Robson, Lucia St. Clair

by Ride the Wind

  “It’s Deep Water, Owl’s brother. They’re back!” Star Name was running as she shouted. Leaping rocks and gullies almost as gracefully as Smoke, her braids flopped in the wind as she ran to be the first to spread the word. Deep Water was coming to prepare for the war party’s return. Wanderer was back. Or he was dead.

  Without thinking, Naduah vaulted from the rock onto Wind’s back, catching the pony so off guard she forgot to protest, although she’d never been ridden before. She jumped a little, bringing both forefeet down as though stamping on a snake, then obeyed the knee pressure and firm hand on the rein.

  Suddenly the world looked totally different to Naduah. She had ridden before, but always old, broken-down horses, and always surrounded by women as they moved the camp. Now she was alone on the plain with the wind ruffling her half-wild pony’s black mane arid blowing her own hair. She could feel Wind’s muscles rippling between her thighs and knees, and she felt herself swaying with the rhythm of her horse’s gait. She felt beautiful and wise and powerful and swift.

  She wanted to kick Wind’s sides and tear off across the plain as fast and as far as she could go. To feel the wind whipping past her and to see the ground flowing away under her as though she were flying. To know that she was one with a beautiful, powerful animal. Instead, swept up in the drama that pervaded the People’s lives, she advanced slowly to meet her friend or mourn him.

  Wanderer watched her approach, her body loose and relaxed, her left hand resting on her thigh and holding the rope attached to Smoke’s neck. Smoke balked and skittered on the end of it, afraid of the mass of men and horses, the flapping streamers and fluttering feathers. Naduah’s right hand held the reins as though she’d been born to ride.

  Under the grim mask of black war paint he almost smiled, remembering the dirty, cringing urchin he had carried behind him four months ago. No, she had never been cringing. Not even then. There had always been a spark in her. He recalled her face when she thought he was going to slit her throat as she lay staked out. He hoped he would meet death as bravely.

  Her body was tanned a rich, honeyed brown that set off her hair. Hours under the flaming sun had bleached it flaxen, almost white, and it blew like cornsilk around her face. As she drew closer he could see her brilliant blue eyes, fringed with long, creamy lashes. Her eyebrows stood out like downy white feathers against her dark skin. He could tell she had grown, and she carried her new height with dignity.

  He would have to talk to Sunrise about her as soon as he could. In spite of decorum and the grim cargo he was carrying, a smile twitched across his face when he thought of the woman she would become. The smile looked grotesque because his face was painted totally black, signifying that he had taken his revenge and the debt was paid. Setting his mask back into its scowl, he raised his lance in greeting, the feathers and streamers waving from it, and waited for her.

  “Hi, haitsi.” She spoke in a loud, firm voice, unaffected by the fierceness of his look. “Hello, friend. My heart dances like the colt in spring to see my brother back safely.”

  Solemn as a little brave, she was. The future looked better all the time. And an antelope. What was she doing with an antelope? Did she know he was from the Quohadi, the Antelope Comanche? It was a very good omen. With an effort she made Wind understand how to turn and came alongside Wanderer. Together they rode toward camp, followed by the band of warriors, many of whom carried long black scalps on their shields.

  Deep Water, who had left as a herder, rode back with the warriors, a scalp blowing from his lance. Two of the men were bandaged, but Wanderer had brought them all back alive, as well as horses and pack animals loaded with goods. As she rode with him, his men ranged wild and fierce behind them, Naduah felt as though her heart would burst with pride.

  And from the large, soft leather bag tied to Night’s surcingle came a muffled, rattling sound. The bones were on their way home Wanderer would carry them with him until he could deliver them to his dead brother’s father far away on the Staked Plains.

  As they approached the village a throng ran out to greet them. Medicine Woman led the parade of singing women and girls. She carried a slender sapling, the scalp pole. Later the new scalps would be hung there for the dance, but for now most of them decorated the men’s lances and shields. Wanderer’s dangled from Night’s lower lip to show his disdain for the enemy. The whole village formed a huge procession filing through camp with singing and drumming, the dogs barking and boys whooping from the sidelines. Unsure what to do, Naduah followed along, feeling self-conscious, and looking for her family and friends in the mob.

