Lakota (5 page)

All ate well that night, and the great stocks of wasna shrank considerably. As a result, Hinhan Hota chose to take the new brothers on a hunt. The boys could scarcely conceal their excitement, for going to the hunt with a chief was an honor at any time. For boys so young, it hinted of promise.

Mastincala had his doubts. He carried a light bow with which he had killed small game. Louis had often taken a turn at the bow, but the Owl ordered it left behind. Two frowns answered the command, and disappointment flooded the boys' faces.

"I hunt brother elk," Hinhan Hota explained. "Your arrows would never pierce his tough hide. For such an undertaking, a man must carry the warrior's bow."

Gray Owl then produced a wondrous bow of soft ash, carved with great affection for a treasured son by a loving father. The grip was wrapped in buffalo hide with strips of beadwork on each side.

"Wicatankala," the chief explained as he traced the beadwork. The pattern resembled a rabbit running. So that was what Gull had devoted her evenings to!

"Ate, it is a wonder," Mastincala declared. "But my arm is still short."

"For this bow it is a strong heart that's needed," Hinhan Hota answered. "String it, my son."

Rabbit bent the bow and drew the string taut. He then raised it triumphantly.

"And Hinkpila?" Mastincala asked.

"Ah, I had time to make the one bow only," Hinhan Hota explained. "Perhaps brothers can share?"

"Hau!" they cried together.

The three of them then gathered such belongings as might be needed and walked to the pony herd. The Owl selected three spry ponies and ordered the boys to place their bone saddles atop the animals. Hinhan Hota did likewise. He then tied his rifle behind him and led the way toward a distant hillside. The boys followed in silence.

By late afternoon Gray Owl had selected a likely spot, a clearing just above a small pond. He then secured his horse, assured himself the boys had done the same, and led the way through dense underbrush toward the edge of the clearing. Mastincala took note of how the wind stung his eyes. The Owl had brought them downwind so the elk wouldn't sniff their scent on the breeze.

"Now we must make prayers," Hinhan Hota explained. He invoked Wakan Tanka to reward their devotion with fresh meat, and he offered the customary tobacco. Afterward the three hunters spread out patiently on the edge of the meadow and waited.

Mastincala notched an arrow, but his fingers grew stiff and numb before he had occasion to draw back his bowstring. Louis had more patience. But Hinhan Hota seemed carved of stone. The chief watched with steady eyes as rabbits hurried by. Quail sang in a nearby thicket. Mastincala chewed a strip of buffalo hide and hoped the elk would come before his hair was white with age like He Hopa's.

"Each thing in its time," Hinhan Hota had so often reminded his son. Well, elk tracks marked the pond as a favorite drinking spot. They said nothing of when or how often!

Finally the elk appeared. There were five in all, and the Owl motioned toward a buck on the far right side. It was neither the eldest nor the youngest. Mastincala motioned that he understood. Then the boy drew back the string, held the bow steady, and took aim. He let fly the arrow, and it struck the elk in the throat. Hinhan Hota fired the instant the first elk collapsed.

"He's not dead," Louis observed, pointing to how the first animal struggled to breathe as blood dripped down its neck. Mastincala handed over the bow, and Louis fired a second arrow through the elk's stout heart. The animal died instantly.

The other elk had by now scattered, but two elk would provide what meat was needed. Hinhan Hota then suggested the hides would make fine winter coats, and Louis appeared especially pleased. An elk robe would mark him as a man to know among the wasicuns at the fort.

Skinning the animals and packing the meat occupied the hunters until early dusk. The boys rode back to camp on the same horse. The other dragged a travois behind it with the meat. Mastincala noticed his father's proud gaze, and when the three of them entered the camp together, they were met with shouts and brave heart calls.

"Hau, Mastincala! Rabbit has killed an elk!" the other boys exclaimed. "Hau, Hinkpila! Short Hair is blooded!"

Mastincala gazed down at his fellows from the top of his horse and grinned. For once he was the tall one. Perhaps it was a brave heart that mattered most after all. He hoped so, for he enjoyed the good feeling.

