Chidah: The Water Well Spirit

By Daniel Chavez Sr.

The late 1800s in Northern Arizona was not a time of peaceful coexistence between the Whites and Apache. Turbulent times and a sickly infant meant inevitable death for an indian baby. The baby, Chidah, was a crybaby. Apache customs dictated that these types of infants must be killed, because concealment of Apache whereabouts required absolute silence and a baby who cried excessively could disclose their location. Luckily, Yellow Hair intervened, saving the baby and taking it as his own.

Yellow Hair, is a white man kidnapped as a child by Chief Vargo. He provided Chidah with a proper and healthy upbringing. One day, Yellow Hair sent his now teenage son to the trading post. Evil wicked white men were also at the trading post. They took out their hatred for indians on Chidah and his dog Loco, killing them for no reason and throwing their bodies down a water well. They also massacred a nearby encampment of peaceful Indians, killing them all.
Over one hundred years later, Chidah’s resting place is disturbed, and powers not of this world resurrected Chidah and Loco from the dark depths of the water well. Trying to understand what had happened, Chidah prayed summoning the Indian Gods who answer him. They give him a mission to locate the sacred burial grounds where the bodies of the encamped Indians died in the massacre, and destroy any white man buildings that are desecrating the grounds.

For Chidah to peacefully rest, he must find the remains of his father within the burial grounds and be laid to rest with him. The gods have given Chidah a short time to accomplish his mission before they bring down their wrath on the desecrated grounds.

Being unfamiliar with the modern white man world, and not knowing where to even begin Chidah relies on his dog Loco to guide the way. Struggling through many obstacles, he tries to accomplish his mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
• Release date: Aug 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781621834328

Daniel Chavez Sr.

Daniel “Danny” Chavez, Sr. was born in San Antonio, Texas, the third-oldest of thirteen children. He didn’t complete high school and says he never missed having a formal education. It’s not that he’s opposed to higher education, quite the contrary, as he adamantly stresses the need to learn all you can, while you can. Looking back through bifocals at thirty-five years in heavy and dangerous construction, he now realizes it was an excellent education. “If you’re not going to finish high school, you certainly need to learn about life.” He figured the best way to do that was to risk his own life, which he did many times, in performing dangerous jobs. “Brushing up against the grim reaper builds strong character and an appreciation for being above ground instead of six-feet under it.” Around 1980, Danny quit traipsing around the country and settled in Nashville, Tennessee. He had learned to play the guitar and write and arrange original songs; so it seemed only natural to dabble in Country Music. After building a home recording studio, he began making music. Chavez admits he didn’t take music as seriously as he should have. Having to produce new material and working upwards of ninety hours a week at a car manufacturing plant eventually took its toll on his nerves. He did, however, love his time in Nashville, the many friends he made, and being surrounded by countless great singers and musicians. Currently, his sister plays many of his songs in an online music room, and she reports that folks enjoy hearing them. Danny says he finds it rather comical that folks enjoy hearing his original music that’s old enough to vote. In 1994, Danny relocated back to Kansas to help his older brother who was suffering with a terminal illness. He soon learned steady work was difficult to find, and going back on the road was no longer an option. He had spent years as a welder/pipefitter foreman, a construction boss installing grain handling machinery, and as a maintenance technician. No longer able to do physical labor meant it was time to put his brain to work. He began writing poetry, screenplays, took up photography, learned woodworking, did some leatherwork, then made bows and arrows. Bored, and with a burning desire for something more challenging, he was anxious to chart a new course. One day, one of his younger brothers who was a university student, asked if Danny had any ideas for a literary project he could work on. After providing a detailed outline for the project, his brother was so impressed, he recommended to Danny he should write the story. Hell, why not? Danny thought. The “why not” became apparent immediately after dabbing a pencil to his tongue. It took Danny a long time to learn how to stop his adjectives from agitating his nouns. Then came the battle of learning how to construct a legible paragraph. Eventually, mastering the craft of writing, his persistence finally paid off. Ten years later, “Marcelino and the Curse of the Gold Frog” joined his collection of completed works. Danny now resides in central Kansas.

