And then the rider came. The rider came toward him on the back of Curly’s own pinto, yet the horse and the man were floating in the air as they rode. They were more in the spirit world than in this world where Curly sat leaning against a tree. Suddenly the pinto changed. It became a bay horse, and then a spotted one. The man was closer now, and Curly saw that he wore blue leggings and had no paint on his face. His hair was long and brown, and a single feather hung from it. Behind one ear, a round stone was tied. A red-tailed hawk flew above the man’s head. Then Curly heard words that were not spoken. They came to him from that warrior, telling him the day would come when he would dress that way. He would never wear a headdress or tie up his horse’s tail, but he would be among the bravest of the brave.
The air became filled with the streaking of hail and bullets. Yet nothing touched that rider as he continued on. Storm clouds rolled above him and the thunder sounded, but the man continued to ride. Now there was a mark on the man’s cheek like a lightning bolt, and spots on his chest like the marks of hail. Curly knew that he would paint himself that way one day when he rode to fight for his people. Then, as the man rode, there were people all around him, other Lakota. Some of them reached up to hold the rider back or pull him from his horse.
Curly felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He opened his eyes. His own father, Tashunka Witco, and his warrior uncle, High Backbone, were bending over him, concern in their faces. Curly looked past them and saw his pinto still grazing peacefully, hobbled as it had been before his vision began. No rider was on its back, but in the top of the bush next to the horse, a red-tailed hawk perched and called four times.
“Why are you here?” his father asked.
“It is not safe to ride off alone,” High Backbone said. “There are raiding parties out, and the Wasichu may still make war on us.”
“I came to seek a vision,” Curly said. He wanted to tell the men what he had seen so they could help him better understand it. His father was a holy man and would surely know what it meant. But his father’s face filled with anger.
“You were not prepared for hanblecheyapi,” Tashunka Witco said. “How could you come out to fast without going first into the inipi, the sweat lodge? How can you expect a true vision without being guided by your elders?”
Curly looked over at High Backbone. He, too, was angry. They would not listen to him, so he said nothing. He did not speak of his vision. He let them carry him back to the camp, where he drank the soup given to him and then slept. When he woke, he still did not speak. He kept his vision in his heart but shared it with no one. Three winters passed, and his vision remained unshared.
Throughout those years, Tashunka Witco and High Backbone kept their eyes on the boy. They saw clearly that he had been changed for the better by whatever had come to him on that hill, but they did not ask him to tell of it.
Then, in the summer of 1857, during the Moon of Wild Plums, there was a great gathering of all the many camps of the Lakota Nation. Never before had Curly seen so many of his people together. All the Oglala, the Brule, the Minneconjou, the Sans Arc, the Blackfoot Lakota, the Two Kettles, and the Hunkpapa—the seven great camp circles—were there. They met in the valley below Bear Butte, in the heart of the Paha Sapa. Curly’s heart was filled with love and pride for his people. And Tashunka Witco looked into his son’s heart and saw that it was time for them to speak of what Curly had seen on his lonely vision quest.
The father and son rode off into the hills until they came to the valley near Rapid Creek on the eastern side of the Paha Sapa, where Curly had been born. Tashunka Witco constructed a sweat lodge and purified his son and himself. Then Curly began to talk. His father listened as he told of the powerful vision given to him.
Tashunka Witco was silent for a long time after his son finished. He looked into the fire and then spoke himself. “The man on that horse is the one you will become. You will dress and paint yourself as he did. You must always be first in fighting for our people, even though they will try to hold you back. And because of that vision, you must have a new name. I will give you my own name, and from now on, it will be yours to carry. From now on, you will be Tashunka Witco.”
The young man whose name had been Curly listened to his father’s words. He understood why his father had given him his name, for it fit his vision of a horse dancing through a storm. From that day on, he would be known by that name, and his name would come to stand for the bravest of all the Lakota. He would become a warrior who would never be touched by a bullet in battle, even though he was always in the front of every fight. He would be one of the principal leaders of the Lakota in the great battle at the Little Big Horn, where his people would defeat the Seventh Cavalry under George Armstrong Custer. In the days to come, his own Lakota people and all the world would know that name as it was said in English: Crazy Horse.
Star Boy
Cheyenne
Two young women walked out on the prairie one night to look up at the stars.
“I like that red star there,” one of the young women said.
“I like that bright star better,” said the other. “I wish it would come down to earth and marry me.”
The next day, when they were gathering buffalo chips for the cooking fires, they saw a porcupine in the top of a small aspen tree.
“Let us try to shake it down to get some of its quills for decoration,” the first young woman said.
“No,” the second young woman said, “I will climb up and knock it off the limb with a stick.” Then she began to climb. But the higher she climbed, the farther away the porcupine seemed to be. She looked down and saw that the tree was growing, carrying her far up into the sky. It took her right through the clouds, into the sky land. The young woman glanced around. The land was very much like the earth. The porcupine was no longer anywhere to be seen, but as she looked, she noticed someone walking toward her. It was an older man dressed in white skins. He took her by the hand.
“I heard you say you wished to marry me,” he said. “Now you will be my wife. You will remain here in the sky land with me for the rest of your life.”
