The young man’s heart quickened with a mixture of hope and apprehension when finally he spotted smoke over a distant rise. He headed in that direction, hoping whoever was camped on the other side was friendly. He was so deep in the wilderness he knew it had to be Indians. He was hungry for human companionship. He would take his chances.
He made his way quietly on foot through thick pines and over soil soggy from melted snow and spongy with wet pine needles, leading the gray horse by the reins. The aroma of pine and wet earth was strong in his nostrils as he climbed the rise, and then he sensed someone was nearby. He stopped and petted the gray gelding.
“I think we have found human life, boy,” he told the horse. “The only question is whether they are friend or enemy.”
He waited, his eyes slowly scanning the surrounding underbrush and boulders. He called out in Cheyenne, hoping he still spoke it well enough, and that those in hiding were Cheyenne. He called himself friend. The next moment two warriors moved out, one from behind a bush, the other from behind a large boulder. They were dressed in heavy skins and sported brightly beaded weapon belts that held large hunting knives. Beads decorated their hair, and coup feathers were tied into their hair at their necks. They wore knee-high, fur-lined moccasins, and a quiver of arrows and a bow were slung across each of their backs. One wore a split feather that protruded behind his head, indicating he was a man who had been wounded many times in battle. The other wore a feather notched at the top, which Caleb remembered meant the wearer had counted three coup, had touched or killed three of his enemy. His heart took hope, for they were Cheyenne.
Both looked like accomplished warriors, and Caleb could only pray they would be friendly. They eyed him questioningly.
“Tsis-tsis-tas,” Caleb said, using the Cheyenne word for the People. He pointed to himself and pulled his blue quill necklace from under his heavy coat. “Tsis-tsis-tas.”
One of them stepped closer, looking at the necklace curiously, then moving his eyes to the scar on Caleb’s face. When he saw Caleb’s blue eyes, he pointed and frowned. “Vehoe.”
Caleb shook his head. “Cheyenne,” he told them in their own tongue. “My father was a white trapper, my mother Cheyenne. She gave me the necklace. My mother was from the Cheyenne who once lived to the south and east. Many of them were killed by Chippewa long ago. I was raised by the Sioux, Black Antelope was my Sioux father and was also killed by Chippewa. I seek the Cheyenne and my mother’s people. Do you know of them? Deer Man? White Bird? Many Bears? Most were killed. Perhaps some escaped.”
The warrior who had stayed behind looked surprised and stepped closer, eyeing the necklace. He looked at the first warrior, and they exchanged a look that told Caleb they knew something. The first man put a fist to his chest. “I am a Cheyenne dog soldier,” he said in Cheyenne. “Called Proud Eagle.”
Caleb met the man’s eyes squarely. “I am called Blue Hawk. I am also a warrior, even though I have blue eyes,” he told them, thinking perhaps he needed to impress them to be accepted, to prove his own worth. “My family was killed by the Chippewa when I was only nine summers, and when I was alone, I found two Chippewa warriors and killed them, one with the bow, the other with my tomahawk. I was separated from my people then. Now I am trying to find them.”
Proud Eagle watched him closely, as though trying to determine if he should believe Caleb. “You killed two Chippewa warriors when only nine summers?”
Caleb nodded. “I have also killed a bad white man.” He took out his knife and held it up. “With this. That is when I got the mark on my face.
Proud Eagle frowned. “You are still young.”
“In two moons I will be eighteen summers. I am a man.”
A hint of a smile passed over the Cheyenne warrior’s face. “That you must yet prove.” His eyes fell to the necklace again. “You say your mother gave you the necklace?”
Caleb nodded.
“Who made this necklace?”
“The wife of Many Bears, my Cheyenne uncle. She was called Sweet Seed Woman.”
The man turned and looked at the second warrior, then started walking. “Come,” he said curtly, walking ahead of Caleb.
Caleb followed, hoping he was not walking to his death.
Caleb stared in surprise at the dwellings below the rise. He had not seen these before. They were arranged in a great circle, with an opening that faced the east, the rising sun. They were cone shaped, with smoke rising from smoke holes in the centers. They appeared to be made of skins and were painted with many scenes, some of war, some of the sun and animals. When he left the Cheyenne, they had not lived in such dwellings.
