Apache Shadows

Albert R. Booky

• Publisher: Sunstone Press
• Year: 2006
• ISBN:
  9781611392463
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Historical Fiction
• Index: Literature

The nineteenth century American Southwest is the setting of APACHE SHADOWS at the time when both Mexican and American action threatened to destroy the traditional ways of the Indians. How these threats and dangers were met is shown through the adventures of two Mescalero Apache brothers, Crazy Legs and Great Star. Learning that they share white blood because their mother was a captured American, they learn to reconcile two opposite cultures and accept a new way of life as more and more settlers move westward. In Great Star's words: "...maybe this is the beginning of something new, something wonderful for both America and her children of many races, colors, and religions."

CHAPTER ONE

"I believe the Indian to be in body
and mind equal to the white man.”
Thomas Jefferson: Letter to
F.J. Chastellux, 1785

The day was exceptionally clear and sunny, and a warm breeze wafted through the tops of the tall Ponderosa pines. An Apache woman and her two children gathered wild berries at the foot of the Sierra Blanca Mountains, those mountains sacred to the Mescalero Apaches in southcentral New Mexico Territory.

Her son stopped picking and stared long at the snow-covered peaks towering over them. His sister glanced in his direction and began to tease him about looking for excuses to get out of women's work, but seeing his troubled expression, she walked toward him, her low laughter ceasing as she tugged at his arm and asked, "Is there something wrong, my brother?"

He did not hear her at first, so intently did he gaze, and she tugged again at his arm, repeating her question. A short distance away, their mother rose from her stooped position and with a few berries still in her hand, she joined them inquiringly. She heard her son say, "I feel something strange here," he pressed his chest and continued, "I don't feel sick, but I guess you could call it a pain, though not a physical pain."

"Explain yourself," his mother told him.

"Is he all right, mother?" The young maiden looked inquiringly at her mother with a troubled face.

"Let your brother speak," her mother commanded. "Continue, my son."

"Our Apache God, Usen, lives on that mountain and he talks to the Apache warriors who ask for his guidance and help. I want to go to Him for something in me tells me to go, but an equally strong feeling resists, telling me not to seek Him. What does that mean, mother? You are older and wiser than me; tell me why these two feelings are clashing within my heart."

Their mother's eyes filled with tears as she sought for a way to express her misgivings. Her lips parted and she tried to speak and still no words came. She buried her face in her hands as her two children looked at one another and then back at their mother. She uttered no sound, but tears wet her hands, and she fell to her knees and murmured something inaudible to her listeners. Quickly the children knelt by their mother, one on either side of her. The girl hugged her, trying to find words of comfort, though why they were needed she did not know. Her son put his hand on her shoulder, patting it, and asked, "Mother, did I say something wrong? Did I offend you?"

Their mother looked at each of them in turn as she wiped the tears from her face. "Sit down," she said in her accustomed calm manner. "There is something I must tell you."

When they were seated near her she began, "I am not an Apache, and so you are only half Apache. As you know, your father is a Mescalero Apache, but what you didn't know is that he captured me when I was a young girl and made me his wife. We have you both and of course your older brother who is at this very minute on a raid with your father. That is why you have feelings which seem to conflict, my son. One is the white man's feeling and the other is that of the Apache. Remember, you have known no other way of life, and that gives you stronger Apache feelings, perhaps, than those of the white man."

Her two children looked at one another in shock and were silent, each pondering this strange new idea, until her daughter spoke in a soft, compassionate voice, "We are part white eyes?"

Her mother placed an arm around each of her children as she nodded.

The boy's back straightened as he asked, "How old were you when you were captured, mother?"

"Let me tell you the story, at least as much as I can remember. Many moons from here, in the direction of where the sun awakes, is a place where the white man's chief lives ... it is called Washington."

"Wash-shing-tone?"

"No, my son, your words are not correct. It is not Wash-shing-tone. Do not separate the word into three parts, for it is only one word. Listen closely if you wish to learn how to say the white man's word, Washington.

"It would take many, many days of riding to reach there on horseback from here. There you would see that the white eyes' tribes are as many as the trees of the forest or the grasses of the Llano Estacado. Far too many for even the mighty Apache nation to destroy. Some day, the Apaches and their way of life may be no more. The white eyes live in villages of all sizes, and some of these villages have as many people in them as in all of our Apache villages put together. They have the problems which so many people living close together can cause. Some of them drink brown water which makes them crazy, and they try to corrupt our people with this firewater and our people do not realize the danger and heartbreak which the firewater can bring.

