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Authors: Don Coldsmith

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BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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Hunting was good,
with warm days and cool nights, and the People prepared much dried meat for the winter. Some was pounded fine, mixed with melted suet, nuts, and berries, and stored in lengths of buffalo intestine in sausage-like rolls.
Many robes were cured, and skins tanned for the making of garments. During the long warm days of the Moon of Falling Leaves the People prepared the lodges for winter. In the space behind the skin lining of each lodge, normally used for storage, armfuls of dry grass were stuffed as protection against the onslaught of Cold Maker.
It was a busy time. Even the troublemakers were occupied with hunting and storage of provisions, and the disquiet subsided somewhat. Thus there was a respite from stress within the band. It began to appear that the potential for trouble was lessening. Heads Off was afraid, however, that this was misleading. He knew, and Coyote verified, that the mild weather of the following spring would make the young men restless. Then would come the time of trouble, as they began to flex young muscles in the Moon of Greening Grass. The chief hoped that he would be able to create enough diversion to prevent any major incidents. Perhaps, even, to keep the band moving without permanent camp until after the Sun Dance in the Moon of Roses. That might be worth a try.
But for now, Sun Boy's torch grew weaker, and his daily run across the sky grew shorter. Long lines of geese honked their way
across the sky, heading for southern waters. Heads Off stood and watched, longing to follow, yet remaining by choice. His longing for his warm lodge and loving wife was far greater. He placed an arm around her enlarging waist, and Tall One leaned her head on his shoulder. Since their marriage, now three seasons old, they had loved the sharing of sights and sounds. The honk of the geese in the fading evening sky, the scent of nature's time of ripening, recalled for both the long sunny days of their first weeks together. That, too, had been in the Moon of Falling Leaves. This and the natural beauty of the season had made it his favorite of all moons of the year.
The spectacular gold and purple of the autumn flowers, the muted reds and yellows of the tall prairie grasses, faded before the arrival of Cold Maker. There were a few storms that howled and whistled around the warm lodges, but on the whole, it was a mild and open winter. At no time was there snow on the ground for more than a few days before Sun Boy again wrestled the Cold Maker back toward his northern domain. Coyote chuckled, pleased at the repeated victories of Sun Boy.
Aiee
, not always were the People so fortunate!
Heads Off, during long evenings of sharing a social smoke with his father-in-law, also shared his thoughts. Would it be possible to keep the band moving to provide a distraction for the Bloods?
Coyote puffed slowly, exhaled the pungent blue smoke, and watched it curl toward the smoke hole at the apex of the lodge. He nodded.
“This may be a good thing, Heads Off. It could do no harm. The moving would be much work, but might distract the young warriors.” He puffed again, and nodded to himself. “It might at least keep things quiet until we arrive at the Sun Dance. Then that will keep them busy for a while.”
“I had also wondered,” continued Heads Off, “if it might be well to lead a raid on the Head Splitters, to let the Bloods have their fill of fighting.”
“I think not, Heads Off.” Coyote shook his head thoughtfully. Until the arrival of the elk-dogs, the People had not been fighters. Their defense was that of run-and-hide. Ever since the success of the few contacts with the enemy in recent years, it was difficult to break out of the old pattern. Coyote still thought in terms of avoiding trouble wherever possible. “Why,” he continued, “should we look for danger when there is none?”
Heads Off was forced to agree. To lead a raid would only be to sanction the type of action they disapproved of by the Bloods. He nodded. “It was only a thought,” he said absently. Every possible answer to the problem in the band must be considered.
White Buffalo was taken into confidence and the plan was outlined. The old man nodded eagerly. He could be of great help. His was the decision when to fire the dry prairie in the spring, to hasten the greening and bring the buffalo back. He could appear to make an error, decide for the burn too early, and the greening would not come. Then it would be necessary to move again. The three plotters talked long, planning each step carefully.
Tall One and her mother, Big Footed Woman, interjected an idea into the conversation. A few carefully selected women could help. It would be a simple matter to complain about the campsite, the water, fuel supplies, even the quality of the available game. With enough complaints, the chief would have no alternative but to order another move.
The men were delighted.
“But, only a few women,” Coyote cautioned. “They should not even tell their husbands of the plan.”
It was agreed that even these women were to know as little as possible of the entire scheme. They would merely be encouraged
to talk discontent to their husbands and neighbors. This would provide yet another distraction from the potentially serious matter at hand.