It was a large village, and as they entered it, they were greeted by an abundance of barking dogs and a sea of curious women and children. A few young girls stared at Caleb and whispered, but most quickly looked away the moment he met their eyes. One, however, daringly held his eyes for a moment, and even after she looked away Caleb stared at her. She was exceedingly beautiful, but also not quite a woman. It had been months since he had learned about women with Emily Stoner, but the memory of how it felt to be with the opposite sex would never leave him. Surely it was much more wonderful to be with a woman who had a good heart.
He shook away the thought. Emily Stoner had brought him bad luck. He must not think about females again for a long time. Proud Eagle led him to a huge campfire at the center of the village where a few old women were cooking meat over the flames. Proud Eagle turned and told Caleb to wait by the fire.
Proud Eagle and the other warrior left then, and Caleb waited with a pounding heart while several elders and children gathered closer, pointing at his blue eyes and talking among themselves about the intruder with the white man’s eyes. He tried to show no fear, for he sensed that was very important. He stood proud and straight while some of the old women touched and admired his horse.
In the distance he again caught a glimpse of the pretty young girl he had seen. Though she was wrapped in a blanket of skins and only her lovely face and hair were visible, he was sure that under the blanket there were even more beautiful things. But he scowled then and looked away, not wanting to risk chastisement for letting his eyes linger too long on a girl who appeared to be a young virgin.
He forced himself not to think of her, and concentrated instead on a group of Cheyenne men who were gathering by one of the dwellings, talking together. They approached then, shooing away the women and children and gathering in a circle around the campfire. One young warrior looked challengingly at Caleb and grasped the bridle of the gray gelding, taking the horse away. Caleb decided it would be best not to try to stop the man. He stood alone, a stranger among his own kind, and Proud Eagle signaled for him to sit between himself and an old man who appeared to be some kind of leader. The old man’s face was wrinkled and weathered, and when he made the sign of peace at Caleb, Caleb noticed his fingers were gnarled and knotted with the stiffening disease that often came to old ones. Caleb touched his forehead in respect for the old man, then sat down beside him.
“These are our best warriors and our wise elders,” Proud Eagle told him. “Beside you is Three Feathers, an honored shaman. Tell these men why you are here. If they accept you, we will smoke the pipe of peace together, and you are welcome in our village.”
Caleb knew better than to leave anything out, for the Indian honored truth. He told them the story of his birth, and the necklace, his mother’s death, his life among the Sioux and the massacres by the Chippewa. He told them all about how he killed two Chippewa warriors at the age of nine, which brought nods of admiration. Then he told about his rescue by the white man called Tom Sax, how he had been given a white man’s name and knew the white man’s ways. He was afraid to tell them about why he had been forced to leave, so he told them he had returned west to find his Cheyenne people, hoping someone of his blood still lived.
“It was hard in the white world,” he told them, “even though I have white man’s eyes. They hold little love for the Indian, a
nd even less for a man who is only half Indian. I was not happy there. But my white father was a good man, and in the Moon of the Greening Grass I will return to the place where the great waters meet, where my white father is to come and meet with me. He would have come with me, but he has a white daughter who still lives in the East, and he stayed for her sake. I have returned to the land of the people I truly consider my own, where I can be free of white man’s rules and strange customs, where I feel safe and happy, closer to the spirits. I have come hoping to find someone of my Cheyenne blood.”
There was a momentary silence when he finished, and then Three Feathers spoke up. “It is a hard thing to live in two worlds,” he said quietly. “A man’s soul is torn and he cannot find peace. If we can help the young warrior who at only nine summers counted coup on the Chippewa, we must do so. He was raised by Sioux, who for a time became our enemy. Now we are friends again, and soon we will all fight against the hated Crow, who constantly attack us and steal our food and our women. Perhaps this young warrior can help us.”
“He should prove his manhood at the Sun Dance Ritual,” one of the others said, looking at Caleb with an almost jealous look in his dark eyes.