It was well that Hinhan Hota and the boys had killed the elk, for winter came early. In a fortnight, snows had packed the ground, and even the elk's tough hide couldn't fend off the bite of the frigid north wind. It was in this time of cold that Tasiyagnunpa went to the women's lodge to give birth.

The Owl saw to it an old woman came to tend the lodge, for Wablosa had been killed at Ash Hollow. She was called Yellow Cow, and Mastincala judged her skin as hard and wrinkled as an old moccasin. Her tongue was sharp as a killing lance, though, and she enjoyed flaying her male charges with rawhide thongs. Gray Owl had left to pray for an easy birth, so Rabbit and Louis left Wicatankala to the care of Yellow Cow and sought the lodge of He Hopa.

The medicine man welcomed the visit. Winter brought the old man pain, for his brittle fingers swelled, and his legs were bent by too many battle wounds. He had a pair of young women to cook and care for him, but he mostly grumbled at their slowness or complained they grew fat on his wasna.

"It's well you've come, Mastincala," He Hopa declared as he huddled with the youngsters around a fire. "There is death on the wind. Your mother hurries a child into the world?"

"Han," Rabbit answered. Yes. Of course, He Hopa knew she was in the women's lodge. Four Horns, after all, had been the one to urge prayers on Gray Owl.

"It's bad your brother chooses this time to be born," He Hopa said soberly. "Winter is a time for things to die. The leaves fall from the trees, and the prairie grasses grow yellow. Bear takes to his den. He is the only wise one."

Mastincala agreed, and Louis nodded.

"I've had brothers born before, but always their eyes closed too soon for me to whisper their names," Mastincala said sadly. "Ate says hard times are before us, for the wasicun has a bad face for the Lakota. We will need warriors. Hinhan Hota needs a son."

Louis nodded again, and He Hopa rose. He flung off the blanket he'd drawn tight against his shoulders, then began chanting. Each word he muttered with gritted teeth as the chill ate its way into his ancient, emaciated body. Then Mastincala looked on in disbelief as the medicine man stripped off his buckskins, leaving him naked save for a breech-clout. The boys eyed each other gravely. Then Mastincala discarded his elk robe and likewise stripped off his outer clothing. Louis did the same, and the three of them danced about the fire, shivering with cold and singing an ancient song.

"Hear me, Wakan Tanka," He Hopa began. "We are ashes to your fire, consumed in an instant. Grant us power that our song may make the little one strong. Give him a brave heart. Send sun to warm his bones and make the blood flow quick."

He Hopa then drew a knife and made twin cuts across his chest. Blood trickled from the wounds, and Mastincala stared in wonder at how the old medicine man cried even louder and danced with new vigor.

"Hear me, Wakan Tanka," the Rabbit called as he drew his own knife and held the blade against his chest. Cold steel touched the bare flesh, but Mastincala couldn't bring his fingers to press the blade.

"Have brave hearts," He Hopa urged.

Louis drew his knife then, and Mastincala took a deep breath. He wouldn't allow his new brother to make the sacrifice alone. The knife cut shallow red lines in the taut flesh, and Mastincala fought the need to cry out. Twinges of pain brought a spasm of energy to him, and he danced as a wild man. The feel of the warm blood running down his belly startled his senses. He gazed over at Louis and noticed how much brighter the blood seemed when dripping down the nutmeg-colored flesh of his companion.

"Ay, hah, hah," He Hopa chanted. "Wakan Tanka, hear our prayer."

And so, on they danced until exhaustion overcame them. Louis collapsed first. Then Mastincala dropped to his knees. He Hopa, who was white-haired the day both were born, continued on until a crier brought word a boy was born to Hinhan Hota.

"Dress yourselves, young ones," He Hopa told his freezing disciples. "You have a brother."

"Hau!" Mastincala bellowed. "A brother!"

Louis grinned his agreement as he hurried to pull a shirt over his bare ribs. The boys had little luck with their clothes, and finally He Hopa motioned for his women to help. The girls giggled and clucked like old hens as they warmed the youngsters. He Hopa then threw buffalo hides beside the fire and wrapped the boys like cocoons.

