The Coming

by David Osborne

“Tell him I am that man! I stand here for the president, and there is no spirit, good or bad, that will hinder me! He will come on the reservation within the time I tell him! If not, soldiers will put him there or shoot him down!”

  Toohoolhoolzote whirled on him: “I hear you! I am a man! A man’s cock I have! I am not a woman! And I will not go! I will not leave my home!”

  Howard drew back, disgusted by the crude reference. He glared at the old chief for long moment, then turned to White Bird, who sat behind him. Howard wasn’t sure what to make of this chief who hid his face in council behind an eagle wing, showing no expression. “Have you anything to say?”

  White Bird lowered the wing: “We have chosen Toohoolhoolzote to speak for all our people. With us, whatever he says or does is law.”

  Howard turned to Joseph: “And you?”

  Joseph gazed at him as if measuring the anger in his soul. “We are all sprung from a woman, although in many things we are unlike. We cannot be made over again. Just as we were made by Man Above, we are, and you cannot change us. Then why should children of one mother and one father quarrel? Why should one try to cheat another? I do not believe Man Above gave one kind of men a right to tell another kind of men what they must do.”

  “You deny my authority? You want to dictate to me, do you?”

  Joseph’s gentle brown eyes rested on his, silently.

  Howard’s frustration boiled over: with Toohoolhoolzote in charge, he would never get anywhere. He turned back to the recalcitrant chief: “You give these Indians bad advice! Because you do this, because you are an evil and wicked Indian, you deserve to be sent to Indian Territory, far away toward the rising sun, where you will make no more trouble. I will send you there if it takes years and years!” He turned to the others: “Will Joseph and White Bird and Looking Glass go with me to look at the land, to choose their new homes on the reserve? This old man”—he pointed at Toohoolhoolzote—“shall not go; he will stay with Captain Perry, under guard.”

  “Do you try to frighten me?” Toohoolhoolzote roared. “Do you threaten my body? Are you going to tell me on which day I shall die? I know I must die someday!”

  Howard turned and motioned for Captain Perry, who sat behind him with the other officers: “Take him to the guardhouse!”

  Howard could see fury in Toohoolhoolzote’s eyes but shock and fear in the rest of the Indians’. If he locked up their leader, he was sure, the others would buckle. They needed to understand that no Indian was going to defy the United States Government. Perry beckoned to Toohoolhoolzote, who had turned toward him, but the chief didn’t move. Perry stepped toward him, grabbed an arm, and the powerful old Indian threw it off. As they grappled Howard stepped forward and pushed Toohoolhoolzote, who fell backward over the front row of chiefs.

  The men behind them lifted him up as they rose to their feet, shouting at Howard.

  “They’re daring you to come in and get him,” Whitman told him.

  Joseph, White Bird, and Looking Glass were also standing now, their backs turned to Howard as they spoke to Toohoolhoolzote. Whitman stepped forward, attempting to hear.

  “What now?” Howard asked.

  “Joseph is urging him to go to the guardhouse, I believe. He says if they kill us all, war will break out, and it will not go well for his people.”

  Howard glanced at his men, stationed on each side of the crowd with rifles. Then he glanced at the Indians, some of them on their feet, shouting. He saw no weapons save for a few tomahawk pipes.

  Toohoolhoolzote nodded at the other chiefs and stepped toward Perry, who took his left arm. Howard seized his right, and the two of them marched him toward the guardhouse. Howard gestured at Whitman to accompany them, to translate. “Have you decided to go on the reservation?” he asked.

  “Have you no ears?” the old chief bellowed. “I am a chief! Raised here by my father! No one tells me what to do! You can arrest me, but you cannot change me or make me take back what I have said!”

