Buffalo Medicine

by Don Coldsmith

  Owl was thoroughly confused. He would have thought the Hairfaces had become completely demented, except that he had become convinced that they did nothing without some reason.

  The warriors stepped back. One advanced cautiously and applied a burning torch to a spot on the top of the log. There was a blinding flash and a thunderous roar. White smoke billowed from the log. Before Owl’s astonished eyes, a large boulder several hundred paces across the valley exploded into innumerable small pieces and disappeared. Echoes of the blast reverberated across the hills, then it was quiet except for the delirious giggle of the Old Man. As the dust and smoke settled, the warriors prepared the smoke-log for another burst.

  Several times the deafening roar was repeated. Some of the prisoners held hands over their ears, while others cried out in terror.

  Owl’s astonishment did not prevent him from noticing the really important fact. The smoke-log would make it possible for the Hairfaces to destroy an enemy at a distance of several hundred paces.

  And, if their medicine could reach over great distances, how could they be beaten? More to the point, it might be that escape was entirely impossible. How could one escape medicine so powerful?

  That night Owl was more depressed than at any time previously. He had begun to think perhaps the Old Man was right.

  “From the Hairfaces,” he had said, “there is no escape.”

  11

  Several suns after the smoke-log demonstration Owl discovered, among the prisoners already with the Hairfaces, another man of his own tribe. The man was somewhat older than himself, and had been among the Hairfaces for several winters.

  Owl discovered him accidentally. It was meal time, and the guards had brought a kettle of the ever-present stewed corn. The prisoners filed past, and a man ladled a scoop of the substance into each bowl.

  “Aiee” murmured a voice behind Owl. “Corn soup again.” The man spoke as if to himself, but Owl had been thinking the same thing. And, he realized suddenly, in the same language. This must be a man of the People!

  The two walked over against the wall of the compound, and Owl squatted beside the other. They ate in silence for a short while and then Owl initiated a conversation, using the People’s tongue.

  “It is much different from well-cooked hump ribs,” he observed cautiously.

  From his attempts at communication with the crazed Old Man, he had become wary. The Old Man, when approached unexpectedly or too rapidly, would retreat into his own confused world, and babble to the spirits which possessed him, sometimes for hours. Owl had become very cautious about approaching other prisoners too abruptly.

  There was a long silence, then the other man finally spoke softly.

  “You are of the People?” he asked timidly. Owl nodded eagerly.

  “I am Owl, son of Heads Off, of the Elk-dog band.”

  “And I am, or was, of the Red Rocks. My name, Long Bow.” He formed the words hesitantly, from long disuse.

  “Have there been others of the People here?” Owl pressed.

  “Oh, yes, my friend. Most have been killed trying to escape.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “Of course. It brought me this the last time.” He held his right hand forward, fingers spread. There was no thumb.

  The significance sank through to Owl. Without a right thumb one could not handle weapons. Enough to hunt, perhaps, although clumsily, but not with enough proficiency to engage in combat. Or, to escape, Owl realized. One would need every skill to escape from the Hairfaces’ strong medicine.

  “I can still carry the sacks,” continued Long Bow, smiling in grim humor. Owl was later to realize the significance of the remark.

  The two talked a long while. It was pleasant to hear one’s own tongue again. Long Bow had been stolen from the Red Rocks band when a young man. The Head Splitters had kept him for one winter, and then traded him to the Mud Lodge people. They had in turn sold him to the Hairfaces. There had been several of the young People originally, now all dead. He had seen two of them killed in escape attempts, and the others never returned. The Hairfaces always announced to the other prisoners that the fugitives had been killed.

  “Just as I would do,” Owl nodded. Perhaps escape was possible, and their captors concealed any such successful attempts.

  “No,” Long Bow shook his head, “I think not. The Old Man,” he gestured at the pitiful babbling creature, “has escaped many times. He is always caught by the Mud Lodge people or someone, and brought back.”

