother.
“My pony is not lazy.”
“His legs are unused. I think he cannot run.”
“He will show you that he can run,” said the boy, as he untied the spotted horse and jumped into the saddle.
Before Elder Brother realized that a race was on, Younger Brother had a start of a hundred yards. The two brothers urged their ponies toward Standing Rock. They rode wildly, with their elbows out and flapping like wings.
It was a mile run from the hogan to the rock and Spotted Horse won. The brothers rode leisurely back, laughing and talking about the big feast to be given that night in the hogan.
“They say,” said Elder Brother, “that there will be beef and blue corn dumplings wrapped in husks.”
“They say there will be sweet watermelons too,” said Younger Brother.
The brothers were not disappointed when darkness came and the company sat about the fire, eating.
Uncle started the house songs of the east and west. All the men joined in and sang in lively fashion. They sang all night so that the last song was given just as the dawn broke over Waterless Mountain,
CHAPTER XXVI
ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP
IS THE company left the hogan Younger Brother and Uncle lingered in the doorway ! looking toward Waterless Mountain, with its long, straight top purple against the sky. The boy said, “I have never been up there. I ’ think I should like to go.”
“I have never been on top,” said Uncle, “but I know there is spruce growing there. I think we should go, you and I.”
The boy was very happy at the thought. For the next two days he helped Uncle get ready for the trip. They decided to take one pack animal to carry the blankets and sheepskins, food and a keg of water. Each rider had a small canteen of water tied to his saddle for Uncle said:
“We travel in a country without springs. 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.”
As Uncle and Younger Brother rode up the wash, the boy kept thinking of what Uncle had said.
“Who knows what may be in its heart.”
Deep, deep down under the earth were many mysteries and the source of many wonders. Uncle had told him of the Water People, who kept the rainbows in the heart of the earth, to send to the Sky People when they needed them to travel on.
As the two passed at the bottom of the cliffs on whose top was the big pool that poured its water down through the pipe, Younger Brother said to Uncle:
“Where does the water in the big pool come from ?”
“It must come from some higher place,” said Uncle.
“There is no higher place in sight except the Waterless Mountain.”
“That is true, but what of it, child ?”
“I was thinking about the deep heart of things. Maybe the Waterless Mountain has a pool buried in the deep below. Maybe it sends a river underground to the pool of the mesa.”
Uncle looked at the boy with pride and said:
“Once you sang a new song. I knew then you were made to follow me. Now you have spoken wisdom about the beginning of things, and the water from whence we came.”
“I speak only as my heart sings. Sometimes it sings till I feel pain deep down. Why should that be, Uncle ?”
“There are some truths you are yet too young to know, Little Singer. It is better that you watch your pony now as we climb the loose rocks. Soon we shall camp for the night.”
After another hour’s riding, the two made camp in a sandy hollow among the rocks, where one lone juniper tree lifted its dark branches above twisted gray roots.
Uncle hung the bridles on the juniper limbs, piled the saddles at its base, and put the water keg where Younger Brother could pour water for cooking. Then he tied the three horses about a hundred feet away from the camp.
The boy gathered sagebrush and juniper bark for the fire, while Uncle lay down on the sand to smoke the cigarette he had rolled in a corn husk.
While Younger Brother spread the sheepskins on the ground, the coffee boiled on the fire and the mutton ribs sizzled. Both the travelers were hungry. They liked the cold tomatoes eaten right out of the can. They went fine with the mutton.
By the time dusk had settled on the hills around, Uncle and Younger Brother lay back on the sheepskins with their feet to the fire and talked of the wonders the boy had seen at the wide water.
“I have saved the jar of water you brought. I shall need it at the next dance of the Yays, when the white earth will be mixed with the western water to make the paint for their bodies.”
“I am glad I brought it, Uncle.”
The boy was watching the stars appear in the blue-black sky.
“Did you once tell me that Coyote put the lights in the sky ?”
“Yes, First Man asked him to because the moon was not there every night and it was too dark. First Man planned the big star in the north, the star that never moves, and he planned the seven stars that move around it there.”
“What did he make the stars of ?” asked Younger Brother as he lay on his back watching the bright spots sparkling above.
“They were made of pieces of shining mica. First Man drew a plan on the sand, putting the mica in the places where he wanted the stars to be in the sky. Then along came Coyote and said ‘I want these three red pieces for my very own.’
