CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A TRIUMPH—AND A WORDLESS COVENANT
On leaving Tlamco, Kerœcia was carried up the Sacramento River by the fleet of the Azes, until nearly opposite the mouth of Antelope Creek, where she was met by a company of Monbas warriors and given escort to Anokia, their capital city, situated south of Lassen Peak.
At a distance of from five to eight miles from the false base of the Sierras, is a range of isolated hills which form an irregular belt of elevation, separated from the main chain by an intervening plain.
It was here that Anokia was built, in a rocky amphitheater at the head of a stream which flows back directly northeast from its source toward the axis of the principal mountain chain.
The kettle-like form at the head of the valley opened on the north, and extended in a huge semi-circle to the river below. Opposite the opening stood Lassen Peak, either as a grim protector, or in frowning distrust, according to the interpretation given to the mountain’s inscrutable mood.
There were several small domes and pinnacles on the east side of the peak, and, in some places, the granite rim formed a beautifully striped parapet of bedded rock. Portions of the stone were thin enough for the sunlight to penetrate the crevices, and to throw faint but effective shadows on the layers of brilliant colors.
The more solid sections of the wall afforded a magnificent view of the surrounding crest of the Sierras which here spread out like a giant harrow overturned against the vast horizon.
Evergreen trees and undergrowth fringed the tooth-shaped outlines which the blue haze softened and blended perfectly with the lighter tones overhead, and blurred deep and heavy in the interesting glades and canyons.
The whole region presented a complicated system of sharp ridges, with immense circular cavities between, as if the entire country had suddenly cooled while boiling violently.
From out this mass, rose bold rivers which trickled along for some distance; then, gaining in volume and velocity, rushed madly across the intervening plains to mingle their clear icy waters with the turbid, débris-laden Sacramento.
Much of the land surface was reddened and discolored by the oxidization contained in the subsoil; and over it all was the brown and yellow color-scheme of the long, rainless summer months.
There were live oaks in the foothills, white oaks in the valleys, with pale, yellowish-green moss festooning the gnarled limbs, and swaying in the breeze.
The long acorns had been gathered and stored for future use. Tules covering the swampy shallows this side of the narrow timber belt on the river, were brown and seared. The wild grape vines were loaded with ripe fruit and each patch of wild oats had long since shed its grain.
Here and there a white swan glided by in stately dignity on waters so clear that the fish could be seen; while the sycamores, oaks, and willows afforded shelter to a chattering family of magpies, bluejays, blackbirds, crows and turkey buzzards. A hawk poised itself in mid-air watching a chance to seize a meadow lark; while the sandhill-cranes, ducks, and geese disported themselves in the sloughs.
In the less frequented parts of the valley, lumbering mastodons and hippopotami mingled with grizzly bears, elk, antelope, deer and diminutive wild horses. They were screened from view by scrub oak and pine whose northern exposure was rich in yellow moss. Here was found plenty of bur-clover and bunch-grass, both of which were withered by the hot summer wind and sun. Shocks of corn and piles of fodder, still cluttered the parched ground, bearing mute, but eloquent testimony of the recent invasion of an army of painstaking reapers.
California in her brown coat is a promise fulfilled—a matured and sobered land, somewhat stern and forbidding of aspect, and set in her ways, but rich beyond compare in the abundance and variety of her harvest yield.
Despite the shimmering, blistering heat, schools of salmon had been shooting the rapids and whirlpools of the Sacramento, hastening to the shallows. It was their spawning time. They fearlessly deserted the deep pools and were piled in an indiscriminate mass in the ripples.
Animated by a kind of fury the fish were beating the sands with their tails. Sometimes, the female would wear her fins off entirely in this occupation. Then she deposited her eggs in the coarse gravel; but the greedy trout pounced upon and ate them as fast as laid if not prevented by the male salmon.
When Yermah returned to Iaqua after spending the night in the cave with Akaza, he found a messenger from Kerœcia, inviting him to attend her birthday fête.
In addition to the autographed letter was an elaborately decorated flower-pot filled with a bunch of white, strawlike blossoms, on slender, cottony stems, with little or no foliage. To-day the French call this modest flower the “Immortelle”; the Spanish, in their soft language, say “Siempre Viva”; while in English, it is the “Everlasting.”
“Never ceasing to remember,” murmured the Dorado, as he examined the flowers and recognized their significance.
Yermah understood that Kerœcia had wished to send him a perfect plant, and had selected this, not only for its sentiment, but also because of its ability to stand the rough usage of a journey.
He undid the tiny roll of parchment tied to one of the stems.
It said: “Though I have not the loveliness of the rose, am I not grass from the garden where it grows?”
He kissed the written words and with his own hands carried the flower-pot into his private apartments. Never afterward, as long as he remained at Iaqua, was he without a sprig of this plant.
The first of August was Kerœcia’s birthday, and this particular celebration of the event was to be of unusual brilliancy. It was also the great harvest festival of the year which always brought forth elaborate preparations by the mountaineers.
