Blood of the Devil Page 2
In the time of waiting, I visited my mother, Sons-ee-ah-ray. She had adopted and named Lucky Star, a Nakai-yi (Mexican) slave child that Juh had given to me. As Sons-ee-ah-ray and I sat by her fire drinking piñon nut coffee she said, “I’m an old woman and have seen much since before the days you remember of Carlton’s Bosque Redondo camp of suffering. Your attack on Sangre del Diablo and his band of Comanches and Nakai-yi pistoleros would make your father very proud. I know also your grandfather, though he died by the hand of the witch when you attacked him, was very proud to claim you as his grandson. The camp women have prayed many times for your safe return to Juanita, who at last carries your child in her belly. Truly you are a favored warrior.”
“I won’t rest until this witch walks blind in the Happy Land and is no more in the land of the living. Beela-chezzi and I are lucky to be alive. Sangre del Diablo is very powerful. Even Juh is afraid to attack him, afraid if he tries and fails, the witch will call the evil spirits on his whole band. Pray every day for Ussen to help us. Beela-chezzi and I must kill and blind this witch or we may all die.”
Even in the weak light of her tipi, I saw the same fire in Sonsee-ah-ray’s eyes I remembered from my childhood. She nodded and said, “Don’t worry, my son. Ussen will give you strength and make your Power even stronger when you need it. Come back to us when your vengeance is complete. While you hunt the witch, the women will protect the child who grows in the belly of your wife. We’re all anxious for it to come. You’ll return long before it’s born.”
“Hmmph. I believe my mother speaks true.”
“Now go to your woman, comfort her mind with your strength and vision that your child might be born strong and ready, and smooth your mind to think clearly as you hunt the witch.”
“My mother is a wise woman.”
Juanita and I lay under the blankets and spoke long into the night about the child coming to us, a child we had awaited for over two harvests.
“Husband, be strong. Do nothing foolish to cause me to be left a widow as you look for your vengeance.”
I smiled as she lay in the crook of my arm, and I stared at the milk river of stars I watched through the poles of the tipi top. “I’ve already seen how the witch dies in a dream. Ussen’s Power will protect me. Don’t worry.”
Juanita’s warm body gave mine comfort just by its nearness, and I thought of the child she carried. I stroked the bare curve of her back and said, “Is it too early to consider who we will ask to do the baby’s tsach (cradleboard)? It’s the most important thing we’ll do for our child after it’s born.”
I heard only the rhythm of her breathing for a while before she said, “No, it’s not too early. I think a woman with wise hands and a good heart should make it. I think we should ask Sons-ee-ah-ray. Do you think she would make the tsach?”
I smiled again, “Woman, you see into my mind. She’d be proud to make it. Let’s ask her when I return.”
I drew Juanita closer to me and she said with a laughing voice, “Enjuh (good). Now hold me close to you as we sleep. I think your trip will be long before you return to us.”
I cleaned and oiled my rifle, tested its sights, counted my bullets, cleaned and straightened my arrows and fletched again those with feathers grown rough from use and blood, and sharpened my knife to slash fast and deep. Beela-chezzi and I spoke together a long time about how to best catch and kill Sangre del Diablo and his Comanches.
Pounding dried meat, nuts, and fruits together, Juanita made food I could eat on the trail without using a cooking fire, and she taught Beela-chezzi’s new wife, Carmen Rosario, how to do this for her man.
Our ponies rested and ate their fill of good grass in the high meadows of Juh’s stronghold.
With the help of Juh’s di-yen (medicine man) we used a sweat lodge and let poisons leave our bodies and minds as we asked help from the mountain spirits and for Ussen to guide us. At last, with clear minds and renewed weapons, Beela-chezzi and I were ready to hunt and kill the witch.
On the fourth day, I stood on top of the stronghold cliffs and watched the edge of the sky turn blood red as the bright fire Ussen brings burning in the sun lifted out of darkness to once more bring us light and warmth. I lifted my hands and sang my morning prayer to Ussen. I sang it as Sons-ee-ah-ray had taught me when I was a small boy in General Carlton’s prisoner of war camp at Bosque Redondo fifteen years earlier. Not far away on the same cliffs facing east, I could see the dim outline of Beela-chezzi, hands raised, giving voice to his own prayer to Ussen.
