The Delight Makers

by Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier

  CHAPTER II.

  The homes of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico, especially as regards thesize and disposition of the rooms, are to-day slightly modified fromwhat they were in former times. An advance has been made, inasmuch asthe buildings are not any longer the vast and ill-ventilated honeycombscomposed of hundreds of dingy shells, which they were centuries ago. Thehouses, while large and many-storied, are comparatively less extensive,and the apartments less roomy than at the time when the Queres lived inthe Rito de los Frijoles.

  The two rooms where we left the lads and their mother at the close ofthe preceding chapter formed such a home. In the front one the familyslept at night, with the exception of Okoya who was obliged to join theother youths in the estufa of his clan. The husband was not always athome after sunset. But the mother, Shyuote, and a little girl four yearsold invariably took their nightly rest there. To the little girl we havenot yet been introduced. When the boys returned she was in thecourt-yard at play, and in the usual state of complete undress which isthe regular condition of Indian children of her age.

  The inner cell was kitchen and storeroom, and there the family partookof their meals.

  Among the Pueblos the house was in charge of the women exclusively,everything within the walls of the house, the men's clothing and weaponsexcepted, belonging to the housekeeper. Even the crops if once housedwere controlled by her. As long as they were in the field, the husbandor masculine head of the family could dispose of them. Afterward he mustconsult the woman, and he could not sell an ear of corn without herconsent. It is still so to-day in many villages. Formerly all thefield-products were gathered and stored in the granaries of the severalclans whence each household drew its supplies. Even the proceeds ofcommunal hunts and fisheries were treated in this manner. Only where thehusband, son, or brother killed game while out alone, could he do withit as he pleased.

  Not many centuries ago the members of each clan, or rather the women,their offspring, and aged people who were taken care of by theirchildren, lived together. They occupied a certain section of the greathive which the communal dwelling represented, and such a section was notunappropriately called in Spanish a _quartel_ or quarter. The husbandalso stayed with his wife and the younger children, but he had no rightsas owner, or proprietor, to his abode. Since it was the custom for womento raise the walls of buildings, and to finish the house inside andoutside, they owned it also. The man was only tolerated. His home wasproperly with his clan, whither he must return in case his spousedeparted this life before him.

  It was different in regard to the fields. Each clan had its particularholding, and since the field-work devolved upon the men, the cultivatedplots belonged to them alone. Within each allotment every member who wasof age, or so situated as to have to support himself or a family, ownedand tilled a certain plot which was his by common consent, although inno manner determined by metes or bounds. The condition of ownership wasregular improvement of the plot, and if that condition was not compliedwith, any other member of the same clan could step in and work it forhis own benefit. In case of death the field reverted to the maternalrelative of its owner, whereas the widow and children fell back forsupport upon the resources of their own clan. Hence the singular featurethat each household got its livelihood from two distinct groups ofblood-relatives. The home which we have entered belonged to the quartersof the Gourd people, or clan Tanyi hanutsh, from which the motherdescended; and Okoya had slept at night in the estufa of that clusterever since his thirteenth year. But the cultivated patch which thefather tilled pertained to the fields of his clan, that of Water, Tzitzhanutsh. Though the Water people were his relatives, the crop raised byhim found its way into the storeroom of Tanyi for the support of thefamily which he claimed as his own.

  Okoya's mother scanned her boys with a sober glance, and turned backinto the kitchen without uttering a word.

  Soon a grating sound issued from that apartment, indicating that toastedcorn was being ground on the flat slab called in Queres, _yakkat_, andnow usually termed _metate_ in New Mexico. The boys meanwhile hadapproached a niche in the wall. Each one took a pinch of yellow cornmealfrom the painted bowl, and scattered it successively to the north, west,south, east; then threw a little of it up in the air and to the groundbefore him. During this performance their lips moved as if in prayer.Then they separated, for the spirits had been appealed to, and theirentrance into their home was under the special protection of ThoseAbove. Shyuote, whose trout had been ruined during the combat with thegirls, threw himself on the roll in the corner, there to mourn over hisdefeat. Okoya went out into the court-yard. Both expected an early meal,for the fire crackled in the dark kitchen, and a clapping of hands gaveevidence that corn-cakes were being moulded to appease their hungrystomachs.

  The court-yard had become very quiet. Even the children had gone to restin a shady place, where they slept in a promiscuous heap, a conglomerateof human bodies, heads, and limbs, intermingled. The form of an old manrose out of a hatchway in the ground-floor, and a tall figure, slightlystooping, clad in a garment, and with a head of iron gray hair, stood onthe flat roof. He walked toward a beam leading down into the court,seized its upper end and descended with his face toward the wall, butwithout faltering. A few steps along the house brought him in front ofOkoya, who had squatted near the doorway of his mother's dwelling. Theyouth was so absorbed in gloomy thoughts that the man's appearance wasunexpected. Starting in surprise and hastily rising, Okoya called intothe house,--

  "Yaya, sa umo,--'Mother, my grandfather!'"

  The old man gave a friendly nod to his grandchild, and crossed thethreshold, stooping low. Still lower the tall form had to bend whileentering the kitchen door. He announced his coming to the inmate in ahusky voice and the common formula,--

  "Guatzena!"

  "Raua,--'good,'" the woman replied.

  Her father squatted close to the fire and fixed his gaze on hisdaughter. She knelt on the floor busy spreading dough or thick batter ona heated slab over the fire. She was baking corn-cakes,--the well-known_tortillas_ as they are called to-day.

  After a short pause the old man quietly inquired,--

  "My child, where is your husband?"

  "Zashue Tihua," the woman answered, without looking up or interruptingher work, "is in the fields."

  "When will he come?"

  The woman raised her right hand, and pointed to the hole in the wall,whence light came in from the outside. The wall faced the west, and theheight of the loophole corresponded to that of the sun about one hourbefore sunset.

  "Give food to the children," directed the old man. "When they have eatenand are gone I shall speak to you."

  The fire crackled and blazed, and ruddy flashes shot across the featuresof the woman. Was it a mere reflection of the fire, or had her featuresquivered and coloured? The old man scanned those features with a cold,steady look.

  She removed from the fire the sooty pot of clay in which venison cut insmall pieces was stewing together with corn, dark beans, and a few rootsand herbs as seasoning. Then she called out,--

  "Shyuote, come and eat! Where is Okoya?"

