The Elk-Dog Heritage

by Don Coldsmith

  “Remember, the signs are good!”

  He smiled and nodded, thinking to himself that of the signs he had seen, none appeared good. He turned Lolita back toward the meadow.

  A party of the enemy was lifting their fallen warriors and placing them on the backs of horses they had brought for the purpose. They were singing, he supposed their song of mourning, and his own warriors watched from a distance, fascinated.

  “You have told them what we think is to come?” he asked Long Elk.

  The other nodded. “We will be ready, Heads Off.”

  Bowmen were deploying in the scrubby growth of willows along the stream. The Elk-dog men would do without their support at the next charge. The enemy had now correctly determined the weakness of the People. They had simply not enough warriors, even with women and children helping, to defend in so many places at once.

  The last of the dead were retrieved, and the funeral party made its way back toward the enemy camp. Now the Head Splitters began to mount, milling around in the characteristic activity that was a preface to their charge. A few began their yipping falsetto war cry, as more horsemen joined the milling throng. If anything, despite the losses by the enemy in the two charges earlier, there seemed to be more horsemen than ever.

  A phrase of the death song flitted through the mind of Heads Off for a moment.

  “ … today is a good day to die.”

  He gripped his lance and resolved that the People would give the enemy a day to remember.

  As if to echo the phrase of the death song, a new group of horsemen now appeared silhouetted on the hilltop against the western sky. They were in position for a flanking attack when the defenders rode out to meet the charge.

  He wondered wryly what White Buffalo might say now, about his signs.

  33

  Tall One crouched in the dusky shadows of the woods and gripped her bow. The distant song of a bird establishing nesting territory lilted pleasantly in some hidden glade.

  The girl glanced continually around the half circle of her vision. Soon there would be shadowy figures of the enemy slipping among the trees. She strained to see, and could imagine movement in the thickets. Abruptly, she shook her head and became more alert to the actual situation. The nesting bird still sang undisturbed. There would be time to prepare, because they would be warned of any approach through the woods when the bird stopped his song.

  Tall One looked across the intervening bramble of berry bushes at the hiding place of Antelope Woman. Her friend smiled and signed a question.

  “Do you hear the bird?”

  Tall One nodded. “It will be our scout,” she signed back.

  She turned and relayed the information to Big Footed Woman, several paces to her left. The older woman had carefully arranged several heavy throwing sticks on the ground beside her.

  Tall One was almost amused. Her mother’s skills with the sticks was well-known. There had been much laughter over the way her throwing stick had knocked a Head Splitter off the top of the barricade during the first attack.

  Now, Tall One noticed for the first time, her mother had also laid out a stone war club. When the combat became too close for throwing, Big Footed Woman would turn to the hand weapon. Tall One had seen her demonstrate skill with that instrument, as well.

  She shuddered a little at the implications of this line of thought. The fighting would become close hand-to-hand conflict as their position of defense was overrun. Tall One would much prefer to use her bow and arrows at a distance. She had always been adept with the bow. As youngsters in the Rabbit Society, she and Antelope Woman had been as accomplished as any of the boys. Her friend could swim like a fish. Tall One herself had been proud of her ability to outrun most of the other children.

  Strange, she mused, that her thoughts today would turn to her childhood. So much had happened, so many changes. The coming of the hair-faced stranger, feared at first by the People, but now one of them. Their leader and her own husband, in fact. She smiled to herself. It always gave her a warm, good feeling to think of Heads Off. He was a strong, yet gentle and tender man. It had been heartbreaking to see the Elk-dog band of the People weakening and rotting from within under his leadership. Worst of all, it had not been his fault, she loyally told herself. Under most chiefs, they would have been overrun long ago, possibly even at the time of the Great Battle, several seasons back.