Soon, I joined him, and we saddled our ponies, hobbled them so they could continue to graze, and went to our separate lodges to have a morning meal, to speak with our women, and to await the warrior Juh promised for guiding us to the camp of the Apache warrior the Nakai-yes called Elias.
Juanita handed me a slice of beef and a gourd filled with wild potatoes flavored with wild onion and sage. “My man is ready to leave the stronghold? Your weapons, blanket, and trail food are ready? Is there anything else you need?”
I shook my head. “Beela-chezzi and I are ready.”
Soon a dark outline appeared and waited outside our door. Juanita called, “You are welcome in our lodge.”
I saw her eyes narrow and her hand cover her mouth as the warrior pulled back the door cover and stepped in to join us. I’m sure I must have looked as surprised as Juanita. This warrior was a little older than me, but his hair was long and red, and his skin was much lighter than ours. He smiled and nodded at us and said, “I’m called Kitsizil Lichoo’ (His Hair Red) by my people and Pelo Rojo (Red Hair) by the Nakai-yes. Juh has asked I guide you to the camp of Elias.”
Juanita recovered from her surprise and stood, motioning him to sit to my left. She said, “I’ll tell Beela-chezzi you wait for him. Will you eat with us?”
Kitsizil Lichoo’ said, “Yes, I’ll eat. You’re generous to strangers.” Juanita handed him a gourd filled with meat and potatoes before she went to bring Beela-chezzi.
I said, “My people and I have taken sanctuary with Juh for over two moons now. How is it this is the first time we’ve seen Juh’s son, Kitsizil Lichoo’, an Apache not easy to miss?”
He laughed. “You haven’t seen me because for three moons I’ve been in Sonora scouting the Nakai-yi mining camps in the Sierra El Tigre and just returned two nights ago to tell Juh what I’ve learned. He watches the Nakai-yes closely after they stole our women and children. With the help of Geronimo and others, we took them back. Each Nakai-yi village in the Sierra El Tigre will one day be a target of a Juh raid. He hates the Nakai-yes and the Indah (white men).”
I nodded and said, “Why did Juh send you to guide us so soon after you returned to the stronghold?”
“He trusts me to get you there quickly. He says you hunt the witch, Sangre del Diablo, and have much power. If you come to his camp quickly, Elias will not have decided what to do with the witch, and you’ll have a better chance of killing him.”
“Hmmph. Then I’m glad you’ll guide us. We have much to learn of the Blue Mountains.”
We then ate quickly, speaking little, eager to be on our way. We were ready to ride when Beela-chezzi came.
CHAPTER 2
KITSIZIL LICHOO’
Standing near the edges of high places never made me want for courage. From the time I was a little one, I always liked to stand on high cliffs. In the high places, I can see far, and in the faraway places, I see my spirit. Riding the trails on the edges of high Blue Mountain cliffs, I first saw a spirit of gut-churning fear.
Following a trail along high canyon cliffs, giving views to the far horizon and straight down into deep dark canyons, the warrior Kitsizil Lichoo’ led Beela-chezzi and me to the camp of Nat-cul-bay-e, known also to the Nakai-yes as Jose Maria Elias, in the Blue Mountains. My pony’s hooves often landed only a hand span away from the edge of forever. One little slip, one foot in the wrong place, one unexpected jerk by me or the pony at the wrong place or time, and we would stumble into black, shadow
-filled air or roll down steep mountainsides to be mangled beyond recognition.
Not losing courage and trusting my pony was a hard lesson to learn. It required the constant focus of my attention in much the same way as when I shot a rifle to hit a fast-moving target. Keeping an unchanging focus every moment meant keeping my mind and body in a good place, relaxed, yet ready to act faster than a striking snake.
It took two long days and a night of rest to reach the camp of Elias. The mountain ranges the Indah know in the north have their peaks running north and south with wide valleys in between. The Blue Mountains have high, blade-sharp ridges that run side-by-side north and south. Many angry, jagged boulders cover their sides, and the deep canyons between the ridges often have running streams or deep tanks of water at their bottoms. Blue oaks cover the ridge sides close to the canyon bottoms, but the ridge tops, like islands in the sky, have easy-to-find grass and tall pines. Many trails cross these ridges, but I think Kitsizil Lichoo’ chose the highest, hardest ones to make us stronger.
