Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Athletes: or, The Boys Who Won», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XIX – ON DANGEROUS GROUND
Behind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing, and he had heard the entire conversation. He was there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not think it his duty to reveal himself.
Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending him so bravely.
He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.
At that moment he would have made a perfect model for an artist or sculptor.
Swiftwing’s face was far from expressionless, for various emotions were depicted upon it as he heard the words of the three beyond the mesquite. He betrayed rage, pride and gratitude, and his broad chest arose and fell tumultuously.
When Carver strolled on, Frank and Inza turned about and retraced their steps toward the Pueblo. As they departed, the unseen Indian heard Inza say:
“I will not believe John Swiftwing is a bad Indian! He has a noble face, and you told me, Frank, that you thought him a fine fellow.”
“I did,” said Merry, “but I know very little of him. Physically, he is a marvel, which is rather strange, as he is a Pueblo Indian, and they are not remarkable for their physical development. But I must confess that Carver’s opinion of all Indians seems to be the general belief of those who associate with them, and know them best.”
“I don’t want to believe it, and I am not going to believe it!”
Swiftwing could hear no more. He had heard quite enough.
“She is a fair white dove!” came from his lips in a murmur that was like liquid music. “She believes there may be some good in an Indian.”
Then he bowed his head, and for a long time he stood there motionless as an image of stone. The beating of the drums at the Pueblo aroused him.
His face was heavy with something that seemed a sullen look of despair.
“The white men say all Indians are bad. Carver says all the education I may receive will not change my nature – I shall be an Indian still. I believe he is right! It is useless for the red man to try to be like the white man. God made them in different molds. He spoke truly when he said the heart remained the same for all of any outward change. Once more I am back here with my people, and I feel that I am like them. What is all my education? What does it amount to? The white man looks on me with scorn. But for the White Dove there would be no more courage left in my heart. I would give it all up, and go back to live with my people. After all, when I have finished at school, that is what I will do.”
He turned his face toward the Pueblo, on the topmost terrace of which the lone drummer could be seen.
“I have seen the great stone cities of the white men,” he said. “The home of my people is but a shadow beside the monster buildings that tower into the air. The white men do many wonderful things. They have the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone, and soon all the secrets of electricity will be theirs. What can my people do? Nothing! It is fate! God willed it so, and we cannot change it.”
His heart was heavy as he moved toward the Pueblo.
In the meantime Frank had left Inza at the tent of the rancher, while he had gone to see what arrangement could be made about getting a chance to take part in the Indian sports and games that day. He hoped he and his friends would be permitted to compete in some of the contests.
Frank was gone more than half an hour.
When he returned he found Inza standing near the tent, chatting to Swiftwing, who was listening with quiet dignity.
Merry scowled a bit.
“I must caution her,” he said. “She should be careful.”
He came up and offered his hand to the young Indian.
“Good-morning, Swiftwing,” he said, heartily in his pleasant manner. “I am glad to see you.”
The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.
“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.
“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”
“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry. “What do you mean?”
“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at the station is here – I saw him!”
“What!”
“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”
“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,” said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested you yesterday, else he would not have done it. He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some conscienceless white man.”
“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to the poor Indians!” cried Inza.
“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed, with a touch of scorn in his voice.
“And some white men will do anything for money,” said Inza.
“That is true,” confessed Frank. “There are plenty of scoundrels among the white men, and not a few of them are Indian agents. But I have something of which I wish to speak to you, Swiftwing.”
“I am listening, Mr. Merriwell.”
“If possible, I wish to find an opportunity for my friends and myself to take part in some of the sports and games to-day. Can it be arranged?”
The Indian looked doubtful.
“I do not know, but I will see. It is certain you will not be permitted to take part in the religious ceremonies.”
“We do not care for that, but I have heard you have a kind of queer ball game.”
“Yes.”
“We’d like to try you at your own game.”
A faint smile came to the Indian’s face.
“You have never seen one of our ball games?”
“No.”
