The Elk-Dog Heritage

by Don Coldsmith

  Animal parts that would have once been discarded or tossed to the dogs now became a source of subsistence. Thin watery soups boiled from hide and offal at least filled bellies for a short while.

  Still, the situation was becoming desperate. There were scarcely enough dogs left to reproduce, although the possibility of enough future for the Elk-dog band to need such foresight seemed remote.

  “Heads Off, we must eat the elk-dogs,” Tall One whispered as they snuggled for warmth in their sleeping robes one night. She had placed her children in their robes after a very meager meal. Owl, of course, still fed at breast, but she was afraid her milk was diminishing. Heads Off had given special attention to her nutrition, contriving ways to give her part of his own food. She loved him for it, but it was not enough. The girl knew that she was losing rapidly. Owl cried for more when she had given him all the milk her undernourished body could produce.

  Her husband held her tightly.

  “I know.” He hated the decision. Not only were the esthetics of eating horse meat foreign to his upbringing, there were other considerations.

  The great changes in the culture of the People, which had come about in such a short while, were totally derived from use of the horse. The use of the elk-dog had enabled so many advantages that it was questionable if the People could return to the old ways.

  To be more specific, suppose that they ate the elk-dogs to survive the winter. Suppose further that by some miracle they were able to withstand the onslaught of the Head Splitters in the Moon of Greening. With no elk-dogs, how could they hunt? And, equally important, if they had eaten the elk-dogs, there would be no way to replace the animals. Some breeding stock must be preserved, at all costs.

  Ultimately, however, the decision must be for day-to-day survival. A council was called, and the matter discussed. The animals would be sacrificed one at a time, as needed. First would be the geldings, incapable of reproduction. Heads Off held the vain hope that before all the neutered animals were used, something would occur that would save the mares, and the foals they might be carrying.

  The first of the horses was slaughtered the next morning. At least, for a time, bellies would be full, and children would not cry out in the night from hunger. When this food was gone, the next animal would be sacrificed.

  As it occurred, however, only two of the elk-dogs had been slaughtered before events of overriding importance changed the situation completely.

  25

  The day came, as the People knew it must. The lookout on the hill first spotted the approach of the enemy. He raised a long cry and lighted the signal fire as a warning to all, before he retreated to the village.

  The Head Splitters were in force, more in number than three men have fingers and toes. They paraded arrogantly, circling and wheeling their elk-dogs in mock combat on the open prairie beyond the brush barricade.

  But there was no attack. All maneuvers stopped well beyond range of a long bowshot. They spent most of the day showing themselves and their strength, and then calmly made camp a few hundred paces down the stream. Heads Off rankled in sheer frustration. Briefly, he considered a sortie after dark, but quickly abandoned the idea. It would never do to risk even a few warriors. All would be needed in the final attack.

  The People carefully posted sentries in the woods to prevent a sneak attack by infiltrators on foot, and retired for the night. Heads Off slept little. He could think of no other course of action that they might take now. There was nothing but to wait. Still, how hopeless the plight of the Elk-dog band seemed. Again and again, he blamed himself for poor leadership. Why had he ever consented to act as chief?

  It was shortly after full daylight that the charge came. The enemy had been charging and wheeling in insolent display when suddenly a semblance of order emerged out of the milling mass. Apparently at a shouted signal, every Head Splitter reined his horse around. The ground shook with the thunder of hundreds of pounding hooves as they swept down on the ill-equipped People.

  Elk-dog men seized weapons and sprinted toward the flimsy brush barricade.

  “Watch the woods!” Heads Off shouted. This might be a diversionary attack.

  The mass of yelling enemy continued to thunder down on the village, their falsetto “yip-yip-yip” swelling in the morning stillness. Now they were almost within bow-shot. A few nervous defenders loosed arrow shafts, only to see them fall short.

  Suddenly the charging mass wheeled, turned, and came to a stop, laughing, pointing, and joking among themselves. They rode slowly back toward their camp, leaving the defenders limp and frustrated. Heads Off quickly looked for another point of attack, but there was none.

  The enemy had simply withdrawn. Then the young chief began to see. It had been merely a feint, a bluff, to place the People under further stress. The Head Splitters were playing with the doomed village, twisting their fears and doubts. He remembered a cat that he had watched toying with a mouse, long ago in his childhood so far away. The enemy were merely enjoying the opportunity to wreak slow vengeance on the People. Again, he despaired that any would survive to leave this campsite.

  For the rest of the day, the People remained on the alert. Everyone carried weapons, and the Head Splitters were constantly watched.

  No remarkable events occurred. Several times, a handful of the enemy would ride close to the brush barricade, but stop just short of bowshot. They appeared to be mostly eager young men, who contented themselves with shouting challenges and obscenities. They were obviously under instructions not to engage in actual contact.

  The young warriors of the People could not refrain from answering the taunts, but managed to restrain themselves from any overt action.

  A young man of the enemy rode near and shouted at the defenders, punctuating his words with sign talk.

  “We will kill you, and then your women will learn how to bed with real men!”

  A single arrow arched from the camp of the defenders, hung high for a moment before falling short. The Head Splitter laughed.

