by Karen Kay
“Oh?” she said. “What is that?”
“Arrows. I will need a few more arrows. Therefore, we will travel to a place that is good for this, a forest in the hills. After I have procured the right kind of wood, the arrows are not difficult to make. But I must find the right kind of wood.”
“That is good. And then we will be ready to travel onward?”
“It is so.”
“And is this forest very far out of our way?”
“A little,” he said, “but though time is precious, this must be done if I am to defend us properly.”
“Ah. Does that mean we leave today?”
“Hau. From now until we reach the trading post, we will of necessity travel only at night.”
“Is it safer to travel that way?”
“Hau, hau. It is summertime. A time for warring parties, for young men seeking revenge, and for young men looking to count coup so as to court the girl of their choice. It is not a good time to be traveling on the open prairie.”
“I see.”
“Therefore we will sleep during the day and go forward at night, and even in doing this, we will need to disguise ourselves and be very careful.”
“All right,” she said. “Then I should make preparations to leave tonight?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “What kind of wood do you require for your arrows?”
“The Juneberry or the chokecherry are the best wood for this.”
“Did you say the Juneberry or the chokecherry?”
“I did.”
“But…I don’t understand, why do we have to travel to find this wood? There are Juneberry and chokecherry trees here. I have been picking berries from them. Did you not know? I am glad I asked, for now we are saved a needless trip. Perhaps we could spend the extra time here in our camp. Hmm, although probably not, since time is of the essence.”
He didn’t respond. She went on to say, “You see? Your requirements are right here.”
“And so it might seem to you,” uttered Grey Coyote at last. “But in making an arrow, one must consider other things.”
“Other things? Like what?”
“Look around you, outside our small dwelling, and tell me what you see.”
Although Marietta saw little point in the exercise, she pushed back the entrance flap and glanced here and there. “Well, there’s lots of space, much brown grass, a few scrub trees…but mostly there are Juneberry trees,” she emphasized.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what? If they’re Juneberry trees…” She shook her head.
“Look again.”
She sighed.
“You must glance around you and discover what you do not see.”
“Look at what I don’t see?”
“Hau.”
“But I don’t see anything else.”
“That is the point.”
Marietta frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“There is nothing else here, and it is this which you must observe closely.”
She groaned.
He paid her little mind. “Do you notice that there are but few trees here, and even they are having a hard time in this soil?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. From what you see here, would you say this land needs these trees?”
“Well…”
“Why take what these saplings offer when they are required to remain here for the overall good and survival of the land?”
“Because they’re convenient?”
“Ahhhh,” he said. “You say they are convenient. But think again. If you do this, if you take the lives of these young trees, what will you leave for your children, and their children?”
Unconsciously, Marietta wrinkled her brow. “Does it matter?”
Grey Coyote jerked his chin to the left. “Of course it matters. Others will come after you. If you leave nothing but waste for those who follow, you are ignoring your greatest duty.”
“But—”
“Is it good and right to steal from your grandchildren to satisfy yourself today?”
“I… But look at all the wood which is here. The land is for use. Other trees will grow here eventually. I don’t see—”
“Will other trees grow?”
She hesitated, and he pressed forward. “The forest I seek is near here, and it is overcrowded. There are bushes and trees there that are in competition, and some will not live. Some are already dead. It is there I will find what I need to make the arrows. If I take from here, I will hurt the land.”
“But…I thought you needed to arrive at the trading post in a timely manner.”
“I do.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well?”
“And because I hurry, this would justify stealing from my grandchildren?”
Marietta didn’t answer. This was the first time this argument had ever been proposed to her.
“Hiya,” he said, when she remained subdued. “I cannot take what I need from these young trees and bushes. We will go to the forest I mentioned. The way is not far.”
Marietta frowned. “But, Grey Coyote, I protest this. It’s senseless. You have a duty. I have a duty. Between us, we have so little time. Please consider fashioning your arrows here, while I continue to make food. Besides, we’re only talking about a tree.”
“Ahhhh.” He elongated the sound. “And is the spirit of the tree less than that of a man?”
“Of course it is.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Who says it is? You? Man? Did you ask the tree if it thinks its spirit is less than yours?”
She pulled a face. “Ask the tree?”
“Is it not life? Does it not obey all the laws of life? Because it does not speak as we do does not mean it is not alive, or is less a spirit, or that it doesn’t in some way communicate.”
“But—”
“Look around you again.”
She did so, though with some impatience.
He asked, “Do you see that this land is parched?”
“Yes.”
“Yet despite these conditions, these bushes and saplings which you observe here are young and healthy. While they might make good arrows for me, why take their lives when there are others who will die anyway in another forest?”
But Marietta hadn’t given up, and she opened her mouth to speak.
Grey Coyote cut her off. “I must also answer another question before I act. If I use these saplings and bushes now, what will I leave this land? Have I helped the Creator make this earth a better place for others, or am I destroying His creation?”