The peculiar kettle-shape at the head of the Valley where Anokia was built, formed three sides of the amphitheater where the games were to be held.
It had a ragged, uneven surface, like the lips of a crater, which the Monbas stone-cutters had skillfully turned to account in constructing a pavilion on the south side, canopied and gay with flags, banners and silk lanterns. Rubble walls, provided with seats cut into the stone, closed the north side. Here a wide entrance was left.
Seats rose in a continuous circle, tier upon tier, until thousands could have found accommodation. The goals for the racers, the pole in the center, and each spire and battlement on the walls displayed flags. The sanded floor had been wet and packed down smooth and hard.
For an hour or more the crowds had been coming in, quietly and decorously as became men, women and children in holiday dress.
Without warning, eight forerunners dashed through the entrance and sped around the ring, shouting at the top of their voices.
“Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah!” cried the first pair.
“Hye! Hye! Hye! Hye!” said the second.
“Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” called the third.
“O-h! O-h!” sharply piped the fourth pair, moving the forefinger rapidly over the lips, and prolonging the piercing sound.
They were naked save a white linen band girding the loins and tied tightly in front. Their long, loose hair quivered with motion as they sped around the ring nerved to the highest tension by the shouts of the multitude.
Suddenly the whole city seemed to wake into noisy, turbulent expectancy. A heavy br-r-r of kettle-drums, a sharp click of castanets, a blare of trumpets, and the higher notes of flutes and fifes announced the approach of Kerœcia and her guests.
With heads bent, the runners pulled themselves together for a final effort. It was a point of honor to reach the entrance as Kerœcia arrived there. The multitude understood this, and cheered lustily as the men ranged themselves in even rows, four on each side, at the exact instant that Kerœcia reached the threshold. She had time to throw a badge to each one, before they sank into the arms of attendants breathless and completely exhausted.
The “Hymn of Triumph” was caught up by the crowd and carried high above the combined efforts of the musicians, as the populace worked their forefingers over their lips, and followed the melody with all of the lung-power possible.
Kerœcia was attended by Ben Hu Barabe and his bride, Alcyesta, on one side, with Suravia and Mineola on the other, followed by Yermah, attended by Setos and Alcamayn on the right; Rahula and Ildiko on the left.
Arriving at the pavilion, Kerœcia was received by the priesthood of Anokia, who crowned her Queen of the Harvest, by placing a wreath of heads of ripe grain upon her brow. They gave her a cornstalk, also, which supported two ripe ears, the whole gayly decorated with ribbons.
As soon as Kerœcia received this emblem of plenty she waved it high over her head, and the whole multitude uncovered, tossing their round, pointed, conical hats high into the air and shouted: “Ho-ra! Ho-ra! Ho-ra!”
The day was yet young, but the tamanes took advantage of the confusion while seating the procession in the pavilion to unfurl the canopies overhead, and the people made themselves comfortable under thick tapa-cloth awnings.
On the ground directly in front of the pavilion, were squares of black and white marble. Upon these the Monbas priests prepared to play the game of “Stone-Warrior,” a quaint, allegorical Pilgrim’s Progress, typical of the journey of life, one mile-post of which Kerœcia was passing.
Bringing up the rear of the procession were four horsemen dressed in green, with green trappings on their mounts; four tapirs caparisoned in red; four war-chariots in yellow; and twelve foot-soldiers in black.
There were two Priests of the Bow, dressed in white. This company divided—one half taking one end of the board, and the other half, the other end. Six foot-soldiers stood on the black squares, three on each side of the Priests of the Bow.
The two tapirs, horsemen and chariots, lined up evenly on the ground back of the men in black. The object of the game was to cross the board diagonally from end to end—capturing as many men as possible on the way. The first side to place three foot-soldiers in a row was the winner. In no circumstance was a man in black to touch a white square. He must always keep on the black square.
A throw of dice determined the movements of the participants. Five moved the Priest of the Bow, and he could go forward and backward as he pleased, but he was liable to be caught around the waist and flung off the board the same as the men in black.
A four-spot moved the tapir. This meant that one man moved forward four blocks, while the tapirs headed for the four cardinal points, to denote the number of times they had been moved.
Three spots moved the horsemen; two, the chariots; and one, the men in black.
The musicians played a lively air. Then the game began.
Groups of priests stood on each side shouting instructions, warnings and words of encouragement to the players, who were obliged to follow the lead of their Priest of the Bow. Only the first two moves depended on the dice; after that is was every player for himself, counting in succession, five, four, three, two, one.
It was a strange sight for the spectator. Apparently, without any good reason, the horsemen, the tapirs and the chariots were wheeling north, south, east and west, while the black men pushed forward rapidly, seizing and flinging one another off the board, until, finally, a mighty shout went up, and three men in black stood in a row facing Kerœcia.
The tapirs, chariots and all but one horseman of the vanquished side had gone over to the victors, while on the board there were but two black men and the Priest of the Bow to oppose the winners.
“Beaten by a headless band! Bah! Bah! Bah!” vociferated the adherents of the victors.
