After feeding and watering his exhausted horse, Cougar announced he had something of great importance to discuss inside the sweat lodge.
Now, surrounded by relatives, clan members, and fellow warriors, he passed on what he’d learned from Singer of Songs. He’d told the young woman she would be safe with his people and asked her to come with him, but she’d explained that even if she could leave her sister, her parents needed her. In the end, he’d clasped her hand and vowed to do whatever he had to in order to free Morning Butterfly.
“My sister says courage runs through you,” said Singer of Songs. “I believe her, and know that what lives in a man’s heart is more important than the tribe he belongs to.”
He couldn’t look into the hearts of the newcomers, but the fact that the captain had imprisoned Morning Butterfly deeply disturbed him. Before anyone could ask why it mattered so much to him, he explained that not just the padre but the soldiers, too, depended on her to communicate with the Hopi.
“She sacrificed a great deal and spent much time away from her people because she sought peace between Hopi and Spanish,” he said. “Despite her own beliefs, she walked beside the padre and gave his words to her people. For that she was rewarded by being made a prisoner.”
“If the padre sets great store by her, he should free her.”
“He is but one man.”
“What concern is it of ours, Cougar?” Drums No More asked. “We share the same land with the Hopi, but that does not mean their problems are ours.”
“She ate with us and listened to Navajo words and prayers,” he reminded him. “She did not step on our beliefs.”
“No, she did not. But those things do not make her, or her people, Navajo. Cougar, I watched when the two of you were together and know your heart walks with hers. Perhaps that thing has made you forget that your first heartbeat was Navajo—and can be nothing else.”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Have you not? Cougar, I am an old man, and yet I remember what it is to be in love. It is a wonderful time, new and exciting, but I caution you—that emotion is not everything.”
He hadn’t called this gathering to talk about what he felt for Morning Butterfly, and he certainly didn’t want to be told she might have turned him from the path he’d always followed.
“Her people will not free her, so I will make the attempt, but I do not want to do so alone,” he said as evenly as possible. “I also wish for the Hopi to look at the Navajo and learn to be cougars, not deer. Otherwise, they will become slaves.”
In response to their puzzled expressions, he explained that the captain’s father-in-law, a landowner, was searching for a way to make his property even more productive. Everyone had heard about the taking of slaves, and a number of Navajo from other villages had been kidnapped and never seen again. Still, as long as the Spanish were interested only in Hopi laborers, his fellow tribesmen believed they were safe. He disagreed.
“Morning Butterfly is the voice of her people,” he continued. “Through her, the Spanish have learned what little they know about the Hopi, but now they have silenced her and with that act, thrown her people into darkness. I cannot, will not allow that!”
“If it was anyone except Morning Butterfly,” Drums No More asked, “would you still say that?”
“To be Hopi or Navajo is not so different,” he said. “And it has come to me that if the padre says they cannot take a single Hopi, they may come after us.”
Several of the men nodded uneasily, but although his brow furrowed, Drums No More simply pointed out they had no way of knowing that.
“No,” he agreed. “But Morning Butterfly can tell us those things.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. My grandson, I do not wish to bring you grief. It would please me to give your heart peace, but what if you free her? Perhaps she will be safe here, but I fear her presence would place us in danger.”
“We are already in danger!” Shocked by his sharp tone, he tried to gather his thoughts but only partially succeeded. “Grandfather, Morning Butterfly and I are wiser together than we are apart. We each bring wisdom to the other. If the Navajo reach out to the Hopi, if we say something about who we are and our courage by freeing her, then the Hopi will no longer see us as their enemies. United, Hopi and Navajo can repel the newcomers.”
Although the various tribes traded with one another, no one had ever suggested they take up arms together against a common enemy. Still, he could tell his people were carefully weighing his words. Several agreed with him, and Blue Swallow pointed out that Hopi knowledge of the soldiers’ strengths and weaknesses was greater than theirs. However, Drums No More continued to scowl, as did most of those his age, which concerned Cougar, not just because this was his grandfather, but because the words of the elders carried the most weight when decisions were made.
After Blue Swallow had finished, Drums No More said, “Once I was a young man who thought nothing of traveling wherever I wanted, and we all know the hard lesson I learned. Now I see only Navajo faces and walk on Navajo land and my heart is full. Navajo wisdom and belief is enough for me. We are Dineh, the People. Sun, Moon, and First Man brought the Dineh into this, our final world. Us, no one else.”
“But we share the earth with other tribes, the Hopi among them.”
