Murder at Medicine Lodge

by Mardi Oakley Medawar

  Skywalker continued his silence as I placed a dried leaf inside the bowl and began to reduce it to powder. Even though he was annoyingly interested in the medicines I made for other patients, he never once asked me about the plants I used when preparing his. I believe I understand why. It was because he knew that one of the plants was a poison. He’d sensed this from my careful use of it, the extreme caution I took when measuring it out. And that’s true. That plant was highly dangerous but it was also the most beneficial herb in my collection because it has the ability to numb pain. But if the utmost care isn’t used when administering it, it will kill. The trouble I had with Skywalker was that, over periods of extended usage, he’d built a tolerance, and the amount I was forced to use was nearing the lethal dosage. He knew that, too, but even so, on that night when he was so angry with me that I felt his anger like a tangible presence between us, he still trusted me not to kill him on purpose.

  “Is your pain increasing?”

  He wouldn’t look at me, instead he studied the blackened space of ground between his knees. “Yes. And that noise you’re making isn’t helping.”

  I was forced to make even more noise as I ground the herbs in an effort to be a bit quicker. Feeling more angry, I said, “You know better than to wait this long. How many times have I told you that it’s better to attack the pain when it’s only beginning?”

  He looked up, his eyes catching mine. “I really didn’t mind so much about the pain in my head. The pain in my heart bothered me more.”

  “What’s the matter with your heart?”

  He scoffed bitterly, then fell silent. The two of us did not try any further conversation while I reduced the dry herbs to a fine powder. Knowing just what to do, Skywalker opened his mouth and raised his tongue, sat perfectly still while I carefully sprinkled the powder in that watery space between tongue and teeth. Closing his mouth, he took a deep breath through his nostrils.

  And then we waited.

  This was always the tricky part and I especially hated it that during those times, he was quietly forgiving me for his death. I didn’t want his forgiveness because I didn’t want him to die. So while he waited and silently prayed, I was holding the antidote, bracing myself for the fight to save the same life he was calmly prepared to lose. When he began to hum his death song, I leaned close and watched him for signs of heavy perspiration, a sudden shortness of breath. When after a span of minutes, these symptoms failed to materialize, I sat back, humbly thanking the Creator yet again, for sparing me the awful guilt of my friend’s death. I said this prayer with my eyes closed.

  When I opened them, Skywalker was gone.

  He hadn’t even said, Thank you, Tay-bodal. All he’d done was go off to find his bed. Well, now, that made me really mad. Mad enough to seriously reconsider our friendship. Then I mentally kicked myself for believing that a Kauaun, a commoner, could truly be friends with an Onde, a prince of our Nation, and take such pride in a friendship Skywalker so easily threw away.

  Anger gave way to despair, followed rapidly by self-pity. Because of our Nation’s class system, I would not be able to look to Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber for friendly support. You must understand, they, too, were Ondes, and my acceptance in their midst was by Skywalker’s sponsorship. He was the sole reason I had ever been welcome in their company. If he ended our friendship, the others would quickly fade away as well. For many years I’d lived in obscurity and loneliness, not minding the one, almost totally unaware of the other. It was on account of Skywalker that I’d found my life filled with love and friendship. Were I suddenly to lose any of it, I wasn’t so certain I would have the strength to travel again that bleak and lonely road.

  And what of Crying Wind? True, she complained about the duties required of her high status, but if, on account of her marriage to me, those duties were taken away and her sister Ondes shunned her, she would be devastated. I figured that sooner or later she would turn against me, and after that, divorce me.

  Every man, no matter how brave or strong he might be, has at least one great fear. The Cheyenne Robber’s fear—and one he was eternally teased about—was of spiders. But not just any spiders. He was afraid of tarantulas. Numbering somewhere in the millions, these big hairy spiders live in underground lodges throughout our home country. When it rains hard, those spiders come out of their water-filled hidey-holes and cover the ground in furry masses. And The Cheyenne Robber goes crazy. He won’t eat, just in case a spider walked over his food without his knowing, and he definitely won’t sleep, terrified spiders will get inside his lodge and walk over his face and body. What he does, is roost on his horse, grimly suffering the downpour, waiting for the rains to stop and the spiders’ retreat.