“Score five against them!” was the imperious demand of the vanquished. The cazique hammered vigorously on the big copper gong, while the trumpeters blew three sharp blasts as a signal to clear the grounds, and as if by magic every block of marble went with the crowd.
From the judges’ stand, opposite the pavilion, ran up a banner, with figures in black on a white ground. It awarded the game by two points, giving red ribbons to the three foot-soldiers who had gained the coveted goal.
“We are obliged to count five against the victors, since they lost their Priest of the Bow after their first move. Had they protected him, they would have won all possible points.”
Mingled cries of “Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” and “Bah! Bah! Bah!” greeted this announcement.
The Baggataway players next appeared, led by Setos, Alcamayn, Hanabusa, and ten gamy Azes, followed by Ben Hu Barabe with twelve athletic-looking Monbas. This was their national game, and Ben Hu Barabe felt a pardonable pride in his men as he led them into position.
At each end of the field were the goals, indicated by two poles twelve feet high and half as far apart. There was also a center pole of equal height mid-distant between the end goals. All were surmounted by flags.
Each of the players was armed with a stick flattened at the end, and the intention was to drive the rubber ball into goal between the enemy’s posts.
The Monbas defended, while the Azes attacked. A noisy, chattering, bantering, betting crowd surged up and down on each side of the players, piling up articles of every description as their respective sides seemed on the point of either winning or losing.
The attack and defense strained every nerve, keeping the twenty-four players constantly on the move. Here, a man races with another; there, he makes a prodigious throw up field; and, before any one knows what has happened the battle has been transferred, and the Azes stand fair to lose.
Alcamayn runs full against his antagonist, and both come to the ground together; while Setos fells his opponent by a sharp blow over the head. The fallen player is carried bleeding and unconscious from the field just as the Monbas rescue the ball, and send it with a triumphant shout through the goal which wins them the game.
“Foul! foul!” screamed the on-lookers. “The Azes shall not have a point. They play unfairly.”
A shouting, gesticulating, seething mass of men and women surged around the judges’ stand.
“Give us justice!” they demanded. The cazique pounded the gong madly. Finally, he could make himself heard above the din and noise.
“Hear thy priestess!” he called. “She begs that thou wilt remember thy duty and the occasion. There are many reasons why we feel grateful to the Azes. Judgment is suspended. All bets are invalid. Go back to thy seats and be quiet. The Monbas won their game with honor. Be content with that.”
It was well for Setos and Alcamayn that Yermah was preparing for an archery contest with Ben Hu Barabe and Hanabusa and was therefore ignorant of the cause of the offense. The officers of the balsas, the warriors, and the other players among the Azes, instinctively huddled together, humiliated and ashamed, but silent.
A plaited disk of straw having a central circle of yellow nine inches in diameter, surrounded by rings of red, blue, black and white, was hung up on the center pole.
The Monbas served Yermah and Hanabusa with arrows, while the Azes performed a similar office for Ben Hu Barabe.
During the years spent in the Atlantian colonies, the Dorado had been the actual head of the fighting men; but this was the first time he had been called upon to show his skill in bow-craft to the Azes.
The fame of Ben Hu Barabe was spread far and wide, and the Monbas waited with smiling concern as to the outcome. Hanabusa had won his position with the bowstring, but Yermah’s capabilities were unknown.
The stubborn pride of three races was in the struggle, and bitter defeat awaited some one. It was strictly a war function. There were precision, rigid enforcement of rules, and exactness in the attitude in which the warriors stood—motionless and impassive, while the three contestants marched in step to warlike music through the entrance and halted at the first vantage-ground.
The three men bowed and smiled in recognition of the plaudits showered upon them right and left, as they watched for the signal. A refreshing breeze fanned their faces and set all the flags in motion.
Yermah was in full regimentals as commander-in-chief. Scarlet, purple, gold, and green were his colors; but they were blended with all the skill of the ancients, so that they fitly set his personality.
Ben Hu Barabe showed his insignia as Civil Chief and defender of Anokia, while Hanabusa was resplendent in feathers and jewels.
Yermah felt that he was the doubtful one. His glance rested for a moment on the anxious faces of his followers, but he was cool, confident and collected. There was something magnetically infectious in his encouraging smile, and before he had touched a bow, he had the undivided attention of the assemblage.
Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe seemed dwarfed beside him. His easy, nonchalant bearing, his unconscious grace were never more conspicuous. Still, Yermah was an alien. He stood in their midst a stranger, and fully comprehended that the loyalty of his own men would be severely tried if he failed to acquit himself with credit.
Over in the pavilion were a pair of luminous, mastic brown eyes, with glints of bronze in their depths, which were bent upon him eagerly. He could feel them drawing him in that direction, but he did not trust himself to return their questioning gaze.
