Man on Two Ponies (21 page)

This continued for half an hour, when a woman whose hair was flying and whose face turned purple, staggered away from the line and fell. Billy watched her, the skin on his arms tingling, as she lay unconscious, with arms and legs twitching. None of the dancers seemed aware of her, but continued to circle ever faster to the left. Several men and women were stepping high and pawing the air, like they were trying to climb a steep hill. The arms and legs of others twitched and their bodies shook convulsively; some leaped erratically forward and back, wailing and shrieking. When a woman fell in the line of dancers, her husband stood over her as she lay moaning in the dust to prevent others from stepping on her.

At a signal from Short Bull the dancers stopped and sat in place. About a third of them had dropped out, and some still lay where they'd fallen. As those who had died came to life again, they staggered to the center, where they told one of the medicine men what they had seen. The medicine man repeated it loudly so all could hear. The ones who had seemed to be climbing said that they felt the earth rise up and feared it would hit them in the face. One man said that an eagle had flown toward him, but vanished when he held out his hand. When asked what he thought that meant, he scowled. “Big lie,” he said.

Billy was surprised that some who had died remembered nothing, while a few didn't believe what they'd seen. But others had talked
to dead relatives who assured them they'd soon return to earth.

After resting for a time, the dancers arose, then repeated the entire performance two more times, stopping only to eat at sundown. The medicine men were active the whole time, hopping about, sprinkling sacred powder on the dancers, waving eagle feathers in their faces, and chanting.

When the dance ended, it was already
dark,
and Billy again waited a quarter of an hour before entering Bull Bear's tipi. There was no
fire
this
time,
but he
made
his
way to the pallet he'd slept on before and felt the body of White Faun on it.
This
time
she didn't move as he quickly stripped and slipped under the blanket. Gently he ran
his
hands over her thick thighs. But White Faun's were slender—it was Bright Star waiting for him, and though she was less demonstrative
than
her younger sister, she was no less eager.

Each morning as he took a sweat bath to purify himself for the dance, Billy asked
himself
why he was doing it.
I've seen enough to
know
what
it's like.
If
Culver
is
right, it's just moke-believe anyway.
But
I'm not so sure he's right.
So he had
his
face painted and continued dancing, for he couldn't bring
himself
to leave. He wanted to know more about the dance, he told himself, but he also wanted more
nights
with White Faun and Bright Star.

On
the fourth afternoon Billy suddenly found that everything seemed to be growing
hazy;
he felt
dazed
and not fully aware of what he was doing. Finally his legs gave way and he fell to his knees. Short Bull gently pushed him onto his back and hovered over
his
upturned face, staring into his eyes and moving
his
head slightly in a small circle.
His
eyes are like a snake's, Billy thought. Then Short Bull vanished.

In his place was a handsome old Indian with flowing hair who held along staff with a crook at the top.
His
countenance was serene;
his
face was bathed
in
a soft radiance from a circle of light around
his
head. His eyes glowed brightly,
and
Billy knew he was a holy man.

“Are
you the Messiah?” he asked. The old Indian slowly, majestically, nodded
his
head.

“Yes, my son. I'm the Messiah of
the
Indian people. I'm coming soon to save you. Believe
in
me and you'll
be
saved.”
Then
a cloud of blue mist encompassed him and he was gone.

Billy opened his eyes, raised his head, and looked around. He was flat on his back, with arms and legs outstretched. Trying to remember where he was, he rolled over onto his knees and arose. He saw prostrate forms around him, some rigid, some twitching and moaning. The dance circle was still moving. He walked unsteadily to the center, where Short Bull greeted him.

“What did you see, my son?”

Billy rubbed his face with both hands. “The Messiah, the Messiah himself. I talked to the Messiah,” he said in awed tones.

“What did he tell you?”

“That he's the Messiah of the Indians, and he's coming to save us. He told me to believe and I'll be saved.”

“Do
you?”

“I do.”

Short Bull's sharp face glowed with delight. “You're one of his chosen people,” he said. “You're fortunate.”

After that Billy remained in the center with others who
had
also died and come to life again, while the circle of dancers, much reduced in size, continued to move. At one time Billy glanced up
to
see Pawnee Killer stretched out in the dust. When his father came to life again, Billy listened as Short Bull questioned him.

“Two great eagles carried me to the Spirit Land,” he said. “There I saw my son who died
ten
summers ago when the Wasicuns took him away. He said he will soon be coming.”

Billy was stunned. His father had seen him in the Spirit Land, but he wasn't dead.
Does that mean he was only dreaming? And
if
he was did I only dream I saw the Messiah?
It was a troubling thought.
He was real; I heard his voice. But... I must ask Short
Bull
what this means.

He waited until he could speak with Short Bull alone. “Pawnee Killer is my father, but he hasn't seen me since I was small and doesn't recognize me. I couldn't let him see how the Wasicuns made me look; I must wait for my hair to grow long. But how could he see me in the Spirit Land when I'm not really dead?”