“But—”
“If I must destroy a life, and I must, then let it be a life which is already dead or dying.”
Marietta squinted up at Grey Coyote. Though only in company with this man for a few days, she was amazed to discover how different was their attitude toward this subject, which bordered, actually, on the mundane. She was also amazed to discover how much she was learning.
“Mr. Coyote—”
He frowned at her, though the look was cushioned with a slight chuckle. “Who is Mr. Coyote?”
She smiled. “Husband.”
“That is better.”
“Husband, if you do this, aren’t you then playing God?”
“Perhaps I am, but there is no justification which can make this right. As the wise men of my tribe have said, none survives alone. While it is necessary to kill for food or shelter, remember that all life has the right of survival. And all life is interdependent.”
Marietta shot the man a twisted smile. No harsh words had been spoken, it was true. Indeed, his voice had been, as usual, soft, calm. Yet he had won his argument all the same.
Apparently, they were to travel to this forest.
She said, “All right. I will go. You mentioned we will need even more preparation for this journey?”
“Hau, hau. Though we have food enough, we should sew another pair of moccasins for you, and extra clothes—clothes that will not t
ear as yours do, for the manner in which we will be traveling will be rather harsh. Perhaps we should also have an extra robe for you, since the nights are cool. The deerskins we have already will do for this purpose. Tonight, when the moon rises, we will leave.”
She nodded. “Tonight, then. But do you think we have time to make all of these things today?”
“I will help.”
“Even with your help, I think the things you mentioned require much work.”
“They will not be fancy.”
“Still…”
“Come, let us set to doing this.” He pulled one of the deer hides toward him. “But remember,” he cautioned, “if we are ever in camp with others…”
“I know. I know. Women have their chores, men have theirs. I have not forgotten.”
“You learn quickly.” Smiling at her, he bent and lightly touched his lips to hers.
Somewhere on the Western Plains
Was it man, or bear? It growled like a bear when it spoke. It moved like a bear when it walked. It smelled of something rank and offensive. Its body, even its face, was covered in hair. But there were two distinguishing features that gave clue to its origin: It wore clothes, boots, and hat, though its hair was long, lice-infected and unkempt.
At present, it slunk toward a hunter, who, caught up in disengaging a wolf trap, didn’t see or hear the creature. However, after a moment the stench of the beast gave warning.
The hunter stopped still. He sniffed the air. He listened.
“Who goes there?” he called.
There was no answer. Then, like a thunderbolt, the brute struck, the surprise, as well as the beast’s strength, overpowering the slimmer constitution of the hunter.
A gnarly hand jerked up a knife, then down it plunged, into the hunter’s heart, stabbing the man once, then again and again.
It was over in a matter of minutes.
Letting go of the body, the creature kicked the hunter aside and grabbed up the hunter’s wolf pelts. The beast then slung the furs—which were tied onto a ropelike string—over its shoulder.
“Blazing wolfer,” the creature muttered, its speech more growl than human. “Deserved what’cha got. This’n here’s my woods, wolfer. No one hunts here but me. Reckon these is mine. A fine penny they’ll fetch fer me too.”
The beast spit, first on the hunter, then on the ground. The brute snarled as well, and with no concern given to the hunter’s body, to the spirit of the man or to a decent burial, the beast crashed away through the undergrowth, heading toward the closest known trading post.
Chapter Ten
It was early evening, that time of day when the sun has set yet the west is still awash in the shimmering golds and pinks of dusk. Straight overhead, however, the sky was the deepest blue. In the east a lone star rose over the horizon, while the high-pitched singsong of the crickets and locusts grew loud, replacing the more melodious chirping of the lark sparrow, the longspur and robin. A lone dove cooed in the distance.
Grey Coyote was en route to the coulee where he had hobbled the ponies. Moisture hung heavily in the air as he trod over known ground. The fragrant scents of dry grass and wildflowers had settled densely over the land, perfuming the landscape with an aroma that was sweet but weighty.
It happened suddenly. One moment the western sky was alight with end-of-the-day images, the next it was pitch-black, thick with moisture-laden storm clouds dominating the landscape. Overhead, the thunder roared.
Though it was not uncommon for bad weather to suddenly come upon the unwary prairie traveler, Grey Coyote knew this was no ordinary storm. For five days Grey Coyote had experienced a reprieve of sorts from those things that haunted him; for five days he had heard nothing from the Thunderer.
It appeared his breathing space was fleeting. Indeed, his archenemy was back.
All at once, a windstorm kicked up around him, and like a blast from a white man’s gun, a fast-whirling prairie wind knocked Grey Coyote off his feet. No rifle was fired, yet Grey Coyote ached as though he had been shot, and many times.
Flat on his back, unable for the moment to rise, Grey Coyote had no option but to look up into the sky.