There were neither knots, gnarls, nor cracks in the waxy brown six-foot hunting bow of continuous straight-grained mulberry used in the first trial. Its tips were of polished elk-horn, and there was a green chamois handhold in the center of the elaborate carving. The well-seasoned hickory arrows, forty inches long and as smooth as glass, carried flint-heads three and a half inches wide, and two inches broad, with sharp saw-teeth edges. There was a trinity of peacock feather vanes outlined in parabola above the notch end.
Courtesy gave Yermah the first shot. As he pulled a stout buckskin shield over his right hand, he looked full into Kerœcia’s face. His eyes said: “Trust me. I shall not fail.”
Under the inspiration of her answering nod, he quickly raised the bow from the ground and placed it against his knee-cap, thereby securing a good purchase. With an upward body movement, he drew the long bow to its fullest capacity, faced the target and let fly.
Like the arrow of Acestes, which caught fire as it flew, or the dart of Abaris, which is the wisdom of concentrated thought, this winged thing sang through the air, and imbedded itself in the blue ring above the center, where it rocked violently from the shock of impact.
“Yermah of Tlamco, scores five at elevation of forty-five degrees; drawing force, one hundred and thirty pounds.”
The tally-keeper in the judges’ stand droned the words after the official scorer. Then the people seemed to catch their breath.
“What skill!” said one, pointing to the still quivering arrow. “What strength!” cried another, while the men of Tlamco, but lately humbled, lifted their heads proudly and looked with admiration at their leader.
The exertion flushed Yermah’s face, but there was that in his expression which seemed to augur better things. He had yet to prove himself; so he renewed his efforts with energy and determination.
The second shot sent the arrow into the red ring below goal, and nearly opposite the blue, scoring seven points.
“Here is fine aiming!” said the judges to one another, while the spectators leaned forward in strained positions and watched intently.
There was just the shadow of a smile around Yermah’s mouth, as he bent for the final shot.
“Ping!” murmured the third arrow as it hit exact center.
“Haille! Haille!” shouted the Azes. “Haille! Haille!” responded the Monbas, catching the enthusiasm, and complimenting their visitors by adopting their cry.
The whole crowd were on their feet, all talking at once, not paying the slightest attention to the tellers and scorers, who rushed about bawling the result.
“Five—seven—nine are the points; twenty-one for final score,” they said.
Yermah flung down his bow and stepped aside to make room for his competitors. He stood helmet in hand, wiping his brow, pleased with the warming sentiment manifested toward him.
“Hanabusa, the Azes, scores three, five and seven. Fifteen for final count.”
“Ben Hu Barabe can do better,” was said on all sides, as Hanabusa made way for him.
“Now the Azes will learn how to shoot!”
“He will never equal the first score,” said other archers. “The Atlantian is a fine bowman.”
Ben Hu Barabe bent to his task. He sent his first arrow with a vim and energy which bespoke long familiarity and constant practice. He, too, made a center shot, but it was the upper edge of the gold disk which received the barb; next time, the red ring suffered; but the final shot sped feebly, and barely indented the black ring.
“The first fort yields to the Azes,” announced the judges. “Move on to the next coign of vantage.”
Now came the real test of skill. Here every man was interested, because they all made use of the bow and arrow themselves. The first trial was of strength, but this would require finesse and nicety of calculation. Hundreds of the spectators left their seats and crowded around the contestants.
Extremely light, highly elastic but tough yew from the forests of Oregon was substituted for the heavier bow of the chase; and the arrows had finely pointed obsidian heads, notched and smooth, but sharp as a needle.
Yermah looked well to the sweetness of his clear, clean, lemon-colored bow. When satisfied that it had the requisite softness of flexure and recoil, and that the arrows were properly seasoned, he placed one on the left side of the bow, above, and resting on the forefinger knuckle of the clenched left hand, with its notch set on the string.
The first three fingers of the right hand hooked around the string, keeping the arrow-notch between the first and second. Extending the left arm vigorously but steadily, Yermah drew the string back with his right hand to just below the chin—and loosed.
He stood with his left shoulder toward the target, looking straight in that direction, having the heels well apart, and toes turned out, leaving his legs straight, but not stiff. Raising his bow gracefully with the left hand, he drew the arrow four-fifths of its length, aimed over the arrow-tip, drew again, and let fly!
The spectators were quick to see that he made the four points perfectly. Each element of the draw, aim, finish, and loose required the greatest nicety of execution; yet, he sped the arrows with almost incredible swiftness.
When shooting three at once, Yermah used the three sights—center, above and below aim-points. His control of the loose was so accurate, he understood the variation of vision between the right and left eye so well, that he drove all three arrows into the gold within a quarter of an inch of each other!
By the rules, he must aim above center at one hundred yards, and there was not one of the seventy-two arrows, whether sped singly or in threes, that hit below the mark. At eighty yards he was obliged to aim blankly with the four dozen arrows loosed at this distance. He chose the outer circle of white, and planted his darts at equidistance around the entire circle.
“But one more fort remains to be captured, and the Atlantian still leads,” announced the judges. “Clear the enclosure! Warriors, do your duty!”
With this, the men made a rush for their seats, not waiting for the spear-points the warriors were preparing to level at them.