“It will be his choice, Fire Wolf,” Three Feathers answered.
Caleb sensed an instant rivalry with the one called Fire Wolf. Why, he could not be sure, but he straightened proudly before he spoke. “I will gladly sacrifice my flesh at the Sun Dance,” he told them. “As a small boy I dreamed of doing so. I have not lost that dream. And I will gladly fight beside you against these Crow. I do not know about them, but if they are the enemy of the Cheyenne, then they are also my enemy.”
Three Feathers nodded approvingly, but Fire Wolf frowned and left the circle. Old Three Feathers picked up a long peace pipe and lit it with a coal from the fire. The sweet odor of the pipe’s contents filled Caleb’s nostrils as blue smoke spiraled from the bowl of the pipe.
Three Feathers took a puff and pointed the pipe toward the sky. “Heammawihio,” he said in a near whisper, speaking to the God of the Sky. He pointed the pipe at the earth. “Ahktunowihio.” Then he pointed the pipe in all four directions, offering it to the gods of the North, South, East and West. He puffed the pipe again, then passed it to Proud Eagle, who puffed it and in turn handed it to Caleb. Caleb knew this was an honor and signified an acceptance by the tribe, even though it might be temporary, pending his proving his worth. He took the pipe and put it to his lips, puffing it in reverence and worship.
After the pipe was passed around to the others, Three Feathers nodded to Proud Eagle. Proud Eagle rose and left the circle, and Caleb watched curiously, but Three Feathers drew his attention back to the Council.
“Soon we ride against the Crow,” he told Caleb. “They have stolen many of our horses and some of our women. We will get them back, and some of their horses and women also. You will ride with us?”
Caleb could think of nothing more exciting, and all his Indian warrior instincts were fully aroused. He smiled eagerly. “I will gladly go.”
He gazed at the others in the Council, seeing their approval. A movement beyond the group caught his eye and he saw the pretty young girl peeking at him from between two older women. He saw too that Fire Wolf was also watching her, a scowl on his face. His dark eyes moved to Caleb, and Caleb knew instantly the man did not like the young girl looking at the new arrival. Was she Fire Wolf’s wife? Surely not. She was too young. Perhaps Fire Wolf hoped to marry her when she was ready. Caleb decided to stay away from the girl. He did not want to offend anyone or make enemies in the village that could become his home.
Proud Eagle returned, leading an elderly woman, and Caleb watched her with an odd sense of familiarity. As they entered the circle of men, the woman moved forward away from Proud Eagle on her own, staring at Caleb as though she were seeing a ghost.
“Stand up,” Three Feathers told Caleb.
Caleb obeyed, frowning at the old woman whose eyes moved over him carefully. “Let me see necklace,” she told Caleb.
Caleb’s heart quickened as he reached under his coat and pulled out the necklace again. The old woman gasped and put her hands to her mouth, her eyes quickly filling with tears as she moved them to meet his blue ones.
“Blue Hawk,” she exclaimed. “Is it truly you, my nephew?”
Joy began to creep into Caleb’s heart. “Nephew?”
“I am Sweet Seed Woman, Deer Man’s wife. I made the necklace you wear and let your mother, Little Flower, keep it because she admired it so. She gave it to you before she died.”
Caleb swallowed against a lump rising in his throat. To find Sweet Seed Woman, a blood relation, after all these years filled him with indescribable joy. He hesitantly reached out, touching her graying hair.
Her tears ran freely. “Always I wondered what happened to you. I thought you must have been killed by the Chippewa. They came to our camp and murdered nearly all of us. I was able to escape with my sister. Together we fled, nearly dying from hunger and the elements, until we came upon other Cheyenne. They took us in. We knew the Chippewa had gone north and attacked Black Antelope’s camp where you lived. We … never heard what happened.”
Caleb cleared his throat to keep his voice steady. “I was nine summers. Black Antelope’s young wife hid me in a hollow log. When I came out, they were all dead.” He studied her eyes, full of both joy and sadness. “My grandfather? My uncles?”
“All dead,” she told him. She touched his arms. “But I have found you, my nephew. Maheo has been good to me this day. My joy knows no bounds.”
