Navajo Long Walk (10 page)

But Fort Sumner had been built on lands belonging to the Comanche Indians. The Comanche now resented this and began raiding the north and south ends of the reservation.

“Why should they attack us?” Gentle Woman asked. “It is not our fault that we are here.”

“How would we feel if the army moved the Comanche into Navajoland?” Wise One answered.

“We'd kill them,” Kee said, bringing the point of his finger around his neck as if taking off a head.

“If we had weapons,” Wise One reminded him. “Now we can't even protect ourselves.”

The Comanche continued to steal sheep and horses from the Navajos, who were already poor enough. When the Navajos complained to the soldiers, they were told
that the soldiers were too few in number to fight the Comanche.

“If they didn't use their soldiers to keep us penned up, they'd have plenty to fight their wars,” Kee grumbled. He was happy when he heard that some young Navajo men had slipped away in the night and brought back some of the stolen horses. He only wished he had a horse of his own and was old enough to go on some of these raids.

Grown-ups took on the responsibility of herding the sheep. They were afraid that the children would be captured and stolen along with the sheep to be sold as slaves.

By early summer, Small Lamb had nearly grown into a ewe. Hasba renamed her Dawn Flower. When Kee made fun of the fancy name, Hasba said, “Well, I found her just as sun-bearer was coming to the sky. She is beautiful so she should have a beautiful name.”

Dawn Flower stayed near the shelter with Gray Dog to watch her. Hasba was busy taking care of another small lamb. One of Eagle Feather's ewes had given birth to twins, and the mother would accept only one. Hasba was happy to receive the cast-off twin, and gave it the same watchful care she had given Dawn Flower. She coaxed Kee to beg a little milk each day at the cowshed for the lamb. Once he said, “I'm afraid Gray Dog will be overworked now with a big herd of two to watch. He will not know which sheep to follow.”

As summer progressed and the corn and wheat grew rapidly under the Navajos' care, Kee saw smiles on Navajo faces and heard cheerful greetings from the Diné as they worked together. They were adapting, working hard, determined to make the best of a bad situation.

But then, in mid-summer, the corn worms struck
again. Crops failed. Gentle Woman and Wise One wept as they walked with Hasba and Kee along their rows of corn, picking the few ears half-eaten by corn worms.

Kee shook his head in dismay. “The soldiers think they are so powerful, why don't they fight the corn worms? It's a much worse enemy than the Navajo!”

Wise One nodded her head. “There are some enemies that neither white men nor Indians have learned how to fight. Maybe, someday.”

“I think the spirits of this land do not want us here,” Kee said. “Perhaps when we get back to Navajoland, our own medicine men and spirits will protect us again.” When fall came, the reed bins that the Diné had woven to store their grain were empty. A feeling of hopelessness spread among the Navajos.

Kee reported to his family that some of the Navajos had slipped away in the night. “I heard them whispering together yesterday. They said it would be better to be killed by Comanche or sold into slavery than to live in this land that does not want them. I should have gone with them. Maybe I could have made it back home and joined Father.”

“Your father is dead,” Gentle Woman answered. “If he were alive, he would have come to us. He must have given up by now.”

“Given up? Not Father! Not as long as he is free.”

“Perhaps he is free—somewhere,” Wise One answered.

A few days later, as Kee was exercising Smoke, he saw soldiers on their horses bringing in a group of men who were on foot. The soldiers had hunted down and were dragging back the Navajos who had escaped.

As winter progressed, the feeling of discouragement was even greater than the year before. On cold nights Kee and the family huddled together in the little shelter to try to keep each other warm. Kee realized that without his work with Captain Harris's horse and the extra food and fuel he received, they might not have made it through the winter.

With the coming of the third spring, Navajos who had not died of hunger, sickness, or discouragement were unwilling to plant any more crops in the alkaline soil. Yet they were forced to plant again.

In spite of all the hardships Hasba always managed to stay cheerful. “She was so young when we came here that this is becoming a normal way of life for her,” Kee told his mother. “If we stay here she will forget our canyons and our mesa. She will grow up not ever knowing how Navajos ought to live.”

One morning after Hasba stepped outside to greet the rising sun, she hurried back in, overjoyed. Dawn Flower had given birth to a lamb. Now she had a herd of three sheep. She cared for them throughout the summer as carefully as if there were a hundred.

Kee was now speaking English quite fluently. He still couldn't see much sense in clocks when they had the sun, but he learned that white men's years had numbers. This was what they called the summer of 1867.

Even though he sometimes went hungry, Kee was growing rapidly, and the soldiers who worked around the stables were now treating him as a young friend. In spite of himself, he was beginning to enjoy being with them. He hated to admit that white soldiers, the enemy, were his friends, but he began to realize that they, as individuals, were not the enemy. Some of them hated being here almost as much as he did. They, too, were captives far from home.

