I looked into Rufus’ earnest face and said with certainty, “Maybe another woman will make my children.” Then I laid my fist over my heart and said, “I keep Juanita always here.”
Our little band of Mescaleros rode down the rocky, washed-out trail leading from Rufus’ canyon. To ensure our ride to the far Blue Mountains was unseen and unknown, Rufus gave us enough provisions to make certain we wouldn’t have to raid for supplies.
We rode south along the east side of the great river, staying in the shadows of the bosque until we waded a cattle crossing and passed west of the village at the great pass of the north, the place the Mexicans and Indahs call El Paso.
For two nights, we pushed at a steady pace across the Chihuahua llano, saving our horses, using little of the water we carried except for the children and horses. We stopped during the first day near a water tank our warriors knew from their raiding days and slept where we could see the tank but not be seen by others coming to slake their thirsts. The other warriors and I, vigilant and ready to defend the women and children, took turns watching over the sleepers and studying the Blue Mountains, which were slowly emerging from the haze, for landmarks pointing the way to Juh’s camp. Klo-sen was the only one in our band who had been to the fortress, and that, years ago in his very early warrior days. He said he knew it was on top of a great flat-topped mountain south of the little village of Janos and that he would know Juh’s mountain when he saw it framed by the mountains surrounding it.
On the second day, we slept hidden in brush on the south side of a small stream fast disappearing under the hot, early summer sun and passing a little south of Janos. Beela-chezzi, on watch that afternoon, reported that he saw a Chihenne Apache, no doubt one who rode with Victorio, creeping toward the north side bank like a big cat approaching a deer. He then signaled for Klo-sen, watching on the other side of the camp, to awaken me and He Watches and have us get ready to ride.
We watched as the Chihenne looked up and down the stream, slid down the bank to the edge of the water, and kneeled, while still looking up and down stream, to drink with a cupped hand while his pony, a tawny buckskin lathered from a hard ride, drank deep, long swallows. The scout didn’t let the pony drink too long before jerking him away from the water, and, leading him up the bank, rode back the way he came.
Soon he returned, leading a small band of warriors. Every gun we had was pointed where the scout had stopped to drink. I studied the face of each warrior who followed the scout and rode single file down the bank to drink. I recognized none of them until the last one rode into view. It was Ko-do. It was startling how much my young friend’s face had changed from adolescent boy to hard, flinty-eyed man, ready to kill or be killed. I started to signal him, but changed my mind, thinking it better no one knew we hid there.
The scout kept watch while the others drank and watered their horses. Each rider led spare mounts, some two, some three, and after drinking, each man changed to a fresh mount. After watering, the band gathered on the south bank. The leader pointed toward the mountains in the gray haze to the southwest, said a few words that we couldn’t hear, and then, pushing his pony to a distance-eating lope, headed in the direction he had pointed. We watched them disappear in a streamer of dust, and He Watches turned to me and said, “We’ll follow their trail and find Juh’s camp.”
“How do you know this, Grandfather?”
“They’re leading many spare horses and riding south. These are Victorio’s warriors, looking for supplies. Victorio and Juh’s wives are related, so Juh gives him supplies.”
Klo-sen nodded and said, “He Watches speaks true. They’re riding in the direction of Juh’s fortress.”
“Grandfather’s wisdom brings us light. We’ll follow their path, but now the women and children need to sleep.”
The warrior’s trail, not hard to follow in the bright moonlight, headed straight for the black outline of the mountains blocking out the stars on the horizon. As the outline filled more of the night sky, the trail led into an arroyo winding between increasingly steep hills until it became a small, burbling creek running down the middle of a wide canyon between high ridges that lay like fingers growing out of a mountain-sized hand. The sun was a bright glow still behind the southeastern mountains, but it lighted the eastern sides of ridges that ran to the top of the mountains and scattered pools of golden light across llano hilltops.
I sat studying the warrior’s trail out of the creek when Klosen rode up beside me and, pointing to a hulking mountain’s black outline in front of us, said, “That mountaintop, big and flat, is Juh’s stronghold. Soon we’ll find a trail out of the creek that goes up the ridge and follows many switchbacks. It looks like the spine of a snake. Wait here. When more light comes, Juh will see us. He will welcome us in good way.”
