Man on Two Ponies (2 page)

How it happened Running Elk didn't know, but when Captain Pratt hired Long Chin as interpreter for the boys, Spotted Tail agreed to send four of his sons and a granddaughter to the new Carlisle Indian School.
“If
they learn to read and write and talk like the whites we won't have to rely on government interpreters,” he explained. “They lie to us and change our words.”

Other chiefs and headmen naturally followed Spotted Tail's lead, among them the wrinkled old warrior Two Buck Elk, whose left ear had been disfigured by an enemy arrow. “Grandson,” he said, touching the ear as he spoke, “I want you to go with the others. Be brave and learn to talk like the Wasicuns.”

Dismayed, Running Elk went to his mother. “I don't want to go. I want to find my father.”

Since Pawnee Killer had failed to return Scarlet Robe seldom smiled, and her eyes seemed perpetually sorrowful. She looked at him sadly. “I don't want you to go either, my son, but if your grandfather says you must, we have no choice. I can't stop it; I'm only a woman.”

That night Running Elk tied his pony to a stake near the tipi so he wouldn't' have to hunt for it. Before dawn he filled a small buckskin bag with dried meat, hoping it would last until he found other Brulés or Oglalas. Taking his bow and arrows, with his blanket over his shoulder, he mounted his pony and rode north. Pawnee Killer was with Sitting Bull's people in Grandmother's Land, and it might take many suns to find him. But
it
was better to go hungry searching for his father than to be sent far away to the east.

Because his pony had been tied all night, he stopped to let it graze for a time along a stream. He watched
it
hungrily cropping the tall grass, feeling elated that in a few moons he'd be with his father again. He heard hoofbeats and looked up to see two riders approaching at a trot. In blue jackets and black hats, at a distance they looked like soldiers. As they approached he felt suddenly weak—they were Indian police. He eyed their unsmiling faces with mounting fear. The police worked for the agent, so all fullbloods resented them. Both had pistols strapped to
their
waists and Win
chesters in their scabbards. They stopped their ponies and looked down at Running Elk, hands on the pommels of their saddles, their faces expressionless.

“You come with us,” one said.

“I can't. I'm looking for my father.”

“Agent says you go to school. You go.”

Back at the agency thirty-four boys and girls, including Running Elk, were loaded in wagons along with their families for the journey to Black Pole on the Missouri. The younger children looked frightened; the older girls appeared resigned. The glum expressions
on the faces of the older boys made it clear to Running Elk that they would escape if possible. There was little talking as the wagons rolled along over the hills and prairies. The afternoon of the third day they reached Black Pole, where the families huddled together in silence. Oglala children and their parents soon arrived from Pine Ridge Agency. Sick at heart and dreading what was coming, Running Elk kept his eyes on his moccasins, glancing occasionally at uprooted trees floating down the Missouri.

The sun was near the horizon when Whistler shouted, “It's coming! It's coming!” Running Elk looked at the approaching river-boat, with smoke pouring from its stack, then at his mother, who gasped and placed a hand over her quivering lips. He looked wildly around for some place to hide.

“Remember what your father said,” Scarlet Robe whispered. “Be brave, my son.” Her voice trembled.

The rivetboat docked and men lowered the gangway. Long Chin stepped forward. “Come with me, boys,” he said.

Heart pounding, Running Elk followed
him
along with the others, while Red Road and their interpreter brought the girls. Once on deck they spread out along the rail, all anxiously looking at their
families. As the sun dropped below the horizon and the last rays
turned the clouds red, the mothers began wailing loudly. The girls and small boys cried piteously for their mothers. The boatmen ignored the clamor and pulled in the gangway; the crying on board and ashore grew louder. When a shrill whistle blew overhead all flinched and looked up at it in fear; then the paddlewheel at the stem of the rivetboat started turning. Terrified, Running Elk looked at his mother, who stood forlornly on shore weeping as she faded from sight. Running Elk gripped the rail with both hands, leaning forward and straining his eyes.

