Volume 036-3 - July 1982 (8 pages)

back into the stream, which once more pushed it away. Wema’s people, to whom this was a curious sight, came often to watch the revolving things and wonder what they meant to the wolesem. One day they brought a nisenan from the south to view the mysterious shapes, which also resembled the wheels on wagons. This visitor, who was related by marriage to Wema’s people, was not astonished by what he saw, thus disappointing his hosts. He smiled and said: “Ahhh! You, too, have a Sutel Mill.” It was their turn to be astonished. “What is that?” they asked. “Kapitan Sutel has built one just like that near the village of Kuloma. It is a place for sawing trees into thin pieces. A tree can be cut into smaller slabs without using an axe.” “And they do this inside a building? That seems very awkward. I would rather work outside, where there is more room,” said a northerner, bemused. “That is the magical thing about a Sutel Mill—one does not have to work, because the thing inside will cut the tree.” “The ‘thing’ inside?” The southern man’s relatives looked at him in wonder. “Is it a cage for a wild creature which can tear trees apart?” They began to suspect that a: madman had married into their clan. “It is not like any living creature I have ever seen or heard about, but it can move about and cut wood that the wolesem feed it!” “Who would believe such colossal lies?” cried an outraged cousin. “Next you will tell us that it must drink water from the stream!” “You are right—that is the reason for the turning wheel. The cutting thing cannot saw trees unless it drinks water. If the wheel does not turn, the cutting stops.” “Go back to your own people— apparently they are gullible enough to believe such nonsense!” The man from the south laughed. “You northerners are very ignorant about the wolesem, I see. But one day you'll see that I speak the truth.” After the Kuloma man had gone home, Wema’s people discovered that it was indeed true. When the white men began to feed trees into the Sutel Mill, the tribesmen watched by the hour as the magic saw sliced through the logs. The sawdust piles grew at an alarming rate. The peculiar wheel slapped round and round, dipping into the cool water of Wolf Creek and stroking the stream in rhythm with the saw’s movement. ; The mill operators were friendly and invited their audience to come closer. By signs the men explained how the force of. the water turned the wheel’s blades, which then caused the long metal saw blade to move up and down. Wema and Walupa visited the mills one day late in April, and were concerned by what they saw. Like others of his tribe, Wema realized that if the Sutel Mill continued to slice trees, the nisenan forest would soon disappear. No one had asked permission to cut the trees or to build the mill. Although the foreigners who operated the mill were not harming his people directly, the result 18 of their activities would affect future generations. Recently the white people had killed many of the tribesmen because it was said they had taken animals and supplies without permission. Now the wolesem were taking trees from the nisenan in the same way. According to the white system of justice, Wema’s people had the right to take the lives of the log-thieves. On May 6, 1850, ten miners from Deer Creek attacked a native village because it was said that its inhabitants had stolen some cattle. Most of the villagers escaped, but two were killed. On the following day, warriors attacked Samuel and George Holt at their sawmill. When the rain of arrows caught them, George had seen his brother collapse even as he felt his own body absorb the blows of many feathered shafts. Despite his injuries and the fact that his only weapon was a small pocket knife, George Holt had jumped from the building and fled to the woods. The warriors fired several more arrows in his direction, but now that he presented a moving target obscured by brush, they could not get clear shots and so abandoned pursuit. As Holt pushed his way painfully through the underbrush along the stream banks, he wondered if his brother had been able to escape. In the confusion he had not known whether Sam had fallen deliberately or had been dropped by arrows. Ill “A redskin’s coming out of the woods!” John Day had been telling Jim Walsh about his planned trip to Camp Far West when the warning cry had sounded. He immediately took command: “Everybody take cover! Don’t shoot unless I tell you to. Do you see any others, Bob?” — “Not so far—and he don’t appear to be armed.” A solitary, naked figure was moving slowly in their direction. Halfway across the clearing, the stocky Indian halted and raised one arm. John Day stared in amazement. “That’s the chief—Wema’'s his name!” he said, taking a long hard look at the stationary figure. “What d’you suppose he wants?” “That's him, all right,” agreed Walsh. “He’s got plenty of nerve coming here after what his bucks did this morning.” “I’ve a good mind to put a piece of lead between his eyes,” said Wheeler, raising his rifle. “Don’t!” ordered Day harshly, putting his hand on the rifle’s barrel and holding it down. “Look over there among the trees—the woods are plumb full of Indians. You pull the trigger and we're all dead!” The others looked and saw that he was right. “What shall we do?” one of them asked Day. “My guess is he wants to talk. I'll go out to meet him while the rest of you keep your guns ready to plug that damned chief if anything goes wrong. But, for God's sake, don’t shoot unless I say the word.” “S’pose they let loose their arrows at you?” “Then shoot him quick—but I doubt you'll have to. If they meant to kill us they wouldn’t have given warning.” “Guess you're right, Captain. But how are you going to talk to him? You can’t talk Injun, can you?” “I can’t speak digger language, but I know a little Spanish from the war. Most diggers know a little Spanish themselves.” John Day walked away from the others. He took his time moving across the clearing, not wanting to do the wrong thing. He hoped that he had guessed right about the chief’s intentions. At last, three paces in front of Wema, he halted and said in Spanish: “Qué quiere? ;Qué hace?” The chief answered in the nisenan tongue: “Wole wono.” “Did you say ‘wolawono’?” “Wole wono, han. Si,” replied Wema. “No comprendo wolawono, chief. No comprendo. No sabe. How about it— ~Wema sabe espanol?” Day pointed to the chief. “Si, panjol.” Wema pointed to Day, saying, “homble” as he did so. “Hombre, right! Me hombre all right, and don’t you forget it!” Wema grinned. “Homble—wole,” he said, again indicating Day. Day pointed to himself and repeated Wema’s words: “Hombre—wole.” Wema nodded agreement, but when Day repeated the words while pointing in the chief’s direction, Wema shook his head and frowned. “No,” he answered. Touching his own body, Wema said “Homble—majdyk.” “Maiduk?”