white ann and poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the ridge that upreared itself between clinker creek cañon and the american. occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn steers, each branded with the insignia of the poison oakers. once a deer crashed away through thick chaparral. young jackrabbits went leaping over the grassy knolls at their approach. down the timbered hillsides grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. next day would mark the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of june.
jessamy selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. her hat lay over her saddle horn. her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear, after the constant fashion of the indian girls. so far oliver drew had not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did her hair.
"what are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected question.
"so we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?"
"oh, no—not particularly. there's usually a smattering of method in my madness. you haven't answered."
"seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question. if you could narrow down a bit—be more specific—"
"well, then, do you believe in that?" she raised her arm sharply and pointed down the precipitous slopes to the green american rushing pell-mell down its rugged cañon.
they had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of débris behind the craft in the middle of the river.
"that dredge?" he asked. "what's it to do with religion?"
"to me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "it makes me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny particles of gold in the earth and rocks. ugh! i detest the sight of the thing. the gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashing there in that filaree blossom! it will buy silk gowns, and any spider can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. it will build tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? bah, i hate the sight of the thing!"
"gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her.
"i suppose so," she sighed. "we've gotten to a point where gold is necessary. but, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as god intended us to be! i detest anything utilitarian. i hate orchards because they supplant the trees and chaparral that nature has planted. i hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they demand ruin rugged cañons and valleys. i hate railroads, because their hideous old trains go screeching through god's peaceful solitudes. i hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into god's chapels."
"but they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he said. "and all of them are not irreverent."
"oh, yes—i know. i'm selfish there. and i'm not at all practical. but i do hate 'em!"
"and what do you like in life?" he asked amusedly.
"well, i have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing," she laughed. "but i'm only halfway approaching my subject. do you like missionaries?"
"i think i've never eaten any," he told her gravely.
but she would not laugh. "i don't like 'em," she claimed. "i don't believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to force—if necessary—the believers in other religions to trample under foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. all peoples, it seems to me, believe in a creator. that's enough. let 'em alone in their various creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion. are you with me there?"
"i think so. only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for the zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to try and bend them to his way of thinking."
"i respect all religions—all beliefs," she said. "but those who go preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other fellow's faith. and that's not christlike in the first place."
he knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time disclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought this morning.
"the showut poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly. "long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually pushed back up here. down there, though, they came under the influence of the old spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. they are sincere and devout. i have as much reverence for a bareheaded indian girl on her knees to the sun god as i have for a hooded nun counting her beads. they believe in a supreme being; that's enough for me. you'll be interested at the fiesta tomorrow night. i rode up there the other day. everything is in readiness. the ramadas are all built, and the dance floor is up, and indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away."
"will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.
"yes, i think so—that is, since i heard what old man selden had to say about you the day after he called. i'll tell you about that later. yes, all the whites attend the fiestas. the california indian is crude and not very picturesque, compared with other indians, but the fiestas are fascinating. especially the dances. they defy interpretation; but they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of imagination. by the way, i bought you a present at halfmoon flat the other day."
she unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her chaparejos, and handed him a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper.
"am i to open it now or wait till christmas?" he asked.
"now," she said.
the paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster.
"oh, i'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned a blank face to her.
"tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. when one coat dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is exhausted."
she threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes.
"it's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "i had a bottle of the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. it seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a décolletté ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. it's almost invisible when it has dried on one's skin; and i thought it might be of benefit to you in the fire dance."
"say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while i've barely got my feet wet. come across!"
"well, i'm not positive," she told him, "but i'm strongly of the opinion that you're going to dance the fire dance at the fiesta de santa maria de refugio tomorrow night."
"i? i dance the fire dance? oh, no, miss—you have the wrong number. i don't dance the fire dance at all."
"i think you will tomorrow night, and i thought that liquid courtplaster might help protect your feet and legs. i put some on my second finger and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."
"yes?"
"well, i took it off again. but, honestly, the finger that had none on at all felt a little hotter, i imagined. i'm sure it did, and i only had two coats on. i know you'll be glad you tried it, and the indians will never know it's there."
"i'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked.
"well," she said, "after what passed between you and chupurosa hatchinguish that day, i'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. and i know the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to membership. white men who have married indian women are about the only ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the showut poche-dakas; so in your case it is a distinct honour.
"i have seen this fire dance. while a white person cannot accurately interpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your endeavour to ally yourself with the showut poche-dakas.
"for instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs, what you have been taught—and, oh, everything that might be against the alliance. all this, i say, is represented by the fire. and in the fire dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your bare feet if you would become brother to the showut poche-dakas."
"with my bare feet? stamp out these objections?"
"yes—as represented by the fire."
"you mean i must stamp out a fire with my bare feet? actually?"
"actually—literally—honest-to-goodnessly!"
"good night!" cried oliver. "i'll cleave to my kith and kin."
"and never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father for thirty years? nor whether the correct answer is yes or no?"
"but, heavens, i don't put out a fire that way!"
"it's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "you join the tribe, and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and hours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. then the one who is to be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe—the champion fire-dancer, in short—jump on what is left of the fire and stamp it out. of course there are objections to you from the view-point of the showut poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative of them. if the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objections are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary showut poche-daka. but if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet the ceremony is over, and you're it. and when the other indians see that you two indians"—her eyes twinkled—"are getting the better of the fire, they'll jump in and help you."
"a very entertaining ceremony—for the grandstand," was oliver's dry opinion.
"of course the indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on you there. hence this liquid courtplaster. it's worth a trial. honestly, i held my finger on the stove—oh, ever so long! a full second, i'd say."
back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as, drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking laughter out over the hills and cañons.
"i'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last. "i can do so openly now—since you've won the heart of adam selden. what do you think? he told me to invite you over sometime! but all this doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled colt i see on your hip today for the first time. explain both, please."
"well," he said, "selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined poche's bridle and saw the b on the back of a concha."
"ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips.
"and then he grew nice as pie—and that's all there is to that."
"and the six?"
"well, i buckled it on this morning, thinking i might practice up a bit, as you advised."
"so far so good. now amend it and tell the truth."
"i went down to sulphur spring after the poison oakers left me, and as i was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and i got my eyebrows wet. as i don't like to have anybody but myself wet my eyebrows, i'm totin' a six. and i rather like the weight of it against my leg again. it reminds me!"
"who shot at you?"
he shrugged.
"at you, do you think?—or into the water to frighten you?"
"whoever fired could not see me, but knew i was in the bushes about the spring. took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a touch of highlife, don't you think?"
"i wonder if the bullet is still in the basin."
"i never thought of that. i ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as nobody showed up, rode back home."
she lifted white ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks. "we'll ride to sulphur spring and look for that bullet," she announced.
"and be ambushed," he added, as poche followed white ann's lead.
