Cut Hand

by Mark Wildyr

  “I have thought on the matter,” he said as he stepped from Arrow’s back onto the wagon. “I will take a woman to wife. She will bear me sons. You will live at the Mead until the winter move, and then you will come with your husband to live like a proper wife in his lodge until we return north. You are my first wife and always will be, Billy, but my loins are potent. I can satisfy both of you.”

  An ache arched through my chest. “No, I will not share you. I can’t.”

  “Then we will return to the Mead and live there forever.”

  “And I will have made you an outcast. That would be painful to us both.”

  “Pain seems destined. Now we must determine the lesser torment.”

  “Cut Hand.” I fought to keep bitterness from of my voice. “This thing is plain and allows no evasions. We must resolve it in some manner. You need a proper wife and children. Else when Yellow Puma dies, they will turn to Lodge Pole, who will dig up the tomahawk and lead them against the army. Failing that, they will drift away to other bands. Without Cut Hand to lead them, the Yanube will cease to exist. Are you willing to be the cause of that?”

  “No,” he answered deep in his throat.

  “Do you know who you would marry?” I asked the fearful question.

  “Yes, Morning Mist. Do you know her?”

  “Slightly.” I was stung because he had not confided this to me. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “No, but there are ways to tell she will be receptive.”

  “Will you need all of our horses for the bride price?”

  “You speak as if this is a thing already determined. Yet you tell me you cannot abide it. What am I to do?” He leapt onto Arrow’s back from the moving wagon and was gone for a long time. Once I heard the sound of a bugling elk in the distance, but it was Cut Hand recklessly venting his frustration.

  When we arrived at the winter camp, Cut’s decision was forced upon him by his father’s condition. The once husky man could hardly rise. He walked only with the assistance of Bright Dove and Butterfly. His mind was still sharp, although his voice sounded like the piping of a whooping crane. He greeted us with great joy and assured us he was healthier than was true. I sincerely wished I knew more of medicines. I was only able to provide him with a modest dose of saffron to ease his wracking rattle.

  Bear Paw cornered us immediately, and Buffalo Shoulder, clearly showing the strain of his shunning, joined us more cautiously. Expressing delight and relief at their kinsman’s early appearance, they warned that Lodge Pole was taking advantage of Yellow Puma’s illness to usurp some of his functions. People were beginning to go to the big Indian for advice and help.

  While Cut made the rounds of the camp, I tarried with Yellow Puma, as he desired company. When all else were gone from the tipi, he spoke softly.

  “I fear I am causing you distress.” He paused. “You know Cut Hand must take a second wife.”

  I noted his careful choice of words and was appreciative of it. “Yes.”

  With considerable effort, he shifted on his blankets to look me fully in the eye, something these people do not often do, considering it rude. “You are a strange man, Teacher. It must be true that you are a win-tay, for my son is young and full of juices, yet he spreads none among the women. I always thought it would take two wives to handle his virility. You do this adequately alone.

  “Yet you are not a win-tay in other matters. You cook the meals and tend the household chores, but someone must do this even among the bachelors. You are a man, Teacher, in all that counts. This is a sick old man’s way of saying he is proud you care for his son as you do. But I am fearful of what will happen when a woman is introduced between you.”

  “As am I.”

  His hearing was still with him, and the words reached his ears. “Teacher, in the seasons you have been with us, I have never asked anything personal of you. All of my demands were for the tiospaye. And ultimately, what I seek now is for them too. But it is also personal because it arises from concern for my son.” His dark eyes found my own and held them. “I know what is in your mind, Billy.” He used my given name to personalize his request. “You will tear apart the relationship rather than share him. Do not do that, my son. I beg of you. Share him, at least for a while. He will need you for what is coming.”

  Yellow Puma held up a hand to forestall my reply and to signal he needed to rest a moment. “He has grown apart from his people, and Lodge Pole takes every opportunity to point it out to others. Cut Hand still has their trust and respect and will find his way back, but until that is accomplished, he will need you at his side.”

