The Elk-Dog Heritage

by Don Coldsmith

  The Head Splitters gained in momentum and volume, the high-pitched yip-yip of their attack becoming louder as they approached. There would be no doubt now in the minds of the horsemen on the hill as to the identity of the attackers.

  He kneed the gray mare into a trot and the others kept pace. The charging Head Splitters thundered past the shoulder of the hill and began to crowd into the narrowing portion of the meadow. From the corner of his eye, Heads Off was aware that the newcomers on the hill were beginning their charge too. They poured down the slope, lances at the ready, an efficient-appearing band of horsemen. Their charge would be a little late, he noted dully. The first rank of the attacking main force would be well past before the newcomers could join them.

  Now the new horsemen began their war cry as they came charging down the slope into the battle. It was a long moment before the reality sank home to Heads Off. The sound that came ringing down the hillside and reverberating against the trees behind him was not the yipping falsetto of the enemy, but the full-throated war cry of the People.

  Confused, he reined to a stop to evaluate the changing scene. The enemy charge faltered, too, and they began to mill around in indecision, colliding with each other in disorganized confusion. How could this be, the enemy obviously was thinking, that we are attacked in the middle of an attack? Some of the Head Splitters turned to meet the rush of the new assault, while others made as if to continue the charge. Still others continued to mill about in confusion.

  Heads Off was still watching in shocked disbelief. Where had this new force of attackers come from? They were obviously of the People, it could now be seen not only from their war cry, but from their dress and weapons. They charged from the slope and out onto the meadow. The element of surprise was the important factor, perhaps more so than the advantage of momentum and the blow to the unprotected flank of the enemy.

  In total number, the People were still outmanned, but were now in a position of tactical advantage. Just before the flanking attack struck, someone identified their new allies.

  “It is the Bloods!”

  “The Bloods!” The cry went up and down the line, and the People’s war cry rose from exultant throats. Heads Off could now plainly see the bright scarlet band across each forehead.

  Along the creek, bowmen echoed the full-throated yell. The enemy warriors on foot in the dogwood thickets along the stream saw an unpleasant situation shaping up and began to retreat. After a few parting shots, the bowmen of the People turned and began to run to join the fight in the meadow.

  Now the Head Splitters, still confused and disoriented, were being attacked almost simultaneously from both sides, by the Bowstrings from the creek and by the Bloods from the hillside.

  Quickly, Heads Off evaluated the rapidly changing scene. Given the terrain and the tactical situation as it now existed, there was only one possible course of action. He lifted his buffalo lance and shouted for the attention of his elk-dog warriors.

  The gray mare was plunging with excitement now. He turned her in the general direction of the battle and let her have her head. Without further signal Lolita leaped forward like a great cat, and her rider roared a yell that moved his warriors forward as one.

  “Charge!”

  36

  Before the Elk-dog warriors fully struck the battle, it was almost over. Head Splitters, unsure and bewildered, were in full retreat, scattering as they ran. Heads Off was unable to strike a single blow with his lance.

  It was to be hoped that his warriors would not pursue the retreating enemy out onto the prairie in unprotected positions. They seemed not inclined to do so. A few of the Bloods made a token charge after the retreating enemy, but then returned.

  A young Blood warrior approached him at a trot, and reined his horse to a stop. It was Red Dog.

  “Ah-koh, my chief.” He smiled with genuine respect. “It is a good day for a fight.”

  Heads Off sat, still dumbfounded at the rapid turn of events. He glanced again at the ridge above him and saw a solitary figure still outlined against the sky. There was something familiar about the way the man sat.

  “It is Badger.” Red Dog spoke at his elbow. “He would not come with us.”

  Heads Off nodded. The situation now began to make sense. The argument on the hill, the indecisiveness. Red Dog had assumed command and led the Bloods in their amazing charge, when Badger had refused. The Bloods had followed their new leader. Now Badger sat, rejected and angry, alone.

  Someone called out and pointed. A handful of the enemy were climbing the hill, intent on escape. Heads Off recognized the young chief whom he had noticed before. The man seemed to be the leader of the retreating group. He was choosing a good line of escape, seeking higher ground above the conflict. He was a good leader.

  At first it appeared that the Head Splitters were not aware of the horseman above them. At what point he was seen was unclear, and mattered little anyway. Their line of flight would bring them in direct contact. The People watched, fascinated.

  Above the scattered noise and confusion on the plain below, the intermittent cries and nickers of the elk-dogs, now rose another sound. The solitary figure on the hill was singing the death song of the People. Badger moved his big horse forward to meet the advancing enemy.

  The first of the Head Splitters was still off balance at the lip of the hill when Badger struck. The others scattered to climb to the flat top of the ridge at different points. Yet another felt the lance of the young Blood before the rest gained the hilltop. For a few heartbeats there was a flurry of activity as three horsemen closed at once on the lone warrior. Badger had stopped his song now, and fought in silence.

  The struggling figures tumbled to the ground for a moment, and then slowly began to rise. The watchers could not see how many remained on the ground, but recognized the young Head Splitter chief as he stepped forward to face them from the rim of the hill. Slowly he lifted a long buffalo lance as if to show it to the People below. Heads Off believed it to be Badger’s lance.