“Then you know very little about it?”
“Only what I have heard of it.”
“How many in your party?”
“Nine.”
“It can be played with nine on a side, but it is better with fifty on a side.”
“Whew! Fifty? Why, that’s a small army!”
“The game does not resemble a game of ball in the least.”
“I have heard so.”
“You will be defeated.”
“Never mind. We shall have some sport, and we are here for that.”
“Is there anything else you wish to do?”
“You said something about wrestling.”
“Yes.”
“Some of the fellows are good wrestlers.”
“It will take a good wrestler to match Whirling Bear.”
“I will find a match for him.”
“Very well. There is to be another race beside the religious race. Will you care to take part in that?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t mind trying to see what I can do at that myself.”
“I am not sure you will be allowed to take part in these things, but I will find out about it.”
Then, lifting his hat to Inza and nodding to Frank, he strode away. The girl watched his retreating figure, and Frank watched her face.
“I don’t care, I won’t believe it of him!” she exclaimed. “No matter what Dan Carver says, I feel sure Swiftwing is a noble fellow.”
“I am afraid, Inza, you are getting altogether too interested in him,” said Frank, reproof in his voice.
She turned on him swiftly, indignation and surprise showing on her face and in her eyes.
“What do you mean to insinuate?” she flashed.
“Now, don’t flare up like that, Inza!” urged Merry. “It is for your good that I wish to caution you.”
“Oh, indeed!”
“Yes, indeed. I fear your admiration for John Swiftwing may lead you to treat him with such friendliness that he may mistake your motives.”
“Frank Merriwell!” she cried; “I did not think this of you!”
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to say. “You cannot treat John Swiftwing as you might an ordinary savage. He has been educated in the East, and he is accustomed to Eastern ways. Already I am sure he admires you greatly, and – ”
“And you don’t like it!”
“It is not that, Inza, but – ”
“It is that!” she flung back, in her impulsive manner. “I am astonished at you, Mr. Merriwell!”
“Inza, listen – ”
“I don’t care to listen, sir!”
“You must listen!”
“Must! You cannot force me to listen!”
“No, I will not try; but you must listen for your own sake. I am saying this for your good.”
“Oh, thank you!”
How cutting her words and manner were! He felt the sting, and his face went from red to white, but he continued, firmly:
“If you were to continue to be so friendly with John Swiftwing he might think you in love with him.”
“What of it!”
“It would be an easy thing for you to arouse a responsive passion in his heart.”
Inza clapped her hands.
“How jolly that would be! Think of having an Indian lover! Why, it is just awfully romantic!”
“It may seem very romantic, and all that, but it would be dangerous.”
“Dangerous! Pooh!”
“Yes, dangerous. For all of his education, Swiftwing is an Indian, and he would not fancy being fooled and toyed with. If he fancied you had deceived him, there is no telling what he might take it into his head to do.”
“Now you are trying to make out, like Dan Carver, that he is a common bad Indian. I thought better of you than that, Mr. Merriwell!”
Frank made a gesture of despair.
“You are very unreasonable this morning.”
“And you are jealous – jealous of an Indian!” taunted the girl. “I did not think that of you!”
Frank straightened up proudly.
“You are at liberty to think what you like,” he said. “I am not jealous, for I think you have more sense than to fall in love with John Swiftwing or any other redskin.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” Inza tossed back, tauntingly. “You can’t always tell.”
Frank turned away.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I must find him and learn what he has been able to do about making arrangements for us.”
He lifted his cap and walked away.
The look on Inza’s face as she watched him depart told that she was not entirely pleased with herself.
“To think he should be jealous of John Swiftwing!” she murmured, “that’s enough to stir any one up! And he is jealous! He needn’t deny it! I’ll make him still more so before I quit. I’ll make him think I am really in love with John.”
Little did she know how dangerous was the ground upon which she was so fearlessly treading.
CHAPTER XX – THE SUN DANCE
By this time the boys had arisen, hastily made their toilets, eaten a “snatched” breakfast, and were coming forth to witness the ceremonies.