I nodded. “Enjuh. We’ll wait.”
Sliding off my pony, I led the band into the shadows of a large, dense grove of junipers. The women moved deep into the junipers, wrapped the children in blankets, gave them bits of warrior trail food to eat, and wrapping themselves in blankets, lay down with them. The men, melting into the brush and shadows close to the creek, becoming part of the scene, waited.
I studied the top of the mountain and the trail up the canyon with the Shináá Cho, but saw nothing move anywhere and wondered if Klo-sen was right about the top of the pine-covered mountain being Juh’s stronghold. When the sun had made a quarter of its arc across the brilliant, effervescent sky, I crept into the junipers, found Juanita, and told her to bring the women and children, and be ready to ride.
Just as Klo-sen had said, the trail up the canyon soon appeared, leading out of the creek toward the top. It was steep and used often, showing the tracks of many horses and cattle, and it used many switchbacks as it approached the top. As the elder of our band, He Watches led the way up out of the trees lining the trail and on to the mountaintop that spread out before us covered in groves of tall pines and long, grass-covered meadows. It was a relief to see groups of wickiups scattered over the top of the mountain and spaced apart for privacy, all facing east, beginning only a few hundred yards from where the trail topped out on the mountain. I guessed that the wickiups in the middle group, which were the largest, belonged to each of Juh’s wives.
Before us in the middle of the trail stood a tall, heavyset, Nednhi Apache, his hair in one long braid reaching almost to his knees, his arms, rippling with muscles, crossed, and his round face set in a not unfriendly frown of curiosity. Behind him stood the rest of the camp: warriors first, then the women, and behind them, the children, all studying us, taking in every detail. The only sound was the occasional snort from a horse and the wind whispering through the tall green pines.
The Nednhi said, “Mescaleros, welcome to Juh’s camp. Why are you here?”
He Watches rode forward, slid off his pony, and, with the help of his staff, hobbled the last few yards to stand straight before the man who towered over him. He waved his staff toward our little band and said, “Juh speaks true. We are Mescaleros. Once we lived in the camp of Cha in the mountains the Indah call Guadalupe. A witch and his warriors wiped most of us out over fifteen moons ago. They took scalps. We believe they came from the land of the Nakai-yes. The Witch is powerful and knows much about the Indeh. He came and destroyed our camp when many of our warriors were raiding south, and our lookouts were killed before they could warn us.
“Our warriors here, and three who ride with Victorio, are all who remain. We moved to live on the Mescalero Reservation to help the women and children the Witch missed survive the Ghost Face Season. It was a hard life, but I was told, much easier than San Carlos. The agents at Mescalero stole from us and were fools. But we kept to ourselves and took little from the Indah. A moon ago, Blue Coats came from many directions on the same day when the shadows were shortest and demanded we give up our rifles and ponies. Some Mescaleros did what the Blue Coats said. We did not. We hid from the Blue Coats and their Chiricahua scouts and kept our rifles and ponies, but
they caught and penned up our children and women. We took them back and rode for the Blue Mountains to find the camp of Juh.
“We ask Juh to let us camp in his stronghold until the Blue Coats grow tired and leave the Mescalero Reservation. We will hunt and help support the stronghold while we are here.”
As He Watches finished speaking, Juh, his face a thundercloud of anger, said, “The Mescaleros are our brothers. They have suffered much from the Nakai-yi Witch and Blue Coats, which all ought to be wiped out. There are too many to drive away, but many will die from our rifles and arrows. Stay with us. You’re guests in my lodge. Put your tipis near us. There is plenty of wood and water. Come to my lodge when the evening star rises. We will smoke and talk of vengeance against the Blue Coats and the Witch.”
He Watches said, “We thank Juh for his generous offer.”
