Follow the Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  Cabeza in his turn was having trouble in his relationship to Heads Off. He had last seen the other as a cadet at the Academy, Upperclassman Juan Garcia. Now the same man was a painted chieftain, leader of a band of savages who appeared to be the finest squadron of lancers Cabeza had ever seen.

  “Our camp is about two days east. We will carry the wounded on pole-drags.”

  There were, indeed, many riderless horses on the prairie that day. The men of the People were quickly gathering all they could. It was with great pride that the returning Bloods and Elk-dog warriors presented the best of the horses to the hair-faced lancers, the fighting men of their chief’s father. The People had seen the valiant last-ditch stand from the ridge and had great respect for bravery.

  They also shared their food supply. The Garcia party had lost everything in the flood. Campfires began to sparkle up and down the meadow as shadows grew long.

  A number of saplings had been cut for pole-drags on which to transport the wounded. The likeliest horses were selected and tried, to have everything ready in the morning for departure.

  South Wind, during all of this, was happily following Cabeza. She helped in the ministrations to the wounded, bandaging, carrying water, and, in general, endeared herself to the Garcia party. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind, however, from the girl’s entire attitude, that she belonged completely to Ramon Cabeza.

  Sanchez for some time avoided the chief who had come to their rescue. Finally, Heads Off sought him out.

  “Sanchez?”

  “Yes, señor.”

  “You were with the Capitan’s party when I was lost?”

  “Yes, señor, we thought you dead.”

  Heads Off nodded. It seemed a lifetime ago. He hated to admit that he did not remember this strange little man, but there was nothing very memorable about him.

  “It is no matter. I only wished to thank you. I am told it was you who brought my father to find me.”

  Sanchez could not speak with the lump that rose in his throat. He only smiled and nodded. A tear glistened in his eye.

  He, Sanchez, was actually appreciated.

  31

  Travel was slow and deliberate, with frequent stops to rest the wounded from the constant jolting of the pole-drags.

  These conveyances, originally pulled by dogs, had been adapted to the horse in the last few seasons. There were always many lodge poles to transport when the nomadic buffalo hunters moved camp. These were effectively moved by crossing the ends of a pair of poles over the shoulders of an elk-dog. A rope or strip of skin around the animal’s chest held the poles in position.

  It had taken little imagination to see that objects could be tied to the dragging poles and soon it was commonplace to construct a platform on the poles behind the horse by lashing sticks across the two. Household supplies and possessions were transported in this way, as were small children and the elderly.

  In this case, pole-drags transported the wounded. Great care had been taken to make them as comfortable as possible, but by nature of the device, it was a rough, jarring ride. The scouts in the lead constantly sought the most level route, bypassing the worst of the rocks and gullies.

  Sometimes, however, there was no way around. Twice they encountered rough areas, easily crossed on foot or horseback, which were completely impassable with the drags. It was necessary to unload and carry the wounded men across, reassembling the conveyances on the other side.

  Then at times came long stretches of easy traveling across the rolling prairie. The lush grasses, washed clean by the rain, were pleasant and sweet-smelling under the hooves of the travelers’ horses. In the distance, they could see the scattered dark shapes of grazing buffalo or groups of lighter specks that were bands of antelope.

  During one of these intervals, with Don Pedro Garcia resting fairly comfortably, Heads Off rode alongside Cabeza for a time. He found that he was hungry to hear his native tongue.

  “Ramon, tell me about the Academy when you were last there. I did not finish, you know.”

  Cabeza chuckled. It was known that Cadet Juan Garcia had left the Academy quite suddenly after having been caught in an escapade with the Commandant’s daughter.

  “Yes, I remember. It was the talk of the Academy. We heard you were banished to New Spain.”

  The other nodded and smiled ruefully.

  “That seems a very long time ago. I have a family now. Two sons! You must meet my wife. She is called Tall One.”

