While everyone watched, quiet, grave as wondering gophers, Moon Dreamer let the fire burn fiercely until the stones were white hot. Then, giving a signal, he ordered No Name to strip down and enter the sweat lodge. No Name threw off his shirt and leggings and moccasins and stooped inside. Turning left with the sun, he crept on hands and knees along the wall of the sweat lodge until he came around again to the door. He sat down. Moon Dreamer stripped down to his clout too and stooped inside, taking a seat as leader just within the door and across from No Name. Moon Dreamer took up a pinch of tobacco and offered it to the six powers, took a second pinch and placed it in the pit. After a short pause, Strikes Twice handed in a smoking coal which Moon Dreamer placed in the pit too. Again Strikes Twice reached in, this time a handful of dried sweetgrass, which Moon Dreamer carefully placed on the red coal. A pleasant odor swept through the lodge. Very gravely and slowly, Moon Dreamer rubbed his arms and body with the wafting sacred smoke. The red pipe was next handed in. It too was purified in the sacred smoke. Murmuring low words to himself, Moon Dreamer filled the pipe, lighted it, offered it to the six powers. Then he and No Name smoked together. When the pipe was empty, Moon Dreamer carefully emptied out the ashes and placed the pipe on a chip of buffalo dung.
Moon Dreamer clapped his hands and Strikes Twice and Circling Hawk took up their forked sticks and immediately began bringing in the hot stones. With a forked stick of his own Moon Dreamer placed them in the pit one by one, saying as he did so, “The first stone represents Wakantanka, the Great Mysterious One, who lies at the center of everything. The second stone represents the earth, the mother of all, who lies under all things.” The twelve stones filled the pit exactly. They were so hot they gave off an eerie pink-gray light.
A leather bucket of water was next handed in. Both took a short drink, then doused their heads. Moon Dreamer barked a command and Circling Hawk closed the door tight from the outside. The vague light from the seething stones became a trembling pink.
Moon Dreamer said, “My son, you know why we are here. This small lodge is now the womb of our mother earth, this darkness in which we sit is the ignorance of our minds, these burning stones are the coming of a new life. Remember this and keep it near your heart.”
“I will, my father.”
Moon Dreamer took up the bucket and splashed some water on the stones. There was an explosion like the sound of a boulder breaking open in deep winter frost. The low tight hut became pitch black with choking steam.
No Name gasped for air. For a second he was terrified. “Aii!” Sweat burst out all over on him.
“My son, this hissing steam is a good thing. It is a sign that the place from which all the seeds come is still alive. Take comfort from this.”
“Hi-ye! I will, father.”
“Is it very hot?”
“It is! Thank you, thank you.”
“Do you feel the purification at work?”
No Name was ready to faint in the choking heat. “Yes, father. It feels very good. It is very good for me.”
Moon Dreamer poured water on the seething stones four times. Steam whistled up like great drafts of wind. The glowing stones slowly faded, from intense pink to ugly red to dull orange to old brown. Yet the heat increased, the steam thickened.
Sweat burned in No Name’s eyes. His lungs labored. Darkness pressed down on his mind.
“Breathe near the ground, my son.”
“I will, father.”
The stones cracked and hummed in the pit. Steam continued to whoof up in harsh explosions.
“Thank you, thank you. I am being purified.”
Just when No Name thought he could stand no more, Moon Dreamer called out and Strikes Twice raised the cover from the door. Light poured in, as well as blessed fresh air, and the scent of wild sage.
“Hi-ye!” No Name cried. “It is good. I am glad to be alive. It is a good day.”
“My son, the opening of the door to the east is the dawning of wisdom in men. Take heed and remember it.”
“Yes, father. Yes, yes. Hoppo.”
More water was handed in and the door closed a second time. Darkness and whistling steam filled the tight hut once more. No Name suffered it.
“My son, the sweat lodge makes brave men.”
“Ai, father. I will be brave. Hokah.”
The lodge was darkened four times. Each time the heat increased, the steam thickened. Had it not been for his wetted hair No Name would long ago have fainted.
Moon Dreamer lifted his voice in chant, more in sigh than in song:
“Father, see, we are here.