Antelope Woman, wife of Standing Bird and best friend of Tall One, was the only woman taken into full confidence. These three women assured the chief that they could foment enough trouble when the time came.
White Buffalo ordered the firing of the grass so early in the Moon of Greening that the first blades of grass had not yet appeared. Some of the elders of the band shook their heads and clucked their tongues. The mistake was apparent to them. Aiee, White Buffalo must be too old for his position, they told each other.
The People waited, and there was no greening. The medicine man had chosen his time well. It became so depressing to look at the blackened prairie that the band began to grumble, and the chief ordered the move to a better area. At least, there would be dry grass for the horses. The band filed over the low range of hills, their innumerable dogs trotting alongside.
In the next area, the medicine man chose perfectly the time for burning, and the grass began to green in a few days. But, no buffalo came. There were an occasional animal or two, enough to provide meat, but the expected big herds did not materialize. No one really suffered. Only a few even resorted to eating their dogs, and some of these did so by preference.
The men were kept busy by the need to hunt, however, and the dissidents were too preoccupied to make trouble. White Buffalo was willing to take credit for the success of the entire affair, but there was a great deal of luck involved, too.
When the Bloods began to grow restless, it was considered time for the women to begin their complaints. It began at the watering place. Making sure there were other women nearby, Tall
One and Antelope Woman carried on a lengthy exchange about the murkiness of the water. It was crystal clear, but by the time they left, the women who overheard were questioning the contents of their own waterskins. Rumor swept through the camp that the water was bad.
As one final event, Tall One staged a complaint to her husband in the presence of several of the People. She berated him for choosing a campsite where there was little fuel and scarce game, of poor quality. Though the entire thing was preplanned, Heads Off was hurt badly enough by the tirade that he did not have to pretend to any great extent when he stalked away in a huff. No matter, thought the girl. She could make it up to him later. She had found it surprisingly difficult to publicly embarrass her husband, even for good cause.
Two of the older Bowstrings who had overheard the tirade stood chuckling as Tall One flounced past.
“
Aiee
,” one remarked to his companion, “our chief carries a heavy burden.”
Tall One realized that the jest was intended for her ears. She was unsure whether it was to refer to her expansive waistline, or to her temperament, but she must act her assumed role for the present. She wheeled and strode over to the pair.
“My husband's heaviest burden,” she snapped, “is that he leads warriors such as you two!”
She turned and marched off. The men chuckled, pleased. A woman with spirit was prized by the People. Their eyes, as they watched the retreating form, said that they did not consider the chiefs burden heavy at all.
The move took
place next day, without even a warning. Word passed that because of the scarcity of game, the band would work slowly northward, and hunt as they traveled. In this way, they would arrive at the Sun Dance with the rest of the tribe. It would do no harm to arrive a bit early. It was unlikely that the Bloods would leave the festivities once they had arrived.
The location for the Sun Dance, agreed upon the previous year, would be on the north fork of Walnut River. It was a favorite site for this most important annual event of the People.
The strategy outlined by the chief and his advisers worked well. A different camp was established every two or three days. White Buffalo directed their journey in a zigzag fashion, taking many more suns than would have been actually necessary. The wily old medicine man was successful in the finding of buffalo in most cases, so that his devious winding route was not suspected by the dissidents.
The warriors continued to be moderately successful at the hunt, and gradually the band drew nearer the site of the Sun Dance.
The Elk-dog band was not the first to arrive. By custom, the immediate family of the Real-chief of the tribe was responsible for the site, the dance arena, and preparations. Therefore, the Northern band under Many Robes had arrived first and begun the construction of the Sun Dance arbor. Poles had been lashed together to form the framework of the open-sided structure, and
men were handing armfuls of leafy brush to form a shady roof for the week-long events.
The young men of the newly arrived Elk-dogs staged a mock charge, wheeling their horses and whooping in a grand celebration. Some of the Northern band joined in the festivities, and the combined forces circled the camp, shouting and singing and brandishing weapons.
Heads Off was tempted to join the display. His young blood was stirred by the colorful spectacle, but he somehow felt that it might not be appropriate for the dignity of his office.
