The Elk-Dog Heritage (13 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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At last the
day arrived when the actual charge came. The enemy had massed their wheeling, shouting ranks as usual, while the defenders watched, weapons at hand. The horsemen whirled and thundered in the noisy charge straight at the barricade. The high yipping falsetto of their war cry echoed across the plain.
The front ranks of screaming warriors reached the point of bowshot range, where they always turned back. But today, they only increased speed and thundered on. Men of the People shouted and rushed toward the barricade.
“
Aiee
,” Coyote muttered softly to Heads Off at his elbow, “today they come!”
“The woods! Watch the woods!” Heads Off yelled. Several running warriors turned and sprinted toward the edge of the timber.
But there was no attack there. The entire mass of yipping horsemen were massing the attack against the barricade. Heads Off watched, fascinated, as the front ranks neared the flimsy wall of brush.
A big bay with a yelling warrior on his back pounded along in the lead. This would be the first animal to reach the jump. The horse tucked his forefeet neatly and cleared the brush at a low point. Suddenly, what should have been a graceful landing turned into a grotesque nightmare. One of the sharp stakes, still unseen by the attackers, plunged into the body of the big horse
and he went down, the rider thrown violently over the animal's head.
In the space of the next heartbeat, elk-dogs all along the line of brush cleared the barricade and impaled themselves on the waiting spears. The yipping war cry of the Head Splitters was drowned in the screaming of stricken horses and men. Dying animals floundered and kicked, rolling on injured riders. In turn, the next wave, moving too rapidly to stop, cleared the jump, only to fall and tumble as they tripped over struggling, plunging wounded.
Warriors rushed forward, shooting, spearing, clubbing the wounded enemy. Few of the attackers managed to strike a blow. Most who were still able clambered frantically across the damaged barrier to escape, followed by a hail of arrows. Heads Off saw a throwing stick whirl from the ranks of defenders, and bounce smartly off the head of a retreating warrior. The women were joining the fight. The Head Splitter somersaulted forward off the barrier and was lost to sight.
Mounted Head Splitters who had managed to stop before their elk-dogs made the jump wheeled to pick up unhorsed comrades. In a few more moments the whole thing was over. The Head Splitters were in full retreat.
Heads Off still stood numbly, half sick at the destruction his tactics had caused. His horseman's instinct rebelled at the loss of fine stock. Still, first things must come first.
“We did it!” he breathed, half to himself. “We stopped them.”
A ragged cheer rose from the beleaguered camp. Some of the youngsters had to restrained from chasing after the retreating Head Splitters.
Warriors moved along the barrier, making sure the fallen enemy presented no further threat. A few confused elk-dogs, saved
from major injury by having fallen over the bodies of their stricken companions, wandered inside the brush wall, calling frantically. Several badly wounded animals were quickly destroyed.
An old woman shuffled forward, butchering knife in hand.
“The Head Splitters have brought us meat!” she cackled merrily. Her flint knife fell to work at the task of skinning.
Others joined in the butchering, and in a short while the village appeared remarkably as if there had been a successful hunt. Strips of horse meat were strung on the drying racks, and even the skins were pegged out like those of buffalo.
A celebration began to take shape for the evening hours. True, there was little to celebrate, and the respite was only temporary, but after all, it was a victory of sorts. The enemy had been stopped.
The Head Splitters, for their part, had withdrawn to their camp, still within plain sight of the People. They seemed confused and enraged. Apparently the People's defense had been a complete surprise. About midday, a group of three Head Splitters were seen to mount and ride away across the plain, finally disappearing in the west.
“They go to tell the others,” Coyote stated simply.
Realization had begun to sink home to Heads Off already. The Elk-dog band of the People was little better off than before. They still could not move from their present location, could not hunt, could do nothing but wait for the end.
Again, he considered the possibility of an attack on the camp of the enemy war party. Now would be the time, with a sizable number of their warriors killed or wounded, and many of their elk-dogs dead.
