Brand, Max - 1925

by Beyond the Outposts (v2. 1)

  "He has as good as done that already," I suggested.

  "Not at all. He rode away without ordering us off, because he was in doubt."

  "What will happen now? Some other buck will happen along and pick up that knife."

  "Certainly not. You see no one in sight, but you can be sure that at least a dozen people have seen that knife. It will stay there, fixed in the dirt, unless Standing Bear decides to send for it. Now come along with me."

  He led me back to Standing Bear's teepee, but, when we went to enter, a big brave was standing there with a bow and some arrows ready. He did not speak to us, and we did not speak to him, but we simply drifted away. Words were quite unnecessary.

  "And now?" I said.

  "Do your own guessing," said Morris. "I'm not a mind reader. They may be waiting until night to throw us out of the camp and then send a scalping party on our trail, or they may be waiting for Spotted Buck to take his chance at you. In that case, heaven help Spotted Buck.. .and us after you've sent a bullet through his poor, misguided head. Of course, he has to try to kill you if he can. Otherwise, he has lost his honor."

  That was the beginning of a wretched day. We went back to the river's edge and remained there under a willow until late in the afternoon. Then we came back into the village, but no one saw us. We stopped in front of a teepee where two squaws were cooking and made signs that we were hungry, but they paid not the slightest attention to us.

  "I understand now," said Morris. "Standing Bear took my horse, and, therefore, he can't very well have our throats cut and our scalps taken at his front door. First, he'll starve us out. When we've left the village, he'll let the young braves do what they want with us. Well, it will be a sorry day for these Sioux when they corner the pair of us."

  "I've brought you into trouble again," I told him sadly.

  "Bah," said Morris. "No man can live forever."

  In the meantime the twilight came, and then a great moon stood up on the eastern skyline and turned the prairies to white silver. Morris and I sat down back to back, because there was no telling when Spotted Buck would come snaking along toward us with his gun or his bow and arrows. I was beginning to get cold and stiff, and the barrel of my rifle was freezing my hand, when a commotion started on the farther side of the village.

  In ten seconds every soul in the place was screeching a word that sent shudders through me.

  "What's wrong?" I asked Morris.

  "Pawnees," he explained.

  "What are they?"

  "They're enemies of the Sioux. Fighting devils, too. If there were as many Pawnees as there are Sioux in the world, I suppose they'd wipe our friends out."

  "I hope they do," I said gloomily, "if they'll wipe out the Cheyennes at the same time."

  The village had really gone mad, it seemed to me. The boys darted out and rushed in the horses. The bucks went whooping out to make a battle line. We were left alone in a trice with the women, the youngsters, and the old men, together with two or three of the young warriors who were sick.

  The fighting had started. The Sioux and the Pawnees were screeching out on the prairie, hidden from our eyes. By the sound of the guns and the diminished noise of yelling, we guessed that the fight was gradually rolling farther and farther away from us. The squaws, the children, and the old men seemed to think the same thing. They had been half frightened to death a moment before. Now they began to yell again in a new key, get out knives, and do scalp dances that turned one's blood cold. They used us for their little game. They would come prancing straight up to us, making the most hideous faces and screaming at the top of their lungs, wave the knives in the air, and then do a foolish, hopping dance around us.

  I asked Morris if we were in any danger, and he said we were, because the women, when they got excited, were ten times as frightful in action as the men. The really expert torturing was always done by them.

  It was a fit ending for the sort of a day we had been passing. I was beginning to think that one of those knives would slice across my throat when there was a new babble breaking out, and this time it came from our side of the town. I could not imagine what it was all about, but Morris figured it out quickly enough.

  "There's a Napoleon among those Pawnees," he said. "They've engaged the braves with part of their band, and the other part is going to eat up the village and get away with the horses."