  When they reached the other side of camp the warriors wheeled and headed back the way they had come, each turning off at his own lodge and handing his pony and weapons to his wife or sister or mother. Wanderer dismounted outside Pahayuca’s guest lodge. He gave Naduah Night’s reins. Then he handed her his lance and bow, quiver and shield. She sat dazed, cradling them all precariously in her small arms. She started to protest, but he smiled ever so slightly and nodded in the direction of her lodge. Then he disappeared into his tent.

  She was still sitting there, trying to balance the fourteen-foot lance, when Star Name ran up.

  “Naduah, he let you take care of his war gear!” Star Name yelled and ducked as Naduah swung around to face her, the lance curving in a lethal arc. “Watch out! Naduah, be careful with that.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it? Help me. Hold the shield for me.”

  Star Name shrank back in horror. “I can’t do that. He asked you to hold them.”

  “Why me?”

  “He has no mother or sister or wife here, silly.”

  “He only has about thirty women who would like to be his wife. Probably more than that if you counted the ones who aren’t eligible but would like to be anyway.” Naduah tilted the quiver while struggling to keep from poking someone’s eye out with the lance, and almost lost the arrows. Star Name put her hand up to catch them as they were sliding out.

  “What do I do with all this?” Naduah asked in despair.

  “I’ll lead Wind while you hold everything. Medicine Woman or Takes Down or Sunrise can tell you what to do.” They went slowly, weaving in and out, the lance wedged upright where it couldn’t do any damage.

  Star Name put the gear in Sunrise’s lodge. Then, with a wave, she skipped off to put on her good clothes. Naduah tethered Wind and Night, watering them and rubbing them with handfuls of sweet grass. Then she went looking for her family.

  She found Sunrise first, but she didn’t dare disturb him. Sunrise was helping Name Giver instruct Deep Water in the proper preparation of his first scalp. The three of them were smoking and offering up a prayer when she passed the lodge. Then they would carefully shave the flesh off the skin and stretch the circle of scalp over a willow hoop, sewing it from east to south to west to north and back to east, the same way they entered a lodge. The hair would be oiled and combed and attached to a pole and allowed to dry all day before being hung with the others on the scalp pole planted in the center of the dance area.

  Later it would be backed with red trade cloth and used to decorate a hunting shirt or lance. No one asked if the scalp had been taken from a man or a woman. It didn’t matter.

  Everyone in camp seemed delirious with delight. The old menwere reminiscing about their own youth. The younger ones rehearsed the stories of their coups, acting them out with ear-splitting sound effects. Naduah finally found her grandmother at the dance area set up in front of Wanderer’s lodge. Medicine Woman was directing the others as they tied deer hooves to the tall scalp pole so they would rattle when the pole was shaken.

  Wanderer was in front of his lodge, but she couldn’t get near him. He was surrounded by people congratulating him and receiving presents in return. Naduah gave up her search for Takes Down and went back to her own lodge.

  She found Takes Down there, busily sewing more elk’s teeth onto her own and her daughter’s dresses. Wanderer’s shield was set on a tr
ipod outside, facing the afternoon sun. His lance leaned against the tripod and the quiver hung from it, all of them gathering power from the sun’s rays. Takes Down held up Naduah’s newest dress, shaking it so the dozens of teeth clattered.

  “You’ll sound like a hundred rattles, Daughter.”

  Naduah smiled wanly. And the dress would weigh like them too. Now that the thrill of riding in with Wanderer and receiving his weapons had worn off, she felt let down and left out. At least the dress was beautiful. The rows and rows of sparkling white elk’s teeth stood out bright on the honey-brown suede.

  “Will I have to dance too?”