At the end of the first day, we camped in tall pines on a high ridge but made no fire. Enemies on tops of other ridges can see light from even a small fire hidden by rocks. We believed we were better cold and living than warm and dead. Our hobbled horses grazed in tall grass at the edge of the trees. As golden light at the end of the day faded, we pulled together piles of pine straw to keep us warm while we slept. In the high darkness, sitting close together for warmth, we ate the trail food Carmen Rosario and Juanita made for us, listened to the night sounds of birds, wolves, coyotes, and singing insects, and spoke of our lives, as new friends will.
Kitsizil Lichoo’, perhaps no more than three harvests older than me, moved and spoke like a chief who had Power. I liked him and wanted to know more about him.
“Kitsizil Lichoo’, I would ask you about your life. Will you answer?”
I saw Kitsizil Lichoo’ make a one-sided smile. “Speak. I will answer.”
A googé (whip-poor-will) called from the top of the ridge, and far down the canyon, we heard Cougar scream like an Indah woman taken against her will.
“How old were you when you came to be Juh’s son?”
“Juh took me from a stagecoach he ambushed between the villages of Mesilla and Tucson.” I frowned, and Kitsizil Lichoo’ quickly added, “A stagecoach is what the Indah call a wagon for carrying them on long rides. I was with my mother that day and had lived through four harvests. I remember a gray beard who smelled of old sweat and whiskey riding with us on the wagon. When he laughed he showed ugly black teeth and sweat ran down the sides of his face into patchy black and gray whiskers, and a big, ugly growth of gray hair was under his nose. He told us many stories of what Apaches did to little boys and how they tortured captive women. Those stories made my mother make faces of fear and squeeze my hand tighter than normal.
“He died gagging and spitting blood early in the attack when an arrow flew through the window and stabbed deep into his throat. When the stage stopped in the middle of the llano (dry prairie) road, the driver and guard had been hit with many arrows and were slumped on the driver’s seat. My mother, moaning and sobbing, looked through the stagecoach window and saw the Apaches coming. She feared them more than dying and pointed a pistol to kill me, but then she shot herself in an eye instead.”
He paused for a moment and cupped his hand to his ear. We did the same. Far down in the canyon we could hear wolves snarling and growling, water splashing, and the faint bleat of a deer coming to its end.
Kitsizil Lichoo’ continued his story. “Juh already had three wives, one not yet with a child, and he gave me to her. It was two harvests before I made words or noise after my mother died, but I listened and watched, and I spoke as a true Nednhi when my tongue worked again. I learned to live like an Apache. I played war and raiding games with the other children, learned the bow, knife, spear, and sling. I trained as they did, running long and hard every day, and I learned the ways of the People and Ussen.
“The Nednhi women thought my hair was pretty and that it brought them luck when they stroked it. They taught me to pray to Ussen every morning, made sure I had plenty to eat, and took good care of me. In time, I understood the Nednhi were my people, not the Indah. I had to work hard for the Nednhi women until Juh began to train me. It’s been five harvests since I went on my first novice raid. Now, I wear a warrior’s scars.”
He turned to me and said, “I would ask to know more about your experience with this witch you seek in the camp of Elias. Will you answer?”
Even in the starlight shadows under the tall pine trees, I saw Beela-chezzi squint a warning that meant, Answer carefully. We don’t know this Apache with red hair.
“I will answer.” Beela-chezzi looked up to the stars in apparent disgust. But, to me, Kitsizil Lichoo’ was a friend we must trust, not a stranger.
“You’ve likely heard how I showed Juh my Power by shooting the gourd off the top of the head of a running Nakai-yi slave child, the one my mother now calls Lucky Star.” He nodded, and I continued, “That shot convinced Juh my Power was from Ussen, and he told me of the witch, Sangre del Diablo, the one who led the Comanches and Nakai-yi pistoleros when they wiped out and scalped most of Cha’s Mescaleros in the Guadalupe Mountains, including my father. All three Mescalero warriors in our camp at Juh’s stronghold rode with me to kill that witch. Only Beela-chezzi and I returned. Sangre del Diablo and two of his band escaped, still, we killed many of his warriors and banditos.”