  The latter alone heard the invitation, for Shyuote had gone to sleep onthe hides. The elder brother shook him, and went into the kitchen. Hewas followed by the child who staggered from drowsiness. The mothermeanwhile had placed on the floor a pile of corn-cakes. Beside it, in anearthen bowl decorated inside and out with geometrical lines, steamedthe stew. Dinner was ready; the table spread.

  To enjoy this meal both lads squatted, but Shyuote, still half asleep,lost his balance and tumbled over. Angry at the merriment which thiscreated, the boy hastily grabbed the food, but his mother interfered.

  "Don't be so greedy, uak,--'urchin.' Remember Those Above," she said;and Shyuote, imitating the example of Okoya, crossly muttered a prayer,and scattered crumbs before him. Then only, both fell to eating.

  This was done by simply folding a slice of the cake to form a primitiveladle, and dipping the contents of the stew out wit
h it. Thus theyswallowed meat, broth, and finally the ladle also. Okoya arose first,uttering a plainly audible hoa. Shyuote ate longer; at last he wiped hismouth with the seam of his wrap, grumbled something intended forthanksgiving, and strolled back to his resting place in the front room.Okoya went out into the court-yard to be alone with his forebodings. Thesight of his mother seemed oppressive to him.

  After the boys had gone the woman emptied the remainder of the stew backinto the pot, filled the painted bowl with water, and put both vesselsin a corner. Then she sat down, leaning against the wall, lookingdirectly toward her father. Her face was thin and wan, her cheeks werehollow, and her eyes had a suppressed look of uneasiness.

  The old man remained quietly indifferent as long as the meal lasted;then he rose, peeped cautiously into the outer apartment, resumed hisseat, and spoke in a low tone,--

  "Is it true that you have listened to kamonyitza,--'black corn'?"

  The woman started. "Who says so?" she answered with sudden haste.

  "The Koshare," replied the old man, looking at her with a cold steadygaze.

  "What do I care for them," exclaimed his daughter. Her lips curled withan air of disdain.

  "It may be," spoke her father, in measured tones, "that you do not wishto hear from them; but I know that they care for your doings."

  "Let them do as they please."

  "Woman," he warned, "speak not thus. Their disposition toward you is nota matter for indifference."

  "What reason have they to follow my path? I am a woman like many othersin the tribe, nothing more or less. I stay with my husband," she went onwith greater animation. "I do my duty. What have the Delight Makers tosay that might not be for my good?"

  "And yet, you are not precious to them--"

  "Neither are they precious to me," she cried. Her eyes sparkled.

  Her father heaved a deep sigh. He shook his head and said in a huskytone,--

  "Woman, your ways are wrong. I know it, and the Koshare know it also.They may know more, much more than I could wish," he added, and lookedinto her eyes with a searching sorrowful glance. An awful suspicion layin this penetrating look. Her face flushed, she bent her head to avoidhis gaze.

  To the gloomy talk succeeded a still more gloomy silence. Then the womanlifted her head, and began entreatingly,--

  "My father, I do not ask you to tell me how you come to know all this;but tell me, umo, what are these Delight Makers, the Koshare? At everydance they appear and always make merry. The people feel glad when theysee them. They must be very wise. They know of everything going on, anddrag it before the people to excite their mirth at the expense ofothers. How is it that they know so much? I am but a woman, and the waysof the men are not mine," she raised her face and her eyes flamed; "butsince I hear that the Delight Makers wish me no good, I want to know atleast what those enemies of mine are."

  The old man lowered his glance and sighed.

  "My child," he began softly, "when I was young and a boy like your sonOkoya, I cared little about the Koshare. Now I have learned more." Heleaned his head against the wall, pressed his lips firmly together, andcontinued, "The holders of the paths of our lives, those who can closethem when the time comes for us to go to Shipapu, where there is neithersorrow nor pain, have many agents among us. P[=a]yatyama our Father, andSanashtyaya our Mother saw that the world existed ere there was light,and so the tribe lived in the dark. Four are the wombs in which peoplegrew up and lived, ere Maseua and Oyoy[=a]u[=a] his brother led them towhere we are now, and this world which is round like a shield is thefourth womb."

  The woman listened with childlike eagerness. Her parted lips andsparkling eyes testified that everything was new to her.

  "Father," she interrupted, "I knew nothing of this. You are very wise.But why are women never told such things?"

  "Don't cut off my speech," he said. "Because women are so forward, thatis why many things are concealed from them."

  "But," she continued, heedless of his rebuke, "where are the other threeworlds?"

  "This question I shall answer," he said, "for it is wise in you to speakso. Haatze the earth is round and flat, but it is also thick like acake. The other three wombs are down below inside, one beneath theother. At Shipapu the people came out upon this world which is thefourth womb, but it was cold and dark. Then the great sun rose in theheavens above. In it P[=a]yatyama dwells, and on it he rides around theworld in one day and one night to see everything which happens. It isday and light, night and dark. We have also summer and heat, winter andcold. For this reason there are summer-people and winter-people, somewho like to live when it is cold and others who enjoy the heat. Everytribe, every clan, has some of both kinds. Thus they came out of thethird world, and thus they have remained until this day. It was cold atShipapu when the people came out on the surface, and Those Above sawthat they felt weak. Toward the south it was warm and bright, so Maseuaand his brother said to their children, the men of our tribe, 'Go youwhere there is more light;' and the summer people they directed to goalong the Rio Grande; the winter people they sent south also but fararound by the east over the plains where the great buffalo is roaming,where the wind blows and it is cold and dry. To both kinds of men theysaid, besides, 'Come together in the mountains and live there in peace,each one getting food for himself and others as you are wont to do.'But, lest the people might get weary on their long journey, Maseua andhis brother commanded that from Shipapu there should come forth a manwhose body was painted white and black, and who carried on his headdried corn-leaves instead of feathers. This man began at once to dance,to jump, and to tumble, so that the people laughed and their heartsbecame glad. This man led the summer-men southward, and as often as theygrew tired he danced again and made jests; and the tribe followed himuntil they came to where we are now, and all met again. Thesummer-people never suffered hunger in all their wanderings, for theirleader was precious, and wherever they went he caused the fruits to beripe. That man was the Koshare.[4] Since that time there have beenKoshare in every tribe. Their task it is to keep the people happy andmerry; but they must also fast, mortify themselves, and pray to ThoseAbove that every kind of fruit may ripen in its time, even the fruit inwoman's womb. To them is given the yellow flower from the fertilebottoms which makes the hearts of men glad. Now you know what theKoshare are and," he added emphatically, "why you should not laugh andmake merry when you are not precious to them."

