by Rick Revelle
The Elders gathered the children to amuse them while the hunt ensued. Once the butchering began, they would all come to aid in any way they could.
After the warriors and hunters left the river, they headed back to their lodges to collect their weapons and dogs. The women gave each man a robe to wave over his head when the great beast came his way, and then more than five hundred of our people started on a run to their appointed places, trailed by the village’s dogs. The women moved toward the penned-up area where the killing would take place to assume their positions out from the pound. They would be responsible for doing as the men did with their robes, but closer to the great pen. The women would also butcher the animals once the killing was finished.
To keep the buffalo from escaping once they were in the pound, a ramp had been built for them to enter the killing area. It sloped down and away from the entrance, which was the height of a man. Once in, though, if the buffalo turned to break out, they would discover that the ramp was far too high to do so and neither could they jump back onto it to retreat.
Our fastest warriors now went toward the end of the chute to wait at the entrance. In the distance, we could see the dust of the herd and the smoke that was driving the beasts in our direction. The wind was in our favour, gently blowing away from the herd and carrying with it the sharp smells of burning dung and prairie grass. There was no sound except for the people’s footsteps on the prairie, the rustling of the women’s skirts, and the almost silent breaths everyone was taking.
The men were stripped to breechcloths and moccasins, with one or two spears in their grasp and bows and arrow-laden quivers on their sweat-coated backs. Even the dogs were quiet in their approach, hundreds of them following their masters, their slanted eyes wide open. The only outward sign in these ferocious mongrels that indicated any excitement was the saliva dripping from their mouths.
If the oncoming buffalo herd had any sense of reality, it would see a column of dust made by hunters toward the hunted and recognize that good things weren’t coming its way.
Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá, Óta Heȟáka, and I were lined up along the west side of the fence a short distance from the start. Once the beasts ran by us, our job was to race as fast as we could to occupy an open space farther down the drive line. To our right were some young boys a year or two older than Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá. They nervously checked their weapons, chattered, and compared their distraction robes. Across from them were their fathers and uncles.
“Uncle, I can hear the scouts yelling and moving the herd,” Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá said.
Turning to our right, I spotted the dust raised by the onrushing animals being pushed toward us by the wind as cowbirds rose in the air and made their distinctive whistles. Suddenly, out of the dust cloud, a huge bull charged, tail raised in agitation, body sprinkled with dust as it snorted loudly.
The warriors raised their robes, flapping the skins and hooting and whistling to keep the animals in the chute running toward the pound. The boys beside us were slow getting their robes in the air because of their inattention, and in their tardiness they created an opening that one frantic young bull saw and made a lunge toward. Reaching the opening just as the boys tried to shut it by raising their skins and twirling them above their heads, the bull caught one of the boys with a horn and tossed him high into the dust-laden air. The young man hit the ground with a thump and a gasping rush of air from his lungs, causing grasshoppers and powdered dirt to rise in unison. Having landed ahead of the rampaging bull, the boy was in danger again when the bull turned its head to toss the youngster again.
While all this was happening, the boy’s companions were chasing alongside the bull to divert its attention, opening up an even bigger gap in the line. The fathers and uncles who were directly across from the boys now tried to cover up the breach which, if not soon closed, would allow more buffalo to escape. A couple of roving akíčita members also lent a hand to block the opening.
This whole incident unfolded in so short a time that I could hardly take three breaths and reach for my bow and arrows.
Just as the young bull was about to reach the boy on the ground to toss him again, two arrows whizzed by my head and buried themselves up to their feathers in the area behind the bull’s left front leg. The bull stumbled and twisted its head toward me, opening its mouth in a bellow and ejecting a mixture of foam and blood. I could feel the hot breath of the beast on my face and smell the contents of its stomach. As the buffalo dropped to its knees, two of the delinquent boys’ relatives drove their spears into the beast to finish it off.
