by Les Weil
Little Bear held the pipe upright in his hand according to custom. He sat still and looked at the ground. He had not raised his eyes since the pipe was brought forth. He did not raise them now. He was filled with a great sadness. His breath left his chest in what might have been a sigh. He passed the pipe unsmoked....
---He is a strange one, a different one, and I do not like the strangeness and the difference. He is my brother-in-law and I grieve for what I have done to my sister. He is the reason that I have few horses, that my lodge is bare of many things that before were in it. Yet that could be changed. He is a mighty hunter. He is a good warrior. He can slip through the land of enemies like a shadow that is not seen. He can fight like the great grizzly when there is need. He could smoke and the others would see and would smoke after him. Yet he passes the pipe unsmoked. He is only the half of a man. I will not enter his lodge again--What shall we believe? He says that he crossed the land of the Crows, that he entered the evil place, that the bones are the bones of the father of Yellow Moon. He told this to White Wolf and the tale belongs to White Wolf and White Wolf has told it to us many times. It is a good tale that brings honor to our village. When he told it to White Wolf, he rubbed his hand over the pipe as he talked. He pointed to the lodge of the medicine arrows. He said: "Oh arrows, you hear me; I did these things." A man who does that cannot lie. And yet . . . And yet he passes the war pipe unsmoked. We will listen to the tale no more--
"Oh badger of my far canyon, I have not forgotten you. . . . Oh Maiyun of the walls of the cage that is a good cage, you call to me out of the hills over the wide plain. . . . Oh young bull now the old bull eating the good grasses by our stream, there is peace in that place that is ours where no man would know to follow. ..."
". .. But Yellow Moon is my brother. He is your brother-in-law. There was between you the feeling of a man for a man and you have killed it."
"Oh my woman, you heard. You were by the lodge of the old one preparing soups and you heard him speak. It is not right that a man do what his heart tells him is wrong."
"I heard but I do not understand. Why must your heart tell you to go crosswise to the customs of your people? To go forth with a war party is hard. But it is the way a man wins honor for himself and for his family?"
"It is not my way. My heart speaks and I do not have words to say why. But one man cannot change a tribe or even a village. I will leave this village. I will go."
"And where will you go? Always there are villages. Always they are the same. A foolishness has taken you. It is the moon that has shone too long in your eyes and your mind has-"
"Stop, my woman, I grieve as you grieve. But I will go to a place that is mine, that the spirit of the old one who was your great-grandfather led me to in the time of my starving. There is food enough in that place and for always. There is a fine stream that does not wither away in the warm weather. There is shelter from the storms of winter. It is a place where no enemies can come to harm one or to take what is not theirs. It is a good place. It is my place and I will go. But there will be no light in my life if you do not go with me."
"Will that put laughter again in the mouth of my husband?"
"It will put laughter in my mouth."
"Will it make his eyes bright again and shining on me and all about him?"
"It will make them bright and shining."
"Will it keep him always reaching for me with eagerness and the crushing strength of his arms in the night?"
"It will do that."
"I will go. . . ."
THE HIGH BORDER COUNTRY endures. It endures the slow creeping change of geologic time and the cluttering surface change of man's calendared time. It rests remote and untroubled in itself, the land of high plains and high mountains that nourish the long reaching rivers which unite their waters to form the wide Missouri. There is the trail that Little Bear followed, westward along the Cheyenne River and swinging north and still west along the north fork that is known as La Belle Fourche. The trail strikes southward along one of the feeding streams and climbs up its course into the Black Hills that are not black and are not hills but sturdy mountains. It leads to the rock lip of his canyon.
The canyon was a good place then. It is a good place now. It is out of the way of the roads cutting through the hills and the towns hugging the low levels or hanging on the high hillsides. It is little changed. It rests quietly under the same sky and the four seasons pass over it in the same unending cycle.
It was not entered by the Sioux and their allies of other tribes when they retreated into these hills before the encroaching whitemen. It would have been a trap for them caught there under the searching guns of any enemies who might come.
It was not troubled by the miners when they came back into these hills. It does not show the terrible scars of the earth digging and the rock blasting they brought with them. Its stream, where easily accessible above and below, showed no traces and they passed by it.
No buffalo are there now. The last of them were killed long ago by the hide hunters, the whitemen hunters who erased the myriad-hoofed herds of the plains for the hides alone and left the carcasses to rot, who followed the remnants into the hills and who shot those in the canyon from the rock lip for the simple sport of the shooting and did not even take the hides because to get to them down the rock wall even with ropes and many men helping was not to them worth the trouble.
The long blunted triangle of the canyon endures. It can be seen in clear outline from the rock lip where the niches in the rock wall that the hide hunters did not see lead upward -and lead downward. It is a good place. The stream drops into the pool below through a rainbowed halo of mist and runs cold and clear to its fissure at the lower end. Trees group in groves in the lee of the high cliffs. Elders make a brave showing along the stream and aspen grows there too. Berry bushes nod their long briared stems among upthrust rocks. And everywhere in the open the good grasses grow. It is a good place for a man whose needs are simple, for a man who is like his fellows yet not like them, who would live apart from them because he differs in vision of purpose for the brief mystery of the life that is his. ... That is where Little Bear and Spotted Turtle were.