  There was no doubt about that. The Pawnees came shrieking into the teepee town, letting off their guns and shooting their arrows at everything in sight. Like deer and vermin scared out of a forest by a fire, the old men, women, and children began to scoot away from the danger line. But there was one young buck, really too sick to stand, who refused to run. He stuck a couple of broken feathers in his scalp lock and grabbed up a bow with a quiver full of arrows. Then he stood out in plain sight and began to warm himself up for his work by doing a war dance - but his knees were so weak that he could only shuffle his feet along the ground. Only his lungs were in good working order, and the whoops he let out are still ringing in my ears. Morris knew enough Sioux to give me a free translation.

  "He says that he's Gray Buffalo, and that he has never turned his head from a Pawnee and never intends to. This is where he figures on dying. Lew, we'd better range up beside the poor cripple."

  We had to make our last stand somewhere, and, even if Gray Buffalo were small comfort, he was better than nothing. We ran out beside him. When he saw us drop on our knees and get our rifles ready, he turned stark, staring mad, and began to scream at the others. He had an effect on them, too. Some of the boys and the old men got up their nerve when they saw this example and came running to join our lost cause.

  SITTING WOLF

  We had a little army around us in an instant. And what an army. We had little boys of ten years with their amateur bows that shot arrows just strongly enough to stick the heads into the hide of the village cows. We had women swinging clubs. We had men too weak to bend the big war bows. We had sick young braves like that real hero, Gray Buffalo, who had organized the defense.

  We were no longer outcasts. I may tell you that, in the few seconds remaining before the Pawnees broke in on us, we were given a rare welcome, because anyone could see with half an eye that Morris and I, with our rifles and revolvers, were the real strength of the defense. We were patted on the back and stroked and made much of - and then a drove of frightened horses came crashing straight toward us. The Pawnees had sent them ahead as a screen to shelter their main attack on the village, and they nearly ground to bits our staggering line of last defense. But just as they were about to sweep over us, the horses broke to either side and sloped past us, giving us an open view of the Pawnees, raging in the rear.

  Have you ever seen an Indian charge by moonlight? Those who have will understand why I don't try to describe it. There was not enough dust raised to obscure that sight. And we had a free glimpse into hell with half a hundred devils, raging through the mist. They were shooting as they came. An arrow clipped Gray Buffalo in the throat, and he went down on his face, scratching at the dirt with both hands for a second, until he died. A poor little child of ten or eleven stood up beside me and sent an arrow from his play bow. The next instant he had a shaft through his leg and went down - went down without a murmur.

  By that time I had forgotten to be afraid. I was too hot for that. I barely heard Morris call: "Now, Lew!"

  Then we let them have it. They were coming in a flying wedge, and our two shots chipped off the two riders who were the point of the wedge. Our little army of cripples raised an immense din when they saw the leaders of the Pawnees drop, and they turned loose a wild volley of arrows, bullets, sticks, and stones. I could see the Pawnees swaying back on their horses, tugging at the reins. An Indian likes to see the other fellow running before he charges home. While they were swaying - the front men checking their horses and kicking up clouds of dust, and the rear trying to press through and get at our scalps - Chuck and I opened up with our revolvers.

&
nbsp; When a man has shot squirrels out of trees, he doesn't miss a grown man at point-blank range even when only the moon is out. We took our time. There was no hurry. The Pawnees began to drop fast enough to take the heart out of them. Besides, the moment they halted, half a hundred of the Sioux women and old men and cripples rushed them. I saw a big squaw swing a club I could hardly have managed myself and knock down a rider at one clip.

  It was over in ten seconds. The Pawnees lost heart in the first five and began to struggle to get back in the next five counts. Then they bolted off into the moon mist just as a troop of our own Sioux, returning from the main battle to the rescue, came thundering through the town. They went after those Pawnees like timber wolves after coyotes. Another instant and the trouble was over. There was nothing but victory. I didn't mind the racket that the squaws and the children put up. I felt like doing a little yelling myself.

