hours later, when the 200 warriors from the south approached the fifteen, the chief of the invaders, Blue Sky, was astonished. The fifteen sat upon their horses, painted for war. From their hair strung feathers and from their ponies’ manes were scalps of other enemies. The chief raised his lance and stopped his men. The fifteen were a beautiful sight, a sight of defiance and life, a sign of strength, and he could not help but feel respect for the men. He motioned to his men and asked in a loud voice, “What fifteen do I have who will engage the brave ones?”
Immediately fifteen warriors broke from the pack, their ponies prancing and fidgeting. Blue Sky lowered his hand and the fifteen kicked their horses and tore at the men.
Black Bison’s fifteen warriors in unison began their war cry. The fighting was furious and bloody. Men ripped into each other from frothing, kicking horses. Knives tore into flesh and stained the earth, and when it was done, eight of Black Bison’s men still stood, while around them lay fifteen of the enemy and seven of their own.
The chief once again raised his hand and eight fresh braves pranced forward. “Kill the brave ones,” he commanded, and the eight tore into the eight tired Black Bison’s men. But once again when the fighting was done, four of Black Bison’s men stood while all the others lay dead.
With this the chief sent out onto the bloody field a man under a banner of truce followed by several men with food. Dropping the food on the ground the man spoke to the bloody survivors. “Eat and sing your death song, brave ones, for in the morning you die.” With this the band of invaders spread out in a large circle around the four men and dismounted.
That night, surrounded by the campfires of their enemies, the men sat in a circle and ate, and then, throughout the starlit night, they sang their songs and relived their lives.
At times one would stand and shout into the darkness, “I am Snake Man, I am not afraid to die. You are but women in our way.” And the warriors circling the four could not but be impressed by their enemy. Inside the hearts of the four men, they knew they had won, for with each passing minute the tribe grew closer and closer to its destination — the safety of the canyon.
With the dawn, the invaders mounted their ponies and the four braves faced in four directions (north, south, east and west) and watched as the circle around them grew tighter and tighter, until by sheer numbers they were beaten from their horses and trampled into the ground by the hooves of the horses.
In ages to come there would be no trace of this battle. No monument to the courage of the men, no eternal flame to spur on the imaginations of the young. There would only be the rock and the cactus. The cedar and pinon trees and the lonely howl of the wind, forever shifting the dirt.
CHAPTER 5
SANCTUARY
By sunrise the next day the tribe arrived at the box canyon tired and exhausted. The canyon was cut out of a large granite hill. Too steep on the sides to be scaled by men or animal, its entrance a small opening no more than 100 yards across. The canyon itself in depth was no more than 50 yards. In the opening were large boulders scattered and crisscrossed across the mouth, making any entrance difficult. Between these boulders were ancient twisted and gnarled cedar trees, providing even more protection for the tribe. At the rear of the canyon was a small spring that bubbled and filled a rock hole about 5 feet across.
Even in their exhaustion the women were put to work gathering firewood for cooking fires. All dead wood was dragged into large piles. Next warriors, by hand and with horses, piled rocks between the already protruding boulders to form larger defenses. Then small shelters were erected anywhere they could stand. Crude shelters from wood and stone. Then and only then did the women and children sleep and the warriors gather for council.
The warriors were divided into three groups. One group would be to the front, behind the boulders. Another with bows would scale the sides of the canyon and rain arrows down upon the enemy and the other would stay behind the front defense, filling in men as others fell from wounds. Several men were sent out as sentries to return when the invading warriors were sighted.
With the darkness, the camp became silent. Women and children slept in the crude shelters. Warriors took turns sleeping. Overhead the night was bright with the full moon. Black Bison walked amongst his people, heavy of heart and deep in meditation. Man of Darkness had not had a dream. The spirits were not talking to him. This battle would be up to man alone.
In the morning Black Bison sat on a small rise within the canyon and looked at his people. He was very proud of his people and filled with emotion. Below him old women, bent and twisted with time, carried heavy loads of wood and piled it on the growing stacks. Old men sat working arrow shafts, their fingers barely able to withstand the pain. The children worked with the others but too young to know of the danger around them, they laughed and sang as if it was nothing but a great adventure that would end soon and they would go back to the pueblo.
Outside of the canyon men searched quickly for game, hoping and praying they could kill enough to feed the tribe during the upcoming battle. Around the rocks and trees of the canyon, birds darted and fluttered, chasing bugs. Overhead the sky was blue and small powder puff clouds moved lazily, as though dancing with the changing seasons. It was a good day to go out onto the land with one’s love and make love beside a river. Letting the cool air touch one’s skin.
Black Bison stood and looked out beyond the canyon and spoke to the breeze and the sky and his unseen enemy. “Whence do you come, my enemy? What have I done to bring you from the south with your pain and destruction? We are a peace-loving people, content to grow our corn, content to let children sing and play. Happy to let our warriors grow to old men without the taste of battle. But now you come, come like some dark demon with the day, bringing to our hearts sorrow and pain. Bringing to the lives of our women fear and grief. The sky is blue, but the earth will be red with our blood. And now we, with our love of peace and the mother earth, will fight you to the end. You will not make us captives to your bidding. We will not lay down before you like whipped dogs.” And with great sadness Black Bison lowered his head. “But I pray, mother of us all, in our battle do not make us hate. Life is too short for us to hate.”
Black Bison walked down into the canyon. He must go see Man of Darkness. Maybe he had had a vision. Maybe the gods had spoken and they would help Black Bison and his people.
CHAPTER 6
FLYING BIRD
When Flying Bird rose and went to get water the morning Shining Moon had ridden out looking for danger she did not know if she could withstand the pain of separation. Mother watched her daughter closely for several days, and then one afternoon she took Flying Bird aside and shook her firmly and spoke.
“You are to be married now, my little one, it is time to be a woman, not a child. There is much pain in this life but we must be strong.”
After this, Flying Bird held her tears, and although her heart was breaking she helped her mother and grandmother and kept her mind busy by working all her waking hours. When the brave returned with news of the invaders, she could no longer feel pain but was caught up in the frenzy of breaking down the pueblo. People rushed everywhere and many good and wonderful things were left behind. Pots that Mother and Grandmother had worked laboriously on were broken to release the spirit of the maker from them. Dried corn and beans were poured into large baskets and tied to litters behind pawing and snorting horses growing excited by the milling, chattering people around them. With the excitment and growing fear, Flying Bird felt growing in her stomach tight knots thinking about what the invaders might do.
She herself had never seen or been close to a battle. But she had heard tales of what strange men