  The woman had listened with breathless attention. At the close, however,she hung her head and sighed. The old man gazed at her in silence. Inthe outer room the regular breathings of the sleeping boy were heard,otherwise all was as still as a grave.

  At last she lifted her face again.

  "Father," she asked, "are those who are precious to the holders of ourpaths, are they always good?"

  "I need not tell you about this," he replied, fixing upon her apenetrating glance.

  "I know of nothing evil," she stammered, "unless it be bad men."

  "And yet you have used owl's feathers!"

  Her face grew pale. She asked hoarsely,--

  "Where should I keep them?"

  "The Koshare know it," was the equally husky reply.

  She started, her eyes gleamed like living coals.

  "Have the Koshare sent you here, father?"

  "No," was the gloomy answer; "but if the old men come to me and say,'kill the witch,' I must do it. For you know I am Maseua,head-war-chief, and whatever the principals command I must do, even ifit takes the life of my only child!"

  The woman rose to her feet; her attitude was one of defiance.

  "Let the Koshare speak, and do you as you are commanded. The time mustcome when I shall have to die. The sooner it comes, the sooner shall Ifind rest and peace with our mother at Shipapu."

  Her father also had risen, he clutched his cotton garment as if a suddenchill went through his body. Without a word he turned and went offdejected, stooping, with a heavy sigh.

  The woman dropped to the floor beside the hearth with
a plaintive moan.She drew her hair over her face, weep she could not. The embers on thehearth glowed again, casting a dull light over the chamber.

  Say Koitza, as this wretched woman was called, was the only child of himwith whom she had just had this dismal interview. His name wasTopanashka Tihua, and he was maseua, or head-war-chief, of the tribe. Intimes of peace the maseua is subordinate to the tapop, or civilgovernor, and as often as the latter communicates to him any decision ofthe tribal council he is bound to execute it. Otherwise the maseua isreally a superior functionary, for he stands in direct relation to thereligious powers of which we shall hereafter speak, and these in realityguide and command through oracles and prophetic utterances. In war themaseua has supreme command, and the civil chief and the diviners, ormedicine-men, must obey him implicitly as soon as any campaign isstarted.

  Topanashka was a man of great physical vigour notwithstanding his age.He was highly respected for his skill and bravery, and for his sternrectitude and obedience to strict duty. He feared nothing except thesupernatural powers of evil. There is nothing the Indian fears, nayhates, so much as sorcery. Topanashka could scarcely believe that hisdaughter had tampered with magic by causing the dark-coloured corn tospeak, and keeping owl's feathers in her possession. Still, if such werereally the case, he knew of no other course to pursue but to execute thepenalty which according to Indian ideas she deserved, and which theleading men of the tribe composing its council would undoubtedly meteout to her,--death; a cruel, terrible death. But she was his only child,and ere he placed faith in the suspicion communicated to him in secretby one of the shamans in the tribe, he wanted to satisfy himself fromher own behaviour whether it was true or not. To his deepest sorrow SayKoitza's behaviour seemed to prove that she was not falsely accused. Itwas a terrible blow to the old man, who for the first time in his liferose from a task bewildered and hopeless. Duty was to him paramount, andyet he could not utterly stifle the longing to save his only child froma cruel and ignominious fate.

  His daughter too felt utterly wretched, and despondent in the highestdegree. For the accusation against her was true. She had practised thedread art; and yet, strange to say, while conscious of guilt, in thebottom of her heart she felt herself innocent. Let us recall the pastlife of the unhappy being to see whether there is in it anything toexplain this apparent anomaly.

  When Say Koitza was fourteen years of age her husband Zashue Tihua beganto pay her his first attentions. He called at her mother's home oftenerthan any other youth of her tribe, and one afternoon, when she wasreturning from the brook with a jar filled with water on her head, hestopped her, dipped some water out of the urn, drank it, and whisperedsomething to which she gave no reply, hurrying home as rapidly aspossible. She could not speak to her mother about this, for her motherwas hopelessly deaf, and it would not have been proper to consult herfather, since the father belonged of course to another clan. A wholenight and one full day Say pondered over the case; at last her mind wasmade up. The girl took a dish filled with corn-cakes and rolls of sweetpaste of the yucca-fruit, and placed it on her head. With this load sheclimbed up the rugged slope leading to the dwellings of the Water clan,to which Zashue belonged. The lad was sitting in the cave inhabited byhis family, busying himself with straightening arrow shafts over thefire, when the girl, pushing before her the loaded tray, crept throughthe port-hole. Silently she placed the food before him, and went outagain without a word. This was her affirmative reply to his wooing.Thereafter, Zashue visited the quarters of the Gourd people at the bighouse every night. Along the foot of the cliffs, in soft ground, and ina lonely sheltered spot, he meanwhile planted four stakes connected bycross-poles. From end to end cotton threads were drawn lengthwise, andhere Zashue wove a cotton wrap day after day. The girl would steal outto this place also, carrying food to the young artisan. She wouldcleanse his hair while they chatted quietly, shyly at first, about thepresent and the future. When the mantle was done and it looked white andfirm, Zashue brought it to Say Koitza's mother, who forthwith understoodthe intention of his gift, and felt gratified at the prospect ofsecuring a son-in-law who possessed cotton. The plant was not cultivatednear the upper Rio Grande at that time, and had to be obtained from thefar south by barter. Many journeys distant, Pueblo Indians lived also,and thither the Queres went at long intervals to trade and to hunt thebuffalo on the southwestern plains.

  Topanashka also was pleased with the suitor. In due course of timeZashue Tihua and Say Koitza, therefore, became man and wife.

