by James Welch
White Man’s Dog had painted a white slash across the left shoulder of his horses. Now as he watched them mingle with the other animals he felt that his change of fortune was complete. Mik-api’s prayers in the sweat lodge for him had been answered. The yellow painted signs were strong, and he had been strong enough in his endeavor. He had not taken a buffalo-runner but he was satisfied. He would give Mik-api five of his horses.
At a signal from Eagle Ribs, the men started the herd.
“Oh, you are a no-good one! You run off with these other bad ones, you sneak off at night, you don’t tell your own mother, you would let her die with grief—” Double Strike Woman could not go on. She had been scolding her son for so long she had run out of words. “Oh!” she said, and sat down with a thud on a folded-up robe.
White Man’s Dog took a chance and lifted his head enough to look at his father. Rides-at-the-door had said very little since his son had returned. He leaned forward and pushed a stick into the fire. Without looking at White Man’s Dog he said, “Tell me about Yellow Kidney.”
And so White Man’s Dog told him what he knew about Yellow Kidney, that he had gone into the main camp and hadn’t been seen since.
“Was he a good leader?”
White Man’s Dog told him about the march south, the night walking, the signs, and finally the raid. He told his father how Yellow Kidney had instructed him in the horse-taking.
“You were successful. He must have instructed you well.”
“Everything worked out as he planned it.”
“And you led the horse-taking.”
“I was the oldest. I wanted to go into camp for a buffalo-runner but Yellow Kidney wanted me to lead the horse-taking.”
Rides-at-the-door sat back and looked at his son. “Tell me, is Yellow Kidney dead?”
White Man’s Dog was surprised at the directness of the question. He frowned. “Eagle Ribs saw him in his dream. He was on his way to the Sand Hills to join our long-ago people. I do not question this dream.”
Double Strike Woman leaned forward to push a kettle of water closer to the flame. “Oh, his poor wife,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears. “Poor, poor Heavy Shield Woman.”
White Man’s Dog felt the weight of that dreadful moment at the welcoming scene. Amid the confusion, the hugging and scolding, he had watched Eagle Ribs walk to the lodge of Heavy Shield Woman, who stood expectantly by the entrance with her two sons and daughter. She was Yellow Kidney’s only wife. As Eagle Ribs talked, she began to wail and cry, and then she fell to the earth and wouldn’t let her sons pick her up. He had watched his mother and three other women hurry over and finally manage to carry her into her lodge. Any feeling of triumph he might have had left him in that moment.
He looked at his father. “I do not question Eagle Rib’s dream —but I do not believe Yellow Kidney is dead.”
This time it was Rides-at-the-door who was surprised. He smiled. “I think you are right, my son. Although Yellow Kidney is younger, he and I have done much together. He is cunning and his medicine is powerful. I think he will return someday.” Rides-at-the-door pulled a twig from the fire and held it before him. He was considering what kind of man would return.
White Man’s Dog was remembering the young Crow he had killed and wondering if this was the time to tell his father. But he was not really thinking about his father. He looked at his hands and listened to his sobbing mother and decided the time was not right.
That night there was a feast in the lodge of Rides-at-the-door honoring the return of his son. The people sang and told stories —some even mocked White Man’s Dog—but the mood was not one of celebration. Striped Face and Kills-close-to-the-lake, the younger wives of Rides-at-the-door, served up the boss ribs, hump meat and back fat. Double Strike Woman, who usually oversaw such a feast, sat beside her son and periodically hugged him to her. White Man’s Dog, his face flushed, accepted the hugs and mocking praise. Several times he glanced at Kills-close-to-the-lake, but she avoided his eyes, serving the food with delicate determination. Later, during an honoring song, she slipped out of the lodge to get a kettle of water and White Man’s Dog felt his heart grow heavy. Then he felt the guilt that always accompanied this desire to have some small contact with his father’s wife. Double Strike Woman squeezed the back of his neck and he flinched and she hit him on the head. The people around them laughed and White Man’s Dog laughed too. But as he hugged his mother back he grew excited at the prospect, now that he had some wealth, of having his own lodge and his own woman. He would be his own man.
Heavy Shield Woman emerged from her lodge the third day after the return of the horse-takers and her cropped hair was ragged. She had slashed her arms and legs and painted her face with white ash. But she held herself erect as she carried the brass kettle to the river. The few people she met on the path stepped aside to let her pass. They did not speak but they looked at her expectantly. She passed as though they were not there but they did not take offense. They had seen grieving women often—many men did not return from the hunt, the horse-taking, the war trail. Even in camp there was the danger of being surprised by the enemy. So the people let her alone. They knew she would decide when to end her grief, when she would speak, when she would allow the people back into her life.
That night Heavy Shield Woman made a soup of dried sarvisberries and chunks of meat. She used some of the Napikwans’ white powder to thicken it. Red Paint, her daughter of sixteen winters, was both heartened and puzzled. Her mother hadn’t eaten for three days. She had ignored all the food the other women had brought to their lodge. Now she would have some of this soup. But it puzzled Red Paint that her mother would choose this time to make this soup. It was a special-occasion feast, one that Yellow Kidney loved above all else. And he wasn’t here to eat it.
