Kwasa the cliff dweller

by Katharine Atherton Grimes

As in a dream he heard Sado’s excited reply:

“I know—I know—I will lead them. Have no fear, for we will save your people yet!”

And then gentle hands laid him down, and he thought no more except that it was very good to rest.

The terrible Battle of the Cliffs had been fought and done for many weeks before Kwasa was strong enough to hear about it. For the arrow in his throat had come very near indeed to causing his death, and only the tender nursing of careful and practised hands could have brought him back to life and strength again. There was one pair of slim, soft hands that he always knew, even through his delirium, so gentle and capable were they, and so soothingly did they place upon his poor, torn throat the cooling poultices of pounded herbs. After he grew able to think again he fell to wondering what the face would be like that belonged with such dear, gentle fingers; but so weary and listless was he that even after the thought came it was a long time before he opened his eyes to see. But when he did look up into the beautiful young face that bent so anxiously above him, he knew that one of two things would surely happen—either he would stay at Walpi forever, or he would not go back to the canyons alone.

And that day Kwasa heard the story of the Battle of the Cliffs. It was Sado who told it, helping the words with vivid gestures of his long, brown fingers. He told how bravely the men of the village had held their own for many long and fearful hours, even against the death-bearing poisoned arrows of their foes; and how, hard pressed as they were and overwhelmed by numbers, as the Utes swarmed up the niche stairway, the men who stood along the ledge sold their lives at a heavy price. And then, just as the Utes were sounding their wild whoop of final victory, and were pressing upward unchecked over the narrow stair, so slippery with the horrible slime of blood, the fresh band of fighters which Sado had led secretly up the hidden path sounded their battle cry from the back of the long court into which they had come unseen. At this the savages had wavered a moment in surprise, and then, seeing the lithe brown bodies of the men of Walpi, whose prowess they knew of old, had broken and fled, many of them losing their foothold and falling down the face of the cliff to a horrible death on the rocks below. And just then had come up from the south the bands from the Rainbow and Bear Clans, summoned by Wiki, and before the sun had set upon the narrow valley the grass was stained with a deeper red than that of the red dust. Only two Ute horsemen were able to break through the terrible ring of death that shut them in and get away on their fleet ponies. And that, said Sado, was just as it should be, for with the story of that disastrous fight as a warning it would be long before the northern tribes would attempt to take revenge.

The day came at last when Kwasa was strong enough to go back to his people. Glad as he was at the thought of seeing them all again, a greater gladness lay at his heart—a joy even greater than all the honor that his grateful people were waiting to give could bring. For Ani, the gentle sister of Sado, who had nursed the stricken messenger so faithfully and well, was easily persuaded that her services might still be needed by her brave young patient. So she decided to go back across the mesas and down the cool, dusky canyon paths with him, lest evil should again befall him.

So it happened that when the rejoicing people of the Cliffs came down the niche stairway to welcome their honored hero, they took also to their grateful hearts the dark-eyed girl who had saved him from death for them. And not the less did they love her because she was the sister of Sado, who had brought them help in their hour of greatest need.

“But what of Wiki?” said Kwasa, when they would have overwhelmed him with loving honors.

“He has had his share,” answered Wiki himself, pressing the hand of his old playfellow affectionately. “Besides, my little deed needed no honor, since it did not require a particularly stout heart to run an errand where there was no danger. Yet Mosu has promised me no less a gift than that I should lead the dance of the priests in his own place at the next Blessing of Seeds. And he says he will make a priest of me when the time comes. Besides—” he paused in some confusion, and beckoned to a pretty brown maiden who stood not far away.

“Besides?” prompted Kwasa with a smile.