Well before the sun sank below the western mountains, our women, with the help of the Nednhi women, had our tipis up and our stew pots bubbling. He Watches and I found a place to sit on the mountaintop cliffs and study the eastern llano with the Shináá Cho. We saw dust streamers on the roads, and on the llano, smoke from hacienda kitchens and small villages, herds of cattle, outlines of distant mountains in gray haze, and the occasional shadows of clouds sailing east.
Staring through the Shináá Cho, I said, “This is my memory from when we watched the llano and the sunrise road from the top of the Guadalupes, Grandfather.”
He Watches grunted. “It was not so long ago as men count seasons, my son. Study the llano and the mountains here with care. Someday your life may depend on it.”
He Watches sat in the place of honor to Juh’s left. I sat to his right, and Klo-sen and Beela-chezzi sat next to He Watches and me. Five of Juh’s most respected warriors completed the circle around Juh’s tipi fire. He rolled a cigarette using an oak leaf and tobacco he had traded for from a mercantile store in Casas Grandes. He lit it using a small stick from the fire, blew smoke to the four directions, and passed it to He Watches, who smoked and passed it on around the circle.
With the smoke complete, Juh, fire in his eyes, dispensed with the normal small talk preliminaries and said, “How can I help my Mescalero brothers?”
He Watches glanced at me, Klo-sen, and Beela-chezzi, and we all nodded for him to speak. “Fifteen moons ago, our camp in a Guadalupe canyon was raided. Many of our warriors, including these two men, Klo-sen and Beela-chezzi, and the three who ride with Victorio, were on a raid to the south with Cha. The raiders bewitched our lookouts, killed them, and wiped out our camp, warriors, women, and children. They scalped everyone, some scalps taken with the ears still attached. Tracks showed Indah and Indeh ponies were there. Some women and children who had left the camp early to gather food to save for the Ghost Face Season hid, and the Witch did not find them. I saw a giant Nakai-yi-Comanche lead the raid. His hair gone, he painted his head like a skull and laughed as he shot children and warriors. Other Nakai-yes were with him, and Indeh I believe were Comanches. My grandson here beside you, Yellow Boy, was north learning to shoot with an old Indah scout his father knew. That day, the giant killed Yellow Boy’s father. There in those mountains, Yellow Boy had his vision, learned his name, and Ussen gave him a gift. His gift? Ussen tells him to kill witches and send them blind to the land of the grandfathers. Two days before we were wiped out, Ussen sent him a dream. It said he must return to the Guadalupe camp. He saw a witch in his dream. Our burned wickiups still smoked when he returned. A killer of witches, he does not fear ghost sickness, and he buried the bodies left in the camp before he found me. He ate from contaminated food supplies, and did not get ghost sickness. He swears to avenge his father and the others killed in our camp. Because the Nakai-yes trade pesh-klitso for Apache scalps, we believe the Witch is here in the land of the Nakai-yes. Juh knows all in the land of the Nakai-yes. Help us. Tell us where we can find this witch and kill him.”
Juh looked at me, frowned, and, ignoring me, said to He Watches, “Why do you think this grandson who has few years as a warrior can kill this powerful witch? It wiped out nearly all of your people.”
I looked in the insulting, taunting eyes of Juh and said in an even voice, “Ussen told me I would be a killer of witches and send them blind to the land of the grandfathers. His gift of Power speaks in my name.” I held up the Henry rifle and explained, “This rifle is called Yellow Boy. We are as one. It does not miss. Ussen has given me this as a gift of Power. I will kill witches. I will shoot out their eyes. I do not miss.”
Juh’s warriors, their eyes glittering, looked at each other and then at me. Juh stared into the fire for a moment and then looked back at me. “Ussen has given you a great gift. If it is as you say, then you can kill the Witch who killed your father and wiped out your camp. Perhaps you will show us how well this weapon from Ussen shoots when the light comes. Perhaps then I will remember where I have seen the Nakai-yi you describe.”
I smiled. “When the sun is on this mountain, I’ll shoot. I’ll show Juh Ussen’s Power, and Juh will show me the way to the Witch. This is all I have to say.”
Juh nodded. “Enjuh!”