  Yes, he had given much to the People. The tribe now had had much food and many robes, with the change in hunting methods. They had become a respected force on the prairie since they learned to hunt with the elk-dog. How unfortunate that his own band, the one now called the Elk-dogs because of the great medicine of her husband, was to be the one to be lost. The other bands would continue to benefit for many lifetimes, but their own, the Elk-dogs, would be absent in the circle.

  Tall One glanced up at the leafy arch over them. The massive oaks had dropped their brown leaves, and were well-garmented with new growth. She had always liked the delicate colors of pink and pale green seen in the oaks at this time. In fact, this was one of her favorite moons of the year. She reveled in the warm south breezes, the damp earthy smell of the woods, and above all, the greening of the prairie. It was a good day.

  “A good day to die …”—the phrase from the death song thrust itself intrusively at her. Tall One had many regrets at this turn of events. Ordinarily, to die in such a situation would be no disgrace, if it were done proudly and well. But there were so many things to think of.

  Her small boys. If they were spared, they would be raised as Head Splitters. Eagle might be old enough to remember his proud heritage as one of the People, but Owl certainly could not.

  As for herself, Tall One had decided that she would not be taken alive. It was tempting to imagine that she might, even though captive, be able secretly to teach the children of the People their true heritage. She had rejected this. It would be more fitting for the wife of a great chief to die fighting the enemy. Then the older of the children in captivity could remember and teach the others this proud bit of their history. She must not allow the enemy to boast that they had shamed the great Heads Off by making his woman a slave-wife.

  Of course, they would pay dearly for her life, she thought. Both she and Antelope Woman were well supplied with arrows. When the infighting came too close, each had also a short buffalo spear. And even beyond that, the knife at her waist could be used with deadly skill.

  If the signs of the medicine man were wrong, and she was to accompany her husband this day to the Land of Shadows, she intended to make it an event to be remembered among the People. She must see how many of the enemy she could start on the journey to their own shadow-land.

  At the thought of the medicine man, she began to wonder again at the puzzling verdict he had pronounced. “The signs are good,” she had told her husband in parting. Tall One was not deluded into any false sense of optimism. Her reason told her that the situation was grim. Perhaps White Buffalo’s vision told him only that the signs were good for a day of honor.

  Yes, that must be it, she decided. The Elk-dog band would go out in an honorable defeat that would be told and retold for many generations. The council fires of both the People and the enemy Head Splitters would hear the tale of valor countless times.

  Satisfied as to the meaning of the medicine man’s prediction, Tall One settled back to wait. She was pleased, somehow. Now that she understood, she hoped that her own part in the honorable defeat would be deserving of a song. She must strike so many of the enemy that her own deeds would become legend. She counted her arrows again. It was her hope that each one would assist a Head Splitter on his shadowy journey.

  Behind her in the camp, she dimly heard a drum establish a cadence. White Buffalo would be in his lodge, chanting a song and casting his medicine stones.

  An elk-dog whinnied somewhere, and in the camp another answered. Then she began to hear, in the distance of the open prairie, the ragged sound that was designed to strike terror to the hea
rts of the defenders. At first it was an isolated staccato yip-yip-yip, then joined by others, the sound flowing together and gaining in strength and volume.

  She could imagine the attacking warriors swinging to the backs of their elk-dogs. Almost, she could feel the coming tremble of the earth under the hundreds of pounding hooves. Her heart rose in her throat as she thought of her husband and his thin line of Elk-dog warriors bracing to meet the charge. She must be worthy of him.

  Tall One gripped her bow tightly and peered expectantly through the shadows. A movement on the right caught her eye, and she turned to look at her friend. Antelope Woman was trying to attract her attention, pointing to the woods ahead.

  “The bird has stopped singing,” she signed.

  34

  Tall One rose to one knee and fitted an arrow to her bowstring. She hoped that no one in the ragged line of women, old men, and youths would give away their positions until necessary. With luck, each of the archers could account for at least one enemy before they were located.