  “Only if you want to.” Takes Down had found her best brass bracelets and divided them, giving half to her daughter. Naduah had to hold her hands up to keep them from sliding off, or she would grip them as they dangled against her palms. She sat patiently while Takes Down painted her small face and chin with vermillion, ending with the red line down her part. She giggled as her mother painted the insides of her ears red too. It tickled. Finally Takes Down unbraided Naduah’s hair and carefully greased it.

  “Pay attention to how the painting is done so you can do it yourself next time.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Outside, it was becoming dark, and the drumming and singing and shouting were intensifying. Naduah squirmed, afraid she would miss something.. When Takes Down was finally finished, the child raced from the tent.

  “Slow down. You’ll ruin your dress if you fall.” Takes Down’s voice followed her as she ran. She slowed to a fast walk, clacking and jingling among the others hurrying toward the dance area.

  Pahayuca, Buffalo Piss, Sunrise, and the others of the council sat in a semicircle around the fire, their robes over their shoulders in spite of the heat. The pole with its grim foliage of scalps was _ planted in front of them. Lines of dancers, one of men and one of women, danced forward and back, facing each other. Then they formed a circle and moved around the scalp pole. The drums beat steadily and the flames leaped high, silhouetting the dancers.

  Suddenly there was a yell, and the dancers stopped. Deep Water rode up on his pony and drove his spear into the buffalo hide laid out at the opening of the semicircle. There was silence while Deep Water told of his coup, and the taking of his first scalp. Then he dismounted and joined his comrades, sitting outside the circle. A second man rode in and did likewise.

  “What are they doing?” Naduah leaned over and whispered into Takes Down’s red-lined ear.

  “They’re sorting out the coups. The men of the council will listen and decide who really earned each one. Only two coups can be counted on the same enemy.”

  “Can’t they tell by who has the scalp?”

  “No. It’s much braver to strike a live enemy with your coup stick than to take a scalp from a dead man. And even if a man kills an enemy, another can count coup on the same body. Battles are very confusing, and this is the only way to really know who earned what.”

  Naduah waited impatiently for Wanderer’s mm, sure he would be last. She was right. She jumped as there was a screech like fingernails across slate. Night careened into the firelight like a piece of the darkness gone berserk. The pony raced toward the circle as though he would trample those inside it. Naduah shrank back, half hiding behind Takes Down’s comforting bulk. Takes Down never flinched, but sat placidly as Night stopped just in time, almost in mid-stride, and Wanderer drove his lance into the lacerated hide. He sat on his war pony, both of them burnished by the flickering flames, and he told his story.

  As she listened, Naduah felt sick, yet curiously elated, the same feeling she had when she saw boys torturing humming birds. After the noise of the rattles and drums and applause for the others’ stories, his voice boomed in the stillness.

  “We found the Nermateka, the People Eaters. The ones who killed and desecrated our brother’s body. We swooped down on them as they slept, like a hawk on a helpless mouse. We captured them. We cut off their arms and legs. We cut out their tongues. We scalped them. But we didn’t kill them. We built up their own fires until they were high. We threw them onto it alive and danced around them laughing while they gabbled and moaned with their tongueless mouths. While the grease from their bodies crackled and melted and their skin split and the blood boiled in the heat, even as it ran from them. And so we avenged our brother.

  “We chased their women and children like prairie chickens through the brush. We speared them and mutilated them and left them for the ants. There was no one left to cry over their bones. We burned their village. We took everything they had. They will trouble us no more. Hear me, Brother Wolf and Brother Eagle and my brother who is dead. I am avenged. Suvate, it is finished.”

  But it wasn’t quite finished. The Tonkawa chief, Placido, and his small hunting party had returned while his village still smoldered. He rode silently through the ruins, stopping only to pick up a Comanche war arrow with three red lines painted around its shaft. He recognized it. He had taken some just like it from Wanderer. Weeping silently, Placido carefully put the arrow into his saddle bag. He rode out the other side of camp in search of the remains of his wife and children, so that he might bury them.

