“It may be that the time has come to make such records,” said Tahn-té, “our people should not be behind the other people.”
“We have no written words,”–said his mother;–“our head men who govern have only the deerskin writings of Ki-pah the wise, who lived long ago and did much for the people of Kah-po and Oj-ke, and the people of the river.”
“Of him I have not heard,” said Tahn-té–“was he a god?”
“No–no god, but he lived and worked as a god. He came to this land before the day of my grandfathers. When the time is come, the men of my father’s people will tell you the work he did in our valley, and what he said. So will tell you the old men of Provi-whah and the old men of Kah-po. He came to a land, not to one people, and on the deerskin he painted things never seen but by the wise men who know how to read it.”
The boy stared moodily into the sun swept court of Ua-lano. There were so many things in the world of which no one had ever told him!
“If I am very good, and say very many prayers, and wait on the gods very carefully, will the wise men of the medicine orders tell me of the deerskin records some day?” he demanded.
“Some day–it may be so,” she conceded.
“Good! I will think of that each day as the sun comes up!” he stated. “And the magic of the white man’s writings I will learn for myself. It is a thing which is not kept for sacred places, and no prayers are needed for that!”
The woman of mystery regarded him strangely, yet spoke no word. The magic of the white conquerors was wonderful magic to her, yet she could not ask her son why he only spoke of them as ever beyond some wall which they must not cross,–and of their knowledge as strong knowledge, yet not sacred knowledge.
Between the woman and her son there was often a wall of silence. Even her love could not cross it. There were always spoken or unspoken questions which she left without answers. He was only learning this in the wonderful journey of the desert lands, and he asked fewer questions,–but looked at her more. And:–she knew that also!
The man of the talking white leaves, and the grey gown set in the center of the court a white cross, and all the soldiers knelt, and in front of the dwellings the brown people knelt also–which the Christians deemed a special dispensation that so many heathen had been brought so quickly to their knees at the mere sight of the holy symbol. And in the morning Father Luis decided he would baptize all of them, and have a high mass for the salvation of their souls. The boy who watched the book so closely, was, he felt sure, a convert at mere sight of the white leaves, and the heathen mother would no doubt clamor also for sanctification.
But in the early dusk of the morning the boy and his mother were on the trail for the home valley of the river P[=o] – s[=o]n-gé of which he had dreamed. With them were people of Kah-po, and people of Provi-whah and the Apache woman and her child Yahn. Yahn made some one carry her most of the hard trails, and talked much, and asked many things of the little growing trees in the old urn of ancient Tusayan.
And when they came in sight of the sacred mesa, Tuyo, a runner was sent ahead to tell the governor and the head men of the strange new people of the clanking iron at Ua-lano, and the wonderful and belated home-coming of the lost woman of many years’ mystery.
Because of this they were met at the edge of the mesa by many, and the Woman of the Twilight knelt and touched the feet of the governor and asked that the gate of the valley be open to her and to her son. And Tahn-té knelt also and offered the growing things.
“These are sacred things of which the Ruler must speak,” said the governor. “I am but for one short summer and winter, but the Ruler is for always. Of the new things to bear fruit we still speak in council,–also of the new people trading a new white god for blue stones, and painted robes.”
But Tahn-té knew that a welcome was theirs, for the governor would not have come outside the walls except it had been so, and the old man watched keenly the delight of the boy as the river of that land came clear before him spread at the foot of the wide table land, and the great plain below. Trees grew there, and between them the running water shone in the sun. The Black Mesa Tuyo, Mesa of the Hearts, arose from the water edge,–a great dark monument of mystic rites, and wondrous records of the time when it had been a breathing place for the Powers in the heart of the earth. The rocks were burned so red it always seemed that the fire was still under them. And south was the God-Maid mesa:–its outline as the face of a maid upturned to the sky.
Beyond the river stretched the yellow corn fields–the higher land like a rugged red skeleton from which the soil had been washed,–and beyond that was the great uplift of the pine-clad mountains where the springs never failed, and the deer were many.
Wild fowl fluttered and dove in the waters of the river, grey pigeons flew in little groups from the trail; as they walked, two men in canoes caught fish where a little stream joined the big water of P[=o] – s[=o]n-gé–in every direction the boy was conscious of a richer, fuller life than any he had yet seen. His mother was right–her people were a strong people! and their villages were many in the valleys of the river.
In Povi-whah the clan of the Arrow Stone people welcomed the Twilight Woman as their own, and the men and women who had journeyed with her from Ua-lano looked glad to have journeyed with her,–they had to answer many questions.
Tahn-té also had much practise in the Te-hua words when he tried to tell them what the peach was like, and what the pear was like, and the youth were skeptical as to peaches big as six plums.
A boy larger than he flipped with a willow wand at the urn with the little trees, and told him that in Provi-whah a boy was whipped if he lied too often!
“How many times may a boy lie and not be whipped?” asked Tahn-té, and the other boys laughed, and one stripling gave him a fillet of otter skin in approval, and said his name was Po-tzah, and that their clan was the same.
But the tiny Yahn who looked from face to face, and saw the anger in the face of the boy of the willow wand, caught the switch and brought it down with all the force of her two chubby arms on the nurslings brought from Hopi land.
Tahn-té caught her and lifted her beyond reach of the urn.
“I should have let the strange beasts of the iron men eat you,” he said. “You shall go hungry for peaches if you kill the trees!”
The others laughed as she wriggled clear–and lisped threats even while keeping out of range of his strong hands.
“Always she is a little cat of the hills to fight for Ka-yemo,” said Po-tzah. “Little Ka-yemo will some day grow enough to fight alone!”
Ka-yemo scowled at them, and muttered things, and sauntered away. He was the largest of all of them, but one boy does not fight six!
Yahn was in such a silent rage that she twitched and bent the willow until it was no longer any thing but a limp wreck:–she would break something!
“That is the Apache!” said Po-tzah. “I think that baby does not forget to fight even when she sleeps.”
The little animal flung an epithet at him and ran after the sulky Ka-yemo:–evidently her hero and idol.
The mother of Tahn-té was called in council for things of which Tahn-té was not to know. But he learned that she was of the society of the Rulers:–that from which the spiritual head was selected when the Po-Ahtun-ho or Ruler no longer walked on the earth.
After the council sacred meal was sprinkled on the trees in the urn, and the priests of the order of Po-Ahtun divided them between the Winter people, and the Summer people, that it be proven which the care of the new fruit would belong to for prayers, and each planted them by their several signs in the sky. His mother spoke to him when alone and told him he was now to do a boy’s work in the village, and his training must begin for the ceremonies of high orders into which the council wished him to enter.
“To serve our people?”
“Yes:–it will be so–to serve our people.”
“Since