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The hogan of Kclesh Koosh.

Hated by the Witches

A Story of the Navajo Desert.

By P. Bryan Morehouse

HE Navajo desert, vast, silent, and shining white under a glittering afternoon sun, looked up into the face ca sky of the deepest blue. Shimmering heat waves bobbed up and down over the surface of the sand and contorted the rocks, until they seemed imbued with life, and put on an everchanging garb; now a soft iron gray that rested the eye; now a dull gleaming brown, and again a pale orange, mingled with steel blue.

A lone coyote trotted along under the near horizon, casting a huge and grewsome shadow, which dwindled to a speck and disappeared. A small

brown ground squirrel rushed out from his hiding in the rocks and scampered off through the sparse sage brush.

All life seemed suddenly obliterated. The silence and heat were oppressive. From nowhere sprang a listless breeze, picking up the fine white sand and tossing it about, heedlessly at first and finally with vigor, until the sun, sky and horizon alike

were blotted out by the whirling mass. Then, as quietly as it had begun, it ceased. The sand shook itself free from the wind and settled peacefully in its bed. Once more sun, sky and mighty desert supervened.

From out of the sand storm slowly rode a Navajo Indian, Kclesh Koosh. He was handsome after his kind, with a dark brown face and prominent clear cut features. He wore a raven black moustache, drooping at the ends. Gracefully erect he sat in his saddle, holding the reins loosely in his right hand from the finger of which there gleamed a large blue turquoise. His straight black hair done up in a twist at the back of his head, was kept out of his eyes by a faded blue handkerchief, after the fashion of the Navajoes. A necklace of silver quarters hung around the neck of a crimson doublet, which in turn was wrapped in a green and yellow blanket, encompassing the Indian from arm pits to thighs, and trailing nearly to the baggy knees of a pair of corduroys.

On his forearm was a wide and heavy silver bracelet in which was another large turquoise. His feet were clothed in a pair of brown moccasins, fastened on the side with silver clasps.

To look at Kclesh Koosh was to view prosperity, health and happiness.

Slung across the pommel of the saddle was a sack of corn. Six months ago he had planted to corn a very small terraced garden, far off in the foot hills. The witches had behaved themselves and the corn had consequently prospered. He was now returning home with part of his first crop-weary and worn out with the day's work and the long ride across the desert.

He was thinking of the big "sing" which Khut La had told him would be held the next day over in the Bitte Hochee country, where all the Navajoes, converging to this point from the remotest ends of the desert would gather, sing and dance. There would be a good time and plenty to eat for everyone. Kclesh Koosh knew and he was pleased. He thought also of pretty Indian wife, Ba-istong, who would soon greet him, and taking his sack of corn from him, would shell it, and crush it. Then from the flour she would make dishes of food that were appetizing to him. It was good.

He considered the new neighborhood into which he had recently moved and of the new friends he was making. A frown came over his swarthy face as he remembered Chustodi Begay, the one neighbor with whom it seemed he could not make friends. He knew-Chustodi Begay wished to take his wife away from him. Chustodi was jealous of him. Ah, that was it! And therefore Chustodi Begay would of course make him all the trouble he could. But he would kill this Chustodi.

Why not?

No more bullying, no more tormenting! That would be the end of it. Yes, he would do it. But then he would have to travel many miles, and go far away from home and Ba-istong. For Natani, the man from Washing

ton, would send police for him. It would not do. Better it was to endure it the best he could and make the best of it. Still, if Chustodi simply would not leave him alone, then-he smiled grimly as he thought of this one-eyed Indian, Chustodi.

He urged his pony to a trot. The pony lifted his head, neighed, and shook the sand vigorously from his hoofs. They were nearing home.

Almost hidden from view at the mouth of a rock canyon opening into the desert was the "hogan" that was the home of Kclesh Koosh. Built of sticks, stone, brush and covered with adobe, it was the same color as the sand and the rocks. A troop had once ridden by within a stone's throw, and had failed to notice this hogan as they had also failed to see many others.

There were two openings-one in the side, through which Kclesh Kclesh Koosh would presently enter, and one in the circular roof through which the odors of his supper, prepared by Ba-istong would soon arise. A short distance from the hogan he dismounted.

But where was Ba-istong? Where was the Ba-istong who usually met him with smiles and welcome?

Just as he was about to enter his hogan to see, the burlap curtain which served as a door was shoved aside, and out stepped a tall, ungainly Indian. It was Chustodi Begay!

Involuntarily, Kclesh Koosh lifted his hand to strike, and then remembering his determination to keep out of trouble, restrained himself with a great effort.

"Buena Hay," he said in greeting.

An ugly snarl was Chustodi's only answer. Kclesh advanced toward his enemy, and Chustodi Begay, fearing a just and well merited punishment at the hands of the man he had so tormented, brought the bore of a small 22 calibre Winchester to bear on the unarmed man. But Kclesh was too quick.

