The Elk-Dog Heritage (10 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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There were many
among the People who remembered the Hunger Moons in winters before the elk-dog. These were the ones who impressed upon the younger members of the band the urgency of the situation. The gathering of food was an absolute necessity for survival. Without it many of the People would face starvation before the Moon of Greening.
But there were more difficulties. The buffalo, now the staple of the People, had already migrated farther south for the winter, leaving only small scattered bands or lone outcasts. They might be encountered by accident, but an organized large scale hunt was completely impractical. Especially, Heads Off thought grimly, with so few elk-dogs as they now possessed.
Attention turned to the older methods, and youngsters who had never known hunger helped gather some of the old foodstuffs now scorned by the affluent People. Hackberries, their sweet thin layer of fruit scarcely worth the effort, were gathered by the children. They were pounded, seeds and all, into a coarse sticky mash, to be mixed with dried meat and tallow for winter pemmican. Nuts were plentiful, of several varieties. Some were cracked and the rich kernels kneaded into the mixture. Other nuts were simply stored in the shells.
There were large quantities of acorns in the woods, and someone recalled that in hard times gone by, they had been utilized as food. The secret was to boil the bitter kernels repeatedly until
all the acid was leached out. The mealy remains could be dried, or mixed with dried meat for storage.
Squirrels were plentiful. Youths who a few moons ago would have scorned such small game now spent much time stalking with bow and arrow. Rabbits, likewise, became an addition to the everyday fare of the People.
Some of the band reverted to the old custom of eating dogs, but the medicine man attempted to discourage this practice. It was not that White Buffalo objected to the use of dog meat. He enjoyed a fat haunch of roast dog as much as anyone.
“But the dogs must be saved,” he scolded. “They can be used in the time of snows when times are hard.”
A few ignored the medicine man's warning, but most of the People agreed. There would be no easier way to obtain fresh meat in the Moon of Snows. Perhaps, no other way.
The pitiful piles of provisions grew slowly. Sometimes it seemed that despite all the industry the band was showing more supplies were consumed than were gathered. The volume of meat supplied by the kill of large animals such as buffalo was sorely missed. Heads Off began to wonder if a short foray onto the plains might not be an answer. If a few buffalo could be found, it would provide great benefit.
He spoke to Coyote, who was very cautious.
“I do not know, Heads Off.” He shook his head. “The Head Splitters may be waiting.”
Irritated by the resumption of run-and-hide thinking, the young chief still had to admit that his father-in-law was right. He had once made the near fatal error of dividing his force. He must not do so again. The safety of the band depended on his decisions.
Tall One had recovered her strength rapidly. The owl-eyed infant, who already seemed to possess the wisdom of the ages, was rapidly gaining size. Owl was more solemn and reserved than
his smiling and outgoing older brother. The big dark eyes, so like those of Tall One, his father noted, seemed to observe and consider all things. It was almost as if, Heads Off reflected, the infant realized the dangers of having been born practically in the heat of battle. He wondered idly whether this would make the child a great warrior. Then he smiled to himself. His thought processes were becoming more like those of his wife's people all the time. Anyway, this tiny infant already appeared to be more a thinker than a warrior. How early a child's personality makes itself known, he thought.
He looked around at their older son, Eagle, playing actively with a small bow and arrow. The youngster had indicated without a doubt that he preferred this activity to that of gathering nuts.
The gaze of Heads Off lifted to the sentry on the hilltop. It had been decided to keep a lookout constantly on watch. Piles of brush had been prepared, to be lighted as an alarm at a moment's notice. So far, there had been nothing to report.
The young chief himself had taken his turn at the lookout. To do so was actually against his background and training, but there were several reasons.
He wished to be completely informed, and could remain so more easily if he were a participant. Their numbers were limited and his presence would make things easier on the other warriors in turn. He also felt that active participation would ensure the continued respect of the younger warriors.
