Conquering Horse

by Frederick Manfred

  Circling Hawk cried out in warning.

  They collided. The great cottonwood bore on for a second, then slowly began to revolve in the water. Both man and horse struggled against the turning wheel of roots. Finally one of the huge tentacle roots landed on Lizard’s neck and shoved him under. A moment later a second root, snake-smooth, caught No Name under the belly and lifted him clear. The wheel of roots began to turn swiftly. The root under him lifted him so quickly he stroked twice in the air before he could catch himself. When he came to the top of the wheel’s revolution, the horse’s tail was jerked out of his hand. He grabbed onto the root under his belly with both hands and hung on.

  Again Circling Hawk cried behind him. “Ai!”

  Down the other side No Name went with the great wheel. He hit neck-first and went under in a wallowing glut of cold muddy water. Instantly buoyant waters pressed him tight against the root, almost squeezing the breath out of him. He felt the air-tight pack of clothes push against his head, then jerk at it. Then something cracked him over the back of his skull, hard. His brain suddenly went hot with it, then numb.

  He came back to life lying on his belly. He heard grit sand grinding against his forehead. Someone was bouncing him up and down on the sand. Each time he hit, his forehead and nose worked deeper into a little trench. He heard someone grunt over him as he was lifted yet again.

  He stirred, trying to roll over and get his face out of the scouring sand.

  The someone, feeling him stir, instantly turned him over. Carefully he sat him up. “Come back, friend, I have you safe.”

  No Name opened his eyes. He saw a big head and huge shoulders humped over him. The shape reminded him of his dead brother Pretty Rock. He coughed. Water trickled from the corners of his mouth. His eyes cleared. Then he saw that the someone was Circling Hawk. “Friend,” he croaked, “I thank you. You are my brother.”

  “You were very heavy in the water.”

  Suddenly No Name’s bones began to ache with cold. He shook with it. “The tree caught me. Then it hit me.”

  Circling Hawk covered him with his fur robe. “I saw it. When the tree turned again I wrestled you free.”

  No Name coughed. Again water trickled down his chin. “Ahh,” he gasped in misery, “a part of me has died.”

  Circling Hawk bundled him warmly in his arms. “Your breath soul left you for a time. But not your shadow soul.”

  No Name shivered. His teeth began to chatter like a cicada chirring. “You have saved me,” he said slowly, hollowly. Again the deep cold in his bones made him shiver. “What shall I give you?”

  Circling Hawk shook him roughly in his arms. “Be strong. Tomorrow you go to fast.”

  “Where is my horse?”

  “It stands behind us.”

  No Name looked. The Nibbled Moon had just come up across the wide river and in its vague light Lizard shone like a wet blackberry. “It is good.”

  “The nighthawk told true that a thing would happen.”

  “Ae. And the cricket told false. Perhaps it was frightened.”

  Circling Hawk shook him again, hard. “Come, we cannot linger here. There may be Ree after all. The nighthawk may have meant to tell us of yet another thing besides the angry water tree.”

  Still dizzy, No Name struggled to his knees. Long snakes of black hair lay sopping wet on his neck. “You have saved my life. I shall remember it forever. What shall I give you, my brother?”

  Circling Hawk got to his feet. He stood very still for a moment. Then a raw sob escaped him. “Where is Leaf? Where are her bones?”

  No Name staggered to his feet. He stood apart, alone. Slowly his whirling mind steadied, slowly his lips became grim and his eyes hardened. Then he said, “We must try to be brave men and take things as they come. We cannot weep.”

  Circling Hawk stiffened on the sand beside him. “I lay my hand over the mouth. Take up your robe and let us move on.”

  They slipped into their buckskins again, slung the quiver and the bow over their backs. The bowstrings were wet and hung slack, so both made sure of their knives.

  They went barefoot, leading their horses, with Circling Hawk up ahead. They moved cautiously up the river bed of the small stream, staying well in the deep shadow along the south bank. The water was shallow. It rippled gently against the shin. The sand underneath, though harsh, made good footing.