  Rito de los Frijoles

  A cliff estufa of the Snake-Clan]

  Zashue proved to be a good husband, according to Indian ideas. He workedand hunted dutifully, providing the storerooms of Tanyi Hanutsh withsupplies of which his wife, and through her he also, enjoyed thebenefit. He spun cotton and wove it into wraps, scarfs, and sashes.Furthermore, he was always good-natured and merry. He did not spend toomany nights out of his wife's home, either. They had three children,Okoya, Shyuote, and a little girl. Of these Shyuote became the father'sfavourite, for when the child was yet small it happened that his fathermade a vow to make a Koshare of him. Zashue was a Delight Makerhimself, and one of the merriest of that singular crew. Among them hewas perhaps the most popular; for while good-looking, his strength andagility enabled him to perform in a conspicuous manner, and his readywit and quick conception of everything ludicrous caused him to shine asa great light among that society of official jesters.

  So the two lived in quiet and sober content. Zashue was pleased with hisspouse. She kept her looks well with advancing years, and while there isnever among Indians that complete intimacy between man and wife whichengenders fidelity under all circumstances, while a certain freedom ofaction is always permitted to the man toward the other sex, Say hadnatural tact enough to never pry into such matters. She, in turn, didher duty. Always at home, she faithfully fulfilled her obligations ashead of the house, and naturally shrank from all society but that of herown sex and such men as were allied to her by near ties of relationship.When she told her father in that sad interview that she was faithful toher husband, Say had told the truth. And yet there was something thatcaused her to plead guilty.

  The family had lived contentedly, and no cloud appeared to hang overthem until, a few years previous to the date of our story, Say Koitzafell ill from want of proper care. Mountain fever is not infrequentlyfatal, and it was mountain fever that had seized upon the delicate frameof the little woman. This fever is often tenacious and intermittent;sometimes it is congestive. Indian medicine may cure a slight attack,and prevent too frequent returns of more violent ones; but if the caseis a serious one, Indian remedies are of no avail. Say suffered from aslight attack at first, and recovered from it. A primitive cold-watertreatment was effective for the time being; but in the year ensuingfever set in again, and no sudorific was of any use. She tried adecoction of willow bark, but it did her no good. She took the root ofthe yucca, or soapweed, and drank the froth produced by whipping waterwith it, but gained no relief. The poor woman did not know that theseremedies are not employed by the Indians in a case like hers, but onlyfor toothache and, in the case of soapweed, for consumption.

  Thus it went on for three years. During the dry seasons there were nosigns of the illness; but as soon as, in July or August, thunderstormsshed their moisture over the mountains, and chilly nights alternatedwith warm sunshine, the fever made its appearance. Two years before therainy season had lasted unusually long, and it was followed immediatelyby snow-falls. The attacks from the disease were therefore unusuallyviolent, and by November Say Koitza thought herself dying from weaknessand exhaustion. Her condition was such that her husband felt alarmed,and every effort was made to relieve her by the aid of such arts as theIndian believes in. The chief medicine-man, or great shaman, of thetribe had to come and see the patient, pray by her side, and then gohome to fast and mortify himself for four consecutive days. His effortshad no effect whatever. Every indigenous medicine that was thought ofhad been already used, and no
ne had been of any avail.

  At last the shaman, encouraged by the many blue and green stones, cottonwraps, and quantities of corn meal which Zashue Tihua contributed inreward of his juggleries, resolved to make a final trial by submittinghimself and his associates to the dangerous ordeal of fire-eating forthe invalid's sake. This ceremony was always performed by a certaingroup of medicine-men, called therefore Hakanyi Chayani, or FireShamans. The Hishtanyi Chayan was their official head, and he, with thefour others belonging to the fire-eating crew, fasted rigorously forfour days and nights. Then they went to the house of Say Koitza, and inher presence sang the powerful song, while each one of them in turnwaved a burning bunch of long dry grass to the six sacred regions, andeach time bit off a piece of the burning weed and chewed it. When allhad gone through the performances, and their mouths were well filledwith ashes, each one gravely stepped up to the invalid, and spat thecontents of his mouth in her face. Then they departed as quietly as theyhad come, and went home to await the results of the wonderful remedy.[5]It was a last, a supreme effort.

  The condition of Say could not fail to arouse the sympathies of her ownsex, even outside of her clan. Many were the calls from compassionatewomen. They would drop in, squat down, tender their services, suggestremedies, and gossip. Only one woman made herself directly useful, andthat was Shotaye, a member of the Water clan. Shotaye was a strangewoman. Nobody liked her, and yet many applied to her for relief insecret; for Shotaye possessed great knowledge of plants and otherremedies, and she had a keen practical sense. But people dreaded her;she lived alone in her cave among the abodes of the Water people, andnobody knew but she might know more than the official medicine-menthemselves. In short, the majority of the tribe believed that Shotayewas a witch; but the woman was so wary that nobody could prove her to beone.

  Shotaye was not an old woman. Her appearance was not in the leastrepulsive, on the contrary. The men knew that the woman showed noobjections to occasional attentions, even to intimacy. For this reason,also, she was not popular among her own sex.

  Shotaye had had a husband once; but he had left her and was living withanother woman. That husband was called Tyope, badger, a man of strongphysique and one averse to monotony in conjugal life. Tyope was ascheming man, cunning and unscrupulous in the highest degree; Shotaye anenergetic woman, endowed with a powerful will of her own. Had there notbeen the little cloud of marital inconstancy on both sides, the pairwould have been well-assorted for good as well as for evil. Tyope was aKoshare rather than an agriculturist, he spent his time mostly in otherpeople's homes and in the estufa of the Delight Makers, leaving his wifeto provide for herself and for him also, whenever he chose to remain ather house. In short there were flaws on both sides, and Shotaye beingthe house-mistress held the main power. One fine evening when Tyopepresented himself in the grotto occupied by his wife, she refused torecognize him any longer. He protested, he stormed, he menaced her; itwas of no avail. Shotaye told him to go, and he left. Henceforth the twowere mortal enemies. The woman said little; but he was bent upon herdestruction by every possible means. She kept on the defensive, avoidedall conflicts, and was very careful not to give any cause for a directaccusation of sorcery. She cured people incidentally, never asking anycompensation for it. She lived alone, and thus earned enough to beindependent of her own clan if need be.

  This woman called on Say occasionally, but only between the periods ofthe attacks of fever. On such visits she would assist the patient, dothe housework, and arrange the hides or covers for her. Say harboured awish to consult her about her disease; but Shotaye studiously avoidedany opportunity for confidential talk. One day, however, when the twowere alone in the kitchen, and the invalid felt somewhat relieved, sheopened her heart to her visitor. Shotaye listened very attentively, andwhen Say had concluded, instead of asking for further details, sheabruptly asked whether Say had no suspicion of being bewitched.

