thillerman.theblessingway-第1节

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　While　ethnological　material　as　used　in　this　book　is　not　intended　to　meet　scholarly　and　scientific　standards；　the　author　wishes　to　acknowledge　information　derived　from　publications　of　Willard　W。　Hill；　Leland　C。　Wyman；　Mary　C。　Wheelwright；　Father　Berard　Haile；　Clyde　Kluckhohn；　and　Washington　Matthews；　and　the　advice　and　information　provided　by　his　own　friends　among　the　Navajo　people。
　Chapter　1
　
　Luis　Horseman　leaned　the　flat　stone　very　carefully　against　the　pi？on　twig；　adjusted　its　balance　exactly　and　then　cautiously　withdrew　his　hand。　The　twig　bent；　but　held。　Horseman　rocked　back　on　his　heels　and　surveyed　the　deadfall。　He　should　have　put　a　little　more　blood　on　the　twig；　he　thought；　but　it　might　be　enough。　He　had　placed　this　one　just　right；　with　the　twig　at　the　edge　of　the　kangaroo　rat's　trail。　The　least　nibble　and　the　stone　would　fall。　He　reached　into　his　shirt　front；　pulled　out　a　leather　pouch；　extracted　an　odd…shaped　lump　of　turquoise；　and　placed　it　on　the　ground　in　front　of　him。　Then　he　started　to　sing：
　〃The　Sky　it　talks　about　it。
　The　Talking　God　One　he　tells　about　it。
　The　Darkness　to　Be　One　knows　about　it。
　The　Talking　God　is　with　me。
　With　the　Talking　God　I　kill　the　male　game。〃
　There　was　another　part　of　the　song；　but　Horseman　couldn't　remember　it。　He　sat　very　still；　thinking。　Something　about　the　Black　God；　but　he　couldn't　think　how　it　went。　The　Black　God　didn't　have　anything　to　do　with　game；　but　his　uncle　had　said　you　have　to　put　it　in　about　him　to　make　the　chant　e　out　right。　He　stared　at　the　turquoise　bear。　It　said　nothing。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　It　was　almost　six。　By　the　time　he　got　back　to　the　rimrock　it　would　be　late　enough　to　make　a　little　fire；　dark　enough　to　hide　the　smoke。　Now　he　must　finish　this。
　〃The　dark　horn　of　the　bica；
　No　matter　who　would　do　evil　to　me；
　The　evil　shall　not　harm　me。
　The　dark　horn　is　a　shield　of　beaten　buckskin。〃
　Horseman　chanted　in　a　barely　audible　voice；　just　loud　enough　to　be　heard　in　the　minds　of　the　animals。
　That　evil　which　the　Ye…i　turned　toward　me
　cannot　reach　me　through　the　dark　horn；
　through　the　shield　the　bica　carries。
　It　brings　me　harmony　with　the　male　game。
　It　makes　the　male　game　hear　my　heartbeat。
　From　four　directions　they　trot　toward　me。
　They　step　and　turn　their　sides　toward　me。
　
　〃So　my　arrow　misses　bone　when　I　shoot。
　The　death　of　male　game　es　toward　me。
　The　blood　of　male　game　will　wash　my　body。
　The　male　game　will　obey　my　thoughts。〃
　He　replaced　the　turquoise　bear　in　the　medicine　pouch　and　rose　stiffly　to　his　feet。　He　was　pretty　sure　that　wasn't　the　right　song。　It　was　for　deer；　he　thought。　To　make　the　deer　e　out　where　you　could　shoot　them。　But　maybe　the　kangaroo　rats　would　hear　it；　too。　He　looked　carefully　across　the　plateau；　searching　the　foreground　first；　then　the　mid…distance；　finally　the　great　green　slopes　of　the　Lukachukai　Mountains；　which　rose　to　the　east。　Then　he　moved　away　from　the　shelter　of　the　stunted　juniper　and　walked　rapidly　northwestward；　moving　silently　and　keeping　to　the　bottom　of　the　shallow　arroyos　when　he　could。　