  His use of his native tongue was returning rapidly and he was enjoying the opportunity. Since he became Heads Off, warrior of the People, Juan had had no opportunity to share the tale of his adventures, except briefly with his wounded father. He recounted the frustrations of his repeated attempts to leave the People to return to his own kind.

  Cabeza smiled sympathetically when the other told of the broken lance point that had rendered him weaponless. He laughed outright when Juan related of his next attempt at departure, thwarted when he discovered that his mare was pregnant.

  The lieutenant sobered rapidly, however, when he heard the story of the attack by the Head Splitters, who had obtained horses.

  “You mean the People had none?”

  “No, none at all! My mare was the first ever seen!”

  He described the war party sent to recover from the enemy the kidnapped girls, one of whom was now his wife.

  “And, it was after that, we were married. Then I knew I could not go back.”

  They rode in silence for a short while. Cabeza glanced at the slim girl riding beside him and South Wind smiled. He wondered if the wife of Juan Garcia could be as beautiful as this.

  “Yes, my friend, I can understand how that might happen.”

  “But tell me of things at home.”

  The two visited, talking of mutual friends and acquaintances, of incidents at the Academy, of the instructors. Some were feared by the cadets, some respected, some revered. The young men discussed them all.

  “Ramon, how did you happen to be on this expedition?”

  “Your father hired me. Sanchez had talked him into a search for you. You really knew him before?”

  Juan Garcia shook his head.

  “I can’t remember, but he must have been with the expedition. I’m told he led you here.”

  Cabeza shrugged.

  “At least, we are here. There were times I was sure Sanchez had no idea where we were. Did you know he saved my life once?”

  He recounted the story of that episode and Juan smiled.

  “He seems an unlikely one for that, but men do strange things in battle.”

  Cabeza nodded.

  “That is what your father said, before …”

  He hated to mention Don Pedro’s lapse into lunacy.

  “Before what?”

  “Before the last fight,” he finished.

  They stopped for the night near a clear stream. The camp was more relaxed and optimistic tonight, further from the scene of battle and the threat of the Head Splitters, should they decide to return.

  Don Pedro, looking ashen pale after a grueling day of travel, was made comfortable on a pallet of robes. Everyone seemed concerned with his well-being and Cabeza finally realized that the wounded old warrior was being accorded the respect due the father of a chief.

  After some rest and nourishment, the elder Garcia looked stronger.

  “We reach my home tomorrow, father. Then you may meet your grandsons and their mother.”

  Juan Garcia was becoming continually more excited over that prospect.

  Dusk fell and the stars winked awake, mirrored in the surface of the stream and in the points of light from the campfires. Cabeza prepared his robes for sleep and motioned to South Wind, preparing her own bed nearby.

  “Come,” he signed.

  “No. It is not the way of my people.”

  She slipped into her own sleeping robes. Cabeza approached her bed, but met with firm resistance.

  “No!”

  Now
he was completely confused. The girl had hardly left his side since the battle. Her every action said that she adored him and they had already spent one idyllic night in each other’s arms. Now, for reasons he did not understand, he was being rebuffed.

  “Why?” he signed.

  “It is not our way!”

  Feeling deprived, angry, and a little foolish, Cabeza sought his own robes, but found little sleep. Damn! The girl seemed so ready, so sensuous.

  The previous right, he had not attempted to initiate any intimacy. The excitement of battle, the tenseness of exhaustion, the crowded proximity of the rest of the party, all contributed to an unlikely situation for romance.

  But tonight, he had deliberately chosen a setting for their personal campfire that would be provocative. It was aloof from the others, screened for privacy by a fringe of dogwood along the creek. The view of the starlit stream and the distant prairie could not have been more beautiful.

  And here he lay, fuming with frustrated anger in his blankets. Close beside him, but firmly wapped in her own robe, lay the girl. He was completely confused. At the earliest opportunity, he must ask Juan to explain this strange sequence of events.

