Читать книгу Buddy and the Indian Chief, or, A Boy Among the Navajos - Howard R Garis - Страница 4

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Had it not been that Buddy was in the room with his father and mother they might have thought he was playing some trick on Lola Wagg to make her cry out in this way. For the truth must be told—Buddy was often a tease.

But he wasn’t bothering Lola now. He was thinking too much about the strange trip his father had promised him to have any mind for tricks or jokes. Still, something had alarmed the maid for out in the hall beyond the library door she continued to call:

“Please go away! I don’t like Indians!”

“Indians! It can’t be!” said Mrs. Martyne.

“That’s what she said,” spoke Buddy. “I’m going to see what it’s all about.”

He made a dash for the door as his mother said:

“You didn’t bring an Indian home with you and leave him out in the hall, did you, Clayton?”

“No, indeed,” answered Buddy’s father with a laugh. “I can’t imagine what this means. Lola must be talking in her sleep or something like that. I’ll take a look.”

Mr. Martyne followed Buddy out into the hall. He saw Lola Wagg hurrying toward the kitchen. He saw Buddy looking at a tall, slim man who, though he wasn’t dressed as are Indians in a Wild West show yet looked to be one of the Redmen from one of the little visited parts of the United States. Though dressed in ordinary clothes, the strange man in the hall was holding a gaily decorated blanket, some thin sticks festooned with feathers and a number of silver ornaments studded with blue stones which Buddy knew to be turquoise as his mother had one set in a ring.

Really the objects which must have made Lola Wagg think the strange man was an Indian chief were the eagle feathers he carried but did not wear on his head as some Indians wear a war bonnet. But even without the war bonnet the visitor was clearly an Indian.

Buddy gazed at him with widely-opened eyes. It all seemed so strange to the boy. To come home, to hear his father talking about a trip to the Navajo Indian country and then to find an Indian of that nation, seemingly, in the hall. What did it mean?

Before Buddy could ask any questions, Mr. Martyne spoke, saying:

“Who are you? Why did you come in my house? Do you want to see me? What are you doing with those Indian objects?”

Somewhat to Buddy’s surprise the strange man, instead of speaking as the boy expected he would, in halting, broken words, answered in good English:

“I must ask your pardon, Mr. Martyne, for this surprise. I really didn’t intend it. But learning you are interested in Hopi and Navajo Indian relics I brought you some.”

“How did you know I was interested in such things?” asked Buddy’s father.

“They told me at the library and museum here in Mountchester. I have just come from there. They gave me your address.”

“I see,” said Mr. Martyne, who was beginning to understand what at first was a puzzle. “Well, perhaps you had better step into the library here and explain. Are you an Indian?”

Buddy waited eagerly for the answer and was thrilled when he heard the visitor say:

“I am a full-blooded Navajo Indian. My name is Morzrel, which in English means Flaming Light. I shall be very glad to explain why I called on you.”

“I wish you hadn’t frightened my maid,” said Mrs. Martyne coming out into the hall to join in the talk. “Did you walk in on her and surprise her?”

“Oh, no, ma’am, indeed I didn’t. I rang the bell to come in to show what I have for sale. But as soon as she saw me, and I admit I must have startled her, she jumped back, leaving the door open and as I walked in she backed up and started to scream. I’m very sorry.”

“Lola screams easy,” said Buddy. He ought to know if anybody did, for he often teased Lola so that she cried out in alarm.

“Oh! Then I really didn’t frighten her, perhaps,” said Morzrel. “I am glad. I should like to make amends and perhaps you will give her this with my compliments.” He held out a bracelet made of native silver studded with turquoise chips and Mrs. Martyne took charge of it, murmuring her thanks as she said:

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too expensive.”

“Oh, no,” said the Indian. “My people make many of them and sell them. This is not one of the most expensive. I have others and I hope you may purchase many of them and other of our goods for the collection, Mr. Martyne.”

“How did you know I was going to buy Indian goods for a collection?” asked Mr. Martyne quickly.

“They told me so at the museum where I went to sell some things myself. I would rather deal with you, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Martyne. “Come in and we’ll talk it over.”

Buddy could hold back no longer. He just had to find out something and what he asked was:

“Are you really an Indian, Mr.-er-Flaming Light?”

“Yes, truly I am. What makes you think I’m not?”

“Well, you talk just like we do.”