We have smoked the pipe.
We have heated the fire stones.
We have raised the sacred steam.
Your son has suffered much.
Have pity on him
And let him be purified.”
“Hi-ye!” No Name cried. “Thank you for the steam. I am being purified. Hi-hi-hi.”
Then Moon Dreamer called out, loud, “What do you see, my son?”
“I see myself going on a long journey. Also my hair is wild and left unbraided.”
“What else do you see, my son?”
“I see my rival Circling Hawk.”
“Aii! You have chosen Circling Hawk. He will be your companion on the road to the Butte of Thunders. It is good. Come.” And with that Moon Dreamer whipped open the door and stepped out.
No Name followed, leaping out in one great spring. His skin shone, roasted to a deep livid red. “Hoppo!” he cried. “I am purified.” He leaped about in a circle, frenzied, full of exaltation. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Take of the sage, my son,” Moon Dreamer commanded, loudly. “Rub your body with the sacred sage.”
No Name grabbed up handfuls of the aromatic sweetness and rubbed himself harshly. Bits of the silver leaves stuck to his rosy skin. He rubbed and rubbed.
The crowd pressed close. Hands reached out to touch him. The people cried and cheered. Redbird in joy began to dance. Star and Loves Roots sang the tremolo, tears streaming down their faces.
“Come, my son,” Moon Dreamer called, “to the river. Run.”
With a wild cry, No Name sprang down the path to Falling Water. He ran like one released from a burning stake. Then with yet another cry he leaped off a high rock and dove into the boiling water under the falls. There was no shock. Only bliss. The tumbling water rolled him over and around and over. He was a spirit. He was beyond flesh, ennobled, ready to soar with spirit eagles.
“Aii! I am purified. Thank you, thank you. Hi-ye!”
Moon Dreamer stood nearby in shallow water. With old veined hands he cupped water over his belly, cooling himself. Then he raised his hands and said, “My son, have the new life. It is given you. You have performed the ceremony in the true manner. Feel right, think right, be happy.”
3
It took three sleeps to reach the Great Smoky Water. The first day they arrived at the farther end of their own land, the second day they rode across the land of their cousins the Teton Sioux, the third day they moved into the land of the terrible Rees.
They traveled light: a red pipe, a bow and quiver of arrows, a light pad saddle, a rawhide war bridle with a long lead rope, a parfleche of dried meat. For the rest both man and horse lived off the country. They traveled along the sides of hills, avoiding high ground as well as wide barren river bottoms. They paced their horses, driving them an hour, then walking them an hour, with two hours of rest at noon. No Name rode the gelding Lizard, Circling Hawk rode a dun gelding named Dusty.
The second day out it became plain the two horses got on better than did their masters. The two horses kept edging toward each other. When let out to graze they nuzzled each other between bites. The budding friendship embarrassed No Name and Circling Hawk and each in his sly way tried to keep the horses apart.
On the evening of the third day, just after sunset, the soft gray-green earth suddenly dropped away into a wide shadowed valley. No Name, up ahead in a narrow desce
nding ravine, reined in his horse. He signaled for Circling Hawk to stop. He peered past the ears of the horse. A breeze coming up the ravine lifted both his hair and the horse’s mane. Far below, beyond a thick fringe of cottonwoods, streamed the Great Smoky Water. Sheets of silver raced up and down the tan waters. A spring-green meadow lay on this side of the river, a steep bluff with fired rocks rose beyond it. No Name let his eyes drift to the left, following the water, and saw far to the south, on a lesser hill, small balls of moving black.
“Buffalo,” No Name said, pointing.
Circling Hawk sniffed. When irritated, or when unhappy about something, Circling Hawk had a habit of clearing his nose with a quick intake of air.
“There may be Ree out to hunt them,” No Name added.
Circling Hawk’s wolfish eyes danced. His pocked face glowed like pitted pipestone in the rosy dusk. He stared intently at the moving balls. Finally he held his hand in front of his chest, palm down, then swept it forward, palm up. It was the gesture of no.
