Part 33 (2/2)

CHAPTER XXII

THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD

Oliver Drew knew that the Mona Fiesta would be held by the Showut Poche-dakas when the July moon was full. The Mona Fiesta was the tribal ”Feast of the Dead.” It was purely an Indian rite, unmixed with any ceremonies incident to the feast days of the Catholic saints, as were most other celebrations. Consequently, while the whites were not definitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited to attend. They often went out of curiosity, Oliver had been told by Jessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and went unnoticed by the wors.h.i.+ppers.

The underlying principle of the Feast of the Dead was ancestor wors.h.i.+p, in which all of the Pauba Tribes were particularly devout. Jessamy told Oliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, but that, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was taking place.

Oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old Chupurosa Hatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. He was now a member of the tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-found brethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. The mystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with the Showut Poche-dakas. He was impatient to get in closer touch with the wrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head.

And now another feast day was close at hand. In two more nights a full moon would shower its radiance over the land of the Poison Oakers. He had received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at the reservation for the Mona Fiesta. Whites were excluded, he knew; but, then, he was now a brother of the Showut Poche-dakas, and he hoped against hope that he would be commanded to appear.

But the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebration was at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come.

He was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the night sounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round face over the hill and smiled at him. He was thinking half of Jessamy, half of an article that he had planned to write. Two fair-sized checks for previous work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to have visions of a future.

In a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: ”Who? Who? Who--o-o-o?” in doleful tones. From a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughter of coyotes. A big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in the moonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. Oliver rose and with his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his course immediately and seemed determined to enter the house w.i.l.l.y-nilly.

”But I don't want you in there,” Oliver protested boyishly. ”I might step on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old cold back.”

He closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolved to await his chance for a strategic entrance.

”All right,” said Oliver. ”Sit there! When I'm ready to go in I'll climb through a window. You are not going into that house!”

He laughed at himself. His was a lonesome life when he was not with Jessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that G.o.d has created, he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, so that toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food and had no fear of him.

He sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink for blink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonely canon.

At first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognized the ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. Then voices. And presently he knew that many hors.e.m.e.n were riding toward the cabin--a veritable cavalcade.

He rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling of apprehension. As the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer and closer he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. He had been at a complete loss to interpret Old Man Selden's later att.i.tude toward him, and was wary of a trap. The sounds he heard could mean nothing to him except that the Poison Oakers were at last riding upon him to begin their raid.

Suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of a single galloping horse. Silvery under the magic light of the moon, a white horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south.

It carried a rider. Now came a familiar ”Who-hoo!” And Jessamy Selden soon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door.

”Thank goodness, I'm in time!” she said. ”I didn't know when they would start, and I waited too long.”

”What in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?”

he demanded.

”Oh, that's nothing! I get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for a moonlight ride. I love it.”

”But--”

”Here they come! I wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you to pretend you were expecting them. You're--you're supposed to know.”

”I'm supposed to know what?”

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