The boys rolled up in the blankets they wore and tried to sleep on the floor of a big room, but the motion and noise of the paddle-wheel kept them awake. In the morning the rivetboat docked and they sleepily followed Long Chin ashore. He led them up some steps into a little Wasicun house with two rows of seats covered with fuzzy red cloth and a window by every seat. The
girls went into another little house just like it, and there were many more in a long row, all of them resting on strips of steel that stretched as far as Running Elk could see. He was wondering where the Wasicuns slept, when with a sudden jerk the houses all began to move. He leaped to his feet, ready to run to the door.

“Maza Canku!” Stays-at-Home exclaimed. “Iron Road.” Running Elk
had
heard of the Wasicuns' Iron Road, but he
had
never seen it. The boys sitting by the windows ducked back every time a big pole flashed by as the train picked up speed. Soon it was racing along faster than the swiftest Brulé buffalo ponies. Running Elk's skin tingled at the thought of hurtling through space like an arrow from a bow.

They had traveled on day after day, seeing town after town, eating the strange foods given them, and trying to sleep in their seats. Running Elk was stiff and his muscles ached. When the train stopped in the morning after they'd seen the full moon, Long Chin entered the car. “This is Carlisle,” he told them. “Everybody off.”
My father is farther away than ever. How will/ever see him again?

Wearily they trudged the two miles from the railroad to Carlisle Barracks, a number of two-story brick buildings surrounded by a high brick wall with an iron gate. The untrampled grass around the buildings made it clear they hadn't been lived in for years, and there was an air of lifelessness about them that reminded Running Elk of abandoned cabins he'd seen. Ghost houses! He felt gooseflesh on his arms as he stared at them.

Long Chin led the boys into one of the silent buildings, while the
girls
followed Red Road and their interpreter into another. Tired and sleepy, the boys ran into the building, eager to lie down on
beds
like the Wasicuns
used.
They ran from room to room, upstairs and down, but all were empty. Long Chin left them for a time, then returned and herded them into a big room on the first floor that had a cast-iron stove in the center. Running Elk glanced around the empty room, then at Long Chin.

“This is where you'll sleep,” he told them. “I've just learned that none of the supplies Captain Pratt ordered have arrived, not even the food.” Murmurs of protest arose.

“We're hungry,” the pockmarked Winter said.

Long Chin held out his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “There's nothing I can do about it. I'm hungry too, but we'll just have to
get along the best we can.”

Running Elk and the others wandered hungrily among the buildings. People came from the town and stared at them like they were strange animals. Some smiled and tried to talk to them, but no one could understand what they said. When a woman offered Running Elk a piece of candy, hungry though he was he ran to the stables and kept out of sight. Stomachs empty, and with only the blankets they wore, they tried to sleep on the floor that night. It was the Moon of Falling Leaves and the air was cold, but there was no fire in the stove.

After a breakfast of bread and water the next morning, again there was nothing for them to do but wander around the old cavalry post. Running Elk thought of his mother, wondering if she still cried for him, and if she'd cut off her hair like the Tetons did when some family member died.
I might as well be dead.

At midday all of the children gathered around the door of the room where they'd eaten breakfast, sniffing the strange odors that came from the kitchen. When a woman came out and rang a bell, all dashed
in,
the oldest boys first. They sat at long tables where the food had already been dished out onto plates.

Running Elk stared at the two carrots and small piece of fatty meat on his plate. He picked up the meat and nibbled it, wondering what it might be but certain it wasn't beef. Closing his eyes, he chewed it up and swallowed it. Meat was the main food of the Tetons, and he hungered for more, no matter what it was. He looked left and right to see what others were doing.