  My dread of losing Crying Wind was a thousand times greater than any silly fear as that. I suppose it was because I understood too well I had done nothing to deserve her. The truth is, if it hadn’t been for White Bear and Skywalker, our marriage never would have happened. I would have spent my life loving a woman who was too far above me to even say my name. Suddenly propelled by the fear of losing her, I jumped to my feet and sprinted to where Skywalker lay, giving himself up to medicated sleep, oblivious to the raucous voices of the others. The second I reached him, I solidly kicked his thigh, feeling the force from my toes on up to my upper leg. His eyes flew open and he stared up at me in complete astonishment.

  “Did you just kick me?” he cried incredulously.

  “I most certainly did,” I answered. “And I will again if you go on refusing to talk to me. If you are determined to end our friendship, the very least I deserve is an explanation.”

  His expression livid, he stared up at me as if I were the most contemptible man he’d ever met. With flourish, he threw back the thin blanket.

  Witnessing this exchange, Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber became very still. Little Jonas fell quiet mid-laugh, when Billy’s staying hand clamped his arm. One by one, all eyes became riveted on us as Skywalker stood, stepped in close, his mouth set in a twisted snarl. I did not back down. Admiration for my courage, and determination flitted through his eyes with the speed of a darting minnow. Then he turned away, strode off into the darkness.

  That night was as black as pitch. The stars were nothing more than uncountable pinpoints of light and the moon was only about a third full. Skywalker was a dim figure I doggedly followed and although I stepped carefully, each and every contact made between the soles of my feet and solid ground came as a jolting surprise to the rest of my body. But none of that was anywhere as near as jarring as when Skywalker whirled around and yelled in my face.

  “Why did you vote against me about coming to Medicine Lodge?”

  I had to clear my throat before lamely answering, “I—I had my reason.”

  “Yes,” he fumed, “you most certainly did. And your reason is called Hawwy.”

  “That’s not true!” I shouted. “I didn’t even know he would be here.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “It is not.”

  “Yes, it is,” he insisted, stepping nearer. The outline of his darkened face came so close that I felt my eyes beginning to cross. “White Bear knew Hawwy would be here, and whatever White Bear knows, you eventually know because White Bear doesn’t know how to keep a secret.”

  “He kept this one,” I cried. “I didn’t know anything about it until I saw Hawwy for myself.”

  He was breathing hard, his chest expanding and retracting rapidly. “Maybe that is the truth,” he countered, “but I couldn’t help but notice that since our first day here you’ve remained constantly in his company.”

  Anger ripping through me like fire, I pushed my face close to his. “If you’ll recall, White Bear ordered me to stay close to the Blue Jackets. And another reason I stayed close is because Hawwy owns doctoring tools I have been working very hard to convince him to sell to me.”

  Skywalker retreated a pace, his silhouetted head canted to the side as he considered. I could not see his e
yes but I keenly felt his concentrated gaze. The racket made by the chirping insects seemed to increase, their otherwise-cheery clatter beginning to throb against my ears. Working to take some portion of control over my thudding heartbeat, I reminded myself exactly how to breathe—in, out, in, out. Soon I was so fixated with this task that the sound of his low, almost husky voice gave me a start and my heart was charging again.

  “And that’s the full truth?”

  “Can’t you hear my mind?”

  “No. With this headache I can barely hear myself think.”

  That statement allowed my brain full rein—a freedom I rarely enjoyed with Skywalker for, when we were together, I consciously loaded my mind with trivialities I wouldn’t object to his knowing. Realizing this was one of my infrequent moments of mental freedom, a flurry of thoughts were unleashed—the more dominant … jealousy.