  If such a question were put to us, we should doubt the sanity of thequestioner. Not so the Indian. Say felt like one from whose eyes thickscales are suddenly removed. Indeed, she thought this was the cause ofher evil, this alone could explain the tenacity of the disease, itsmysterious intermittence. She told her interlocutor that she must beright, or else why these regular returns and always during the season ofrain? Shotaye listened and listened; every word she heard was inconfirmation of her own thoughts. Say must be under the influence ofsome evil charm, and unless counteracted by magic, it was clear to herthat the poor woman must succumb to its workings.

  Whatever there is in nature which the Indian cannot grasp at once, heattributes to mysterious supernatural agencies. He believes that natureis pervaded by spiritual essence individualized into an infinite numberof distinct powers. Everything in nature has a soul according to him,and it is that soul which causes it to move or to act upon itssurroundings in general. Thus the medical properties of animals, ofplants, or minerals, are due to spiritual manifestations. His medicalart therefore does not consist merely in eliminating the physical causeof disease. As soon as any disease is stubborn there must be at thebottom of it some spiritual source, and this source can be discoveredand removed only by magic.

  Incantations therefore form an important part of Indian medicine. Theformulas therefor are the special property of the medicine-men, whom weshall hereafter designate with the much more appropriate name ofShamans. The shaman is wizard and physician at the same time. He isalso a prophet, augur, and oracle. His duty it is not only to protectfrom evil, but to counteract it. He has charms and incantations which heoffers for the production of beneficial natural phenomena.

  Magic for such purposes is regarded by the Indian as essential to theexistence of man. Magic, however, as a black art is the most heinouscrime which he can conceive. The difference between the two consistsmainly in their purpose; the manipulations are substantially the same,so are the objects. To know those details is one of the attributes ofthe shamans.

  The latter constitute a circle of their own,--a cluster of adepts,nominally in the arts of healing, but really in the arts of magic. Thatcircle is wide, and whoever stands outside of it has no right toinfringe upon the duties of its members by attempting to follow theirexample. It is an institution, and its origin dates from untoldcenturies. It is subdivided into groups, each of which practises charms,incantations, or magic, relating to certain human interests. The Shyayakare in possession of the spell which charms game, in other words theyare the shamans of the hunt. The Uakanyi practise magic in warfare, theyare the shamans of war. The Chayani are physicians who combine with theknowledge of medicine proper, the knowledge of magic curative powers.They are the shamans of medicine. Lastly the Yaya combine a knowledge ofall these different branches in their essence. They are the prophets andpriests. These groups may be described as, in a certain sense, guilds.But they are secret societies also, inasmuch as the arts and practicesof each are special property which is kept secret from the others, andfrom the uninitiated members in the tribe. In order to become a memberof a society of that kind secrecy is required and long apprenticeship.The novice rises slowly from one degree of knowledge to another, andonly few attain the higher positions.

  The members of these secret societies are therefore magicians orwizards, and when any one dreads danger from evil sorcery it is his dutyto consult the proper shaman for relief, unless he should be sure of theperson of the sorcerer, in which case he may kill him outright withouteven mentioning the deed. In the present instance Say could not resortto such a summary expedient. It was therefore the duty of Shotaye, whowas better informed on institutions and customs, to direct her sickfriend to a shaman. But Shotaye was not on good terms with the officialwizards, particularly the Chayani, those who cured, and still less withthe highest religious powers, the Yaya. It suited her pride to attemptthe experiment at her own risk, conscious all the while that it wasdangerous,--dangerous for herself, as well as for her patient. For itentailed performances which only the shaman can undertake, and shouldthey be detected, the very crime of
sorcery, against which theirexperiments were directed, would be charged against them.

  Shotaye had still another reason for not encouraging her friend to speakto the higher chayani. The fever coincided with the rainy season. Assoon as this was over it subsided. Natural as this was, both womenattributed it to a mysterious cause; and Shotaye, suspicious andvindictive even, thought she had discovered a clew to the guilty party.

  The rainy season in New Mexico is of course essential to the growth ofthe chief staple of the Indian,--maize or Indian corn. When, therefore,in July daily showers should occur, the principal shamans of each tribeand the yaya must pray, fast, and mortify themselves, in order thatThose Above may send the needed rain. The hishtanyi chayan scatters thepowder of the white flower to the winds, meanwhile murmuringincantations. At night he imitates thunder, by whirling a flint knifeattached to the end of a long string, and draws brilliant flashesfrom pebbles which he strikes together in a peculiar manner. For theIndian reasons that since rain is preceded in summer by lightningand thunder, man by imitating those heralds is calling the desiredprecipitation,--beckoning it to come.

  This is the time of the year when the Koshare perform their chief work.Four days and four nights, sometimes longer, they must fast and pray inorder that the crops may obtain the moisture indispensable for ripening.The people look upon the Delight Makers with a degree of respect akin tofear at all times, for they are regarded as powerful intermediaries inmatters of life and death to the tribe; but during that particular timethey are considered as specially precious to the higher powers. Shotayehated the Koshare. They in turn disliked the woman, and gave vent totheir dislike by turning her into ridicule at public dances as often aspossible. This she resented greatly; but she was powerless to retaliate,since the Delight Makers enjoy special privileges on festive days. Themedicine-woman's hatred was still increased by the fact that her formerhusband, Tyope, was a leading Koshare. To his influence she attributedthe insults which the jesters offered her, and she saw in the wholegroup but a crowd of willing tools handled by her personal enemy.

  Since Say's illness coincided with the beginning of the rainy season,the principal activity of the Koshare immediately preceded the outbreakof the fever. Urged by hate and desire for revenge, Shotaye combined thetwo facts in her mind, and drew the conclusion that the disease was dueto the magic power of the Koshare, directed against Say for some unknownreason and purpose.

  If the Koshare were guilty, it was not only useless, it was dangerouseven, to call upon any chayan for relief. The Delight Makers were thechief assistants of the shamans in any public ceremony, andindispensable to them in many ways. Beside, Say Koitza could not haveapplied to a chayan without her husband's knowledge, and that husbandwas a Koshare.