It was interesting to watch the crowd gathering from all directions. Some who had come to witness the ceremonies had traveled many hundred miles. There were many Mexicans, not a few cowboys, Indians from various tribes, ranchers and sports, travelers and women.
While mass was going on in the little white chapel, the Pueblos, for whose benefit it was said, were busy elsewhere with preparations for the religious ceremony, in which they have the fullest belief.
The men were in the subterranean estufas, dressing their bodies and performing those secret rites which no white man is ever permitted to witness.
The women were in the labyrinths of the great pyramids, decking themselves out in their finest apparel for the celebration, for the Pueblos had Sunday clothes, and not a few of the garments were rich and handsome.
Mass was over at last, and then came the procession of the saints.
In the chapel were several images. These were taken up in mysterious awe by the women present and carried to the door.
Outside the chapel a piece of sheeting was raised aloft on poles by four Indians to form a canopy to protect the images from the heat of the sun. The procession moved off toward a little bower of green limbs near the bigger pyramid.
At the head of the company marched the idiot drummer, beating away with might and main on his snareless drum.
Close behind him followed two Pueblos, who fired guns as rapidly as they could load them, presumably to frighten away evil spirits.
Then came the women with the images.
The figures were placed in the little bower, so they might overlook the field where the races and sports were to take place.
Not far away on a pole at least forty feet high were suspended a sheep, pieces of bread known as tortillas, and little sacks that were filled with various kinds of grain.
These were the fruits of the field, and were thus hung as a thank offering to the Sun Father, by whose grace it was possible to raise enough to supply the community.
At length the male Pueblos were seen emerging from holes in the ground, entrances to their subterranean council chambers.
Women and children, bedecked in their handsomest garments, appeared on the terraces. They wore bright robes and sheepskin leggins, the latter being white as paper.
Ordinarily these Indians wore clothes in which they could have passed muster in any civilized community, but now all who were to take part in the ceremonies appeared stripped to the breechclout, some of which were fancifully decorated and adorned.
Some of the men had worked red ribbons and skeins of yellow yarn into their long black hair, and all were painted, although, unlike Northern Indians, the Pueblos try to please in their appearance, instead of making themselves as horrible as possible.
Some were half white and some half blue, while others were marked with geometrical figures. Some were of one solid color from crown to toe.
Not a few of them were adorned with handsome white eagle feathers, and some had their heads almost entirely covered with downy feathers.
Among the Pueblos the feather is a symbol of prayer. They say the eagle soars toward the sun at will, and his soft white feathers float upward on the breeze, like thoughts.
When the eagles are breeding the Pueblos go into the mountains and capture the young, which are kept in captivity for Saint Geronimo Day.
And so it is that when the Indian decorates himself on this great occasion with fluttering feathers each feather is equivalent to a prayer that is constantly ascending to the Sun Father.
To say the least, the idea is poetical.
By the time the sun dance was ready to begin more than fifteen hundred witnesses had assembled, and more were coming.
Inza and Miss Abigail intrusted themselves to the care of the boys, who found for them a fine position to witness the celebration.
“Where is Merriwell?” asked the spinster, looking around. “I heard him talking to you in front of the tent, Inza, but I have not seen him this morning.”
“I believe he is trying to make some arrangements so that the boys may take part in the sports of the day,” answered the girl, quietly.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Miss Abigail. “What a crazy notion! I don’t understand how he can want to have anything at all to do with them horrid Indians! If the Indians were beaten at any of their games, they might get angry and kill us all.”
“Nefer you been afrait mit dot,” said Hans, who had been egged on by Barney and Ephraim to make one more attempt to win the good will of Miss Abigail. “Uf they tried dot mit you they vos sure to get left alretty queek. I vos here, und I don’d let yourself be scalped. Yaw!”
The spinster gave him a look that nearly froze him on the spot.
“You!” she exclaimed. “You would fall all over yourself trying to get out of the way if you thought there was any danger.”
