She risked a shot at a squirrel in an oak behind their camp, and lost one of her precious arrows. Even worse, she missed the squirrel, and the hunger continued. She tried to estimate how long they could survive, and how long it might be until the Moon of Awakening. That would bring the thaw, and the creatures would begin to move around. Then the hunting would be easier.
Day after day, she tried to think of something that could be used as food. She watched the squirrels. They were said to store nuts, were they not? By this means she discovered a cache of acorns and hickory nuts in the hollow of a tree, and cleaned it out, down to the last shell. The nuts were hard to crack and to pick out, and the acorns too bitter to eat. Running Deer remembered, though, that some of the forest people to the east of the Sacred Hills used acorns.
She shelled the acorns, pounded the meaty kernels inside as she would pound corn, and then leached the bitter acid out by repeated soaking and boiling. The resulting mush was certainly not to be compared to broiled buffalo hump, but it would keep body and soul together a little longer. She found herself wishing that they had gathered acorns during the Moon of Falling Leaves. But how could she have known?
The wolf pack had effectively cleared the area of deer. Even the other hunters were ranging far. One night the cry of a cougar split the darkness like the scream of a woman in torture. It made the hair stand on the back of her neck. Gray Mouse crept close and the dog, every hair erect from nose to tail, tried to crowd between them.
There are no deer to he hunted here, she directed her thoughts at the great cat in the distance. But come to look for us! Your flesh would be as good for us as ours for you!
They did not see the cat, but the next day she found tracks near the stream. It was not heard again. Running Deer was somewhat disappointed, and was made to think that maybe she had warned the cougar by her thoughts about trying to kill and eat it.
She did kill one turkey, shooting it out of a tree where she had seen it go to roost. The night was moonlit and she maneuvered under the roost to drop the big bird with an arrow. It furnished food for several days.
But then it too was gone. She began to think of the last resort, the one she had hoped not to use. The People had always used dogs as a food supply, and even raised them for the purpose. Originally the dog had been a beast of burden as well, before the horse. Many families still kept dogs just for the change in diet. A long winter on just the dried flesh of the buffalo created a hunger for fresh meat. In this case, any meat would be welcome. It was no longer a matter of hunger, but of survival.
Yellow Dog … The girl had become quite attached to the animal, and would miss him. She, Running Deer, would miss him. He had furnished warmth at night during the coldest part of the winter. But now his flesh was needed to sustain life in another way.
She pondered whether to try to explain to Gray Mouse before the slaughter of the dog. That would be a hard task. Maybe it would be better simply to go ahead. While Gray Mouse slept, perhaps. A quick and sure blow with the small ax … skin and butcher quickly. Yes, that might be best. She could have meat broiling when Mouse awakened, and then explain the need for such action. But she was not happy about it, and would never be.
The day came. Yellow Dog was off making his daily rounds in a big circle around the camp. He stopped at each of his usual places to lift a leg and mark his territory. A rock by the stream, a tuft of grass in the meadow, a tree … At that point he always disappeared to circle around or through the patch of oak timber behind them. He would appear from the east to complete his circle.
Running Deer knew exactly where the dog would emerge from the bushes. It was always the same. She knew how long his circuit: would take. With a bit of sadness she picked up the ax, tucked her skinning knife in her waistband, and cast a glance at the sleeping child.
Sleep well little one, she thought. We will eat today.
Her shrunken stomach rumbled at the thought, and she moved toward Yellow Dog’s path in the snow. He would come out of the bushes there, by the rock, and she would be waiting. He would come to her, and … She hoped that she could be quick and efficient. High on the head, between the ears … She was puzzled at her attitude. It had never been a problem before, and the traditional apology had sufficed to make her feel that … Well, everything has to eat something else, does it not?
She could hear the dog coming now, along his private trail through the thicket. He was moving more slowly than usual, it seemed. Maybe it was only because of her own concerns for the reaction of Gray Mouse to what was about to happen. Running Deer concealed the ax behind her and prepared to extend her left hand in greeting. Then, as Yellow Dog neared the opening in the thicket, she saw that he was carrying something.
The dog, man’s first domestic animal, is a social creature. He has, through the ages, developed a complicated relationship with man, which often reveals itself in strange ways. Old instincts run strong. This includes that of bringing meat to the young at the den, or retrieving a part of the kill to share with the family-pack.
Maybe the sounds and smells, or the spirit of the wolf pack’s presence had been felt by this, their distant cousin. Yellow Dog had been kept tied during the presence of the wolves, to protect him against any inclination to join them. That would probably have been a fatal mistake.
Now he ran free. He stepped into the open, saw Running Deer, and ran happily toward her. The object in his mouth was a fat, freshly killed rabbit. Proudly, the dog dropped it at her feet and stepped back, tail wagging as he waited for the expected praise.
Tears came to the old woman’s eyes. She dropped the ax and fell to her knees in the snow, circling the neck of Yellow Dog with her arms. How could she have thought …?