  So after explaining to the invalid her suspicions and inferences, shesuggested direct inquiry about the principals in the supposed evilactions against her. That inquiry could be conducted only throughsorcery itself, and Say at first trembled. She feared, and not withoutgood cause, an appeal to evil powers. Still Shotaye spoke so plausibly;she assured so strongly her friend of her own discretion and fidelity,and was so insistent upon her constant success in everything she hadundertaken as yet,--that the woman yielded at last against her ownconvictions. Something within her seemed to speak and say, "Do not treadforbidden paths, speak to your husband first." But the arguments on theother side were too strong, her own physical condition too weak; shegrasped the expected relief regardless of the warnings of herconscience.

  Among the objects connected with evil magic, a certain kind of maize hadthe power of speech attributed to it. It is the dark-coloured variety,called in the Queres language _ka monyi tza_. Ears of this cornbelonging to a witch are said to speak in the absence of their owner,and to tell of her whereabouts and doings. Shotaye knew this, andherself but indifferently versed in the black art, concluded that theblack corn would also reveal, if properly handled, the agent whosemanipulations caused Say Koitza's sufferings. She hoped also that bycombining the dreaded grain with another more powerful implement ofsorcery, owl's plumage, she would succeed in eliciting from the formerall the information desired. The woman was quite ignorant of the evilways in which she was about to wander; but she was bold and daring, andthe hope of injuring her enemies was a greater inducement than thedesire to relieve her friend. The proposed manipulation was directed infact much more against her former husband than against the disease.

  But how to obtain the necessary objects! How to secure black corn, andhow and where to get the feathers of an owl! Both were so well known andso generally tabooed that inquiry after them would forthwith arousesuspicion. Black maize might be procured on the sly; but the other couldbe found by chance only,--by meeting with the body of a dead owl on theheights surrounding the Tyuonyi.

  Shotaye was in the habit of strolling alone all around the Rito, overthe timbered mesa as well as through the gorges which descend from themountains. On such excursions the woman observed the most minuteprecautions, for there was danger,--danger from roaming Indians of theNavajo or Dinne tribe, and danger from spies of her own tribe.Frequently people had followed stealthily in the hope of surprising herat some illicit practice, but she had been lucky enough to notice themin time. Of what is called to-day the mesa del Rito, the high table-landbordering the Tyuonyi on the south, Shotaye knew every inch of ground,every tree and shrub.

  On a clear, cool November day she strolled again in that direction,climbing the heights and penetrating into the scrubby timber,interspersed with tall pines, which covers the plateau for miles. To herdelight she discovered the remains of an owl at no great distance fromthe declivity of the Rito beneath a rotten pine. Instead of picking upthe carcass she kicked it aside disdainfully, but took good care tonotice whither so as to remember the place. It landed on a juniper-bushand remained suspended from its branches. Shotaye went onwardcarelessly. She looked for herbs and plants, picking up a handful here,pulling out a root there, until she had made a long circuit, whichhowever brought her back to the place where the dead owl was. Here shestopped, listening, all the while looking out for plants. As if byaccident she neared the bush on which the carcass was still hanging, andafter assuring herself that the body had not been disturbed, she brushedpast so as to cause it to drop to the ground. She hastily plucked a fewfeathers, put them with the herbs and roots already gathered, and turnedhomeward. Everything was quiet and still around her, only at a shortdistance two crows flew up croaking.

  Say Koitza was not strong enough to walk up to the cliffs; thereforeShotaye, when she came to announce to her friend that the necessarymaterial was at last secured, suggested that the incantation beperformed at the home of the invalid. A certain evening when Zashue wassure to be absent, owing to a gathering of the Koshare, was appointedfor the purpose. On that evening the two women sat alone in the kitchen.Okoya was away in the estufa of Tanyi hanutsh. The two younger childrenwere fast asleep in the outer room. It was a cold night, but the fire onthe hearth had almost completely subsided, only a few embers remaining.Through the loophole in the wall an occasional draught of chilly airentered. Say Koitza clung to her friend's shoulder, shivering andtrembling from fear as well as from cold.

  In the centre of the dark room Shotaye had placed a few ears of blackcorn, and on them two bundles of owl's feathers, each tied to a chip ofobsidian. She had also brought along some bark of the red willow; thisshe pulverized in the hand, and made into two cigarettes with cornhusks. At that time tobacco was unknown to the Pueblos, and redwillow-bark was the only thing used for smoking, while smoking itselfwas not a relish but exclusively a sacrifice.

  Handing one of the cigarettes to her friend, Shotaye directed her tolight it and then puff the smoke successively to the six mythicalregions. After this she was to cast the glowing stub on the pile of cornand feathers. With a shudder Say Koitza obeyed these instructions; herteeth chattered while the cave-woman recited an invocation. Then bothhuddled together to listen. Even Shotaye felt afraid of theconsequences. For a long ti
me everything was silent; the cold draughtfrom the outside had stopped; the women sat in breathless silence; theylistened and listened. Nothing moved. Not a sound was heard.

  Shotaye overcame her first anxiety and repeated the dread formula. Allwas silent. Suddenly a cold blast pervaded the room again. It fanned theembers to renewed life; they shed a faint glimmer over the chamber. Thewomen started; there was a crackling heard; the feathers moved; the earsof corn seemed to change position. One of the feather bunches rolled onthe floor. They nearly screamed in terror, for their excited imaginationcaused them to hear ghostly sounds,--disconnected, uncomprehended words.It was clear that the black corn had spoken. What it said neither couldtell; but the fact of having heard the noise was sufficient to convincethem that Say was under the influence of an evil charm, and Shotaye tookcare to add that that charm was exercised by the Koshare or by some onebelonging to their society.

  So powerful was the effect of this incantation scene upon Say that shefainted. After a while she recovered and Shotaye led her back to theouter room, where, after some time, she began to slumber from sheerexhaustion. Then the medicine-woman returned to the caves, taking withher every vestige of the conjuration.

