Conquering Horse

by Frederick Manfred

  “Is he not but a horse, my husband?”

  “His mane and tail are like the rays of the sun. His white body is like the center of the sun. To look at him one must look a little below him.”

  “I have cooked some meat. I have gathered sweet tipsinna from the meadow nearby. I have found some wild potatoes from the bottom across the river.” Moving heavily, she set the food before him.

  “Well, I must eat to be strong so that I may catch him.” Suddenly he shivered. “But my belly is not very hungry.”

  “Then he is a very good horse, my husband?”

  “He is greatly wakan. He goes too fast for a horse that is only walking. He moves like a ghost horse, covering much ground with but a few steps.”

  Only then did she catch what he was trying to tell her. She clapped hand to mouth. Her eyes swung from side to side as if she could not bear to look at the thing he told of.

  “Even when he stands very still he seems to be dancing.” Then No Name added, “I shall call him Dancing Sun. It is a good name for so great a stallion.”

  6

  During the next days, No Name made a close study of Dancing Sun. Packing food, he managed to walk completely around the stallion’s range. Hiding in tall trees, he observed him early in the morning, at high noon, and late at night.

  One thing soon became apparent. Dancing Sun never galloped. Dancing Sun was a gaited horse. No matter how fast the others in the bunch might run, Dancing Sun never broke out of his pacing gait. Always he ran along easy, serene, head up, legs stroking lightly. He took twice the stride of the best pacing mare in his band. As he ran, his long red tail brushed along the tops of the grass. From a distance he seemed to skim over the ground like a low-flying white eagle.

  In all, Dancing Sun had a band of some forty mares and some thirty colts. Rare was the male colt over a year and a half old. Twice No Name saw Dancing Sun drive a two-year-old stud from the band, cutting one of them, the more reluctant of the two, to ribbons with his hooves so that he died. The two young studs had been caught in the act of trying to corner themselves a bunch of mares. Only he, Dancing Sun, was going to be king of the females.

  Dancing Sun could be merciless. Once a tall noisy whirlwind came racing toward them. Dancing Sun, ever on the alert, saw it coming. He whistled a warning and set the whole bunch in motion at right angles to the whirlwind. He circled his bunch at full speed, nipping laggards here, charging drifters there. Then a mare dropped back because her freshly born colt had trouble keeping up. Instantly Dancing Sun dashed for the colt, seizing it by the neck with his teeth, and smashing it to the ground. The mare whinnied shrilly in anguish. In a fit of frenzy she lay down beside her broken colt. Ears laid back, Dancing Sun drove at her, bit her cruelly over the back and neck. Finally, when she still would not get up, he ran off a short ways, then whirled and made for her, teeth bared, head so low he resembled an enraged wolf. So fierce was his aspect that the mare leaped to her feet in panic and raced off to join the rest of the flying bunch. Looking back over his shoulder, Dancing Sun saw that the whirlwind had not only gathered in size and speed but had changed direction. He shot swiftly after his band, pacing up one side and racing down the other, ramming his bluff chest into the ribcase of one mare, whirling around in full flight and kicking another, raking still another with his bared teeth, biting into the flesh of still another. Gradually, squealing his commands, he turned them in the direction he wanted them to go, at last drove them out of sight of the whirlwind where all was safe.

  One day No Name discovered a male colt more than two years old in the band. The male was brown and quite fat. This surprised No Name and after watching a while he decided it was because the brown one was not much of a stud. The mother of the fat son indulged him much, often neighing him over to where she had found some specially luscious sweetgrass, and letting him get the first drink while the water was still clear, and shielding him from the sharp teeth of jealous mares. Mother and son were always together, often standing side by side, head to tail, switching flies off each other. Sometimes they leaned across each other’s necks, nuzzling each other affectionately. Dancing Sun had his eye on them as they roamed and grazed together but did nothing about it. But then one fine morning the brown one found himself a stud at last, and after some nuzzling together with his mother, mounted her and made connection. The white master spotted them almost immediately and with a great scream of jealous rage was upon them. He drove at them so hard he bowled them both over. He sent the mare off galloping for dear life, then leaped for the slow stud. He fastened his teeth into the slow stud’s withers and with one great jerk ripped off a piece of hide all the way to the rump. The brown stud rolled over backwards from the force of the jerk and hit the ground so hard his neck broke. He was left alone, gasping in death.