As the bull groaned and rolled onto its side, dead, I heard a high-pitched cry, “Hie, hie, hie,” behind me. Turning to look, I saw Óta Heȟáka with his bow and spear raised in the air, yelling and whistling as he danced around Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá, who stood with an arrow in his bow and a huge grin on his face. The other warriors and the fallen boy’s relatives also shouted and sang praises. It was Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá who had fired the two rapid arrows that had slain the raging animal, saving the boy’s life.
The gap was now closed and the buffalo were contained in the chute. Warriors sprinted past us to fill gaps ahead. The dust from the passing animals entered my mouth and nostrils and changed my exposed skin to a powdery white with streaks of sweat creating lines that crisscrossed my torso.
Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá glanced up at me. “Uncle, you look like a Ghost Warrior!”
SápA Maȟpíya, the akíčita’s hunt leader, approached the young boys who had caused the break that allowed the bull to escape, grabbed their weapons, and snapped them in two as punishment for violating the hunt rules. He then told them they would escape the wrath of the akíčita’s whips but would have to report to the women once the butchering began and do whatever they asked. Indicating the direction of the pound, SápA Maȟpíya told the boys to run to the front and help close off any holes.
The boy who had been thrown had suffered only a small scrape on his left leg and a bloodied elbow on the same side when he hit the ground. A slice of his cheek was also hanging over his lip where the animal had gored him. SápA Maȟpíya popped some ȟaŋté čhaŋȟlóǧaŋ (yarrow) into his mouth and chewed quickly. When it was a paste, he pushed back the boy’s dangling cheek and smeared the substance on it to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Once the cheek was back in place, he handed the wounded young man some yarrow leaves to hold against the wound. Then, pointing in the direction of the women, the imposing warrior ordered, “Get the healer to sew that back in place and be gone with you!”
The negligent friends took off with the speed of a pack of scared dogs and ran to the forward position, with the bull’s victim leading the way. One of the warriors started laughing, breaking the tension of the moment and sending everyone in the vicinity into bouts of mirth that seemed out of place among the yelling and whistling of the pursuing warriors, the barking dogs, and the bellowing beasts. All of this occurred in a billowing cloud of thick dust.
Óta Heȟáka then turned to Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá and me and said, “The scar from the goring will be a badge of honour in years to come for that boy. Not many Lakȟóta have survived a goring and a flip in the air from an irate bull buffalo!”
Chuckling at the thought that the story of the scar would be a future winter storytelling tale, I motioned to Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá and Óta Heȟáka, saying, “Come, we must keep up with the herd!”
Óta Heȟáka turned to his cousin and shouted to him as they sprinted beside me, “You fulfilled the task I asked of you, so you can now join my next war party. You slew a hoofed animal, and now I give you a gift. From this moment forward you won’t be known as Tȟáȟča Čiŋčá ever again! Your new name given by me, your uncle’s son, Óta Heȟáka, will be Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á (tah-ton-kah k’tay: Buffalo Kill).”
Racing beside my son and nephew, I raised my weapons above my head and cried, “Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Tȟatȟáŋ
ka Kat’á, we have a new Lakȟóta warrior, aye, aye!”
The other warriors running with us then raised their weapons and robes into the air and repeated my words, causing my nephew’s smile to widen. I then turned to Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á and cried above the din, “Your aunt will be mad at you for killing a buffalo so far from the pound, making her and her sisters come all the way out here to prepare the animal!”
“Uncle, I’ll gladly help them to repay for my negligence.”
We loped ahead of the herd, choking back the stifling prairie heat and smothering dust to gain our place in the line where we waved our skins and kept the stampeding animals on the intended course. Gazing around at the other warriors, I noticed they were also coated in dust with muddied spots where their sweat had seeped through the powdery covering. I now knew what my nephew had meant when he said I looked like a Ghost Warrior. All the pursuers were smiling, hooting, and whistling loudly as they herded the huge beasts to their death and our survival.
