Authors: Don Coldsmith

The Elk-Dog Heritage (7 page)

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage

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“What will be
done?” Heads Off asked his father-in-law as they approached the Big Council. Every man, woman and child in the entire tribe was present. None wished to miss the important decisions brought on by this tragic event.

“I do not know, Heads Off. Such a thing has not happened in my lifetime.”

“There was once such a matter before I was born,” spoke White Buffalo from the other side, “but I do not remember what was done to the killer.”

In his own homeland, the penalty would be prison or death, reflected Heads Off. But he realized the complete difference of this situation. It had never occurred to him to wonder how the People meted out punishment to breakers of the tribal law.

“He will probably be banished,” observed White Buffalo.

They reached the circle and seated themselves, and none too soon. The Real-chief and his cortege were approaching.

By contrast with the relaxed slow-moving formality of previous sessions of the Big Council, this gathering progressed rapidly. Many Robes hurried through the ritual smoke and ordered the offender brought to the Council.

Badger was allowed to speak, and made again the point that he had acted only in self-defense when attacked.

The woman who had been nearest to the brief fight again stated that Sees Far had been unarmed.

Another man, one of the older warriors, asked and received permission to speak.

“My chiefs,” he glanced around the circle, “none of this has any meaning. The important thing is only that one of our warriors has killed a man of his own, the People.” He sat down without waiting to see the reaction.

Several others spoke, all to the same effect. The law was absolute on this point. There was simply no worse crime among the People. Badger began to look more and more desperate. Heads Off could almost feel sorry for the young man.

“It is enough!” Many Robes finally ended the discussion. “The Council will vote. Shall Badger, who has killed one of our own, be banished?”

To be banished was virtually a death sentence. A person expelled would be forbidden, on pain of death, to enter the camp of any band of his former tribe. He would be a person adrift, with no home, friends, or relatives. It might be possible, Coyote had told his son-in-law earlier, that if Badger were banished he could live among the Grower tribes along the river. Another possibility would be to approach the Head Splitters and throw himself on their mercy. Heads Off thought it unlikely that a proud young man like Badger would take either action. He would prefer to take his chances alone on the prairie. His young wife, Heads Off had learned, would have the option of following her disgraced husband or returning to her parents' lodge.

Many Robes now called for the vote.

“The Mountain band?” he inquired expectantly.

Old Black Beaver silently nodded, voting the affirmation for expulsion.

“Red Rocks?”

Chief White Bear, too, gave the silent nod.

“Elk-dog band?”

“My chief, I withhold the vote.”

Heads Off had struggled with the decision. He now realized that it was too emotionally loaded a situation for him to decide in a rational manner. The Real-chief nodded acknowledgment of the abstention, and moved on around the circle.

“Eastern band?”

Small Ears solemnly inclined his head, and for practical purposes the vote was over. Many Robes spoke for the Northern band as well as in his capacity as Real-chief He addressed Badger.

“You are no longer of the People. You have, by your act, shown this. Any of the People may turn you away, or kill you if they choose. By the time Sun Boy is overhead, you must be gone!”

Badger stood, surrounded by the People, no longer his people. He appeared about to speak, then changed his mind and shuffled away from the fire. His young wife rose, and tears streaming, followed him away. The crowd parted before them.

Then an amazing thing happened. As the couple reached the outer fringe of the circle, a young man leaped to his feet and faced the chiefs of the Council.

“I go with Badger!”

“I, too!” Another stood.

Within a few heartbeats, several young warriors were standing and shouting. Badger stopped, apparently surprised, and turned to look at the circle. His slumping shoulders drew up and back and he again assumed a stance of confidence and assurance. He seemed about to speak again. Many Robes had no intention of causing a further split in the tribe by allowing Badger a speech.

“The Council is ended,” he announced, rising to depart.

The crowd split into a score of smaller groups, buzzing with excitement. Badger and his followers drew aside, becoming noisier and more confident as they attracted more young men.

Heads Off felt as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. All the doubts and indecision of the past few moons had in a few hours been resolved. Even under the tragic circumstances, even with the tearing apart of families and mourning of mothers for departing sons, at least something decisive had happened. He watched as the Bloods began excited preparations for their departure at daylight. They were making a festival of it.

“Go ask Red Dog,” someone shouted. A rider loped away. There were more shouts, and excited laughter. Things were rapidly getting out of hand.

Heads Off felt a heavy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It appeared that what should have been a disgrace for Badger, the instigator of the rebellion, was turning into a triumph. The young men did not realize the gravity of their decision.

“At least,” Heads Off muttered to Coyote at his elbow, “it is over.”

Coyote took a deep breath before he answered.

“No, my friend. It is only beginning!”