“You don’d pelief me!” cried Hans. “I vos a corker to fight. Somedime ven dere vos some dangers meppy I peen aple to shown you der sort uf a heroes vot you don’d know I peen.”
This was very amusing to Barney and Ephraim, who were chuckling with satisfaction.
Frank appeared.
“It’s all right, fellows!” he exclaimed, his face glowing with satisfaction. “I have arranged it.”
“Good stuff!” exclaimed Harry. “But what are we going to do?”
“Take part in everything but the religious performances.”
“What else occurs?”
“A ball game, races, wrestling match, and so forth!”
“Hurro!” cried Barney Mulloy, in delight. “It’s shport we’ll be afther havin’ wid th’ spalpanes!”
“By gum!” grinned Ephraim Gallup. “It’s goin’ to be a sight better’n a circus!”
“I shouldn’t have been able to fix it if it hadn’t been for John Swiftwing,” confessed Frank. “He did all the business for me.”
“Is he going to take part in any of the sports?” asked Diamond.
“Yes.”
“Well, he is a dandy. He can run like a deer, and he has the strength of a grizzly bear.”
“Don’t I know it?” laughed Frank. “Didn’t I find it out when Yale played Carlisle. He was a perfect wonder among the Indians, and their entire eleven were bulldog fighters. They were not at all scientific in their play, but they gave Yale the hottest kind of a fight, and came near battering a road to victory several times.”
Inza did not seem to hear Merriwell’s words, and she was giving him no attention. She had called Hodge to her side, and was speaking to Bart.
As Frank turned toward the girl he heard her say:
“It’s a disgrace to civilization that the American Indian is treated in such a shameful manner! The Indians have been robbed, and deceived, and butchered, and lied to, till they have no confidence in white men; and now, because once in a while an Indian imitates a white man and gets drunk, it is said all Indians are bad! It makes my blood boil to think of it. John Swiftwing is a specimen of the educated Indian, and he shows what the government might do with these unfortunates if it tried. I think the United States ought to be ashamed of itself! I am ashamed of it, so there!”
Hodge laughed.
“You have grown very enthusiastic over this subject of late,” he said. “It seems to me that all your enthusiasm has been aroused since you first saw John Swiftwing.”
Inza echoed his laugh, but added color came to her cheeks.
“Perhaps you are right,” she admitted. “I confess I did not know there were any Indians like Mr. Swiftwing. He was a revelation to me.”
“There are a few like him, but he is not just what he seems, you may be sure of that, Inza.”
“Now stop right there, Bart Hodge! Don’t tell me that he is still a savage at heart. I know better! You can’t make me believe that after seeing all the fine things there are in the East and learning how much superior the method of living among white men is to the way the Indians live that a highly intelligent fellow like John Swiftwing could desire to come back here and live as his people live.”
“I shall not try to make you believe it, Inza,” smiled Bart, “for I have learned that it is not an easy thing to change your mind once you have it set on anything.”
“That’s so! When I am sure of a thing I’ll stick to it.”
Frank bit his lip.
“That’s right,” he thought. “She is the most obstinate girl in the world. She is jealous, quick-tempered, obstinate and intractable, but still there is an irresistible charm about her. I should dislike any other girl of her temperament and disposition, but it is most marvelous that the more hateful she is the greater is her attraction for me. Who can explain that? I am sure I can’t.”
He spoke to Inza, but she did not deign to give him much attention, continuing her conversation with Hodge, whose eyes twinkled as he saw there was some sort of a misunderstanding between her and Frank.
“They seem to be quarreling or making up all the time,” Bart mentally observed.
Boomp-boomp! boomp-er-boomp! boomp-er-boomp!
The sun dance had begun, and the drummer was beating out the time with a curious and ponderous drumstick.
The drum was a big rawhide affair, as large as a barrel, and was carried by two men.
The men of the two large community buildings had formed in separate groups, shoulder to shoulder, and, on an open space before the bower occupied by the images, they began the dance.
