He turned and began walking, following the very obvious imprint of the heavy wagons. Then he stopped and looked back for a moment at the hated canyon. He intended never to enter it again. He raised his arms and let out a Cheyenne war cry. He was alive. Maheo was good! He unbraided his hair and shook it out, letting it hang long and straight. To wear it so made him feel stronger—wilder and more vicious. He would need all these feelings when he met up with the Mexicans!
The night was a bright one, and Dancing Moon laughed as, holding up Zeke’s bow and arrows, she danced around the circle of men. One of the men held Zeke’s rifle in the air.
“Death has come to the great Cheyenne warrior!” Dancing Moon sang. “Death to the great Cheyenne lover! No more will he take the white woman to himself.”
The men laughed loudly and guzzled down some of the whiskey from the wagons. Dancing Moon drank also, while Zeke watched from the shadows. They were making it easy for him. All he had to do was wait until the celebrating was over and they were drunk. Then they would be weak and clumsy.
His blood pulsed with the heat of joyous vengeance! These men would not live to fight the Mexican War, and the guns would never reach their destination. Cheyenne Zeke would see to it that Jonathan Mack’s plan failed. Before Mack’s treachery he would not have cared who got the rifles. Now he wanted no one to get them, and he wanted Dancing Moon to suffer! It was likely that someone had already headed north to Santa Fe to pay Mack for the guns, dynamite, and whiskey. But when Jonathan Mack saw Cheyenne Zeke alive, he would not be so happy about his profits. Zeke smiled as the thought of how the little, white-handed man would become whiter when he saw that the driver he had hired and tricked was still alive!
The Mexicans continued drinking well into the night, while Zeke sat in the shadows praying to Maheo for the skill to do his job properly. Dancing Moon also drank and danced, stripping off her clothing and gyrating suggestively in front of the men before she finally fell down and let them all have turns at her. After heated intercourse with the woman, each man fell into a deep sleep from the liquor and the exhaustion of trying to please Dancing Moon. At last, in the wee morning hours they all slept peacefully, unaware that a tall, dark shadow, gripping a wicked knife, crept close to them.
One by one Zeke plunged the ugly blade into their hearts, feeling not one ounce of regret. For with every thrust of the blade, he thought about the horror of the snake pit, and what it would have been like if he had fallen to the bottom of it. The sight of Grimey’s body being picked over by buzzards still tore at his guts, giving him all the incentive he needed to seek vengeance.
One man sensed impending danger even in his drunken sleep, and he sat up to see Zeke plunge his blade into the man beside him and rip downward. The other Mexican’s eyes bulged with horror. But as he started to cry out, the blade slashed through his own throat, and his cry was cut off. However, he had aroused Dancing Moon.’ She stirred and rubbed her eyes.
“Hulio?” she called out. Then she gasped as someone suddenly grasped her long, black, tangled hair in a tight fist and jerked back her head. The big blade, damp with blood, was pressed against her throat, and Dancing Moon’s horrified eyes looked into the face of Cheyenne Zeke. To her, his gritted teeth were like the white fangs of a devil spirit as she felt his hot breath near her face.
“Yes, it is really I, my filthy, whoring bitch!” he hissed. “Aren’t you glad to see your Cheyenne lover?”
“Zeke!” she squeaked.
“You should have made certain I was dead before you threw me in that pit!” he growled at her. “You underestimated my power!” He moved and slashed downward, cutting along the side of one of her breasts, and she screamed. “You will find no help, my brown-skinned whore! They are all dead!” He jerked her up and pulled her by the hair of the head to a nearby cottonwood tree. She struggled in vain as he lashed her wrists together with rope he had stolen from one of the Mexican’s horses. He pulled the rope painfully tight and then tied it around the tree so that she lay flat on her back with her arms over her head tied to the tree trunk. “You can lie here and think about the pleasant things I will do to you.” Zeke sneered at her. “First I want you to watch what I will do with the precious smuggled guns and that valuable dynamite.”
He left her side, and for the next few moments she could hear him ripping boards off the wagons. Then she heard shuffling noises, and a few minutes later he walked back to her, carrying his own rifle and his bow and arrows.
