Far in the Navajoe Country there are mountains almost unknown to the white man. Beginning on the dry penon spotted land they rise to pine clad hills where many springs are. Deep cañons with wondrous cliffs of painted stone cut athwart the ranges and in crevices of these walls, so it is said, are the stone houses of most ancient peoples. It is not safe for white men to go there—especially with pick and shovel, for Big Moggasen the Chief is keenly alive to the danger of permitting miners to peer about the rocks and break them up with hammers.
Because these mountains are unknown they are alluring and men often came to the agency for permission to enter the unknown land. To them the agent said, “No, I don’t want a hellabaloo raised about your death in the first place, and in the second place this reservation belongs to the Navajoes—you’d better prospect in some other country.”
Big Moggasen lived far away from the agency and was never seen even by the native police. He lived quite independent of the white man’s bounty. He drew no rations and his people paid no taxes. His young men tended the sheep, the old men worked in silver and his women wove blankets which they sold to the traders for coffee and flour. In such wise he lived from the time that his father’s death made him a chief.
In winter his people retreated to the valleys where they were sheltered from the wind—where warm hogans of logs and dirt protected them from the cold, and in the spring when the snow began to melt they drove their flocks of black and white sheep, mixed with goats, higher in the hills. In midsummer when the valleys were baking hot, the young herders urged their herd far up among thepines where good grass grew and springs of water gushed from every cañon.
Their joys equaled their sorrows. True the old were always perishing and birth was a pain, and the sheep sometimes starved because the snow covered the grass, and the children died of throat sickness, but of such is human life in all lands. For the most part they had plenty of meat to roast, and berries and pinon nuts to make it savory, and the young men always had hearts for dancing and the young girls pulled at their robes and every one laughed in the light of the dance-fire.
But at last the people began to complain. Women chattered their discontentment as they wove their blankets under the cedars and the old men gossiped in twos and threes before their camp fires. The children cried for coffee and cakes of flour, and at last Big Moggasen was forced to consider the discontent of his people. His brow was black as he rose in council to say: “What is the matter that you all grumble and whine like lame coyotes? Of old it was not so, you took what that sun spirits sent and were brave, now you have the hearts of foxes. What is it you want?”
Then Black Bear, a young chief man arose and said: “We will tell you, father. The Tinné to the south have a better time than we do. They have better clothing and coffee each day and wagons in which to ride or carry heavy loads. They have shovels with which to build hogans and to dig wells for their sheep. They have hats also which keep off the sun in summer and snow in winter. Why do we not have some of these good things also? We need wells and have nothing to dig them with. We go about bareheaded and the sun is hot on our hair. We grow tired of meat without drink. We think therefore that we should go down and see the white man and get some of these needed things.”
To this applauded speech old Big Moggasen sharply replied: “I have heard of these things for a long time, but a bear does not present me with his ears for love of me. Why does the white mangive these things? I have trapped deer by such sly actions. It is for some reason that our cousins are fed on sweet things by the white man. They wish to make captives of us. They will steal our children and our wives. I have known of the ways of white men for many years. I am old and my face is wrinkled with thinking about him. I am not to be instructed of boys in such a matter.”
All the night long the talk raged. Big Moggasen stood like a rock in the wash of the current. He repeated again and again his arguments. “The white man does not give his coat to the Tinné without hope of pay. It is all a trick.”
At last he gave way and consented to go with two of his head men and see the Little Father and find out for himself the whole truth. He went reluctantly and with drawn brows for he was not at all sure of returning again. All the old people shared his feeling but Brown Bear and Four Fingers who had traveled much laughed openly and said: “See, they go like sick men. Their heads hang down toward their feet like sick ponies. They need some of the white man’s hot drink.”
They traveled hard to the south for three days coming into a hot dry climate, which they did not like. There was little grass and the sheep were running to and fro searching for food somewhere, even eating sagebrush. The women were everywhere making blankets, and each night when they stopped the men of the north had coffee to drink and the people told many strange things of the whites. The old men had heard these things before but they had not really believed them. Some of the women said, “My children are away at the white man’s big house. They wear the white man’s clothes and eat three times each day from white dishes. They are learning the ways of the white man.”