There, images had formed above him…two images. One was familiar—the man from his vision, the man with unkempt, unclean and straggly hair. The other likeness was that of a white trapper.
The trapper lay dead. But the beast—his appearance ugly and more bearlike than human—hovered over his victim like some wild monster, glad of its conquest.
And then came the familiar refrain:
“Neither small nor large, nor wide, nor narrow, the white man possesses a thing that will propel you toward freedom. Though he will think it is possessed by him and though you must possess it, and it will possess you, only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.
“You alone must solve this, you alone must act on it, and if you do, your people go free.”
What did this mean? Why was he, Grey Coyote, being given a vision now, when he had not sought one?
And then the answer came to him: The white man was near. Grey Coyote’s moment, his chance to end the curse, was close at hand.
But was that all? Was it not also a warning from the Creator? An alarm raised to show Grey Coyote that he must be prepared? That the one he sought was capable of inhuman acts?
Hau. Grey Coyote feared it was so.
The images faded, allowing Grey Coyote to rise onto his feet. For an instant, he stood stock-still, his face upturned to the heavens. Lifting his arms, he began to sing.
“Haiye, haiye, hai-ha.
Haiye, haiye, hai-ha.”
It was a song of thanksgiving, a song sent to the Creator in acknowledgment. It was also a promise to the Creator—and to himself.
He would be prepared.
Grey Coyote had done what he must. Nevertheless, his heart was heavy as he dragged his feet all the way back to camp, his spirits burdened beyond comfort, for he dreaded the confrontation with his wife, a thing which would be forthcoming, no doubt. But there was nothing for it. He’d had to do it.
He had let the ponies go. He’d had no choice.
After the warning from the Creator, Grey Coyote grasped that he must proceed with caution. Where this white man was, he did not know; where this white man might stage an attack, he did not know.
But one thing was clear, it was time to leave, to travel again over the prairie…safely.
Ponies, unfortunately, were a signal to war parties, as well as to the white hunters and mountain men; therefore, ponies to a lone rider were dangerous. If Grey Coyote were to ensure that he and Little Sunset traversed this next part of their journey without incident—surprising the enemy instead of being surprised—then they must cross this land not as travelers, but as scouts.
Nevertheless, Little Sunset was not going to be happy, and it would be his responsibility to bring her to understanding, if he could. But her viewpoint, he feared, would be very different from his own, and he groped for the words to bridge the gap between their realities.
Alas, if only he could confide the deepest secrets of his soul, his task might be easier. But he could not; he alone must solve the riddle. So much was this true, he feared that to share his plight with another could cause the forfeiture of his entire life’s work.
So, with these somber thoughts deeply in his mind, he stepped into camp. Little Sunset, unaware of what plagued him, welcomed him heartily. Throwing back their shelter’s entrance flap, she crawled out from it and happily pushed herself to her feet. Running toward him and smiling, she flung herself into his arms, grinning. “You were gone so long. I worried.”
He smiled back at her. “Haye-haye, this is a good greeting. Perhaps I should be gone for a long time each and every day.”
“Maybe.” She looked around him, toward his back, then at each side of him. “Where are the ponies?”
He didn’t answer.
She seemed not to notice, however, and wen
t on to say, “I have prepared all of our things for the horses to carry, our robes, everything, and we have much pemmican ready.”
Grey Coyote hesitated once more, his silence long and drawn out. At last, knowing he had to respond in some fashion, he came right to the point. “The ponies are gone.”
“Gone?”
“Hau.”
“Did someone steal them?”
“Hiya.”
“No? Then did they come loose from their hobbles and wander away?”
“Hiya.”
She looked puzzled. “What happened?”
He breathed deeply. “I let them go.”
She drew away from him slightly. “You what?”
Grey Coyote didn’t elaborate all at once. But knowing he must again say something, he stated, “We are entering enemy country,” as though this explained everything.
“Yes?”
He jerked his head to the left. “When one is in enemy territory, and alone, one must be careful. If we bring the horses, we cannot predict we will be able to safely cross the prairie.”
“Oh. But…” She paused, and her voice was colored with confusion. Tentatively, she stepped out of his arms. She was frowning. “But I thought you went to collect them.”
“It had been my intention to do so, but I fear I underestimated the danger on the prairie at this time of year. And so I have changed my mind. Circumstances now demand we travel in a way so that we will be as invisible as possible.”
“But the ponies were our only means of transportation, weren’t they?”
“We have other means.”
“We do?”
“Hau.” He pointed toward her feet. “You stand on them.”
He watched as enlightenment dawned, and he waited for her answer, although he knew her reply would not bode him well. At length, all she asked was, “We’re going to walk?”
“Walk, crawl…and creep a little too.”
Her eyes wide and with her mouth slightly open, she gaped at him.
He went on to explain, “We will have to travel as scouts, since there is no one but myself to defend us.”