“Say farewell to your precious cargo,” he told her. He took aim with the rifle and fired, and in the next instant one of the wagons exploded, sending whiskey bottles and rifles and piano parts high into the sky. Zeke shouted a blood curdling war cry at the wonderful sight of the destroyed and burning wagon. Then he took aim again, firing at the second wagon; a bright ball of orange temporarily lit up the desert.
Dancing Moon watched in horror and began struggling at her ropes. Zeke laughed like a crazy man; then he straddled her and knelt down, planting a knee in her stomach. He grabbed her behind the neck and flashed his big blade in the moonlight.
“I might have been able to forgive you for all of it, Dancing Moon,” he snarled at her. “All of the things you have just done to me. But I cannot forgive you for attacking my woman and trying to kill her! Because of you my woman lost a baby and nearly lost her life! That I cannot forgive!”
“Please don’t kill me, Zeke!” she squeaked.
He only grinned. “You are not so strong and sure now, huh?” He pressed the blade against her face. “I am going to give you a chance, whoring bitch! I have a plan! Maybe you will live. Maybe you will die. But either way, you will bear the mark of the man who did this to you!”
With that he held her jaw in the painfully tight grip of the strong fingers of his left hand while he deftly cut into the skin of her left cheek. He carved a Z deeply enough so that it would leave a scar. She screamed in horror through her clamped jaw, but Zeke’s eyes gleamed only with vengeance and bore no sign of remorse. He jerked her head sideways, and carved another Z into her other cheek.
When he let go of her jaw, she cried out in horror, great sobs bubbling up from her throat. “No! No! No!” she groaned. “You have scarred me!”
“You have scarred yourself, bitch!” he replied. He wiped the knife on her hair, then got up from her and shoved the big blade into its sheath. “Never before have I wanted to harm a woman! My white blood kept me from killing and capturing other squaws when we raided the Crow and the Pawnee. Now, for the first time, my Indian blood tells me there is no dishonor in harming a woman, for this woman is a walking demon, whose mind is sick with evil spirits and wickedness! You are not human, Dancing Moon. Somehow the spirits of the world below have entered your soul and claimed you! Now you shall suffer the same horror you caused me to suffer!”
He walked away for a moment and then returned with a leather bag. “I have been waiting at this place for hours,” he told her. “You were all so drunk you did not see me steal a canteen to quench my thirst. And you did not see me steal this leather bag which I needed to capture something I had seen. When I saw this thing, I knew how I would punish you for what you did to me!”
“No, Zeke!” she cried out, unsure of what he meant but certain it was something horrible. She could feel blood from her cheeks running into her ears, and she wondered how ugly she would be if she ever survived this night.
“Oh, yes, Arapaho lover!” he replied. “You are the first Arapaho I have ever called enemy! Now I advise you that if you want to live, you must lie very still, Dancing Moon. You must not squirm. You must not scream. Only lie still and think about all the evil you have committed!”
He opened the end of the leather pouch and laid the sack on her stomach; then he moved back out of the way. Dancing Moon’s eyes widened with horror as a rattle snake slowly slithered out of the bag. Its head moved up near her throat, and she could feel its tongue flicking against her chin. Never before had Cheyenne Zeke seen such horror in an
yone’s eyes. It pleased him. He turned and walked away, feeling no remorse. He saddled one of the Mexican’s horses and rode north, to Santa Fe, where he would pay a visit to Jonathan Mack. He left behind him the still-burning wagons and their destroyed cargo … and an Arapaho woman whose cheeks bore the letter Z and who lay tied to a tree with a rattle snake on her naked belly. He did not look back, but only smiled harshly.
Although nervous and excited, Abbie sat still as Gentle Woman patiently painted a small horse on one of her cheeks. On Abbie’s other cheek she had painted an eagle. Both were representative of Zeke, and they were Abbie’s choice of paintings for the Sun Dance ceremony. The ceremony would be sponsored by Falling Rock, father of little Magpie, who had been saved by Abbie from the deep waters. In honor of the little girl’s life, Falling Rock had agreed to be responsible for the sacred Medicine Bundle, the fetish of the Sun Dance, and his wife, Tall Grass Woman, would help the ceremonial grandfather, Running Horse, complete the many preparations for the final, climactic ceremony. Abbie would be allowed to witness the ritual because she was now the honored daughter of Deer Slayer, and a sister to Swift Arrow. And she had proven her bravery.
