by Mike Blakely
“Looks Away!”
The grating voice made her flinch, and she turned quickly to see River Woman scowling at her from below.
“What are you doing?”
“Gathering clay.”
“For what?”
“To make a white paint for my husband.”
“Your husband!” River Woman hissed her disapproval. “Shaggy Hump is my husband. Are you the one who carries his shield when we move the village?”
“No.”
“But, I am. You are little more than a slave. If you were a sits-beside wife, you would know that Shaggy Hump does not like white paint. He likes yellow and red and black. I do not see that you are gathering anything, anyway. What are you looking at up there?”
“Your son. Come see.”
River Woman climbed the crumbling dirt bank and crouched with Looks Away behind the brink. She saw Horseback darting back and forth on the yellow mare, trying to pull Trotter on behind him as Whip scrambled around like a four-legged. “What are they doing?”
“Can you see the circle they have made in the dirt, my sister? That is the clearing in the woods. Whip is the great humpbacked bear, and Trotter is my … your husband.”
River Woman watched the boys play. “They play a new game. It will serve them well one day in battle. My son is young, but he is wise to think of such a thing.”
Looks Away did not try to explain that the new game had really been her idea. She had asked Horseback what he had learned from the fight with the great bear. After thinking a while, Horseback had said that he had learned he was not the great rider the spirits wanted him to be, or else he would have prevented his father’s wound.
“Show the spirits that you want to ride better,” she suggested.
“How will I show them?”
“Ride as you wish you would have ridden during the fight with the great bear. The spirits watch always.”
Now she felt her heart grow with pride as Horseback clasped arms with Trotter and pulled him onto the horse behind him with one smooth pass. This was a thing she had never seen before, even during her old life among horsed warriors in the mountains.
“Look,” River Woman said, pointing down the brink of the riverbank. “Our eyes are not the only ones watching the young horsebacks play.”
Looks Away spotted a girl of the Corn People crouching behind clumps of saskatoon bushes, her eyes glistening and her girlish mouth open in awe.
“Yes. That girl watches Horseback all the time.”
“What are we to think of this girl?” River Woman said.
“There is none prettier among the Corn People. I think Horseback likes the way she looks.”
“I thought he liked that other girl.”
“Slope Child? No, that was only a few nights in his lodge. She showed him the way, but now she visits some other boy’s lodge. Horseback likes that girl, there, much better.”
“She is small, but she looks strong.”
“She is very healthy. I have seen her run like a coyote and climb trees like a little skinny bear cub.”
River Woman turned to face Looks Away. “What is her name?”
“Teal.”
“Her hips look good for bearing warrior babies.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Her father is poor, yes?”
“Among the Corn People he is a rich one, my sister.”
“A rich one among the Corn People is the same as a poor one to the sits-beside wife of Shaggy Hump. You do not know that because you are not a sits-beside wife.”
Looks Away did not try to argue with River Woman, for it was always futile.
“We should go together to speak to the mother of this girl, Teal, then she will know my son’s father is a great warrior to have two wives, and she will want her daughter marry my son.”
Looks Away remained silent. She only hoped River Woman would not offend Teal’s mother, for River Woman was proud and haughty.
“Do you not agree, sister?”
Looks Away liked to hear River Woman honor her with the name of sister, but knew she only used it to get something she wanted. “I have listened to the girl’s mother before. I am worried that she is greedy. If we both go to her and prove how great your husband is to have such a proud and beautiful sits-beside wife, and a second slave wife as well, then she may want too much for the girl. Teal’s father has only one horse, and he may demand many more from the great Shaggy Hump.”
“I shall go alone to speak to her.”
“Yes. That would be better. Or send me with the words you choose me to say. I am only a plain second wife and will not excite the Corn woman’s greed.”
River Woman looked at the girl spying from the bushes, then looked back at her son, practicing his riding skills. “You must tell me everything she says before you promise anything.”
“Of course. I will be only the ears to hear, and the mouth to speak. It is your heart that guides your son, my sister.”
Just then a cry came up from the village below, and the women turned to hear through the sounds of wind in the leaves. A crier was running among the lodges, shouting excitedly.
“What is the crier shouting?” River Woman asked.
“I cannot hear, but he sounds very excited.”
“Go! Take your pouch of white clay to your lodge. I will shout at Horseback and his friends.”
16
The council assembled in the grassy flats near the timber that lined the river, where a long line of lodges had been raised. The men came together outside of Shaggy Hump’s lodge, for it was near the center of the string of tipis, and considered an honorable place to convene.
A few old puhakuts filed into the lodge, forming the inside ring of the council circle. Around them gathered the elite warriors renowned for their battle scars and strokes counted. Around these, the younger men gathered. Horseback and his friends, Whip and Trotter, made up part of the outermost curve, for they had yet to ride the war trail, though they had sought visions and hunted.
Though they now stood together, the feeling had changed between Horseback and his two friends. Horseback had received a powerful vision—one that all the people of two bands were talking about. Trotter had spent four days seeking, only to receive the vision of a spirit-grouse. And Whip—poor Whip—had failed in two vision quests to receive any medicine at all. The spirits did not wish to speak to him. Horseback knew that both Whip and Trotter envied his medicine.