CHAPTER 38
JUH’S TRIAL
* * *
The morning sky was a brilliant, wildflower blue, the stronghold lighted by a sun of golden fire not yet high enough to burn away the failing dawn mists far out on the llano. The air was cool enough to see steam from the mouths of men gathering at the side of a meadow covered with bushes and grama grass. An ancient oak that had been struck by lightning stood alone in that meadow, a twisted, gray specter lifting its arms to the blue above us. With my rifle cradled in the crook of my left arm, I stood to one side of the gathering, relaxed, waiting. As if by magic, standing by my side, Juh appeared, big, intimidating, a slight smile wavering on his thin, brown lips.
“Young warrior, are you ready to show us the Power Ussen gives you?”
“I am ready. Choose the trial that can convince you my gift is from Ussen and that I have the power to put out the eyes of witches.”
Juh made a come-forward motion with the flat of his hand. A woman came out of the trees on the far edge of the meadow leading a Nakai-yi child by a rope around her neck. The little one was not more than five or six years old. The woman had tight hold of the rope with her right hand and carried a green, fist-sized gourd in her left. The whimpering child, her short legs churning, ran behind her pulling on the rope with both hands to keep from being choked. Reaching the men, the woman gave the rope to Juh while the child cried and jerked on the rope to be free.
Juh said, “I took this slave a moon ago on my last raid against the Nakai-yes. I thought maybe, if she lived, one day she will become one of us and give a man sons, which we need. But she will not stop her noise. Now, I think, soon I’ll have to cut her throat. She’ll never be an Apache if she can’t be silent. You come with your gift from Ussen. Now we’ll see if Ussen wants her to live. My woman will tie a gourd in her hair. She’ll free the slave near the lightning tree. The slave will run for the tree.” Juh held up his forefinger. “Shoot the gourd off the child without a scratch from your bullet before she reaches the tree, and I will agree that Ussen has given you Power to kill witches and leave them blind in the land of the grandfathers. Then I’ll try to remember where I think the Witch you seek lives, and you will own the slave. Do you agree to this trial?”
I looked at the lightning tree over a hundred yards away and then at the squirming, whining child. I looked at the grinning warriors around me and then at Juh. Lastly, I looked inside myself, found peace, and saw no blood on the child. I looked back at Juh and nodded.
Juh handed the rope to the woman and said, “Make the slave ready.”
The woman dropped the gourd, and took the rope. She kicked the child’s legs out from under her, knocking her on her back. The wind knocked out of her lungs, the child tried to yell, but, choking for air, made nothing but a sucking, wheezing sound. Like a cowboy tying a calf off for branding, the woman roped the child
in an eye’s blink so she couldn’t move, as scraping sounds in her throat signaled the return of air to her lungs. The woman pulled the child’s hair up off the sides of her head and used hair and string to tie the gourd in place on top of her head. She pointed at the gourd and then at her head, which she shook. As the gasping child began to cry, she repeated her signal and raised her brows as if to ask, “Do you understand?” The child continued to cry. The woman slapped her hard to get her attention and repeated her hand motions. This time the child nodded when the woman raised her brows.
She untied the rope from the child, roughly jerked her up, and led her wailing toward the scarred, twisted gray tree. When the woman was fifty yards away from the tree, she looked over her shoulder at Juh, who raised his hand. She stopped, pulled the rope off the child’s neck, and held her by a shoulder.
Juh turned to Yellow Boy. “Hit the gourd before the slave reaches the tree, and I’ll tell you of the Witch you hunt.”
He Watches clenched his teeth and said, “What Juh asks is impossible. He’ll kill the slave at that range.”
I shook my head. “I’ll shoot.”
Juh threw the edge of his hand forward. The woman said something in the child’s ear and pushed her forward. Stumbling and falling to her knees, the child got up and ran toward the tree in an awkward wobbling gait that made her path crooked and unpredictable. The gourd tied in her hair was an impossible target, difficult to see, bouncing and jiggling, swaying back and forth as she ran.
Killer of Witches: The Life and Times of Yellow Boy Mescalero Apache Page 23