Nate stared at the knife in his hand. One stroke was all it would take. One stroke and he would do the Pawnees the biggest favor any white man had ever done them, maybe the biggest anyone had ever done them. Sadly he stuck the knife in his sheath.
“I must go spread the news,” White Calf signed. “When the people hear, no one will dare defy me again.” Sneering at the corpse, he hurried off.
Sometimes life was too ridiculous for words, Nate reflected. Rising, he took a breath and entered the lodge. The bear hide was near the entrance, where it must have dropped when the two Pawnees tangled. He carried it out, shook it vigorously, then walked behind the lodge and spread it out. Voices came to him on the wind. Criers were going around the village informing the Pawnees. He laid down on his back, wrapped the bear pelt around him, and tried to fall asleep.
The uproar made rest impossible. From every corner of the village the Pawnees flocked, many with torches, lighting up the area around the medicine man’s lodge as if it were daylight. Their chatter went on for hours.
Nate had almost drifted off when the ground crunched under the pressure of dozens of feet.
He cracked an eyelid to find Pawnees filing past. Gripping the pistol, he moved it to the edge of the hide, but there was no need to shoot. They weren’t there to exact revenge. They gazed on him with varying degrees of awe and fear, whispering amongst themselves. The parade went on and on.
It was past midnight when the village quieted. The body was removed. White Calf came to sign goodnight, so cheerful it was sickening, then went in.
Nate propped his head in his hands, listening to a bullfrog croak. A cough made him aware of two warriors nearby, guards posted by the medicine man to guarantee no one bothered him before morning.
Excitement kept Nate awake now, excitement born of the first glimmer of hope since the whirlwind. One thing was certain. No matter the outcome, he wasn’t coming back to the Pawnee village. He would regain his cherished freedom or he would perish, and if that was his fate he would die defying his captors with his last breath.
He would die as a man should.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Practically all tribes went on the warpath periodically. Some did so more often than others because warfare was the yardstick by which the warriors measured their manhood; they needed to count coup to advance in tribal standing. Other tribes raided for plunder, for horses and guns and whatnot. Others, pacifists by nature, resorted to war only to avenge an attack.
The tactics employed were the same: locate an enemy encampment, wait for a suitable moment, then swarm into the unsuspecting village slaughtering with savage abandon or sneak in and make off with the property desired.
There were two means of reaching enemy territory, either on foot or on horseback. Some tribes, like the Apaches and those allied in the
Blackfoot Confederacy, preferred the first way. Others, like the Pawnees, used either, depending on how far they had to travel.
On this raid they rode, with White Calf in the lead and the nineteen men who had volunteered to go along spread out in a ragged line in his wake. All wore breechcloths and moccasins and little else. Most had painted their bodies with splashes of red or yellow. Some had symbols on their chests or on their mounts. The most common was a likeness of the human hand, which stood for foes killed in personal combat. One brave was armed with a rifle, the rest with bows or lances. War clubs and tomahawks were abundant. And every man carried a knife.
Nate King rode alongside the medicine man, his bear hide tied behind him. It was midday, and they were six hours out from the village. Shimmering grassland surrounded them, broken by rare islands of trees. Antelope were a common sight, fleet animals that bounded off in prodigious leaps at speeds no horse could ever match. Hawks wheeled on the air currents. Every so often scattered groups of buffaloes were seen.
White Calf waxed eloquent, jawing on and on in his tongue. Nate noticed that the warriors hung on every word. Whether they did so out of loyalty or fear, he couldn’t say.
That evening the war party camped in a hollow. A small fire was built. The best hunters headed into the grass and returned an hour later with enough rabbits to fill everyone. Chunks of raw meat were impaled on arrows, then roasted over the open flames.
Nate tucked himself into his bear hide early and tried to sleep. Excitement made him restless. It was the middle of the night before he dozed off.