Book preview

Chidah

The Water Well Spirit

Daniel Chavez, Sr.

Brighton Publishing LLC

435 N. Harris Drive

Mesa, AZ 85203

www.BrightonPublishing.com

ISBN13: 978-1-62183-432-8

Copyright © 2017

eBook

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover Design: Tom Rodriguez

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious and the creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to other characters or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Chapter One

Nippy mountain air made a young man wrapped in colorful Mexican blankets stir from a miserable sleep. It was so frosty the shabby wikiup dwelling felt like a cave in winter. But it’s summertime and unnecessary movement isn’t wanted this very moment—warmth and more sleep is. A frostbitten mind finally determined the latter wouldn’t come about with the current scenario. To improve matters, a bare leg shot out of the covers and planted on the ground long enough to support a blind hand that quickly reached out. After fumbling around for an extra blanket, he yanked it up from the ground and spread it over the bed in a haphazard manner. They were then promptly pulled over a sleepy head. Waiting for warmth to overpower the chill made this individual appear to be a corpse laying there. Had it not been for his teeth chattering so loudly he would’ve been mistaken for being stone, cold dead.

This young man did contemplate getting out of bed but not too seriously. When one feels this uncomfortable it sometimes helps to throw the covers aside, rise up, and run around outside to get your blood flowing properly. The down side is that doing so requires energy and a tad of want-to. Unfortunately, neither ingredient ran in this man’s veins this morning, which is not unlike most mornings. So, he laid there shivering and hoping the extra cover would trap enough body heat to prevent freezing to death.

To justify not rising anytime soon, he questioned himself; what needs to be done that cannot wait until later? What will today bring that I haven’t seen some time before? Nothing, absolutely nothing was the reply. Peaceful thoughts finally began to meander in a lazy mind that also brought a warm and soothing mood. Relaxing comfort followed next and quickly settled in. Now a content individual drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly to welcome the return to laziness. Getting up from the bed could definitely wait; a turn to the side and reentry to peaceful sleep confirmed it.

***

The one snoozing is an 18 year-old called Yellow Hair. He is white but only on the outside. He was just a mere infant when this band of Apache kidnapped him from his biological parents. By the grace of God, Yellow Hair was spared the slaughter his mother and father were dealt. Being taken away from his parents at such an early age left no recollection of the incident, which is why he claims this band as his true family.

Although it was a different time and place when the Indian raids were in full swing, it wasn’t all that long ago. Those trying times of turmoil are still within memory of the elders of this group whose individual participation is never openly discussed in front of this boy. That’s the reason Yellow Hair has very little knowledge of the past and of the threatening circumstances that warranted this band’s retaliation with such extreme force. Namely, force in the form of bloody acts against any and all transgressors, which certainly didn’t set well with a lot of civilized folks. Of course, the term extreme force may not be the correct one to apply here. If it is or isn’t, depends greatly upon whether you are looking down the barrel of a weapon or up at it with a bow and arrow in their hands. Either way you look at it, it’s all a matter of whose side you want to argue on or if you even care about what took place and why.

Another area where good fortune smiled upon Yellow Hair lies with his limited knowledge of the elder he calls father. Vargo is the man’s name and the bearer of a very infamous reputation. Yellow Hair is lucky, in that he’s never seen the violence Vargo is capable of; thus he remains ignorant to what made the man a living legend among his people.

To his father’s way of thinking, committing atrocious deeds during that violent era insured the survival of this band. Valiant as they were, those numerous attacks against the encroaching whites now appear to be for naught. For the simple fact that the white man is taking over this territory and will soon rule it all. Their superior weapons and great numbers spell disaster for this band of Apache. Diminishing hope for a peaceful tomorrow looms on the horizon for them all.

For many years, Vargo has been the only chief of this band that now consists mostly of women and children. Countless battles claimed his young warriors who were strong and brave and always fought courageously. Those who currently remain to protect the band are old men and several young boys, and that’s it.