  Friendships during the days of my early manhood were much more important than they seem to be now. Back then, when each day brought with it a new kind of peril, friends guarded your back, watched out for you, trusted you to do the same for them. Therefore any type of disagreement between friends was a serious matter, but jealousy was the most serious matter of all.

  All forms of jealousy have always been frowned on by my people because we know envy to be destructive. More crimes have been committed in the name of jealousy than for any other emotion. Which is why we have tried very hard to stamp it out, most especially the Black Leggings Society, who treat jealousy with such contempt that any warrior accused of it faces a harsh judgment. Of course, jealousy has always been the root cause of the ongoing friction between White Bear and Kicking Bird, even though they try never to allow their squabbles to degenerate to a personal level for it is not considered envious for one chief to call into question another’s abilities as a leader. Far from it. Chiefs correcting fellow chiefs is considered prudent, for the lives of young men depended on trustworthy leaders. The only two in the entire Nation who were fooled by their petty bickering were the two most deeply involved—namely, White Bear and Kicking Bird. That these two superior men could fall victim to envy was a lesson for us ordinary folk, reminding us how easily this ugly nature could creep into our hearts and cause trouble.

  Just as it was doing now.

  Skywalker was angry with me because he was deeply jealous of my friendship with Hawwy. Of course, I couldn’t say this to his face.

  To spare his dignity and to salvage our shaky friendship, I said, “I apologize. I should have come to you and asked your advice on the matter of Haw-we-sun. That I didn’t can be blamed on my anxiousness to please White Bear, and then finally, on my own greed.”

  He turned, folded his arms across his chest, and stood in profile while he pondered. In a less-strained voice he asked, “What kind of tools does he have that would make you risk so much?”

  Instantly I cried, “The most marvelous doctoring tools I’ve ever seen. He keeps them in black bags. He has four such bags. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice if one of the bags got lost. But that’s not all. Earlier, when we were burying the dead man, he had a digging tool that folds up. Crying Wind would love that tool. If nothing else, I intend to get that for her.”

  Skywalker turned his face toward me. “Do you know where he keeps this folding tool?”

  “Yes. He put it on the dead man’s grave.”

  “What?” he shouted. “You mean he just threw it away as an offering to a dead man who isn’t even his relative?”

  “He doesn’t think of it like that. He said that the tool is now a marker, that when other whites see it, they will stop to say prayers for the dead man.”

  Skywalker became angry all over again, for I had said exactly the wrong thing, forgetting entirely that he had taken a blood oath that no more whites would be allowed to enter any territory belonging to us or to our allied Nations. Hawwy’s belief that other whites would come, and would do so without fear or regard of the rightful inhabitants, touched a raw nerve. Skywalker’s next statement was delivered in a tight voice.

  “Take me to the grave.”

  He first made medicine over the burial site, chanting in a low voice, this form of medicine meant to keep Buug-lah’s spirit wherever white spirits went, and to sanctify the ground containing Buug-lah’s remains, making the top part fit again for living beings. That done, he tore apart the marker shovels, handing one to me, keeping the other for himself. It took us awhile to figure out how to fold them down, but once we did, they were remarkably easy to conceal as we strode side by side back toward the camp, stopping briefly at our saddles to hide them away. Then, in a display of total innocence, we went to our beds.

  But for the sounds of snoring, the camp was quiet. Only Hears The Wolf had remained awake, and as we approached he asked in a whisper, “Are you two all right?”

  “Yes,” Skywalker answered. “Two old friends had a small disagreement. The disagreement has been settled.”

  Satisfied, Hears The Wolf flopped down on his bed, snoring almost the instant his head came to rest. Snuggling under my blanket, feeling vastly relieved, every bone in my body felt as if it was melting. My last thought while yawning was, Now all I have to do is save White Bear.

  What a conceit!