One of them confided to him that the government was getting tired of trying to care for so many Indians in a
place where food could not be raised. The cost of feeding them was enormous, yet there was never enough to satisfy their hunger. “If we are lucky we may all be going home some day,” he said.

Yet fall came and there was still no sign of change. Winter came, the Navajos went hungry, and the Comanche continued to raid. With the Navajo men cold, sick, hungry, and discouraged the Comanches were able to steal many of the sheep, goats, and horses. Because there was not enough grass nearby for the animals and it was not safe to take them too far away to graze, much of their livestock died that winter. Meals often came from the tough stringy meat of an animal that had starved to death.

When the spring of 1868 arrived the resilience and optimism of the Navajos was strong. They were beginning to smile again.

One morning when Kee was feeding Smoke, Captain Harris called him into his office. The happiness in his voice was obvious as he told Kee, “My son is coming to visit me while my wife goes to Boston to see her mother, who is ill. He will come with soldiers bringing the next wagon train of supplies to the fort. I am glad you can speak English. You will be good company for Jeff.”

Kee felt almost as excited as the captain. He had never seen a white boy his own age. He wondered if Jeff would like to do the same things as Navajo boys. One unpleasant thought crossed his mind. He hoped Jeff would not expect to take over the care of Smoke.

One day, a few weeks later, as he stood at the hitching rail outside officers' quarters, Kee shaded his eyes as he watched for the long-overdue wagon train to come into view. Captain Harris was worried. He wanted to know the second the wagons appeared so he could go to meet Jeff.

Dust rose in the distance. Waiting until he was sure it was wagons and not Navajos herding sheep back to the fort, Kee dashed to the captain's office. “Wagons come!” he shouted.

Captain Harris walked with long strides toward his horse. Kee ran ahead to untie the reins. He watched horse and rider disappear across the parade grounds into the dust. He could leave now and go back to the dugout but instead he decided to wait and have a look at the white boy.

Smoke returned to the parade grounds with Jeff bouncing up and down behind his father. Kee chuckled inside. “White boy is not much of a rider, I think.”

After dismounting, Captain Harris handed the reins to Kee saying, “Jeff, this is Kee, the only Navajo boy here who has learned more than a few words of English. He takes care of Smoke and runs my errands. You two should become friends.”

“Hello, Kee,” Jeff said. “I have seen Indian boys of many tribes on the streets of St. Louis. I have never had one for my friend.”

Kee shrugged. “I have never seen white boy before. I go now to put Smoke in corral.” Kee mounted and rode swiftly away.

Arriving at the stables early next morning he found that Smoke was gone. Captain Harris had waved to him from the parade grounds where he and other officers were checking the ration tags of Navajos already lined up to receive food. Kee thought, “Jeff must have Smoke. I hope he treats a horse better than he rides. He might ride too fast over ground pitted with prairie-dog holes. Smoke could step in one and break a leg.”

While he stood worrying about Smoke and wondering what to do, he heard a snuffling at his back and felt a familiar nuzzling at his shoulder. He whirled to face Smoke. The horse was saddled but riderless.

Jeff was nowhere to be seen. Picking up the reins, Kee started to open the corral gate. Smoke pushed his arm as
if to stop him. Just then it occurred to Kee that Jeff might have been thrown. “The way he rides it could happen fast,” he said to himself, and thought how terrible Captain Harris would feel if his son was hurt.

Smoke nudged him again. “All right, all right, beautiful one, we will go and find him.”

Mounting quickly, Kee let Smoke have his head. The horse ran straight for the river. Kee would never have chosen that direction. He had been afraid of the water ever since that horrible day the Navajos were forced to cross the Rio Grande on the way to the fort.

The Pecos was neither as deep nor as wide as the Rio Grande. In the deepest part the water came only to the horse's belly. Yet Kee's heart thumped wildly. He held his breath on the crossing and sighed with relief when the horse was on dry ground.

After loping across the prairie a short distance, Kee saw a wash ahead. He felt sure he would find Jeff there. The wash was wider than Smoke could jump and was probably a deep one. No doubt Smoke had stopped at the edge so abruptly that Jeff was thrown over his head.

The wash proved to be not only deep, but a jungle of sagebrush, cacti, mesquite, and yucca. Kee walked Smoke up and down along the edge of the wash trying to find hoofprints where Smoke had come to a halt with Jeff. No luck. Dismounting, Kee tried to descend the wash but could find no way down between the thick brush. Sharp yucca thorns grabbed at his calico shirt and pants. He called Jeff. In the silence that followed his calls, he could hear only his own breathing and Smoke's snorting. Occasionally he could hear the horse's hoofs strike a rock as Smoke ambled along the edge of the wash. Climbing back to the top, Kee thought, “If Jeff is under that mess of brush somewhere I will never find him. I had better go for help.”

A short distance away Smoke was pawing at the edge of the wash. Kee ran to him. He called Jeff. A second later Smoke pricked up his ears. Kee knew the horse had heard something. He called again. A faint moan reached him.