Vargo witnessed his people’s numbers decline by the thousands, which caused him untold grief. Worst of all, he couldn’t stop the decimation. To him, a dark shadow lingers over their right to wander freely, and it hovers over them like a massive super cell disturbing the calm of night—night after night. And with each blast of thunder the same message echoes across this vast land; the white man will totally overtake this territory of Arizona—sure as rain. Their nomadic life, like in the old days, is destined to be no more, and be gone like their freedom will soon be.

The white man’s influx changed the old ways and not for the better, as seen through the eyes of Vargo. Although his dark eyes are getting old and tired, his mind is still wise and knowledgeable. The chief knows it’s a matter of a short time before raids into Mexico that are the main source of livestock and foodstuffs will cease by all Apache; he has already stopped. Vargo no longer desires to confront the soldiers like his old friend Geronimo continues to do. Vargo lacks the warriors and the youth; most of all, the fire to fight no longer burns in his heart. While time mellowed the old chief’s mind, countless battles supplied the wisdom that made him suspect peace will eventually prevail in the territory—it has to—the killing can’t continue with loss of life so heavy on both sides. Nonetheless, he believed eventual peace will be for the whites and only for the whites, and only after the last Apache who refuses to comply with the whites demands falls. Wholehearted belief in these facts forced Vargo to realize that they must learn to live among the whites. Peaceful coexistence has to be the way to protect the few who remain at his side and depend upon his guidance.

Vargo knows the Apache will always be hunted down even when the bounty on them is lifted. Some whites, along with other tribes, view it as sport to seek out and kill the few remaining Apache for even among the different tribes, different hatreds fester. The Federal Government puts this well-known fact to good use by pitting Indian against Indian and rewarding with coin the capture and death of their enemy.

Vargo also believes that after all his people are rounded up like cattle and placed on reservations, the whites will have to contend with themselves. In a humorous way, that will be entertaining to the old chief. His reasoning is simple; he has never seen the whites treat themselves any better than they do Indians. Their greed for the land and its riches prevents it. Moreover, their craving for what is not theirs by right devours all other feelings and needs in their wretched souls. That alone makes their greed greater than everything else they know and more dangerous than their weapons or great numbers. Vargo speaks from experience. He has seen it time and time again: the white man powering onward and devouring their own kind when they must in the name of … what? What does drive them forward? What do they really want? This is what the chief wonders and is yet to understand.

During troubled times, the chief goes high into the mountains to meditate. Once there, other questions of equal mystery and importance never fail to torment him. Is this the way it is meant to be, that Mother Earth be violated? That all Apache be driven from this land, forever. What did we do that angered the gods so? What did we do that was so wrong? Looking out across the vast land always brings uncertainty that troubles the man’s mind. When countless burdens begin to break him down, the chief raises his hands to the heavens. There beyond the clouds lies the strength he seeks; for days, he prays to the gods for the continued wisdom to lead his people. Thus far, constant prayer is what Vargo calls upon for guidance to safely protect his people. But experience, being the wisest teacher of all, says that safety lies north in the mountains not south in the territory; no Apache is safe there. In that land the sweep of both the American and Mexican armies is based on the total eradication of his people.

Yellow Hair is content living in his crude wikiup. Having crafty hands is not a virtue he can rightly claim, nor is planning ahead to tomorrow. But he still has to supply his own living quarters, which doesn’t require much talent. Lacing branches together then covering the conglomeration with animal hides always suffices, so he breezes through the chore each time.

The young man is somewhat withdrawn in a peculiar sort of way. He prefers to live alone and has never married or given it any serious thought. Why he doesn’t care to take on a solute stems from what he’s seen and felt over the years. That, in itself did a fine job of instilling a very sour outlook on marriage. What he saw and felt came in the form of many painful knots that were put on his very sensitive head by several women in the band. Because of that abuse, the fire and desire isn’t present to ever marry inside or outside of this band. Long ago, he decided that unless a deaf and mute goddess drops from the sky that he’d immediately take a strong liking to, he will remain solitary for life. He’s held true to this way of thinking about females without any deviation, whatsoever. Additionally, Yellow Hair is also the quiet type and keeps to himself as much as possible. This explains why his dwelling always sets at the outer perimeter of every campsite. To put it plainly, he thinks simply and lives simpler yet.