I stopped for a moment as the memory of Beela-chezzi and me burying my grandfather and our friend, who were killed by Sangre del Diablo, blew to life the hot coals of fury still hot in my guts.
“A warrior, riding to Juh with word from Victorio, rested his pony in the Río Casas Grandes bosque and saw Sangre del Diablo and his two Comanches destroy three wagons filled with women and children and then burn their bodies. Those women and children were slaves Beela-chezzi and I had freed when we took the witch’s hacienda. Before torching the bodies, the warrior heard Sangre del Diablo send the Comanches to the camp of Elias where he said he would go in three moons after he left a baby, who lived through the wagon massacre, with a woman in Casas Grandes and called more warriors to leave the Comanche reservation far out on the llano to come and join him.” I knew Kitsizil Lichoo’ heard the rage in my voice. I couldn’t hide it. I spoke through clenched teeth.
Beela-chezzi sighed. “Victorio, the great chief who stayed at Mescalero for a while, is on a rampage trying to kill every Nakai-yi in Chihuahua and every Indah north of the border. Why would Sangre del Diablo save the life of a slave baby? Do you think he will use it to get back his di-yen power in a witch’s feast of blood? Perhaps he will rape or mutilate it in front of his men. He’s the worst of evil.”
Kitsizil Lichoo’ shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, but his face showed he hated the thought of what might happen to the child.
I said, “If the Comanches are in the camp of Elias, we’ll find a way to kill them and not betray Elias’s welcome. We’ll wait for Sangre del Diablo to appear and then kill him. Ussen gave me Power to kill witches. My Power gives me the accuracy to shoot them in the eyes and send them forever blind to the Happy Land. This witch must die for all the evil he has done to my People and others. He’ll die by my hand. I’ll send him blind to the Happy Land of the grandfathers.”
Wind shook the tops of the pines on our ridge, and I could feel the eyes of Kitsizil Lichoo’ on me, but he said nothing for a long time, and I thought he had heard all he wanted and had nothing more to say. But then, he said, “Elias will give the Comanches and their witch wickiups and help them when they ask. I don’t trust Elias. He’s a fool who makes badly planned raids where warriors always die. Juh stays away from him. Perhaps the witch will turn on my People as he did on yours. I’ll help you kill him and his Comanches before they can attack us.”
“Enjuh. Kitsizil Lichoo’ is a good friend. Beela-chezzi and I welcome you to our hunt for the witch.”
THE CAMP OF ELIAS
We kept our ponies back in the trees and studied the camp of Elias from behind boulders on top of a ridge. I counted over thirty wickiups scattered among the cottonwoods, willows, and scrub oak growing next to rushing water in a deep canyon. Although the sun was only halfway to the western mountains from the time of short shadows, the canyon floor was dark from its high wall shadows and made the camp hard to see. If Beela-chezzi and I had come alone, we might never have found it. Like other Apache camps, no noise gave it away. No horses snorting or neighing, no cattle bawling, no children playing, even the women chopping wood were hard to hear over the rush of the water. Kitsizil Lichoo’ pointed with his nose to a man making a long saber-tipped lance next to the biggest wickiup in the rancheria. He had long hair, reaching to his waist and held out of his face with a blue bandanna. His muscular arms and big chest projected an image of strength and vigor. This was Elias.
Three women worked around his wickiup, and he occasionally spoke or motioned to one or the other to bring him something from the wickiup or to do some chore. A few warriors worked on their weapons or lounged in the camp, but we saw no Comanches among them.
We watched the camp until the sky began to catch the orange and pink colors of sunset, and then rode down the twisting trail off the ridge toward the camp. Playing children saw us coming and ran. As we passed the outer edge of the camp, warriors began appearing with bows, spears, and rifles in their hands, saying nothing, their obsidian-black eyes following our every move as we confidently rode to the place where Elias was finishing his lance. The men of the ranchería closed behind us, silent, waiting for a sign from Elias, who sat by the orange and yellow flames of a fire one of the women had lighted.
Kitsizil Lichoo’, rifle in the crook of his arm, stopped his pony and said, “D’anté, Elias. Kitsizil Lichoo’, son of Juh, brings Mescalero friends to speak with you. Will you share your fire with us?”