Mastincala awoke the next morning still enclosed in his hide. Louis was warming his stiff joints beside the fire. Outside the sun had broken through a heavy haze, and melting snow dripped from the heavy hides covering the tipi.

"I have a brother?" Mastincala asked.

"Eat this," He Hopa said, shoving a flat corn cake into the Rabbit's mouth. "There is tea there. Drink it. Your father waits."

Louis laughed to see Mastincala in such a hurry. Moments later the two boys stumbled out into the snowdrifts together. When they reached Hinhan Hota's lodge, the chief clasped them both by the shoulders.

"Welcome your brother," Gray Owl called, motioning toward the bundle of fur clasped in old Yellow Cow's arms. The boys stepped closer, and the old woman allowed them a single glimpse of the wrinkled brown face beneath.

"He's called Itunkala," their sister explained.

"A good name," Tasiyagnunpa announced. Still weak and weary, she lay in buffalo hides beside the fire.

A good name?
Mastincala asked himself. It meant Mouse. If there was a name sure to grant its owner a steeper path than Rabbit, Mouse was certain to be it.

"He will need a brave heart and a strong arm," Mastincala declared.

"And a brother to show him the way," Hinhan Hota added.

"Such a brother he will have," Mastincala promised. Louis clasped his brother's wrist. A smile emerged on the paler boy's lips. Rabbit guiding Mouse? Yes, it was worth a laugh surely.

"I have a young brother already," Louis whispered. "The Lakota call him Istamaza."

"Istamaza?" Mastincala asked. Eyeglasses?

"He doesn't see well," Louis explained. "The soldier doctor made him some spectacles. It would be worse if his skin wasn't so light. His hair is fair, too, like yellow grass. He will be a better white man."

"You are Lakota now," Mastincala declared. "You will stay here with me. We will ride to the buffalo hunt and fight the Crows."

"No, my father will come soon, and I will return to the fort," Louis muttered. "I, too, have a hard road to walk, it seems."

"The road of the wasicun?" Mastincala asked. "That is a crazy trail!"

"So it must seem," Louis confessed with a grin. "I'll come back, though, and we'll hunt again."

"Yes," Mastincala agreed. "Many buffalo will fall to our arrows."

Louis's departure a few days later left Mastincala cold and hollow. Difficult days were at hand, and he now felt he faced them alone. There was a winter as bitter cold and frozen as any remembered by the old ones. Chills gripped the small and the helpless, and Mastincala worried over the survival of his small brother. But Wakan Tanka willed the child would survive, and ice, as always, thawed under the dancing suns of summer.

As Mastincala prepared to meet the challenges of his twelfth summer, great changes shook the earth. Word came that war had broken out among the white men in the country beyond the great waters.

"Ah, they are a quarrelsome people," He Hopa declared. "It is like them to fight among themselves."

When Louis arrived to share the buffalo hunt, he told of great armies of graycoats who fought the bluecoat soldier chiefs. A hundred times a hundred were slain, it was said. Mastincala shook his head in doubt. How could so many people be killed? Even the wasicun thunder guns could not bring such a calamity to pass.

"It's so," Louis insisted, and He Hopa reminded the Rabbit how the eagle chief Harney had made war upon the peaceful camp of the Sicangu at Blue Creek.

"Then perhaps all the wasicuns will die," Mastincala said. "Then the Lakota people can live in the old way, walking the sacred road, with only the Crows and Snakes to fight."

As snows came again to the plain, thawed, and faded under the golden glow of the summer sun, it seemed perhaps it would be just so. The wagon trains that rolled along Platte River grew fewer, and mostly now it seemed there were women and little ones together with old men on that road. Few soldiers kept watch on the wasicun forts. At Laramie only the old and lame occupied the long lodges.

For Mastincala, those two years were a remembered time. He hunted and fished and grew taller. His shoulders broadened, and his voice deepened. While bathing in the chill streams of Paha Sapa, he saw that he was a boy no longer. Next day Hinhan Hota drew him aside.

"Each Lakota is called in his own hour to be a man, my son," the Owl explained. "This is your time. No one among the people could have stood so tall in his boyhood. All that must now be forgotten. You go to walk the warrior path. Hau, it makes a father's heart sing!"