This dance was a curious lifting of the feet with a sharp, jerky motion, and they sang a Pueblo anthem, which sounded like this:
“Hi yo to hoo he yo yah hay yo,
He yah hi yo ye har ye he ho.”
This was a song of praise and thanksgiving to the Sun Father, and a supplication for the continuance of his favor. It was not the hoarse and discordant yelping of the Northern Indian, but arose and fell in rhythmical cadences and with an exactness of time that was surprising.
The spectators watched the dance with a curious feeling of interest and fascination.
CHAPTER XXI – THE RELIGIOUS RACE
Soon the sun dance was over and then came the religious race.
The track was a smooth strip of ground, stretching about four hundred yards from the bower in which the images had been placed.
The track was kept clear by old men, who were stationed at short distances up and down, armed with green branches to keep intruders out of the way.
At each end the contestants stood in a row, watching the track.
Each of the big community buildings was represented by sixteen runners, who were to take turns in the race.
The governor of the Pueblo made a short speech, and then, with startling suddenness two lithe figures darted out from the end nearer the bower, there was a wild shout of “hay-wah-oh,” and the race had begun.
The two runners stopped when they reached the other end of the course, but already two other runners had taken their places, darting off like foxes the moment the original two crossed a certain line that was marked by a bush that lay across the track.
This change was made at each end of the course, so all the sixteen contestants took turns.
But it was permissible to put the same runner in as many times as necessary, and it so happened that, whenever one side would get a lead over the other, the best runners were called on to go in repeatedly.
Behind each of the runners chosen to take up the race next stood two old men, who were each holding a long eagle feather. With these feathers they repeatedly touched the calves of the runners’ legs, at the same time muttering a prayer to the Sun Father, imploring him to give the runners the speed of the eagle.
The spectators showed much excitement as the race continued.
“Um-o-pah! um-o-pah!” they shouted, wildly waving their hands to the winners.
They were urging them to “hurry up.”
In vain the boys looked for John Swiftwing.
“It’s strange he has not been chosen to take part in this race,” said Frank. “I have been told by one of the old chiefs that he was swifter than all their other runners before he went away to school.”
“Are there no other races?” asked Hodge.
“Yes; but this being the religious race, is of the most consequence, and usually the best runners are put into this.”
“Perhaps Swiftwing is saving himself for some other race.”
“Perhaps so.”
Inza watched the runners with great interest, but Miss Abigail soon tired of the affair.
“I can’t say that I see anything entertaining or intellectual in all this,” she sniffed.
“Yaw,” nodded Hans, who still kept near her; “I peen feexed dot vay yourself. Der race vas on der pum. You agree mit yourself about dot exactly.”
“Don’t bother to agree with me about anything!” came stiffly from the spinster. “I don’t care to have you agree with me.”
“Oh, you don’d! Vell, you reminds me uf a feller vot I knowed vonce on a time. He vas alvays disagreeing mit eferydings. He wouldn’t eat anyding vot he thought might agree mit him, und so he died der disbepsia of. You vant to look out for dot.”
With this shot Hans edged away, not liking the glare Miss Abigail gave him.
“You pet me my life she don’d got der pest uf me all der times!” he chuckled.
While the religious race was taking place, Swiftwing suddenly appeared at Frank’s side.
“If you wish to play ball,” he said, “you may have a chance. Bring your friends. Come.”
Frank spoke to the boys, all of whom, with the exception of Browning, were eager for the sport.
Bruce grumbled a little, but followed Frank.
Swiftwing led them away, but he had found time to speak a word in Inza Burrage’s ear, and Frank had noted this.
Merry saw Inza start a little and then shake her head, while her face grew pale and she pressed nearer to her aunt.
“I wonder what the fellow said to her,” thought Frank, who was far from pleased. “She would not tell me if I asked her, so I’ll have to continue to wonder.”
The young Indian led the boys to a place not far from the bower, but beyond the crowd of spectators.
