Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley

by Bruce Bradley

  It was almost a week before Hugh again caught up with the woman who had spoken French to him. He had been walking through the village, not really looking for her anymore and beginning to wonder if she had ever really been there at all, when suddenly, there she was.

  She was older than he had first thought--probably about thirty. Once more he found something about her that was different from the other women, but he could not place what it was. There was a calmness about her, he thought, that made her almost seem plain. Certainly, she was by far not the most beautiful woman he had seen since entering the village.

  Then she saw him and smiled.

  Hugh immediately changed his mind. She was not only the most beautiful woman in the village, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, any time, anywhere.

  "What is your name," he immediately asked her in French.

  "Not here," she said quickly. She looked around. "Over there, in the trees beyond the village. When the sun is high. I will come."

  She moved away. Hugh watched her go, wondering why the intrigue. If she spoke a language that he understood, why not communicate? Why hide the fact from the rest of her tribe?

  Hugh looked at the sun. It was early yet, probably three hours before the sun would be "high". He continued on, walking through the village. A stand of trees stood about three-hundred yards south of where the last earthen dome was built. In three hours Hugh would be there.

  It was a hot day. The sweat ran down Hugh's back as he walked toward the woods. A flock of noisy, brightly colored birds filled the upper branches of the trees. Hugh had seen the birds before. He was pretty certain they were called parakeets.

  She was already there, waiting for him when he arrived. Hugh didn't see her at first. He strolled casually into the woods. It was the first time he had wandered away from the village and he was a little nervous that he might be stopped. To his surprise, no one paid him any mind.

  He walked a short way into the woods, stopped, and waited. A moment later he was startled to realize that she was beside him. Hugh hadn't heard a thing. "What is your name?" he asked her again. "Little Feather," she told him.

  "Why do you not want your people to know that you speak the white man's tongue?"

  "They are not my people. I am Sioux. They are Pawnee. If they knew that I speak your tongue, they might have thought I would warn you of the sacrifice."

  "But you didn't..."

  "It would have done no good. You could not escape. Telling you would have changed nothing. If I had warned you, it would have brought only worry to you and your friend. Would you have wanted his last days to be so filled?"

  "No," Hugh said. "We might have escaped, though." "You would not have escaped," she told him.

  They were silent for a time. A dozen questions flashed through Hugh's mind at once. He wasn't sure where to start.

  "So what happens now?" he asked.

  "Now we must wait. There will be another sacrifice again when the moon returns. We must wait until then."

  "And if I don't want to wait? What's to keep me from just walking away?" She smiled at him.

  "Your movements are awkward and clumsy, even for a white man. The Pawnees are good trackers. They will find you easily."

  "What am I to do then? Sit and wait? Do nothing? Wait for them to decide to make a pin cushion of me? No thank you!"

  "You must be patient," she told him. "There is a way."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SO THESE WERE Pawnees. If Hugh had ever heard of them before, he didn't recall it. It would have had to have been when he was a child, before he left Pennsylvania. Hugh didn't think so, though. When he was a child, very little was known about any of the tribes that lived west of the Missouri. By the time Lewis and Clark had made their famous journey across the great American wilderness, he had already been at sea for eleven years.

  Little Feather was Sioux. That was another tribe he'd never heard of. Apparently, the two tribes were bitter enemies. She had been taken in a raid, some time back, and had been adopted into the Pawnee tribe.

  She had also told him that she was married to one of this tribes' principal warriors.

  Hugh considered these things as he lay on his sleeping mat, watching the fire. Around him, others were involved in their nightly rituals. A couple of the women were pounding corn in what looked to Hugh to be wooden mortars. Others were already asleep. A few of the men lay on their backs, thumping their chests and singing a sad, mournful song.

  They treated him, mostly, as they would a guest. He was allowed to come and go as he wished, unmolested. Sometimes, some of the older men would stop him as he moved through the village, recounting some tale of their deeds, or some bit of advice. Whatever it was that they said to him was lost on Hugh. He listened politely and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but not a word of what they said did he understand.

  Actually, that wasn't completely true anymore. There was one word that he was just beginning to understand. Loo-ah, or rather, Loo-ah! The indians seemed to use it as a greeting, or when they were offering something to you. At night, when the evening meal was ready, the chief would offer some food to Hugh. Usually, the meal consisted of some kind of meat, boiled with corn and placed in a large bowl. The chief would take the bowl and roll the meat around with his hand until he found a large, choice piece. This he would take out and offer to Hugh, saying, "Loo-ah!"

  Also, whenever someone would enter a lodge, they would do so with the greeting, "Loo-ah!"

  A word for all occasions, Hugh thought. Loo-ah!

