"talking leaves?" said ni-ha-be, as she turned over another page of the pamphlet in her lap and stared at the illustrations. "can you hear what they say?"
"with my eyes."
"then they are better than mine. i am an apache! you was born white!"
there was a little bit of a flash in the black eyes of the indian maiden. she had not the least idea but that it was the finest thing in all the world to be the daughter of many bears, the great apache warrior, and it did not please her to find a mere white girl, only indian by adoption, able to see or hear more than she could.
rita did not reply for a moment, and a strange sort of paleness crept across her face, until ni-ha-be exclaimed,
"it hurts you, rita! it is bad medicine. throw it away."
"no, it does not hurt—"
"it makes you sick?"
"no, not sick—it says too much. it will take many days to hear it all."
"does it speak apache?"
"no. not a word."
"nor the tongue of the mexican pony men?"
"no. all it says is in the tongue of the blue-coated white men of the north."
"ugh!"
even ni-ha-be's pretty face could express the hatred felt by her people for the only race of men they were at all afraid of.
there were many braves in her father's band who had learned to talk mexican-spanish. she herself could do so very well, but neither she nor any of her friends or relatives could speak more than a few words of broken english, and she had never heard rita use one.
"there are many pictures."
"ugh! yes. that's a mountain, like those up yonder. there are lodges, too, in the valley. but nobody ever made lodges in such a shape as that."
"yes, or nobody could have painted a talking picture of them."
"it tells a lie, rita! and nobody ever saw a bear like that."
"it isn't a bear, ni-ha-be. the talking leaf says it's a lion."
"what's that? a white man's bear?"
rita knew no more about lions than did her adopted sister, but by the time they had turned over a few more pages their curiosity was aroused to a high degree. even ni-ha-be wanted to hear all that the "talking leaves" might have to say in explanation of those wonderful pictures.
it was too bad of rita to have been "born white" and not to be able to explain the work of her own people at sight.
"what shall we do with them, ni-ha-be?"
"show them to father."
"why not ask red wolf?"
"he would take them away and burn them. he hates the pale-faces more and more every day."
"i don't believe he hates me."
"of course not. you're an apache now. just as much as mother dolores, and she's forgotten that she was ever white."
"she isn't very white, ni-ha-be. she's darker than almost any other woman in the tribe."
"we won't show her the talking leaves till father says we may keep them. then she'll be afraid to touch them. she hates me."
"no, she doesn't. she likes me best, that's all."
"she'd better not hate me, rita. i'll have her beaten if she isn't good to me. i'm an apache!"
the black-eyed daughter of the great chief had plenty of self-will and temper. there could be no doubt of that. she sprang upon her mustang with a quick, impatient bound, and rita followed, clinging to her prizes, wondering what would be the decision of many bears and his councillors as to the ownership of them.
a few minutes of swift riding brought the two girls to the border of the camp.
"rita? red wolf!"
"i see him—he is coming to meet us, but he does not want us to think so."
that was a correct guess.
the tall, hawk-nosed young warrior, who was now riding toward them, was a perfect embodiment of indian haughtiness, and even his sister was a mere "squaw" in his eyes. as for rita, she was not only a squaw but also not even a full-blooded apache, and was to be looked down upon accordingly.
he was an indian and a warrior, and would one day be a chief like his father.
still, he had so far unbent his usual cold dignity as to turn his horse to meet that sisterly pair, if only to find out why they were in such a hurry.
"what scare you?"
"we're not scared. we've found something—pale-face sign."
"apache warriors do not ask squaws if there are pale-faces near them. the chiefs know all; their camp was by the spring."
"was it?" exclaimed ni-ha-be. "we have found some of their talking leaves. rita must show them to father."
"show them to me!"
"no. you are an apache; you cannot hear what they say: rita can—she is white."
"ugh! show leaves, now!"
ni-ha-be was a "squaw," but she was also something of a spoiled child, and was less afraid of her brother than he may have imagined. besides, the well-known rule of the camp, or of any indian camp, was in her favor.
all "signs" were to be reported to the chief by the finder, and ni-ha-be would make her report to her father like a warrior.
rita was wise enough to say nothing, and red wolf was compelled to soften his tone a little. he even led the way to the spot near the spring where the squaws of many bears were already putting up his "lodge."
there was plenty of grass and water in that valley, and it had been decided to rest the horses there for three days, before pushing on deeper into the apache country.
the proud old chief was not lowering his dignity to any such work as lodge-pitching. he would have slept on the bare ground without a blanket before he would have touched one pole with a finger.
that was "work for squaws," and all that could be expected of him was that he should stand near and say "ugh!" pleasantly, when things were going to please him, and to say it in a different tone if they were not.
ni-ha-be and rita were favorites of the scarred and wrinkled warrior, however, and when they rode up with red wolf, and the latter briefly stated the facts of the case—all he knew of them—the face of many bears relaxed into a grim smile.