When the council began, Spirit Talker spoke first, for he possessed powerful magic, which gave him much wisdom. “My people,” he said, waiting for those around him to quiet down. “It is well that the Corn People and the Burnt Meat People have lived and traveled and hunted together from the Fat Moon to the Red Calf Moon. We have made a time of laughter and much meat. Now, this time is no more. Echo, tell the people what you have seen.”
Horseback craned his neck to see Echo-of-the-Wolf stand as Spirit Talker sat back down. Aside from his father, Horseback admired no warrior of the Burnt Meat People more than Echo. Only a few winters older than Horseback himself, Echo had already taken scalps and captured horses. He was as vane and arrogant as any rich war chief ten winters older, and Horseback wanted to be much like him.
“One sleep after the great hunt at this place,” he began, “I made a scout to the land in the south, following some of the buffalo and watching for signs of the Yutas, for we camp near their country. My guardian spirits, who grant me much power, instructed me to make this scout in a dream as my belly was full the first night after the great hunt.
“Riding two sleeps into the dangerous Land Between the Two Mountain Ranges, I noticed a dust cloud to the east, rising from the base of the sacred Medicine Bow mountains. I rode that way and found our enemies in camp. My guardian spirits made me brave, and I crawled near enough to listen. Like Shaggy Hump, I learn words of other nations, for I wish to travel far and trade in days to come. I listened to the Yutas and knew some of their talk, and watched their gestures. I b
egan to understand.
“When the seven hunters came with Shaggy Hump to kill the many buffalo here at Two Rivers, one of these enemies saw us, for he, too, was scouting the big buffalo dust he had seen from his camp in the mountains. We were seven, and he was only one, so he did not attack us, but rode back to his village in the mountains to get more warriors. Now they ride twenty warriors strong, and they come to destroy us as we butcher our kill. They carry their weapons with them, and two of them carry Fire Sticks.
“The bad things they say make me want to fight. They say we are cowards and they will capture us without a fight and take us back to their mountains and let their women torture us. They say they will take our women away and defile them, and beat them, and if they are strong enough to survive, they will make them into slave wives. They say they will take our children and tie them up until they are trained like dogs, and they will cut the testicles from our young boys and make them into slaves to sell to other nations. These are just some of the terrible things they laugh about at their camp.”
Echo stood silent for a moment, his face frozen in a scowl of hatred.
“Yet, our enemies are foolish. They do not know that the rest of our village has now come to join us. They do not know that the two bands of Burnt Meat People and Corn People have come together to make us stronger. They believe we are only seven hunters with a few women and children.
“When I left them, I rode fast, and I know that they did not find out about me, for my medicine has made me invisible to them. They are coming. They will attack us when the sun rises if we remain in this place.”
Echo-of-the-Wolf sat down and men stirred with excitement all around the council circle.
Shaggy Hump rose and spoke: “Spirit Talker, our wise grandfather, what do you say about what this brave young warrior has discovered?”
“I say we must prepare now to fight or to leave this place.”
“What is your counsel, Grandfather?”
“We have hunted well here at the Two Rivers, yet our women have not had time to dry the meat and make the pemmican. I like pemmican. The women put berries and tallow in the gut with the dried meat, and it tastes good after it has stayed together a while. If we leave now to avoid a fight, we must leave much good food behind. The Burnt Meat People make good pemmican. I must tell the women of the Corn People to learn from them, for the Burnt Meat People pemmican is the best I have ever eaten. But if we leave this camp, the women will have no time to make good pemmican.”
“Shall we fight, Grandfather?”
“I am an old man. The only reason I want to fight is so I may go to the Shadow Land and see how the pemmican tastes there. No one would miss an old man like me. But if we choose to fight, some of the young men may die before they have had the chance to eat their share of pemmican. The spirits talk to me. They say the winter will be long and cold, and we have gathered few pine nuts. We must survive on pemmican this winter. Which is better? To die fighting for the meat we have made, or to die starving this winter because we leave our good meat behind?”
Horseback saw the eyes of his people turn from old Spirit Talker to Shaggy Hump, and his heart swelled with pride that his father would speak for both these bands of True Humans.
“With few words, Grandfather, you speak much truth. Our shame would heap upon us like enemy coals if we had to listen to our children cry for food this winter because we were too afraid to fight. We have no reason to fear, for the spirits have brought us to this place. Did not my son, Horseback, see the dust of these many buffalo from the sacred place of his vision quest? Did not our medicine make our arrows fly straighter than straight?
“We are strong together. The enemy does not know of this strength. Let them come. We will take down all the lodges except the ones brought here by the seven hunters. We will lead away all the horses except the ones brought here by the seven hunters. At dawn our enemies will attack our seven lodges, but we will be waiting for them in the timber and in the draws, and we will close around them. Then we will take scalps and count many battle strokes and let our women show these enemies the real way to torture a captive warrior if they are cowardly enough to be taken alive!”