“Nor mine,” he answered, smiling.
The woman threw her blanket over his shoulders in a sign of welcome to a blood relative, then began a song of joy. Other women joined her, their voices trilling in chanting rhythm. Caleb felt his heart swell. Never since living with Black Antelope had he felt so truly at home. He knew there would be dancing and celebrating that night, all in his honor, and he wondered if the pretty Cheyenne girl he had seen would be there.
Caleb was again Blue Hawk.
He joined the tipi of his aunt, who lived with her sister, her sister’s husband, Buffalo Man, and their son. He was surprised at the space inside the conical dwellings, and learned that because of the more nomadic life the Cheyenne had begun to follow, this new kind of structure became the most practical, for it could be raised and taken down quickly, rolled up easily and carried on a travois. The women made them of sewn skins, mostly buffalo hides, and they were responsible for their erection and dismantling. Different tipis were painted with different signs, according to the owners, and Blue Hawk quickly learned to recognize the tipi of a leader as opposed to a dog soldier or a shaman.
The rest of the winter moved quickly. Blue Hawk helped on hunts when the weather permitted, and eagerly joined the gatherings for story telling, listening raptly to tales of spirits and ancestors as well as accomplishments at war with the Crow. Crow scalps hung from many a warrior’s belt.
He often caught sight of the pretty girl, whom his aunt told him was Walking Grass.
“You had better be careful, nephew,” she warned. “Fire Wolf has his eyes on that one.”
“Has he bought her? Is she promised to him?”
“No.”
“Then she is not his, and perhaps I have eyes on her, too.”
“And Fire Wolf has a temper. Be careful, Blue Hawk.”
Blue Hawk just shrugged. He was not afraid of Fire Wolf. In fact, the challenge only made him more interested in Walking Grass, a fitting name for such a lithe, willowy creature. She was the daughter of Two Bears, a feisty old man who would probably demand much from any man who wanted his daughter. Blue Hawk decided it was time to start proving his worth, and was overjoyed when the opportunity to ride with several others on a raid against the Crow finally arose. He barely slept the night before they were to leave.
In the morning, Buffalo Man offered Blue Hawk a sturdy, painted roan mare that had powerful front legs and shoulders, and sp
irit in her eyes.
“You need a special kind of horse for making war, Blue Hawk,” the man told him. “Your gray is good for travel, and a good companion. This horse likes the smell of fighting and will know what to do without you even telling her. Take her. It is my gift for bringing joy to my sister-in-law, for she has had a sad heart for many moons because of the loss of her family so long ago.”
Blue Hawk was touched. The gift of a horse was a sign of great honor and acceptance. “Thank you, Buffalo Man. Always I will honor and remember you for this. Your heart is good.”
“As is yours. May the wind be at your back, Blue Hawk.”
Blue Hawk slid onto the back of the restless animal, feeling its power beneath him, knowing instantly it was a grand horse. All was ready, his lance, knife, tomahawk, bow and arrows, and sling. He even had something that made him even more honored as a warrior: he had a pistol. He smiled at the memory of the jealous look he had seen in Fire Wolf’s eyes the day he had shown the others what it could do. It had brought him even more respect among the others, and he would take it into battle.
The camp was alive with activity as the men prepared to leave. Women and old ones lined up to wish the warriors well. Scouts had spotted a Crow camp several miles to the west. They were certain the Crow intended to raid their Cheyenne village and decided to beat them at their own game.
The weather had warmed, but there was still some snow on the ground. Blue Hawk wore his buckskin leggings and shirt, but his wolf skin coat was rolled and tied behind him. He was determined that he would take Crow scalps and count many coup on this raid, to show the others just how good a warrior he was. His face had been carefully painted for war by Sweet Seed Woman, who helped him understand all the warrior ways. The blue quill necklace he wore at his neck made him feel even more Cheyenne, for it reminded him that his mother was one of these people, and he was beginning to feel that the necklace was a talisman. His hair was clean and brushed, one side of it braided, beads and feathers for luck wound into it. Sweet Seed Woman had carried on before he left about how magnificent he looked.
Savage Horizons Page 14