  Finished now, he awaited my reply. “We have talked of this, Father-in-Law,” I acknowledged his station. “Would the young woman of his choice be willing to share him with me?”

  “You make more of this than there is, Teacher. You will cope.”

  As he was tired, I left Yellow Puma’s lodge and wandered the camp. Cut was out with the horse herders, so I looked up Butterfly to see how she fared. She had gained some maturity, but underneath she was still the delightful young woman I knew. She denied interest in any of the young swains and swore that she would die a dried-up old maid, causing me to laugh. She rounded on me.

  “A lot you know! You and Cut Hand live up there in your stone lodge and keep everyone else out!” She stalked away with a womanly sway I never noticed before.

  That night Cut Hand joined me in the bachelors’ tipi. He had moved at a dogtrot all day, helping with chores throughout the village. Repairing weapons and spreading damp black powder to dry occupied my time.

  “They wintered well,” Cut noted as he sat opposite me. “But I will lead a hunting party to find fresh meat for another moon. We leave tomorrow. I will follow the river south and east. I’m taking most of the warriors because I want it done quickly, and I’d feel better if you stayed to protect the village.”

  He paused. “If the soldiers come, take the People and move back from the river. There is a stand of trees to the south lining a small creek. Abandon everything and take the people. If you are not here when I return, I’ll look for you there. I’m going to leave Otter to help. Lone Eagle is putting up a fuss, but he’s staying behind too.”

  “Cut,” I said slowly, “I have been considering our problem. Marry Morning Mist. I will be your second wife. I won’t be very good at it, but I will try.”

  “Billy,” he said, obviously relieved. “You will do this for me?”

  “If I want you, Cut Hand, then I must do it. Who knows, perhaps Morning Mist and I will get on like sisters.”

  He cupped my neck in his strong hand. “Bear Paw will keep everyone out. I want to mate with my wife.”

  Briefly, I wondered at the silhouette we cast against the skin siding as he moved to me. He was strong and he was male and he was magnificent, easing my concerns about the future a bit. When he settled down beside me, they all rushed back to delay my sleep for hours.

  Chapter 11

  IT IS my opinion that Lone Eagle, mortified at being left behind with the women and children, would have defied Cut Hand had not Yellow Puma requested his protection in the absence of other able-bodied warriors. Trapped by his sense of loyalty, he took out his frustration on me. My refusal to defer to him soon drove the young man to stabbing the frozen ground with his knife as if it were my belly. Snapping off the tip on a hidden stone did little to improve his disposition. The youth threw himself aboard his pony and raced away to spend most of his time in isolation, riding in wide circles around the campground.

  It was he who reported a group of warriors approaching the camp. Packing one rifle and my scattergun, I recovered Long and rode out to meet the strangers with Lone Eagle and Otter at my side. A few half-grown youngsters and men past their prime chased down horses from the herd to follow us.

  We broke the ridge and halted to watch the five mounted warriors as they pulled up to observe us in similar fashion. Doubtless they waited to see if others crested the hill behind us. At length a
solid-looking man of middle years urged his mount forward. When he raised his hand to show it was empty, I bade my companions hold still while I rode out alone to meet him. I was less worried about the stranger in front of me than Lone Eagle at my back. Doing something rash was not beyond possibility, especially as he was on the nettle from a perceived slight. As we halted at ten paces, I discerned the warrior must be Sioux. Although he played Indian, keeping his broad face immobile, I could imagine his confusion at facing a white man on the edge of the Yanube winter encampment.

  He immediately proved me wrong. “Hau! Greetings to Teacher, the Red Win-tay, wife of Yellow Puma’s son. I am Stone Knife. My companions and I are riding to see the new fort on the Yanube for ourselves. They say that it will send many white men here when winter breaks its grip.” The dialect was Lakota.

  I nodded. “They will come. After the snows melt, a detachment of dragoons is to move out on its way to Fort Yanube. There will be other white men who follow, but I believe they will come slowly.”