“Majdyk—si,” said Wema. “I get it. Me wole, you maiduk—is that it?” Wema nodded and smiled. Then the smile went away as he pointed towards the woods and his tribesmen, saying, “Wole.” “Wole? Haven't you got that mixed up? Looks to me like maiduk in those woods. Maiduk?” Wema nodded. “Majdyk wada. Wole wono.” “There you go with that ‘wolawono’ business again. What in hell is wono?” Suddenly Wema clapped both hands to his chest, opened his mouth as if to cry out, and rolled his eyes skyward. Then, before Day knew what was happening, the chief closed his eyes and dropped his head so that his chin rested on his chest. Day felt an icy chill race up and down his spine. Although there had been no sound of any kind, it looked for all the world as if Wema had: been wounded fatally. As John Day steeled himself for the expected volley of arrows, Wema’s head went up and his eyes flew open. “Wono!” spoke the chief. Day was dripping with sweat, his face white with shock. You miserable old savage! he thought. I figured you were dead, and me as well. Dead! Suddenly he realized that was what this naked chief was trying to tell him: wono meant dead. John Day, still shaking, gestured in the direction of the woods behind Wema. “Hombre—wole—wono,” he carefully. Chief Wema nodded. Then he called said, an"

back into the stream, which once more pushed it away. Wema’s people, to whom this was a curious sight, came often to watch the revolving things and wonder what they meant to the wolesem. One day they brought a nisenan from the south to view the mysterious shapes, which also resembled the wheels on wagons. This visitor, who was related by marriage to Wema’s people, was not astonished by what he saw, thus disappointing his hosts. He smiled and said: “Ahhh! You, too, have a Sutel Mill.” It was their turn to be astonished. “What is that?” they asked. “Kapitan Sutel has built one just like that near the village of Kuloma. It is a place for sawing trees into thin pieces. A tree can be cut into smaller slabs without using an axe.” “And they do this inside a building? That seems very awkward. I would rather work outside, where there is more room,” said a northerner, bemused. “That is the magical thing about a Sutel Mill—one does not have to work, because the thing inside will cut the tree.” “The ‘thing’ inside?” The southern man’s relatives looked at him in wonder. “Is it a cage for a wild creature which can tear trees apart?” They began to suspect that a: madman had married into their clan. “It is not like any living creature I have ever seen or heard about, but it can move about and cut wood that the wolesem feed it!” “Who would believe such colossal lies?” cried an outraged cousin. “Next you will tell us that it must drink water from the stream!” “You are right—that is the reason for the turning wheel. The cutting thing cannot saw trees unless it drinks water. If the wheel does not turn, the cutting stops.” “Go back to your own people— apparently they are gullible enough to believe such nonsense!” The man from the south laughed. “You northerners are very ignorant about the wolesem, I see. But one day you'll see that I speak the truth.” After the Kuloma man had gone home, Wema’s people discovered that it was indeed true. When the white men began to feed trees into the Sutel Mill, the tribesmen watched by the hour as the magic saw sliced through the logs. The sawdust piles grew at an alarming rate. The peculiar wheel slapped round and round, dipping into the cool water of Wolf Creek and stroking the stream in rhythm with the saw’s movement. ; The mill operators were friendly and invited their audience to come closer. By signs the men explained how the force of. the water turned the wheel’s blades, which then caused the long metal saw blade to move up and down. Wema and Walupa visited the mills one day late in April, and were concerned by what they saw. Like others of his tribe, Wema realized that if the Sutel Mill continued to slice trees, the nisenan forest would soon disappear. No one had asked permission to cut the trees or to build the mill. Although the foreigners who operated the mill were not harming his people directly, the result 18 of their activities would affect future generations. Recently the white people had killed many of the tribesmen because it was said they had taken animals and supplies without permission. Now the wolesem were taking trees from the nisenan in the same way. According to the white system of justice, Wema’s people had the right to take the lives of the log-thieves. On May 6, 1850, ten miners from Deer Creek attacked a native village because it was said that its inhabitants had stolen some cattle. Most of the villagers escaped, but two were killed. On the following day, warriors attacked Samuel and George Holt at their sawmill. When the rain of arrows caught them, George had seen his brother collapse even as he felt his own body absorb the blows of many feathered shafts. Despite his injuries and the fact that his only weapon was a small pocket knife, George Holt had jumped from the building and fled to the woods. The warriors fired several more arrows in his direction, but now that he presented a moving target obscured by brush, they could not get clear shots and so abandoned pursuit. As Holt pushed his way painfully through the underbrush along the stream banks, he wondered if his brother had been able to escape. In the confusion he had not known whether Sam had fallen deliberately or had been dropped by arrows. Ill “A redskin’s coming out of the woods!” John Day had been telling Jim Walsh about his planned trip to Camp Far West when the warning cry had sounded. He immediately took command: “Everybody take cover! Don’t shoot unless I tell you to. Do you see any others, Bob?” — “Not so far—and he don’t appear to be armed.”