The next day was a repeat of the first, and the three days that followed. Toward the middle of the fifth afternoon the Pawnees bunched up and became markedly more vigilant.
“Are we close to Sioux country?” Nate asked the medicine man.
“We are in Sioux country,” White Calf revealed. “And we must stay alert in case we are seen. If an alarm is given, we would be set upon by every warrior in the tribe. They would hem us in, cut us off, rub us out.”
“Maybe we should travel at night.”
“That is taboo.”
Nor would most other Indians do it, thanks to a widespread superstitious dread of being killed after dark. Many tribes believed that the soul of a man slain at night would be unable to reach the next side. Others held that the bodies of such men were tainted, to be denied proper burial or whatever means was used to dispose of the dead.
“You should send out scouts,” Nate suggested.
“I know what to do,” White Calf signed in juvenile irritation. “I have led war parties before.” At barked orders from him, three warriors left the main group, one riding a quarter of a mile to the right, another an equal distance to the left, while the third rode well in advance.
“Satisfied?” White Calf signed.
Shortly thereafter they came on an Indian road. Well worn by frequent use, it was eight feet wide and ran from north to south. The Pawnees were quite agitated by the discovery since it meant they were in the heart of Sioux land. They immediately swung to the northwest, into the prairie, and shunned all roads from then on.
That night they made a cold camp. Nate sat with his back propped on his folded hide, watching the stars appear. By them he could orient his position in relation to the Yellowstone River.
White Calf strolled over, a blanket around his shoulders. Sitting, he signed, ‘‘Tomorrow we will reach the village. The morning after we strike. I pray your good medicine will bring us success.”
“I will do what I can but there is only so much I can do,” Nate signed. “I will be one against many.” He didn’t point out that he intended to slip away under cover of the battle and leave the Pawnees to fend for themselves. “You will be greatly outnumbered.”
“But we will have surprise on our side,” White Calf said, “and that is the same as having five times as many men. We will slay the Sioux as they run from their lodges, while they are still sluggish from sleep. If they cannot organize resistance they will bend before us like limbs bending in the wind, then break when the confusion is at its highest. In a panic they will try to run but we will rub them out as they do.”
Nate had never been one to regard wholesale slaughter as anything other than the rank butchery it was. “You will count many coup,” he signed noncommittally.
“And capture many horses, for the Sioux are rich in them,” White Calf signed greedily. “But that is not all.”
“What more?”
“There is one other thing we must do, and here your help would be of great benefit, Sky Walker. You can pick one without blemish, one who will be pleasing to Tirawa.”
“Pick a horse?”
“No. A maiden.”
An invisible icy finger scraped Nate’s spine. “You want me to select the next sacrifice?”
“If you would.” White Calf signed. “For who should know better than one sent by Tirawa how to please him?” The Pawnee chuckled. “There will be many beautiful women to choose from. While we keep the men occupied, find one who is perfect.” He smacked his lips like someone who had just tasted a delicious morsel. “If we rout the warriors and have the time, maybe
I will find a maiden for myself. I have not lived with a woman in eight or nine winters and it would be nice to have a warm, young body to keep me warm on cold nights.”
“And then you would sacrifice her when you tire of her?” Nate asked.
The medicine man acted indignant. “You test me, Sky Walker. We both know only pure maidens may be sacrificed or bad medicine will result. Our crops would wither, our river dry up, our young be born dead.” He idly rubbed his belly. “No, when I tire of them I offer to trade them off. Or, if they have given me trouble, I send them home.”
“Back across the prairie alone? That is the same as sending them to their deaths.”
“Life is hard.”
Disgusted, Nate unrolled the bear hide and spread it out as a signal he wanted privacy in order to sleep. But the medicine man had more on his mind.
“I have been meaning to ask, Sky Walker. How much longer will you remain among us?”
As short a time as possible, Nate reflected. Hands flowing, he signed, “I have not decided yet.”