  “Hah!” This proud lord of the plains neither accepted nor denied my judgment. He glanced over my shoulder, and I knew my army of children and ancients had arrived at the crest of the hill.

  “On your way south you will come across Cut Hand and the men of the camp hunting for game. Please tell him all is well. Will you take nourishment with us? We have meat should you need it. And Yellow Puma would make you welcome.”

  “Thank you, but we will continue our journey. Tell me, is my old friend well?”

  “As well as most men carrying his years,” I hedged. From the man’s look, I suspected he read the real meaning between my words… else the news of Yellow Puma’s plight already traveled down the moccasin path.

  “Once we get a look at this American fort, perhaps we will return this way. But when I arrive at my own fire, I will speak of meeting the Teacher,” he said by way of farewell.

  “And I will tell Yellow Puma I have met the famed warrior, Stone Knife,” I responded, unknowing whether or not he was a personage of merit.

  “Lakota!” Lone Eagle said when I returned to the others. There was a measure of respect mingled with derision in the word. “I must warn Cut Hand!” he cried, turning his pony.

  I grabbed his rein. “They are not wearing paint, Lone Eagle. The Sioux party knows Cut Hand and his warriors are in front of them and will approach in peace. There is nothing to fear, but Yellow Puma must be told of Stone Knife’s passing.”

  Frustrated in his attempt to join the men, he angrily jerked his leather free and pushed his pony into a gallop back to the village. If he could not have the one, he would have the other—he would deliver the news to his chieftain. Otter merely gave me a bemused look. Sometimes he was more mature than his senior.

  Lone Eagle, Otter, and I alternated with those from other bands scouting the camp’s perimeter. There was no more excitement until Otter reported the men were coming home. Cut rode up, tired from the hunt but on a high rope. They had been moderately successful. The People would have green meat to mix with the jerky and pemmican. He reported that Stone Knife teased him about where a man put his pipe in a wife like his famous win-tay.

  It was not until we were alone in the bachelors’ tipi a few minutes later that the thing eating at him came spilling out. “There was trouble.” He slung his long gun on the blanket and folded his legs to follow it down.

  “Let me guess…. Lodge Pole.”

  My lover grimaced and told the tale. The men dispersed in small groups to make their hunt, a usual custom. Scouts warned of two soldiers riding the trail on the north side of the river, and Cut went to the water’s edge to watch their passage, standing in full view, his hand lifted in greeting. The dragoons took note but made no pause in their journey.

  “Messengers, most likely.” I interrupted the flow of his dialogue.

  “They were not yet out of sight when someone fired at them. The Blue Coats leaned over their saddles and got out of there without looking back.”

  “Neither was hit?”

  “No, but I saw leaves cut from the tree above one rider’s head.”

  “Who was downriver of you?”

  “Several. One was Lodge Pole.”

  “But why would he do something chuckleheaded like that?” I demanded.

  “To make trouble for me. I was the only one in plain sight.”

  “He cannot be stupid enough to believe the soldiers can identify a lone Indian from across the river.”

  “Perhaps not, but our trail will lead right back to this camp.”

  “Could it have been the Sioux? Stone Knife’s people?”

  “They were well ahead of us. I sent Bear Paw to warn them what happened.”

  “So the soldiers could be on the move already.”

  “Perhaps we should pack up and start north,” my lover said without conviction in his voice.

  “A fleeing man is assumed to be guilty.”

  He thought for a moment. “You are right, Billy. If we do not face this now, it will follow us and grow as it travels.”

  “You have to find out who fired that shot and clip his horns.”

  “First we must let everyone know of the danger.”

  YELLOW PUMA sent messengers to summon representatives of all the bands in the winter village. As this was not the Yanube council, I did not sit on the buffalo robe but stood at the side of the crowd. From the gabble of voices around me, it was clear the entire camp already knew what had happened. Why not? Their own returning men would have told them.