“Now I will tell you, daughter,” Gentle Woman said quietly to Abbie inside her tipi. Abbie closed her eyes and held very still. “For now I think you are ready to understand. Already you have seen them cut the Sun Dance pole and attach the Medicine Bundle to the forks of the pole. For many days you have watched us prepare for this ritual, seen the constant dancing, the building of the ceremonial lodge. You have heard the many celebration songs and seen the beautiful clothing our people will wear, and the way they are painted, as I am painting you now. This is a great honor, Abigail, that the priests, even the Sioux priests, have allowed you to be painted.”
“I feel like I’ve graduated or something,” Abbie replied, trying not to move her lips too much. “Like back home, when we get a good grade in school.”
Gentle Woman smiled. “Yes. It is a good feeling. But so far you have seen only the dancing and singing and celebrating and eating. It has all been beautiful to watch. But in three days, Abigail, you will watch something that is not so beautiful—something that only one who thinks with the heart of an Indian can understand. Our young men, those who are the bravest, will submit themselves to terrible pain, to prove to the spirits their strength and courage, and to ask the spirits for a vision that will tell them their purpose in life. Some will discover they are to be Shamans. Some will receive a sign that will show them the animal from which they will forever get their power. Some will change their names because of their visions. But whatever the vision, whatever the pain, it is for a purpose, Abigail. For the Great Spirit cherishes those who are the bravest, and protects those who show great courage and strength. The spirits of the earth and sky give us all that we need to survive, Abigail, and in return we make sacrifices to them. The sacrifice the young men make at the Sun Dance is the greatest sacrifice, and because of it the whole tribe is renewed. Our faith and our blessings are restored.”
“Swift Arrow said that Red Eagle will begin fasting today,” Abbie told her. “Does that mean he can’t eat at all today?”
Gentle Woman painted white dots on the rear of the little horse on Abbie’s cheek because it represented Zeke’s Appaloosas. “Not just one day, Abigail. Red Eagle and the other participants will not eat or drink for the next three days. They will dance around the Sun Dance pole inside the sacred lodge—dance and fast—until they reach a kind of trance, wherein they do not know what day it is or who is around them. We pray that Red Eagle’s heart is sincere and he is not just showing off for his bride to be, Yellow Moon. For if his heart is sincere, the spirits will help him stop drinking the evil firewater that he now seems to depend on just to get up in the morning. That is very bad.”
She put down the small willow stick she had been using to paint Abbie’s face and washed it in water.
“You must understand that most of the young men are sincere in this and know what to expect; this is a very religious and serious occasion,” the woman continued. “A few will go through with the ceremony just to show off to their women, or for other reasons that are not sincere. Swift Arrow was sincere, and is a religious, disciplined man. Zeke was sincere. It was harder for Zeke, because he had white blood in him and had lived with the whites, and it took great concentration for him to put aside all white feelings and beliefs and to assure the spirits that his heart was all Cheyenne. But he did it, and I was so very proud of him! Next year, Black Elk wishes to participate. He is my youngest, my baby.” Her eyes teared. “When he takes part in the ceremony, all my sons will be men.”
She dipped the willow brush into red paint made from the stain of berries and took Abbie’s wrist. “Hold out your arm and I will paint flowers on it. The colors are so beautiful on you, Abigail, because of your white skin. You will be the prettiest girl at the ceremony … and you will have the honor of being one of the very few whites who have ever witnessed this ritual.”
Abbie blushed and watched the woman’s expert hands begin to form roses on her forearm. “You don’t think Red Eagle is sincere, Gentle Woman?” she asked.
The woman sighed. “I am not certain. If he turns back to the drinking after the ceremony, we will know he was not sincere. What frightens me most is that some of the other warriors have taken to the whiskey. They think it makes them more powerful, but Swift Arrow and others feel it is an evil spirit that robs a man of his wits and strength. I believe this also.”