  They reached the wooden guardhouse, whitewashed like the rest of the buildings, and the guard unlocked it. The dank smell of the dark, windowless room greeted them. “We’ll have no more of your talk,” Howard said, pushing him inside. “You study on the matter and decide—do you want to come in, or do you want to fight?”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  May 1877

  Thunder Rising’s young men wanted war. After Howard humiliated him, Sound of Striking Timber had brought his people to Thunder Rising’s valley, eager to take up the gun. Thunder Rising was willing to die, but he could not lead his people to such a fate, no matter what he had promised his father. It took many councils and much talk, but finally, he and Little Frog convinced Sound of Striking Timber and White Bird that war would be suicidal. They even gave up on punishment for Wells McNall. The whites only put Findley on trial, but the Nimíipuu held McNall responsible, so they refused to testify against Findley and he went free.

  Thunder Rising and his people rounded up what horses and cattle they could find and packed their belongings. They left much stock behind; there was not time to find them all, hidden in the mountains and canyons. They wound their way down through a draw to the Imnaha River, high and swollen with the angry brown waters of spring. But the Imnaha was a mere freshet compared to what they found at the River of Hemp. At this time of year it was a roaring, mad torrent, so wide he could not throw a stone all the way across. Thunder Rising had pleaded repeatedly with Howard to let them wait until fall, when the rivers were lower, but the general had refused.

  The women collected branches from the red haws and willow bushes that grew along the shore, bent them into frames, and lashed their tipi hides onto them, to make bullboats. Others gathered driftwood to build rafts. Then they began to load them. They had cached their roots in the Imnaha Valley, hoping they could return to recover them when the river was lower.

  Little Frog gathered the strongest horses and tied four to the first bullboat, one at each corner. He and three other strong swimmers stripped to their breechcloths and led the horses by the bridles, driving them into the water. Thunder Rising stopped those who were carrying two elderly women to load on top of the goods; he wanted to make sure Little Frog and the others could make it across before sending people with them. Everyone watched as the four men pulled horses into the deep waters, then swam beside them, holding them.

  The horses struggled through the surging waters, their heads bobbing up and down as they were swept rapidly downstream. Thunder Rising raised his glass, watched them fight the waters, cresting the waves, disappearing into troughs, towing the boat as it bobbed in a mad flood. Sick at heart, he prayed to his wyakin to help them make it across safely. The horses continued to swim, the warriors’ heads visible beside them, and finally, far downstream, pulled the boat up on the far side.

  Thunder Rising told the women to load the rest of the bullboats now, and this time men carried their children and grandmothers to deposit on top of the bags. When they were ready and the horses had been tied, Thunder Rising helped his wives and daughter climb atop their bullboat. Springtime struggled with her huge belly; she would have their child any day. Thunder Rising stripped to his breechcloth and handed his clothes to Bear Woman, his first wife. He and White Thunder led two horses into the river, felt the shock of ice-cold water. Two Moons and Feather Necklace followed with two more. The horses balked; Thunder Rising spoke quietly to his gelding, then dragged it into the depths.

  He held his horse’s bridle with one hand and swam with the other. He got only glimpses of blue sky over the greens and browns of the canyon and river, and the roar of the water drowned out all other sounds. Once he heard a shriek behind him and glanced back to see a bullboat almost on its side as a wave lifted it, two terrified women clinging to the ropes. But the men guiding it righted it as it slid down the back of the wave.

  They traveled ten times as far downriver as they did across the boiling waters. It seemed like an eternity before the horses’ hooves struck bottom and the
big animals struggled up out of the water, startling a family of otters that slithered away downstream.

  By the time the sun neared the western rim of the canyon they had managed to get all the goods across. They had lost only a few bags from one bullboat that nearly capsized, near the far side, and though Helping Another had been thrown out of the bullboat she had managed to cling to it until it reached shore. Springtime and Bear Woman began to cook, and when Thunder Rising dragged himself out of the freezing water for the last time, the smell of roasting meat filled the camp.

  The next day the young men returned to the other side and drove the rest of the horses into the river, ten men riding in front, behind, and around them. Thunder Rising watched as two horses hit rocks near the shore and went under. When they resurfaced they were being carried downstream like so much timber.