Although he shook his head, Drums No More looked troubled. “Do our dry paintings heal or guide others than the Navajo? No. Did the Hero Twins appear to other tribes? No. Only we ascended to the surface world through the Hole of Emergence. Only we are guided by the Rainbow Way.”
“Yes,” Cougar agreed, “and only we are plagued by chindi and ghosts. Perhaps in that, we should share with other tribes.”
His attempt at humor failed. Scowling, Drums No More pointed out that someone who walks the Beautiful Way of the Rainbow knows he’s on the right path. Cougar, he suggested, questioned the Way because he’d absented himself from too many songs and ceremonies recently, and because he’d allowed himself to get close to a Hopi.
“They are not us,” Drums No More said solemnly. “Only the Navajo were created by Changing Woman. All others walk their walk just as the Dineh walk theirs.”
In an effort to calm himself, Cougar ran his fingers over the ground, reminding himself that the first Navajo had dwelled beneath the surface and their memories were still there for him to take strength from.
“You say Changing Woman fashioned us and no one else.” Looking up, he fixed his gaze on his grandfather’s ruined arm. “That is so, but the path of the Navajo and Hopi walk have become the same.”
“Our feet are not imprisoned like the Hopi. We can—”
“Yes, we can run and perhaps that is what we will do, but, Grandfather, there is one among the Hopi who has long walked in your footprints as you have in his.”
Drums No More started to shake his head, but Cougar stopped him.
“He is like a grandfather to Morning Butterfly. When she was here, she knew the truth of your nights because the nights of someone she loves are the same.”
The old man’s lips thinned, but his eyes told him to continue.
“I wish you no disrespect. I would never do that, but things are happening which never have before. You say we should not reach out to the Hopi because we are different, but the Spanish made you and One Hand the same. Your pain was the same, your nightmares are twins of each other’s, your views of the future—”
“One Hand?” Drums No More interrupted.
His eyes never leaving his grandfather’s, Cougar nodded. “He, too, was at Acoma. I say that made him your brother, but only you can decide if he truly is.”
• • •
“I still do not understand how you propose to get the Navajo to come here,” Gregorio said. “Why they should risk their freedom for one Hopi woman—”
Anger burned a hole in the pit of Lopez’s stomach, but he forced himself to speak in a measured tone. “I already told you, one of their leaders fancies himself in love with her. When I parade her about in chains, he will no doubt hear of it—if he does not already know. He will try to rescue her—and he will not be alone.”
“I am not a military man, but I am a student of battle and I know how often deaths are a consequence of such actions. I need live bodies, not dead ones.”
“I have no intention of sacrificing my men,” Lopez pointed out. “Besides, Cougar and his warriors are not my primary target. Let them ‘rescue’ her. In the meantime”—he allowed himself a smile, which was doubly gratifying because Morning Butterfly could see it—“in the meantime, my men and I will be surrounding the Navajo village.”
Gregorio, who’d appeared more interested in the state of his nails than what his son-in-law had been saying, stopped his perusal of his thumb. “You know where it is?”
“Of course. When the warriors arrive here, they will find only Hopi and a frightened padre all too willing to release her. By the time the Navajo realize what has happened, it will be too late and you will have the slaves you require. The savages will need to be taught what is expected of them, but you have experience in that regard.”
“Indeed I do,” Gregorio said with a small, satisfied smile.
Morning Butterfly was so still and silent that she reminded Lopez of a statue, or she would have if life hadn’t taught him to take nothing and no one for granted. In the two days since he’d initially sketched his plan to Gregorio, she hadn’t said more than a half dozen words. Although she often looked longingly at the tent flap, he’d kept her inside except when he took her out so she could relieve herself, not because he was afraid she’d try to run away, but because there was considerable advantage in keeping her isolated from her people—and to hell with what the padre thought.
What frustrated him was that he’d wanted to implement his strategy from the moment it occurred to him, but he’d been unable to fully garner Gregorio’s attention until now because the pompous, self-assured man had made surveying the countryside and scratching certain itches a priority. In the meantime, he’d refined his plan.
“So,” he said, “you agree that my course is the prudent one. I may not be able to hand you male Navajo in their prime, but they prove to be the most troublesome anyway. Females and youth, and the horses the savages stole from us are another matter.”
“Females can have more than one use. All right,” Gregorio said with finality. “You are right that we would alienate the Church by taking Hopi. As a result of the time I have spent with the padre . . .”
Although his father-in-law continued to talk, Lopez didn’t listen. His skin crawled; no matter how many times he’d checked to see if insects were on it, he saw nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his flesh had been invaded by something alien. He hated inactivity, no more than he did right now, and that might be responsible. Still . . .
