Beyond the sunset

by Arthur D. Howden Smith

It was, by the way, typical of the social organization of Homolobi that the women had important representation in the priesthood. The women were in all ways equal to the men. They held their share of property, and they had the right to be consulted on all matters of public import. They upheld and maintained the sanctity of monogamous marriage. They had the right to secure punishment for any man who neglected, abused or maltreated his wife. And while they were barred from the service of Chua and from membership in the priestly clan or participation in the religious dances, they had in Angwusi a representative who ranked next to the chief priest in authority, who might, in some cases, compel even his acquiescence on questions of policy.

Angwusi was as clever as a priestess-stateswoman as Wiki, but she lacked his breadth and experience. She had been instrumental in building up the prestige of Kokyan, the young priest of Yoki and suitor for Kachina's hand; but as soon as he was strong enough to make himself felt in opposition to the chief priest, she had hastened to redress the balance, hoping, in the conflicting ambitions of the two men, to find the means for gaining her own ends, whatever they were.

But the situation was complicated again by the interposition of Kachina. She had not, until recently, been regarded as more than an assistant and subordinate of Wiki. Kokyan's courtship and rivalry of the chief priest and the politics precipitated by his rise, however, had lifted her to an importance equal with that enjoyed by the other three; and she was not slow to take advantage of it. How loyal she was to Wiki, of course, I cannot say; but from my knowledge of her afterward I should say that she would have stood by him, after securing such concessions as she wanted for herself, had it not been for the arrival of Tawannears.

Love and hate, the lure of beauty, hunger for power, these were the factors here as elsewhere. Suppose we had gone north, instead of south, to pass the Salt Lake, suppose we had not ventured into these mountains! What would have happened then to the fortunes of Wiki, of Kachina, of Kokyan and Angwusi and the people of Homolobi—ay, and of Tawannears, Peter and myself. Fifteen hundred lives would have ended differently—I say nothing of the Awataba, who perished for causes beyond their comprehension.

So slender is the thread of destiny which weaves our lives!

But my speculation, after all, is purposeless. We were fated to do what we did. It was written in the Book that we should go to Homolobi, just as it was written that Tawannears' fantastic search should be carried to its logical conclusion. How else can you explain the instant attraction he had for the girl, the light that shone in his eyes when he first fronted her threatening arrow, the very ease with which they two brushed aside from their path the needs and wants and desires and wishes of fifteen hundred others? It was written that it should be so. Why, even Peter's giant strength had its rôle to play in this, as in other acts, of the drama we lived. And I—am I not the narrator?

So I say there was no accident in what transpired. Accident must have slain us heedlessly a score of times before Destiny was ready for us to work the deeds it had prepared for us.

If Wiki, priest of Massi, from whatever abode he occupies, looks over my shoulder as I write I know that he will smile assent. There are some forces beyond human control. We were caught fast in the grip of such a force when the people of Homolobi gathered before the kiva of Massi for the pre-harvest festival at the end of that moon in which we had come into their valley—I cannot make the date more specific, for we had lost all track of time in more than two years of wandering.

It was a clear, cloudless day, still not too hot, with almost no breeze stirring, exactly like all the other days since our arrival; and I remember the people squatting around the open space in front of the temple made room for us readily in the front row, some of them actually smiling, so popular had we become on account of the good weather we had brought the village.

Weather was everything to these people. In fear of a failed harvest they always kept a year's store of dried crops ahead; but there had been times when the crops had failed two years running, and they regulated their whole lives to the one end of securing enough food. Religion, with them, was weather. Hence the popularity of Kokyan, Priest of Yoki, who had twice secured them abundant early Summer rain. Hence, too,—and most paradoxically—our own popularity, because we had staved off the unseasonably heavy storms which sometimes destroyed or diminished a good planting.