  Dancing Sun controlled a range some twenty miles across. To make certain that interloper stallions understood just where his empire lay, Dancing Sun made it a practice to leave cones of droppings at each of the four corners. Every few days he made the circuit, checking his pyramids of dung to see if visitors had left notices around. Occasionally he would find one and then would carefully smell it over. Usually what he found did not disturb his regal calm much.

  The great white stallion also had private staling spots along his run. When some of the young male colts tried to approach these hallowed grounds, Dancing Sun chased them off. From these spots No Name saw more evidence that the stallion was wakan. The white one’s stalings caused deep green rings to jump up in the grass. It was as if his watering of the earth prompted springs to burst forth, even on high dry ground. His whitish-yellow stream was of Wakantanka himself, a supernatural fluid.

  Occasionally Dancing Sun was stand-offish, moody. When a fresh wind came out of the north, bringing with it the cool sweet scent of the snow country, or when the prairie was all aflower with pink peas, or when the wild clover made the air thick with its lush aroma, Dancing Sun would run off by himself. He would take his stance on the highest point of land, head lifted into the wind, inhaling with great gusto. Sometimes he would point his nose at the blue sky and grimace as if about to break out into godlike song. And sometimes he would even whinny to himself, his lonesome cry floating on the wind as pure and clear as the morning call of the cardinal, full of elation and joy at being alive in the midst of the flowering plains. The white one reminded No Name of Sounds The Ground and his lonesome pondering of flowers.

  Later, breaking out of the pensive mood, Dancing Sun would round up his band and bunch them up into a tight knot, so tight there seemed to be nothing but raised heads and whistling tails. With a fierce and terrible mien he would pace around and around them, close-herding them harshly, and would keep at it until he had worn a trail in the grass. Every mare and colt betrayed the greatest fear of him during these times. Not one would dare to stray out so much as the length of a neck or the breadth of a rump. Then, having kept them standing tight together in fear and trembling for an hour or more, the harsh disciplinarian would suddenly lift up on two legs, whirl completely around, then cut through the middle of them, squealing fearfully, scattering them all over the prairie.

  No Name wondered about the stallion’s strange whim of close-herding, until the morning he witnessed an attack by a pack of lobo wolves. Some forty of them came streaking out of a ravine, gray sliding shadows. No Name was sitting high in a tree on the edge of a lookout at the time, so missed being hunted down himself. The moment Dancing Sun spotted the wolves, he let go with a deep full-chested roar. To No Name he suddenly sounded like a combination mad bull and raging lion. Without even looking around, or wondering what it was all about, the mares called in their colts, “Euee! agh-agh-agh,” and immediately formed a circle around them. The mares stood facing out, teeth bared. Meanwhile the white master paced around and around his bunch, mane lifted, teeth bared too, heels carefully kept away from the wolves to keep from being hamstrung.

  The wolves were somewhat startled to run into a stallion with such a
defense, and they withdrew to a prairie knoll to reconsider. They sat on their haunches, tails whisking, every now and then glancing over at the dancing stallion and his tight knot of fierce mares.

  After a short wait, two of the wolves approached the stallion in a playful manner, as frolicsome as puppy dogs, rolling on the ground in front of him. They frisked about as if they had always been his friends and meant him no harm.

  Dancing Sun resorted to a stratagem of his own. First whickering a low warning to his band to keep tight, Dancing Sun pretended to be taken in by the playing wolves. Slowly he grazed toward them, cropping grass one moment, rearing his head in inquiry the next. Finally, just as the two wolves had maneuvered themselves into position, one at his head and the other at his heels, just as they were about to spring, Dancing Sun made a great leap for the nearest wolf. With snarling teeth he caught the wolf by its ruffed neck and tossed it high in the air. The moment the wolf hit ground, Dancing Sun leaped on it with both front hooves, crushing its skull. Then, before the other wolf could collect its wits, he seized it too with his teeth and trampled it to death.