"They have tepees with iron walls to keep their lawbreakers locked up when they break their tribal laws. They will destroy Usen's land in every way we could imagine as their villages grow ever larger. With this growth, comes change which is against the way of Usen. Families will break apart, losing their love for one another. All this is what my mother and father wished to leave behind when they left the place of the rising sun.

"My father worked for the chief of the white eyes in Washington and he and my mother were being sent to do the work of the chief in El Paso del Norte. On their way there, my mother became sick and died, but my father continued on, and after he and the others of our party had left the Mexican village of Las Vegas, the wagon train was attacked by Comanches, and my father and many others were killed. During this attack, a war party of Apaches was nearby, and being Apaches, the superior people, they were quick to take advantage of the attack by helping to drive the Comanches away. The white men did not know the ways of the Apaches, so the cunning of the war party paid big dividends. They pretended to be friends of the white men and after all, hadn't they proved their friendship by saving them from the Comanches? The white men rewarded them with many gifts, but no weapons were bestowed upon the disappointed Apaches. That night in retaliation, the Apaches stole many guns and some children. I was one of those children who was stolen away as the white men slept. You asked how old I was when the Apaches stole me? I was fourteen years old."

"Mother, you must also have two different feelings in your chest if you were not born Apache. Is this not true?"

"Yes, my son, I do."

"Did you ever try to escape and return to your people, mother?" Her daughter moved closer to show her sympathy for her mother's dilemma.

"No, because I became pregnant soon afterward and after your oldest brother was born, I knew that I must stay with my family." She touched her daughter gently on the arm and continued, "Some day, my daughter, you will understand my feelings. Later, both of you came along and I had no desire to return, and no choice, really, but to become an Apache in spirit as well as in reality. You see, if I had gone back to my people, they would have scorned me for having been married to an Apache brave and for having borne his children. I would have been an outcast among my own people. I would probably have been called a squaw, a degrading word in their language. My concern was not for myself, but for the three of you, and will continue to be. What will become of you as the white men or white eyes as our people call them, become more and more numerous, as they surely will? What does the future hold for the Apache? I'm afraid that our future is not very bright."

"Mother, why do you call us Apaches and father refers to our people as Shis Inday?"

"Your father is correct in referring to us as the Shis Inday for the name means 'Men of the Woods'. I suppose I still use the term, 'Apache' because that is what other people call us, whether it be American, Mexican, or other Indian tribes, and I might add, many of our own people also use this term. We are also referred to as 'The People' or 'Dine' or just plain 'Inde'."

"What does Apache mean, mother?" her daughter questioned.

"Enemy," her mother answered proudly.

"Enemy to whom?" came the next question.

"To all who enter our country to do us harm, or enter our country without our permission."

"Father calls you Evening Star. Why?"

"Because that is the time of day that he took me from the wagon train," their mother replied as she rose. "We must be getting back to the village to welcome your father and brother when they return, which should be soon."

She paused and went on, "And remember, children, I have come to love your father deeply, as he does me, and to love this life as the Apache lives it."

The faces of the children mirrored the quiet happiness of their mother as the three walked toward the village.

"I'll be proud when I can go with father and Crazy Legs on raids and bring back fine things for the two of you," the boy said. "After four such raids, I will be given a name, a name that only I will own, as Crazy Legs does his name."

"Your father told me that he will take you on your first raid next year if you are ready," she smiled.

"Mother, tell us again how Crazy Legs got his name," said her daughter.

"Well, when he went out on his second raid, which was into Sonora, Mexico, your father was with them. The raiding party was looking around the country for a good target when they heard about a Mexican soldier by the name of Lieutenant Morales who was then in the town of Cananea. Our warriors had heard a rumor from some peons that two days before that the lieutenant and his men had captured an Apache warrior. It was said that the lieutenant had taken his captive into the little town with a lot of fanfare. The Apache was riding his pony, but had his hands tied behind his back. The lieutenant yelled to the townspeople to come out of their houses to see the large gopher which they'd captured. As they rode, the lieutenant repeatedly slashed the warrior across the face with his pistol, until his face dripped with blood. His nose was broken and he had many cuts on his head and face which bled freely, but he rode his pony as an Apache should under such circumstances, sitting his horse as if he were a conquering hero, never uttering a cry or murmur because of the pain which he suffered.

