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 briefly 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 studied the paintings on the walls, learning what he could from the story panels depicting the descent of the people from the surface to the caves below. They 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 the conversation as 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 that 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 gravely voice interjected again, “He tried to follow us into the caves. He was well 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 occurring 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 made from guano 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.”

After being dismissed from Sunny’s chambers they found themselves in a section of living cave they had not yet seen. A low table of rock carved from the floor ran the length of the narrow cavern where dozens of Kickapoo were gathered for an evening meal.

Chancho’s stomach growled. Welcomed as family, they ate roasted bat, a hardy bread, and a paste explained as being made from beetles which tasted like ground chicken and pecans. Some members of the tribe, preferring days on the surface, were elected as farmers, hunters and gatherers. The conflicting schedules meant the evening meal was the one time of the day and night when everyone in the tribe could gather around subterranean tables to break bread. For some it served as breakfast while for others it was supper.

Nena fetched dried fruit from their supplies. The Kickapoo received it enthusiastically. After eating their fill, everyone broke into smaller clusters, talking among themselves. Several curious cave-dwellers surrounded Nena, detaining her with questions of her heritage and life on the surface. Muddy entertained a huddle of small children by making funny faces, even before the meal finished. Afterwards they assaulted him, climbing up and down his massive frame like the trunk of a tree.

In the midst of the after meal frivolity Chancho remained, more or less, by himself. At first he gazed around the room basking in what he considered his new family—his stomach full and heart happy. Eventually he wandered from the main cavern into smaller tributaries. Most of them ended quickly in small pools of crystal clear water or living walls covered with mesmerizing rock formations. Eventually he found a darkened corridor that tapered into a small opening with no light on the other side.

He stooped, putting his head close until he felt the breeze created from the narrow opening. He sniffed a faint odor of sulfur and something else even more noxious. Having totally forgotten his previous anxiety for small spaces, he stuck his head into the mouth. Instantly a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Bats. It is not safe for you,” said the same gravelly voice from before. Chancho turned, standing before the man who hours ago had attacked him. Tall and slender, he could have easily been younger than Chancho, but he did not look it. He smiled, the gesture ill-suited for his hawkish face. “Now you know me. I am Rock With Eyes.”

Chancho bowed.

“I am sorry, for how we met.”

“I did not know you then.” Chancho shook his head. “But now you know me. My name is Chancho.” The two men embraced and started back toward the room with the long table. “Why are the bats dangerous?”

“It is not the bats, but the beetles, and the gas. The beetles live off guano. The guano produces a poisonous gas known as ammonia which, when mixed with water, creates ammonium hydroxide.”

“But how have you learned—”

“We know many things.” Rock With Eyes attempted another smile. Then he indicated the red irritation of his skin. “We have grown somewhat accustomed to the gas. I can tolerate very high amounts, but it is eventually lethal. Some of my people believe the gas is what causes our eyes to change.”

Chancho looked more deeply into the strange yellow eyes. “Is it just the color? You know, that changes?”

Rock With Eyes shook his head. “If any light is present at all, I can see clearly in it. My eyes are the sharpest in the tribe. It was the reason my parents named me. It is natural for me to watch.” The two men arrived back at the table where Muddy and Nena were still engaged. “But now it is time to return to the surface. The sun is rising, and your horses will not be hidden from anyone with keen senses.”

Chancho had lost track of time and forgotten the reality awaiting him on the surface. All the chupacabras of the Anglo’s world had seemed miles away, when in reality only a hundred yards of rock separated him. Thoughts of the rinche settled like a stone in his stomach.  The caves were wonderful, but he needed open space, stars at night and to feel the breeze. Still, he regretted leaving so quickly.

They gathered their things, packing the gourds and medical kit in their bundles, and began the journey out from under the hills. For what seemed like miles of pitch black caverns they followed Rock With Eyes, until they reached a small room dimly lit with natural light. Slightly warmer and dryer, their movement kicked up a light, choking dust.

“I cannot accompany you to the surface. It is much too bright for my eyes.” Chancho peered toward the opening. It looked to him that the sun wasn’t even up. “There is a watchman standing guard over your horses. Ask him and he will point you in whichever direction you would like.” In the dark he embraced each of them before they turned to go. “Wait.”

Chancho squinted in the darkness as a blue glimmer emerged from Rock With Eyes’ clothing.

“Take this. An apology.”

The crystal blade hung suspended in the air. Chancho hesitated. “You don’t need—”

“Please.” Rock With Eyes tilted the hilt toward him until Chancho received it with silent thanks. Before they stepped out into the world above ground, Rock With Eyes called out to them. “When you return make sure you introduce yourselves by the names which we know you. I would not want to make the same mistake twice.”

Chancho peered toward the two glowing, yellow eyes. “Thank you, and don’t worry.”