In the noise, confusion and excitement no one paid attention to the birds, perched on top of the pole supporting the target. There was a bluejay, a raven, a white dove, and a green parrot, with strong cords attached to one leg of each, sitting on a crossbar or else on the gilt ball at the apex. Now every one suddenly remembered, and interest redoubled in the final score at the sixty-yard limit.
“Yermah of Tlamco fails with two points out of twenty-four shots, below aim-point. Two are above the center line. Hanabusa looses six, and Ben Hu Barabe, four. Shall the victor take the citadel?”
“Merit wins him a shot at the birds,” came from all sides.
“Yermah of Tlamco, wilt thou capture the citadel of our hearts by a final test of skill before being crowned with the yew wreath?”
When he could make himself heard, Yermah signified his willingness to comply with this request. For the first time in an hour Kerœcia caught sight of his face. It was pale, set and resolute, and she saw that the strain was telling on him.
“The parrot shall cry thee aim, and must remain unharmed. Thou mayst kill the blue or the black bird, but thou must only release the peaceful dove. Wilt thou remember the conditions?”
Satisfying this demand from the judges, Yermah came within range, and waited a favorable opportunity. By a sudden jerk of a cord extending down the side of the pole, the ball and crossbar began to revolve, and the birds were on the wing.
“Chay! chay! chay!” shrieked the mocking, insolent bluejay.
“Caw! caw! caw!” croaked the raven; while the parrot screamed banteringly;
“Boy what ails thee? Come on! Ha! ha! ha! Oh, dear! Ah! ha! ha!—Sit still! Who will catch thy barb? I’ll catch it? Thou fool, never!” Then changing tone entirely to one of biting sarcasm:
“Here’s a pretty mess—a pretty mess!” There was silence for a time. Then in a thin, piping voice and ludicrous intonation:
“I shall faint! I shall expire! Help! help!” screeched the bird. Then, she became sympathetic: “That’s bad, very bad! What a poor shot! Dear me! Ha! ha! ha! ha-ha-ha-ha! Aim high! aim low! don’t aim at all! Ah! ha! ha! ha—ha! ha! ha! ha!”
The parrot was chained to the top of the pole, so that it could not fly. To make the aim more difficult the other birds were fastened by cords of unequal length. Each one must be freed by the arrow, and then the marksman must wing it before it escaped.
The first liberated was the bluejay. Yermah cut the cord neatly, and then hit the bird while it was still rising. The arrow fell near the base of the pole, bringing the right wing with it.
The Dorado had won the yew wreath, and he now turned to the women’s side of the pavilion for a signal. They could demand the last three shots. Would they do it?
He waited for Kerœcia to say. She was surrounded by a perfect rabble, gesticulating, shouting and leaning eagerly toward her.
Finally, she arose, and threw up her hand to command silence. In the lull, she turned to Yermah, who removed his helmet and inclined his head toward her, while she picked up a black flag and waved it.
There was an answering shout and a cheer and Yermah prepared to shoot again. This time he aimed at the raven. He cut the cord near the pole, and its weight caused the bird to fly downward in an oblique line. Quick as a flash the second arrow sped, and the raven came down pierced through the heart.
Once more the ball at the top was set whirling. The dove, seemingly more accustomed to this motion, rose slowly, so that the final arrow took off a toe, in severing the cord. The bird soared up in concentric circles, but long before the plaudits ceased, it was perched in exactly the same place from which it had risen.
The Monbas and Azes fought and struggled with each other for the privilege of carrying the hero off the ground on their shoulders, while the musicians played the folk songs of the Azes.
At this juncture, Setos, Alcamayn and Cezardis galloped into the ring, and began putting arrows into the target as they rode by. Round and round they went, sometimes shooting forward, more often backward, first on a leisurely gallop, then on a dead run. Suddenly they wheeled and headed for the entrance where they were met by Yermah, Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe, mounted on thoroughbreds, armed with shields, horn-bows and quivers full of murderous-looking arrows.
“Hih! hih! hih!” chorused the multitude, as the horsemen made for the target, which was moving up and down while revolving.
“Click-ety! click-ety! click-ety! click!” pattered the horses’ hoofs in a fine burst of speed.
“Wheel and fire!” shouted the Dorado, suiting the action to the word when nearly opposite the disk.
“P—sh!” whistled the arrows as they hit the target almost simultaneously.
“Three arrows full tilt!” was the next command, which was no sooner given than obeyed.
“Backward shot—three arrows! Send them into the pole; then circle it and pull them out.”
The horsemen were crisscrossing each other in every direction, flinging sand into one another’s faces. The spirited animals were rearing and careering, standing on their hind-legs or sitting back on their haunches while this maneuver was being executed.
“A souvenir for the women before we go! Let every man of us put a dart into the post on a level with our heads. Then race out of here together.”
The horses bent themselves nearly double. With mouths open and nostrils distended, they responded to the impulse of bit and spur. While the spent arrows were vibrating like whipcords, they plunged forward and raced for the entrance neck and neck, urged to their utmost capacity by the fire-crackers and bombs exploding at their heels.