  32

  Messengers had gone ahead to inform the People of the return of the war party. It would be a time of great feasting and celebration.

  Immediately, Coyote and the others of the Bowstring Society began plans for the festivities. The victorious war party, with their guests from the faraway tribe of Heads Off, were expected by dark. Allowing one day for rest and preparation, the ceremonial dance and celebration was set for the following evening. That would allow time for the obtaining and preparation of food and the gathering of wood for the great fire which would in all probability last all night.

  Tall One and her mother, Big Footed Woman, were busily trying to accomplish all the small details in preparation for the occasion. Never had they imagined that they would be able to entertain and honor the father of their beloved Heads Off. And, though they had learned that the older man was severely wounded, it was thought that he would be able to attend the dance in his honor.

  The children, grandsons of the White Hair, were meticulously groomed and their hair was freshly braided with strips of otter skin. Little Owl, too young to know what was going on, submitted with the wide-eyed, solemn silence which had earned him his name. Eagle, nearly three summers now, was greatly enjoying the excitement of the occasion.

  The youngsters were outfitted with the best of new garments and footwear and both women then turned attention to the preparation of gifts to be used in the warriors’ dance. It would require a number of items to honor their men during the ceremony.

  They had barely enough time to accomplish all these things. As the shadows from Sun Boy’s torch began to lengthen, a watching youth came running from the top of the ridge.

  “Here they come!”

  The People poured forth to welcome the returning travelers, accompanied by a myriad of yapping dogs. Someone from the camp started the victory song and it was soon echoed by the first of the incoming warriors.

  The Blood Society had painted their faces, a broad slash of crimson across the forehead. Other warriors wheeled and strutted and small groups made mock charges at an imaginary enemy.

  Rejoicing in victory and pleased with the scarcity of casualties, the People swarmed over the returning war party, laughing and singing. There were many demonstrations of affection between wives and returned warriors. Men hoisted small children to ride before them in triumph on the horses’ withers. Here and there a young wife swung up behind her husband on his horse to accompany him into the camp.

  Though the formal feast and ceremonial would not be until the following day, there was no stopping the exuberance of the young people. Scarcely had everyone eaten when the drums were thumping their cadence and the dancing had begun.

  For some, the revelry would last far into the night. For those of the Garcia party, exhaustion demanded rest. They were taken proudly into the lodges of new acquaintances among the war party of the People. It was an honor to have as a guest one of the warriors of the tribe of their chief.

  Heads Off himself took his father and Ramon Cabeza into his lodge. Sanchez would stay in the adjacent dwelling, that of Coyote and Big Footed Woman.

  The meeting of the elder Garcia with his son’s family was a moment of great emotion for Heads Off. He and Cabeza had carried the old man into the lodge and settled him on a pallet of buffalo robes.

  “Father, my wife.”

  Tall One nodded and smiled and the gallant old man took her hands.

  “She is a woman of great beauty, my son. You have done well.”

  Self-consciously, the young man translated for his pleased and blushing wife, then turned to his small sons.

  “Eagle, Little Owl, come and meet your grandfather.”

  Don Pedro Garcia, who had long believed his only son dead, now found himself with grandsons. The two youngsters came shyly forward, big-eyed and not understanding the importance of the occasion. Little Owl, barely big enough to toddle, was led forward by his mother.

  Tears wet the cheeks of the old warrior as he laid a hand on the head of each in turn.

  “They are fine, strong boys to be proud of, Juan. You tell their mother what I have said.”

  He sank back, exhausted, and was soon asleep. He did not even know when White Buffalo, the medicine man, came and examined the wound.

  “I will make the strongest medicine I can, Heads Off. It is a bad wound. See, it steals his breath.”

  He indicated the rapid respiration of the sleeping man.

  “It could allow his spirit to escape, too.”

  “Yes, uncle, I know.”