  The stream wound back through high land. With each twist and turn the bluffs kept parting to allow them passage. The Nibbled Moon provided for the eyes just enough light to make out the silhouettes of trees and bushes. Occasional bats skimmed erratically across the surface of the water.

  They had traveled upstream for about an hour, and were well back into the west hills, when Circling Hawk suddenly held up his hand for silence. Quickly No Name slipped an arm around his horse’s nose ready to choke off a whinny. Horse and man stood motionless in the water. No Name’s wild black hair still lay in wet strands on his neck and every now and then a drop ran down his back. Also, an eyelash seemed doubled under in the corner of his eye. It itched, almost hurt, each time his eyes moved back and forth, but he dared not lift a hand to rub it.

  Then, like Circling Hawk, he saw it. The top of a horned head slowly came to view over the edge of a large gray boulder on the north side of the stream. Next came a pair of broad bare shoulders, then the heavy torso of a man. No Name instantly recognized the horned head. It was a Ree, one of those who were cousins of the Pawnee. The Ree had probably heard splashing in the water and had come to investigate.

  No Name saw Circling Hawk’s hand slide slowly up over his shoulder and carefully select an arrow in his quiver.

  “The fool,” No Name thought, “the bowstring is still wet. It cannot send the arrow.”

  The same thought must have come to Circling Hawk. His hand paused, held, then slowly fell back and reached for his knife instead.

  The Ree’s dark torso loomed clearly against the stars. The soft light of the Nibbled Moon gave the Ree’s chest the deep hue of walnut. From where they stood hiding in the deep shadow, a good fifty steps away, No Name thought he could make out the slow rolling back and forth of the Ree’s eyes, and see his nostrils quiver, opening and closing, trying to get scent of them.

  The Ree’s right hand rose and also reached over his shoulder for an arrow. He fitted it to his bow. The feather on the arrow glinted for a second as he turned it a little to make it fit perfectly. The Ree drew the arrow all the way back to the point, then let fly. The arrow speared straight for Circling Hawk. No Name’s eyes blinked just as the arrow was upon Circling Hawk and for a second he was sure his companion had been hit. But Circling Hawk did not cry out. Nor did his horse jump. Then No Name heard the arrow whack into the clay bank beside them.

  The Ree waited, watching to see what effect the arrow might have.

  No Name held himself stiffly erect. His thumb and forefinger lay poised over Lizard’s nose.

  The Ree at last seemed satisfied, and slowly withdrew, the waist first, then the chest, and finally the horned head.

  Circling Hawk broke out of his stony stance and let go of a long soft sigh. He looked over his shoulder at No Name. “The nighthawk was right to warn us.”

  “Ae, it is true.” No Name rubbed the eyelash out of the corner of his eye. He looked up at the moon. “The night departs. Let us go on.”

  An hour later they found a good place to sleep. It was a turn in the river where young willows grew thick on a low sandy bar. They picketed their horses and trampled down a place for their beds. Rolling themselves up in their robes, with the smell of horse sharp in the fur, they fell asleep side by side.

  4

  Munching jaws awoke him.

  Opening his eyes cautiously, No Name saw it was their horses. Lizard and Dusty had found themselves a small patch of spring grass within the willows.

  Then he noticed all the birdsong. A goldfinch sang from a twig immediately above him: “See-see-e! Baby-babee!” A cardinal called somewhere behi
nd him, clear, happy: “With with with cheer! with with with cheer!”

  No Name smiled. The wingeds were happy this morning. It was good. He nuzzled comfortably against the coarse fur of his robe.

  Circling Hawk stirred against him.

  No Name called softly. “Day is here, my brother.”

  Circling Hawk sat up with a rush out of his sleeping robe. “Whaugh!”

  For the first time in his life, No Name found himself looking upon Circling Hawk’s wolfish features and wild eyes with pleasure. This was now his brother, the brave man who, despite their rivalry, had saved him from drowning and had comforted him in his huge arms.

  No Name said, “Shall we kill a rabbit for breakfast?”

