Lakota (13 page)

"Maybe there is power in your cross," Tacante said as he placed the small bit of silver in the soldier's mouth. It would be hard to find there. Tacante then stripped the body of its heavy wool uniform, for such cloth would be hard to come by now, and Itunkala, his brother, would soon outgrow his shirts.

As with the wagon people, many of the soldiers were cut up. A man deprived of hands or with his hamstrings cut would be crippled on the other side. Thus many believed. The Sahiyelas cut pieces off men and put them in strange places. It seemed a great game to them. Tacante kept them away from the men he had killed.

"They fought bravely," Tacante said. "I marked them in the Lakota way. It is enough."

The Sahiyelas thought to argue, but the fire growing in Tacante's eyes sent them away.

"Collect the wounded and the dead," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke suggested, and Tacante slung his captured rifles onto one shoulder, hung his bow and shield on the other, and carried his bundle of clothing and cartridges down the hill. Cehupa Maza was waiting with the horses. His leg was bound, but blood continued to seep through the cloth bandages.

Tacante secured his booty to his horse, then helped Hokala up. Once Badger was mounted, the three young men raised a triumphant howl and bid farewell to the Horse. Sunka Sapa rode by to show the scalp he took, then wished them luck on their return.

"Watcher and I remain," he explained. "There are bluecoats yet eager to fall upon my knife."

Tacante gazed back up the hill. He thought of the white blanket that covered the naked wasicuns in his dream. Snow was sure to come soon, but even it could not conceal the terrible fight that had taken place there. Yes, it would be a remembered batde. No wasicun who visited that place and saw that sight could hunger for the same fate.

"Hau, we are warriors!" Hokala sang as his face twisted in pain.

"We fight the enemies of the people!" Cehupa Maza shouted.

"Brave hearts, sing loud," Tacante added, "for ours is a hard road."

"Ayyy!" the three friends howled as they turned their horses toward the distant lodges that would welcome them. It was a long way to ride in such difficult weather. Already snowflakes danced like feathers in the chill north wind. The white blanket of Tacante's dream was falling upon the dead. As for the living, well, they would have to provide their own.

"We should have taken a wasicun horse," Cehupa Maza complained. "Our people always need horses in winter."

"We have enough," Tacante muttered. "We are alive. And we have people whose hearts will warm when we return."

"Ayyy!" Hokala howled. "Fine scalps we bring! Our sisters will be proud."

Tacante glanced back at his companions. Each raised a strip of yellow-brown hair. He wondered how young warriors lamed by bullets could rush on to strike down the enemy. It was the great strength of the Lakota, he decided. And the folly, too, perhaps. Those rapid-shooting rifles had cut down many warriors. Where one gun appeared, others were certain to follow. Bows and lances could never stand against such weapons. And unlike the thunder guns, a rifle could be carried across deep ravines and up great mountains.

The journey to Powder River proved to be a difficult one. Tacante and his wounded friends endured the sharp agonies of biting wind and numbing cold. Their horses grew weary, for there was only the yellow buffalo grasses dug from beneath powdery snow for the animals to eat.

Tacante also felt hunger's gnawing teeth. His food bag was nearly empty, and he gave the last of his wasna to Hokala. The Badger was hot with fever, and his knee festered. Tacante prayed they would soon be among the people. He Hopa would chase the evil odors from Hokala's leg.

Cehupa Maza's wound grew better. There wasn't any wasicun lead in the ankle, plaguing the healing spirits a man holds in his heart. The Jaw walked with a pronounced limp, wincing when he placed weight on the injured foot, but he refused to cry out or complain. And if Tacante set off on foot to shoot game for the spit, Cehupa Maza would follow.

They had but little success. Oh, once a small rabbit venturing out of its hole was shot, but its meat barely staved off the jaws of hunger. Tacante felt himself growing thinner. At night, when the three young Lakotas huddled in a makeshift shelter, they made a game of counting each other's ribs. And when Hokala lay shivering and moaning from the pain of his wound, Tacante spread his own threadbare blanket atop the Badger and prayed Powder River lay not far ahead.