With fork in hand, his friend Whistler was chewing on a piece of carrot, and Running Elk knew from his expression that he didn't like it. With his own fork he cut off a piece of carrot and put it in his mouth as cautiously as if it had been a live coal. Not liking the taste, he swallowed it whole, which brought tears to his eyes. Somehow he ate both carrots. Still famished, he looked at the others. All eyes were on the kitchen door.
They're as hungry as I am, and there's nothing more to eat. They intend to starve us to death.
He remembered the times he'd squatted in his mother's tipi, eating his fill of beef or venison that had
been roasting on a stake over the fire. His stomach protested.

“Captain Pratt has requested that you be given regular army rations,” Long Chin told them when they reluctantly went outside. “He told them you can't be expected to learn on empty stomachs. The food will soon be better.”

The afternoon seemed longer than usual, for they had nothing to do but think about food and mourn for their families. When the sun finally neared the horizon, Running Elk felt more homesick than ever. In his mind he pictured the riverboat pulling away from shore while his mother cried for him, and a lump rose in his throat. After dark they rolled up in their blankets in the cheerless room, too unhappy to talk. Then Stays-at-Home and others sang brave songs. In their building the girls heard them and wailed loudly. Running Elk bit his lips to keep from sobbing like a girl.

On the third day Long Chin brought them big sacks with slits in them. “These are your mattresses to sleep on,” he told them. Running Elk looked at the thin cloth—it wouldn't be any better than the bare floor. After he had handed them out, Long Chin continued. “Out behind the stables is a haystack. Go there and fill these with hay.”

In the morning Long Chin took them to the schoolroom, which had rows of desks and chairs facing a blackboard. A white woman in a long blue dress—Long Chin said she was their teacher—stood
in
front of the blackboard, smiling nervously at them. Running Elk recognized her and frowned; she was the one who had offered them candy. Finally she turned and made some white marks on the blackboard.

“Those are white men's names,” Long Chin told them. “Each one is different. You will choose one, and that will be your name hereafter.”

Running Elk glanced at the other boys to see their reactions. All looked as shocked as he was. Having Wasicun names! He couldn't imagine what that might mean.
If
his old name was dead, would he be someone else? If he had a Wasicun name, when he died he might not be allowed to travel the Spirit Trail that all dead Tetons followed to the Spirit Land. Even worse, he might have to go where the Wasicuns went.
I don't want a Wasicun name.

When the teacher finished writing the names she faced the class,
holding a long pointed stick in one hand. Long Chin beckoned to Running Elk to come forward. Reluctantly, dreading what he might have to do, Running Elk dragged himself up to the teacher, who handed
him
the stick. He reached for it like it was a sleeping snake, holding it gingerly in his moist right hand, not knowing what to do with it.

“Touch the name you want,” Long Chin ordered. Running Elk looked at the other boys, wishing they could tell him if it was right to take a Wasicun name, but they stared at him blankly.

“Hurry up,” Long Chin said. “Don't take all day about it.” Not knowing what any of the names were, Running Elk touched one of the shorter ones. The teacher wrote the name on a tape, sewed it to the back of his buckskin shirt, then erased the
marks
so no other boy could choose the same name. Running Elk returned to his seat, wondering if his new name would make him feel and even speak like a Wasicun.

One after another, each boy touched a name without any idea what name he was choosing. When all were back in their seats the teacher held up a piece of paper, said something, lowered it, then looked at them as if expecting a reply.

“She's calling roll,” Long Chin told them. “When she calls your name you must stand up and say ‘present.' “Since no one knew his name, nobody answered. The teacher walked around the room looking at the names on the shirts, then stopped by Running Elk. “Billy,” she said.

“That's your name. You're now Billy Pawnee Killer,” Long Chin told him. “Stand up and say 'present.' ” This continued until all the names had been called. Stays-at-Home was now William Spotted Tail. The chiefs other sons were Talks-with-the-Bear, now Oliver; Bugler, now Max; and Little Scout, now Pollock. The adventuresome Plenty Kills, now Luther Standing Bear, was the only one who seemed to be pleased to have a Wasicun name. It took several days for all
to
know their new names.