“I like it not,” said Big Moggasen, “it is their plan to steal them and make them work for the white man. Why do they do these things?”
One woman held up a big round silver piece, “You see this?My man digs for the white man far in the south where the big iron horse runs and he gets one of these every day. Therefore we have coffee and flour often—and shoes and warm clothing.”
Big Moggasen shook his head and went on to the south. He came at last to the place where the soldiers used to be in the olden time and behold there were some big new red houses and many boys and girls and ten white people, and all about stood square hogans in which Tinné also lived. At the door of one of these hogans stood a white-haired man and he said:
“Friend, I do not know you but you are welcome. Come in and eat.”
The old man entered and in due time Big Moggasen told his name and his errand and his fears.
To this White-hairs replied: “It is natural for you to feel so. Once I felt the same but the white man has not harmed me yet. My children have learned to speak his tongue and to write. They are happier than they were and that makes me happy. I do not understand the white people. They are strange. Their thoughts are not our thoughts but they are wonder-workers. I am in awe of them. They are wiser than the spirits. They do things which it is impossible for us to do, therefore I make friends with them. They have done me no harm. My children are fond of them and so I am content.”
All the evening the old men from the northern mountains sat arguing, questioning, shaking their heads. At last they said, “Very well, in the morning we will go to the Little Father and hear what he has to say. To us it now seems that these strange people have thrown dust in your eyes and that they are scheming to make pack-ponies of you.”
In the morning they drank again of the white man’s coffee with sweet in it and ate of the white man’s bread and it was all very seductive to the tongue. Then old White-hairs led them to the Little Father’s room.
The Little Father was a small man who wore bits of glass before his eyes. He was short-spoken and his voice was high and shrill but calm.
“What is it?” he said to White-hairs in the Tinné tongue.
“These are they from the mountains,” replied White-hairs. “This is Big Moggasen.”
The Little Father rose and held out his hand, “How is your health?”
Big Moggasen took his hand but coldly.
“This is Tall-man and this Silver Arrow.”
After they had shaken hands the Little Father said: “Sit down and we will smoke.” He gave them some tobacco and when they had rolled it into little leaves of paper he said: “Well now, what can I do for you?”
After a long pause Big Mogassen began abruptly: “We live in the mountains, three days’ journey from here. We are poor. We have no wagons or shovels like the people who live here. We are of one blood with them. We do not see why we should not have these things. We have come for them. My people want wagons to carry logs in and shovels to dig wells and harnesses to put on our ponies.”
To this the Little Father replied: “Yes, we have these good things and I give them to your people. They are for those who are good and who walk in the white man’s trail. We wish to help you also. Did you bring any children with you?”
“No.”
“You must do that. We wish to educate your children. If you bring twenty children to school I will see what I can do for you.”
Big Moggasen harshly replied: “I did not come to talk about school.”
The answer was quick and stern: “But I did. You will get nothing until you send your children to me to be schooled.”
Big Moggasen’s veins swelled with the rush of his hot blood. He leaped to his feet tense and rigid. “No. My children shall not come. I do not believe in the white man or his ways. I do not like the white man’s ways. I am old and I have seen many things. The white man makes our young men drunk. He steals away our daughters. He takes away their hearts with sweet drinks and clothes. He is a wolf.”
The Little Father remained calm. “It is true there are bad white men, but there are those who are good.”
“Those I do not see,” growled the chief. “All my life I have thrust the white men away because they came to steal our land. I do not want my children to learn their ways.”
“Then you can’t have any of the great fellow’s presents.”
“Then I will go home as I came, hungry and cold,” replied the old man, wrapping his blanket around him.
“To show that I am not angry,” said the Little Father. “I will give you something to eat on your way home.”
The old man grew stern and set. “I did not come to beg of the white man. I did not come to ask anything for myself. I came because my people in council decided to send me. I have come. I am old and I have not departed from the ways of my fathers. I have lived thus far without the white man’s help, I will die as I have lived. I have spoken.”
Turning abruptly he went out, followed by his companions and old White-hairs, whose face was very sad.