Did he really give a damn whether his father-in-law had the slaves he insisted he needed? Bringing the Navajo to their knees would give him great satisfaction, but beyond that . . .
Why had he believed Cougar when the miserable savage told him there were emeralds at the great canyon? As far as he’d been able to ascertain, there weren’t any. And yet the canyon’s rock walls had looked so promising. If only he could return.
“Are you listening to me?”
“What?” Lopez asked, startled.
“I said—never mind. What is more important is whether you will be able to lead your men in a successful raid on the Navajo village.”
“You doubt my leadership?”
Gregorio stood. “Lopez, I would not have accomplished what I have in life if I took anything at face value, and since you asked, I am not fully convinced of your ability to succeed.”
“My men and I would already be attacking the Navajo village if I had been able to garner your attention,” he said. He got to his feet and stalked over to Morning Butterfly.
“I hate you,” she hissed. “I wish you dead.”
“Wish all you want; it is not going to happen,” he retorted.
“You took my sister’s virginity from her, raped her again and again. That is not the Hopi way.”
“I am not a Hopi! Never was and never will be.”
He yanked her after him, and if his grip on her wrist was so tight that it caused her to gasp, so much the better. He’d already decided to secure her to the stake he’d used to imprison Cougar, and with his mind on how long it would take his men to reach the Navajo village while staying concealed, he paid little attention to his surroundings. However, when Morning Butterfly said something in Hopi, he looked around to see who she was talking to.
More than a hundred Hopi stood within easy speaking distance. A number were women, but the majority were men, some gripping the crude tools they used to work the land, others holding knives. How they’d gotten so close without him knowing gave him a moment of disquiet, but there wasn’t time to think about that.
“What is this about?” he demanded of Morning Butterfly as Gregorio joined him.
“Ask them,” Morning Butterfly said, and there was no mistaking the challenge in her voice.
“You know I cannot—what is this about?” he repeated, belatedly remembering he had a hold on her and there was no better bargaining chip. “If you want to go on living, you will tell me.”
Instead of immediately supplying the answer, she spoke to several Hopi men, and he noted that most of her comments were directed toward the elderly man missing his right hand. He’d initially been of the opinion that the Hopi were little more than sheep because they were so easily dominated, but only a fool would think that now. There was something dangerous in the way they looked at him, and they held themselves not like sheep, but more like wolves.
He’d just noted that Fray Angelico was standing off to himself but within earshot when Morning Butterfly switched to Spanish.
“They will not allow me to remain your prisoner,” she told him. “And they have come to tell you and de Barreto that they would rather be killed, here, than be made slaves.”
Their edict, given the inequality between muskets and arrows, would have been laughable if there hadn’t been so many Hopi here and even more doing God knows what where he couldn’t see them.
“They want my soldiers to shoot?” he demanded. “Believe me, if I feel it is necessary, it would give me great pleasure to—”
“No! You cannot—I beg you, you cannot!” the padre shouted.
“This is not your concern, Padre,” he retorted as the little man hurried up. “I would think you would know better than to risk escalating an already explosive situation.”
“You cannot allow anything to happen to the Hopi,” Angelico sputtered. “They are my responsibility.”
“They are threatening us.”
Lopez signaled to let his soldiers know he wanted them to come closer. Because he’d trained them well, they did so with a show of force, their still-unprimed weapons making more of an impact than knives and hoes ever could. Just the same, he felt the weight and impact of the Hopi presence.
“Morning Butterfly.” Despite the energy dancing inside him, he kept his voice even. “Tell your people to look at my men. Soldiers will draw first blood.”
Because he’d had the presence of mind to keep his hand on her, he felt her tremble. Good. Her fear would surely be transmitted in everything she said.
“Do it,” he insisted. “Tell them, now.”
She did so without looking at him—at least, he assumed she was passing on his ultimatum. As he waited, it occurred to him that for once Gregorio had nothing to say, perhaps because his father-in-law was receiving an unforgettable lesson in his competence in military matters.
When this confrontation began, he’d estimated the enemy force at no more than a hundred, but that number was growing as more and more grim-faced Hopi joined those already present. According to Angelico, more than a thousand souls lived at Oraibi. If all of them showed up . . . Seeking to reassure himself of his men’s superior force, he glanced at them, but instead of being comforted, he noticed that they were looking at Angelico. If they believed they owed more allegiance to the Church than to him—
“Navajo!” a man suddenly screamed in Spanish. “Navajo!”