  * * *

  In the early-morning light—the sky deep shades of pink with a broad stripe of blue just above the horizon—my being the one to save White Bear from anything, struck me as the absurdity it was. Rising from my bed, shaking out the blankets, I very firmly reminded myself that I was simply the tagalong behind Hears The Wolf, Skywalker, and The Cheyenne Robber. That if we could get White Bear out of this current trouble, it would be they, and rightly so, who would receive the credit. But because I loved White Bear, it needn’t be said that I wouldn’t do whatever I could to clear him of the charge of Buug-lah’s brutal death. A death, that I could tell by the slewing of the Blue Jackets’ eyes, they were now anxious to report.

  There was a problem with that. Hears The Wolf still had possession of their guns and it was still unclear if they were free men or prisoners. This thorny issue changed the mood of the camp. As we all ate our morning meal, gone were the high spirits and camaraderie of the night before. The Blue Jackets, even Hawwy, were wary, on their guard, and sitting clumped together. Billy found himself sitting in the middle, the one link between soldiers and Indians.

  Having been born both white and red, Billy was a man torn in half. During the tender years of his life, he had been raised white, but as he grew older and his mother could no longer hide the fact that her son carried Indian blood, she gave him away to an orphan home. He ran away from that place, eventually coming to work for the army. As a scout he learned as much as he could about Kiowas, beginning with the language. Yet fearing he would be rejected again, he ventured no closer than that to his real father’s people. During the first days when we were at Medicine Lodge, he continued to believe that because of his white blood, his father’s world was closed to him. Troubled on account of this, he counseled privately with Skywalker, their conversations unknown to me until some time later.

  But even in the white world, Billy was alone except for his friendship with Hawwy, the only man in that world he had ever known to accept him without question. But that was Hawwy. The man had an immediate and absorbing interest in anyone who crossed his path. In the Territory this was more of a fault than a virtue, and Billy knew right away that his most important responsibility would be to protect Hawwy from himself. He was doing that now, keeping Hawwy firmly in place until he could figure out what was what with The Cheyenne Robber.

  Of all of us, The Cheyenne Robber was physically the most formidable. From the outset, the Blue Jackets had been leery of him. Today they had ample reason, for he was in a terrible mood. Being something of a slow thinker, he hated dilemmas, and that morning had presented him with a big one. He really didn’t like killing people he’d had fun with, and after the previous night’s good time, although regret would not be enough to deter him, he was edg
y about maybe having to kill his new friend. Scowling at Little Jonas, his teeth tore at the half-cooked portion of the meat and he glumly chewed, tasting only his own bitterness because of the sorry situation. He was in the midst of another huge bite when Skywalker leaned in, their shoulders touching. Skywalker whispered for a while and then The Cheyenne Robber grunted an agreement.

  When they stood, Hears The Wolf and I stood too, the four of us going off to speak privately. We had only gone a pace or two when Skywalker signaled for us to stop. Looking back over our shoulders, The Cheyenne Robber bellowed for Billy. William was already as nervous as a treed bobcat, his eyes so large they looked to be as big as his fists. He was so startled by The Cheyenne Robber’s tone that he dropped his portion of cooked meat into the dirt between his crossed legs. As Billy scrambled to his feet, Hawwy moved to stand too. Very quickly Billy placed a hand on Hawwy’s shoulder, shoving him back down and muttering to him. Then Billy ran to catch up with us, and without discussion the five of us moved a little farther away.

  As Skywalker talked, Hears The Wolf stood to the side, the barrel of his new rifle resting on his shoulder while he watched the Blue Jackets. They in turn watched him, knowing that if any one of them tried to make a dash for the cache of guns, Hears The Wolf would not hesitate to shoot. In this highly charged situation, I concentrated just as hard as I could on everything Skywalker had to say.

  “More soldiers will be coming soon.”

  “Today?” The Cheyenne Robber asked.

  “No,” Skywalker answered with a shake of his head. “Not today.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.” Skywalker lifted his chin in the direction of the soldiers by the fire. “They know it too. At least, that little nervous one does,” he said, meaning Lieutenant Danny. “He made this thought in an image. I saw many soldiers riding fast.”