The Essential Writings of James Willard Schultz - James Willard Schultz

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in the ledge. There can’t be, or we should have seen it!” I said.

      “No, you would not have seen it unless you were carefully hunting for it. The entrance is small, only one man can pass in at a time, and it is well hidden: willows grow thickly all around it.”

      “But if we have never found it — we nor our people who have always lived here — it is n’t likely that the fire-setters have found it,” I said.

      “They are just the kind of men that would find it,” the old man answered. “The growth of willows near the water, the bare rocks all around to hold not the least trace of their goings and comings, why, they would have run to it as soon as they saw it, and, once into the willows, of course they found the cave! Do not laugh, do not doubt: We just know that those bad men have their hiding-place in that cave! ”

      “And if that is so, what then?”

      “Trap them! Roll two or three big rocks into the entrance and trap them!” he answered.

      And just then Hannah gave a little cry and pointed to the shelf on the wall above the table: “Look! Our lamp is gone, and our candles!” she said.

      I sprang from the bunk and looked behind the food chest: “Yes, and our can of coal oil too!” I cried. “The thieves are living in the cave: in the open, a fire would give all the light they want!” I turned to our young friend: “We are a weak outfit — shall we try to trap them?” I asked.

      “Let us find out if they surely are in the cave,” he answered.

      “That’s a go! We’ll do it!” I told him.

      Chapter X.

       Catching the Firebugs

       Table of Contents

      Right then and there we held a council of war, and decided that I was to tell as little as possible of our troubles and our plans. I then went to the telephone and called the Supervisor: “How about it — I suppose the rain has already killed the fires?’’

      “All but the dead, pitchy trees and logs; they are still burning,” he answered.

      “But they will soon burn out. We are out of provisions. May I have a couple of days off, to go for some?”

      “Yes! Sure! The forest is already so well soaked that those firebugs can’t do any more damage for a time, two days, anyhow.”

      “All right! We’ll leave here early in the morning. I don’t have to ring you up again, do I? ”

      “No. This is Tuesday. I give you off from now until Friday evening. You be back to your station at that time and ring me up. Good-bye!”

      So, there we were, free from that moment, and for three days. When the old men were told what had been said. White Deer remarked that my forest chief must be a good man. None but men of good heart would be watchers of Rain God’s gardens. And there were others: the whites who studied the work of the people of the long ago, and those who raised crops of grain, and raisers of cattle and horses. They were just like the Hopis: they attended strictly to their own business; were never telling others how they must live, and what gods they must worship!

      The rain showed no signs of stopping, and as the afternoon wore on, we told the Hopis that they were welcome to remain in our cabin for the night. They refused to do that, saying that they would make a shelter of brush under a spruce tree and be dry and comfortable. They then opened their sacks and gave us a good portion of their corn meal and pinole, and went out to build their shelter. Later on, at about five o’clock, the young Hopi and I started up the mountain to try to kill a deer. I had seen the little band of them feeding evenings and early mornings, as well as he. They were generally on the east slope, and just above the timber line, at the north end of the mountain. So, instead of following the trail up on top, we turned off from it and quartered northward up the slope and soon neared the feeding-place. Rain was still falling; wisps of fog drifted past us through the trees; although the sun was still nearly three hours from setting, night seemed to be right upon us. There was a little better light when we arrived at the edge of the timber and looked out upon the grass slope, and saw no deer, and were disappointed. I said that they might not come out to feed on such a rainy evening, and he laughed softly: “No matter what the weather is, they have to eat!” he answered.

      Just then a very heavy bank of fog came drifting past us, and he plucked my sleeve: “Come. We go with it!” he said. I did not understand what he intended to do, but I followed; out into the open and quartering up toward the end of the summit, only two or three hundred yards away; and now it was so dark that we could no more than see where to put our feet. We presently stumbled up against a thick bunch of stunted alder brush and he pulled me down beside him in the lower edge of it; the fog bank cleared and I saw that we were in the center of the open slope.

      “Most white men and some Indians are poor hunters,” said my friend. “They trail around, and around, and the deer, ever watchful, see them first, and with a few jumps are gone from sight. Good hunters learn where the game goes to feed, and to drink, and then they go to that place and sit quietly, patiently, for the game to come to them!”

      “I will remember that,” I told him. And had no more than spoken, when, straight down from us, four deer came stringing up out of the timber, two of them very large bucks, the others about two-year-olds. They scattered out, moving with quick steps from one patch of brush to another and nipping off the green and tender tips and leaves, and coming always nearer to us. My friend had not brought his ancient bow, because he had been unable to find any feathering for the arrows, and because the rain would have wet the bowstring and made it sag. I whispered to him to take my rifle — to make the shot. He smiled and refused with a quick, out motion of his hand. I took a careful sight at one of the big bucks, broadside to me, and when I pulled the trigger, he keeled over backward, rolled down the slope a few yards, and lay still against a rock. The others stared at him for a moment, and then made for the timber with high, stiff jumps.

      An hour later we returned to the cabin with all the meat that we could carry, and then two of the old men came with us and we brought in all the rest of it. During our second trip up the mountain, Hannah had made a large cake of corn meal and water, and, regardless of the rain, brought in a few dry quaking aspen poles and chopped them into right lengths for the stove. We filled the firebox with these, and when they had burned to a mass of red coals, we removed the stone top and broiled some loin steaks of the deer over them. Maybe that was n’t a good supper! Juicy venison and corn-meal cake sure were a feast to us. And we had music with it: through the open door there came up to us, clear and soft, the singing of the old men in their camp down by the spring. They were evidently very happy. A little later, when our friend came up to us, he said that the songs were sacred ones; that the old men had been praying and singing to the gods, giving thanks for the rain, asking that it continue, and that we all might survive danger of every kind, and capture the bad men and recover the bear hide.

      We now built a big fire close in front of the little roofed porch, and in the course of a couple of hours thoroughly dried ourselves before it. And while we did that we tried to talk of many things, but always came back to the loss of our bear hide and the meanness of the men who had taken it. It meant so much to us all, that silver-tipped hide: To our friend, the means of carrying out his mission for his people. To Hannah and me, more money than we had ever seen at one time in all our lives; money for Liberty bonds; for the Red Cross; and for some nice Christmas presents to send to our Uncle Cleveland, fighting the Huns in far-away France. And thinking and talking of him made us hate all the more the mean deserter, Henry King, and the terrible I.W.W. fire-setters. And were we really about to trap them in that cave at the edge of the desert I It did n’t seem possible that we could have such good luck. More and more I doubted that the outlaws had found the place, but more and more stoutly our friend insisted that they had found it. ‘H can’t explain how my old priests have the power,” he said, ‘‘but this much I know: it is given them to see things that only they can see. They say that the bad white men are in that cave; without

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