  Still, Owl thought it possible that there were escapees unaccounted for. His spirits rose a little.

  He told Long Bow of his initial encounter with their captors, and his expectation of welcome into their tribe. The other man’s mouth dropped open in shocked horror.

  “That is why El Gato has a special hate for you,” he mused. “Of course! To them, you are a half-breed.” He glanced around apprehensively. “I think El Gato is probably of mixed blood.” He hesitated again. “You will understand, my friend, if I do not wish to be seen with you too much?” He edged away and sat down some distance from Owl.

  Nevertheless, they occasionally found opportunity to talk. Owl brought the other the general news of the People since the time of Long Bow’s capture. He already knew of the death of Hump Ribs, chief of the Elk-dog band, in the Great Battle, but it was shortly after that he had been captured. Was old Many Robes, real-chief of all the bands of the People, still alive?

  “Oh, yes,” Owl assured him, “he goes on and on. He was old when my father first came to the People.”

  Long Bow nodded. “Is there talk of who might be the next real-chief?”

  Owl shook his head. “I think the People are happy and rich enough since the Great Battle, they do not worry about who is real-chief. I had heard nothing, at least until I left.” He explained the circumstances of his departure, now over a year ago, and his quest for the medicine vision.

  “Aiee, you are a medicine man? It is bad that you should come to this!”

  “It is bad, my friend, that anyone should come to this,” Owl answered firmly.

  Long Bow was able to give much information about the purpose of their captivity. This was, he informed Owl, a seasonal lull in their activity. Cold Maker, though not so powerful here as at home, was unpredictable. The Hairfaces did not like to be in the mountains during winter, so they retreated to this place, bringing the prisoners. Here they waited until the Greening Moon, or—the man hesitated.

  “Owl, I have lost count of the moons, they are so different here.” He shook his head. “No matter. They will take us again to the mountains.”

  At this point, he used words unfamiliar to Owl, and the young man again lost the line of the conversation. He stopped the speaker again.

  “But why? What purpose does this have?”

  “To carry the rocks,” answered Long Bow, a little irritably. Then he explained, a bit more patiently. “We dig the yellow rocks from a hole in the mountain, and carry the sacks down to the arristra.” Another unknown word, Owl reflected. Perhaps he would understand when he saw the place.

  “Why do they want the rocks?”

  “For the shiny medicine stuff in them!” the exasperated Long Bow burst out.

  Suddenly, the truth about the Hairfaces, their presence here, their reasons for holding the prisoners, all began to become clear to Owl. The pieces fit together.

  He had noticed that there were two kinds of the shiny medicine. The more common sort, that which their weapons were made of, was whitish, like the shiny sides of the small fish in the streams. The other, this yellow kind of which Long Bow spoke, seemed more highly regarded by the Hairfaces. They appeared to have almost a reverence for it. Could it be, he marveled, that this yellow stuff which glittered was even stronger medicine than that which made the smoke-log roar?

  12

  With the new information as to the Hairfaces’ intent and purpose came new understanding. Old White Buffalo had continually urged his young apprentice to l
ook beyond, to see why, to learn how all things relate.

  Now Owl could see more clearly the position of the Mud Lodge people. The Hairfaces must have men to dig and carry the shiny medicine rocks. If they did not have the men they needed, they would find them. The nearest tribes, those of the Mud Lodges, would be forced to dig and carry, unless they could furnish prisoners for that purpose.

  This new understanding did not prevent Owl’s ill will toward both groups. It simply was comforting to him to realize that there was some reason left in a world which had seemed completely mad.

  In one area of the Hairfaces’ medicine, however, he was still completely baffled. That was their medicine man. Owl had identified the man early in his captivity. He knew this must be a medicine man because his garments were different. The other Hairfaces showed a great deal of respect for the man, also.