But, he reflected, the fighting status of his own band was even worse. They had only a handful of young warriors trained in the use of elk-dogs and lances. It would, of course, have to be a
horseback attack. An encounter on foot would make them completely vulnerable as they approached the enemy across the open plain. The foot warriors would be cut to pieces by mounted enemy.
Even with the Head Splitters in temporarily weakened condition, the People could not risk an attack. The enemy would soon bring reinforcements, each new warrior hot for revenge.
Equally out of the question was the thought of attempting a move. The band was seldom more vulnerable than when on the move, even under the best of circumstances. They could be easily trapped in the open, encumbered by the women and children and all the miscellaneous baggage that represented the life of the People.
Now, at weakened strength and with few elk-dogs, the band would be as helpless as an orphan calf before wolves.
For a short while, Heads Off considered a move in desperation. If they left all their belongings, lodges, poles, everything, and took only food, they could move more rapidly. Everyone must take all the food he could carry.
But if they were pinned down by the enemy in the open plain, they would be unable to move at all. There would be no way to replenish the thin supplies of food and water. They would have only increased their vulnerability. He discarded the plan, at least for the present. There were more pressing things to think about.
The bodies of the enemy dead were dragged outside the barrier. Young men repaired and reinforced the damaged portions. There was no need to replace the sharpened spears which had been broken or torn away by the thrashing bodies of dying horses. They would no longer be effective. Now that the enemy was aware of this device, he would not try the same frontal attack again.
Heads Off wondered idly where the next attack would come. Through the woods, probably.
The People rested
well, tired from the hard day's activity as well as the impromptu celebration and dance. There was no danger of attack from the disorganized enemy.
Sun Boy's first light revealed that the bodies of the enemy dead were gone. They had been carried away in the darkness. It was important to the Head Splitters to save their honor by recovering their dead. The bodies would be mourned, wrapped in robes with their most valued possessions, and placed on burial scaffolds much like those of the People.
The Elk-dog band, meanwhile, continued to exhibit a sense of triumph, almost of euphoria. The People had lost not a single life.
They had more supplies than a day ago, and had dealt the enemy a telling blow. It was easy to become overly optimistic about their situation.
Of course, tradition of the People lent itself to a sort of day-to-day existence. If there were no food today, well, maybe tomorrow. Heads Off had at times become very impatient with this cheerful optimism. In his own culture, it would have been considered childish, overly simplistic. He had once spoken to his wife about this general attitude.
“But what is there to do?” Tall One seemed puzzled. “We do what we can, and be ready for whatever happens next. Something always does.”
Yes, he had thought grimly, something always does, even if it is bad.
It was impossible today, however, to remain glum and concerned. The mood of the People was contagious, happy with the victory, and Heads Off found himself smiling, laughing. It seemed not to matter that the band still could not move from this campsite. It was enough for now that they had food, and that in the distance could be seen the furious, frustrated enemy, milling aimlessly around their camp.
The day was marked by uncommonly fine weather. It was one of the warm, earth-smelling days which occur in the Moon of Greening. Heads Off sought out his wife, and the two climbed part way up the hill behind the lodges, to sit in the warm rays of Sun Boy's torch. Since the loss of their own lodge, privacy had been very difficult to achieve. They had missed not only the close physical intimacy, but the opportunity to share time together, to exchange thoughts. It was good, sometimes, to be in the warmth of the family in Coyote's lodge, but it was very crowded. There were times when privacy was needed more than the companionship of the extended family.
Heads Off saw, among the curling grasses of the previous season, a scattering of tiny ivory white flowers. He stepped over and picked a few of the blossoms, bringing them to the rock where they sat. Tall One held the tiny cluster close to her face.
“The Dog Tooth,” she smiled. “Do you remember, you brought them to me in our first springtime together?”
He had hoped she would remember, and he was pleased. It had been before the birth of Eagle, before Heads Off had been burdened with the responsibility of leadership. Things had been so much simpler then.