He　walked　gracefully　and　silently。　Suddenly　he　stopped。　The　corner　of　his　eye　had　caught　motion　on　the　floor　of　the　Kam　Bimghi　Valley。　Far　below　him　and　a　dozen　miles　to　the　west；　a　puff　of　dust　was　suddenly　visible　against　a　formation　of　weathered　red　rocks。　It　might　be　a　dust　devil；　kicked　up　by　one　of　the　Hard　Flint　Boys　playing　their　tricks　on　the　Wind　Children。　But　it　was　windless　now。　The　stillness　of　late　afternoon　had　settled；　over　the　eroded　waste　below　him。
　Must　have　been　a　truck；　Horseman　thought；　and　the　feeling　of　dread　returned。　He　moved　cautiously　out　of　the　wash　behind　a　screen　of　pi？ons　and　stood　motionless；　examining　the　landscape　below　him。　Far　to　the　west；　Bearer　of　the　Sun　had　moved　down　the　sky　and　was　outlining　in　brilliant　white　the　form　of　a　thunderhead　over　Hoskininie　Mesa。　The　plateau　where　Horseman　stood　was　in　its　shadow　but　the　slanting　sunlight　still　lit　the　expanse　of　the　Kam　Bimghi。　There　was　no　dust　by　the　red　rocks　now；　and　Horseman　wondered　if　his　eyes　had　tricked　him。　Then　he　saw　it　again。　A　puff　of　dust　moving　slowly　across　the　valley　floor。　A　truck；　Horseman　thought；　or　a　car。　It　would　be　on　that　track　that　came　across　the　slick　rocks　and　branched　out　toward　Horse　Fell　and　Many　Ruins　Canyon；　and　now　to　Tall　Poles　Butte　where　the　radar　station　was。　It　must　be　a　truck；　or　a　jeep。　That　track　wasn't　much　even　in　good　weather。　Horseman　watched　intently。　In　a　minute　he　could　tell。　And　if　it　turned　toward　Many　Ruins　Canyon；　he　would　move　east　across　the　plateau　and　up　into　the　Lukachukais。　And　that　would　mean　being　hungry。
　The　dust　disappeared　as　the　vehicle　dropped　into　one　of　the　mazes　of　arroyos　which　cut　the　valley　into　a　crazy　quilt　of　erosion。　Then　he　saw　it　again　and　promptly　lost　it　where　the　track　wound　to　the　west　of　Natani　Tso；　the　great　flat…topped　lava　butte　which　dominated　the　north　end　of　the　valley。　Almost　five　minutes　passed　before　he　saw　the　dust　again；
　〃Ho；〃　Horseman　said；　and　relaxed。　The　truck　had　turned　toward　Tall　Poles。　It　would　be　the　Army　people　who　watched　the　radar　place。　He　moved　away　from　the　tree；　trotting　now。　He　was　hungry　and　there　was　a　porcupine　to　singe；　clean；　and　roast　before　he　would　eat。
　Luis　Horseman　had　chosen　this　camp　with　care。　Here　the　plateau　was　cut　by　one　of　the　hundred　nameless　canyons　which　drained　into　the　depth　of　Many　Ruins　Canyon。　Along　the　rim；　the　plateau's　granite　cap；　its　sandstone　support　eroded　away；　had　fractured　under　its　own　weight。　Some　of　these　great　blocks　of　stone　had　crashed　into　the　canyon　bottom；　leaving　behind　room…sized　gaps　in　the　rimrock。　Others　had　merely　tilted　and　slid。　Behind　one　of　these；　Horseman　knelt　over　his　fire。　It　was　a　small　fire；　built　in　the　extreme　corner　of　the　natural　enclosure。　With　nothing　overhead　to　reflect　its　light；　it　would　have　been　visible　only　to　one　standing　on　the　parapet；　looking　down。　Now　its　flickering　light　gave　the　face　of　Luis　Horseman　a　reddish　cast。　It　was　a　young　face；　thin　and　sensitive；　with　large　black　eyes　and　a　sullen　mouth。　