  Howling at the skies in disgust, the rest of the lobo wolves gave up. Toothy jaws flashing a last time, they drifted off one by one, over the edge of the ravine.

  Two mornings later, No Name saw for a second time why Dancing Sun trained his bunch in close-herding. Perched in the same tree on the edge of the lookout, No Name saw Dancing Sun lift his head and look off to the southwest. No Name looked too. Over a rise came a small band of horses, running straight for Dancing Sun and his bunch. What surprised No Name was to see that the small band was all male. They were bachelors who had been driven out when colts. They were of almost every color: blood bays and dark bays, light chestnuts and dark chestnuts, rust roans and strawberry roans. At their head ran a powerful black. His mane and tail glowed like the shine of a black grackle. Bluish streaks kept racing over his coat as he turned and wheeled in the sun. There wasn’t a mark on him. He too had the swift gait of the pacer. He and his male chums came on with a rush, manes raised, ears shot forward, tails arched high.

  Dancing Sun trumpeted piercingly. The glory of his nostrils was terrible to behold. His neck seemed clothed in thunder. A chill of terror shot through his mares and colts and instantly they bunched up into a tight knot. Head held low like a predator, snarling, Dancing Sun began to circle his herd around and around. His growl was like that of a monster wolf, deep, primordial. Then, sure they understood that he was their mighty king and dominator, that he would permit no dallying with any of the visitor bachelors, he turned and went for the intruders. He had made up his mind to fight them all, to the death. He went straight for their leader, the black one.

  The big black had watched Dancing Sun close-herding his bunch, had seen him whistle his mares and colts into submission, had even seen how half of his own bunch of odds and ends had backed off a way. But for himself, the black one was not afraid.

  Black One bared his vivid white teeth, laughing scorn both at Dancing Sun and at the craven cowardice of his comrades. He reared, whistled a shrilling challenge. Then he dug his forefeet into the hard ground as far out in front of him as he could reach, waggled his head furiously, stopping only to see what effect his mad antics had on Dancing Sun, then jumped gracefully around in the air, swapping ends like a frisky dog snapping at flies.

  Black One’s show of haughty defiance enraged Dancing Sun. He raised on his hind legs too. Eyes flashing blue lightning, teeth glinting like a grizzly’s, ears laid back tight to his head, he shrilled and shrilled. His gray forefeet cut the air as if he were a dog digging a hole. Rampant, thighs stretched like massive white birches, he closed on the other in towering majesty.

  Black One shrilled loud too, came on terrible and black, his blackness making him seem almost taller than Dancing Sun. They squealed at each other until white foam ran dripping from their jaws. Their started eyes blazed with primal hate and rage.

  Suddenly they lunged for each other, lunged with all their force. They hit with the sound of colliding cottonwoods. They raked each other with slashing hooves, from front to rear. Their hooves beat a tattoo on each other’s barrels. Teeth caught hold of skin and ripped until flesh bled black. Sometimes, when their bite slipped off, their teeth clicked together with the sound of hammers hit on rocks. They went after each other like mad lions. Once they got a good grip with their teeth, they hung on until flesh pulled away. They rolled on the ground like wrestlers, over and over. They screamed. Mouths open, teeth glittering, they dove for each other’s throats. They whirled around as quick as cats. Kicking at each other, rear to rear, their flint-hard hooves hit together with the sound of crackling chain lightning.

  Raw patches began to show on the Black One’s glossy hide, on the rump, over the shoulder, along the belly. Streaks of blood began to show on Dancing Sun’s immaculate white coat. One moment both puffed exhausted, the next they went at it again with snarls of rage. Flecks of blood and froth flew in all directions.

  Finally Dancing Sun managed to catch Black One’s nose between his jaws. He bit in and shook him with all his might. He growled. He backed around and around, shaking and mangling him. Black One suffered it for a few moments. Then, rousing himself with great effort, Black One gave a desperate jerk—and broke free, with half of his nose gone.