When he got right down to ultimate reasons, however, Heads Off knew why he chose to stand his turn at lookout. Even as a cadet, the long hours on sentry duty had been not unpleasant for him. The hours of darkness just before dawn were his favorite time to be on lookout. There was time to think, to enjoy the quiet of the prairie, quiet yet busy with a myriad of little night sounds.
Finally the blackness in the eastern sky would fade to pale
gray, then yellow, and the incomparable beauty of the prairie sunrise would unfold before his eyes.
It was on such a morning a few suns later that Heads Off sighted something of importance. It was not quite full daylight yet, just the tip of Sun Boy's torch showing above earth's rim.
He was watching the earth sleepily come alive. Below him in the village, smoke of cooking fires was beginning to rise from the apex of some of the lodges.
A great blue heron stood in a quiet pool of the stream beyond, head cocked to one side and still as a statue, waiting for a movement in the water.
A dog yapped lazily. A man came out of his lodge, yawned and stretched, and walked around behind the lodge to urinate. To watch the quiet peace of the pastoral scene below, one would never guess that within a few moons this band might easily be fighting for survival. Fighting against Cold Maker, against starvation, and quite possibly, against the enemy. The Head Splitters must know their predicament now, and also know where they were camped for the winter. He had been somewhat surprised that there had been no overt attack since they retreated into these makeshift winter quarters.
At the thought, he swept the horizon with his gaze for one more of many times. He stopped short at a hint of distant movement to the north, attention fixed.
Through a distant pass between two low hills, he could see something moving. He studied for a few heartbeats, and verified his impression. The deliberate, casual nature of the motion told him that there were animals, grazing animals, on the prairie. He thought of buffalo, but the pattern was wrong. Horses?
No, he saw, as the big animals grazed closer and became close enough for color to be distinguished. Not buffalo, or horses, but elk!
In some places almost as numerous as the buffalo, elk ranged in loose, far-spread herds across the prairie. This appeared to be a large group, slowly moving almost directly toward the camp. Anxiously, Heads Off watched as the animals straggled slowly through the gap and spilled out across the plain. This herd, he realized, might make the difference in survival for the People.
One major problem nagged at him. The behavior of elk did not permit hunting them efficiently from horseback. Elk were swift and agile, and would not run straight away from a horse, as buffalo did.
A hunt on foot, using the old methods, must be quickly organized. He slipped down the hill and hurried into camp.
The hunters lay
hidden in the grass, among scrubby bushes along the rimrock. The elk moved closer in a leisurely manner. Heads Off gripped his lance and tried to relax for the interminable time of waiting. He had chosen this weapon in preference to the bow, as he was more familiar with it.
The older hunters of the Bowstring Society had taken great pleasure in organizing the hunt.
Aiee
, it was like the old days! Rapidly but cautiously the hunters were deployed in a long arc along the broken, rocky crest of the hill. Part of the skill involved was that of guessing which way the drifting elk herd would move. Now it appeared that the judgment of the Bowstrings was good. The elk were moving directly into the desired area.
White Buffalo had given them a favorable vision, though he admitted his medicine was better with buffalo than with elk.
The horses had been left at the village. Odd, thought Heads Off, crouching against his limestone rock. The People have had horses only a few years and already it is common knowledge: buffalo are easily hunted on horse-back but elk are not. No one would even consider a run with a lance at one of the big deer.
The herd moved closer, and Heads Off tried hard to remain perfectly motionless. An ant crawled across the toe of his moccasin, across its upper rim, and onto the bare skin of his ankle. The tickling sensation was almost more than he could bear. Yet he must remain still. The existence of the entire Elk-dog band of the People might depend on it. The food represented by the herd
now approaching could easily make the difference in survival or starvation in the Moon of Hunger.
He could now see movement through the thin screen of sumac bushes in front of him, and the ant was forgotten. An old cow elk, apparently the leader of the herd, was picking her way carefully across the flat hilltop. The others straggled behind her.