Sun Boy had
hardly climbed above earth's rim to begin his daily run when the first of the lodges came down. Of the young warriors who considered themselves part of the Blood Society, perhaps half had their own lodges. Of these, nearly every wife had elected to follow her husband into exile. In addition, there were two couples on the verge of marriage who also chose the way of the outcast Bloods.

There was one girl, a warrior sister, who would accompany the Blood Society. She would live in her brother's lodge. Her father, now well past his prime, simply threw up his hands in helpless resignation.

A scattered handful of discontents from the other bands joined them. The young single warriors among the Bloods would live as guests in the lodges of their fellow warriors until they established their own. In effect, the Bloods were becoming a sixth band of the People. Except, Heads Off thought with regret, they would never be of the People. They would remain outcasts forever, a tiny tribe of their own, with allegiance to no one. Their chances of survival were slim to none. There would be none to help or support them against the certain onslaught of the Head Splitters. They could field not many more than a score of warriors, certainly not enough for defense.

This seemed to make little difference to the defiant Bloods. They systematically assisted each other with preparations for travel, and soon Badger, astride his big black stallion, led them
through the camp and out onto the prairie. It would have been easier and more logical, Heads Off noticed, to enter the prairie directly and circle the campsite. Badger chose instead to use his departure for one last irritating gesture. Dust, kicked up by the horses, drifted among the lodges and over the cooking areas. Angry women called threats after the horsemen.

The final insult was that a handful of young Bloods, bringing up the rear, drove the loose animals of the group through the camp, causing even more havoc.

A young man reined over to stop before his chief for a moment. Heads Off recognized Red Dog. He had been a promising student in the Rabbit Society, and had become an expert horseman. The band would sorely miss such a warrior.

“I am sorry, Heads Off. You have been good to me. I have learned much from you!”

The young chief sensed some indecision here, and started to speak, but then changed his mind. What use would it be? He smiled and nodded, feeling a bit foolish.

Red Dog whirled his mare and trotted after the departing Bloods.

Dust began to settle as the little band filed out onto the prairie. Here and there a wail of grief told of a bereaved parent. Heads Off had seen tears in the eyes of several of the departing Bloods' young wives, too. It was a sad parting. It was unlikely that any of the young people filing over the hill would ever be seen again. He turned to find Coyote standing beside him.

“It is an evil day,” the other said simply.

The two turned to look at the campsite of the Elk-dog band. Here and there were scarred circles where the lodges of the defectors had stood. The remaining lodges looked pitifully few. With a sudden start, Heads Off realized the reason for the depressed attitude of Coyote.

The Elk-dog band had become smaller by some ten lodges, and perhaps twice as many warriors. He had been concerned about the inability of the Bloods to defend themselves. Now the gravity of the situation sank home to him for the first time. Would his own Elk-dog band be able to mount a defense? Their fighting strength had just been reduced by over one third.

Apparently this fact had not been overlooked by the other bands. Small Ears stopped by and generously offered to allow the Elk-dogs to join his Eastern band. Heads Off politely refused. He had had enough problems, he reflected, because of people with poor judgment. He did not need the added stigma of association with the Eastern band, traditionally a foolish group.

More welcome was the invitation by the Red Rocks to camp together for a season. These two had spent a winter in the same camp before, in fact, the year his son Eagle was born.

The suggestion of the Red Rocks was taken more seriously, then, but at length rejected.

Heads Off talked long with both Coyote and White Buffalo before making the decision. Coyote was initially in favor of joining the other band. The old run-and-hide philosophy, held by the People before the coming of the elk-dog, was still strong.

Oddly, the old medicine man favored striking out boldly on their own. The lifting of his burden by the banishment of the Bloods had taken years from his age. He now appeared vigorous, even eager. The Red Rocks, he pointed out, winter in an area with little game. It would be difficult to obtain food for the combined bands.

In addition, there was the matter of prestige. The Elk-dogs, most respected of the bands of the People, could not appear to be merely the poor relatives of another group.

“Perhaps next year,” White Buffalo conceded, “but not now.”

In the end, Coyote agreed. For this season, they would be on their own.

Heads Off was uneasy about it, but concurred. He was thinking of his family. Their son Eagle was at a vulnerable age. Tall One would soon give birth again. Finally he conceded that the threat of short food supply with the Red Rocks was a greater threat to him than that of a chance encounter with Head Splitters. Word was spread that the Elk-dogs would move on the following day.

He would lead the band southeast into the southern end of the Tall Grass Hills. The rolling, broken country there would allow for more defensible positions.

When the Elk-dog band filed over the hill next morning, he was shocked to see how pitifully small the group looked. A quick count revealed that they were missing more lodges than expected.

“
Aiee
, they scatter in the wind,” commented Coyote philosophically.