  Then I remembered the youngster who had gone down with the arrow through his leg. He had pulled himself a little to one side and had braced his back against a teepee. There he had shot one arrow after another at the Pawnees while the battle lasted. After that, he put down his bow, folded his arms, and waited for help to come - if help was coming. None of the Sioux paid the slightest attention to that little hero. They were too busy celebrating. I went over to him. He gave me a smile I shall never forget and waved me off as though he were saying: "Go join the fun. I'm quite all right."

  I took him to a quieter nook between two tents. The arrow had gone clean through his thigh. I cut off the head. Then I pulled out the shaft. The youngster didn't make a sound, but the agony wilted him. He fainted dead away, and I was glad of it. While he was senseless, I washed that wound clean, more thoroughly than I would have had the heart to do if his eyes had been open. Then I cut up my shirt and began to bandage his leg in tiptop fashion. Before the bandaging was finished, the boy woke up with a groan. The instant he realized that he had made a sound of complaint, he clapped his hand over his mouth and stared at me as though he expected a beating. I brought him plenty of cold water next, and he drank like one with a fever. As a matter of fact, he had lost a good deal of blood, for it was a nasty wound. Then I picked him up in my arms and carried him off to find his parents, if I could.

  I had hardly come out into the crowd before I saw that the two battles were not only over, but that the Sioux had gained a whacking big victory. The braves were coming in singly and in groups, telling what they had done and showing the scalps they had taken. From what I learned afterward, it seems that the Pawnees ventured to stand their ground a bit too long, and, although they intended to act merely as a mask for the really vital attack on the village, they allowed themselves to get entangled in the sweep of the Sioux charge. The result was a pretty severe butchery before the Pawnees disentangled themselves again and scooted across the prairie, but even in the hunt many were cut down, because their horses were not comparable in freshness with those of the villagers. Nearly half of the braves of the village, it seemed to me, had at least one scalp. Those who had more were sure to be centers of interest, but no one was more densely surrounded than a tall young man with golden hair that flowed down over his shoulders. It was Morris, of course. They were making an immense fuss over him, but, when he saw me, he broke through the circle and came wading through the Indians.

  "Half the party is taking the praise, Lew," he said, laughing at me. "Step in for your share."

  "You talk like a fool," I told him. "I have a poor boy here more than half dead. I want to find his mother. Will you ask these chattering blockheads to find the right teepee for me?"

  He asked the question and got his reply quickly enough.

  "Standing Bear has a brother, Three Buck Elk, almost as important a chief as the Bear himself. This youngster is Sitting Wolf, the only son in either family. You've done yourself a good turn in taking care of that youngster, Lew."

  He had barely gotten this out when a squaw came twisting through the crowd and snatched at little Sitting Wolf. I only had one arm free, and I didn't feel like wasting politeness. I put my palm in her face and pushed her away. But right behind her came an Indian every whit as tall as Standing Bear, except that he was not nearly so ponderous of shoulder. He was dabbled with blood from neck to waist, and he had four scalps at his belt. I knew by that as well as by his dignity that he was quite a man in his nation. In another moment I knew that he must be Three Buck Elk and the boy's father. I could tell by the way he stood over the youngster and looked down to him, and by the way Sitting Wolf smiled back in his face. He laid a hand on my shoulder, this blood-stained brave, and the word that he spoke came up from his heart. Whatever the word was, the sound of it is the same in all languages spoken by men. It was: "My brother."

  He took Sitting Wolf in his arms tenderly. The squaw trotted along at his side, wringing her hands. I brought up the rear, because I wanted to see that the youngster was well taken care of. They waded through the wrangling crowd to one of the biggest teepees - the same one that had refused us food that afternoon. There they put Sitting Wolf on a buffalo robe, and presently they brought in a cross-eyed old woman who began to mumble over the youngster and knead his wound right through the bandage. The pain of it must have been frightful, and Sitting Wolf's face shone with perspiration. I couldn't stand that, so I took the old hag by the shoulder and sent her right about. Then I sat down by the boy. The leg was swelling and feverish. I cut the bandage away and washed the wound again with warm water. The relief was so immense that Sitting Wolf actually moaned. Then I dressed the leg again. I smoothed out the buffalo robe on which he was lying and put a pad under his hip and his knee, so that the weight of the leg would not lie on the wound. Then I made Three Buck Elk's squaw stew up some meat and gave the broth to the boy. A little while later Sitting Wolf fell asleep.