Heavy Shield Woman dished up five bowls of the sarvisberry soup, one for her daughter, one each for her two sons and one for herself. She placed the other bowl beside her, where her husband usually sat. Then she ate and the children ate, Red Paint watching her mother’s ghostly face all the while. The soup was sweet and heavy and the boys ate three bowls apiece. Good Young Man was twelve, One Spot ten. They had mourned the loss of their father, sometimes loudly, sometimes silently, but now they were beginning to look on life again. One Spot slurped his soup down and belched. Heavy Shield Woman called to him, and he ran around the fire and sat down next to her. He pressed his knee into her lower leg, touching one of the swollen slash marks, and she winced. But she pulled him close and said, “Do you see that bowl of soup there?” All of the children looked. “That is for your father.” One Spot looked up into her eyes, but she pulled him close against her breast. Then she told them that their father was still alive; he had come to her in a dream, covered with old skins and rags. He had told her that he was wandering in the land of the Crows, that he could not return yet, that he could not return until Heavy Shield Woman agreed to perform a task which only the most virtuous of women could accomplish. He said he would be home in time to see her do this thing but he could not say exactly when. But she must set his food out for him each night so that he could keep up his strength.
“What is the task, Mother?” said Good Young Man. “I cannot tell you but you will learn soon. It is up to all the people to grant me the right to accomplish it. They will have to decide if I am fit.”
One Spot threw his arms around her neck. She felt his small body shake as he sobbed into her ear. “Bring him back, Mother, bring back our father,” he cried. “He is cold and alone out there. He needs to come and eat his soup.”
Red Paint and Good Young Man cried too. They cried because they were happy, and they cried for their own loneliness.
Heavy Shield Woman did not cry. She smiled at her children and thought of her husband and how it would be good again.
Around that time when Sun takes himself to the farthest point from the Pikuni land, Heavy Shield Woman called on Three Bears, chief of the Lone Eaters. He smoked and listened to her
request. He was a big rangy man with many war honors, but his sixty hard years had taken their toll. His knuckles were always swollen and painful when he moved his fingers. His back was stiff, and many times he had to be helped up. But his face, with its deep creases around the eyes and mouth, was strong and his eyes were bright. He listened and, when she was through talking, he questioned her keenly, asking her if she knew the seriousness and difficulty of her desire.
“I wish my man back. My children need their father. I have assisted twice as a coming-forward-to-the-tongues woman. With the help of my sisters and the older ones, I will carry out my duties correctly.”
“You are a brave woman, Heavy Shield Woman. It will be an arduous task. If you fail, you know what the others will say about you: that you are not a virtuous woman, that you bring dishonor not only to yourself but to the memory of Yellow Kidney and his people. But I see you wish to do this and so I will speak for you.”
Heavy Shield Woman had spoken strongly, but as she watched Three Bears burn a braid of sweet grass to purify them with its smoke, she couldn’t control the small shiver of apprehension that rippled up and down her spine. It was out in the open now and she wondered if she had the courage for it.
That night Three Bears gathered the older and middle-age warriors of the All Friends society—the Braves, the All Crazy Dogs, the Raven Carriers, the Dogs and Tails. He pointed the pipe in the four directions and to the Above Ones and Below Ones, then lit it and passed it around the circle to the right. It was returned to him from that direction because it could not be passed across the lodge entrance. He refilled it and passed it to his left. Then the old chief burned some sweet grass and watched the others smoke. At last, he spoke. “As you know, our Heavy Shield Woman carries with her a heavy burden of grief. Many in our camp think Yellow Kidney is dead and has gone to the Sand Hills to be with our long-ago people. If that is so, it is good. Yellow Kidney would have died a good death.” The pipe was handed back to Three Bears, and he laid it on an otter skin. “Others of us think he might be alive, that he is too hard for the Crows to kill. Some signs point to this. But if he is alive, he is wandering out there and is likely to die a miserable death—unless we do something.” Three Bears listened to the men murmur their assent. “Now our sister, Heavy Shield Woman, comes to me with a request to pass on to you. She appeals to your generosity and wisdom and to your loyalty to her husband, who is, as you know, a member of the All Crazy Dogs. You leave a space for him. That is good.” Several of the men looked to the folded robe between Young Bear Chief and Double Runner.
“We think he will return,” said Young Bear Chief.
“And so thinks Heavy Shield Woman. She has requested that should her man return safely to her, she be the Medicine Woman at the Sun Dance ceremony this summer.” Three Bears had expected an uproar over this revelation—most of the bands did not like to have a woman declare herself for this role; if she failed, it would bring dishonor on them and disfavor from Sun Chief himself—but he was not prepared for the silence which followed. Even Rides-at-the-door, the man Three Bears depended on most, sat quietly filling his short-pipe.
This reaction annoyed Three Bears. “I myself am for it, for I know that Heavy Shield Woman has led a virtuous life. I am satisfied with her request.”
“Has she the wealth for such an undertaking?” said one of the Raven Carriers.
“The raiders returned with thirty-five of the Crow horses for Yellow Kidney. She will have those, as well as the rest of his herd.”