“I have been to school for a number of years, just as I suppose you have, little man,” said the Navajo with a smile that showed his white teeth in contrast to his dark brown skin. “Most of the younger Indians speak considerable English though we also know our own language. But my father, Chief Kotcha, speaks very little English.”

“Oh, then there is an Indian chief?” asked Buddy and his hopes of some wild adventures came back.

“Oh, yes, we have several chiefs on the Navajo reservation in the Black Mountain region of Arizona. There are Hopi chiefs, too, and if you will come out there I’ll show them to you.”

“I’m coming!” Buddy exclaimed eagerly.

“Now don’t be too sure,” warned his mother.

“Oh, but you said I could go!”

“Yes, yes. We’ll go into that later,” said Mr. Martyne. “What I am interested in now are these things you have brought, Morzrel. Where did you get them?”

“They were intrusted to me by our tribe. I shall explain everything and you will see that it is all right.”

“May I stay and listen?” asked Buddy.

“Yes,” his father replied. So, while the red-haired boy curled up in an easy library chair, the young Indian, who was about twenty-five years of age, placed on a table the things he had with him.

I might take just a moment to tell you something about Buddy, though those of you who have read the other books in this series know him well enough by this time.

Buddy, who appears for the first time in a book called “Buddy on the Farm,” was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Clayton Martyne. Buddy’s real name was Richard, or Dick. But he was seldom called anything but Buddy.

The Martyne family lived in the small city of Mountchester and Buddy had many wonderful times and adventures not only there but in other places as has been told in several books. His last adventure was related in the volume just before this, called “Buddy and His Cowboy Pal,” and told how the red-haired boy went out on a Western ranch.

“But I’m going to a wilder place than a ranch now,” thought Buddy, as he listened to what Morzrel related.

Briefly the Indian’s story was that because there were several poor members of his tribe who wanted to live better than they could on the money the government allowed them, they decided to get together a collection of the things they could best make, send them East and have them sold.

The things the Navajo Indians make best are blankets with rather peculiar angular designs, pottery and silver and turquoise jewelry of simple styles. Many of these things are sold to tourists who go to the Navajo country or to the Hopi reservations to observe the snake dances and other ceremonies.

Buddy was a little puzzled when Flaming Light spoke of the Indians being on reservations. But he remembered that Powder Pete, his cowboy pal, had explained how, when the United States government took the Indian lands they set aside certain big tracts where the Redmen, who once roamed about as they pleased, must now live forever. The Indians can’t do as they please but must stay on their reservations unless permitted, for a certain time, to leave them for special purposes.

“So, after I finished school, a white man’s school by the way, where many Indians were taught,” said Morzrel the Navajo, “I got permission to leave the reservation to come and sell some of our goods.

“I sold quite a good lot to different museums and libraries around New York but when I got here I learned, somewhat to my surprise, that arrangements had been made to send you out, Mr. Martyne, to buy things yourself.”

“Yes,” said Buddy’s father. “A rich man died and left some money to buy Indian relics. I was planning a trip to your country with Buddy when you happened in.”

“Then perhaps it is very fortunate that I called,” said Morzrel. “I am planning soon to go back to Arizona and, if you do not object, I should like to travel with you.”

“That can be done,” said Mr. Martyne.

“But we can’t go in an airship,” said Buddy rather sadly.

“I don’t care to,” laughed the Indian. “The train is good enough for me but a pony is better than the train. I shall have my pony when I get back home. Perhaps you would like one, also, Buddy?”

“Oh, I’d love it! I rode with Powder Pete. I can sit a saddle pretty well, I guess.”

“I’m sure you can. Well, I’ll give you a chance. When did you intend to start for Arizona, Mr. Martyne?”

“In a few days. The first of the week. As soon as Buddy’s school closes.”

“Good. Then, with your permission, I’ll go with you. I can arrange for you to buy what you want of Indian relics for the museum and library at very good prices.”

“That will be fine,” said Mr. Martyne. “Now I’d like to look at what you have here. I may buy some of them.”

Buddy was delighted, as were his mother and father, to inspect the Navajo goods. Even Lola ventured into the library when she learned the “Indian chief” was very harmless and she was delighted with her bracelet.

That night, after Morzrel had gone back to the hotel where he was staying, the Martyne family talked matters over and formal permission was given Buddy to go out to Arizona with his father, starting Tuesday, to remain most of the summer vacation. Mrs. Martyne would go to visit her sister at the seashore.

So it came about that one day, with bags and baggage, Buddy and his father and the Indian started for Arizona where many strange adventures awaited them.