  Long Elk answered for the People. “I see no real men. I see only cowards who are afraid to come within bowshot!”

  The exchange of insults continued through the day at intervals, but both sides knew that it was just talk. The situation remained unchanged. There was little sleep that night, but no attack came.

  Next morning, the Head Splitters carried out another mock charge. The terrifying rush again terminated just short of bowshot, and ended in laughter, jokes, and obscenities toward the defenders. The ritual was repeated the following morning, and the People began to relax over the lack of any follow-through. Coyote, White Buffalo, and others cautioned not to become careless.

  The following day the enemy changed tactics somewhat. Daylight showed no massing of armed horsemen. The People, alert for trouble, nevertheless started about their morning routine. Women took waterskins to the stream, and cooking fires produced their hanging layers of white smoke above the lodges.

  Suddenly a woman’s voice rose in indignation.

  “Aiee!” she shouted. “The water is fouled!”

  It was true. Others tasted their waterskins or cupped a hand to the stream. Once clear and sparkling, the creek was a murky, muddy gray-brown in color.

  It was easy to see the situation. The Head Splitters had simply taken their horse herd upstream and held them for the night in or near the water. Heads Off could recall the flat grassy meadow which they had probably utilized. Now the water was fouled with particles of mud and bits of manure. The situation was becoming more desperate.

  The People were experienced in scarcity of water from past dry seasons on the plains. They methodically scooped shallow basins in the sandy streambed, and allowed seeping water to fill them. At least it was wet, and the taste was better than that from the stream itself.

  Heads Off, chewing on a tough stringy strip of horse meat that evening, was afraid that the solution to the water problem had been too easy. The enemy would continue to herd their elk-dogs upstream, and
the water would become worse. He could imagine how the constant flow from above would pollute every back-eddy. The stench, in a few days, would become unbearable, and even the seep water undrinkable. If, indeed, any of the People were still alive in a few days.

  The daily massed charge still occurred, but the time now varied. Sometimes it was shortly after first light, sometimes when Sun Boy stood high overhead. Once it was when the last fading rays from Sun Boy’s torch threw long shadows across the plain. It appeared that the enemy realized the effectiveness of unpredictability.

  To add to the stress, a sentry was killed in the woods one night. The young man was struck down so quietly by the telltale war club that it was not until morning that his body was discovered.

  The event produced more sleepless nights. It was easy to imagine that everyone was individually under the observation of the Head Splitters. In the mind’s eye, it was easy to see an enemy face peering from every shadow. The People became more depressed, and a feeling of helplessness settled over the camp.

  26

  At last the day arrived when the actual charge came. The enemy had massed their wheeling, shouting ranks as usual, while the defenders watched, weapons at hand. The horsemen whirled and thundered in the noisy charge straight at the barricade. The high yipping falsetto of their war cry echoed across the plain.

  The front ranks of screaming warriors reached the point of bowshot range, where they always turned back. But today, they only increased speed and thundered on. Men of the People shouted and rushed toward the barricade.

  “Aiee,” Coyote muttered softly to Heads Off at his elbow, “today they come!”

  “The woods! Watch the woods!” Heads Off yelled. Several running warriors turned and sprinted toward the edge of the timber.

  But there was no attack there. The entire mass of yipping horsemen were massing the attack against the barricade. Heads Off watched, fascinated, as the front ranks neared the flimsy wall of brush.

  A big bay with a yelling warrior on his back pounded along in the lead. This would be the first animal to reach the jump. The horse tucked his forefeet neatly and cleared the brush at a low point. Suddenly, what should have been a graceful landing turned into a grotesque nightmare. One of the sharp stakes, still unseen by the attackers, plunged into the body of the big horse and he went down, the rider thrown violently over the animal’s head.

  In the space of the next heartbeat, elk-dogs all along the line of brush cleared the barricade and impaled themselves on the waiting spears. The yipping war cry of the Head Splitters was drowned in the screaming of stricken horses and men. Dying animals floundered and kicked, rolling on injured riders. In turn, the next wave, moving too rapidly to stop, cleared the jump, only to fall and tumble as they tripped over struggling, plunging wounded.

  Warriors rushed forward, shooting, spearing, clubbing the wounded enemy. Few of the attackers managed to strike a blow. Most who were still able clambered frantically across the damaged barrier to escape, followed by a hail of arrows. Heads Off saw a throwing stick whirl from the ranks of defenders, and bounce smartly off the head of a retreating warrior. The women were joining the fight. The Head Splitter somersaulted forward off the barrier and was lost to sight.

  Mounted Head Splitters who had managed to stop before their elk-dogs made the jump wheeled to pick up unhorsed comrades. In a few more moments the whole thing was over. The Head Splitters were in full retreat.

  Heads Off still stood numbly, half sick at the destruction his tactics had caused. His horseman’s instinct rebelled at the loss of fine stock. Still, first things must come first.

  “We did it!” he breathed, half to himself. “We stopped them.”

  A ragged cheer rose from the beleaguered camp. Some of the youngsters had to restrained from chasing after the retreating Head Splitters.