"squaw find sign. ugh! good!"
"rita says they are talking leaves. much picture. many words. see!"
her father took from ni-ha-be, and then from rita, the strange objects they held out so excitedly, but to their surprise he did not seem to share in their estimate of them.
"no good. see them before. no tell anything true. big lie."
many bears had been among the forts and border settlements of the white men in his day. he had talked with army officers and missionaries and government agents. he had seen many written papers and printed papers, and had had books given him, and there was no more to be told or taught him about nonsense of that kind. he had once imitated a pale-faced friend of his, and looked steadily at a newspaper for an hour at a time, and it had not spoken a word to him.
so now he turned over the three magazines in his hard, brown hand, with a look of dull curiosity mixed with a good deal of contempt.
"ugh! young squaws keep them. no good for warriors. bad medicine. ugh!"
down they went upon the grass, and rita was free to pick up her despised treasures and do with them as she would. as for red wolf, after such a decision by his terrible father, he would have deemed it beneath him to pay any farther attention to the "pale-face signs" brought into camp by two young squaws.
another lodge of poles and skins had been pitched at the same time with that of many bears, and not a great distance from it. in fact, this also was his own property, although it was to cover the heads of only a part of his family.
in front of the loose "flap" opening, which served for the door of this lodge, stood a stout, middle-aged woman, who seemed to be waiting for ni-ha-be and rita to approach. she had witnessed their conference with many bears, and she knew by the merry laugh with which they gathered up their fallen prizes that all was well between them and their father. all the more for that, it may be, her mind was exercised as to what they had brought home with them which should have needed the chief's inspection.
"rita!"
"what, ni-ha-be?"
"don't tell mother dolores a word. see if she can hear for herself."
"the leaves won't talk to her. she's mexican white, not white from the north."
nobody would have said to look at her, that the fat, surly-faced squaw of many bears was a white woman of any sort. her eyes were as black and her long, jetty hair was as thick and coarse, and her skin was every shade as dark as were those of any apache house-keeper among the scattered lodges of that hunting-party.
she was not the mother of ni-ha-be. she had not a drop of apache blood in her veins, although she was one of the half-dozen squaws of many bears. mother dolores was a pure "mexican," and therefore as much of an indian, really, as any apache, or lipan, or comanche. only a different kind of an indian, that was all.
her greeting to her two young charges, for such they were, was somewhat gruff and brief, and there was nothing very respectful in the manner of their reply. an elderly squaw, even though the wife of a chief, is never considered as anything better than a sort of servant, to be valued according to the kind and quantity of the work she can do. dolores could do a great deal, and was therefore more than usually respectable; and she had quite enough force of will to preserve her authority over two such half-wild creatures as ni-ha-be and rita.
"you are late. come in! tell me what it is!"
rita was as eager now as ni-ha-be had been with her father and red wolf; but even while she was talking dolores pulled them both into the lodge.
"talking leaves!"
not many bears himself could have treated those poor magazines with greater contempt than did the portly dame from mexico. to be sure, it was many a long year since she had been taken a prisoner and brought across the mexican border, and reading had not been among the things she had learned before coming.
"rita can tell us all they say, by-and-by, mother dolores."
"let her, then. ugh!"
she turned page after page, in a doubtful way, as if it were quite possible one of them might bite her, but suddenly her whole manner changed.
"ugh!"
"rita," exclaimed ni-ha-be, "the leaves have spoken to her."
she had certainly kissed one of them. then she made a quick motion with one hand across her brow and breast.
"give it to me, rita! you must give it to me!"
rita held out her hand for the book, and both the girls leaned forward with open mouths to learn what could have so disturbed the mind of dolores.
it was a picture.
a sort of richly carved and ornamented door-way, but with no house behind it, and in it a lady with a baby in her arms, and over it a great cross of stone.
"yes, dolores," said rita, "we will give you that leaf."
it was quickly cut out, and the two girls wondered more and more to see how the fingers of dolores trembled as they closed upon that bit of paper.
she looked at the picture again with increasing earnestness. her lips moved silently, as if trying to utter words her mind had lost.
then her great fiery black eyes slowly closed, and the amazement of ni-ha-be and rita was greater than they could have expressed, for mother dolores sunk upon her knees hugging that picture. she had been an apache indian for long years, and was thoroughly "indianized," but upon that page had been printed a very beautiful representation of a spanish "way-side shrine of the virgin."