  ***

  The next two weeks went by slowly for Hugh. He spent his days observing the Pawnees, trying to learn their ways and their language. Little Feather helped him with this. The chief, she told him, was called Old Knife. Under him there were four principal warriors, or sub-chiefs; Big Axe, Storm Dancer, Big Soldier, and the chief's son, Little Knife. Storm Dancer was Little Feather's husband. He was currently away on a raiding party, but would probably be back any day. Little Knife, she said, had fallen from favor two years earlier, when he had stolen the tribe's sacrifice away and set her free. At that time, it had been a young Comanche maiden who was to be offered. Little Knife had taken her at the last minute and had stolen her away on horseback. Everyone in the village expected him to be struck down by the gods. He wasn't, and managed to return the girl to within a short distance of her village before letting her go. When Little Knife returned, he was at once hailed for his daring and bravery, and chastised for breaking tradition. Now, whenever the sacrifice was made, he was watched to make sure he did nothing to spoil it. There had been some who thought that his actions would end the sacrifice forever, but it did not.

  Hugh asked her about the game he had seen the indians playing, the one with the spear and the small ring. He'd noticed that not only the boys played the game, but the men as well.

  "That is called Lance and Hoop," she told him. "Boys learn it at an early age. It helps them develop skill with the lance. The game is also used for gambling. The lance is set with feathers every few inches to prevent the hoop from slipping back in any way. The feathers are also used for measuring how far through the hoop the lance has passed."

  "What do they gamble for?"

  "That depends--if they are young boys, they might gamble for arrows. Older b0ys gamble for their bows. Men usually gamble for horses."

  Hugh thought about that for a moment. He began to get an idea, but he filed it away. To think of beating an indian at a game he had played since childhood was folly.

  Hugh was relieved to find that Big Axe was not the warrior that had struck him in the stomach at their first meeting, and whom Clint had knocked his feet. That, she told him, was Kicking Deer. Kicking Deer was one of the lesser warriors, and not someone Hugh should worry about.

  Hugh looked out through the trees, toward the village. A group of women were walking out. Among them was the tall, homely squaw Hugh had noticed a couple of days earlier, the one who had reminded him so much of a man. Curio
us, he asked Little Feather who she was.

  "That is Little Wolf," she told him. "He is a man. Little Wolf was once a great warrior. He counted many coup upon his enemies. One night, after returning from a successful hunt, Little Wolf went into his lodge. When he came out again, he had changed. The Great Spirit had visited him in a dream, and had told him that his days as a warrior were through.

  Until that time, no one had been ahead of Little Wolf in battle. No man or woman doubted his bravery. Everyone knew Little Wolf to be a great war captain among the Pawnees. The Great Spirit told him that his warring days were over, and that he must put down the war club forever and, to gain knowledge, live the remainder of his days as a woman. He must give up all the ways of manhood and all the privileges of rank, and thereafter, do woman's work. Little Wolf was shaken, but he knew the Great Spirit did not lie. He gave away all of his horses and broke his weapons of war and, since that time, has lived as a squaw. His voice is no longer heard in council. Among the men, his name is spoken only with contempt."

  ***

  Later, as he moved through the village, Hugh saw Little Wolf working with some of the women. He thought about what Little Feather had told him.

  What an interesting people these were. They practiced human sacrifice with the complete belief that to not do so would mean an end to their tribe. They were fierce warriors and hunters, yet among themselves they were kind and obviously very religious. How hard it must have been for this man, one of their great warriors, to give up his rank and position and enter a life of toil--for it was the women, Hugh noticed, who did the work--all on the strength of a dream. That took a lot of faith. Hugh didn't know if he could have done it himself.

  Then again, he thought, your dreams have moved you to action, too!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE MORE Hugh learned about these people, the more he found himself appreriating them--despite himself. They had a certain order to their lives; customs and beliefs that they had followed for generations. To their enemies, the Pawnees were savage and fearsome. Among themselves, it was a different story altogether.

  He was walking by a group of men and boys who were playing the lance and hoop game. Hugh couldn't help but marvel at the participants. Some of the men were so skillful at it that they could throw the lance more than halfway through the four-inch hoop before the lance would knock the hoop over.

  He watched for several minutes. When he was about to go on his way, the young indian who was to throw the lance suddenly brought it over to Hugh and offered it to him. Hesitating for only a moment, Hugh accepted it.

  Hefting the lance to feel the balance, he looked around. The indians had made this look easy, but Hugh knew they had been playing at it and practicing their whole lives.

  "Well Glass," he muttered to himself, "here's a chance to make a real fool of yourself."

  He nodded to the young indian who was waiting to roll the small hoop, and said, "Loo-ah!"

  The indians seemed amused at his usage of the word. The young brave nodded back and rolled the hoop. Hugh tried to judge the speed of the rolling hoop and then threw the lance. The lance struck the ground about a foot behind the hoop.

  The indians laughed. Hugh shrugged good-naturedly. He started to turn away. The young indian who had offered the lance stopped him, offering it a second time.

  Hugh hesitated. He looked around at the group of men and boys standing there. His eyes locked with those of one of the men standing opposite him. The man was shorter than some of the other indians, and darker skinned. Though slighter of build than Clint had been, his muscular frame was no less impressive to behold. Chiseled muscles, like burnished iron, stood out in stark relief beneath his skin. From this, and from his ferocious, indomitable presence, Hugh knew this must be Big Axe, one of the four principal warriors that Little Feather had told him about.