“ ‘All right,’ said First Man, ‘but help me throw them all up in the right place.’
“So they threw the big pieces of mica up against the dark sky and they stuck just whe
re they wanted them to. After Coyote had placed his three red ones he was no longer interested so he just took all the mica that was left and placed it in his hands and blew on it.
“Puff, puff, he blew, and all the sparkling mica went up and stuck to the sky most anywhere. That is why we do not know the names of all the stars. They have no names because they never did have.”
“It doesn’t matter very much about names, Uncle, so long as there are things to think about. If my heart sings, I know it and I couldn’t tell anyone the name of the song.”
“That is because you are made for a real medicine man. We never name the things we sing because that would make them common.”
“Is that why mothers do not speak their children’s names ?”
“That is just the reason. Children are precious and mothers do not want everyone in the world knowing what name sings in the mother’s heart.”
“Only once, Uncle, has my mother called me by the name she gave me.”
“When was that, child?”
“That was when I was sick with heat in the head and when the Big Man came with the sweet yellow fruit. Mother sat on the floor beside me while we were alone. She held my hand in her cool hand and she leaned over me while my eyes were shut and she whispered, ‘Hayolkai Aski, my little Dawn Boy.’ I liked the name my mother made for me.”
“It is a good name. We will not speak it often because we do not want it to lose its power. Now let us sleep, child.”
Uncle wrapped the blanket close around the little dawn child of his sister, pulled his own cover close about him and turned on his side to sleep.
It must have been long after midnight when Uncle was awakened by the distant cry of a prowling beast. He was not familiar with the sound. It was not like the yelping of coyotes nor of foxes. It was a terrifying yell of some big animal, which drew nearer and nearer to the camp.
Uncle sat up to listen. He looked at Younger Brother sleeping peacefully by the little glowing campfire, totally unaware of the cry that was coming closer.
Uncle lay down again, perfectly still. As he listened he could hear at intervals between the hoarse yelps, the occasional crunching of small branches. He knew the night prowler was approaching. The animal no longer cried. Soon, Uncle saw a large, shadowy form moving about ten feet beyond Younger Brother.
Breathlessly Uncle watched and waited for the lithe figure to move on. With slow, deliberate steps and with head pointed straight forward, the big animal walked on past the camp without further cries.
Uncle knew that the Soft-footed Chief was on the scent of the horses which were tied about a hundred feet away. He rose quietly, seized a piece of juniper bark lying by the coals, dipped it in the fire and lit it, then ran quickly in the direction of the horses. He found them trembling with fear and trying to break away.
In the darkness he could not see the mountain lion but he stood by the horses and waved the firebrand. Soon, as he watched, he saw two glowing eyes shining out of the blackness. He shook the burning bark in front of the eyes until they moved away. Then he uttered a prayer ending with these words:
“Walk away in peace, Soft-footed Chief. Walk on the trail of beauty.”
Then Uncle untied the animals and led them to the camp.
“Wake up,” he said to Younger Brother. “It is time to make our coffee.”
After throwing some sagebrush on to the fire, Uncle tied the horses to the lone juniper tree and proceeded to put the saddles on them.
“Why do we wake so early ?” asked the sleepy boy.
“I will tell you when the dawn shows in the sky. Now you make the coffee. I feel the need of it.”
Younger Brother made the coffee. He was puzzled. His Uncle’s hand trembled when he took the coffee cup. He said, “I am just a little cold.”
Soon the gray light made things visible and Younger Brother went to gather more fuel for the fire. As he came back he stopped a few feet from where he had been sleeping and examined the sand.
“Uncle,” he cried. “Some big animal passed in the night. Here are his tracks.”
“Yes, my child. It was the Soft-footed Chief that passed. I spoke to him. I showed him the firebrand. He left, but he might come back.”
The boy said excitedly:
“What did he look like, Uncle ? Never have I seen him.”
“He looked like a mighty chief, the way he walked in slowness, and his voice was more powerful than any I have heard.”
“I wish that I too might have seen him.”
“It is enough that I saw him. My sister’s child already has the power of strong medicine. The beasts walk by him in peace.”
Uncle took out his medicine bag and touched the pollen to his tongue and his head, and threw some to the sun, which was just rising in the east. He passed the pollen to Younger Brother, who repeated the ceremony. Each said in his heart the silent prayer to the day.