  But it was the cattle that suffered the great loss. This was the last crossing, late on the second day. Thunder Rising and Little Frog took 20 men with them, on strong horses. They forced the frightened animals into the river at a run, and then it was every cow or steer for itself. The roar of the river was joined with the awful bawling of the stricken beasts, their heads straining forward, eyes white with terror. Many tried to turn back, but the riders shouted at them and cracked their whips, forcing them back into the raging current. It was a long ordeal, and fewer than half made it across. Thunder Rising felt sick as he watched several hundred calves and old cows swept downstream, like so many hide bags. Already, his people were paying a steep price for his decision, and they had yet to cross the Salmon. “We should not risk this again,” Little Frog told him. “We can leave our cattle behind, retrieve them later, when rivers are lower.”

  Daytime Smoke led his family to the highest point he could find, his eyes searching the horizon. The rolling hills spread out before them like a sea of gently waving green. “There,” Red Bear said, pointing south. In the distance, Smoke could just make out the tops of a hundred lodges, between Tepahlewam and Ewatam. Far beyond rose the Seven Devils, their peaks still white with snow. Though he had seen 70 springs, his heart still thrilled at the sight. Life in Buffalo Country with Widow Bird and his children and grandchildren was good, but to be home—to be attending Kaooyit for the first time in so many snows—filled him with joy.

  When they reached the gathering, the sinking sun reflected off the lake. Barking dogs accompanied them in, and women and children came running. They had dressed in their ceremonial clothes and painted their horses for their entrance into the camp. Looking Glass, wearing his eagle feather headdress, led the slow procession. He had brought his entire band here to make sure the other chiefs did not choose war.

  Smoke could see the young women admiring his son as they rode in. Tall and broad-shouldered now, Red Bear always attracted such attention.

  A man strode up and offered Smoke his hand, beaming. “My friend, you have been gone for many snows,” he said. “Welcome home!”

  It was Thunder Rising to Loftier Mountain Heights! The last time Smoke had seen him, at the thief treaty council, Thunder Rising had still been a young man. Now he was in his prime: tall and broad, with a wide, handsome face, the corners of his eyes so long they almost reached the edges of his face.

  Smoke swung off his horse and shook his hand, both men grinning. “It is good to be back,” he said. He pointed at his wife, who still sat her horse: “You remember Widow Bird.”

  “Of course, how could I forget?”

  “I am sorry to hear of your father’s death,” Widow Bird said.

  Sadness entered his eyes. “For six snows he has been gone.”

  “And you are a headman now,” Smoke said, “just as I always knew you would be.” He pointed to the others: “You remember Little Fire and Calf Shirt, and their daughter Echoes on Mountain. And this is Yellow Hair, their second daughter, and Red Bear, my son.” He turned to Red Bear: “Without this man, you would not exist. He saved my life and your mother’s life, before we were married.”

  “Your father exaggerates,” Thunder Rising said, smiling.

  Smoke let the others ride on while he lingered with his friend. “You have a handsome family,” Thunder Rising said.

  “Thank you. How are your people?”

  “Since my father died, more Soyappos come every year to our valley. They have already murdered one man.”

  “Along Clear Water, I saw more Soyappos than Nimíipuu. And every Nimíipuu was dressed like a Soyappo.”

  “Reverend Spalding and Timothy turned their people into Christian farmers.” Thunder Rising shrugged. “But Spalding is dead now. And Lawyer, too.”

  Smoke had heard the story. The day Lawyer died, in the Season When Cold Air Traveled, he had asked his son to gradually lower the American flag he always flew in front of his house—the same one he had carried to all the treaty councils. Several times Archie lowered it, until, as Lawyer drew his last breath, he let it reach the ground. “Will there be war?” Smoke asked.

  “I don’t think so. We would be foolish to fight bluecoats.”

  “You may remember that my wife is a tewat. When we lived with you, she had a vision, at your lake. She was taken up from her sweat lodge to a mountaintop, where a circle of ancestors spoke to her. They warned her that we must never go to war with Soyappos; if we do, they will destroy us.”

  Thunder Rising gazed at him thoughtfully. “My tewats agree.”