  He was short, somewhat fat, and wore a robe that reached nearly to the ground. There were several objects made of the shiny yellow medicine rock that dangled around his neck and waist. The medicine man constantly handled the beads on one of these thongs, sometimes murmuring a chant under his breath. His chants were highly regarded by the other Hairfaces. More than once Owl had seen an individual stop and lower his head while the medicine man made gestures over him, sometimes with a short chant.

  This man was the only Hairface who did not actually have facial fur. For a time Owl wondered if this had some meaning, but finally decided not. Other Hairfaces had varying amounts, seemingly independent of their status and power.

  Owl did puzzle considerably over the medicine symbols used by the man. One constantly recurred, in the objects hanging around his neck, and was stitched on the front of his garment. It consisted of an upright portion, which appeared to be connected to a shorter cross member. This design held very great significance for all the Hairfaces, but was apparently under exclusive control of the medicine man. He obviously held the symbol in great reverence. Once he was seen to take the dangling example around his neck and touch it to his mouth in a kiss. This, no doubt, rejuvenated his powers, Owl decided.

  The same symbol, which now appeared to Owl the most powerful medicine of all, was seen in one more prominent place. In the center of the Hairfaces’ village, among the cluster of dwellings, stood the medicine lodge. The lodges were all similar to those of the Mud Lodge people, squarish and flat topped. But these of the Hairfaces had large square doorways, through which a man could walk upright. These openings could be shut with a flat device made of wood, instead of skins. They hung from one side of the opening, rather than from above.

  But in the midst of the cluster of these curious dwellings was the medicine lodge. It was easily the tallest man-made structure Owl had ever seen, towering high above the ground. It would be as tall as several men standing on each others’ shoulders, and was magnificent in appearance. Decorative designs in stone adorned this lodge, and on the top of the highest point of the structure was yet another symbol. It was the same as the emblem so revered by the medicine man, but in a greatly enlarged form.

  The upright was formed of a log as thick as one’s thigh, fixed firmly in the solid sun-baked mud of the medicine lodge. Lashed tightly to this was the second log, equally massive, and greater than the span of a man’s arms. There remained the mystery of the symbolism of this device, but it was obvious that it was a very potent force in the customs of the Hairfaces. Perhaps their greatest medicine, Owl thought.

  He was puzzled. Why did his father, from this same tribe, not have this most powerful of medicines? It was generally assumed among the People that Heads Off possessed strong medicine, but it was different. It was elk-dog medicine, and related primarily to control, management, and training of horses.

  Perhaps, Owl reasoned, this medicine of the tree was the exclusive property of the medicine man. Yes, that must be it. It would be like White Buffalo’s knowledge of the herds, and the time of the firing of the grass. Like his own medicine, in fact, learned laboriously as the old man’s assistant. Indeed, the medicine man of the Hairfaces seemed to have a couple of young apprentices who assisted him, especially in the area of the medicine lodge.

  The big medicine lodge was unquestionably under the sole authority of the medicine man. Under his direction, large numbers of the Hairfaces gathered periodically for a time. The voice of the medicine man could be heard, raised in chants and incantations, and occasionally, his listeners could be heard to respond in a short chant, also.

  Owl longed to catch a glimpse inside. As the days dragged on, it became almost an obsession with him. He came to think that a brief look, an insight into the qualities of this most potent of medicines, was somehow his most important goal. Next to escape, of course. That remained his primary occupation, but had been postponed until the changing of the seasons. Still, Owl came to believe that many of the mysteries of all existence might be opened if he could only see inside the medicine lodge.

  He spoke to Long Bow about it, and received an answering look of terror.

  “I do not know, Owl, but I think it would be very dangerous. It is too powerful a medicine for us.” He refused completely to talk about it any further.

  Owl was inclined to discount Long Bow’s fears. The use of a powerful medicine is only dependent on knowledge of it. Long Bow did not have expertise in such things. Besides, he had been a captive so long that his spirit was gone. He had become fearful.