  With a last defiant yipping cry, the four remaining enemy swung to their horses and departed in the direction of their camp, leading the horses of their comrades and the big black that had been Badger’s.

  “He was a brave man.” Heads Off spoke solemnly to Red Dog.

  “Yes, my chief, but sometimes wrong.”

  Coyote trotted up, grinning through a layer of dust and sweat. He nodded to the young Blood warrior and spoke to the chief.

  “They go!” He pointed out onto the plain.

  Though Sun Boy’s torch was moving low in the west, the Head Splitters were breaking camp. The first of their column was already forming up to depart over the hill to the south. Even while the People watched, a lodge came down in frantic haste as the inhabitants prepared to retreat.

  A thought occurred to Heads Off.

  “Where are your women?” he asked Red Dog.

  “About two suns north.” The other pointed. “They are camped with some Growers. We came to trade, and the Growers told us of this.” He spread his hands in an all inclusive gesture around him. “The message had gone out to all the Head Splitters to be here for the kill.”

  The young man was silent a long moment, then spoke again, hesitantly, and with respect.

  “My chief, are we welcome in your camp?”

  Heads Off was startled. He had almost forgotten the edict of the Big Council. He was inexperienced in tribal custom, and did not know how matters would stand now.

  It was a shock to find the Bloods even alive. The enemy had apparently been so preoccupied with the destruction of the Elk-dog band that they had overlooked the small and vulnerable Blood Society, alone on the prairie.

  Now the status of the Bloods was in doubt. Their leader was dead, and it was against him that the Council had ruled. Still, the others had withdrawn from the tribe to follow him.

  There seemed little doubt as to their status with the Elk-dog band. There were warm greetings, shouts of recognition, and reaffirmatio
n of friendships. The women, children, and oldsters came straggling from the woods with joyful cries of reunion. A tearful mother embraced her son, whom she had given up for dead, and smudged the embarrassed warrior’s crimson paint.

  Heads Off had hurriedly taken leave of the activity in the meadow and loped to the woods to find Tall One. She came bounding toward him, nearly knocking him from his horse.

  “What happened, my husband? Someone said it is the Bloods?”

  He vaulted to the ground and gathered her in his arms.

  “The children are safe?”

  “Yes, the attack had just begun.”

  Here and there, a voice lifted in the lamenting wail of the song of mourning. The People were not without casualties. Still, that they had survived at all was such an unexpected triumph that the general atmosphere was one of jubilation.

  Children were brought from their hiding places, and scattered to find their own families. Crow Woman came to hand tiny Owl to his mother.

  “The signs were good!” she reminded Tall One with a wrinkled smile.

  The day was rapidly drawing to a close. Someone had already started a large fire in the center of the camp. There would be a victory celebration like none ever seen. But first, Heads Off realized, he must call a council.

  “Coyote!” he called.

  “Yes, my chief, you wish a council?” The little man had anticipated again.

  Heads Off nodded, and knew that the word was probably already spreading. Just now, he felt, he should go and speak to White Buffalo of his remarkable prediction.

  37

  As the time for the council drew near, the celebration was already starting. White Buffalo was strutting through the village, resplendent in his paint and finery. He was only too ready to accept the congratulations and to take credit for the astonishing turn of events.

  Heads Off wondered if the medicine man himself had actually believed his predictions. From an objective view, it had been a shrewd thing to do. If the band survived it would be remembered that the signs had been favorable, and the strength of White Buffalo’s medicine would gain in prestige. If not, it would hardly matter. The Elk-dog band of the People would be dead, along with all memory of the medicine man’s favorable prediction.

  The young chief had boundless admiration for the ability of the medicine man to manipulate each ensuing situation. Invariably, White Buffalo could maneuver so that his prestige was increased and his medicine made stronger.

  Heads Off had once asked his father-in-law about this. Coyote merely shrugged.

  “Who knows? White Buffalo is a good medicine man.”

  In this present instance, Heads Off strongly suspected that, having nothing to lose and all to gain, the old man had simply chosen to give the favorable report. Yet, he had seemed genuinely surprised when he cast the stones. Had that, too, been a part of the charade?

  No matter, the young man finally decided. Coyote had summed up the situation nicely.

  “White Buffalo is a good medicine man.”

  Perhaps the entire mystery was encompassed in that one observation. Heads Off shrugged to himself. No matter. He would never know.

  Long Elk, Standing Bird, and a few of the Bloods had now returned from a cautious scout of the area. The Head Splitters had really departed for good, it seemed. In their haste, the enemy had left most of the supplies in their abandoned camp. There was even one usable lodge, the scouting party reported, and many lodge poles.

  They had quickly gathered all the loose elk-dogs they could. Driving these animals and carrying what supplies of food they were able, the scouts returned just before dark, laughing and singing in triumph.

  Now, as the council began to gather, the pleasant smell of cooking fires drifted gently through the camp. There would be much feasting throughout the night. By tradition, the People were accustomed to hunger or plenty, depending on the outcome of the hunt. Now, with food available from the enemy’s stores, there was no question as to what should be done. It was time for a feast.