Soon the buffalo reached the opening, charging up and over the stoutly built ramp that had been constructed with tightly packed rocks. Once over the ramp, they tumbled into the closed-off area to meet their deaths. Surrounding the corral were warriors sending arrows and spears into the animals’ bodies. The noise was deafening, with warriors shouting, dogs barking, women singing, and the buffalo bellowing as they took their last breaths. The rising dust and stench of dying animals as they released urine and emptied their intestines upon their deaths filled my nostrils and made me dizzy from the excitement of the hunt. Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Óta Heȟáka, and I shot all our arrows, keeping our spears for any unseen dangers.
When it was over, the men entered the compound and finished off any of the animals that were still alive. The women then came in after the men had completed their killing and began butchering the meat with their knives. Many of the people, to satisfy their hunger, cut off pieces and ate them raw, while the dogs were thrown guts to fight over along with the crows and ravens.
The women skinned each buffalo down the back in order to get at the tender meat just beneath the surface, the area known as the “hatched area.” Once this was removed, the front legs were cut off as well as the shoulder blades. This exposed the hump meat as well as the meat of the ribs and the beast’s inner organs. After all this was exposed, the spine was then severed and the pelvis and hind legs removed. Finally, the neck and head were separated as one. This allowed for the tough meat to be dried and made into wasná (wah-snah: pemmican).
Once the animals were cut open, the stink became almost unbearable in the late-day heat. The akíčita posted scouts around the kill site to watch for grizzlies, which had an excellence sense of smell for carrion and could detect the scent of death from a great distance.
Everything on this great animal that Wakhan Thanka had given us would be used in our everyday lives. The women took great pride in making wókpȟaŋ (who-kpah: parfleche-rawhide bags) from the hide once the hair was removed. They then decorated these bags and used them to carry all of their possessions. The bags were so strong that they could stop an arrow or spear. The hides were also used for clothing, teepees, shields, and drums. The sinew: for thread, bowstrings, and attaching arrowheads. The meat: for sustenance. The bones: for weapons, sled runners, tools, and scrapers. The horns: for spoons, cups, and bowls. The hair: for rope and decoration. The hooves: for rattles and glues. The brain: for softening hides. The fat: for pemmican, hair grease, paint base, and soap. The stomach, intestines, scrotum, and bladder: for bags and water containers. The teeth: for necklaces. The skull: for ceremonies and prayer.
Without the buffalo we wouldn’t have survived as a strong nation. For this we offered prayers of thanks always before the final butchering. We thanked the great beast for giving his life so that we could live, and we thanked Wakhan Thanka for creating the beast and giving us the strength to slay him.
As the women continued their bloody, smelly work, the men rotated the great beasts, enabling their wives, aunts, and sisters to cut around the animal and get the skin off. The young boys built fires of buffalo chips and along with some of the Elders started roasting the tongues, which were a great delicacy, and sharing the meat with the women. The warriors who had slain an animal consumed the heart raw with the hope of gaining the buffalo’s strength. There was much happiness and excitement among the people because now we all knew that no one would go hungry this coming winter. There would be enough meat to feed everyone.
Each carcass would be cut into eleven pieces for transportation: the four limbs, the two sides of ribs, the two sinews on each side of the backbone, the brisket, the croup, and the backbone. Then, once we got everything back to the village, we would hang the parts on racks and smoke and dry them for storage and to make pemmican, which consisted of the meat, berries, and fat.
Because Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á had slain the buffalo now lying on the prairie away from the main pound, my family was responsible for it. All the meat was shared among the people, but it was the responsibility of whoever had slain an animal to harvest the beast. The extra meat would be given to Elders, warriors who hadn’t made a kill, or warriors of the akíčita who were responsible for the oversight of the hunt and who hadn’t participated in any of the slaying.
That night fires were built to keep the wolves and bears away and the people went to sleep exhausted. The next morning Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Óta Heȟáka, Wawátʼečala Iȟá, her younger sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé (pohn-zhah-lah nah’pay: Soft Hand), and I left the camp to butcher the buffalo my nephew had slain. Also with us were fifteen dogs hooked up to travois to bring the meat back.