The people rose en masse, and shouted themselves hoarse, drowning the kettle-drums and gongs in the general uproar. In the midst of it the horsemen whirled and dashed back into the arena, in hot pursuit of Yermah, whose head was almost level with Cibolo’s neck, as this splendid racer stretched himself over the ground.
All the men had on wadded cotton tunics, covered with bull’s-hide armor, put together in strips and riveted with brass bosses. They wore visored helmets, and carried circular shields of burnished bronze. Before they had encircled the ring, it was evident that it was a sham attack on Yermah. They tried to ride him down, but Cibolo foiled them with an instinct almost human. They often fired at the rider, but were never able to hit him.
Yermah returned arrow for arrow, sometimes from behind his shield, sometimes forward, more often backward, single arrows, and three at a time. Throwing up his shield to protect himself, or dropping over on the side of his horse so there was but one leg over the saddle, on and on he went.
At an unexpected moment, Yermah wheeled and charged furiously, lassoing the horse ridden by Setos, and then, by a skillful maneuver and a daring leap, broke through the circle which had formed around him.
He escaped into the tower of refuge—a low semi-circle in front of the pavilion—taking his captive with him.
When Yermah rode out to receive the yew wreath and red ribbon of valor, there was not an arrow in his armor nor a dent in his shield. He had escaped without a single scratch.
While his name was on every one’s lips, he modestly sought Kerœcia. There were tears in her eyes, which welled over on the two bright red spots on either cheek, as she turned to greet him. Her lips trembled, but she smiled while giving him her hand. He sat down beside her almost equally overcome. Close to her ear he said earnestly, and but little above a whisper:
“I love thee. It is thine opinion I value. All else is naught.”
He read his triumph in her eyes; she heard the one declaration in the world for her. They were alone in the crowd, whose unheeded plaudits came to them in an impersonal sort of way.
They had a few minutes’ respite from the duties of the hour, a little season of quiet communion, while a feeling of adoration welled up from their hearts and submerged all the other senses. It created a halo about them and moistened the shining eyes gazing steadfastly at one another. Overpowering emotion rendered them speechless, while the soul union, the mating of their real selves, was consummated in a wordless covenant.
During the eloquent silence each had knowledge that the other had set up a shrine in the holy of holies of their being which none of the trials of after-life would desecrate, nor would either ever be capable of violating its sanctity.
In this expression of love was that perfect blending of ideality and desire which is the very essence of marriage. It is the molding and cementing influences which, in fortunate cases, so dominates such intimate and close association that in old age they look, speak and act alike. Nor does death finally take one and leave the other.
The skill and dexterity of the bowmen, the wild, fearless riding, the daring onslaughts, the imminent risk of life and limb smacked strongly enough of actual warfare to arouse the tiger which at our best moments only sleeps within us.
Like true children of nature, these people entered with much zest into the ridiculous performances of a monkey and clown perched upon the backs of swift-paced burros.
In the midst of this race, jugglers with balls, javelins, disks and parasols, gave exhibitions of their skill, while heavy copper bars and hammers were tossed and flung about with apparent ease. It was a busy time with the gamblers and fortune-tellers, as well as with the vendors of all kinds of trinkets.
“Clang! clang! clang! clang!” sounded the big gong.
“Clear the ring for the caribou race!” shouted the cazique, as he clattered by on horseback. “Clear the ring, everybody! This is the women’s race!”
While the performers were scurrying about, obeying this order by getting their belongings out of the way as rapidly as possible, three chariots were driven in, containing Kerœcia, Ildiko and Alcyesta.
“Yermah, the victorious, challenges for the high-priestess, Kerœcia,” announced the judges, as Yermah advanced to the head of the priestess’s team.
In the deafening outburst following on all sides, the caribou became unmanageable, and it was several minutes before the entanglement could be straightened out sufficiently to warrant further procedure.
“Alcamayn of Tlamco, challenges for fair Ildiko.”
The little jeweler stepped out proudly and took a position in front of the state carriage of the Azes, the same ivory and gold vehicle which Yermah had driven when Kerœcia visited the Llama city.
“Ben Hu Barabe, of Anokia, challenges for Alcyesta. The contest is for a gold cup, given by this city. Partisans of each team must lay wagers lively. Stand back, men, and give the women a chance! Once and a half around the ring! Now for the cup!”
The three chariots went over the chalk-line in a fairly even start, and the sharp click of running hoofs and the buzzing of the wheels told of the speed being made.
It was easy to distinguish the racers. The wide palmated horns made each runner instinctively pull apart, so that bunching was impossible. Besides this, the colors were very distinct.
Kerœcia wore yellow, with a jeweled agraffe and girdle, while on her head was still the ingenious crown of golden grains. Her chariot was of pale green, elaborate in decorations of dull gold on raised patterns. Streamers of the same color fluttered here and there, and were threaded in a net-work over the heads of the caribou.