  The indian gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Hugh nodded back and accepted the lance a second time.

  There was a murmur of approval from among the crowd of men. Hugh noticed that many of the indians, including Big Axe, seemed to be making bets. He waited until they were done. When it was quiet once more, Hugh hefted the lance. Again, his eyes locked momentarily with those of Big Axe. The indian gave him a look of encouragement.

  For some reason this game seemed a lot more important than it had a few moments earlier. Hugh nodded to the hoop-roller.

  Waiting until the small hoop was almost directly across from him, Hugh threw the lance. The lance passed through the hoop, entering it by nearly a foot before the hoop fell.

  The crowd of indians cheered. Hugh smiled and gave a slight bow, then moved away before they could ask him to do it again. He felt like a hero.

  From what Little Feather had told him, that probably meant he'd make a better sacrifice.

  ***

  Little Feather had seen nearly thirty summers. She had lived with her own people, the Sioux, until she was fifteen. At that time her father had given her in marriage to a French trapper named Louis DeLozier. At first she had been frightened by the white man. By indian standards, he was smelly and unclean. He did not pluck the hair from his face, from under his arms, or from between his legs, as her people did. He rarely bathed and did not rub himself down with grease, so at first she found it hard to be near him. Little by little, though, that would change.

  They lived in a cabin, some distance away from her people. Slowly, as she began to learn his language, the strangeness of him went away. He treated her well, better than she had ever expected to be treated by the men of her tribe.

  One summer night, after they had been together for some time, she decided that she could accept his smelliness no longer. Peeling off his clothes, she gave him and "indian" bath, using grease to clean him from head to foot. After that she no longer found his hairiness intolerable.

  Louis was an insatiable lover, and he went to great lengths to ensure that their lovemaking was pleasurable for her. Little Feather gave him two sons, which Louis himself delivered. During the birth of their second child, there were complications. Little Feather nearly died. For weeks after, Louis nursed her back to health.

  Some of the things Louis did for her would have been seen as weakness in an indian man. Little Feather knew he wasn't weak, but that he loved her. She loved him as well.

  One afternoon, Louis was chopping wood. Little Feather and the boys busied themselves with stacking it for the coming winter. There was a sudden rifle shot. Louis collapsed on the ground. Immediately, four Osage warriors on horseback swept down out of the woods. Little Feather tried to gather the boys to her and usher them to the house, but the men on horseback were quicker. Her oldest boy, called Edmund by his father, was shot down, while the younger boy was impaled on an Osage lance.

  Louis, meanwhile, had managed to drag himself to his rifle. He aimed and fired, knocking one of the Osages off his horse but not killing him. The other three warriors immediately fell upon Louis and killed him.

  Seizing her chance, Little Feather ran to where the injured Osage had fallen. His lance lay a few feet from him. Snatching it up, Little Feather finished killing him with it.

  Little Feather turned. The other three Osages were off their horses and were moving toward her. Holding the lance before, she began to back away, toward the cabin.

  The three warriors fanned out, moving slowly around her, approaching her from three sides at once. Then, from out of the woods, a single Pawnee warrior was there. He came in like the wind, striking down one of the three Osages with his tomahawk before the man could react. The other two warriors turned to face the Pawnee. As they did, Little Feather ran forward with the lance and ran it completely through one of them. Unnerved, the remaining Osage turned to run. The Pawnee took two big steps and struck him down.

  Little Feather and the Pawnee faced each other.

  He was, without a doubt, the largest man she had ever seen. Little Feather rcgarded him for a moment. Then, turning, she knelt next to the Osage warrior nearest her.
Pulling the knife from the dead man's belt, she quickly scalped him. Then she stood and extended the scalp to the Pawnee. Before they left he had scalped everyone, including Louis and the two boys. After that the two of them loaded everything that was to be taken onto the horses, then rode out in the direction of the Pawnee village.

  The name of the Pawnee warrior was Storm Dancer. Storm Dancer hated the Osages. He also hated the Sioux. He told Little Feather that he intended to fill her up with many Pawnee babies, but no babies ever came.

  According to Pawnee custom, when Storm Dancer's nephew entered adolescence, it was Little Feather's duty to provide sex for him, up until the time of his marriage. This she submitted to, and even tried to instruct him in some of the ways of lovemaking that Louis had taught to her. The relationship ended some months rarlier, when the boy was killed while participating in his third buffalo hunt.

  Storm Dancer had been gone a long time. He had missed the sacrifice to Morning Star. Members of his family and other members of the tribe were worried that he might have been killed, and would never return.

  But it was not Storm Dancer that Little Feather thought about when she lay on her sleeping mat at night, nor was it his nephew.

  It was the white man that had come into the village. It was Hugh Glass.

  ***

  The heat of Summer was already upon them. For three days it had been stifling hot, foretelling the season to come. The earthen domes offered protection from it during the day, but at night it became barely tolerable. Following the example of the Pawnees, Hugh dragged his sleeping mat outside and up onto the roof of the lodge, where an occasional breeze could cool him.