We were busy talking and laughing when Pȟáŋžela Napé stopped and asked, “What’s that awful smell?”
Once she pointed it out, my nostrils flared with a horrendous stench, and shivers ran down my spine.
Óta Heȟáka was ahead of everyone else and walked up the small rise in front of us with a couple of dogs. Then he turned to me and cried, “Father!”
The dogs beside him growled as their manes bristled. I knew what it was before even casting my eyes upon it.
13
Searching Out Our Allies to Strengthen Us
ZHASHAGI
“You can’t wait until the spring warmth comes, Zhashagi,” my brother, Omashkooz, said, “hoping that I’ve healed enough to take the red wampum war belts to our friends, the Naadawe and Odishkwaagamii. That’s too much of time from when the Nadowessioux ambushed us on the river to when we seek revenge. If you wait until spring to seek out our allies to the east, you’ll lose a hundred moons of travel. Going in the next few suns and leaving during the manoominike-giizis (man-oom-inik-gee-zas: Ricing Moon — August) will ensure you’ll make it back by the iskigamizige-giizis (is-ki-gamo-azing-a-gee-zas: Sugar-Bushing Moon — April). By then I should be fully healed and might be able to paddle. If you wait until spring and I’m still not completely healthy at that time, you’ll lose all the winter months to visit our allies. The three cousins will be more than enough help for you. They’re strong, brave, and great warriors and hunters. No harm will come to you with them as your companions. Misko will also be with you, so you’ll be well looked after.”
“Brother, you make it sound as if I’m a weakling and need these three men and my dog just to survive,” I replied.
“No, Brother, just concerned.”
“All right, then, I know your wife, Dagwaagin (dag-waa-kin: Autumn), has done well looking after you, but I’m going to ask the Mide healer to come and visit you. If you’re to stay here, I want you fully able when I come back in the spring. I’ll also ask some of the younger boys to hunt for you this fall and winter until you heal. I’ll tell them if they do a good job we’ll take them with us in the spring when we go to war. In the meantime, before I leave, I’m going to attend the Midewiwin ceremony for the Wiikwandiwin (wick-wan-de-win: seasonal celebration for the summer season). Hopefully, there I�
��ll receive the blessing I need for a good future and for my coming trip.”
After leaving Omashkooz, I visited the three cousins in their aunt’s lodge, where I found them with some of the children playing a game of makizin ataagewin (mak-e-zin a-tash-win: moccasin game) punctuated by a great deal of laughter, shouting, and cheering. The game they were taking part in was played with four moccasins and a round pebble. There were two teams that took turns dropping the pebble or finding the small stone. The team hiding the pebble had one member take it in his hand, wave his hands over the shoes, and drop the stone into one of them. The other team then tried to guess where the pebble was until it was found. Once it was discovered, a certain number of counting sticks according to the number of guesses taken was given to that team.
The cousins’ aunt was cooking venison, which added to the pungent atmosphere inside the lodge: smells of cooking meat, body odours, and smoke. Enhancing the aromas was a group of Elders watching from the sidelines, smoking their pipes and farting.
I sat and observed the game, having decided to let it finish before I mentioned to the cousins about going to the Midewiwin ceremony. Among the group of young people participating in the game were two boys who caught my eye. I would ask these boys to help my brother’s family get through the winter while he healed. These two youngsters had been with us on the river and had escaped capture and death, which showed me they were at the very least resourceful in keeping themselves alive.
The cousins’ aunt, Giizhizekwe Ikwe (key-zee-zay-kway e-kway: She Cooks Woman) offered me some venison and steaming tea to enjoy while the game proceeded. After eating the warm meal, the heat of the room, along with the pleasant sounds of laughter, put me to sleep. I had no idea how long I slept, but it must have been the sudden lack of noise that woke me, or the burst of cool night air from the opening of the doorway as the Elders left. Once I readjusted my eyes to the dim and smoky interior of the lodge, I saw the three cousins and the other players quietly devouring Giizhizekwe Ikwe’s meal.