  “We have a certain quantity of dried meat left. Also a corn cake my mother prepared which I saved.”

  “I am hungry. It will be good to eat over a fire again.”

  “Ai, but you have been purified. There will be no fire until you have had a vision.”

  Sighing, both braves then got up. They made pad saddles out of their buffalo robes again and cinched them around the horses.

  As they were about to mount, Circling Hawk suddenly asked, “Friend, tell me, did you wive Leaf by the river? I wish to know.”

  No Name caught himself just in time. He kept his face passive, expressionless. “She is gone. Why do we speak of her?”

  “I wanted her for wife,” Circling Hawk said slowly. “I would have given twenty ponies for her. I felt sad that I had but ten. I did not have the second ten ponies.”

  “I wanted her for wife also. But I did not have any ponies to give.”

  “Your father has many ponies to give.” Circling Hawk burned a fixed unwavering eye upon him.

  “I could not ask my father for the ponies. I did not have the vision. Therefore my grief was great.”

  “Your father is related to many in our village. You have many cousins who could help you with the horses.”

  “You are also related to my father,” No Name said. “Your father is my father’s cousin. Why did you not ask my father for the second ten ponies?”

  “My father is dead. My mother is not well liked. Also there are those who do not favor me.”

  No Name held up to Circling Hawk’s glaring eyes. “You say well. But my grief is still a great grief.”

  Circling Hawk sniffed up a quick nervous breath; then expelled it with a blast.

  Irritated, No Name did the same.

  They rode steadily all day, going up the valley of the little stream as it meandered in from the west. The lofty round bluffs gradually drew together and at last became a narrow canyon. The footing in the stream changed, sometimes treacherous with quicksand, sometimes cruel with sharp rocks.

  They came upon a ravine which opened into the canyon from the northwest. A small creek trickled down it. They turned off and went up the creek. The land rose steadily. The ravines became a narrow depression, finally leveled up onto a high plateau. All around lay the slowly sloping horizons of the high plains. The grass became sparse, mostly last year’s brittle stalks. In the hot afternoon sun the old grass gleamed a dull brown-gold. Occasional patches of pricklepear cactus came along. Twice the horses shied from green rattlesnakes. Dust puffed up on each throw of the hoof, lingering palely behind and riding slowly off on a soft west wind. Shortly before sunset, as they gained a long rise in the land, the Butte of Thunders reared out of the northwest horizon.

  No Name looked at the butte with mingled feelings of joy and awe. As his father had told him, the butte was like unto the sacred power of a great stallion. Holding hand to mouth, long hair streaming on the wind, he cried, “There is the place. I see it. I am happy.”

  Circling Hawk had also watched the butte rise into view. “There is some brush on the first hump on the south side. It will make a good place to camp and hide the horses.”

  “It is a good place.”

  When they came to a yet higher rise in the land, so that the whole of the gray-green butte was sharply etched against a yellow west, he saw why the Thunders liked to come to the place. Its flat top made a good platform halfway between heaven and earth from which to broadcast messages.

  No Name reined in his horse and got down on his knees on the ground. He rubbed himself reverently with a handful of silver sage. He held out his hands to the holy hill and began to rejoice. “Thank you, thank you. I am glad I have come. Tomorrow I will climb upon you and talk to the Thunders. They will send me the vision. Hi-ye! I have said.” He got to his feet and turned to Circling Hawk. “Friend, lead the way. You have had the vision and thus are my older brother. I am but a suppliant. Instruct me.” He remounted Lizard. “May the vision be a true one.”

  Mares tails moved across the sky to the north of the butte. The slow high movement of the thin clouds had the effect of making the butte lean some to the west. The sun sank and the shadow on the east side deepened to a greenish black.

  Jogging along on his horse, No Name continued to rejoice. “Thank you, thank you.” He held his right fist to his chin, forefinger out, in sign for truth. “This is the place my father spoke of and I am happy to come.”

  “I see a small stream beyond,” Circling Hawk said. “It will be a good place to water the horses each day.”