“So does Zeke.” Abbie smiled. “Not that he doesn’t like to drink whiskey!” she added. They both laughed. “Zeke seems to know when to stop,” Abbie finished.
“This is good. I have seen some of our braves, including my own son, drink until they fall down; the next morning they are sick and suffer the terrible pain in the head. Then, only a few hours later, they drink again. This is bad, Abigail.”
Abbie sighed. “Perhaps the ritual will help Red Eagle.”
“I pray it will. But we are not talking just of Red Eagle, and I do not want to stray from the beauty and purpose of this solemn occasion. I want you to be prepared, Abigail, to go into the ceremonial lodge with an understanding heart and to realize this is a sacrifice to the spirits, for all they have done for us. To honor them is to know we shall all one day walk the Ekutsihimmiyo across the sky to heaven.”
Abbie took hold of the woman’s hand and pulled her arm away for a moment. “What will happen, Gentle Woman? I must know.”
The woman put the brush down and became very solemn. “The young men will fast, as I said,” she replied. “And they will dance. On the third day, the flesh of their breasts and back will be pierced with skewers, onto which are tied rawhide strips that are attached to the supports of the Sun Dance lodge. Then the men are lifted until their toes barely touch the ground, so that the skewers pull at their flesh. Weights, like buffalo skulls and gourds, are tied to their ankles to cause even more strain. Their bodies already will have been painted throughout the three days of fasting with yellow, pink, white, and black in the design of the sun, moon, flowers, and plants, in honor of nature’s blessings. When their bodies are lifted, the men blow on bone whistles and strain against the skewers until finally the skewers are torn from their flesh and they fall to the ground. Through all of this, they must not cry out in pain or show any cowardliness. They must bear the pain silently, except when they blow the whistles. Neither can the women and brothers and fathers who watch cry out, for that would bring dishonor to the participant.”
Abbie put a hand to her stomach. She was not so confident after all that she could bear to watch such a thing. And yet she knew she must, for to participate in the Sun Dance was to have the knowledge of the People’s religion that she so sorely needed.
“On the day the ritual begins, the Sun Dance altar will be erected,” Gentle Woman went on. “A buffalo skull will be at the center. Strips of earth will be placed around it, symbolizing the four Medicine Spirits, and the ea
rth will be surrounded by leaves and branches from the cottonwood tree and from plum bushes, in honor of the useful plants the earthly spirits bestow upon the Cheyenne. You must look upon the altar with great respect, for it represents the whole of the earth, and the lodge itself represents the heavens. To be present is to be sitting with Maheo, and the participants are the sacrifice.”
Abbie swallowed. “My goodness!” was all she said. Gentle Woman grinned.
“Once the rite is finished, a final pipe will be smoked, and there will be a dance in honor of the spirits of the four directions. The chief priest, his wife, and the sponsors will be purified in the sweat bath; the dance paint will be removed and the fast broken. Then it will be over. If you can survive all of that, there will be more celebrating, for Black Elk is to be inducted into Swift Arrow’s warrior society, and as soon as he is recovered, Red Eagle will be marrying Yellow Moon. So … there will be a happy ending after the suffering.”
Abbie looked at the flowers Gentle Woman was again painting on her arm, but she could only visualize the gruesome ritual she would soon witness.
It all took place as Gentle Woman had told her. Abbie discovered she was so caught up in the trancelike spirit inside the huge Sun Dance lodge that the sacrifice was not as unbearable to watch as she had expected.
For three days she had listened to the constant singing and pounding of drums and the endless chanting. She had heard the Sun Dance songs so often, that she began singing along at times with the others, gradually learning more of the Cheyenne tongue as she did so. Her favorite was the song about lovers, for it made her think of Zeke.
“Look at that young man. He is feeling good, because his sweetheart is watching him …” the words went.
She watched Yellow Moon when they sang that one. The young girl kept her eyes on Red Eagle, her future husband, but Abbie could see love and excitement in them—and pride in her lover’s sacrifice. When the skewers were pushed into Red Eagle’s flesh, Yellow Moon would not cry out in horror, but would watch with love and pride. For this was the day of the People.
Ride the Free Wind Page 26