Ildiko was in light blue, with an embroidered Zouave jacket of black. A jeweled band confined her long, crinkly white hair, while red and white cords interlaced the wide-spreading horns of her racers.
Alcyesta’s chariot was black, but rich in traceries of silver and painted flower ornaments. She wore a pink robe, with a silver agraffe and girdle, set with pearls and turquoise. Pink and white cords trimmed her whip and tied the horns of the caribou.
For an instant the chariots moved side by side, the women giving free rein, but withholding the whips. At the first quarter, Ildiko led slightly; but in attempting to round the curve of the half-goal, Alcyesta caught a wheel in the post, snapping it in two, like so much straw.
With such momentum, it was not possible to check the speed, and before either could prevent it the horns of Ildiko’s and Alcyesta’s teams were tightly interlocked. Instantly there was a terrific hubbub. Men from all sides ran to their assistance.
“Let us race it out!” cried Ildiko.
“Agreed!” answered Alcyesta; and both women laid on the lash forcibly, scorching the ground with their flying wheels.
“Keep clear! Give them leeway!” shouted the cazique, charging the crowd with his horse. The caribou had shaken themselves loose.
“It is a splendid race!” cried the judges, as the last quarter stake was passed.
“Run, Ildiko!”
“Use thy whip, Kerœcia! Thou must not let them beat thee after all!”
“Give them their heads, Alcyesta! Thy reins are too tight!”
The women were leaning forward talking to the nervy roadsters, with hair flying over their shoulders, ribbons fluttering, and the wheels fairly singing as they flew past the chalk-line.
“It is an open race for the cup. Kerœcia took no advantage. Now she must run for it!”
And she did. Saphis and Phoda knew her voice. They caught her impulse as she loosed the rein, and they went like the wind.
“Crack! crack!” snapped her tiny whiplash.
It seemed as if the caribou would jump out of their skins. Not being accustomed to the whip, they were much more frightened by its noise than by the sting of its lash. Theirs was simply a mad headlong plunge forward, taken in time to clear the first goal.
Ildiko and Alcyesta had enough to do in preventing a break as their knowing animals neared the scene of their former mishap. They were fearless runners, and responded gamely to the lash; but there was an imperceptible hesitation, a disposition to shy, and Kerœcia whipped in a full neck ahead.
On she went around the ring, unable to control her terror-stricken team. It was the whip laid on their tender backs for the second time which rendered them unmanageable.
“Hold them steady until they calm down,” advised the cazique, galloping beside her.
Setos and Alcamayn hastened to Ildiko, assisting her to alight, while Ben Hu Barabe carried his wife through the crowd and set her down in safety before turning his attention to Kerœcia.
“Ho, Saphis! Ho, Phoda! Fear not, little ones! Thou hast done nobly! Steady! Steady now! Ho! Ho!”
She had braced herself against the front of the chariot and was pulling back with all her might. With a quick, sharp turn, the cazique reined up in front of the vehicle just as Yermah caught the bit of one of the caribou.
The sudden stop threw Kerœcia across the dashboard. She quickly recovered her footing, bruised and shaken, but much more concerned for the steaming, panting, high-strung winners than for herself. She spoke soothingly to the animals, as she stroked their ugly proboscis-like snouts, while they champed their foam-flecked bits and gazed at her with still a gleam of terror in their eyes.
As soon as the ring was cleared, the people settled themselves back and looked expectant. Familiar as they were with a mammoth elephant there was always something fascinating in its unwieldly bulk.
The crowd had waited all day with characteristic patience to see the tricks of some performing elephants, brought down by the Mazamas from the far north, especially to honor Kerœcia.
Zoyara, Cezardis and Zombra came through the entrance dressed in black skin-tight garments ablaze with mica spangles and barbaric jewels. They wore gayly striped sashes around their waists, and ostrich feathers in the silver headbands, while their arms and ankles jingled with bracelets and bells.
Back of them came two keepers leading a pair of tremendously large rusty-black, shaggy-coated elephants, with long, ivory tusks, which curved out and curled up viciously. Zombra and Zoyara stepped to one side. Cezardis called:
“Hear ye all! These young and tender creatures are in love. Sven here is about to offer himself to the shapely Loke, whom he loves to distraction. Bashful young men, please take notice! This exhibition is for thy especial benefit.”
He gave both elephants a sharp prod with a bronze-tipped goad which he carried. Sven began to tremble all over. His huge loose skin, much too big for his ponderous body, moved forth and back mechanically, in well-simulated emotion, and the hair raised in every direction as he approached Loke.
“Down on your knees, sir! Down, sir,” shouted Cezardis, hitting him a heavy whack across his forelegs. The elephant fairly shook the ground beneath him as he came to a kneeling posture.
“Bow your head respectfully, sir!” commanded Cezardis.
Sven laid his ears close to his head, and drew his trunk well under, giving himself a ludicrously shamefaced expression.
“Give Sven his answer, Loke. Answer, I say!”
