The Delight Makers

by Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier

In an Indian village, gossip about public affairs comes to a stand-still as soon as the outlook seems very grave. A sullen quiet sets in; the hanutsh recede from each other, and only such as are very intimate venture to interchange opinions, and even they only with the utmost caution. For any event that concerns the welfare of the community is, in the mind of the aborigine, intimately connected with the doings of Those Above. And if the Shiuana were to hear an irrelevant or unpleasant utterance on the part of their children, things might go wrong. There is, beside, the barrier between clan and clan,—the mistrust which one connection feels always more or less strongly toward the others. Instead of the excitement and display of passion that too often accompany the preliminaries of great events in civilized communities, and which too often also unduly precipitate them, among the Indians there is reticence. They do not run to headquarters for information; they make no effort at interviewing the officers; they simply and sullenly wait.

This patient waiting, however, is only on the surface. In strictly intimate circles apprehensions are sometimes uttered and opinions exchanged. But this is done in the clan, and rarely in the family.

In the present case it was not reticence alone that prevailed. The conviction that great things might be brought to light soon, caused uneasiness rather than anything else. Apprehensions were increased by the fact that only a part of the dignitaries of the tribe were doing penance. The Koshare Naua was not fasting, neither was Topanashka; and Tyope went about with the utmost unconcern. Members of the clans whose delegates kept secluded became suspicious of the fact that their nashtio appealed more particularly to the higher powers, and hence that his constituents—such was their conclusion—were in danger of something as yet concealed from the people. Suspicion led to envy, and finally to wrath against such as appeared to be free from the necessity of intercession. Tyope had thrown a firebrand among the tribe, and the fire was smouldering yet. But it was merely a question of time for the flames to burst forth. It was even easy to guess when it must occur, for no such fast can last longer than four days. At their expiration, if not before, all doubts must be dispelled. With this absolute certainty the people rested, not content, but submitting to the inevitable.

Only two men among the Queres knew the whole truth of the matter, and these were Tyope and the old Koshare Naua. They watched with apparent calmness, but with the greatest attention, the approach of the storm which they had prepared. Everything went on to their hearts' content. They did not need to do penance, for their sinister plans were advancing satisfactorily.

And a third at the Rito, although unknown to them, also began to see the truth gradually with a distinctness that was fearful, that was crushing to him. That man was the head war-chief, Topanashka Tihua. A series of logical deductions brought him to ravel step by step the game that was being played. He saw now why Tzitz hanutsh had been made to bear the first assault. It was on account of Shotaye. But as the demand was put, it involved ultimately the question of residence, and consequently an expulsion of the Water people. This could never have been merely on account of one woman and in order to get rid of her, since it was so easy to put Shotaye out of the way by the mere accusation of witchcraft. That accusation itself appeared to the old man to be a mere pretext and nothing else. To expel the small Water clan alone was not their object either. His daughter, the child of Tanyi, was also implicated, and with this thought came a flash of light. Not one clan alone, but several, were to be removed, and as he now saw plainly, mostly the clans occupying houses which were not exposed to the dangers which threatened the cave-dwellers from the crumbling rock. Tzitz had only served as an entering-wedge for their design that the house-dwellers should make room for the others. The more Topanashka thought over it, the more he felt convinced that he was right. And the stronger his convictions the more he saw that the plans of the two fiends, Tyope and the Naua, were likely to succeed. They were bad men, they were dangerous men; but they certainly had a pair of very subtle minds.

Was it possible to defeat their object? Other men, differently constituted from Topanashka, might have come to the conclusion that it was best to leave the Rito with their people at once, without any further wrangling, and make room peaceably. To this he could never consent. None of his relatives or their friends should be sacrificed to the intrigues of the Turquoise people. Rather than yield he was firmly determined that the Turquoise people themselves should go. But only after they had done their worst. It was true, as Tyope had said, that a division of the tribe entailed a dangerous weakening of both fragments; but then if it must be, what else could be done? Still he was in hopes that the Shiuana would not consent to a separation, and in his firm belief in the goodness of Those Above he resolved, when the time came, to do his utmost for the preservation of peace and unity. But it was a crushing weight to him. Not a soul had he with whom to communicate, for his lips were sealed; not one whom he might enlighten and prepare for the hour of the crisis. And he felt unconsciously that he was the pillar on which rested the safety of his people,—he and the Shiuana! The feeling was no source of pride; it was a terrible load, which he longed in vain to share with some one else. Topanashka did not attempt to do penance externally; he was too shrewd for that; but he prayed as much as any one,—prayed for light from above, for the immense courage to keep silent, to hope, and to wait.

The news that Kauaitshe, the delegate from Tzitz hanutsh, was fasting had reached the cave-dwellings of his cluster late in the afternoon. Zashue had carried it thither, communicating the intelligence secretly to his mother and sister. They were speaking of it, the old woman with apprehensions, and Zashue in his usual frivolous manner, when Hayoue entered.

"Do you know," said he, "that the nashtio of Tyame is doing penance?"

"So does ours," remarked Zashue, growing serious. He began to see matters in a different light.

"What may this all be about?" wondered the younger brother.