  They backed off. They let fly another ear-splitting piercing challenge. Then, rampant, they flew at each other yet once again, throwing their whole weight into it. They hit. The ground shuddered under them. Dust puffed up. For a moment they hung balanced against each other. Then, slowly, Black One tottered over on his back. Dancing Sun pounced on him in a flash, stunning him with his sharp forefeet, cracking open his skull. Again and again Dancing Sun struck, cutting him to ribbons with his hammering hooves. With his teeth he stripped off Black One’s ears, flung them across the prairie. He struck until Black One’s brains began to run out.

  Sure that Black One was dead at last, Dancing Sun suddenly set out after the other ambitious lovers, scattering them pell-mell, chasing them until they were out of sight.

  When Dancing Sun came back, head high, he appeared to disdain the loving attention of his mares and colts.

  During all this time, Leaf worked like a muskrat mother, preparing her nest. She made a cradle by weaving a flat platform out of willow withes and covering it with buckskin. She scraped and tanned hides for a small tepee to be used on the way home. She dried many cases of meat. She made her husband a dozen pair of tough moccasins. She also tanned him a new buffalo robe, a new pair of leggings, and a new fetish case.

  For herself she made a dress, a loose supple piece of doeskin which she worked until it shone like fresh snow. She covered it with beautiful quillwork, blue and yellow and white and red. Even the lift strings, used to tie up the dress when the grass was wet with dew, were placed in pleasing symmetry all around the bottom. Every now and then she held up the dress against her body, smiling and tittering to herself, as if surrounded by a circle of admiring women friends.

  Sometimes No Name caught her sitting silent by herself in the entrance of the cave, her black eyes on him but not seeing him, absorbed in herself. Her look caused him to recall what his mother had once remarked about pregnant women. “Before her child is born, a good Yankton mother always fixes her mind on a certain hero. This is done so that when the child grows up he will desire to do great things and become a great hero himself.” He wondered if Leaf had him in mind, or her father Owl Above, or her brother Burnt Thigh. Though tempted, he dared not intrude upon her thoughts and ask her.

  For some odd reason, another of his mother’s warnings came to him, that a woman should not look too hard at an animal before her child was born. “There was once a woman,” Star said, “who found a rabbit hiding in some wild plums. The rabbit was gentle and soft. She took it in her arms and petted it and held it close to her face. When her time came, her child was born with a split nose. This man is still alive.” No Name hoped that some evil spirit had not
placed the thought in his mind. They of the other world often knew beforehand what was to come to pass.

  Eyes averted, yet studying Leaf closely, he soon came to see that he was one of those who had been fortunate in the choice of a wife. Leaf rarely complained about her lot in life. She accepted what came. She did not long for tomorrow that it should bring her some great and wondrous surprise. The great thing was now, it was happening now, and she lived it to the full. When she ate juicy broiled hump, she enjoyed the hump, fully, at that moment. When she sucked marrow from a warm bone, running her tongue deep into it, she lived in the tip of her tongue, for that moment. When she looked into the fire, she enjoyed the warmth and color and the mystery of the flames, fully, at that moment, then. When she crooned a hero song to herself for the coming boy, she lived in her throat, in the song, for the moment even becoming the hero.

  One evening No Name came home to wife and cave bone- tired, exhausted, dispirited. He hardly noted that Leaf took off his moccasins and rubbed his feet as usual.

  He got out his pipe. He lit up with a Coal from the fire, much in the manner of his father. He blew up a big puff of smoke. It hit one of the broad leaves of the fallen cottonwoods above, baffled around it, streamed up in finer wisps, and vanished.

  He inclined his head to the left, still waiting, as he had waited all week, for his helper to speak to him.

  Presently Leaf served him supper. He ate slowly, with little relish. When he finished his first helping of boiled meat, he turned his dish over to signify he no longer had hunger.

  Leaf retreated into the shadows. She sat watching him.

  Again he lighted his pipe. He brooded. This time the pipe had an unpleasant taste. And he finished his smoke only because it was bad luck not to do so.

  “You have not told of today, my husband,” Leaf said finally from the shadows.

  A frown drew his brows together. He did not like it when she began the talk. “Nothing of importance happened today.”