No Name considered. The Rees had villages both to the north and south of them, an hour’s ride apart. Small parties were sure to be visiting back and forth on such a fine spring day.
A tiny winged speck appeared high above them against the darkening blue sky. It bounced in the air, strangely. Then, folding up into a ball, it abruptly dove at them. Enlarging slightly, it came down so swiftly its flight set up a low whistling hum.
“Ai!” No Name cried, instinctively ducking, pushing his nose into Lizard’s dusty mane, “it is a spirit. It will strike us.”
Circling Hawk flashed up a look, then he too ducked down.
When it was almost upon them, its wings suddenly opened, long and angular, showing white markings, then with a low boom it swooped up and away, rising easily and gracefully into the dark blue sky above.
“Nighthawk!” No Name exclaimed, sitting erect again. “There was an arrow of white under its throat.”
“Unh! He means to warn us.”
The gray-green bird once again resumed its strange erratic bouncing flight high above them. At the top of each fluttering spurt it let go a cry, more an anguished bleat than a song.
“Look,” No Name said, “attend.”
“A thing will happen to us,” Circling Hawk said.
Again, after a moment of weird fluttering, the nighthawk closed its wings and dove at them. It came on like a falling star. Then, when it was almost upon them, its angular wings once more opened and with a light boom it was up and away.
“Ae, a thing will happen to us,” Circling Hawk said.
No Name glanced back at his companion. “Circling Hawk is not afraid of a little nighthawk, is he?”
“A thing will happen. The winged one is wakan and means to warn us.”
No Name laughed. “Friend, it is only playing. My father has told me about them. After they catch a bug they like to play.”
Circling Hawk grunted. “Unh. The bugs are still asleep in the earth.”
Twice more the bird dove at them and opened its wings with a booming sound and soared up and away. And then it vanished.
“See,” Circling Hawk said, “four times it told us of a thing that will happen. It looks very bad. Perhaps we should return and come another time.”
No Name shook his head. For himself he considered the sudden appearance of a nighthawk a good omen, not a bad one. It meant there were no Rees lurking about. Otherwise the bird would never have played so carefree. “Come,” he said, “tomorrow night I wish to sleep in preparation at the foot of the Butte of Thunders. We will cross over in the dark. I have said.”
Again Circling Hawk sniffed in irritation.
“Come. It is safe to go on.”
No Name touched heel to flank and they moved down the ravine.
Night came on rapidly. Every now and then the hooves of the horses started small avalanches of stones. The scent of newly budded buffalo-bean flowers rose from the ground. The chokecherries and plums were in bloom and showed up as small clouds of subdued white on the walls of the draw. Their scent lay heavy and sweet in the ravine. Both man and horse rode along drunken with it. The ravine gradually flattened out and became part of the valley. Soft grasses deadened the footfalls. They moved under great rustling trees. Darkness deepened. They rode between tree trunks as big as three buffalo bulls standing together. The earth underfoot softened. There was little sound of their going.
Suddenly ahead lay a wide sloping sandbar and beyond it a rippling expanse of water on which starlight twinkled. The two braves reined in, stopping just inside the dark shadow of the cottonwoods. They sat silent a long time, listening, slowly looking from right to left, then behind. The horses looked too, ears flicking back and forth.
An owl hooted immediately overhead. Both man and horse started.
“It is too near not to be a true call,” No Name whispered.
“Ae. But it will be as the nighthawk said. A thing will happen.”
No Name considered. For all his crude ways, Circling Hawk was as crafty and as daring as any Yankton. These things had been proven many times, on horse-raiding parties as well as on buffalo hunts.
No Name said, “Come, let us sit on the ground a while. I hear a cricket under us. It is one of those who know how to point the way. I will catch it and ask it how we should go.”
Both dismounted, letting their horses crop in tall grass.
No Name sat very still, as did Circling Hawk. The cricket, which had fallen silent when they stepped down, presently started up again, chirking lively cheer at No Name’s feet. No Name’s eyes narrowed, began to glow like a panther’s. After a second, he made out the cricket, as much by sight as by sound. Its rubbing wings gave off a tiny radiance. Hollowing his hand, he cupped it up in a darting motion.