  Owl’s opportunity to look into the secrets of the medicine lodge came quite by accident. It was in what must have been the Greening Moon, shortly before the prisoners were moved to the mountain. Owl was among a group of workers who had been unloading firewood from carts. Sun Boy was nearing the edge of the world and shadows were long as they shuffled back through the village to their enclosure. Their over-seer walked alongside, intent on watching for any infraction.

  Just as they were opposite the medicine lodge, one of the Hairfaces called to the man with the whip, and the other stopped to converse with him. The prisoners, glad for any opportunity, began to slump to a squatting position of rest. Owl glanced at the preoccupied overseer, and took a few steps in the direction of the medicine lodge as he squatted.

  From this position he could see through the massive doorway, which stood open. It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the dimness inside, but soon he could make out shapes and objects. Light came from the small fires burning on the tips of the lumps of fat used by the Hairfaces for this purpose. By this dim light he could see what originally appeared to be men and women in strange garments. Then he realized they were only effigies.

  Suddenly he saw, at the far side of the medicine lodge, an effigy larger than all the others, and horrifying beyond belief. He hoped it was an effigy, though it could have been an actual person. At least, it was life-sized.

  Against the far wall of the medicine lodge had been erected another of the symbolic trees. And, horribly impaled with stakes driven through hands and feet, hung the prisoner. He was clad only in a breechclout, and his head hung forward, in death or unconsciousness.

  Owl crept cautiously back to the line of other prisoners. He could hardly comprehend the barbarity of this form of torture. Aiee, it was no wonder the medicine man commanded such respect. Owl resolved to stay as far from the man as possible.

  He did not abandon his thoughts of escape, but he would have to be very careful. He had no desire to be the next prisoner to be staked to the tree for torture.

  13

  The trail to the mine was narrow and steep, crawling along the shoulder of the mountain. On the uphill side the slope was rough and broken, with scrubby junipers scattered in the few accessible areas of soil among the boulders. On the other side, dropping precipitously, the canyon stretched along the trail nearly its entire length.

  The depth was breathtaking to Owl, raised in the gently rolling prairie. He had, at first, an almost irrational fear of the cliff, soon erased by the hard physical labor of the task required. Still, after many days of staggering up the narrow path, an
d returning, bent under a heavy ore sack, there remained the dread of the height. Whenever he looked down at the pointed tops of tall fir trees, dwarfed by distance, his bowel tightened and his equilibrium became disturbed for a moment. He tried not to look down often. This was easy, because the utmost attention was required not to make a misstep, especially on the descent. On this leg of the journey the ore sack on one’s shoulders made a top-heavy load, and balance was critical.

  On the return trip, several times between dawn and dark, it was sometimes possible to look far off across the canyon. The opposite range of shining mountains rose on above them, while in the vast intervening space eagles flew and fluffy clouds drifted. Owl never became accustomed to the strange feeling of looking down on drifting clouds or soaring eagles.

  These moments of wonder were fleeting, however. Stationed along the trail were the overseers, each with his ever-ready whip. If a prisoner stumbled or seemed to be malingering, the stroke of the cat followed without hesitation. El Gato, more malevolent than ever; could always be counted on to assume a post about halfway up the trail. It was a difficult part of the path at best, very narrow around the shoulder of the mountain. Here there was not room for two to pass on the trail, so it was sometimes necessary to wait for another to traverse the narrow spot. Unfortunately, El Gato’s post overlooked this portion of the path. The man had selected as his own a huge boulder, several paces in length and taller than a man’s reach. He would pace the distance of the boulder’s flat top like his namesake, turning at each end, to constantly keep the prisoners in view, if not in reach of the long lash.

  It was the most dreaded portion of each round trip. To the prisoners, it was a grim game, the object of which was to save one’s strength to traverse this short passage as rapidly as possible. If one loitered too long in other areas, of course, the whips of other overseers came searching. Still, in the mind of each prisoner was the sure thought. No cat searched, bit, and cut the skin as severely as that of El Gato. To pass El Gato’s rock safely was the most important point of each trip.