The medicine man looked around, verifying none of the other warriors were paying attention. “It might be best if you were to return to the clouds before we return to our village.”
“You want me to go?”
“I always knew you would not stay with us forever.” White Calf’s mouth curled in an odd sort of smile. “You have other tribes to visit, other medicine men to honor with your presence.”
Sarcasm dripped from every gesture. Nate, confused, signed, “You will let me go? Just like that?”
“Were you to stay, mighty one, sooner or later you might make a mistake, might forget yourself and do something that would give the people cause to believe you are less than I have claimed. And if they should decide you are not a sky walker, but instead are an ordinary lowly white man, they would tear both of us apart with their bare hands for daring to deceive them.”
Nate was flabbergasted. Was the medicine man saying he’d known all along Nate was a trapper? How could that be, unless White Calf had been putting on an act the whole time? If so, it meant the Pawnee had been using him in ways he hadn’t even imagined. Suddenly he saw White Calf in a whole new, chilling, light, saw him as deviltry made flesh. He’d already learned the medicine man would do anything to gain more power over the Pawnees, but this newest revelation exposed the full wicked extent of White Calf’s sadistic, conniving, cruel nature.
“I see the look in your eyes,” White Calf signed. “I can guess your questions.” He bent forward. “Right this moment you want to know my innermost thoughts more than you have ever wanted to know anything. You want me to speak with a straight tongue, to confirm your suspicions. But I will not, great Sky Walker. You must decide for your own self whether I am more or less than I have seemed. You must decide whether I am the sly simpleton you have taken me for or the man who will one day lead the Pawnees to the greatness they deserve.”
With that, the medicine man stood and rejoined his fellows, leaving Nate to piece together the truth from the events as they had unfolded. He remembered how fearful White Calf had acted at their first meeting, and then later how White Calf abruptly changed and treated him so special. Had that been a sham, a ruse on White Calf’s part to make him think the medicine man really did regard him as a being from above the clouds? Had White Calf used him to bring the power struggle with Mole On The Nose and Red Rock to a head?
Had White Calf set him up as bait, knowing Red Rock would try to prove he wasn’t a sky walker?
There were so many unanswered aspects, Nate couldn’t decide for sure. He couldn’t see any one person being so deviously malevolent. And yet, there was no denying there was more to the medicine man than met the eye.
Something else occurred to Nate. If White Calf had used him to trick the whole tribe, the medicine man wouldn’t care for anyone else to find out. White Calf might not be content to let him go his own way. Dead men, after all, kept secrets much better than live ones.
Nate draped a hand on the flintlock. It had always puzzled him that White Calf let him keep his weapons. Maybe now he knew why. The medicine man had wanted him to be able to defend himself since it wouldn’t do for the mighty Sky Walker to be slain by mere warriors.
A combination of unease sparked by the new insight into White Calf and excitement over being so close to regaining his freedom made it difficult for Nate to drift off. His sleep was so short, he hardly felt rested when he was awakened by several of the Pawnees moving about before daylight.
This day was different from the rest. The warriors were as alert as prowling wolves, their weapons always in hand. A river appeared to the northwest. The war party promptly hastened into the undergrowth bordering it. They stuck to the heaviest cover from then on, stopping once early in the afternoon to water their mounts at a sheltered inlet.
It was here that Nate remembered to pose a question he had been meaning to ask since leaving the Pawnee village. “You told me we are raiding the Sioux,” he signed to the medicine man, “but you did not say which branch of the Sioux it will be. Is it the Oglalas? The Brules? The Hunkpapas?”
“We raid the Minneconjous.”
Soon the Pawnees were strung out in single file, advancing as soundlessly as they could. Nate rode third from the front, behind White Calf. Sunset was still an hour off when the lead rider reined up, and a second later Nate found why. He heard the merry titter of female laughter, the yell of children playing.
A single scout was sent ahead on foot. On his return he reported they were half a mile from a huge Minneconjou camp. A hundred yards from the heavy brush in which they hid was a pool in which the Minneconjou women washed clothes and youngsters swam.