Again, Heads Off suffered shock and now the pain of rejection. The People could change loyalties and join another band very simply. It required merely to follow whichever group they chose after the Sun Dance.

There were some who switched loyalties readily, spending each season with the band which appeared to have the greatest prestige. The Elk-dog band had grown in this manner each season since Heads Off had been among them.

But now, in addition to the Bloods, three more lodges had switched allegiance, and the Elk-dogs' strength was dangerously reduced again. Heads Off experienced a momentary surge of anger at the desertion.

Then he began to think more calmly. Warriors with such Inconstant allegiance would hardly be worth their presence in
battle anyway, he told himself glumly. He was probably better off without such undependable followers.

He felt somewhat better after this period of rationalization, but deep in his heart, he did not believe it at all.

Heads Off called
a council at the end of the first day's travel. It could be seen by all that the band was seriously under fighting strength, and it was necessary to recognize the fact and plan for it.

There was one encouraging note as the Elk-dogs made camp that evening. One more family, traveling late, joined them just before dark. Heads Off recognized one of the young warriors of the Red Rocks band, who had helped on a foray against the Head Splitters. How long ago, it now seemed. The People had set out to obtain horses, and Heads Off, still an outsider, had helped to organize the raid.

“May we join you? We wish to see new country.”

The chief nodded in welcome, and the newcomers hastened to establish camp before dark.

Heads Off was grateful. It was obvious that this young warrior understood the plight of the Elk-dog band. Every warrior they could muster might be needed in the coming moons. Even one spear, one bowman, might make the critical difference to survival.

This, of course, was to be the theme of the evening's council. Appearance would be all-important as they traveled. It must not be easy for any casual observer to see that the band was reduced in number.

With this in mind, Heads Off outlined the basic plan he and Coyote had discussed during travel. They must appear to have as many lodges as possible. Each family unit would loan a lodge pole
or two. The extra poles would be tied in bundles of ten or twelve, and dragged by a spare horse.

Thus, an observer from a distant hilltop might count the number of horses drawing lodge poles. There would appear to be several more lodges, perhaps four more, than actually existed. Allowing two warriors per lodge, that would cause an enemy to overestimate the strength of the band by eight or more warriors.

Additionally, as the council discussed the matter, another idea or two emerged. An old warrior of the Bowstring Society spoke.

“If we spread out instead of follow single file as we travel, it will leave a bigger trail.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement. A broad multiple track made by many poles would imply many lodges, to anyone coming upon the trail.

A woman suggested that the usual manner of packing might be altered. Each family could distribute the customary assortment of baggage among as many animals as possible. Again, an observer would see many laden packhorses, and assume a strong, affluent, and presumably, well-armed band.

People began to be drawn into the enthusiasm of the thing, and suggestions rippled around the circle. Someone pointed out that the youngsters of the Rabbit Society should ride and carry weapons wherever possible. From a little distance, the age and maturity of an armed rider would be difficult to evaluate.

Tall One addressed her husband.

“My chief, could not the younger women dress in their husbands' garments and carry weapons?”

“No one would take you for a warrior, mother!” The speaker was Coyote, poking fun at his daughter's very pregnant abdomen. The circle rocked with laughter.

“It is good!” Heads Off was pleased with the idea. Perhaps not those with small children, but many could pass as warriors.

The young women whispered together excitedly. Heads Off felt that this was good strategy. Not only would it give the appearance of more warriors, but some of the girls were quite adept with weapons.

He had thought it strange, when he first joined the People, that both girls and boys took instruction in the Rabbit Society. His own wife, the Tall One, had been able to outrun him before her pregnancy with Eagle. She was skilled with the bow, a weapon he had never considered his best. And many of the older women, he knew, were expert with the throwing stick. He had seen Big Footed Woman, his mother-in-law, knock a rabbit cleanly with the short, heavy instrument. The women of the People had the knowledge and skills, and in an emergency attack, every weapon might be needed.

The council broke up on an optimistic note. People scattered to their sleeping robes.

“Do you think there will be trouble, my husband?” Tall One always called him “my husband,” especially in an emotional situation. She snuggled against him, the firm bulge of her abdomen reminding him of their vulnerability in case of attack.

“Do you think so?” he evasively returned the question. “You know the People better than I.”

“I do not know. If the Head Splitters think we are weak, they will try to kill us.”

Yes, he thought, drawing her close, or steal our women. He remembered that, when he had first seen the traditional enemy, he had been told, “ â¦ they steal our women. Our women are much prettier than theirs.”

Now, that threat was much closer to his own awareness. He pulled Tall One protectively to the shelter of his arms and held her gently.

“Then,” he stated positively, “we must be ready.”

He wished he really felt as confident as he tried to sound.

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage

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