Like a panther he sprang, and striking the barrel up with his left arm, the gun was discharged harmlessly over

HATED BY THE WITCHES.

his shoulder. He could feel the sting of the bullet as it passed his cheek. Choking Chustodi mightily with his right, and grappling with him, they circled round and round. Chustodi might be ungainly, but he was also strong. He tripped Kclesh, who fell, but with a dexterous twist fell upon his adversary. Seizing this advantage, he pummeled Chustodi Begay soundly, and then dragged him into the hogan.

A wreath of pale gray smoke curled up from the coals of a greasewood fire built on the sandy floor in the center of the hut. A pile of sheepskins and a cracker box constituted the furnishings of the place.

Over near the back wall on a sheepskin, reclined Ba-istong. Her bright eyes, set in an oval face, were the picture of fear. Her hair was as ebony. She was clothed in black velveteen, and was barefooted. She was afraid but ashamed as the two men entered, the one dragging the other.

Neither man spoke. At last Kclesh Koosh looked at his wife and asked: "Ba-istong, did you say this man could come here?"

Ba-istong hung her head, and at first did not respond. At length she looked her husband square in the eye and replied:

"No. I did not say he could come. I told him that he should not come when you are not here, too—that it is not good, that it will anger you. But he only say: 'O-hay,' what does he care for you. 'Your husband? Bah! Nothing he says will ever happen. The witches hate him. I am a man. He is a rabbit, the son of a rabbit, and a coward. The sun on one of these days setting shall not go down on us both alive.' So he entered an hour ago. You were not here. That is what he said."

The blood rushed to Kclesh Koosh's head, and it swam with fury. His whole frame shook as he pointed the .22 at the marauder.

"Ba-istong, my wife, what she has said, is it so ?"

Chustodi Begay eyed his captor defiantly-murderously.

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"Ou," he sneered. "It is so." "Dog-then shall you die!" With nervous fingers he cocked the gun, and raised it until it was pointed at the breast of Chustodi Begay. Baistong turned her head that she might not see. He looked at her.

Like a stroke of lightning the thought flashed through his head that three years ago an Indian had killed a man and had been taken away, and had never come back.

"Dou-ata," he growled, lowering his gun. "It is is not good that I kill you, Chustodi. It is not good that man should kill man. I spare your life

even as you would have taken mine. You do not deserve it, but it is enough that I have beaten you in the dirt like the dog you are. Hear me, Sechas, and listen to what I have to say."

"Ha-tish-a," asked Chustodi, sullenly. "What is it?"

"Sechas, if it were not for you, all would be well with me. I am come from a far-off land with sheep and wife. I remain in this country, in this hogan. I raise my corn and I live. I am at peace. I have not killed you. Go in peace as you came evilly, but come no more! Our paths lie far apart. You go your path and I shall go mine. There shall be no more trouble between us. Take your gun. I do not want it. Go! Go!"

Chustodi Begay took the gun without a word and stepped out into the twilight, followed by Kclesh Koosh, who came out both to make sure that his enemy departed, and to bring in his sack of corn outside the hogan.

Chustodi saw him stoop to pick it up. Unseen, he turned, raised his gun to his shoulder and carefully aimed at Kclesh Koosh. Kclesh Koosh did not see. A sharp report echoed down the

canyon.

Kclesh clapped a hand to his side, and with a yell began to run towards the man who had shot him. The oneeyed Indian did not move.

"Ou," he sneered. "You are a rabbit-a son of a rabbit!"

With that he fired again. This time Kclesh Koosh fell to the earth with a

sickening thud. Chustodi Begay disappeared.

Ba-istong, aroused from her contemplations by the two cracks of the rifle, came quickly out of the hogan, and seeing her handsome buck lying in the sand, she tore down her hair and rent her bosom passionately. She threw herself on the prostrate form, and there remained.

There were three hogans within a half mile, and one of the Indians, named Billi, heard the shots, and ast he had seen Chustodi Begay going over in that direction, suspected that all was not well. He soon came running up.

"Ha-tish-a? What has happened?" "It is my husband, who is dying," she sobbed. "Chustodi Begay it was who did it!"

With many words of sympathy and indignation, Billi helped Ba-istong to carry the wounded man into the hogan in which he had so rashly and generously spared the life of his enemy shortly before. There they laid him. on a pallet of sheep-skins. Ba-istong tore away the clothing from the wounds and bathed them in cold spring water from the jar. Somewhat revived, he opened his eyes and smiled.

"Ba-istong," he murmured, and closed them again.

Billi, though only an ignorant savage, left.

Whether among the civilized or the savage races, whether recognized or not, love is much the same. It has access where civilization cannot venture. And everywhere it is the one refining and uplifting element that, entering into the variegated and heterogeneous composite of human nature, enduces therefrom what is noblest and purest. Otherwise, there is no such thing as love.

