Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue) Read online

  Along the way, we found other tribes of people who were not true people. We traded and raided and made war with them. Sometimes, our kin the, Apache fought by our side, and sometimes we fought without them. It didn’t matter. Sometimes, we fought our cousins, if there was no one else to fight.

  It is told that the true people walked for many hundreds of years, until we came to this land. Our people were tired, our women were tired. We wanted to stop. When we met the Pueblo people, they showed us how to cultivate and plant. They lived in homes that didn’t move, they made cloth from plants that grew in the ground. They had blankets. They didn’t need to chase the buffalo and elk for food and clothing. They traded cloth and corn for meat.

  Our women wanted to stay, and I think our men wanted it too. Our women own our homes, the hogans, and the children belong to the mother’s clan. Everything belongs to the woman’s clan. A man must leave his clan and move into his wife’s clan. The fields are hers, and the flocks are hers.

  When the Spanish came, we fought them, we raided their farms, it was the way things were. They pushed us, and we pushed them. The Spanish men brought sheep and goats, so we took them and soon we had great numbers of them. Out women learned to weave the wool and make blankets and rugs.

  I was a man of middle years when the first Americans came to our land. First they made peace then they made war. It seemed that peace and war were always replacing each other.

  ~~~~ 0 ~~~~

  This was more information than I was expecting, but I didn’t interrupt. Rubio wanted to talk, and I was ready to listen to whatever he had to tell me. This was more words than he had ever spoken in my presence at any time. I was starting to get the flow of his use of three languages, and the translation became easier to my mind. He got up to stretch his legs and refill our coffee cups. He refilled his pipe and lit it. Then he sat down and leaned against a rock.

  ~~~~ 0 ~~~~

  When I was a young brave, I went on many raids. I needed the ponies, sheep and goats to buy a bride and to make a name for myself in the tribe. I had a good name, and I was well thought of in my mother’s clan. But I wouldn’t be living in her clan, so I needed to make a name for myself throughout the tribe. I worked very hard collecting ponies and sheep. The ponies were status for a bride’s father, but the sheep were for the bride. Sheep and goats were what she would take to the marriage; they were what we would build our fortune on.

  I had my eye on one young woman of fifteen summers, she belonged to a distant clan with no connection to my mother’s, so we could be married. But first I needed to have a bride price worthy of her beauty. I had been watching her since she became old enough to start looking like a woman. Every time there was a gathering, I would seek her out, and she was watching for me… I could tell.

  Stories were told and songs were sung around the fires, and when the stories and songs were about me, I could see her across the fire. She would be looking at me. All I needed was more sheep and more ponies.

  She had long blue black hair that caught the light of the sun and nearly hurt your eyes. Her face was round and unblemished, with eyes that were so black and deep that a person could get lost and swallowed up by them. She was tall for a woman, with a small waist and breasts, but everything looked perfect to my eyes. If I couldn’t buy her, I would take her and go away into the mountains where we would never be found. First, I would try to buy her from her family.

  My need for more and more sheep, goats, and the need for horses drove me to roam farther in search of them. Soon I had a following of young braves who had the same needs and the same urgency. We were impatient. The sap of manhood was throbbing in our veins.

  We began ranging far and wide. We wanted whatever we could take and leave with in a hurry. Almost all our raids were at night, when we could turn the horses out or steal sheep from the folds without being found out until it was too late to give chase… since they had no horses to chase us with.

  I was becoming a big man in my village, and my followers were becoming well known. Spanish soldiers would come to the villages and look for the stolen horses and livestock, but they never found traces of our bounty. They didn’t really look very hard because most of the ponies were hidden in the hills, and the hills were full of danger for small bands of soldiers. They came looking for the sake of appearance.

  One day I woke up, and as I walked out into the sunshine, I realized it was time to go. I would make ready to take my twelve ponies, my forty sheep, and nine goats to their new home. The woman I longed for, Soft Breeze, lived in Tsé Bii´ Ndzisgaii or Valley of the Rocks, where tall spires of stone stand touching the sky. It was far to the west. It would take a moon with the sheep and goats.

  I sent my good friend, Tall Son, on a fast horse to make my offer for me. When he returned with the happy news that would make it unnecessary for me to steal the woman, we made ready make the trip. Tall Son and Bold Bird helped me drive the animals to the Valley of the Rocks.

  As we drove my sheep, goats and ponies into the village, everything was quiet. I had expected a grand welcoming from my new clan, but there were only children being pulled into hogans by their mothers, grandmothers, and older sisters. There were no old men. There were no young men. It was like a witch had come and took them all. We drove the animals to the hogan of my intended’s mother. I slid off my pony and went to the opening, there I shook the rattle and called out, “It is Rubio from the east. I have come to pay my bride price and take my bride.”

  There was no answer. The door flap did not move. From somewhere inside, I could hear soft weeping. I took the rattle and tapped it against the framework of the door and called again, “It is Rubio. I bring forty sheep and twelve ponies and nine goats. If there is trouble in this village… let me help.”