He sat close to her and they watched the activity in the village below. The appearance was that of a peaceful, prosperous band
of the People. Children played, meat was drying on the racks, and skins were stretched to dress and tan. Women called to each other at their work, with occasional laughter.
Only if the couple on the hill lifted their gaze to the prairie beyond, could they see that all was not as well as it seemed. There they could see the milling, impatient activity of the Head Splitters.
“They will come again, with more warriors,” the young chief spoke grimly.
“Of course. But not today.” She snuggled closer against him.
Heads Off never ceased to be amazed at the manner in which this slim girl could make him completely forget all the problems of his existence. When he was in her arms, nothing else mattered. All was right with the world, and there could be no wrong.
Later, he sought out his father-in-law.
“Coyote, how long until they come again?”
Coyote shrugged. “Maybe three suns, maybe ten. It will be when the others gather. This time they will be very strong.”
And they were certainly very strong before, thought Heads Off desperately. There had been far more than enough warriors to crush the dwindling Elk-dog band. His defense had worked only because it was so unorthodox, so unexpected. It would not be successful again, and he had no more tricks in mind. At least, the threat of the sharp weapons in the brush barricade would prevent the main attack from coming that way. If only there were some way to make the woods more defensible.
They established a general line of defense in a zigzag pattern through the thickest part of the timber. At the insistence of the chief, each warrior chose his position, that to which he would hasten when the attack came. Some of the women, too, stated that they would fight beside their men. Piled brush helped to take advantage of natural variations in the terrain.
A few men would remain at the brush barrier where the horsemen had perished. There was likely to be a diversionary attack there, too.
Some families selected hiding places for their children, to which they would run when the fatal day came.
Then, there was nothing to do but wait. Time hung heavy over the People. For some it was a time of quiet, private thoughts. For others, a time of smoking and telling of tales.
There were those who passed the time in gambling. At several places around the camp area could be seen a cluster of people intent on the roll of plum stones. The painted stones skittered and bounced on spread skins, and much property changed hands in wagers. The gamblers, it seemed, were ever so much more serious in their gaming. In spite of the threat of annihilation that hovered over them, they were intent on the games. Wagers were high, at times most of a man's possessions riding on the toss of the plum stones. There seemed to be an almost frantic preoccupation with the games of chance.
Well, why not, thought Heads Off as he walked among the lodges. It may not be that any of us have any possessions in a few suns. When life becomes cheap, property becomes even cheaper.
More depressing to him, somehow, was the sight of the women, busily engaged in preparing skins for future use. The tedious, long-drawn-out task would eventually produce usable robes, garments, and lodge covers. Despite the fact that there was little likelihood of anyone in the Elk-dog band ever enjoying the use of the end product, the work went on. Women who took great pride in their work continued to dress and scrape hides meticulously.
Other women worked to construct garments and moccasins that would never be worn. But, the young chief sighed, what else
was there to do? All activity would not stop because the future seemed unlikely. He turned back to his own family's lodge, to encounter the most heart-rending sight of all.
Tall One sat cross-legged near the doorway of the lodge, sewing ornamental quillwork on a pair of tiny moccasins. She held them up for his inspection.
“They are for Owl's First Dance,” she announced proudly.
A child's First Dance, at the age of two, was an important step in his life. It was the time of the naming ceremony, when an older relative would choose the name the child would wear until grown. The finest of garments, the most careful of grooming, the most intricate of ornamentation on moccasins were a matter of great pride to the family.
Now, Tall One worked a complicated and beautiful design with dyed quills into the surface of the tiny shoes. They would truly be objects of beauty. Owl could stand proud in the dance arena in the carefully sewn garments made by his capable mother.
Except, thought Heads Off dully, except for one thing. For small Owl, chortling there on the robe in the warm spring sunshine, there will be no First Dance.
By that time, there would be no Elk-dog band.

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