They are there. They are standing on the rock lip where the niches lead downward. They have turned loose into the freedom of the hills and the plains beyond the painted pony that has pulled a travois with their things upon it all the long way through many days. They are wrapping their things into a bundle in their lodge skins and tying this with a rope so that it can be let down from ledge to ledge. He is tying another rope around her waist and holding the other end so that she can go down the same way and be kept safe by the strength in his arms. . . .
He helped her with the lodge. She was a woman and she would do nothing else until the home was up and ready for the first night's sleeping. He cut new poles, long and strong because their lodge was large. They set these firmly for the conical structure that was not quite a cone because the poles on the westward curve opposite the entrance always leaned less and stood straighter so that they could brace against the others and withstand the winds of the plains that always blew hardest on that side. They stretched the skins and fastened them firmly. But she would not let him help her with the inside work. It was a woman's right to have things placed in the lodge as she wished within the limits of tribal custom. She would not even let him make the fire. It was a woman's right to kindle the flames that would cook the food and warm the lodge.
He watched his woman bustling in and out as she pinned up the softer skins of the lodge lining and stood with puckered lips wondering where to put this and where to hang that. She was not beautiful but there was a warm wisdom and an understanding on her face and she was beautiful to him and she was very womanly. He watched her and the clean air of his canyon filled his lungs and he turned and walked down along the stream. There were still fish in the clear water where it deepened and slowed in shallow pools. If a man were not greedy in catching them, there would always be f
ish in his stream.
The tracks of the buffalo were many among the bushes around their pool-for-splashing. And there were the buffalo themselves, farther down where the good grasses grew best. He counted them. The old bull that had been the young bull; the young bull that had been a yearling; two old cows; one young cow that had been a yearling; the five calves that had been small and were now growing yearlings and four new calves, small and frisky and pestering their mothers for milk. Thirteen in all. Those that had been there when he left were all there except two of the old cows. They had been very old. The winter must have been too hard and too long for them. And yet four calves jumped stiff-legged and butted each other and ran about. The young cow had one. It was her first and not very big but she would do better. One of the old cows had another. And the second old cow had two. It was the same old cow as before. She was a very good cow.
The old bull who had been the young bull was bigger than before. It had its full growth now. Its hump was a mighty hump. Its mane that covered its neck and shoulders and front legs was thick and long. The scars on its head were almost hidden by the hairs. It was a good leader for a good herd. And the young bull who had been a yearling was bigger too. It was growing fast on the strength of the good grasses. There would be a battle one day when it felt it was big enough to challenge the old bull. It would lose, but it would challenge again and yet again as it grew and a day would come when it would not lose. Perhaps before that day came the old bull should be taken for meat. It would never have to know then the feeling of being beaten by age and a younger bull. And its meat would be better if it were not too old. A man and his woman could live well around the four seasons taking no more than four buffalo and perhaps five and there would always be buffalo in their canyon.
He came back along the base of the near rock wall. He went in among the berry bushes where the upthrust rocks were. He found the flat stone and sat cross-legged in front of it. "Oh badger," he said. "I have come home." He waited and there was nothing. He waited and suddenly out of nowhere the dark brown head with its long white stripe appeared over the stone. The badger climbed on the stone and looked at him and it was angry. It was very thin and tired. It was an old badger and life was hard for an old badger caged in a canyon with no fat easily caught gophers and prairie dogs for fine meals. It must hunt long for the field mice that were difficult to catch and perhaps once in a long time a rabbit foolishly hiding in a burrow and once in a very long time a rock squirrel that found a way down the rock walls. It must even eat beetles and other insects and gnaw on roots and the bark of trees. It looked at him and was angry. There was no meat on the stone. It flirked its broad flat body and was gone. But he was happy. The badger was still there in his canyon. "Oh badger," he said. "There will be meat. Every day there will be meat. You will forget to be angry with me and you will talk to me again."
He stood up. Over the bushes he saw smoke rising by the stream. His woman was there and his lodge. She was cooking food that he had provided. And around them rose the high rock walls that set their canyon apart and made a shield and a protection. He was filled with a great peace. The clean air swelled his breast almost to bursting.
He hurried to the place where he had piled the stones in a rough steep-slanting walkway up to the first ledge. That was the connection between the floor of the canyon and the ladder of niches above. That was what made the place a way for one to climb up or to climb down. He started at the top of the slant and began to work downward, throwing and heaving the stones to the one side and to the other side. They bounced and rolled this way and that way and the slanting walkway began to dwindle and drop away under his feet. The smooth rock wall with no niches from the floor of the canyon to the ledge rose behind him.
He heard his woman calling to him. When food was ready she would not wait as most women waited for their men to come when they wished to come and eat. When food was ready, she called and he came. He had seen the smoke of the fire that would be a cooking fire and had known that the food would be ready soon. But he had waited for her to call. He liked to hear her call him. And he liked to go to her when she called. After they had eaten he would take her by the hand and walk with her and show her this cage that was a good cage.