  A squirrel began to scold in front of her position, out of sight in the woods. For an instant she wondered how the creature had survived the intense hunting pressure through the winter. A jay flared from the thicket, squawking in alarm.

  It seemed an endless length of time before she could see a figure slipping quietly from tree to tree. This man would be a scout, she knew, and it would be much better not to kill him until the main body of enemy warriors were within bowshot.

  She watched him carefully. He had not yet located any of the hidden defenders. His line of movement was taking him directly toward the hiding place of Big Footed Woman. Tall One knew that her mother would remain hidden until the last possible moment. She decided that if necessary she could quickly loose an arrow in that direction. She would watch the progress of the man, and let the others watch for the line of warriors that would be following him.

  The enemy was carrying a bow at ready, and from his waist dangled the ever-present stone war club. He stepped quietly, eyes shifting from side to side. Once Tall One thought he had looked directly at her, but she held very still and he moved on. In a few more paces he would step almost on top of Big Footed Woman. Tall One made ready to draw her bow.

  Suddenly the warrior seemed to see the half-hidden woman. He jumped as if he had been poked with a stick, and with a muffled exclamation swung his bow into position. It was only half drawn, however, when a heavy throwing stick seemed to leap at him.

  Big Footed Woman had apparently waited motionless with the weapon already drawn back to throw. When discovered, she flung the club forward with all her strength. As long and as thick as one’s arm, the heavy weapon whirled with an audible swishing sound across the few intervening paces. There was a loud crack as it struck the partly drawn bow, and the arrow was diverted harmlessly into the ground. The other end of the still whirling club struck the Head Splitter just above the left eye, and he stumbled to catch his balance. He fumbled for another arrow, then dropped his damaged bow and reached for the war club at his waist.

  Before he could free it from its thong, his opponent was upon him. The man was still fumbling for his weapon when another of the woman’s sticks, wielded as a club this time, thunked solidly against his head and he collapsed to the ground.

  Big Footed Woman snatched up the other throwing stick and darted back to concealment. As if this were a signal, the silence of the woods was broken by the yipping war cry of the attackers. A single arrow reached after the retreating woman, but rattled harmlessly into the bushes.

  Tall One turned to see a shifting, dodging line of warriors darting among the trees before her. She drew a quick arrow at a tall warrior and felt the disappointment of failure as the man dodged and the arrow sped harmlessly on. Seeking to take advantage of her weaponless moment, he sprinted forward. In doing so, he became careless, and probably never was aware that Antelope Woman’s was the arrow that felled him.

  Tall One loosed another shaft at an advancing warrior, and saw him drop to all fours to retreat, plucking from time to time at the feathered shaft through his shoulder.

  More and more of the yipping enemy surged forward. Arrows were whistling past her position, and Tall One returned the missiles as fast as she was able. There were several still figures on the ground now. One man, an arm pinned to his side by an arrow, staggered aimlessly about until he fell heavily.

  There was a sudden exclamation from Antelope Woman. Tall One glanced that way to see a long gash across the girl’s arm turning rapidly scarlet. A burly warrior was rushing forward. Tall One reached for an arrow, but not before the other girl was able to seize her spear. The momentum of the attacker, rather than the skill of the thrust, impaled the surprised Head Splitter. Tall One turned again to her own defense.

  In the distance, a woman screamed, and the yipping war cry of the enemy seemed everywhere. Dimly, only half-recognized in her thoughts, was the realization that behind her in the direction of the mounted attack, the din was mounting. Now she could hear and feel the earth tremble from the drumming of unseen hooves as the main charge thundered down.

  Nearby, a woman raised her voice in the death song.

  “The grass and the sky go on forever,

  But today is a good day to die.”

  Others were joining in the song. Tall One saw that she had only two arrows left, and it seemed that an endless number of the enemy were filtering through the woods. She loosed an arrow and reached for the last one, seeking a target.