  Smoke could hear singing begin in the largest tipi, which stood in the center of the gathering. It was a death song. He looked at his friend quizzically.

  “They make honor poles,” Thunder Rising said. Honor poles were carried by young warriors who wanted to prove their courage and become chiefs. They had to carry the first one into battle, plant it in the ground, and defend it to the death. If they carried the second, they had to strike the enemy with it—with no weapons to defend themselves. Smoke had carried the first pole but had chosen to help the Sent Ones rather than carry the second one, to Darting Swallow’s great relief. That is why he had never become a chief.

  Anger on his face, Looking Glass headed toward the lodge. Thunder Rising and Smoke followed. When they entered, White Bird and Sound of Striking Timber rose to greet them, and the singing stopped.

  The honor poles were almost complete, fully wrapped in strips of otter fur. The elders were decorating them with eagle feathers.

  “Why are you making honor poles?” Looking Glass asked. “They will only incite our young warriors.”

  “For as long as I have lived, we have awarded honor poles at Kaooyit,” Sound of Striking Timber said. “Perhaps you have forgotten, after so many snows in Buffalo Country.”

  “I have forgotten nothing.”

  “Help me, Looking Glass,” White Bird said. Like Sound of Striking Timber, he had been a celebrated warrior in his day. “Perhaps I have forgotten. Did you ever carry an honor pole?”

  Looking Glass glowered at him. “My village lies within our new reserve. My people do not want war. Do you intend to live within those boundaries, or to fight?”

  White Bird gazed at him for a long time before speaking. “My friend Thunder Rising says we cannot defeat Soyappos, so we must move to their reserve.”

  “Soyappos cannot fight!” Sound of Striking Timber spat. “You watched them at their fort! They are boys, not men.”

  Thunder Rising put a hand on his arm. “We have discussed this again and again. If we fight them, every one of our men could kill ten Soyappos, and they would send ten more.”

  “We have made no decision!” Sound of Striking Timber insisted. “When Eagle from Light returns from Buffalo Country, we will decide.”

  “You still want war?” Daytime Smoke asked.

  “Blood alone will wash out what Cut-Off Arm did to me, holding me captive.”

  White Bird’s eyes, sunk in his leathery, lined face, were wells of sadness. “I would prefer to fight as well. But Thunder Rising says war would bring an end to our people.”

  “If you award honor pole
s, our young men will be itching for war,” Looking Glass said. “No one will be able to control them.”

  “We award them in five days,” Sound of Striking Timber snapped.

  “Then I will take my people back to our village,” Looking Glass said. “I want no part of anything your warriors begin.” He turned on his heel and left.

  When they reached their camp, Looking Glass announced that people should prepare to depart in the morning, then disappeared into his lodge. Everyone looked confused, and Smoke had to explain why their chief had changed his mind.

  “I want to stay,” Red Bear told him.

  “You want to participate in an honor pole ceremony?”

  Red Bear nodded. Smoke was not surprised; he had guessed that Red Bear would volunteer to carry a pole. Three snows before, when Looking Glass had led warriors into battle against the Cutthroat People, Red Bear had asked to go. Widow Bird had been hysterical; she was protective, frightened of losing another child. Smoke had convinced his son to wait, out of respect for his mother, but no further battles had come. Nimíipuu men proved themselves in battle, and Red Bear had never had the opportunity.

  “You will come back with us,” Smoke said. “There is too much danger here.”

  Red Bear shook his head.

  “I know you want to prove your courage. But not this year. Do it next year.”

  “Where will I carry an honor pole into battle, if we live on a small reserve?”

  For this Smoke had no answer.

  Smoke waited until they were eating supper to tell Widow Bird. Red Bear had not returned to their lodge.

  She stared at him as he explained. “He cannot stay here,” she said. “Too many talk of war.”

  “He is old enough to make his own decisions. He just wants to carry an honor pole, as I did. He is at an age where a young man needs to prove himself.”

  “There is too much danger!”

  “We are not going to war.”

  “You do not know that. I have a bad feeling.”