  No Name made out some rocks strewn down its side. “Look. Attend. See where the Thunders have been angry. It is where they have thrown stones in anger.”

  Circling Hawk blew his nose clear with a loud blast. He looked down at the grass going by underfoot. “The horses will suffer in this country. One of us will have to get grass.”

  They were within a mile of it, when suddenly a piece of the rimrock broke off. It fell a ways; then, magically, sprouted wings and flew off in a great curve to the west, slowly mounting the air on great beating wings, rising higher and higher, until finally it was but a tiny speck. Then, between eye blinks, it vanished altogether.

  “It was one of the Thunders,” No Name said reverently. “He has gone to tell the others that I have come.”

  Circling Hawk gave his horse a kick in the flank. “It was but an eagle. When the eagle saw we had arrows for him he flew away.”

  They stopped just below the butte, on the south side, on the hump where part of the rimrock had fallen. Debris lay scattered to all sides. Some of the fallen rocks were larger than horses. Rosebushes and chokecherries grew between the rocks. The valley all around shone with silver sage.

  Eyes glowing, thick hair streaming down his shoulders, No Name continued to look up at the towering place of the gods. “Ho-hech-e-tu! I have come to the holy place of the Thunders at last.”

  5

  He was sleeping one moment, the next moment was wide awake. Something stealthy was moving near his head. He heard thick breathing. Someone seemed to be in a terrible rage. His heart began to bubble in his chest.

  “It is Circling Hawk,” he thought. “Ae, Circling Hawk accepted the mission to come with me, because it was wakan and worthy to do, but he also hated me with all his soul and therefore has decided to kill me. He has found a great stone and now stands ready to drop it on my head.”

  No Name shivered.

  The sound of the thick breathing came nearer. After a moment a hot breath brushed over his face. The breath stank, raw, rotten, as if the breathing one had just finished a meal of decayed frogs.

  No Name waited for the end.

  The thick hot breathing continued. Yet the stone did not descend. There was no smashing crack on the skull.

  No Name finally opened his eyes. There, in the soft weak light of the Nibbled Moon, was a white prairie wolf. The great wolf’s eyes were red, and they blinked and burned into him. White bristles twitched on its blackish nose. Its countenance was so close, so full upon him, that for a moment No Name thought he was having a bad dream.

  He heard a chewing sound in the chokecherries behind him. Ae, there was yet another wolf in the camp. He remembered his father Redbird saying that wolves like to gnaw bridle ropes because of
the human smell in them.

  He blinked. And just as quickly the white wolf vanished.

  At that No Name sat up. Ghostly shapes with bushy tails, as vague as streamers of mist, slipped across the rock-strewn slopes. No Name stared at them, watching them fade into the dim dark green distance. Not one shape seemed real. Had it not been for the lingering stink of the white wolf’s breath he would have sworn he had dreamed it all.

  Shivering in the frosty cold, heaving a long sigh, he lay down again and snuggled inside his sleeping robe. All of a sudden he became very lonesome for his father and mother and for the wonderful smell of their fire and the remembered taste of fat hump. He began to wonder if the ordeal he was about to un dergo was worth it after all.

  At last dawn broke in the east, a speckled black slowly giving way to a smoky blue.

  He waited until a certain bright star overhead faded away and then, hardening himself to it, got up.

  He touched Circling Hawk. “Friend, the morning is good.”

  Circling Hawk sat up with a start. “Where are they? I dreamed of wolves.”

  “The great day has come. You must watch as I prepare my self.”

  Circling Hawk was immediately attentive. He threw back hi sleeping robe, got up, stretched, then seated himself on a rock

  No Name removed all his clothes. He gathered a handful o silver sage and rubbed himself briskly, until the air was stuffy with its dusty aromatic smell. He found a crumble of volcanic ash underfoot and carefully painted his face black, well up into the roots of his hair, under his ears and chin, even down his chest some. He combed his wild, straggly hair with the rough side of a buffalo tongue. He unwrapped his red pipe from its case.