  CHAPTER 19

  Naduah shifted from one foot to the other. She scratched the welts on her arms and legs and flailed at the mosquitoes and horseflies that swarmed around her. The air she breathed was a stew of insects, thickened with dust, spiced with the heavy odor of horse dung, and heated to just below simmering. Not a leaf stirred. In fact, there were hardly any leaves to stir. Only cactus and a few stunted mesquites and cedars and some spindly post oaks. She wanted to sit down, but there wasn’t a rock big enough, and if there had been one it would have been too hot to touch. The ground was gravelly and thickly sown with thorny plants of one type or another. She remembered something her father had said: everything in Texas sticks, stings, or stinks. Worst of all, vanity had made her wear this sweaty dress rather than her loincloth.

  She began to regret bringing Wanderer out here to look at her filly. But he had asked to see her, and she couldn’t have said no. She had been so excited when he had mentioned it that she’d run home to tell Sunrise and Takes Down. Sunrise had looked up from his awl and sinew and glue stick and smiled at her.

  “That’s an honor, Daughter. Listen very carefully to what he says. He’s trained the best war pony I have ever known. He can tell you much.” Then he went back to work.

  But Wanderer wasn’t saying anything for her to listen to. And he wasn’t doing any training either. He was staring at Wind from all angles and running his hands over every part of her body. And he was ignoring Naduah even more than he ignored the mosquitoes. It was bad enough being ignored, but she couldn’t even be comfortable while he did it. She looked longingly at the tiny spot of shade under the small cedar bush, wishing she could crouch in it. But that would be undignified and probably disrespectful. She sighed and sucked on a peeled piece of prickly pear, coaxing moisture from it into her cottony mouth. He was inspecting the filly’s hindquarters now, having worked his way around from her eyes. Surely he would finish soon.

  No wonder he wasn’t married yet. He would probably ignore the most beautiful woman in the band the same way. Serve them right, she thought with more than a little malice. Any one of them would give her best outfit to be here alone with Wanderer. Much good it would do them. All they talked about was Wanderer. They practically fell over themselves, those women, and the girls too, trying to be chosen to dance with him. She thought of him dancing, his head above all the others, his hands on his partner’s waist, moving hypnotically in time to the beat of the drums.

  He danced gracefully, abstractedly, as though serenely unaware that the rest of the women were standing around and fretting, speculating as to whom he would court and marry. She thought he regarded women as all right to flirt with. She had seen him do it. But he forgot about them as soon as something important came up. Like a horse.

  “Women live to please men,” Takes Down once said, laughing.
“And men live to please themselves.”

  His examination of her pony began to make Naduah irritable and nervous. Would he sneer at Wind’s flaws? She loved that horse. She didn’t know what she’d do if he belittled her. No horse could pass an inspection like that, anyway. Not even Night. What if he disapproved of the care Naduah had given her? What if he said the filly wasn’t worth his time? She was starting to feel belligerent, anticipating his criticism. She didn’t care what he thought. She loved that filly and she’d train her herself. She’d make her the best around.

  “She’s a fine pony.” Naduah almost choked on the angry retort she had been rehearsing. Instead she blurted the first thing that came to mind.

  “How do you know?” It was the right thing to say.

  “Come here.” He beckoned to her and she trotted over, waving the cloud of insects away with one hand. Wind was becoming impatient and snorted at him, dancing and shaking her head.

  “Just a little longer, Wind.” He stroked her muzzle. “See the bulge in her forehead?” Naduah nodded. “That means she has a larger brain than the average horse. She’s intelligent.”

  I could have told you that, thought Naduah, but she held her tongue.

  “Her eyes are set far apart and are clear. Beware of a horse with puffy or inflamed lids, or eyes that have a bluish tint or a film over them. I’ll show you how to check a horse’s eyes for other defects later. Right now we’ll make this quick. I’ll just tell you the main things. Stand here in front of her and look at her chest. Her legs are straight and not too far apart. Her withers are narrow.” They walked around to the side.