  Warriors moved along the barrier, making sure the fallen enemy presented no further threat. A few confused elk-dogs, saved from major injury by having fallen over the bodies of their stricken companions, wandered inside the brush wall, calling frantically. Several badly wounded animals were quickly destroyed.

  An old woman shuffled forward, butchering knife in hand.

  “The Head Splitters have brought us meat!” she cackled merrily. Her flint knife fell to work at the task of skinning.

  Others joined in the butchering, and in a short while the village appeared remarkably as if there had been a successful hunt. Strips of horse meat were strung on the drying racks, and even the skins were pegged out like those of buffalo.

  A celebration began to take shape for the evening hours. True, there was little to celebrate, and the respite was only temporary, but after all, it was a victory of sorts. The enemy had been stopped.

  The Head Splitters, for their part, had withdrawn to their camp, still within plain sight of the People. They seemed confused and enraged. Apparently the People’s defense had been a complete surprise. About midday, a group of three Head Splitters were seen to mount and ride away across the plain, finally disappearing in the west.

  “They go to tell the others,” Coyote stated simply.

  Realization had begun to sink home to Heads Off already. The Elk-dog band of the People was little better off than before. They still could not move from their present location, could not hunt, could do nothing but wait for the end.

  Again, he considered the possibility of an attack on the camp of the enemy war party. Now would be the time, with a sizable number of their warriors killed or wounded, and many of their elk-dogs dead.

  But, he reflected, the fighting status of his own band was even worse. They had only a handful of young warriors trained in the use of elk-dogs and lances. It would, of course, have to be a horseback attack. An encounter on foot would make them completely vulnerable as they approached the enemy across the open plain. The foot warriors would be cut to pieces by mounted enemy.

  Even with the Head Splitters in temporarily weakened condition, the People could not risk an attack. The enemy would soon bring reinforcements, each new warrior hot for revenge.

  Equally out of the question was the thought of attempting a move. The band was seldom more vulnerable than when on the move, even under the best of circumstances. They could be easily trapped in the open, encumbered by the women and children and all the miscellaneous baggage that represented the life of the People.

  Now, at weakened strength and with few elk-dogs, the band would be as helpless as an orphan calf before wolves.

  For a short while, Heads Off considered a move in desperation. If they left all their belongings, lodges, poles, everything, and took only food, they could move more rapidly. Everyone must take all the food he could carry.

  But if they were pinned down by the enemy in the open plain, they would be unable to move at all. There would be no way to replenish the thin supplies of food and water. They would have only increased their vulnerability. He discarded the plan, at least for the present. There were more pressing things to think about.

  The bodies of the enemy dead were dragged outside the barrier. Young men repaired and reinforced the damaged portions. There was no need to replace the sharpened spears which had been broken or torn away by the thrashing bodies of dying horses. They would no longer be effective. Now that the enemy was aware of this device, he would not try the same frontal attack again.

  Heads Off wondered idly where the next attack would come. Through the woods, probably.

  27

  The People rested well, tired from the hard day’s activity as well as the impromptu celebration and dance. There was no danger of attack from the disorganized enemy.

  Sun Boy’s first light revealed that the bodies of the enemy dead were gone. They had been carried away in the darkness. It was important to the Head Splitters to save their honor by recovering their dead. The bodies would be mourned, wrapped in robes with their most valued possessions, and placed on burial scaffolds much like those of the People.

  The Elk-dog band, meanwhile, continu
ed to exhibit a sense of triumph, almost of euphoria. The People had lost not a single life.

  They had more supplies than a day ago, and had dealt the enemy a telling blow. It was easy to become overly optimistic about their situation.

  Of course, tradition of the People lent itself to a sort of day-to-day existence. If there were no food today, well, maybe tomorrow. Heads Off had at times become very impatient with this cheerful optimism. In his own culture, it would have been considered childish, overly simplistic. He had once spoken to his wife about this general attitude.

  “But what is there to do?” Tall One seemed puzzled. “We do what we can, and be ready for whatever happens next. Something always does.”

  Yes, he had thought grimly, something always does, even if it is bad.

  It was impossible today, however, to remain glum and concerned. The mood of the People was contagious, happy with the victory, and Heads Off found himself smiling, laughing. It seemed not to matter that the band still could not move from this campsite. It was enough for now that they had food, and that in the distance could be seen the furious, frustrated enemy, milling aimlessly around their camp.

  The day was marked by uncommonly fine weather. It was one of the warm, earth-smelling days which occur in the Moon of Greening. Heads Off sought out his wife, and the two climbed part way up the hill behind the lodges, to sit in the warm rays of Sun Boy’s torch. Since the loss of their own lodge, privacy had been very difficult to achieve. They had missed not only the close physical intimacy, but the opportunity to share time together, to exchange thoughts. It was good, sometimes, to be in the warmth of the family in Coyote’s lodge, but it was very crowded. There were times when privacy was needed more than the companionship of the extended family.

  Heads Off saw, among the curling grasses of the previous season, a scattering of tiny ivory white flowers. He stepped over and picked a few of the blossoms, bringing them to the rock where they sat. Tall One held the tiny cluster close to her face.