The young chief noticed that many of the warriors of his own band were not participating in the exuberant arrival celebration. Most of the Bowstrings, but also some of the Elk-dog warriors were merely watching, some with stem looks of disapproval. He glanced around and noticed Sees Far, sitting on his bay mare. The man was glaring at the proceedings with such a hostile gaze that Heads Off was again deeply concerned. He had never seen an individual change so rapidly.
Sees Far had been a quiet, easygoing man, well-liked and competent in his skills. He was by far the best scout and tracker in the entire band, but very modest about it. The band had relied heavily on his abilities in more than one encounter with the Head Splitters. Now, since the death of his nephew and the interest of his own son in the Bloods, Sees Far had changed. He was moody, grumpy, and almost irrational at times. Former friends had begun to avoid him because of his unpleasantness.
Heads Off was deeply concerned lest the skills of Sees Far be lost at a time they might be most needed. He could understand how a man with family problems might become so preoccupied that he would be unaware of all else. Even now, Sees Far sat alone, without friends.
Damn that stupid, arrogant Badger and his cursed Blood Society,
thought the chief. He kneed his horse around, intending to approach Sees Far for a friendly conversation, but the other rode slowly away, not looking back. The very slope of his shoulders indicated his utter desolation. The chief abandoned his intention.
Instead, he turned and rode through the camp to pay his respects to the Real-chief. He waved and nodded to friends and acquaintances of the Northern band as he passed. The camp was well laid out, he observed. Old Many Robes had been an able chief for many seasons. The grass and water were good. Areas for each band's campsite were level and clear. By age-old custom, the bands camped in a traditional pattern around the central Dance Lodge. Each band occupied the same relative position in the circle as the seat of its chief in the Big Council.
Thus, the camp of the Northern band was already established to the north of the Dance Lodge. The Elk-dogs, being the Southern band, would establish camp on the opposite side. Next on their left would be the Red Rocks, followed by the Mountain band. The Eastern band would occupy the northeast segment of the circle. A space was always left directly to the east, as a doorway for Sun Boy after his rising.
None of the other bands had yet arrived, Heads Off noted. A group of excited young horsemen swept past, singing and shouting, and young women paused to wave and call a greeting. Everyone was being caught up in the excitement of the festive occasion. Heads Off had always been impressed, since he first witnessed the Sun Dance, at the resemblance to a country fair in his own homeland far away. There was excitement in the air, a carnival atmosphere. There would be family reunions, dances of both ceremonial and social nature, feasting, telling of stories, and of course, the Big Council. Each chief would report the events of the year for his band. Thinking this sobering thought, he became depressed again.
Heads Off had nearly reached the lodge of the Real-chief when another cluster of horsemen clattered past. He glanced up, and was startled to see Badger and his companions painted with the ceremonial stripe of scarlet across their brows. This was a complete departure from tradition. Even Heads Off, though a relative newcomer to the tribe, was aware that he had never seen ceremonial painting done merely to greet one's friends and relatives at the big camp. The now familiar uneasy feeling of dread gnawed at his stomach for a moment.
The gray mare stopped before a resplendent lodge of nearly thirty skins, and Heads Off called a greeting.
“
Ah-koh
, my chief! I am Heads Off, of the Southern band.”
The Real-chief himself appeared at the doorway, and beckoned the visitor inside.
“
Ah-koh
, my friend! Come and smoke.”
A young man stepped forward and took the reins of the mare, leading the animal to grass and water. Heads Off stooped and entered the lodge.
His host led the way around the cooking fire to the pile of robes opposite the doorway. He motioned the younger man to a seat, and a woman brought a pipe and filled it. Heads Off brought forth his own pipe, and the two lighted their respective instruments with a stick brought from the fire by one of the wives of the host.
The skirt of the lodge had been raised a few handspans on the south, and a comfortable breeze made the place quite appealing to a hot dusty traveler. The two men visited, talking of the weather, the mild winter, the hunt, and the lack of any contact with the Head Splitters. Then the old chief suddenly leaned forward confidentially and spoke on a new subject.
“You have trouble with some of your young men?”
Heads Off was astonished. He had long since become aware
that the old chief was an extremely acute observer. The Real-chief also undoubtedly had observers to report to him. But how, only moments after their arrival, had he known of the internal politics of one of the bands under his jurisdiction? Once again, Heads Off marveled at the astuteness of the old man. Truly, he was a chief.
BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
9.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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