  It was wise on her part, for as soon as Say awoke from feverish andanxious dreams, her first thought was about the dismal objects.Everything was quiet. Zashue had returned, and was quietly asleep by herside. She arose and glided into the kitchen, noiselessly, stealthily.The floor was clean. She felt around; not a trace of the objectionablepile could be noticed. Unspeakable was the feeling of relief with whichshe returned to her husband's side and extended herself on the hidesagain; sound sleep came to her, and when she awoke it was daylight. Shefelt stronger, brighter. Yet thereafter, as often as Zashue approachedher in his harmless, bantering manner, she experienced a strange, suddenpang. She was reminded of having done wrong in not having been open withhim. The Indian's conscience is hemmed in by bonds arising from hissocial and religious organization; why, for instance, should she havetold her spouse? He was neither of her clan nor of her party. Hebelonged to the summer people, she to those of winter. She stood outsideof all secret associations, whereas he was a Koshare.

  The winter following proved to be mild and dry. Say recovered slowly.Shotaye kept aloof after the conjuration, for a long time at least. Allof a sudden she made her appearance at the home of her convalescentfriend. It was in order to remind her that the first step was only apreliminary, and that it could not effect a radical cure. All that hadbeen achieved was to prove that an evil charm existed, and that theKoshare were the wrongdoers. It remained now to remove the spell bybreaking the charm. This, she represented, had to be attempted when theKoshare were in their greatest power, and could only be effected bymeans of the owl's feathers. By burying these feathers near the placewhere the Delight Makers used to assemble, Shotaye asserted that notonly would the disease be eliminated forever, but the guilty one bepunished according to the measure of his crime.

  Say would not listen to any such proposals. She saw no necessity forgoing any further in forbidden tracks. Now that her health was restored,why should she attempt to harm a cluster of men to which her husbandbelonged, and thus perhaps imperil his life? Shotaye met this objectionwith the assurance that the remedy was directed against the guilty onesonly, and that she herself did not for a moment think that Zashue hadparticipated in the evil manipulations against his wife; thatconsequently he was in no manner exposed to danger. Say finally told hervisitor that she would wait and see, and then decide.

  Winter went and spring came. Warm summer followed with a dark-blue skyand sporadic thunderclouds. All the crops were planted, irrigated, andscantily weeded. Now they awaited the rains in order to complete growthand prepare for maturity. The great chayani had gone through theirofficial fasts, they had made their sacrificial offerings in the sacredbowls dedicated to rain-medicine. Every day clouds loomed up in thewest, distant thunder rumbled, but not a drop of rain fell in the Ritoand the people began to look gloomy. The Koshare were therefore requiredto go to work earlier than usual. They were to fast four consecutivedays between two full moons.

  The estufa in which the Delight Makers used to assemble is situated atthe eastern end of the cliffs, and its access is difficult to-day. It isa circular chamber in the rock twenty feet in diameter. At present theouter wall has fallen in, but a crease in the floor indicates the placewhere a little port-hole led into the cave. The cave lies high, so thatfrom it a view of the whole valley presents itself, and at its feetopens a narrow chasm of considerable depth. This is a mere fissure, sonarrow that cross-beams were fastened into its sides like the rounds ofa step-ladder; and on these the people ascended to a narrow trailleading up to the entrance. Other cave-dwellings were scattered alongthis trail and farther below. They were inhabited by the people of theTurquoise clan.

  All the Koshare had retired to this secluded spot, and the first day offasting was nearly over when Shotaye called once more at the home ofSay. The latter guessed the object of her coming and felt afraid.Without preamble, in a sober, matter-of-fact way, the cave-woman statedthat the time had come for a decisive step; and with this she placedthree bunches of owl's feathers on the floor. In vain Say Koitzaprotested, affirming that her health was fully restored. Shotaye wouldnot listen to refusal or excuse. Now or never, she commanded. Sherepeated her former assertion that the charm could not hurt Zashue aslong as he was not guilty. For a long while the women sat arguing thematter; at last Say Koitza yielded, and promised to comply.

  Night came, and the people of the Rito went to rest. The moon rosebehind the lava-ridge of the Tetilla; the rocky battlements of thecliffs shone brightly above the gorge, whose depths rested in darkshadow. A tiny figure crept out of the big building and hurried down thevale along the fields. When she reached the grove where we met Okoya andhis little brother for the first time, she crouched beneath a tree,covered her head, and sobbed aloud. It was a dire task for Say Koitza,this errand out of which harm might arise to the whole cluster to whichher husband belonged. If the charm which she clutched with tremblingfingers should work against him, then he was the guilty party. SoShotaye had insinuated, and the word had stung her like the bite of aserpent. It came back to her mind as she hurried to perform the deed,and caused her to start. She rose hastily and turned toward the cliffs.

  The uppermost rocks glistened fairly in the light of the moon; and wherethe sharp line of the shadows commenced, the ruddy glow of a fire burstfrom an oblong aperture. There was the estufa of the Koshare. From itissued the sound of hollow drumming intermingled with the cadence of achorus of hoarse voices. A thrill went through Say, she stopped againand listened. Was not her husband's voice among them? Certainly he wasthere, doing his duty with the rest. And if he was as guilty toward heras the others? That monstrous thought rose again, it pushed her onward.She crawled ahead slowly, scarcely conscious of the danger attending hermission. Large blocks of debris, tent-shaped erosive hillocks, impededher progress; they crowded along the foot of the cliffs like protectingbulwarks, and the trail wound around them on a higher plane. But thistrail she dared not follow, there was not enough darkness on it. Shecrept along the base, the sense of danger coming to her with theincreasing obscurity, until suddenly she stood before a cleft of almostinky hue. Here she remembered was the ascent to the estufa, here she hadto perform the work, and here overpowered by emotion and excitement shedropped behind an angular block of stone unconscious.

  When she recovered, the chorus sounded directly above her, and the chantseemed to soar away like voices from an upper world. She glanced up thedark fissure as through a flume. The cross-beams were faintly visible.Over the cleft rested a moonlit sky, but to the rocks clung the figureof a man. That man stood there a moment only, then shouting a few wordsas if calling to somebody within, he disappeared. The song was hushed.Say recognized the speaker; it was Tyope, Shotaye's former husband, andthe one whom the woman suspected of having done her harm. Resolutely shewent at her task.

  Taking
a bundle of owl's feathers from her wrap, she presented itsuccessively to the six regions, and then buried it carefully in thesand, below where the first cross-beam traversed the fissure. Again shelistened and spied, and creeping forward concealed the second bunch inanother place near by. Then she whispered the sinister prayer which wasto give to the feathers the power to do harm. At the close the drumrumbled again within the cliffs above her, and the chant rose strong andrude. Covering her head, shaking and shivering with sudden fear, SayKoitza rushed from the spot. Ere day broke she had reached home again,and extended her weary frame by the side of her sleeping children.