“The ball game will be for sport,” he said, “and, as you do not know just how Indians play ball, I have decided that you shall be divided. Four of you will play on one side, and five on the other. The rest of the players will be Indians, and there will be twenty on a side. They are preparing now. Get ready, for the game will begin right after the race.”
So, with much joking among themselves, the boys pulled off their sweaters and prepared for the race.
Swiftwing gave their superfluous clothes into the care of an old man, who was told to watch carefully that no Mexicans or Apaches stole anything from him.
Then Swiftwing showed the boys the balls and the bats, which were like old-fashioned “shinny” sticks, and explained to them how the game was to be played.
This done, the Indian youth left Frank to divide his party, and hurried away.
Within three minutes a great shouting announced that the religious race was over, and one of the buildings had won over the other.
Barely had this shouting ceased when, with yells like wild animals, thirty-one young bucks, stripped to the breechcloth, came from somewhere and rushed upon the white boys.
Hans gave a gurgle of fear and rolled over in a sudden attempt to take flight.
“Here vas where you lose mein scalp!” he gurgled.
Toots was scared, and his teeth chattered.
“Oh, Lordy!” he gasped. “Mah wool am gone dis time fo’ suah! I done knowed I’d nebber keep dis wool on mah haid till I got back home!”
Barney Mulloy squared off, his hands clinched and his eyes flashing.
“Come on, ye spalpanes!” he grated. “It’s a roight tough bit av a shcrap we’ll be afther havin’, me laddy-bucks!”
“Gug-gug-good gosh!” stammered Ephraim Gallup, his face turning pale and his knees knocking together. “We’re ketched in a trap, by gum! I wish I was to hum on the farm!”
“What’s the meaning of this, Merriwell?” cried Jack Diamond, clutching Frank’s arm with a strong grip. “Are we in for scalping – or what?”
“It’s all right,” assured Merriwell. “That’s their way of attracting the attention of the crowd and informing them that the ball game is about to begin.”
“Is that all?” gurgled Ephraim, in great relief, seeing the young Indians gather about but observing they did not offer hostilities. “Wal, darned if I ain’t afraid I’ll never be able to comb my hair ag’in! It feels as if it was stickin’ up stiffer than quills on the back of a hedgehoag.”
The shout from the young bucks had attracted the attention of the spectators and they were rushing toward the spot.
A hand touched Frank’s arm.
“Come,” said the voice of John Swiftwing. “A place for us to play will be prepared.”
John was one of the young bucks. He had cast aside the clothes of civilization, and, like the others, he was stripped to the breechcloth.
His physique was magnificent, and Frank regarded him with admiration. Such broad shoulders, such a deep chest, such hard and muscular limbs were not common among the Pueblos.
In Swiftwing’s hair eagle feathers had been fastened, and it seemed that, with his clothes, he had cast aside all the refining changes of civilization.
He was a savage again!
His eyes were flashing, and his head was poised proudly on his strong neck. The players looked to him as a leader, and they followed him to the cleared space where the ball game was to take place.
Frank had divided his party. Rattleton, Diamond, Mulloy and Gallup were on one side, while Merriwell, Browning, Hodge, Dunnerwust and Toots were on the other.
It took but a few moments for all arrangements to be completed.
The sides of twenty men each were drawn up facing each other, with an open space between them. The forty players were scattered over considerable territory. Each man stood in an expectant attitude, one of the rude bats in his hands, ready for the ball to be put into play.
The ball was small and hard, and the players could not touch it with their hands after play began, but they must keep it constantly in the air. The moment it touched the ground the game was won and the side upon whose territory it had fallen were defeated.
This was the usual rule, but, on this occasion it was modified somewhat, as there were white players in the game, and it was not expected they could do as well as the Indians who were familiar with the sport. It was decided that the ball must be driven to the ground twice on one side or the other in order to insure a defeat. It was to be the “best two out of three.”
Suddenly there was a shrill yell, a sharp crack, and the ball had been batted into play.