  Tall One now took charge of nursing the wounded Don Pedro. She was constantly at his side, ministering to his every want. Constantly, she offered him choice morsels to eat and sips of the freshest and coolest water. It seemed that she could not do enough to honor the father of her husband.

  “Juan, your wife is as wonderful as she is beautiful.”

  It was next morning and Don Pedro was enjoying a sweet concoction of hackberries, pounded fine, mixed with buffalo fat and rolled into balls.

  His son smiled.

  “I know, father. I will tell her.”

  Tall One was pleased again. She was already becoming very fond of this dignified and gallant old man. She could see many of her husband’s qualities in him.

  White Buffalo, too, seemed to relate well to Don Pedro. Though they could not speak a word of each other’s tongues, the two seemed to communicate well. They appeared to regard each other as contemporaries and mutual respect was evident.

  Yet, with these personal relationships, it was generally accepted that the outlook for Don Pedro Garcia was not good. The People had seen many wounds of this type and understood the frustration of dealing with them. For the present, all that could be done was to keep the wounded man comfortable and attend to his wants. And, of course, to try to make the days which might be his last ones good days.

  33

  Although the ceremonial dance was not to be held until dark, the entire day became one of celebration. There was an excitement in the air, a sense of expectation, a feeling that something was about to happen.

  To the visitors, the mood was very like that of carnival time in their own land. There were contests of athletic skill, races both on foot and on horseback, and demonstrations of expertise with weapons.

  The excitement was contagious. When a number of the Bloods challenged the Elk-dog Society to a contest with lances, the soldiers of the Garcia party were eager to observe.

  Targets were set up. Hoops of green willow were placed up the hillside. Youngsters ran to tie the rings loosely to the scattered sumac bushes and the two competing groups readied for the run.

  Two by two, the young warriors charged up the slope at an imaginary enemy. An Elk-dog warrior and one from the Blood Society would race out, thread a target ring on each lance
point, and scuttle back to the starting line. There were wagers on each race, with constantly growing excitement.

  Sergeant Perez of the lancer platoon approached Cabeza.

  “Lieutenant, could we have permission to show them a frontal charge?”

  “Well, why not?”

  The lancers, though glad even to be alive, had felt a bit of chagrin over having been rescued by a group of savages. They needed an opportunity to demonstrate their own skill.

  “I will ride with you,” Cabeza finished impulsively.

  There was a scurry to fetch weapons and equipment, to borrow horses, and the ragged half-strength platoon fell in at the base of the slope. Cabeza motioned to the youngsters to replace the willow hoop targets and ordered his platoon into line.

  “We will show them a little close-order drill, then swing into a charge.”

  Even with horses unfamiliar with this sort of exercise, the lancers were impressive. They wheeled and turned, starting eight in line, splitting to a column of fours, then two abreast, circling and reforming.

  By the time they had reversed the procedure, reforming into a single front to prepare for the charge, the warriors of the People were shouting encouragement.

  “Aiee! Their elk-dog medicine is strong!”

  The young men of the People were skilled enough as horsemen to recognize real ability when they saw it.

  “Charge!”

  As the eight-man front wheeled into position, Cabeza had spurred his horse in front of them to lead the charge up the slope. The horsemen surged upward, aiming weapons at targets of opportunity.

  They crested the hill and wheeled, weapons held high, to ride loosely down the slope. Each lance had threaded its shaft with at least one willow hoop. Cabeza’s sword held two of the rings and the weapon of the sergeant displayed three. A roar of approval and congratulation swelled from the horsemen of the People.

  Now the Bowstring Society took the opportunity to show their skill. Targets of skins stuffed with dry grass were carried up the slope. Youngsters arranged the effigies among the bushes in lifelike partial concealment.

  Competition was keen and the skin targets were moved further and further away. The number of warriors still in competition grew smaller, untill at last there were only two. At the final shot, a lucky puff of wind caught the soaring projectile, deflecting it precisely into the center of the distant target. There was a roar of laughter, along with cheers and congratulations.