Читать книгу Buddy and the Indian Chief, or, A Boy Among the Navajos - Howard R Garis - Страница 5

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The automobile, an old touring car, jolted along a dusty trail that wound in and out now over desert sands and again through small wooded hills and past little pools or small streams of water. It looked to be a dreary region of country but to Buddy it was like a most beautiful park, for the red-haired boy was looking eagerly forward to a stay among the Navajo Indians. At last he had reached their land.

“Here we are!” announced the driver of the auto.

“So this is the Indian agency?” asked Mr. Martyne.

“One of them,” answered Morzrel. “There are a number of them on the different parts of the Hopi and Navajo reservations.”

“Are we going to stay here?” asked Buddy.

He was just a little disappointed. Not because of the wild desert country to which he and his father had come after a long journey, but the Indians themselves didn’t seem to Buddy to be at all like any Indians he had been dreaming about. Yet, when he came to think of it, from the very first time Flaming Light had come to the house with the silver and turquoise ornaments, Buddy had begun to somewhat understand that the Indians of today are different from those told of in books and stories of a few years ago.

Crowding around the old touring car in which the journey had been made from the railroad station at Gallup, in New Mexico, were Navajo Indian men, women and children. Some were afoot and others rode lean and rather scraggy-looking ponies. Most of those on ponies were young men and old men. The women and children seemed to be afoot, mostly, though there were several wagon loads of the dark-faced people. They had evidently come to the agency or trading post to buy goods or perhaps to meet their friends and visit.

“They’re funny Indians,” said Buddy.

“Yes, they are,” admitted Morzrel with a laugh, “that is, Buddy, if you are thinking of the sort of Indians the people of New York city, or near it, see in Wild West shows like the one you told me Powder Pete, your cowboy pal, was in. We Navajo Indians are not like the old Indians that lived in the East, where there are great forests. We are Indians of the mountains and desert and live differently, even if we are in charge of the Government. But still we have our wild ways and adventures as you shall see when you meet my father, the chief.”

“That’s what I want—to meet an Indian chief,” said Buddy.

“You shall,” promised the chief’s son.

“I think we are going to have plenty of adventures, now that we are here,” said Mr. Martyne looking about curiously, as Buddy was doing, on the strange scene. “I plan to go back into the country, where there aren’t any towns nor any agencies like this, to look for new and different relics for the library and museum. Out there it may be more like what you have in mind, Buddy, than here.”

“It will be,” said Morzrel. “Wait until you see a Hopi Indian snake dance, Buddy, or some of the ceremonies of the medicine men or take part in a rabbit hunt. We’ll have plenty of adventures for you, my little white friend.”

“That’s good,” Buddy said with a smile. Then he gave his attention to the scene about him. A hundred or more of Indian men, women and children were gathered about the agency buildings which were on a large desert plain at the foot of low hills which, farther back, rose into mountains. On the hills and mountains were trees and bushes, but the plains were rather barren, covered with rocks and sand almost like a desert.

On the railroad trip from Mountchester to Gallup, Buddy had been told, partly by his father and partly by Flaming Light how, about sixty years ago, the United States Government took charge of all the Indians, their land and property and put them on different reservations, or big tracts of country, each tribe or nation by itself. On some of these tracts oil was discovered so that the Indians who owned that land became wealthy. On other reservations were found deposits of silver and the blue turquoise stones, as in Arizona where the Hopi and Navajo nations were quartered. And from the sale of these and also the things they made, like blankets and pottery, the Indians made money which they spent for food and clothing.

In addition the government gave the Indians certain supplies or let them buy what they needed at low prices, such as wagons and household goods. These goods were supplied by men called traders who set up their stores at the various Indian agencies. The government also built schools and hospitals for its Indian wards.

Looking at the Navajo Indians gathered around the agency, Buddy saw some of the men wearing trousers made of old flour sacks. Others had on ragged overalls of blue or yellow. The better dressed braves had on dark red or purple velveteen shirts and trousers of corduroy or gay calico. On their heads were twisted handkerchiefs of many colors which contrasted well with their very black hair, drawn back from their heads and bundled into knots at the back. Instead of shoes, most of the Indians wore moccasins of buckskin, stained red, some coming high up on their legs. Many of the younger braves wore ornaments of silver and turquoise and they had decorated the bridles of their ponies with the same, sometimes shells and pieces of coral being mingled with them. Often a Navajo Indian would be decorated with ornaments worth $500.

Silver and turquoise stones form the main wealth of the Navajo tribes and they love to display these ornaments on their persons or horses.

The Indian women wore velveteen waists and skirts and their black hair, where it was not covered with gay handkerchiefs, gleamed with bright silver and the blue stones. Some of the girls had little bells sewed to their belts or moccasins so they tinkled musically as they walked along.

Buddy enjoyed all this very much. It was one of the best adventure trips he had ever taken. But he was anxious for the time to come when he and his father could get out among the hills and mountains, and perhaps camp at night on the desert under the gleaming stars, with their ponies, and listen to the yapping barks of the coyotes.

Two Indians, one a boy about Buddy’s age and the other an old, dignified man, approached the auto from which Buddy and his father had alighted to go to the agency headquarters. They would have dinner there, be provided with ponies and set out for the wilds.

There was a greeting in the Navajo language between Morzrel and the two approaching Indians. Then Morzrel said to Mr. Martyne and Buddy:

“This is my father and my young brother. My father’s name is Kotcha, which means Night and my brother is Lukah, which means Laughing Sand. I hope you will be friends.”

“I am sure we shall,” said Mr. Martyne shaking hands with the older Indian who seemed to accept this as a matter of course. He said something in his own language which Morzrel translated as:

“He says you and your son are welcome and that we shall all be happy together.”

“Thank him for me,” said Buddy’s father.

But old Kotcha understood some English for he laughed and said in that tongue:

“I glad to see you. We ride out soon—see many things. I have son—you have son.” He pointed to Buddy and then to the other Indian lad, Lukah.

“He means,” said Lukah, or Laughing Sand, proving by his chuckle that he was rightly named, “he means we are about the same age. What’s your name?”

“Buddy,” answered the red-haired boy.

“That’s a nice name.”

“I think yours is nicer—Laughing Sand,” spoke Buddy. “I wish I had an Indian name.”

“Perhaps you will have one before you go back home,” said Morzrel.

It was late in the afternoon, when, following a meal at the agency, a meal made up mostly of canned food, Buddy and his father, with the three Indians, Kotcha, Morzrel and Lukah, riding ponies, with other ponies carrying their baggage, headed away from the reservation agency. They were starting out into the foothill regions of the desert where Mr. Martyne expected to begin buying the things he needed.

They had not traveled far on their way, having planned to cover only a few miles before camping for the night when, as they topped a rise, they saw just ahead of them a little group of other Indians.

There were only men in this party and they seemed to be doing something curious. They were grouped about a lone pony and as Buddy and his father, with their escorts approached, a shot rang out and the pony fell dead.

“Is there going to be an Indian attack?” cried Buddy.

He wished he had a gun but he was unarmed.