  All this time the chief and his squaw had been fiddling around. She was tremendously worried because the old witch had been sent away. Besides, she wanted to take a hand with her son herself. Three Buck Elk took her by the shoulder and sat her down with a thump, for he seemed to guess that the white man's magic of common sense was a great deal better than any folderol made up of words and foolishness. When the boy finally went to sleep, the chief pointed to him and then to me, and the squaw came up and peered at her child.

  He made a wonderful picture as he lay there on his back with the firelight flickering and leaping over his smooth young body. The mother went over him from head to foot with a touch as light as a feather. Then she covered him carefully and tucked him in. When she finished, she sat down by his head, and, looking up at me, she said something with a voice as soft as cooing doves.

  Of all the pictures with which my mind is crowded and in which Sitting Wolf plays a leading part, this picture is the most lasting one. I can still see his head turn into his mother's arm with a smile. As for Three Buck Elk, he was in an agony because he could not tell me what he felt toward me. He took up a fine new rifle and pressed it into my hands. He dragged together a heap of buffalo robes and made signs that they were mine. Finally he signified everything in the teepee was mine, if I would take it, and, pointing to a picture of a horse painted on the side of the tent, he held up his fingers many times to indicate that I should have ten - twenty horses.

  I shook my head. It is amazing how much a person can say without words. I was able to tell Three Buck Elk and his squaw, by signs, how Sitting Wolf had come into the fighting line with his toy bow, how he had been wounded, how he had dragged himself to the side, and continued his fight after he was struck down. The face of the chief, while I talked, was that of one who is drinking the most delicious wine. His lips moved, translating my gestures into his own language, and the big muscles of his arms worked as he labored at the war bow in imitation of his boy in the combat. When I ended, Three Buck Elk was too moved to speak or move. He stood there with his head down, and his blood-stained chest heaving.

  I knew that he was afraid lest I should see the tears of pride and of sorrow and
of utter happiness in his eyes, and so I sneaked out of the teepee as quietly and as quickly as I could. Outside, a couple of young bucks spied me. They took hold of me and swept me along with or without my will to a place in the center of the village where a big fire was shaking its head high above the tops of the tallest trees. There was the whole band except the wounded and their families. Their howling brought echoes from the coyotes and the buffalo wolves out on the prairie. They were dancing and prancing around the flames, generally making themselves happy and foolish.

  I found Chuck Morris drawn back into the shadow, looking on. I went to him as soon as possible.

  "We're made men among the Sioux," he said. "The main thing is not the fighting we did, it seems. Standing Bear has just left me. He has been telling me that the sun would never have risen in his life again, if Sitting Wolf had died of bleeding, as he would have done if it hadn't been for you. Those were his words, or something like those words, except that he was a lot more grand. He put in that Spotted Buck is both a young man and a young fool, and that it is best to forget him. He, Standing Bear, is my father, it seems, and Three Buck Elk is yours. I am to have the gray mare back, if I'll take her. Anything else we want is ours. If we want to touch a match to the whole village, we're free and welcome to it. Now, old son, the thing for us to do is to speak soft and walk small, because they may change their minds about us."

  STANDING BEAR HEAPS HONORS

  I want to say why the Sioux made such a fuss over us. In the first place, those who have never been on the prairies in the old days must understand that the Indian is the most generous person in the world. He is a white man turned inside out. The white man is aiming to collect more and more all the time; the Indian wants to give away. It's more honorable for an Indian to give away a thousand dollars than it is for a white man to make a million. And that is not an exaggeration. If you give an Indian one horse, he immediately wants to give you two, and yet horses mean more to Indians than anything in the world, except their children.