AFTER THE DECISION HAD been made, the chief gestured for several other members of the tribe to be let into the room. As a council, they discussed the nature of their relationship with their new family members. Chancho found the whole process amazing, but with much of the conversation conducted in the old Algonquian tongue, his attention flittered.
He learned what he could from the story panels depicting the descent of the people from the surface to the caves below. The wall hangings also repeatedly depicted the image of the beetle and the bat. With a chill he wondered if the cave dwellers tamed bats for different uses.
His attention snapped back to the conversation when it shifted to English.
“The man on the surface. What of him?” A cave dweller asked.
Nena put her hand on Chancho’s. “He is an enemy. You may have saved us by bringing us here. We did not expect him to be so close behind us.”
“He is white man’s law?”
Muddy spoke for the first time since entering the caves. “Yes, he is a Texas Ranger. He pursued us here out of no fault of our own and seeks to arrest or kill us because of a medicine and intoxicant we carry.” He realized he did not know what had happened to their packs. “Or that we did carry.”
The gravelly voice interjected, “We have all of your things. Nothing was left behind.”
Muddy nodded. “It is called marihuana, and the white man is frightened by its properties. But our people, the Mexicans,” he nodded toward Chancho, “and the black Seminole, we cherish it.”
“We would appreciate a sample. If it is so important, we would like the opportunity to study the properties you speak of.”
Chancho was still trying to catch up. “What about the Ranger? Is he at our camp?”
The man with the gravelly voice interjected. “He tried to follow us into the caves. He was armed, so the watchman released two sentinel beetles and sealed the entrance. That is all we know for the moment.”
“Sentinel beetles?” Chancho couldn’t help himself.
Everyone fell quiet until finally the chief spoke. “They are one of our greatest accomplishments, our guardians. But they are very dangerous, even to us.” He pointed with his chin at Chancho’s arm. “You have met one of our smaller beetles, a pet. We use them for many things. But the largest of them are trained for defense. Half a dozen sentinels can clean a man’s bones in an hour. If two have been released at the entrance you used, we will have to take you out another direction.”
“And the Ranger?” Chancho asked.
The chief shrugged, returning to the greater topic at hand. “I am sure there is much you would like to know about us and our existence underground. There is also much we would like to know about changes on the surface, but our time is short. It is unlikely the man hunting you was killed by our sentinels. When two are released, it is just a warning. We have waited many months to meet you. We can wait longer to hear what you know. For now, in exchange for some of your marihuana, we would like to offer you safe passage through our caves and some simple gifts to assist you in your travels.”
The chief pointed with his chin, and the men standing around the entrance snapped into action. The man with the gravelly voice returned the travelers’ satchels to them while two others sat a wooden crate next to the chief.
Chancho unrolled his bundle and removed a large pile of drying leaves and buds. Their pungent smell curled from the canvas, slowly filling the room. “To heighten the intoxicant and medicinal value, these buds should be dried evenly for another week.” He touched his finger to the sticky residue oozing from one of the buds. “This sap contains its richest properties. If smoked or ingested it can reduce tumors, settle indigestion, or remedy pain.” Chancho shrugged and shook his head. “I’m sorry. There are many others among my people who could tell you more.”
The chief nodded. “It is enough. During the years of peace our secrecy has bought, we have developed a hunger for discovering natural properties. Many of my people, my granddaughter among them, will enjoy the mystery. We thank you.”
He reached into the crate and pulled out a smaller wood box similar to the one Chancho had seen earlier. “This is a medical kit. It contains a salve beneficial for all external wounds. It will prevent infection and promote healing. The gauze is made from living rock and spider silk, but do not apply it directly. It will irritate in large amounts and is very rare. You will want to use this.”
The chief reached into a small cage and pulled out a five-inch-long beetle, gripping it with thumb and forefinger. “The beetles have developed quite an appetite for spiders and bat guano, as well as human flesh. It is best to keep him hungry, but if you do not need him for several days you should feed him with salve. Manure of any sort will work for a spell.” He put the beetle back. “These I do not believe you have seen yet.” He pulled another wooden box from the crate and handed it to the man with the gravelly voice who took over the explanation.
“These are our last line of defense. We have used them only once when a group of bandits persisted in using our caves.” He opened the lid of the box and revealed several dried gourds. He removed one and handed it to Muddy, who hefted it and passed it to Chancho. “These are filled with a paste made from cooking a mixture of lamp fuel and guano. It is difficult to make, but once it has cooled it can be handled safely, until it is mixed again with heat.”
He indicated a wick drilled through the hard shell. “Light this fuse and stand clear. They are effective from several feet, even in the open, and more so in contained areas like a cave.”
The three friends nodded and handed the gourd back to the man with the gravelly voice. He returned it to its case while moving the entire crate closer to Muddy. After a short discussion as to which exit the travelers would use, the chief stood to indicate the conclusion of their meeting. He approached each of the three friends in turn, formally introducing himself.
“Now you know me. I am Sun Never Sets.”
Nena bowed. “Now you know me. I am Nenaiquita Losoya.”
Next Muddy replied, “Now you know me. I am Monday Sampson, known to my friends and family as Muddy.”
Finally Chancho. “Now you know me. I am Del Rio Villarreal, but known as Chancho.”
Sun Never Sets backed away from Chancho and smiled. “Before I became chief, I was known simply as Sunny. It was what my parents called me. I am too old for formality now, so I would like it very much if you called me that as well.”
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