Running Wolf

by Jenna Kernan

  He thought so, too, but when he’d said as much to his mother, her fury had been like the whirlwinds.

  Running Wolf nodded. “If she wishes.”

  “Now it is time to smoke,” said their shaman.

  The pipe was lit and passed. The men talked and joked. Everyone wanted Weasel to again wear the headpiece made from the mane of a black horse. Once the roached hair was tied to his head he looked so much like the Crow warriors that Running Wolf was not surprised he had fooled the young boys watching the herd. With meat for the dogs and a costume designed to deceive, Weasel had walked right among the horses of the Crow.

  Running Wolf would normally have found pleasure in the ritual of smoking the sacred tobacco and having an opportunity to hear stories of their success retold for the members of the council of elders. But now he saw the stories as an endless delay that kept him from where he truly wanted to be.

  Where was Snow Raven and what was happening to her?

  Turtle Rattler had kept the men from her, for now, but what about the women?

  Finally the men dispersed, but just before he took his leave, the chief called out to him. Running Wolf gritted his teeth at the delay as Red Hawk swept out the circular door. He caught the eye of Big Thunder and motioned his chin toward Red Hawk. His friend nodded and followed after Red Hawk as Running Wolf sat close to the chief, who now extended his hands to the fire.

  He motioned to the upright feathers on Running Wolf’s head. The eagle feathers each carried a red bar, marking his success at killing six warriors in battle. Had he stopped to kill Bright Arrow by slitting his throat or taking his scalp, he would have earned an additional feather, notched for this new coup. But he had chosen to take the woman rather than kill the man.

  “I think Weasel has earned a feather for his stealth.”

  Running Wolf smiled and nodded.

  “And you have led your first successful raid. It is my wish to mark your success with this.” He withdrew an eagle feather topped with tufted white downy feathers and the hair from the tail of a white horse that once belonged to Iron Bear. “I will present it formally at the feast, but I wanted to tell you that it was given to me by Kicking Buffalo after my first successful raid.”

  “I am honored,” said Running Wolf, feeling the glow of pride. This was what he wanted, to lead his people. To earn coups with brave deeds. To walk the Red Road as the Creator intended and to bring honor to his people. One day soon he would earn enough feathers to have his own war bonnet, and later, perhaps a coup stick fluttering with a hundred feathers.

  “Before you go, I would like to ask you a question.”

  Running Wolf leaned forward, anxious for some new quest, another opportunity to prove his worth. He was war chief of his tribe, a great honor. But soon the council of elders would be faced with a dilemma. They must choose the chief’s successor. He knew he was young, but both Black Cloud and Yellow Blanket had told him he was being considered. Red Hawk and Walking Buffalo were, as well.

  “Yes, my chief?”

  “You say you wish to take a wife. Have you chosen a woman?”

  “I have not.” Even as he said this, he realized he should have reflected on why Iron Bear was asking this before he answered. A leader needed to consider his words more carefully.

  “The choice of wife is an important one. She must not only warm your blankets and keep your fires. She must make your home from the best buffalo robes you can provide her and she must be strong to bear your children. Most important, she must act as adviser. For though many pretend that decisions are made by the council of elders, we all know that they do not act without considering the opinions of all and, most especially, their wives.”

  This was true, so why did Running Wolf feel a rising uncertainty at the direction this conversation had taken?

  “My daughter, Spotted Fawn, is young, but she is a good woman, modest and hardworking. And although her mother is gone, she has learned much from my second wife, Laughing Moon. She knows what it means to be the daughter of a chief. Her mother bore me five children, three of them sons. I believe that Spotted Fawn will also bear her husband strong children.”

  Running Wolf glanced toward the door. Two days ago he would have gladly taken the chief’s daughter. Before the raid he firmly believed that one woman was much like another. One might be comely and another a better cook. But all and all, they were just women.

  Now he felt differently.

  An ache gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Why had he ever pulled that woman onto his saddle?

  The chief continued on, failing to notice Running Wolf’s distraction. “I would ask that you consider her for your wife, for I would like to see her wed to a good man before I walk the Ghost Road.”

  “Your daughter is a virtuous woman. Any man among us would be lucky to call her wife.”

  Iron Bear smiled, his withered face now as wrinkled as a dried buffalo berry. “Make it soon, son.”

  Running Wolf nodded and took his leave. What had he just done?

  Chapter Five

  Snow Raven followed the mother of Running Wolf toward her tepee. The warriors had succeeded in their raid, and that meant a feast of celebration and dancing. If the Sioux custom was similar to the Crow, their deeds would be told by one who witnessed and not the one who performed the coup, for to do otherwise was boastful.

  She wiped the blood from her lip and pinched her nose to stem the flow. By the time they had reached the large conical tepee, she had stanched the worst of the bleeding.