In a little while she rose, picked up the gift, and they started back to the camp. Deer was thinking busily, planning how she would use the unexpected kill. They could broil the rabbit, sharing the head, feet, skin, and entrails with Yellow Dog. The bones would be used for soup … Not much, but better than nothing.
This in turn gave her an idea. Maybe she could find some marrow bones from the leavings of the wolves in the deer thicket. They would have been frozen, and could be cracked and boiled for soup. Yes, she wondered why she had not thought of that before. Maybe they could survive after all.
“Wake up, little one,” she called cheerfully. “Yellow Dog has brought us a gift, and we will eat!”
It was as if this incident provided a turning point. Things were better. It helped that her outlook was better, of course, and events began to fall into place. The wolves had left the area, and it was not long before the deer began to return. Running Deer stalked and killed a young buck and the three of them feasted.
With the first bite of warm raw liver as she butchered, the world seemed to come alive. Her body, starved for the life-giving juices, reacted with such joy that all seemed right. Gray Mouse, too, responded to this springtime ritual, smearing her cheeks with the fresh blood. They laughed at each other’s “painted” faces. Yellow Dog gulped whatever scraps were tossed his way with enthusiasm.
After the first orgy of fresh liver, they began to slow down, and Running Deer placed some choice cuts of venison to broil.
“It is not as sweet as buffalo,” she told the girl conversationally, “but it is good!”
The next day, as if it were planned that way, a soft warming breeze began to ease its way from the south.
“Ah!” Deer muttered. “Sun Boy is coming back, after all.”
Gray Mouse giggled. “That is good, Grandmother, no?”
“Yes, very good.”
“What will we do now?”
“Wait for the snow to melt. Then, travel.”
“Where?”
The little voice was anxious, and Running Deer realized that they had not talked of the future at all. Since the two of them had been together, there had been little hope for a future. But now they had survived the spotted death, and the Moons of Long Nights and Starvation. She was made to feel that they
could accomplish anything.
“We must find the People,” she said.
“Your people, Grandmother?”
“Yes, child. Your people are dead or gone, remember?”
The girl nodded soberly. “Will your people hurt me?”
“No, no, of course not!”
“They did not want me, before.”
Running Deer spread her arms and Mouse crept into her lap.
“That was different, little one. They were afraid.”
“Of me?”
“No … well, yes. Of the poch, the spotted death that killed so many. They were afraid of me, too, remember? Those two men who came back and brought us meat? My own sons. Even they were afraid.”
“I do not remember that, Grandmother.”
“No, child, you were very sick. But now we are alive, and it is good.”
“Where are your people?” the girl asked.
“Ah, that we will not know. They have wintered on a river we call the Sycamore. But they will move, when the Moon of Greening comes. I am made to think that we should try to join them at the Sun Dance.”
“Where is that place, Grandmother?”
Running Deer laughed. “Not a place, really, Mouse. A time and a celebration. It takes place in the Moon of Roses, two moons from now. This is the greatest time of the year for the People. You will like it, Mouse! It celebrates the return of the sun, the grass, and the buffalo. There will be singing, dancing, feasting, races …”
The eyes of Gray Mouse were shining with the excitement that she saw in Grandmother’s face.
“Where will it be?” she asked eagerly.
Running Deer chuckled, half to herself. “Ah, child, that is why I laughed. I do not know. I let myself forget. I did not expect to be alive, so it did not seem important!”
25
It might seem that finding the People at the site of the Sun Dance would be a virtually impossible task. If the entire expanse of the vast prairie, stretching from the woodlands east of the People to the great mountains in the west … The width would be a whole season’s travel for an old woman and a child, even if they knew their destination. How could Running Deer hope to locate and then reach the camp of the Sun Dance by the time the whole nation gathered for the annual festival?
Several facts, however, would be of great help. The five bands of the People, now six with the joining of the New band, had long ago established the areas where they preferred to range. The Mountain and Red Rocks bands were expected to winter in those respective areas. The Eastern band favored the fringes of the woodlands to the northeast as a place to winter. There were French traders in that area, so the trading of furs was much easier. It was a dangerous area, with many different tribes of forest people moving in from the east. But then, the Eastern band had always done foolish things.
The Northern band, traditionally one of the two strongest, ranged as far north as the river the French now called the Platte. They wintered farther south, of course, often in the valley of the Kenzas. Her own, the Southern band, was probably the closest to where she had wintered with the girl.
While all of this knowledge would seem to be of little help, it was invaluable to Running Deer. She did not even think about such basic facts. They were just there. The fact that all of the scattered bands would assemble annually in the Moon of Roses was assumed. The site was selected each year for the next celebration. Aiee, she thought. I should have been giving attention when the Council was talking of it. It was a bit embarrassing to remember how ridiculous her attitude had been. She must have caused much pain for her sons and their families.
But back to the present with its own problems … She knew that the gathering place would be somewhere in the middle, where no one band would face the hardship of extra long travel. Usually the two western bands complained anyway, but if they chose to live in the shadow of the mountains, so be it. Sometimes the People decided to humor them, and held the Sun Dance farther west. They had done that only two years ago, so probably that would not be the case this season. Besides, she would remember, would she not? There would have been much talk and the Eastern band would have complained bitterly at the long trip that they would have to make.
