Indians of the Enchanted Desert

by Leo Crane

I took her to the hospital and the physician reported that she was badly bruised up. It appeared that she had been given quite a trouncing by the worthy cousin. The name was strange to me. Perhaps, I thought, he comes from the Fort Defiance country.

Now it happened that a trading-post had been robbed only a short time before. The fellow who conducted it was not in my good graces, he having sought to evade the livestock-buying regulations. I had confiscated his purchases and closed his place of business. The Indians knew that this gentleman had lost official standing; so, while he was absent, seeking a means of reopening,—and this means seeking political influence sufficient to overawe and intimidate the Agent through pressure at Washington,—a band of native rascals looted his store. It was my duty to punish these thieves too, if I could find them. The police recovered most of the goods, but of course foodstuffs and silver trinkets were never returned. It was believed by the Indian officers who investigated that this robbery could be fastened on one Guy, his brother Jay, and perhaps others of their gang. These men had been to school long enough to acquire English names. They headed a crew of a dozen or more bad eggs, gamblers, whiskey-runners, general mischief-makers, who defied and [[329]]worried the decent Navajo and troubled those police who did not protect them.

But I did not connect either Jay or Guy with Hoske Nehol Gode. Who would? There is little hope of making an accurate census of the nomadic Navajo; and whenever one does succeed, he will have the joy of recording three to five names for each adult. The Navajo, in speaking of or to one another, do not use given names. Too many of their titles mean infirmities or weaknesses. Some of their names are not delicate; and by this I mean that they are coarse enough to offend Navajo. One learns in talking with them through interpreters, to say “this man,” or “that man,” and to leave the name of him alone. Many of them establish their identity by relationship. Instead of saying “I am the Man with the Broken Nose,” he may call himself “Curly-Hair’s Brother-in-Law.” And therefore, when an official goes looking for an obscure member of the tribe, seeking him under his real name, he is apt to meet and talk with Curly-Hair’s Brother-in-Law, or Victor Hugo, if the man has been to school and had a literary teacher, to learn finally that Curly-Hair’s relative by marriage, the brilliant French poet, and the Man with the Broken Nose, are all one and the same person. This game of hare and hounds is often humorous, unless it chances to be dangerous.

Now it also happened that I was preparing a number of cases for presenting to the Federal Court. Trips from the remote desert to court are troublesome and expensive, so one likes to assemble them in batches and thus clear the docket. I was gathering Hopi and Navajo witnesses, and chanced to need as one the wife of “the Ghost.” How was I to know that the Ghost’s wife was a sister of the returned student? This woman knew something of the robbery. [[330]]I did not connect the two incidents. And I did not know that there was still another sister, practically a twin in appearance of the one wanted. That morning I learned that the apparition’s better half was weaving a blanket down the cañon. The Ghost’s wife didn’t want to go to court, and assured me that the person I needed would be found at the camp where the returned student had met with her beating. By going there I could kill two birds with one stone—procure the wife of the Ghost, and the sister of the student who had suffered also. I did wound two birds, all right; for at that camp I encountered both Guy and Hoske Nehol Gode.

If I have not confused matters, it will be recalled that I wanted Guy for burglary, and Hoske Nehol Gode for assaulting two women. Now Guy and Hoske Nehol Gode were one and the same person. Guy did not know that I suspected him of looting the trader’s store, but he perfectly well knew that I might be looking for him to answer the assault-charge.

There were three of us—a Tewa policeman, the big stockman, and myself. We found the camp a short distance off the main road to Gallup, back in the trees. It held several women, four or five young fellows who promptly departed, and one large, heavy-set man who looked twenty-five years in age, and who was perhaps thirty-five. The Navajo men do not show their true ages until long past thirty. It is difficult to gauge their years until the lines begin to set in their faces.

Among the women I recognized a duplicate of the Cañon weaver. Assuming that this was the person who knew something of the robbery, I began to question her, using the policeman as interpreter. The Tewa Indians usually speak three languages: their own and Hopi and Navajo. [[331]]The big fellow at the fire pricked up his ears. He feared that she would tell of the beating, for she was the sister who had been beaten; and lo, here she was being questioned concerning the blankets he had removed from the trading-post. I have no doubt that this caused him great uneasiness, and soon he began to evidence his disapproval of my questions, claiming that the woman knew nothing about the affair of the robbery. Several times he interrupted, asking: “Why you want to know that?”

I had no intention of disturbing this sullen fellow, but when he interrupted again, I told him to hold his peace. I turned to the old woman of the outfit.

“Do you know where Hoske Nehol Gode is?”

Neither she nor any one of them knew. The man at the fire sneered and seemed amused. I suspected that he would know something.