The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1934-05-18
CHAPTER II
?
sonya Gets a New Name.

oy carly QdWu COuyd was uP anu
dressed, her saddlebags replenished
with such remedies as she might need
for her battle with Old Man Death in
the hogan beyond Chez wash. Dark
ness, full fed and watered, waited pa
tiently in the patio. She stood In the
dim kitchen with cup Of coffee in
one hand, hastily made sandwich
In the other, and talked lowly to Lila.
sits going to be a hard day, old
dear" she said, land may not get
back tonight. If don't, don't worry.
I'll be with Two Fingers and the
babies and poor Little Moon. If she
seems to be going, I'll not leave her."
"No," said Lila, mo, Of course not.
know. What shall tell Rod when
ne gets up?"
"He knows I'm going-I told him
last night-but not that might stay
over. Tell him again how it is with
Little Moon-and mention the babies"
They're just dirty little Navajos to
him."
They're tragic babies just the
same" said Sonya sharply, "and he
will have to see it. Well, SO long.
I'm Off"
She set down her empty cup, pulled
on her gloves, and went softly out.
She Rugged Darkness nose, which
nudged her breast after little rite
that was common between them, and
went up his tall side and into her old
saddle with the easy grace Of work
ing cow hand.
The big horse, hard as iron and per-
feet in training, leaned to the almost
imperceptible motion Of hand and
rein on his neck, and trotted out of
the patio. Once on the sandy stretch
of level country he rolled away in
long and tireless lope, a harbinger Of
hope, bringer of comfort to the
lowly.
Far to the south and west Sonya
could see Lone Mesa. She loved the
great tableland. Times without num-
Der she had climbed its steep trail on
Darkness, to ride it's three-by-f1ve-mile
top, to sit in the sun beside its ancient
pueblo walls with their rotting lad
ders, to stand on its sharp-cut rim and
scan the lone world below. Until yes
terday nothing had ever disturbed her,
nothing disputed her right Of way,
until yesterday.
At the thought her face flushed red
with anger at the man who had ridden
her down to the mesa's edge and
pulled her from her saddle, his hand
some face aflame with rapine. She
felt the blood burn along her cheeks.
It was resentment she felt, the fierce
rage of indignation that anyone or
anything should interfere with her
freedom and her right to it. Her dark
eyes were hot with it, her soft mouth
set in prim line. But the look she
gave the mesa as she rode along be-
meath it was neither fearful nor re-
signed. 1t was look Of promise, as
If some stubborn thing within her
would take her, to it's lonely heights
more often than usual now.
The sun came up as she and Dark
ness entered the broad mouth Of Chez
wash with its red sandstone walls,
and little later they came in sight Of
the hogan of Two Fingers. A round,
low habitation Of single room, laid
up Of fiat stones one above another,
like flakes of prehistoric dough, 1t
faced the east, as all hogans must.
From its central rise thin thread Of
smoke assembled. Something caught
at Sonyas HEARTH was so stark and
poor a home, its people so helpless.
Two Fingers met her beside the water
hole. He was q man Of around thirty,
weathered like dark leather, his pa
tient face as native to the land as
Lone Mesa itself. and there was about
him simple dignity, as there was about
the poorest of these Indians. He wore
a blue flannel shirt, corduroy pants
held by a silver-studded belt, and his
hair was long and bound in two neat
doubled flares on the back Of his head.
Though he spoke fair English and had
a stable band Of sheep, this manner
of wearing his hair stamped him as a
wild buck" one of those who had
not yet become entirely civilized. For
one thing, Two Fingers did not drink,
and for another. he still worshiped his
ancient gods. Sonya liked him.
Now she said, Hello, Two Fingers.
How is she this morning?"
"Bad," he said briefly and reached
for Darkness rein.