So, Deer had concluded, the site would probably be fairly central, maybe in the Sacred Hills. And in all her lifetime, there were no more than ten sites where the Sun Dance had been held in that general area. It required special facilities. Plenty of good water, enough level space for the scores of lodges, and grass enough for the hundreds of horses that the People possessed. Fuel was less of a problem. The prairie would be littered with thousands of dry buffalo chips from last season’s migration of the great herds.
But which of the sites that the People used would it be? She could not guess, but there would be ways to find out.
“We will start north,” she explained to Gray Mouse. “Maybe northwest, a little. We know that much. Then we will ask as we travel. The Growers will have news.”
Along most of the rivers of the prairie country there were villages of people who raised crops. By virtue of their way of life, they were usually peaceful. Crops are vulnerable to destruction by an enemy, and difficult to defend. How can one prevent the burning of a field of grain if there are those who would want to destroy it? It was easier and safer, usually, to trade with all comers, but become allied with none. So the various farming tribes had a great tendency to remain neutral as their nomadic neighbors carried on widespread hunting and warfare.
The People, even knowing that there were many different tribes whose main activity was farming, had adopted the term Growers to include them all. There were exceptions. Pawnees, aggressive and warlike, were to be avoided. But they were farther north, Running Deer knew. She might encounter Kenzas or Wichitas, but no matter. Any of them would probably answer questions, especially if she had a small gift of dried meat.
Yes, they could follow the old trails that crisscrossed the prairie, and head generally northward, asking as they went. There were places where travelers had camped before, probably for generations. A source of water and fuel was all that would be needed by a small party. These traditional stopping places would be found about a day’s travel apart. Sometimes they would be located next to a cluster of Growers’ lodges. It was in that way she could gain news of the People.
It was the third day before they saw another human. The day was late, and she was glad to see a plume of evening smoke ahead. It had been a long time since she had spoken to another adult. A Grower village, maybe? No, only one smoke. The camp of another traveler?
She could see the couple as they approached, the man seated and smoking. The woman was tossing a couple of sticks and a buffalo chip on the fire. Packs were piled nearby, and a horse grazed beyond.
Running Deer strode in boldly, making the sign for peaceful greeting. Her next sign was that of identification.
“I am of the Elk-dog People.”
The man looked her over, nodded, and gave the sign for trader. That could be either his occupation or his nationality.
“Arapaho?” Deer asked aloud.
The man nodded and drew a pipeful of smoke into his mouth.
“How are you called?” asked the woman in the tongue of the People.
“Ah! You speak my tongue!” Deer answered. “I am Running Deer. This, my daughter Gray Mouse.”
“Yes, we speak many tongues,” the trader’s wife said … “Daughter?”
“Well, granddaughter. Her parents died with the poch.”
“Aiee, it has been bad,” the woman agreed. “Your people …”
“My people?” Deer interrupted. “They have the poch?”
“How is it that you do not know?” the woman demanded. “What is this?”
Quickly, Running Deer explained.
“Ah, I see,” the other answered, her suspicion subsiding. “My heart is heavy to tell you then. Your people were hard hit, last season,”
“All bands?”
“That I cannot say. The
Southern band the hardest, though. I remember that.”
Running Deer’s heart: sank. She wished now that she had been with them. It could have been no worse. But how? Could her sons have carried the sickness back when they brought her the buffalo meat? If they did, then they must have fallen sick … maybe, dead.
“Do you remember any names?” she asked eagerly. “Singing Wolf? Beaver Track?”
“Ah, Mother, I do not know. We did not see them, we only heard of the sickness, you know.”
“Do you know where they will have the Sun Dance?”
“No, no. Or whether they will have it. But tell me, Mother … Do you not fear to travel alone?”
Running Deer shrugged. “What is to fear? What can happen to an old woman that has not happened already?”
“But you might be killed by someone.”
Deer laughed, a sardonic chuckle. “Why? I have nothing worth killing for. And there is no honor in killing an old woman.”
“That is true. But you have the girl there … Would you sell her? She will make a good wife someday. She is pretty.”
Deer tried not to appear as offended as she actually was.
“No, no. She is mine. To take her, one would have to kill me.”
“See? It is as I said. I only offered …”
“No!”
The subject did not come up again. They camped together, exchanged small talk and provisions and comments on the weather. It was good to talk to adults, despite the haunting fears about what might have happened to the People. And, of course, the unfortunate remark about the child. But maybe the woman did only intend to be helpful.
Deer slept little, but by morning was convinced that there had really been no evil intent.
As they parted, the trader asked yet another question that bothered her.
“What about the dog? Would you trade him? He looks strong.”
Deer thanked him, but refused. Aiee! A trader must trade anything, she supposed.
Gray Mouse clung to her hand as they watched the couple and their laden pack: horse move on down the trail.
Child of the Dead Page 15