  Her mind was with her husband, at the other point of attack. She realized that she would be able to tell by the sounds of the battle when the enemy charge struck. She listened as the thunder increased in volume and the yipping war cry from a hundred throats grew to a climax.

  She heard the steady beat of hooves falter and become ragged as the charge ended in what she knew was the clash. Mixed with the yipping of the enemy was the full-throated war cry of the People. It began in only a few throats, but swelled as other voices joined. Some distance to her left, an aging warrior sprang forward, bellowing the attack in a cracked voice.

  Now the yipping falsetto of the attacking horsemen was fading. It was replaced by a rising cry that she recognized as that of the People. From the direction of movement, it seemed … but aiee, that could not be … her husband and his small handful of warriors were attacking!

  The scattered enemy before the defenders in the woods had now stopped to listen, too. There were no more yipping cries, only startled questions tossed back and forth. A warrior turned to retreat, and Tall One loosed her last arrow. Others were retreating, stumbling in their haste, calling to each other.

  Some miracle had occurred! What was to have been the final charge and the end of the Elk-dog band, had somehow been turned around.

  White Buffalo had been right. The signs were good.

  35

  Heads Off had watched the charge form with detachment. It was not despair, but was beyond that. In his own mind, he realized later, he had already accepted the total annihilation of the Elk-dog band. Thus, as the attacking force formed up in the distance, he had become cold and objective. His detachment now allowed him to observe the enemy strategy and evaluate it critically.

  This time they were well organized. Warriors on foot, he knew, were moving into position for diversionary attacks from several quarters. It would be up to the bowmen along the stream, the women in the woods, to stop these attacks on their own. The entire force of the horsemen must be used to stem the main charge. And that, he realized, was a hopeless situation.

  So, in this, his last battle, he found it amusing in this strange detached way, to observe the enemy tactics. There was one maneuver that he did not quite understand, as the Head Splitters began to mount for the attack. He was puzzled by the horsemen on the hill. He had not noticed them before. In fact, they appeared to be newcomers, just arriving in time for the kill. There was a bit of confusion among them, he thought, some argument and gesturing.

  That was a po
or position for a flanking attack. He would have placed them across the creek to the east. The stream would slow their charge, but allow a diversionary attack on the weakest flank, and put them behind his poor group of defenders.

  The way the new group of horsemen were located, they would actually contribute little to the attack. When they came down from their hilltop they would encounter the fight from nearly the same angle as the main charge. Both would be funneled into the narrow bottleneck where the defenders would meet them. From the People’s standpoint, it would make little difference. Either of the enemy groups could probably overrun his handful of warriors.

  Still, he was puzzled by the behavior of the group on the hill. They seemed indecisive. There was more arguing and gesturing. Heads Off could not see them well at this distance, and was further handicapped by seeing them only as silhouettes against the bright western sky.

  Suddenly he realized the reason for the confusion. For some of it, at least. From where the newcomers stood, they could not be seen by the main camp of the Head Splitters. The shoulder of the hill would intrude on their line of sight. The main group might be completely oblivious to the presence of the others.

  Both groups of attackers, in fact, might be unaware of each other. This might account for the indecisiveness on the hill. They could be arguing whether to attack. Still, how could the newcomers fail to see that a battle was beginning? Perhaps they were unsure as to the identity of the attackers. The entire matter became more confusing.

  There was no time to contemplate further. The distant enemy were mounted now, the faint yipping war cries beginning to melt together into a chorus of sound designed to terrify. He knew that it would also serve as a signal for the warriors on foot to begin the attack. Then the charge began.

  The People had seen this spectacle so many times recently that it seemed commonplace. The Elk-dog warriors moved forward at a walk into line to meet the charge. Heads Off was pleased to see that none faltered. Somewhere at the far end of the line a warrior raised his voice in the death song. The young chief wished for a moment that they wouldn’t do that. It seemed so final. In reality, today was to be final, he realized, but still, he hated the admission.