For a while, the young woman lived happily with White Star. Her own name was now Star Woman, and the other people in the sky land treated her with respect because she was the wife of their chief. Although her husband was much older, he was always kind to her. After a year had passed, she gave birth to a baby boy. He was a strong and happy child like any other baby boy, except for one thing. On his forehead was a birthmark shaped like a star. Because he was the son of White Star, the sky chief, he was given the birthmark to show that he would have great power when he came of age. Star Woman was delighted with her child, but she began to think sadly of her own mother. My mother will never see her own grandson, she thought. Star Woman began to grow homesick for her people and wished she could return to them.
“I am going to dig roots,” she said to White Star.
“That is good,” he answered. “But do not try to dig up that plant with the red at its base. Its root is so deep that if it is dug out, it will make a hole in the sky.”
Star Woman took her digging stick and went out looking for roots. As soon as she saw the plant with red at its base, she began to dig it up. It was not easy, but finally she was able to pull it out.
Where the plant had been, there was now a hole in the sky land. Far below she could see a circle of many lodges, and she knew it was the camp of her own people. She put the plant back into its hold and went to the lodge of White Star. There she began to make a rope by weaving together the grasses that grew in the sky land. Every day her rope was longer.
Finally she could wait no more. She was sure her rope was long enough. She took her baby and returned to that plant with the red at its base. She pulled it out and lowered her rope. It seemed as if it touched the earth below. She tied the end to a stick that she placed across the hole, and be
gan to lower her baby and herself down.
When she got to the bottom, she was still high above the ground. Star Woman was not strong enough to climb back up. She held on for a time and then fell. It was a long fall. Star Woman was killed, but her baby survived.
The meadowlarks found the child and took pity on him. They fed him and kept him warm. As he grew stronger, he followed the birds as they flew, running beneath them. At last it came time for the birds to fly to the south land.
“I will come with you,” said the boy.
“No,” the meadowlarks said. “You’ve become tall and strong, but you are not a bird. Now you must return to your own people. You will learn how to become a man among them. Follow the river downstream and you will come to their camp circle.”
Then the meadowlarks gave the boy a gift. They used some of their own feathers to make arrows and gave him a small, strong bow. “Use these to help your people and do not forget us,” they told him.
The meadowlarks flew south, leaving Star Boy behind. Ever since then, the people have known that it is wrong to kill meadowlarks. And if you listen to their calls closely, you will hear that those birds know how to speak Cheyenne.
Star Boy began to follow the creek downstream. He walked a long way until he came to the edge of a big camp. There was a small teepee, and the door flap was open, so the boy walked in. An old woman was seated by the fire. She gestured for the boy to sit in the place of honor.
“Grandmother,” Star Boy said, “I have come far to find you.”
“Grandson,” the old woman said, “I am glad you have come here. I would offer you water to drink, but there is a great sucking monster that lives in the river. Whenever people go to get water, it sucks them in. Now all of the people in the village have been swallowed, and I am about to die of thirst.”
“Grandmother,” the boy said, “give me your bucket. I will go and bring water back to you.”
Star Boy walked down to the stream. He bent over and began to dip the bucket into the water. As soon as he did so, the sucking monster opened its big mouth and drew him in. But Star Boy had brought his fire-making kit and tinder with him. He made a fire, and by its light he saw that all the people the monster had swallowed were there in its belly with him.
Star Boy looked around until he saw a place in the sucking monster’s side that looked weak. He took out his stone knife and cut a hole. As soon as he did this, the monster floated up to the surface of the river and died. Star Boy walked out of the sucking monster, and all the people who had been inside followed him. He bent down and filled his bucket, and then returned to the camp with the rest of his people.
“Grandmother,” he said, “here is your water to drink. The sucking monster will bother the people no longer.”
“Grandson,” said the old woman, “you have done well. It would be good to make a great fire and dance about it to celebrate your brave deed. But we cannot get more wood for a fire because of Great Owl. Great Owl lives in the timber. Whenever people try to go into the woods, it swoops down and carries them to its nest, where it eats them.”
“I will go and get wood,” Star Boy said. He hung his bow and arrows over his shoulder and went out into the forest, where he began to chop wood. Before long, the Great Owl heard the sound of Star Boy’s stone ax. It floated down on silent wings, grabbed him in its talons, and began to fly to its nest. But Star Boy fitted an arrow to the string of his bow and shot it. The Great Owl fell to the earth, dead.
When Star Boy came back to the camp circle, he was carrying a great load of firewood.
“Grandmother,” he said, “I have killed the Great Owl. No longer will it keep the people from getting firewood.”
Then a great fire was built, and the camp crier went about calling everyone to rejoice. All the people came together and praised Star Boy. They danced and laughed and told stories until the sun rose the next day.
But when the sun rose, Star Boy was hungry.
“Grandmother,” he said, “I am in need of food. Is there no buffalo meat?”
“Grandson,” the old woman said, “there is no food in this camp. Whenever the men go out to hunt buffalo, the White Crow flies down and chases the animals far away. So we have no food to eat.”