White Calf issued whispered commands. The horses were herded into a makeshift pen formed by a wall of branches. The warriors crept to where they could see the pool. Beyond, scores of lodges had been set up in traditional order. There were not many Minneconjou warriors in evidence, leading Nate to wonder if most were off on a raid or out hunting buffalo.
It so happened that a small stream fed into the river a few dozen yards from where the Pawnees were concealed. The mouth of the stream was situated at such an angle from the village that it couldn’t be seen, affording a degree of privacy, and in the waist-deep water Minneconjou women were accustomed to bathing.
The Pawnees gazed hungrily on the seven young women disporting themselves in the water. Naked bodies glistening, the women dived and swam and splashed one another, all the while chattering endlessly on. Nate saw White Calf eye the youngest of the bunch, then lick his lips.
The sun dipped to the horizon. The women dressed, joining an exodus into the village. Naturally the children dallied, wringing every last second of fun they could out of the day.
During the quiet twilight period a large group of warriors galloped home from the north. The Minneconjous scattered to their lodges, from which wafted cooking smoke mixed with the tantalizing odors of food. Nate’s stomach grumbled but would get no relief. That night the Pawnees went hungry.
The war party slept in relays, with a third of the men slumbering at a time. Nate was the only one allowed to sleep the whole night through, but he couldn’t. He tried and tried, finally giving up and stealthily moving to the picket line. As luck would have it, he squeezed between a pair of tall bushes and came on the medicine man.
“You cannot find rest either, Sky Walker?” White Calf signed, then continued before Nate could answer. “I do not blame you. Neither can I. Tomorrow is the day that will shape my whole future, the day I have been working toward for a very long time. And it is an important day for you, as well.”
Nate stared at the darkened teepees.
“Have you ever gambled, Sky Walker?”
“Yes,” Nate answered the unexpected query.
“Ever played with dice?”
“Yes,” Nate signed again. The Shoshones had a game they were inordinately fond of that involved the use of buffalo-bone dice. So, he figured, did the Pawnees.
“Have you ever thought that our lives are a lot like games of chance? We pin our hopes on a roll of the dice, never knowing what fate will bring us. Yet the uncertainty never stops us from risking all we have in the hope of gaining more.” White Calf paused. “Why is that?”
“There is no joy without effort, no excitement without risk.”
“Well said. But there is more to it, I think. We are all gamblers at heart, whether we admit so or not, for life itself is a gamble, the biggest one we take.” White Calf nodded at the lodges. “Some of us will die there. That is certain. Yet knowing this does not stop us from carrying out our attack.”
“Because in our hearts most of us do not think we can die,” Nate signed. “We believe death always happens to others, never to ourselves.”
“Do you believe this, Sky Walker?”
“No. Our time may come at any moment. None of us is favored more by fate than others.”
“You are wrong. Tirawa has favorites. I am living proof, since I am one.” White Calf indicated the murky mouth of the stream. “That reminds me. Did you see those women bathing? The young one is my favorite. Should you see her tomorrow, take her captive.”
“Is she to be your wife or a sacrifice?”
“My wife. Like Tirawa, I prefer women who have never laid with men, and she looks young enough to be a virgin.” He indulged in his habit of smacking his lips. “I will drink her dry.”
The medicine man left to make sure those who were supposed to be awake weren’t dozing. Nate leaned against a tree and checked his pistol. He took a sharpening stone from his possibles bag to hone his knife and tomahawk, trying not to think of the uses they would be put to before the new day was done.
An hour before sunrise the Pawnees mounted their horses, then crossed the river at its narrowest, shallowest point. They rode to the east, taking cover in a dry wash that opened out fifty feet from the lodges. Now the sun would be at their backs when they attacked, giving them an extra slight advantage.
Wilderness Giant Edition 3 Page 25