  After the pipe ceremony, Cut helped his father to his feet. The man’s voice reminded me of a reed flute because of the windiness behind the weak words.

  “Our men have returned from the hunt to report a serious incident that can cause trouble for all of us. You should hear of it for yourselves.” With that brief announcement, he sat back on his blanket with Cut Hand’s help.

  Then my mate, strong and unbelievably handsome, stood tall before the gathered throng. My eyes sought out Lodge Pole in the forefront of the important men seated on blankets and buffalo robes. Huge lips pursed, the Sioux studied his hands as if he had never seen them before.

  “My people, cousins.” Cut’s strong voice rang out over the multitude. “As we hunted along the river to the southwest, two American dragoons rode the opposite bank in the direction of the fort. As they passed, one of our party shot at them.”

  The crowd stirred uneasily. On half a dozen faces, I read six different reactions. Shock, dismay, delight, fear, unconcern, outrage. My heart sank when I understood some among the group countenanced the reckless act.

  “The soldiers were not injured, and they continued on their way without firing back at us. But the commandant at the fort may decide to investigate the matter and punish those responsible.”

  “Who fired at them?” a voice asked from the crowd.

  “I know not,” Cut answered honestly. “I stood on the bank watching the soldiers as they passed. While it pleases most of us that the soldiers may have been frightened, it should also concern us. I gave the peace sign. What if the Americans decide the peace sign leads to betrayal? If they believe that, then we can no longer trust their white flag of truce.

  “What if they take this attack as an uprising?” Cut Hand continued. “I have been to one of their forts. I have seen their fighting men. I have seen their big guns mounted on wheels that fling shells over hills and fall from the heavens on camps, rendering them helpless.”

  He strode off the carpet of buffalo robes into the midst of the crowd, past the men to the edge of the women at the back. “What if they decide that to ignore this thing would embolden our young men and invite more trouble? Your sons and daughters”—he nodded to the women—“will feel their fury the most. This is a serious thing and must be discussed seriously.”

  He strode back to his place beside Yellow Puma and sat down.

  “We must determine who is responsible,” Round Head, the misco of another band, agreed. “And he must be
punished.”

  Lodge Pole undertook the laborious process of removing his long frame from the ground. He reminded me of myself in the act of rising, except there was considerably more of him to lift.

  “Who led the hunt?” he growled in a voice that reached the far ends of the camp like the roar of a feral animal.

  With only a short pause, Cut scrambled to his feet. “I organized the hunt, as you well know. Because of that, I am responsible. And I will face that responsibility when the soldiers come.”

  “So you admit you put the People in jeopardy! You led the hunt. Your people fired on the soldiers. You put us all in danger—”

  “No!” a voice shouted from the back. “Cut Hand is not responsible!”

  Buffalo Shoulder elbowed his way into the far end of the crowd. Gasps went up from the Yanube in the council.

  Lodge Pole sputtered. I had never seen a grown man actually sputter until that moment. “You have no right!” he shouted. “This man is shunned! He is responsible for the deaths of three Yanube! He speaks but has no voice!”

  “He is not shunned by my tiospaye,” Round Head said firmly. “I will hear what he has to say.”

  But Lodge Pole was not finished. “I see it now. Cut Hand permitted this sot to participate in the hunt even though his own tiospaye punished him for getting drunk and failing to warn of an attack on their village that killed three of the People. What happened, Buffalo Shoulder, did you get so bottle-fevered that Blue Coats looked like moose? What kind of leader allows a shunned drunk to go on a hunt with decent men? This man is worthless!” the giant scoffed. He turned his back on Buffalo Shoulder.

  “Still, I will hear his words,” Round Head insisted.

  “Yes, I was drinking,” Buffalo Shoulder admitted. “But I can tell the difference between Blue Coats and moose. And I can tell the difference between Cut Hand and a giant. Lodge Pole fired that shot. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “Liar!” The huge man’s bellow frightened children at the back of the throng.