Fortunately, the three skeletons rode their war ponies into Hinhan Hota's snowbound camp that next day. Hokala was slumped across the neck of his horse, and Tacante called for He Hopa, the wise old medicine man.

"His knee's been shattered," Tacante explained. "Will you use your power to make him one again?"

"Ah, I will try," the old one answered. "With your help."

Tacante gazed at the medicine man with solemn eyes and agreed. The young warrior then saw to his horse, presented the scalps to Wicatankala, and briefly greeted his father and young brother. Tacante spread the captured clothes beside his mother's place near the door of the lodge.

"These are good wool," he said, casting his eyes away from the woman's smiling face. "They will keep Itunkala warm in the coldest times. Perhaps someone will make him a shirt from them."

"I can make such a shirt," Tasiyagnunpa declared, taking the clothes. "I'll also make my first son a warrior shirt."

"He'd have use for it," Tacante replied.

It was a strange way to speak son to mother and mother to son, but it prevented the softness of a woman from smothering the warrior spirit in her son. Such was the Lakota way.

Tacante remained only another moment. His sister filled a platter with cold corn cakes and wasna, and he hungrily ate every scrap. Then, after smiling shyly toward Wicatankala, he hurried out into the cold. He Hopa had sought help. Soon it would be there.

Tacante had spent many hours learning the medicine herbs and the power of the chants. As he stood over Hokala and watched He Hopa open the festering wound, Tacante tried to recall every word of instruction. He Hopa noticed and smiled faintly.

"A man learns best what he does," the old man remarked, pointing toward a flint knife with a yellowing bone handle. It wasn't sharp like the fine steel blades the wasicun traders brought to the plains, but it was of the earth. He Hopa chanted as he cut Hokala's flesh. The Badger fought the pain, but still a groan passed his lips. Tacante held his friend firmly by the shoulders as He Hopa's knife cut deeper. Soon the medicine man drew out the pounded fragments of lead and small slivers of bone. After draining a yellow fluid, He Hopa called attention to the bright red blood which followed.

"Ah, the evil odors have fled," the old man explained. He then peppered the wound with a mixture of pounded buffalo horn and various curing herbs before binding the knee with wet buckskin. The binding would tighten, and the bleeding would stop.

"I will live?" Hokala asked when Tacante held a numbing drink to his friend's lips.

"If you keep from the path of wasicun bullets," Tacante answered. Hokala closed his eyes and allowed sleep to end the pain. Tacante then devoted himself to chanting prayers and undergoing such personal sacrifices as brought power into the hands of a medicine man.

He Hopa often drew his own blood to bring the healing powers into the medicine lodge. Tacante made himself a reflection to the old man, matching each cut and echoing every chant. He Hopa noticed.

"Always I've seen the power in you, Tonska," He Hopa said. "Now the knowledge has come into your heart. Yours in the sacred way. Hau! Remember what you have learned, for only the earth and sky live long. Soon I go to the other side."

Tacante sighed. He feared the day He Hopa no longer walked the land, for there was so much not yet understood.

As the cold grip of winter tightened on Powder River, Hokala grew stronger. Badger's was not a spirit to be kept abed, and though he walked with the use of a forked limb, he joined in brief hunts on days when the sun fought off the white haze.

Hokala Huste, he was now called. Limping Badger. It was a name spoken with honor, and the young ones were forever pleading for the tale of Hokala's fight with the wasicuns.

Tacante busied himself seeing to the needs of the horses or accompanying Hinhan Hota on rides to the other Lakota winter camps. There was also time to join He Hopa for medicine prayers. The best moments, though, were spent teaching Itunkala the skills of the hunt.

Mouse had now marked seven snows on the earth. It was fitting that this, his eighth winter, be a remembered time. So it was, for never did the wind howl so mournfully. All the world shivered under the daunting cold. But even so, Itunkala never flinched, for he was the son of Hinhan Hota and the brother of Tacante, Buffalo Heart, a young man revered among the people for his many coups.