“The Medicine Woman bundle comes high. The transfer will cost her many possessions. And too, she will have to acquire many blackhorn tongues. Since she can’t hunt, she will have to pay for them. She will be a poor woman when this is done.”
“We talk as though it is a sure thing that Yellow Kidney will return. Only a woman whose prayers are answered can sponsor the Sun Dance. If Yellow Kidney is dead, all this talk is without meaning.”
“It is as you say, Dull Knife. This is all up-in-the-air talk, but it would please and comfort this woman to know that we are behind her. If Yellow Kidney does not return by the first-thunder moon, we will know he is in the Sand Hills and will never come back. But we know he possessed strong war medicine and his success cannot be questioned. If anyone can escape from the Crows, it would be brave Yellow Kidney.”
“If Heavy Shield Woman takes this vow I am with her,” said Double Runner, Yellow Kidney’s best friend. “And if our brother returns safely I will contribute twenty blackhorn tongues. I say this to you.”
One by one the men voiced their support and help. Rides-at-the-door too signaled his agreement, but he did not speak as Three Bears and the others expected and wished. He was a wise man and his opinions were listened to with respect, but he simply smoked and thought of the man Yellow Kidney had been and the man who would return.
The men were silent for a time as they considered all that had gone on. Then Double Runner, filled with hope and joy, stood and acted out the time he and Yellow Kidney had made the three Liars smear blackhorn dung all over their bodies before they let them go. The men smoked and laughed, and then their women brought food.
6
WHITE MAN’S DOG had settled down into the routine of the winter camp but there were days when he longed to travel, to experience the excitement of entering enemy country. Sometimes he even thought of looking for Yellow Kidney. In some ways he felt responsible, at least partially so, for the horse-taker’s disappearance. When he slept he tried to will himself to dream about Yellow Kidney. Once he dreamed about Red Old Man’s Butte and the war lodge there, but Yellow Kidney was not in it. The country between the Two Medicine River and the Crow camp on the Bighorn was as vast as the sky, and to try to find one man, without a sign, would be impossible. And so he waited for a sign.
In the meantime, he hunted. Most of the blackhorn herds had gone south, but enough remained to keep the hunters busy. It was during this season that the hides were prime, and the big cows brought particularly high prices. Very few of the men possessed the many-shots gun, so they hunted with bows and arrows. Their muskets were unwieldy, sometimes they misfired, and always they had to stop the chase to reload. Every man was determined to pile up as many robes as he could in order to buy a many-shots gun the following spring. It was rumored that the traders were bringing wagonloads of the new guns.
Most of the time White Man’s Dog hunted with Rides-at-the-door and Running Fisher and a couple of his father’s friends. Because the many-shots gun was so scarce, not even Rides-at-the-door possessed one, but the hunting group had grown adept at surprising the blackhorns, riding down on them and among them and getting off their killing shots. They kept Double Strike Woman, Striped Face and Kills-close-to-the-lake busy tanning the hides. Once in a while, White Man’s Dog would go off by himself to hunt nearer the Backbone. On those occasions he spent much of his time staring off at the mountains. He longed to cross over them to see what he might encounter, but the high jagged peaks and deep snow frightened him. There were no blackhorns in that country, but there were many bighorns and long-legs. Once he came upon two long-legs who had locked antlers during a fight and were starving to death. Both animals were on their knees, their tongues hanging out of their mouths. Although they were large animals, their haunches had grown bony and their ribs stuck out. White Man’s Dog felt great pity for the once-proud bulls. He got down from his horse and walked up to them. They were too weak to lift their heads. He drove an arrow into each bull’s heart and soon their heads dropped and their eyes lost depth. He did not even think to dig out their canine teeth, which were much valued as decorations for dresses. As he climbed on his gray horse, he thought of next summer when these bulls would be just bones, their antlers still locked together. He went home without killing anything more that day.
But he killed many animals on his solitary hunts and he left many of them outside the lodge of Heavy Shield Woman. Sometimes he left a whole blackhorn there, for only the blackhorn could provide for all
the needs of a family. Although the women possessed kettles and steel knives, they still preferred to make spoons and dippers out of the horns of the blackhorn. They used the hair of the head and beard to make braided halters and bridles and soft-padded saddles. They used the hoofs to make rattles or glue, and the tails to swat flies. And they dressed the dehaired skins to make lodge covers and linings and clothes and winding cloths. Without the blackhorn, the Pikunis would be as sad as the little bigmouths who howled all night.
Because there were always dogs lurking about, White Man’s Dog would halloo the lodge and then turn and ride off. Once, Red Paint emerged before he could get away, and he stammered something about meat and galloped his horse clear out of camp. But he had looked on her, and afterward her vision came frequently. Sometimes when he imagined himself in his own lodge, her face would float across the fire from him. She was almost a woman and he didn’t know when this had happened. It seemed less than a moon ago she had been a skinny child helping her mother gather firewood or dig turnips; now, her eyes and mouth had begun to soften into those of a young woman and her dress seemed to ride more comfortably on her shoulders and hips. Except for that one time she had surprised him, White Man’s Dog observed her only from a distance. He had acted foolish and he knew she would scorn him.