This season’s location is near a mountain stream. Yellow Hair finds the setting very favorable. The sound of water rushing over stones lulls him to sleep at night and stirs his brain early in the morning—when he’s in better humor, that is. Although his lifestyle may appear a tad laid-back, it does not reflect upon his daylight hours that are seldom whiled away. Caring for his own needs and his duties to the elders keeps him plenty busy. And it’s not beyond Vargo to load him down with extra chores to help build strong character in the boy. Basically speaking, this is how Yellow Hair’s days are spent, and it suits him more than he knows.

When he has free time, he enjoys going to the nearby settlement. He’s become friendly with several whites there, so friendly that one kind gentleman is teaching him to read and write. In return for the ongoing lessons all the teacher desires from Yellow Hair is his continued friendship. That in itself is rare, because in these parts friendship is practiced more by animals than by humans. And the young man never passes on receiving a lesson or gets bored with them; each one is very interesting and something he really looks forward to. The time spent at the settlement also teaches him to enjoy the company of others outside of the band. Thus far, this activity hasn’t proven to be too foolish for the eager student.

Not long ago a major question entered the young man’s mind and kept rolling around there. Eventually, it began to bore a nagging hole so profusely it caused all kinds of puzzlement. Naturally, the more the question lingered, the more thought it received. All the gears in his mind turned properly while pondering the thing for the longest time, but, damn, his brain never spat out an acceptable answer. The nagging question causing the boy so much grief was why his skin and hair color differed so drastically from the others in the band. This played on his mind like a sour tune until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

The time had come to inquire about the anomaly. So, he paid a visit to the wisest man he knew and hoped that the answer lie there. Without hem-hawing around, Yellow Hair put the question to Vargo. The chief was caught off-guard by such an odd question coming from his son who was seldom inquisitive about anything. Nevertheless, Vargo didn’t remain speechless for very long. His reply came in his usual slow, firm manner with these words: "Why do we find the white buffalo among the dark ones? I do not know. Why do we find the white squirrel among the gray and red? I do not know. Only Usen (god) knows, and he has not told me, ever. But all the colors work together. This I know, and now you also know the same. So, do not ask me these kinds of questions again, Yellow Hair. I do not like them. Go home before you anger me."

Vargo’s parabolic answer was clearly to protect Yellow Hair from the truth. Most importantly, Vargo spared himself from having to share the truth; he wasn’t in the mood for it then, nor would he ever be. So, Yellow Hair got his answer for why he was the only one in the band with blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin. In short time, Yellow Hair became pleased with his father’s explanation and lost all desire for future reflection on the issue.

Yellow Hair had reached the age where an individual’s worth within the band must be proven. This show of manhood, or lack of, derives from the required apprenticeship to become a warrior. Being the son of Vargo meant extra hard work was expected of him; rightfully speaking, it was demanded of him, because the chief did not accept failure of any kind from his son. Thus far, Yellow hair had met or exceeded the elders expectations in these trials and tests. Sadly, though, rewards of any kind from his father for his many accomplishments were nonexistent. Not once had he seen a smile of pleasure on Vargo’s lips, or heard the first compliment that indicated he made Vargo proud; the painful truth was that he never would! To Vargo, a man does not wear pride on his face—ever. Instead, he keeps it hidden in his heart along with all other emotions that can belittle a great man. All this is what Yellow Hair faced every day of his life. But, unbeknownst to him, he does make Vargo very proud inside.

***

Yellow Hair finally rose from the wood-framed bed. Although the bed of sticks padded with dry grass wasn’t much and lacked a great deal in the comfort department, it did serve a purpose, especially when he fell dead-tired upon it. This morning a fire needed to be started in the fireplace that was nothing but a scooped-out hole in the center of the wikiup, so he got to it. From the mattress,