Short Bull gazed at the sky and the distant hills while pondering Billy's question. “Your father has longed for the son he knew and believed was dead. When he saw you in the Spirit Land it was the Messiah's way of telling
him
that
you'll soon be with
him
again,
like you were
in
the old days. Then he will forget what the Wasicuns did to you.”

Billy exhaled deeply. His faith in the Messiah had wavered briefly, but now
it
was stronger than ever.

In
the morning, Billy thanked Bull Bear for sharing his tipi, not to mention his wives. Both smiled shyly at him as he left to walk through the camp, glancing at the women deftly taking down the tipis and loading the wagons. He was in no hurry to return to the trading post, where he would face Culver's questions and disapproval. He saw Short Bull, Mash-the-Kettle, and other medicine men surrounded by a few dozen Ghost Dancers, and stood at the back of the crowd to observe. At twenty-one he was
tall
enough to have a good view of the dynamic dance leader over the shoulders of others.

Seeing Short Bull made him recall the day he had brought him the letter from his Shoshoni friend to translate. In the interim, the sharp-faced Ghost Dance apostle seemed to have become a different person. His serene countenance, his commanding voice, with its unique and penetrating tone, and his dignified gestures marked him as a man who knew holy things unknown to others. His resonant voice especially was different—just hearing him speak was to believe in him and want to follow him.

As he watched Short Bull, Billy was suddenly aware that another's eyes were on him, and out of the comer of his eye he saw Pawnee Killer staring at him, a puzzled expression on his face. He avoided looking directly at his father, but he involuntarily touched the braids on his back just below his shoulders. They were slowly getting longer, but they were still nowhere near long enough
to be respectable.
I wonder
if
he thinks he recognizes me and can't believe I'm still alive?
He was pondering what to do when Short
Bull saw him and pushed his way through the crowd to his side.

Putting his hand on Billy's shoulder, Short Bullied him a few steps away from the others. Billy quivered with excitement. First his father
had
been looking at him, possibly recognizing him, and now Short Bull wanted to talk to him.

“My son,” Short Bull said softly, “I
will
soon need to send messages to Kicking
Bear
and leaders at other agencies. Each of us must know what the others are doing and what the Wasicuns are saying. We must get
all
Tetons dancing so the Messiah won't
fail
to save us. I'll need you to write the letters and to read those I receive, for we can't let whites or mixed bloods see them. Will you come when I send for you?”

Billy didn't need to think it over before replying. “Gladly,” he said. “I'll go anywhere with you.”

Short Bull smiled.
“Good.
I hoped you'd say that.” He returned to Mash-the-Kettle and the others. Billy glanced around quickly, and saw his father just leaving.
Maybe at the next dance he'll ask
if
I'm his son. He saw Short Bull talk to me, and that means I'm not a make-believe Wasicun.

As
he rode toward the agency, Billy's thoughts leaped about
like
an excited Ghost dancer. He was thrilled that his father might have
recognized him, and that Short Bull would soon send for
him.
Then he remembered Culver's warning to keep reminding himself that it was just an illusion.
In
the excitement of the dance
and
his
nights in Bull Bear's tipi he'd gradually forgotten that. Now that he remembered, he was sure Culver was wrong. But what will he say when he knows what happened? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Culver mustn't know about his talking to the Messiah or that he expected to join Short Bull. But how to avoid it?

As his pony jogged down the
trail,
Billy's thoughts leaped to the land sale, and then to General Crook. That reminded
him
of American Horse talking for days without once referring
to
the land
sale.
That's it. I'll
do
what American Horse did. The first thing Culver will ask is what I thought about the Ghost Dance. I'll tell him every detail/can remember about it, except what happened
to
me. Then he'll want to know
if
I took
part
in it. I'll have to admit
I
did. When he asks
if
I
fell into a trance, I'll tell him how close
I
was to many who did, and that it was almost the same thing.

“You're back,” Culver remarked when they met in the morning. “Tell me about it.”

Billy explained in detail the preparations the dancers made each morning, and what Short Bull said and did. He went on and on until Culver stopped him.

“Get to the point,” he said. “Did you take part in the dance?” Billy nodded.

“Some,” he replied.

“Did you go into a trance?”

“Let me tell you about that. The first afternoon a woman fell and died just a few steps from me. At least she was rigid and looked dead, but she came to life again. There were others too, quite a number of them every day. It's funny, but the young women and girls were always the first to die. I don't know why that is. They all told what had happened to them, so it was almost the same as doing it myself. Some of them couldn't remember anything. I think that's strange, don't you?”

Several mixed bloods came into the post at that moment. While Billy saw to their needs, Culver lit his pipe, watching Billy thoughtfully.
Out of the comer of his eye, Billy saw him shaking his head.

At the very moment the Ghost Dance was sweeping the agencies, making the Tetons wild and uncontrollable, Senator Pettigrew and Congressman
J.
A. Pickler exercised their rights of patronage. On September 1 Pickler replaced the able Charles McChesney at Cheyenne River with Perain P. Palmer, who lacked the experience to be able to cope with the fanatical Ghost Dance followers of Kicking Bear, Hump, and Big Foot. Hump had quit as chief of the Indian police to devote his full attention to the dance.