  The door flap quivered and then was pulled aside. The mother of Soft Breeze showed her face and stepped out. “There is trouble in the village, but there is nothing you can do to help.” She said between racking sobs. “My husband has dishonored our family and our clan.” There were more tears and some wailing and hair pulling. “My husband has broken his word to you and is giving our daughter to another man for a few sheep and much Spanish wine. The men have been drinking since this morning. They are holding the ceremony now. The women refused to go, but her father took Soft Breeze and is forcing her to marry a half breed Apache Navajo.”

  She broke down and was wailing again, so I shook her and yelled, “Where?” She pointed to a small rise a short distance away.

  I was back on my pony and the three of us were racing up the hill without thought of what we would do when we got there. All I knew was if I was too late there would be a new widow in the village… she may be an orphan as well. But it wouldn’t matter because she wouldn’t be in the village very long.

  We hit that gathering like a bolt of lightning, scattering men and dogs like quail in the fields. I came to a sliding stop, throwing dirt, dust and pebbles in all directions. Many of those in the circle pulled back and some bolted into the brush. Leaping from my pony, I hit the ground with my war club in my hand. I was ready to kill someone.

  “Who has betrayed me and broken his word?” I shouted, my eyes were searching in all directions for Soft Breeze’s father. The group of men who had been standing in front of me began to move away. They seemed to be wishing themselves anywhere but standing where I could see them. As they cleared out, I could see Fat Bear, my prospective father in law, sitting on the ground and leaning against a log.

  He held a jug in his hands and had two more beside him. He had taken much wine, but he was still awake and could focus his eyes on me as I strode toward him. His eyes showed fear as he watched my approach.

  “Fat Bear, you have lied. You have broken your word. You have disgraced the Diné people.” I shouted as I stood over him.

  He tried to move farther away, but the log was unmoving. He would have to stand against me, or he would have to take my words. The wine seemed to give him courage, and he yelled back at me, “
Rubio, you are dishonoring this ceremonial gathering. You are dishonoring my woman’s clan.”

  I took a step closer, and he tried again to get past the log that held him up. His feet were digging into the dirt, trying to push himself over the log. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Soft Breeze coming through the brush with her uncle trying to pull her back. As she jerked away from him the sleeve of her wedding robe was ripped loose. Turning to face them, I held my war club in their direction and called her uncle’s name, “Walking Dog!” He stopped and let go of the maiden.

  I stood for a heartbeat, looking deep into her dark terrified eyes. Her face was streaked with tears and flushed from the struggle. She took a few steps into the clearing and stood there looking at me. She hung her head and wept.

  Turning back to her father, I found that he had gained enough purchase to raise himself to nearly half his standing size. He had pushed himself up to where his back was bent over the log, but he still held the jug of the Spanish man’s curse. I raised my club, as he closed his eyes tight and turned his face away. Bringing war club down, I smashed it into the hated jug sending shards and red wine in all direction.

  Fat Bear didn’t move until the wine had soaked his breechclout and ran down his legs. There was blood on his ample belly from a piece of broken crockery. The wine must have run into the cut because he grabbed his belly and leaned forward. When his wine muddled mind realized that I had smashed the jug and not his head, he slid back to the ground and sat like the fat bear he was.

  “I’ll not kill the father of my bride, but your broken promises will cost you six ponies. You who would sell your daughter to a mongrel dog for the Spanish man’s water that melts the minds of men.” With that, I took my club and smashed the remaining two jugs. A deathly silence fell over the gathering there on the knoll. I looked to Soft Breeze and saw her on her knees, weeping in shame for her father.

  “You can spill my bride payment on the ground, but it makes no difference. I have paid the price and I’ll take my prize.” Came a voice from off to my right.

  “Any bargain made by Fat Bear with a cur dog, who doesn’t know if he is Diné or Apache doesn’t exist since Fat Bear already had a bargain with me.”

  The brave stepped forward from a group of men and stood there with his arms crossed and his chest puffed up. He was a handsome brute, to be sure and a powerful man, but I too was a powerful man.

  “You don’t know who you are talking to, Naa-va-ho sheep herder. I am Red Hand. I have killed many and can boast many scalps. How many scalps have you taken, corn planter?”

  I ignored his question and said, “If you marry this woman, you will plant corn in HER fields. That is the Diné way.”

  “That may be the Naa-va-ho way but, she will be the second wife of an Apache warrior… she will be my pleasure wife.” And then he laughed. There was no humor in his laugh.

  “You will have to kill me before that can happen, mongrel dog… How many of those scalps were from babies and old women?” I asked.

  He uncrossed his arms and took a step forward, three Apache braves separated from the group and followed. I glanced at my friends, Tall Son and Bold Bird. Both were still mounted and each had an arrow notched and others ready at hand. On horseback they would have the advantage of running their foes down. They had faced Spanish muskets and swords without flinching… They would do.

  Red Hand was no coward. He was sure of himself, and I didn’t doubt that he would be a hard man to kill, but I had no choice. I wasn’t about to let him take the woman I loved while I still drew air into my lungs. That was the first time I had thought of love, but it was the only word that fit the way I felt.

  The half Apache boldly walked forward and when the distance between us was the length of two men, he flipped his knife, and the blade sunk halfway into the ground. I knew what that meant, and I did the same with my knife. The two knives stood side by side.