"Is this where you killed the old bull? Is this the tree where you tied the rope made of strips of your shirt and your leggings? Do not tell me of it again now. I do not like to think of you hopping on one foot with the bone of your right leg broken. ..."
"Is this where the young bull who is the old bull now fought the big puma all through the night and long into the morning? He is a brave bull. The scars on his head are signs of honor. He is our bull. But do not say that he shamed you. You were afraid yet you were out on the snow with your bow and your knife and you were not too late. . . ."
"Is this the shelter where you slept alone? It is the shelter a man would make, small and dark inside, out of the sun, with no things of comfort in it."
"It is the shelter where I slept but I was not alone. It is where you came to me in my dream."
"That is foolish talk. I did not come. I was far away in the village. . . . But it is good talk and I like to hear it. And it is a good shelter for even in its dimness I can see your eyes bright again and shining on me. ..."
The quiet dark was over the canyon. In the lodge the firelight flickered low. He lay on the couch and watched his woman. She finished placing their things for the third time. She looked at him and away and a smile was on her lips. She came to the couch and lay beside him. He took her in his arms gently and then fiercely and it was good for them both. They lay still. The winds of night lifted out of the hills and blew over the high plateau. They sent exploring streamers through the cracks along the rock edges and these chuckled to one another with a soft hollow sounding. And the Maiyun of the rocks floated out like a mist and took hold of the winds and rode laughing through the upper air and he heard them and lay still and he laughed with them, soft and deep in his throat and with the same tone.
"Oh my Spotted Turtle. Listen. The Maiyun are talking."
"It is only the wind that I hear. But it is good to have laughter again in the mouth of my husband."
"Listen. They are talking to me."
"I hear what could be voices but I do not understand them. What are they saying?"
"They say: Little brother, you are home again. You have brought us a little sister. It is well."
And the Maiyun raced on the winds down the canyon and danced in the upper air and raced back and laughed softly among themselves.
"I hear the voices again but still I do not understand. What is it they say now?"
"They say: Little brother, the woman who is your woman is better than any woman in a dream. She is lovely as the light that slips over the edge of the world in the first glow of morning. She is warm as the summer sun when it is full overhead. She is comforting as the good sleep that comes in the night after a hard day of hunting."
"That is foolish talk. They would not say that. ... But it is good talk. Tell me more of what you say they say. . . . "
It was autumn. He picked the wild plums and she stoned and dried them for the winter. He gathered quantities of the plentiful chokeberries and sarvissberries and she pounded them fine on a hollowed stone and made them into flat cakes and dried these for the cold weather. He gathered buffalo berries, which were not so many, and the wild grapes, which were few, and she prepared them too. These and other things helped fill the storehouse, which already held much meat from the old cow, not the cow that had twins, and one of the yearlings, a small bull, which he had taken from the herd. She worked on the hides, which was woman's work and which she would not let him do now that she was there, and he walked his canyon and sat crosslegged in the sun and the badger talked to him. He sat quiet on this day and she left her work and came to him. The badger would stay when she came if she moved slowly, but it would not talk when she was there. She came slowly on this day and she had a small secret smile on her lips. "Oh Little
Bear, my husband with the strong arms, you must take for us one of the calves, one of the very young spring calves."
"Why must I do that? We have meat. The calf will grow and be stronger and heavier when more seasons have passed."
"That is no matter now. I must make a small robe of the young tender skin. I am certain at last. We will have a child when the winter snows have melted and the trees begin to bud." She stood straight and proud for within her she was doing what a woman alone could do and what made her as important as a man in the home circle of the lodge.
He leaped to his feet and the badger flicked its broad flat body and was gone in a flickering of gray-brown fur. He leaped upon the flat stone. He laughed and shouted. "It will be a boy! It will have long legs and strong for fast running! It will be a son and I will be a father and there will be fine feeling between us!" He stood on the flat stone and looked at her. "Perhaps it will be a girl. It will be light and dainty on its feet as a young deer. It will grow warm and womanly like the mother. . . ."
The winter was kind. Snow fell and dwindled slowly on the ground and fell again. It was never so deep and hard-crusted that the buffalo could not feed. Storms passed overhead. They whipped through the hills but they did not whip down into the canyon. It was warm in the lodge with the snow banked outside and the slow fire always burning inside. He gathered buffalo chips when the ground was almost bare and fallen branches of the trees when the snow was there. That was woman's work but he would not let her do it. And when she had difficult times because she was carrying her first child, he did other work of a woman too. He cooked food, stews and soups made of nourishing meat and other things from their storehouse. He cleaned the bowls after the eating. But when he tried to put things back in their right places and to sweep the floor, she laughed at him and chased him outside with his snowshoes and did these herself. And sometimes at night when she could not sleep he leaned up beside her on one elbow and passed his other hand softly over her forehead again and again and told her what the Maiyun were saying high overhead in the upper air. And she was proud of it all, of the difficult times as of the easy times, for it was all part of what she was doing.