  Say slept for the remainder of the night a long sleep of exhaustion. Thenext morning her first task was to bury the last bunch of owl's feathersin the kitchen, close to the fireplace, where it was to protect her fromthe inroads of enemies. She felt weak but rather comfortable. Her onlyanxiety was now the return of her husband.

  Zashue came home at last, good-humoured as ever, but with a livelyappetite akin to hunger. His wife received him in a subdued mannerbordering on obsequiousness; she was more than ever bent on anticipatingany desire on his part. All the while afraid of detection, every kindword spoken to her caused remorse, every joke pained her in secret. Itrecalled what she had done to his companions, perhaps to him also.

  The incantations of the chayani and the fasts of the Koshare seemed tohave no effect whatever upon the course of the rain-clouds. The heavensclouded regularly every day; they shed their moisture all around theTyuonyi, but not a drop fell in the valley-gorge. Now the three chiefpenitents of the tribe, the Hotshanyi, the shaykatze, and the uishtyaka,were called upon to use their means of intercession with Those Above.They fasted, prayed, and made sacrifices alternately for an entire moon;still it rained not. In New Mexico local droughts are sometimes verypertinacious. Plants withered, the corn and beans suffered, languished,and died. The tribe looked forward to a winter without vegetable food.But Say Koitza was secretly glad, for drought killed her disease. Shefelt stronger every day, and worked zealously, anxious to please herhusband and to remove every suspicion. Shotaye called on her frequently;she, too, felt proud of the success of her cure, sure of the revenge shehad taken upon her enemies.

  When a few rains swept at last down upon the vale, it was too late forthe crops. Only the few stores kept in reserve and the proceeds of thehunt could save the tribe from a famine. Women and children put on redwristbands to comfort their hearts in the prospective distress, for awinter without vegetable supplies was until then an unknown disaster.Say Koitza also placed strips of red buckskin around her arms.Ostensibly she mourned for her tribe; in reality it was to relieve herheart from the reproaches of her own conscience.

  But when winter set in and the fever had not put in its appearance, hermind gradually changed. She lost all fear of discovery, and finally feltproud of what she had done. Had she not preserved herself for her ownhusband, for her children? Instead of performing a crime, it was ameritorious act. Shotaye encouraged her in such thoughts. To her it wasless the recovery of her friend than the blow dealt the Koshare,particularly her former husband, that excited her satisfaction andtickled her pride.

  Say thus felt happy and at rest, but that fatal interview with herfather suddenly dispelled all her fond dreams. The old man's revelationsannihilated everything at one fell blow. No hope was left; her life wasgone, her doom sealed. As if lightning had struck her she lay down bythe hearth, motionless, for a long while. She heard nothing; she staredvacantly; her thoughts came and went like nebulous phantoms. At lastsomebody entered the outer room, but the woman noticed him not. Threetimes the new-comer called her name; she gave no reply. At the fourthcall, "Koitza!" she started at last, and faintly answered,--

  "Opona."

  Zashue, her husband, entered the kitchen and good-naturedly inquired,--

  "Are you ill?"

  She raised herself hastily and replied,--

  "No; but I was asleep."

  "The sun is resting on the western mountains," said Zashue; "give mesomething to eat, I am tired."

  She stirred the fire, and when dry brush flamed over the hearth sheplaced the stew-pot on it. The remainder of the cornmeal she stirredwith water, and began to mix cakes in the usual way. Her husband watchedher pleasantly.

  Zashue was indeed a good-looking Indian. Lithe and of a fair height,with black hair and large bright eyes, he appeared the picture of vigourand mirth. He chatted with the utmost nonchalance, telling his wifeabout the insignificant happenings of the day, the prospects of thecrops, what such and such a one had said to him, and what he had toldthe other in return. It was innocent gossip, intimate chat, such as acontented husband may tell a wife in whom he places entire confidence.How happy she felt at the harmless chatter, and yet how intenselymiserable. His inquiry, "Are you ill?" rang in her ears with a sickeningclang, like some overwhelming reproach. Why, oh why, had she not spokento him in time? He was so good to her. Now it was too late; and beside,why anticipate the fatal hour when he must know all? Why not improve thefew moments of respite granted ere death came?

  Say Koitza suffered him to continue, and listened with increasinginterest to the talk of her husband. It might be the last time. Littleby little, as he went on, with harmless, sometimes very clumsy, jokesand jests, she became oblivious of her wretched prospects, and her soulrested in the present. She began to smile shyly at first, then she evenlaughed. As Zashue ate he praised her cooking; and that gratified her,although it filled her with remorse and anguish. The children came alsoand squatted around the hearth, Okoya alone keeping at a distance andeyeing his mother suspiciously. Could she in his presence really feel asmerry as she acted? Was it not evidence of the basest deception on herpart? So the boy reasoned from his own standpoint, and went out into thecourt-yard in disgust.

  The sun set, and a calm, still night sank down on the Rito de losFrijoles. As the sky darkened, evidences of life and mirth began to showthemselves at the bottom of the gorge as well as along the cliffs.Monotonous singing sounded from the roofs of the big house, from caves,and from slopes leading up to them. Noisy talking, clear, ringinglaughter, rose into the night. Old as well as young seemed to enjoy thebalmy evening. Few remained indoors. Among these were Zashue and hiswife. The woman leaned against him, and often looked up to his face witha smile. She felt happy by the side of her husband, and howeverharrowing the thought of her future seemed to be, the present wasblissful to her.

  After a while Zashue rose, and his spouse followed him anxiously to thedoor, trembling lest he should leave her alone for the night. Shegrasped his hand, and he stood for a while in the outer doorway gazingat the sky. Every sound was hushed except the rushing of the brook. Thecanopy of heaven sparkled in wonderful splendour. Its stars blazed,shedding peace upon earth and good-will to man. The woman's handquivered in that of her spouse. He turned and retired with her to theinterior of the dwelling.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [Footnote 4: This tradition was told me by Tehua Indians, and somefriends among the Queres subsequently confirmed it.]

  [Footnote 5: This fire-cure was still practised by the Queres not verylong ago.]