The position of the hunters had been chosen carefully so that the slight breeze would be from behind the animals, toward the men. This would prevent their discovery until the last moment.
But now, with the leading animals well within the curve of the hunters' hiding places, stray puffs of wind might give the alarm at any time. Already the old lead cow was nervously looking around, head high and nostrils flared. Behind her, a yearling male snorted nervously and a huge bull with a magnificent set of antlers raised his head to investigate.
Heads Off was so intent on watching that he was not even aware of the first shot. The hunters were to wait until Big Bow released the first arrow, and then all would shoot at once. The spearmen would rush in from the sides of the arc, attempting to head off as many animals as could be turned back again toward the bowmen.
The yearling bull suddenly sank to his knees and rolled over on his side, kicking feebly. Heads Off realized that the shooting had started only when he caught glimpses of other flying shafts, and the elk began to mill around in confusion. Another animal went down.
Hunters from the far wings of the arc sprang forward, shouting and waving robes. The herd split, part of the animals retreating the way they had come, and the others turning back into the circle of bowmen. They were met with another flight of arrows.
A fat cow rushed almost directly at Heads Off. He readied
his lance for the impact, but at the last minute the elk turned. He made a futile thrust, missed, and turned his attention to a large bull that thundered past him. Heads Off evaded the swinging antlers and thrust again. The lance was ripped from his grasp, leaving him weaponless. Another elk rushed toward him, and he waved his arms and shouted to turn the animal back toward the hunters.
It was all over very quickly. Three elk lay still in the dry grass of the prairie. Several other wounded animals limped or staggered away, the hunters in hot pursuit. The women began to arrive, laughing and chattering, to start the butchering. Someone handed Heads Off his lance. He did not know whether it had been taken from a dead animal or if it had fallen from the wounded bull as it fled.
He looked around at the number killed, and was somewhat disappointed. It was good, much better than nothing, but not as successful as he had hoped. They would need much more meat.
Heads Off saw some of the hunters returning from the chase, unsuccessful. Perhaps, he thought, a wounded animal or two could be pursued on horseback. He beckoned to Long Elk and Standing Bird.
“Let us bring the elk-dogs. We may find another kill or two.”
Soon the three were mounted, moving back out onto the prairie in the direction taken by the retreating animals. Within a few long bowshots' distance, they found a dead cow elk with an arrow's feathered end jutting from her flank. They rode back far enough to signal the others, and then swept in a wide circle, looking for signs of any other wounded.
It was Standing Bird who first saw the bright splash of blood on short dry grass. They picked up the track, finding just often enough, another spot of crimson to mark the trail. The wounded
elk was traveling rapidly, but they passed one spot where it had stood for a little while, steadily dripping blood. They pushed ahead.
Still, Sun Boy had passed the overhead position before they spotted the animal. It was a large bull, and from all appearances, even at a great distance, he was tiring rapidly. The hunters hurried on.
The bull was lying down when they approached, but leaped to his feet and staggered away, with the three in hot pursuit.
So great was the excitement of the hunt that they became oblivious to all else for a time. Unnoticed was the fact that they had pushed rapidly away from the rest of the band. Also, a change in the weather was brewing. The gentle puffs of wind had swung around and stiffened to a steady breeze. By the time the lances reached their target and the elk went down for the last time, the day had become almost windy.
The hunters dismounted, and began to discuss the problem at hand. They were far from the butchering party, and the meat must be cared for immediately.
“My elk-dog will carry,” offered Standing Bird. “We can cut the meat into pieces we can load.”
The others nodded. If necessary they could walk and lead the horses. They fell to work. The elk was quickly gutted, and the head removed. It was more difficult and time-consuming to disjoint the quarters and prepare to load the resulting haunches on skittish horses. Sun Boy's torch sank lower in the sky. Finally they were nearly ready to depart.
“
Aiee!
” exclaimed Long Elk, pointing. “Look!”