"This infuriated the Mexican lieutenant who was determined to make the Apache humble himself in some way. He ordered one of his men to bring a rope which he fastened around the waist of the Apache and then had him hung from a tree. The soldiers left him hanging there while they repaired to a nearby cantina to buy some courage in the form of tequila for what they intended to do to the Apache later.

"This is when your brother rode into Cananea dressed as a Mexican peon. He was not noticed for there were many more peons in the little village. Your brother's assignment was to draw a lot of attention to himself to give your father and the others time to rescue the Apache and get him well away. Your brother dismounted and entered the cantina where the soldiers were drinking, and as he passed through the door, his legs wobbled as if they were made of rubber and his speech was not much better, as though he had been drinking to excess. By this time, the lieutenant and his men had a good start of their own and delighted in the sight which your brother made. Your brother must have put on a good show, indeed, for he was asked to join them, which he did. When he judged it was time, he left by the rear door, but not before he had baited the lieutenant, asking, 'What do you plan to do to that Apache, General?'"

"The lieutenant appreciated being addressed as a general and your brother attempted to come to attention to salute the lieutenant, but failed miserably, thus provoking another round of laughter. But when he had reached the alley behind the cantina, his legs improved miraculously, no longer resembling two twisted juniper limbs. He slipped to the rear door of the bank next door and built a small fire on the steps and placed several bullets in the fire. He then hid in the shadows and when the bullets began to explode, he began throwing rocks through the windows of the bank and also the cantina, yelling, 'Bank robbery!'

"The drunken soldiers, as well as some of the people of the town ran out of the buildings nearby to try to catch the robbers. In the confusion, your brother threw his knife from the shadows, striking Lieutenant Morales in the center of the back. Your brother then rode to join the rest of the war party. The braves who rode with your father and brother laughed and began to call your brother Crazy Legs, because of his acting. During the remainder of their absence from our village they continued to joke with your brother about his acting, calling him Crazy Legs. It began as a joke, but later became accepted as his title.

"That's how your brother received his name, as is customary, from something they do." She looked at them proudly, "For that is the way of the Apache and a way which I have learned to accept and approve, for I consider myself a good Apache, and a good wife and mother."

"Mother," the boy said hesitantly, "do you think my father will be home today?"

"I don't know," Evening Star answered, "it depends upon many things; your father may have encountered problems which could delay him. Why do you ask?"

"If father might not be home today, I would like to climb the sacred mountain and ask Usen some questions. Would that be all right?"

"Yes, my son, but be careful."

"I will," the boy answered as he looked up at the snow-clad peaks of the Sierra Blancas and began to walk up the slope. "I will," they heard him mutter to himself as he walked.

"Will he be all right?" His sister, Blue Bird, looked questioningly at her mother and then back at the thick forest where her brother had vanished from sight.

"Yes, my child, he'll be all right. Usen will see to that. He has reached the time in his life which tugs at the Apache in him. He wants answers to many questions which trouble him and only he can find the answers. Let's leave him for he'll come home when he's ready."

The boy climbed steadily upward for hours until he had reached the elevation where the Aspen trees abounded. The white-barked trees at first mingled with the huge Ponderosa pines, but as he had continued ever upward, the pines became fewer until at last he stood in the midst of beautiful aspens. He stood drinking in the beauty which surrounded him on all sides, then looked back in the direction from which he had come. Mile after mile of the pines extended below him in the stark moonlight. They covered the rolling hills and hidden valleys. He then turned to look upwards once again and could see the timberline below the upper slopes of the snow-covered ground.

"Usen?" He spoke in a soft and gentle murmur, "Are you there, Usen?" He fell to his knees and gazed at the snow-covered peak above him, at the highest point in the Sierra Blanca mountain range.

"I have come to speak with you," he said as his eyes searched the snowy slopes.

"Usen . . . Usen . . . Usen . . . Usen," he repeated it four times, in a barely audible tone, four times, for that is the sacred number to most Indians, and it was also true for the Apaches. He then began a chant which the medicine man had taught to him over a period of many months. The chant continued for many moments and then he was silent for an equal length of time, after which he spoke once more, "Usen, I seek part of your power. I humble myself before you in complete subjugation to your will, to your spirit, to your power. I ask that you release a portion of your power to me, one of your devoted creations. I will use that power only to glorify your being."

How long he knelt there among the aspens he did not know, but snow had begun to fall as he continued his chanting, then another period of silence, then another attempt to converse with his go...