A solitary, naked figure was moving slowly in their direction. Halfway across the clearing, the stocky Indian halted and raised one arm. John Day stared in amazement. “That’s the chief—Wema’'s his name!” he said, taking a long hard look at the stationary figure. “What d’you suppose he wants?” “That's him, all right,” agreed Walsh. “He’s got plenty of nerve coming here after what his bucks did this morning.” “I’ve a good mind to put a piece of lead between his eyes,” said Wheeler, raising his rifle. “Don’t!” ordered Day harshly, putting his hand on the rifle’s barrel and holding it down. “Look over there among the trees—the woods are plumb full of Indians. You pull the trigger and we're all dead!” The others looked and saw that he was right. “What shall we do?” one of them asked Day. “My guess is he wants to talk. I'll go out to meet him while the rest of you keep your guns ready to plug that damned chief if anything goes wrong. But, for God's sake, don’t shoot unless I say the word.” “S’pose they let loose their arrows at you?” “Then shoot him quick—but I doubt you'll have to. If they meant to kill us they wouldn’t have given warning.” “Guess you're right, Captain. But how are you going to talk to him? You can’t talk Injun, can you?” “I can’t speak digger language, but I know a little Spanish from the war. Most diggers know a little Spanish themselves.” John Day walked away from the others. He took his time moving across the clearing, not wanting to do the wrong thing. He hoped that he had guessed right about the chief’s intentions. At last, three paces in front of Wema, he halted and said in Spanish: “Qué quiere? ;Qué hace?” The chief answered in the nisenan tongue: “Wole wono.” “Did you say ‘wolawono’?” “Wole wono, han. Si,” replied Wema. “No comprendo wolawono, chief. No comprendo. No sabe. How about it— ~Wema sabe espanol?” Day pointed to the chief. “Si, panjol.” Wema pointed to Day, saying, “homble” as he did so. “Hombre, right! Me hombre all right, and don’t you forget it!” Wema grinned. “Homble—wole,” he said, again indicating Day. Day pointed to himself and repeated Wema’s words: “Hombre—wole.” Wema nodded agreement, but when Day repeated the words while pointing in the chief’s direction, Wema shook his head and frowned. “No,” he answered. Touching his own body, Wema said “Homble—majdyk.” “Maiduk?”“Majdyk—si,” said Wema. “I get it. Me wole, you maiduk—is that it?” Wema nodded and smiled. Then the smile went away as he pointed towards the woods and his tribesmen, saying, “Wole.” “Wole? Haven't you got that mixed up? Looks to me like maiduk in those woods. Maiduk?” Wema nodded. “Majdyk wada. Wole wono.” “There you go with that ‘wolawono’ business again. What in hell is wono?” Suddenly Wema clapped both hands to his chest, opened his mouth as if to cry out, and rolled his eyes skyward. Then, before Day knew what was happening, the chief closed his eyes and dropped his head so that his chin rested on his chest. Day felt an icy chill race up and down his spine. Although there had been no sound of any kind, it looked for all the world as if Wema had: been wounded fatally. As John Day steeled himself for the expected volley of arrows, Wema’s head went up and his eyes flew open. “Wono!” spoke the chief. Day was dripping with sweat, his face white with shock. You miserable old savage! he thought. I figured you were dead, and me as well. Dead! Suddenly he realized that was what this naked chief was trying to tell him: wono meant dead. John Day, still shaking, gestured in the direction of the woods behind Wema. “Hombre—wole—wono,” he carefully. Chief Wema nodded. Then he called said, an"