“Have you caught it?”
“Ae. But it is frightened. We will let it rest a moment.”
The cricket sprang twice, trying to get out of his cupped hand. Each time it tickled him so much he almost laughed out loud. He held it gently. It sat very still. No Name breathed with his mouth open and so slowly his breath was not audible. He waited.
After some moments, the cricket moved, itching No Name’s palm.
“Ah, it is ready to speak.” No Name cautiously opened his hand and looked in. He could barely make out the cricket against the light skin of his palm. “Little grandfather,” he said, “is it safe to cross over this night? We wish to know.”
The cricket twitched this way, that way. It seemed bewildered by the question.
“Tell us. You are the wise one of the night. We wish to know.”
Circling Hawk, squatting near, leaned in close to watch. His smell was very strong, and No Name was reminded of Leaf’s remark that his face was rough all over like a toad’s back.
The cricket twitched back and forth once more, then suddenly sprang out, straight ahead toward the river.
“Ae,” No Name whispered. “It tells us the true way. Come, let us cross over. We thank you, little grandfather.”
Circling Hawk got to his feet slowly. “The medicine of the cricket is not as great as that of the nighthawk. A thing will yet happen to us.”
“Hoppo! let us charge the river. I am not afraid.”
“Also, the other side has steep mud banks. Our horses will sink under us.”
“The water will carry us far.” No Name looked across the wide sheeting water. “I see a place where a small river enters from the west. There will be sand at its mouth.”
They led their horses by the nose toward the river. Both men had thumb and forefinger ready to pinch off any inquiring whinny. Hooves and moccasins crunched softly in the giving sand. The sandbar glowed underfoot with a vague amber light.
The sand began to slope down sharply. They stopped. Without a word both took off the robe pad saddles, removed their clothes, rolled clothes and arrows inside the robes, the ends tucked in tight and waterproof, then fastened the packs and also their bows on top of their heads. They urged the horses
into the water.
Lizard leaned down to drink.
“Come, brave one,” No Name whispered, “you must not drink now or you will founder. Also it is time to cross over. Soon the Nibbled Moon will appear and by then we must be hidden in the woods on the other side.”
They moved into the sliding waters. Despite the deep dark, the waters still had a yellowish-brown cast. The waters moved up cold ring by cold ring, stinging, over the knee, up the thigh, searching in the crotch, up the narrow belly, each time making them catch their breath.
Lizard suddenly was of a mind to go back. He snorted; tried to turn in the water. No Name quietly closed off his nostrils and held him to the task. They struggled in the washing waters, snorting, coughing. Then, wrestling, both plunged over the drop-off and the river took hold of them.
No Name gave his horse a final whack on the rump, then slid back along the horse’s flank, careful to stay out of reach of the powerful stroking hooves, and latched onto the tip of the horse’s tail. He steered Lizard for the far shore. Only the horse’s waggling head and his own pack-burdened head showed out of the water. Circling Hawk and his dun horse followed close behind. Dark curling eddies washed off to one side of them. The sound of their swimming was lost in the wash of the rushing current.
The water was burning cold, but the river was not too wild. A moon or so later, during the great spring flood, the waters would roughen into loud boiling whirlpools, with uprooted trees sawing up and down in the waves.
Then, even as the thought of the deadly sawyers passed through his mind, and just as they reached the driving main channel, a thing came sliding out of the north toward them. It was a huge cottonwood with vast sprawling limbs. It came at them roots first, like an octopus half-risen in wrath out of the river. No Name was so startled he cried out, once, gulping water. Then, recovering, he quickly gave Lizard’s tail a jerk, trying to steer him downstream and outswim it. But Lizard, who had also started at seeing the suddenly looming thing, was too busy trying to stay upright in the rushing channel. It was then that No Name noticed that the water below moved faster than the water on the surface. He could feel the terrible suck of it beneath him. Again he jerked at Lizard’s tail, twisting it viciously, trying to steer him to the left and ahead of the looming terror. But the struggle to stay upright in the racing tan water was all-consuming and both horse and man headed straight for the tree.
Conquering Horse Page 11