Loke stuck her trunk up in the air, and with a disdainful toss of her head, waddled off in an opposite direction, to the delight of the audience. Their shouts of laughter were a signal to Sven.
He fell over on his side, and stiffened himself out as if he were dead.
“Oh, poor fellow! P-o-o-r fellow!” cried Cezardis, with mock pathos. “I know how it is myself, sir.”
The elephant raised its head and looked at him.
“Think better of it, old man. Thou mayst have had a lucky escape. Here comes her sister and husband. Let us stand to one side and observe how they get on. Brace up, sir!”
Sven and Loke were on the outside when the keepers brought in the other pair of elephants—Loke keeping her head in an opposite direction.
Cezardis gravely introduced the newcomers, and then turned to the putative husband and asked:
“Didst thou have a good breakfast this morning, sir?”
The elephant shook his head and trumpeted dolefully. His mate stamped the ground indignantly, then rushed at him, butting him in the side. He whirled around and kicked at her. Then they locked trunks and seemed bent upon annihilating each other with their sawed-off stumpy tusks.
“How is this for married life, sir?” inquired Cezardis.
Sven turned to his audience and winked prodigiously, while his sides shook as if he were convulsed with laughter.
At this moment Loke picked up a saw-tooth palm-leaf with her trunk, and hid her face.
Cezardis allowed the putative benedict to toss him up in the air several times, and finally, by a dexterous leap, landed between the mammoth’s ears.
“The long-looked-for elephant race is about to begin. To give some idea of the individual gait, we shall first walk the animals, and then they will trot side by side for points. Do not let the disgraceful conduct of the wedded pair weigh against them. A bad breakfast tries the best of us.”
There was a loud blare of trumpets and a vigorous beating of kettle-drums, while the spectators cheered heartily, as Cezardis turned somersaults, stood on his head, and played all sorts of pranks on the back and above the ears of the elephant.
The animals walked first leisurely and then more hurriedly around the ring. When the second round was completed, Cezardis boldly slid down the trunk of the leader, and with a graceful bow ran out of the way.
The keepers adroitly arranged the elephants in pairs, throwing a gourdful of capsicum into each mouth, in order to increase their pace.
“The race begins! Close thy bets!” shouted Cezardis.
The trainers of the animals used the goad unsparingly, and soon the huge mountains of flesh were stretching their tree-like legs to the utmost.
They trotted ponderously side by side for a few moments amid the clangor of bells, the deafening shouts of the multitude, and an ever-increasing tempo of music.
“Sven and Loke lead the first quarter!” yelled the judges.
“Their pace increases!” cried everybody, and the excitement was at fever heat when the elephants began to trumpet.
Before they reached the half-stake they were all galloping wildly, and the spectators were beginning to look at each other with blanched faces.
On the racing animals came round the turning-point, trumpeting and bellowing furiously. Every jump shook the ground under them like an earthquake, until the pavilion itself rocked like a ship at sea.
Fortunately, the race started near the entrance, and the panic-stricken people were now scrambling recklessly, some through the wide-open gates, while others clambered up for the highest seats where they huddled together and clung to one another frantically.
On the maddened animals came, with their mouths wide open and their swinging trunks sprinkling capsicum, copiously mixed with saliva, over everything.
They were in a compact mass, moving with all the irresistible velocity of an avalanche, and growing more and more terrified at their own freedom.
Great rivers of brine poured from their bulging eyes, while their mouths drooled as if they were on fire.
The unerring instinct which distinguishes their descendants caused these forest monsters to fall into line one behind the other, as they made for the open air.
Men and animals fled before them in every direction as they thundered down the valley, stampeding everything for miles around. Their trumpetings could be heard long after they were out of sight, and it was easy to track them—for they beat down a solid pathway fully a foot below the surface.
Cezardis and the keepers mounted and hastened after them. After an hour’s hard riding, they were found, standing in the river industriously spouting water over their unsubmerged backs.
“The heat and excitement has been too much for them,” Cezardis said, making an ineffectual attempt to stay the panic. “There is nothing to fear. It is only their idea of a frolic.”
To the keepers he said, “What under the sun didst thou give the brutes?”
“A gourdful of capsicum,” answered one of them. “We knew thou wert in the habit of slipping a pepper-pod in their mouths when thou wouldst have them appear lively. And,” he naïvely continued, “we knew they would be thirsty in the heat and crowd.”
“It will not be safe to take them back to the pavilion. An elephant never forgets an injury, and they would probably demolish the whole place if they saw it again. Thou art sufficiently punished by being obliged to remain here on guard, while the feasting, music and dancing goes on, to-night. I shall send thee covering and food,” he promised, as he swung into the saddle and started back.
The massive feet of the mammoths threw up clouds of dusty sand, thickening the air like fog, while the floor of the amphitheater looked as if it had been newly plowed.
With their exodus the still terrified people rushed out of the enclosure pell-mell. They pushed and crowded through the gateways as if danger assailed them from behind.
Those in the lead made great haste after they had passed out, dragging their children by the hands, while the little ones looked back over their shoulders and cried as they ran along.