  She ignored the cuts and the dull ache of the bruised tissue that seemed to cover her body. Even with her focus on her injuries she could not help but still at the sight of the lodge before her. The bottom of the tanned buffalo hide was ringed in a red band. Above this band were drawings of battles. She recognized Running Wolf immediately from his spotted horse. She circled the conical base with slow, measured steps. Ebbing Water smiled with pride as Snow Raven leaned forward to peer at the unfolding story of many battles.

  Running Wolf had killed two Crow in this battle using his lance. Suddenly she thought of her brother again and wondered if he had survived.

  She moved along, the ache in her muscles now reaching her heart. He had killed four in the next battle and stolen three horses. According to the next drawing he had captured seven eagles in a single hunt and also trapped and killed a wolf. Had that been that his vision quest?

  Near the top by the smoke flaps appeared a wolf again. She knew how difficult a wolf was to fool, and this feat truly impressed. But all served to remind her that he was a formidable enemy, one she could not trust and in whom she would find no pity. If she where to survive until she was rescued she must be wise and cautious.

  Her father would come for her. He would find her. But for the Crow to come out onto this prairie, so far from the protection of the other tribes, was dangerous.

  What would her father do?

  He must find help among the other Center Camp tribes, she realized.

  She might be here a long while. So she must be careful that none here discovered that she was the daughter of Six Elks. If she could only survive until her father came, she would be rescued. Then she could return again to her life as it had always been and would be again.

  “You see that my son is the most skilled of hunters. He brings me more furs than I know what to do with. And he has killed many of the evil Crow who try to invade our hunting grounds.” She studied the paintings for a moment longer, and her voice grew sharp. “Enough dawdling. We have a feast to prepare and you have fuel to carry.”

  On the plains, there were no trees, so the people used the dried buffalo droppings for fuel. Raven wondered if the women expected her to carry buffalo chips in the nude without moccasins. The answer, she discovered, was yes. When Raven asked if she might have a bit of buckskin to cover herself,
the woman laughed.

  “You must earn your keep here. If you do as you are told, I will feed you. If you wish a buckskin, perhaps you should kill a buck.”

  Raven did not ask for a bow and arrow to do just that.

  Ebbing Water gave her a basket and told her not to come back until it was full. On her first journey past the ring of tepees, Snow Raven paused to see if anyone was watching her and found she was alone. Was this some test? A trial to see if she was stupid enough to run with no weapons and no garments to protect her? She knew she would freeze in the cold rains and starve on the long journey.

  That was, unless the wolves found her on foot.

  She hoisted the basket higher on her bare hip and turned to search for buffalo chips. It was more difficult to walk barefooted through the grass than she had imagined, and it took some time to fill the basket.

  As she walked, she braided the tall grasses into a fine rope. When it was long enough, she looked for animal trails through the grass and set her first snare. Before she returned to the camp she set six more. It seemed from the trails she saw that the jackrabbits were plentiful here.

  When she stood from laying the final snare it was to find Running Wolf standing within ten paces of her. She gasped with surprise. No one ever crept up on her before. Had she damaged her hearing in the beating?

  Her arms went up to cover her breasts and then she stopped herself. Captives had no shame, and she was not embarrassed of her body. Let him see the bruises and cuts.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Your mother would not give me a buckskin. She said if I wanted a hide, I must get my own. So I am.” She motioned to the snare, carefully staked and set to encircle the neck of any rodent foolish enough to use this path.

  He stepped nearer and stooped to examine her work. “Well laid.”

  He stood close now and her skin began to prickle, as it sometimes did when the thunderbirds charged the air.

  Raven reclaimed her basket and held it between them. He turned to go and she headed after him, walking slowly enough so as not to appear to be following. She did not know if another beating awaited her upon her return. And she didn’t know if Running Wolf would prevent one. He had not intervened in the first, so she was doubtful his proximity would help her.

  Still, she felt safer with him than alone.

  She considered her options. To stay unnoticed she must be submissive and not draw attention. That meant taking any beating.

  It went against her very nature.

  She was a fighter, and a good one, too. Could she even manage to restrain herself if they came at her again? It had been hard to let them drag her from her horse. It had been hard to curl up like an infant and allow the feet to kick and the hands to claw. But she had done it.

  He turned to her before they entered the circle of lodges.

  “Stay well behind me. But call out if you need me.”

  She waited while he moved well ahead of her, anxious to let him go but relieved he would be close enough to come if she needed him.

  It was near sunset, and when he reached the first lodge his skin glowed golden in the failing light. Running Wolf disappeared as he crossed into the circle of tepees. She paused to get her bearings and recall where to find his home. She met two women who laughed and called her Buffalo Chips. She ignored them and continued toward Running Wolf’s tepee.

  Before she reached the lodge, Raven felt someone watching her. She looked about and found who spied on her, thinking it would be Running Wolf again, but instead she found a woman and instantly recognized her as another captive.

  She wore a dress that was too short to be proper, a dress that held no elk teeth or quillwork or beading with not even the simplest of fringes across the seam. Beyond this, the dress was patched and ill fitting. Her legs were as dirty as Snow Raven’s and her feet were also bare.