A chorus of female voices rose outside the walls of the council lodge, saying, “Yee-yee-yee-yee.”
Horseback grabbed Trotter by the arm. “We are going to know battle!” he said. But now he looked in Trotter’s eyes and saw the fear.
The circle was breaking up as quickly as it had formed, and the people were moving away to prepare for battle—the women and children to their lodges, the men to their weapons. But Trotter and Whip lingered near Horseback.
“I am afraid I will not be brave,” Trotter said. “My puha is not strong like yours, my good friend. My vision was only of a grouse who taught me to make myself invisible in the sagebrush. I am afraid I will only hide and disgrace my people. I did not even get a new name. My Naming Father said Trotter was a good enough name for a seeker who gets a grouse vision.”
“I am still called Whip,” the other youth added. He seemed more angry than ashamed. “The spirits would not speak to me at all.”
Horseback motioned toward the woods. “Come pray with me, my friends. My Naming Father, Spirit Talker, has told me that I may share my great power with another who needs it. I will give you both some of Sound-the-Sun-Makes’s puha, and you will be brave.
Trotter sighed with some relief. “May scalps hang thick from your shield,” he said.
Whip said nothing, but he walked with the others toward the timber.
“After the fight, you may give the puha back to me,” Horseback suggested. “To keep it long is a dangerous burden.”
“Yes, I only want to borrow it,” Trotter said. “If I die in battle, my shadow will send it back to you.”
Whip remained silent and sullen, in contrast to the hopefulness Trotter seemed to have taken on.
“If you die,” Horseback said, “you will die with courage. Sound-the-Sun-Makes has much medicine to give.”
17
The Two Rivers seemed to speak louder in this time before the first bird song of the morning. Horseback listened to the waters anxiously, hoping to hear some spirit wisdom in their ceaseless conversation. His eyes kept darting to the high south bank of the valley, just visible over the sohoobi trees. The ridge there was dark as a buffalo hump, the sky behind it the color of slate. The stars had let their fires burn out and the Great Mystery was pulling the robe of night away from the eastern horizon. Horseback’s eyes kept returning to the south bank, though he doubted he would see the stealthy enemy warriors until they attacked the camp of seven lodges.
Waiting in this pale light before dawn, he identified the thing that worried him. There had been no war dance last night. Many times he had imagined his first journey down the war path, and always he had thought of a loud war dance the night before, with women’s voices trilling all around him as he danced to the beat of drums and shook the buffalo rattle. But, last night, a noisy war dance would only have alerted the enemy to the ambush that waited.
Instead of dancing, Horseback had checked his arrows and his bow. He had placed them ceremoniously in the quiver and bow case that were embraced by the sacred deer antlers he had found returning from his vision quest. He had chosen his best pogamoggan, made of a hard piece of wood with a rock on the end, the rock wrapped in rawhide to hold it fast to the end of the club. He had painted his face black and thrown the sacred dust of ground deer antlers into a small fire to beseech Sound-the-Sun-Makes for medicine. He had taken the painted cover from his shield of hardened rawhide. The shield itself was painted, too, with a bright red sun that made a sound represented by yellow lightning shooting out of it. An eagle feather was tied to an antler point strapped tight to the middle of the shield. This was his puhahante, which gave the shield much magic. He had spoken to his puhahante last night, praying for courage. Now Horseback was confident and anxious for battle. Still, he wished there had been a war dance.
He t
wisted his reins in his hands as he watched the clearing under the belly of his horse. No one had questioned his catching the horse before dark. He was Horseback. He possessed peculiar magic. He would count his first battle stroke astride a pony.
This stallion, by no means beautiful, was nonetheless one of Horseback’s favorites. Smaller than average and round-bellied, his color was a common bay. His black mane hung tangled in front of his eyes. His face was rather ugly, due mainly to his long nose and sagging lower jaw. Much of his black tail had been bitten off by another stud. His back was low between high withers and widely protruding hip bones, but this swayed back tended to help a rider stay with the horse.
This ability to keep a rider seated, coupled with the little stud’s heart, made him a good choice for battle today. Unlike some horses, this bay liked and trusted people. Though his wind died quickly on a long trail, his spirit was always good for a short hard run. This made him useful around the camp, especially for catching the wilder horses in the herd. As a mount, the bay seemed crazy to do the bidding of the rider, and would charge into any kind of unknown. No strange sound nor sight nor smell could prevent him following the touch of reins on his neck, or heels against his ribs. He would leap willingly into a wall of tangled brush or run right up the back of a bear if his rider so desired.
The little stud made Horseback feel good as he waited for the enemy. He knew how they would come. They would leave their horses well beyond the south bank and sneak afoot into the valley. They would cross the water below the meeting of the Two Rivers, and creep through the timber until they came to the open flood plain where the good grass grew. They would advance swiftly toward the seven lodges, divide their number among them, and leap into them screaming, expecting to find their victims asleep.
This would serve as the signal for the warriors of the True Humans to rush from the wooded draws and the timber along the north bank, close a sacred circle around the invaders, and make running cowards of those they could not kill.