Tacante found great contentment in the admiring eyes of his small brother. Before, when the Mouse had been little more than a bundle of useless brown flesh, Tacante had despaired. Now the boy was alert and active. His feet carried him swiftly, like an antelope, and if small, his heart promised a future life marked by brave deeds and great devotion.

It was well Itunkala's company warmed the hard days of bitter winter, for the snows seemed reluctant to pass. Hunger plagued the camp, and only the fortunate killing of an occasional elk held off the perils of starvation. Even so, death came to the people. Two children caught fever and closed their eyes to the world of the earth-walkers. Then, while the popping moon waned, a wailing cry again filled the air. He Hopa was dead.

Not since the death of the other Tacante, he who was Ate, Father, had such a sense of loss descended. Then the boy Mastincala had been unable to help build the burial scaffold or prepare the body. Now, as an honored young man, Tacante rode to the neighboring camps to gather the medicine man's family.

Wanbli Cannunpa, the Eagle Pipe, arrived with his many daughters and two sons to oversee the mourning. It was Tacante, though, who helped Hehaka dress the body in finest robes. Much ceremony attended the erecting of a ghost lodge over the burial scaffold, and Hinhan Hota slew a fine war pony so that He Hopa might ride across the great unknown. Tacante himself hung the pony's tail on the burial scaffold.

Wanbli Cannunpa made such a feast as could be managed in those days of want and gave presents to honor his father-in-law. Finally the medicine man's belongings were packed away for the year remaining before the final mourning act, the giving up of the ghost ceremony in which those belongings would be handed to others.

Tacante faced a second sadness, as well. He Hopa's dying sent Hehaka back to her father's lodge. The deer woman had caught Tacante's eye more and more, and twice he had drawn her to his blanket so that they sat whispering warm words of the better days that would come with the summer sun.

"Wanbli Cannunpa," Tacante said as the honored warrior prepared to return to his people, "I will soon mark the end of my nineteenth snow walking the earth. I am a blooded warrior, a man of many horses, and I would offer you three ponies to show my worthiness as a husband for Hehaka, your daughter."

"Ah, she is dear to my heart and too long absent from my lodge," Eagle Pipe answered. "Three ponies speaks of a generous heart, but you are young. Soon comes the buffalo hunt, and afterward the young men will ride again to fight the wasicuns. There is time for taking a wife later. Be patient, Tacante."

The rebuke stung him as a quirt upon the cheek might have felt. He backed away with sad eyes and left the Pipe to go upon his way.

As the snows finally started their thaw, Hinhan Hota began his preparations for the buffalo hunt. Tacante helped ready the ponies and make fresh arrows. But his heart was full of longing mixed with a growing bitterness. He pledged himself to fill the wasna pouches and strike down the enemies of the people.

Word will soon travel among the camps that
J,
Tacante, am a man to be followed. My lodge will be honored, and Wanbli Cannunpa will know his words were spoken with a foolish heart. I'm of an age to have a wife, am I not?

Tacante's eyes glowed with fiery determination, and Hinhan Hota noticed. When the scouts at last found a herd, the chief drew Tacante aside.

"My son, you will lead the young men," the Owl declared. "Take your party to the far side of the herd while I strike this."

"Hau, Ate," Tacante answered. "You will see I am worthy of your trust. Many buffalo will fall to my bow arm."

Another time such a boast might have been admonished, but Tacante spoke with the strong heart of a man determined to do as he said. When the Lakotas closed in on the grazing herd, Tacante proved it was so. He spread his companions in a thin line, then led the charge that broke the herd.

As a small one, Tacante's arm had lacked the strength to match the bow arms of his fellows. Now he showed what changes could come upon a man tormented by rejection. Each time Tacante notched an arrow, he drove his horse close to the stampeding buffalo so that he could fire behind the shoulder and deep into the animal's heart. First one bull, then another, and another again pitched forward in death. Five arrows Tacante fired. Five buffalo fell.

"Hau! He is first among us!" Cehupa Maza called as the young men collected around the eight animals they slew.