  She stared at Raven with a hollow expression of one pushed past her limit. Yet still there was a flicker of life behind the dead expression. The woman’s mouth turned down at the corners as she looked at Raven. Bringing a new captive to a tribe could upset the order among the other captives. Raven wanted no trouble. She desired only to remain anonymous and to survive long enough to be rescued.

  The woman strode forward and spoke to her in perfect Crow without the accent of the Sioux.

  “So they have taken everything from you, too.”

  “Not everything,” said Raven.

  The woman’s brow quirked in a silent question.

  “I still have my life.”

  That made the woman smile and nod her approval, as if Raven had passed some sort of test.

  “Yes, if you can keep it. You are too pretty and the men will be after you.”

  The loss of her virtue was what Raven most feared. Morality was highly prized by her people, except among captives. Their feelings were not considered. That was how it had always been.

  Now she was experiencing the opposite side.

  She remembered that some of the captives had earned a place. Some had even married into her tribe. She thought of Running Wolf and was horrified at the line of her reasoning. She was the daughter of a chief, the sister of a brave warrior. They would rescue her.

  Her head dipped as she realized that even if they did bring her home, all among her people would assume she had been soiled by the Sioux.

  The woman spoke again. “You will not last long if you don’t gain one or more protectors.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  The woman laughed.

  “Well, Little Warrior, what about your clothes? How do you plan to earn them?”

  “Earn them?”

  “Frog went naked for over a moon. They give all of us names. I was called Mourning Dove by my people, but here am called Mouse. They named her Frog for her croaking. There were two of them then, Frog and Fish. Nothing Frog did earned her a scrap. She was old and no one wanted her. Still, she begged to come into each tepee until she found one man who let her in—Turtle Rattler, the shaman. She keeps his fire and says he does not touch her. Fish walked into the snow and died. I did not beg, but neither did I walk into the snow. I took another road and decided that I would have meat and I would have clothing and I would have a tepee of my own. I did what I had to do to earn these things.”

  Mouse glared at Raven, daring her to say something. Raven knew what Mouse meant. She was a common woman, used by any who wished to spend time with her. The young men in her tribe had such a female, but some widowers and married men also went to her lodge. Raven did not judge Mouse, for she knew she might suffer the same fate. When one was starving and freezing it was hard to say what one would do. Would she choose to stay alive, like Mouse, or die, like Fish?

  “I have set snares to catch rabbits.” Raven motioned toward the prairie.

  This earned another smile from the woman. “They will take the meat and the pelts. But there is no harm in trying. How is it that you know how to do such things?”

  “My father...” Again Raven nearly said her father’s name. “My father and my brother taught me to hunt and ride.”

  “Really? You can hunt?”

  Raven nodded, not wishing to appear boastful.

  “Can you track game?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shoot a bow, use a lance?”

  Raven did not like the way this conversation had turned.

  “Can you read the land and find water?”

  “I have done these things,” she offered, “but not on the prairie.”

  The woman was now glowing.

  “There are others, six now that you have come.” Mouse paused and her gaze dropped with her expression. “Some have been here two winters. Some four. I have been here four. Little Deer nearly froze to death last winter because she was too you
ng to be a common woman. Little Deer has not yet broken her link with the moon. When she does, they will take her to our lodge.”

  Four years? Had Raven heard that right? In all that time had no one come for her? Raven felt a little piece of herself die. What if her brother and father could not find her? There were so many tribes of Sioux. Was she like a rock on the prairie, impossible to see unless you stumbled over it?

  “I am of the Center Camp Crow, the Shallow Water tribe,” said Mouse.

  “I am Snow Raven. I am of the...” But before she could speak, Mouse cut her off.

  “Also Center Camp Crow, but from the Low River tribe. Your father is Six Elks.”

  Raven’s stomach dropped. Somehow this woman knew her. She could tell the Sioux. Perhaps such information could be valuable. Mouse could trade it for a blanket or food.

  “No. I am not.”

  “I met your mother at one of the gatherings. I danced with her. I ate with your grandmother, Tender Rain, and listened to your grandfather, Winter Goose, tell stories of the Spirit World. He is your shaman.”

  That had been before he and her mother’s mother died of the spotting sickness with so many others. The trappers had come and then the traders and then the many sicknesses. But the spotting sickness was the worst. It was why her father had said they must go. Leave the home they’d had since the beginning of all things.

  Raven shook her head. “No, you’ve made a mistake.”

  Mouse lifted a fist to her hip. “Why do you say this? You know who you are. I know who you are.”

  In desperation, Raven told the truth. “But no one must know. Don’t you see? My only hope is to remain like any Crow captive. If they know, they could kill me or use me to hurt my family.”

  “Or trade you and the other captives for some of their own.”

  “No. I can’t take that chance.”

  The corners of Mouse’s mouth continued to sink. “You cannot take that chance? Are you the daughter of the chief of the Low River tribe or are you not? Are you the granddaughter of the greatest far-looking man our people have ever seen or are you not?”