  We would each be tied to the other with a rawhide strip. We would fight in a circle drawn in the earth. The only way to get free was to cut the thong from the fallen man’s wrist. That almost always meant the fallen man was dead. I knew the Apache half in this man would never show mercy because there was no word in the Apache version of our common language for mercy.

  While the circle was being drawn, I said a silent prayer to the Great Spirit and tossed a little dust in the four directions for the four winds to carry my prayer. The mongrel laughed at me.

  Our left hands were each tied to the ends of a strip of leather about the length of a man. We stood at our end of our tether and circled the knives. Each man was ready to pounce on a knife, and each of us made false starts hoping to catch the other off guard. I thought I saw my chance and went for a knife. Red Hand had set me up and used his superior strength to throw me off balance by pulling hard on the thong.

  I hit the ground rolling and was on my feet before he had a chance to get to the knives. We circled again, and this time he crouched low and moved in toward the knives in the center of the circle. He was bigger and stronger; his arms were powerful and long. They were at least a hand longer than mine, but he was slower.

  I let him get close to the knives. He was feeling around hoping to touch one because the whole time, he was looking at me, expecting me to make a move. I was close, but not near as close as he was. My only hope was for him to make a mistake, but he was not the kind to make many mistakes.

  My chance came when he became so close and so intent on finding the knives that his nerves were causing him to swing his arm back and forth trying to touch one. His free hand caught the thong and was slightly tangled. His anger overflowed and he roared as he took his eyes off me to see what had happened. I dove for the knives.

  Chapter 3

  It was only a short dive, but both knives were close together, and I was able to scoop them up with one hand. I rolled as soon as I hit. He was lunging at the knives, and the slack of the thong was pulled tight by my roll. He fell awkwardly, and I was given time to get to my feet. I quickly threw the other knife well out of the circle.

  Red Hand pulled himself up to his feet and backed away. He tried to pull me off balance with the thong, but I was ready for it and he gained nothing. We circled again and again, with me taking false jabs and slicing swipes at him.

  “Red Hand,” I said, “You are without a weapon. I will call it finished if you will give your word to leave and never return.” He only looked at me with contempt and spat at my feet.

  There was no give to the man, so I would have to kill him or somehow be killed by him. Holding my knife in front of me, I was able to inflict a few small wounds on his belly and arms but nothing serious. I took a longer slicing stroke that made a long deep cut across his chest. My cutting stroke carried me farther than I had planned. I was off balance and turned the wrong way. His arms came around me from behind and he was squeezing the air from my body.

  My arms were pinned in front of me, and I couldn’t move them. I had a knife, but I couldn’t use it. It was all I could do to hold my arms braced enough to keep him from crushing my ribs. Even with my arms braced, it was hard to breathe. I was taking air in short quick gasps. We were turned so that I could see his Apache friends off to my right.

  One of them was holding the knife I had thrown out of the circle. He tossed it to Red Hand, but the throw was short and fell to the ground. Red Hand reached for it and missed, but when he did, my right arm came free. The only chance I had was to plunge the knife into my only target… his thigh.

  The blade went deep and hit bone. He screamed and let go to place both hands on the wound. I was free. Spinning around, I used a long sweeping kick to the back of his ankles and sent his feet into the air. He came down flat on his back. I leaped high, and came down hard with my knee ramming him just below the chest. I heard and felt the air rush out of him. Straddling his chest I shoved the point of my knife where the underside of his chin met his neck. The skin was broken, and it would only take a little pressure to end his life.

/>   The man bucked and tried to draw air with hoarse rasping gasps. I held my position as the cries from the gathering were for his death. I had never killed a man who was totally defenseless, and I hesitated to do it. His eyes showed a mixture of fear and hate. I believed it was fear of not being able to get his next breath more than having my knife plunge into his throat. But the hate was for me alone.

  An Apache may not have a word for mercy, but a Diné warrior feels it. While he was still trying to draw air into his body, I took my knife from his throat and placed the tip at the corner of his left eye. Then I cut him from the eye along the cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. It was a deep cut, but he would live with an ugly scar for the rest of his life.

  “I am giving you back your life… you owe me… You will no longer be called Red Hand. From now until you die, you will be known as Scar Face.”

  I cut the thong from his wrist and stood up. The men, who had come for the wine and the wedding, merely stared in amazement. They were amazed that I had defeated such a man and amazed that I had spared his life. I was confident that he would honor his commitment to the debt he owed.

  Looking around the crowd I saw the Apache who had thrown the knife lying dead with one of Tall Son’s arrows in his chest.

  Turning my back on Scar Face and the rest who were gathered there, I walked to where Soft Breeze still kneeled. Her eyes were following my approach with a mixture of fear and relief. The fear was probably from worry about what I would do to her father for breaking his promise, but the relief was quickly replacing the fear.

  I stood in front of her and extended my still bloody hand. She took it and I helped her to her feet. No words were said between us, as we looked into each other’s eyes. We turned and walked to where her father still sat against the log. We helped him to his feet and walked with him between us back to the village.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~