The Delight Makers

by Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier

"It is well. Tell the men to come still farther this way, but very slowly."

He ordered five of his own men to go back with the runner to replace the five whom the Tehuas had killed. With the rest he pushed forward. He kept beside the Hishtanyi Chayan, and both walked almost at the head of their little troupe. Only a few scouts preceded them, so completely safe did Tyope feel about the west and northwest.

The action in the rear seemed to lag. A wild uproar broke out in the southwest but no messenger came with evil tidings. The Queres maintained themselves. All was well.

The engagement had lasted two hours already, and it might continue in this way for hours more without coming to a crisis in the mean time. Tyope would creep up to the women and children of the Tehuas. In case the rear-guard should be ultimately destroyed by the enemy it mattered little, for by capturing the non-combatants the Queres still remained masters of the situation. Tyope was explaining all this to the Hishtanyi Chayan; and the two, in consequence of their conversation, had remained behind the foremost skirmish-line. The shaman was listening, and from time to time grunting assent to Tyope's explanations.

Suddenly the shrubbery in front rattled, and moved violently, as though deer were endeavouring to tear through it at full speed. At the same time there arose in that very west which had been so still, and close upon the two men, a fearful war-whoop uttered by many voices. Like wildfire this threatening howl spread to the west; it seemed to run along an arc of a circle from the northwest to the south. The warriors in front came running back in dismay. Many of them were already wounded. One reached the spot where the commander and the shaman were standing spell-bound. There he fell to the ground headlong, blood flowing from his mouth. His body had been shot through and through.

However great his surprise at that completely unexpected attack, and however disastrous it must be to all his plans, Tyope not only did not lose his head, but rather seemed to grow cool and self-possessed, and an expression of sinister quiet settled on his features. Yet he was internally far from being at ease or hopeful. He blew his whistle. Without regard to his office the old shaman crouched behind a shrub, where, placing his shield before him, he listened and spied. The medicine-man had imitated Tyope's example; the magician was now turned into a warrior!

The signal given by the war-chief was heard by very few only, for the yells of the Tehuas drowned every other noise. The enemy this time rushed up without any preliminary skirmishing, and the surprise was so sudden that the Queres were running back in every direction with their foes in close pursuit. They had no time to gather or to hide. Ere Tyope knew it, his men were far away in his rear, as well as a number of his enemies also. To his left he noticed one of his tribe lying on the ground dead, and a Tehua standing with both feet on his back, cutting and jerking at the scalp of the dead man. Tyope was alone, for the medicine-man had fled. The Tehua was so intent upon securing the trophy that he had not seen Tyope, and he could easily have killed him. But hurried footsteps, many voices, and the shaking of bushes in front showed plainly that quite a numerous body of Tehuas was rapidly coming toward him. His own life was too precious in this hour of terrible need to permit exposure for the sake of killing one enemy, so he turned about softly on his knees. The Tehua still did not pay any attention to him, and now the temptation was too great; he quickly placed an arrow on the string and sent the shaft, thanks to the short distance, between the ribs of the unsuspecting foe. Then with a yell of triumph and defiance he darted off in the direction whither his men had scattered.

He had been noticed by some of the Tehuas who were coming up from the west, and without delay they followed in pursuit. But it was not easy to overtake a man like Tyope when fleeing for life. The powerful onslaught of the Tehuas had scattered the Queres in such a manner that friend and foe were intermingled in the forest, and it was not safe for the pursuers to shoot at the fugitives, who were only occasionally visible between tree-trunks and bushes, for the arrow might have struck a friend.

Tyope ran so fast that he soon left his pursuers far behind him. When he noticed that their shouting sounded more distant, he stopped, crouched under a bush that grew near the foot of a large tree, and listened and peered again. He was breathless from the rapid flight, and his heart throbbed so violently at first that he could not clearly distinguish sound from sound. At last he grew quiet, and now heard the din that seemed to fill the entire forest in every direction except the north. It was nearest toward the east and south, and there the fight seemed to concentrate. Above the shouting, yelling, whooping, sounded the piercing war-whistle. There could be no thought of still winning anything like success, for the day was irretrievably, disastrously lost. To save as many of the survivors as possible was all that could be done. Tyope would have raved, had it been of any avail. This terrible failure, he saw clearly, ruined his prospects forever. He wished to die, and despair began for the first time in his life to fill his heart.

The noise of the battle was now approaching rapidly from the east and south. The Tehuas were forcing his men into a confused mass; it was no longer an action, it was becoming a slaughter, a butchery of the vanquished. Tyope felt as if chills and fever were alternately running through him; his people were without head, for the Hishtanyi Chayan was useless as a leader. He must try to get through, and as it was impossible to force a passage, he determined to steal through at all hazards.