“Grandmother,” said Star Boy, “let me take that old buffalo robe. I will see what I can do about the White Crow.”
Then Star Boy put the buffalo robe over his shoulders and crept near the buffalo. He mingled in with the herd, and none of the buffalo paid any special attention to the old buffalo with the dirty hair that had just joined them. Before long, though, some young men came out from the Cheyenne village to hunt the buffalo. Before they could get close enough, a big white bird flew down to the buffalo herd.
“Run, run,” White Crow cawed. “Run, run.”
The buffalo herd began to run, and the old buffalo with the dirty hair ran with them. They left the Cheyenne hunters, who could not run as fast, far behind. But soon the old buffalo began to lag behind. Then it stumbled and fell.
White Crow flew down and began to circle over the old buffalo. “Are you dead, dead, dead?” White Crow cased. “Are you dead, dead, dead?” The old buffalo did not move. Four times White Crow circled and called, but the buffalo did not move. At last White Crow settled down and landed on the old buffalo’s back. He hopped up toward its head. As soon as he did so, Star Boy reached up from beneath the buffalo robe and grabbed White Crow by the legs. He tied White Crow’s wings and carried him back to the camp.
“Here is your enemy,” Star Boy said, and he handed White Crow over to the head of the Dog Soldiers, the society of men whose job it was to protect the people.
“I’ll hang him over the smoke hole in my lodge until we decide what to do with him,” the head of the Dog Soldiers said. Then he carried White Crow to his lodge and tied him up where the smoke was rising out of the lodge. White Crow hung there upside down, the smoke blackening his feathers. It was so hot in the smoke hole that White Crow grew smaller. The cords around him loosened and he became free. But he was White Crow no longer. Now he was black, as all crows are to this day. And he was no longer able to drive away the buffalo as he had when his feathers were white.
Once again the people could go out and hunt the buffalo with success. They were able to bring down enough buffalo to provide food for everyone in the village. As the people feasted, however, Star Boy’s grandmother did not look happy.
“Grandmother,” Star Boy asked, “what is wrong?”
“It is Winter Man,” she said. “He is going to come soon. The snow will grow deep, and we will not be able to hunt the buffalo. Then he will begin to kill our people, especially the old ones such as me.”
“Grandmother,” Star Boy said, “come hunting with me. I will see what I can do about Winter Man.”
Star Boy and his grandmother went out together to follow the buffalo. When they were far from the camp circle, Star Boy was able to kill a fat cow.
“Now we will cut this one up, Grandmother,” he said. Yet as soon as the old woman began to butcher the buffalo cow, Winter Man walked over the hill. He was a giant taller than any man. He had a great club in his hand, and the north wind was at his back.
When he saw the old woman, he shouted, “Old woman, I am going to take that fat buffalo.”
Star Boy’s grandmother stood as if to run away, but Star Boy stopped her.
“I will stand by you, Grandmother,” he said.
Winter Man came and stood over them. “This old woman has been walking around too long,” he said. Winter Man lifted his club to strike, but Star Boy looked at him and his arm fell off. He lifted his other arm, and it dropped off, too. He tried to shout, and his head fell to the ground. Then, riding on the wind, Winter Man’s wife came, grabbed the pieces of her husband, and carried him back over the hill.
Star Boy and his grandmo
ther finished butchering the cow, wrapped the meat in its hide, made a travois, and dragged it back to camp. When they had shared the meat with the people, Star Boy turned again to his grandmother.
“Grandmother,” he asked, “where does Winter Man live?”
“You must not go there,” said the old woman. “He will have his great bow, and he will kill you because of what you did to him.”
“Grandmother,” Star Boy asked again, “where does Winter Man live?”
“You must not go there,” the old woman repeated. “If Winter Man does not kill you, then his wife will kill you. She is as bad as her husband.”
“Grandmother,” Star Boy asked a third time, “where does Winter Man live?”
“You must not go there,” the old woman said yet again. “All of his children are there and they are also dangerous.”
The fourth time Star Boy asked the question, his grandmother finally told him.
“He lives in that cave alongside the river,” she said.
Then Star Boy went straight to that cave. He walked inside, where Winter Man was being healed by his wife’s medicine.
“Why are you here?” Winter Man roared, reaching for his great bow.
But Star Boy was faster than Winter Man. He grabbed the great bow before the giant was able to reach it.
“Uncle,” Star Boy said, lifting up the bow, which was as big as a lodgepole pine log, “why is your bow so weak?” And he broke Winter Man’s bow as easily as if it were a twig.
“Why are you in my lodge?” Winter Man roared again, reaching for his club.
Once more Star Boy was too quick. He grabbed the club and raised it. “I have come to see how you are feeling, Uncle,” he said. Then he struck Winter Man and killed him. He turned and struck Winter Man’s wife, who was about to hit him with her own club. He killed almost all of Winter Man’s children as they tried to kill him. And if he had killed all of those Winter Giants, winter would never again have come to the lands of the Cheyenne. But one small Winter Giant slipped out through a crack in the back of the cave. To this day he returns every year, and though he is not as fierce as his father, he is still dangerous, especially to the old people.
Flying with the Eagle, Racing the Great Bear Page 9