By the time the sun was just above the horizon, the two riders were well on their way up a narrow gully filled with slabs of bright-colored sandstone and prickly cactus plants.
Uncle said, “The Cactus People always live in a land of mirage and bright rocks. They are a mighty people, who can cure trouble of the skin.”
“I should think they could cause trouble, too,” said the boy.
When the riders had nearly reached the top of the mountain, Uncle dismounted to pick some stalks of mountain tobacco, which grows only in high altitudes.
“This is for the sacred cigarettes of the Night Chant,” he said. “I am glad that I have found it.”
He carefully wrapped the stalks in a flour sack and tied the bundle to his saddle. Before very long the top of the mountain was reached. The riders jumped from their horses and sat down to enjoy a quiet smoke.
Looking back to the country they had left the day before, it was hard to realize that they had crossed deep canyons and climbed steep hills. The land lay flattened out in the distance.
Uncle waved his hand in an eloquent gesture from east to south, from west to north. Then pointing, he said:
“There is where my mother’s people made war on the Apaches. There is where my father’s people took the scalps of the Utes. There is where we captured the Mexicans, and there is the canyon where Kit Carson made us take the Long Walk. Some of us hid in the mountains where no Pelicanos have ever been.”
“Did any of us hide here ?” asked Younger Brother.
“That I cannot say. If there was no water here, it would not be a good hiding place. Let us walk to the north slope and see if any snow is left under the trees.”
They found some snow and melted a little over a fire so that the horses could have a good drink. They also filled their keg and canteens with melted snow.
While doing this Younger Brother noticed a queer little rock sticking out of the pine needles. He picked it up and found fossil sea shells imbedded in it.
“Look,” he cried. “The wide water has been here at some time.”
“Yes, it must have been here. Of that time I know nothing, but there are bones of ancient monsters in all our land.”
Younger Brother put the shells in his pocket. He would give them to Sister when he reached home.
Uncle cut some spruce boughs and tied them on the pack horse. The little cavalcade started down the mountain. Uncle said:
“I am glad we came because I need the mountain tobacco and the spruce. But we will go quickly home and not disturb the Soft-footed Chief tonight. I have seen how far spreads the land of my mothers and grandmothers and I feel light and happy within.”
The travelers reached home after dark, very glad to rest safely in Mother’s warm hogan.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE PACK RAT’S NEST
NCE more winter stood back to back with summer and the frost had made its presence felt. The old men told stories as they sat around the hogan fires. Every family was at home, for no nuts were on the piñon trees, and there was no need to go to the mountains. It was a bad winter for everyone. T
he traders could not pay cash for rugs and skins. They could not afford to loan money on the jewelry. Already too much turquoise and coral and silver hung unredeemed high above the counter.
Many families were forced to go without sugar and coffee. The Big Man did all he could to keep the people from going hungry.
Uncle said, “We have our sheep. We will not go hungry and we can keep warm in our hogans. My father has told me that when our people came back from exile when I was a little boy, they were so hungry that they ate roots and seeds of grass. Many times we have hungered in the past, but that has made us strong. Shall we be soft now ?”
“Tell us more of the exile, Uncle,” said Younger Brother. “I like to hear about the Long Walk.”
The family, including Elder Brother and his wife, were sitting about the fire. Father had just entered with an armful of wood. There were flakes of snow on his fur hat and on his blanket. He said:
“The northern brothers are facing us many times this winter.”
“Yes,” said Uncle. “The springs should flow with plenty after this. I shall feel like singing of the corn. My father once told me something that my heart remembers.”
All were quiet and attentive for they knew that Uncle was about to tell a story. He began:
“My mother’s brother was a singer of the Night Chant. He lived with his family near Standing Rock. He owned a set of the deerskin masks used by the Yays in the Night Chant.
“When the order came from Washington to send the Navahos to Fort Sumner, because some of them had been stealing Mexican horses, my uncle was much worried about the masks.
“They were very sacred to his people and he felt the responsibility of keeping them. He decided that he must hide them safely until the return of the people, so he carefully packed them in four big pottery jars, and hid the jars somewhere in the cliffs.”
Younger Brother’s eyes gleamed brighter and brighter as he listened to the story of the hidden masks. He was suddenly fired with ambition to find them.
Uncle continued his story as it had been told him by his father:
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