  But first, the council. Heads Off passed the pipe, taking care to see that it was offered to Red Dog, as leader of the Bloods. When it was returned after completion of the circle, and replaced in the pipe-case, the chief finally spoke.

  “It makes us happy to welcome the return of our brothers, the Bloods. We are one People again!”

  He had never heard such a murmur, almost a shout, of approval in council since he had joined the People. It was a few moments before he could be heard again.

  “Now,” he was finally able to continue, “we must make plans. It is nearly time for the Sun Dance.”

  More subdued, formal discussion now circled the council fire. There was much to do. There were the dead to care for. Most families wished to salvage lodge poles and whatever else offered from the enemy camp before preparing to travel.

  The second sun was chosen as time for departure. It was short notice, but the Elk-dog band would very possibly be late for the Sun Dance now.

  The Bloods, it was decided, would comb the area for more elk-dogs while the camp prepared to move. The scouts had seen many other animals on the brief foray just before dark, and they would be badly needed.

  As the council drew near a close, Red Dog requested permission to speak.

  “My chief,” he began, obviously tense, “our hearts are happy for our return, but what of the Big Council?”

  There was silence for a long moment, then a subdued whisper in the circle. Many of the People had not foreseen this issue.

  “Will we be allowed in the Big Council?”

  Now there was a murmur of discussion. The Elk-dog band, owing their lives to the Blood Society, had warmly welcomed them back. However, they now must come face-to-face with the ruling of the Big Council, which would supersede any decisions of individual bands.

  Heads Off had placed this problem out of his mind, hesitant to face such a thing. After all, these were the warriors who had defied the Council of Chiefs. They had, in fact, walked out of the Big Council, scorning all tribal authority. This was a far more delicate matter than it appeared.

  Individual arguments were starting around the periphery of the circle. Heads Off recognized Coyote’s request to speak.

  “My chief,” the little man spoke with a comic-serious expression, “this is a matter for the Big Council to decide. For now, I am hungry! Let us not use for argument time that could be spent in eating and dancing!”

  The council dissolved in good-natured laughter, and someone began to warm and tune a drum by the fire.

  It had been a shrewd way to postpone a knotty problem, Heads Off thought. Once again he admired Coyote’s skill in council. Even so, he knew the problem was only postponed. He was unsure what measures would be necessary, whether punishment would be forthcoming. He would have to discuss it with Coyote. Ultimately, he supposed, it would be up to the Big Council, what should be done with the Bloods.

  He was still concerned, but managed to forget in the excitement of the celebration. The People ate, danced until it seemed they must drop, then ate and rested and started again. Heads Off found that he was the recipient of much honor as leader of the Elk-dog band. He felt that his was no great credit, that mostly good fortune was involved. He looked over to where White Buffalo was accepting homage for his astute predictions and felt somewhat better.

  The Seven Hunters and the Real-star were growing pale in the pre-dawn sky before the People shuffled tiredly to their lodges.

  Tall One kissed her husband and drew him close, in the warm darkness under their sleeping robes.

  “I am very proud, my husband.”

  “But I did nothing.”

  “You have led the People to victory. All is good for the future.”

  In the deep shadows of the woods, kookooskoos, the great hunting owl, called to his mate.

  Heads Off snuggled closer and relaxed, more content than for many moons. White Buffalo had been right, he decided. The signs were good.

  38

&nbs
p; Sun Boy’s torch rose next morning on a band of weary but enthusiastic People. Preparations for departure were already under way. The wailing lament of the Mourning Song hovered over the camp, even as preparations proceeded. This was always a tense and jarring experience for Heads Off. The People said goodbye noisily, with wives and mothers of the deceased smearing themselves with dirt and ashes, sometimes continuing the wailing for several days. One young wife gashed her forearms deeply with her flint knife. Blood mingled with dust and tears as she wrapped the body of her husband for burial.

  Heads Off wandered through the camp, attempting to say a few words to each bereaved family. He felt clumsy about it, but it would be expected of him, as leader, that he acknowledge each loss in person.

  He encountered Frog Woman, the mother of Badger. The Bloods had brought the young man’s body from the hill, and the old woman was engaged in the mourning ritual. She had no one else, Heads Off reminded himself. Her husband was dead, and she existed only with the help of her brother’s family. How difficult this past year must have been for her. The young chief was embarrassed that he had not realized this before. What could one say?

  “I am sorry, Mother.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.

  The old woman gave no sign that she was even aware of his presence. She only continued to rock back and forth, wailing the Mourning Song. Heads Off walked slowly away, uncomfortable over the episode. But what could he have said or done?

  Coyote fell in beside him, observing his discomfiture.

  “It is good, Heads Off. Frog Woman only wishes to be alone.”

  Yes, Heads Off finally realized. The woman has not only lost her son, but she must know that he was nearly the cause of the death of the entire band. Hers was not a happy lot. Heads Off was almost tempted to turn back, to try to let her know that he understood, but decided against it.