Along the horizon stretched a series of columns of dense gray smoke. Even as they watched, the smoke thickened and became more prominent, rising to obscure a large part of the sky. It seemed only moments later that the first acrid smell reached their
nostrils. The prairie was on fire, the flames fanned by the brisk southwest breeze.
“Leave the meat! We can ride around the fire!” The young chief began to untie the thongs.
“No, Heads Off! It moves too fast!”
Heads Off looked again, and saw that the smoke now presented a solid front across the distant prairie. In places the leaping flames could already be seen. Worst of all, the rushing front of fire stretched so far across the horizon that there could be no hope of moving around the end of the blaze. There appeared to be no end.
A distant crackle could now be heard, and the horses began to fidget nervously. Flecks of powdery ash flew past on the wind, and the smoke smell became stronger. Tongues of flame licked high into the air, higher in some places than the tops of the willows along the winding creek beds.
Momentarily, Heads Off wondered how the fire had started, but rapidly dropped that line of thought. The important thing was survival. He looked around for a body of water, a hill with little or no grass, or a steep bluff that would stop the onrushing inferno. No such feature presented. Anxiously, he turned to his companions.
Standing Bird was fighting to hold the now excited horses. Long Elk, however, looked as calm as if no danger at all presented. He was squatting calmly nearby, scraping with his flint knife on a couple of sticks.
Heads Off did not know whether to laugh or be angry. Had the young man completely lost his senses? He started to question, then decided against it. Long Elk was a highly intelligent young man, rivaling his father, the Coyote, in practical sense. Perhaps he had a reason for his seemingly illogical actions.
The sticks, Heads Off noticed, were from a nearby yucca, the
dried pithy stems of old bloom stalks. One had been flattened and the other partially sharpened at each end, like a spindle. Could he, possibly, be making rubbing sticks for starting a fire? The young chiefs thoughts whirled. Was there some medicine-thing of the People about
stopping
a fire with fire sticks? Nothing in the ways of the People surprised him any more.
Fascinated, he watched as Long Elk cut a stout green stick from a bush nearby, and began to trim it. Heads Off glanced anxiously at the now rapidly approaching wall of flame. Whatever Long Elk was working on would certainly have to be effective. The horses danced and pulled against their reins, eyes rolling apprehensively.
Long Elk now calmly untied his breechclout and dropped the skin to the ground. With the thong, he fashioned a bowstring for his green stick. Yes, Heads Off decided, he was making fire sticks! Long Elk twisted a turn of the string around the spindle, and placed the pointed end in a depression in the other yucca stick. A stone with a natural socket fit neatly over the upper end of the spindle.
Heads Off had seen fires started in this way many times since he joined the People, but never under such tense circumstances. Long Elk squatted and twirled the spindle with an experimental stroke or two of the bow, then began to stroke in earnest.
With the first few turns, white smoke began to rise from the fire sticks, then a small pile of brown charred powder began to grow near the rip of the spindle. More strokes of the bow, and the tiny pile of rubbed powder seemed to glow like an ember. When he saw this, Long Elk dropped the sticks and carefully began to breathe on the glowing spark, finally picking it up on a handful of fine dry grass to blow gently from underneath. Suddenly the bundle of grass burst into crackling flame and Long
Elk quickly thrust the burning brand against a clump of dry grass beside him.
Fanned by the wind, flames licked across the nearby tuft of tinder-dry vegetation. In a few heartbeats Long Elk's fire was spreading rapidly downwind, growing in breadth as it ran.
Long Elk rose, retrieved his thong from the fire-bow, and donned his breechclout again. He tossed the fire sticks aside and reached to take his horse's rein from Standing Bird. He led the animal to the area where his fire was now dying back, the hot leading edge already racing up the opposite hill. He stepped cautiously on a dying blaze or two, and then led his horse onto the bare and blackened ground.
“Come,” he said. “We can go now.”

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