The　forehead　was　high；　partly　hidden　by　a　red　cloth　band　knotted　at　the　back；　and　the　nose　was　curved　and　thin。　Hawklike。　He　sat　crosslegged　on　the　hump　of　sand　drifted　into　the　enclosure　from　the　plateau　floor　above。　The　only　sound　was　the　hissing　of　grease　cooking　from　the　strip　of　porcupine　flesh　he　held　over　the　flame。　The　animal　had　been　a　yearling；　and　small；　and　he　ate　about　two…thirds　of　it。　He　sprinkled　sand　on　the　fire　and　put　the　remainder　of　the　meat　on　the　embers　to　be　eaten　in　the　morning。　Then　he　lay　back　in　the　darkness。　The　moon　would　rise　sometime　after　midnight；　but　now　there　were　only　the　stars　overhead。　For　the　first　time　in　three　days；　Luis　Horseman　felt　entirely　safe。　As　he　relaxed；　he　felt　an　aching　weariness。　He　would　sleep　in　a　little　while；　but　first　he　had　to　think。
　Tomorrow；　if　he　could；　he　would　build　a　sweat　house　and　take　a　bath。　He　would　have　to　get　a　Singer　somehow　when　it　was　safe　and　have　a　Blessing　Way　held　for　him；　but　that　would　have　to　wait。　A　sweat　bath　would　have　to　do　for　now。　It　would　take　time；　but　tomorrow　he　would　have　time。　He　had　what　was　left　of　the　porcupine　and　he　would　have　kangaroo　rats。　He　was　sure　of　that。　He　put　out　twelve　or　thirteen　deadfalls　baited　with　blood　and　porcupine　fat　and　he　thought　the　chant　had　been　about　right。　Not　exactly；　but　probably　close　enough。　He　would　not　think　beyond　tomorrow。　Not　now。　By　then　they　would　know　he　had　not　gone　back　down　to　the　Tsay…Begi　country；　to　the　clan　of　his　in…laws；　and　they　would　be　looking　for　him　here。
　Horseman　felt　the　dread　again；　and　wished　suddenly　that　he　had　his　boots　and　something　that　would　hold　water。　It　was　a　long　climb　down　into　the　canyon　to　the　seep。　They　would　be　looking　anywhere　there　was　water　and　even　if　he　covered　his　tracks；　there　would　be　a　sign…broken　grass　at　least。　The　porcupine　stomach　would　hold　a　little　water；　enough　for　a　day。　He　would　use　that　until　he　could　find　something　or　kill　something　bigger。　But　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　about　his　feet。　They　hurt　now；　from　all　day　walking　in　town　shoes；　and　the　shoes　wouldn't　last　if　he　had　to　cover　much　country。
　Then　Horseman　became　aware　of　the　sound；　faint　at　first　and　then　gradually　louder。　It　was　unmistakable。　A　truck。　No。　Two　trucks。　Driving　in　low　gear。　A　long　way　off　to　the　west。　The　light　night　breeze　shifted　slightly　and　the　sound　was　gone。　And　when　it　blew　faintly　again　from　the　west；　he　could　barely　hear　the　motors。　Finally　he　could　hear　nothing。　Only　the　call　of　the　nighthawk　hunting　across　the　plateau　and　the　crickets　chirping　down　by　the　seep。　Must　have　been　in　Many　Ruins　Canyon；　Horseman　thought。　It　sounded　like　they　were　going　down　the　canyon；　away　from　him。　But　why？　And　who　would　it　be？　None　of　his　clan　would　be　in　the　canyon。　His　Red　Forehead　people　stayed　away　from　it；　stayed　clear　of　the　Anasazi　Houses。　The　Ye…i　and　the　Horned　Monster　had　eaten　the　Anasazi　long　ago…before　the　Monster　Slayer　came。　But　the　ghosts　of　the　Old　People　were　there　in　the　great　rock　hogans　under　the　cliffs　and　his　people　stayed　away。　That　was　one　of　the　reasons　he　had　e　here。　Not　too　close　to　the　Houses　of　the　Enemy　Dead；　but