This in some measure explains why Ba-istong, a semi-savage in the heart of the solitary desert, patiently nursed Kclesh Koosh through three long days and nights. At times delirious and at times unconscious, unable to eat or sip a morsel of nourishment, he lay on his sheep-skin pallet and wasted

away, though tended with utmost care.

Ba-istong never entirely lost hope, and wore her lithe and supple body to extreme fatigue in taking care of him. She constantly bathed his hot hands, face and wounds, applying all such herbs as her scant knowledge of therapy permitted. Thus in slight measure was the fever abated.

She offered him warm gruel made from the corn he had brought home, but he could not swallow it. Every breath was a low moan. In addition to the two wounds in his chest, he was dying from hunger, with no means of nourishment; burning with thirst, with no means of quenching it. But Baistong never left his side.

While he lay in this condition, many Navajoes from far and wide came and went some from genuine sympathy and desire to aid, perhaps, but more from irresponsible curiosity. They tethered their ponies to the rocks around the hogan and came in. Squatting in a circle on the floor, with their backs to the wall, they gazed on the wounded man complacently, puffing large clouds of vile cigarette smoke and spitting at the fire intermittently. One old buck broke the silence:

"Chustodi Begay, Natani has caught him. He is in at the agency, breaking much rock," he informed them, at the same time imitating the process by laboriously raising and lowering his old, withered hand.

However, Kclesh Koosh could not understand this solacing bit of information, and as for Ba-istong, she did not choose to listen.

The regular moans of the dying man alone were heard, save for an occasional crackling of a greasewood twig as it broke and sent scurrying upward a shower of fine sparks through the aperture in the roof.

After a few minutes an old squaw with dirty, wrinkled features peeping through an orifice in an old red blanket, volunteered:

"Kclesh Koosh-the witches do not like him. He was big man, powerful, now like ghost. He will die, for the coyotes are angry with him."

HATED BY THE WITCHES.

"Ou," assented the old buck, with satisfaction, as he inhaled deeply.

At this cruelly prophetic remark, Baistong could restrain her overwrought nerves no longer, and spoke insultingly:

"It is true, he will die! But it is all you who will have been the cause of it. I need you not in here with your ceaseless chattering. Go! Go! You do no good. It is you who are the witches and the coyotes."

Some highly offended, and others rightly ashamed, they all left mounting their ponies and riding back to whence they had come; save old Billi, who remained and spoke comfortingly:

"You are tired and worn out, Baistong. It is true, they are coyotes. We shall try to save Kclesh Koosh. If the witches are willing it shall be done. I shall send my squaw, Tendatong, who shall help you, and you shall get some rest."

"Achee-yah, Billi, you are very good!"

Tendatong came and brought more and different herbs. Together they did all they could for the wounded man, but on the fourth morning the moaning ceased, the heart barely fluttered, and even she gave up hope. With her consent, Billi ran for all the neighbors. They carried him, still faintly breathing, out of the hogan and up the side of the canyon, where they laid him on his pallet on a crag, up among the high rocks on the rim of the canyon. It was there he must die, for custom would not permit of his being touched after the spirit had flown. That would invoke the hatred and the wrath of the witches who had his soul in charge.

They got his saddle from the exact spot where he had placed it when he had unsaddled four days ago, and laid it by his side. He was still breathing.

Ba-istong, Billi and a few others gathered a few paces away and waited the end. She was sobbing. The others were silent.

In less than two hours it camepreceded by the death rattle, one quick convulsive struggle, terrifying to the

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onlookers-and then, deprived of 'home, Ba-istong, and life, his spirit passed to the Great Beyond.

With heads bowed, the little group of watchers rose, and each picked up some stones. They marched solemnly up to the quiet form of the man on the cliff, and piled them over the body and saddle, thus erecting a rough tomb.

Descending to their hogans, they quickly, but without confusion, packed the ponies, rounded up their sheep, and made ready for a long journey. When everything was ready, they piled brush in the hogans, and set fire to them.

Three long, black columns of smoke curled up into the deep blue sky, and clouded the sun as the little band of Navajoes began their weary march across the desert to a new home.

They were fairly on their way when an old buck, noticing that Ba-istong was not with them, inquired of his fellow traveler:

"Ba-istong-where is she?"

"Ou la," he replied, looking around. "Is she not with the squaws?"

Before the first buck had time to answer, the blazing roof of the murdered man's hogan collapsed. Instantaneously the desert stillness was pierced by the screams of a woman in intense agony. Then more agonizing shrieks, and all was quiet.

"Ugh!" grunted Billi, turning away. The small congregation marched slowly on.

The heat became more and more oppressive, as the big desert began to wrap and swathe them in its vast solitude. The silence remained unbroken save for the long and indistinct calls of a carrion crow.

Their moccasins sank deep into the fine white sand. A fleecy white cloud began to gather in the West. The ponies became restless and sniffed the air.

Billi looked back. And there over the high rocks whence they had come, he saw two large black specks in the sky, circling wide, always lower and lower over the tomb of Kclesh Koosh, the man whom the witches hated.

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