Thunder on the Plains (8 page)

In the early dark hours of the next Saturday morning, our rescue team gathered. Ben, Charlene, and two other kids showed up. Each had brought a backpack filled with food and clothing for the trip. My cousins and I brought enough horses for everyone.

Then Grandpa showed up. He had more supplies and a horse of his own. In his hand was a sack.

“What are you doing here, Grandpa?”

“You can't just herd buffalo around like you can herd cattle,” Grandpa explained. “They're much too independent and willful. I know the prayers and songs to offer to the spirits of the Buffalo People to get them to cooperate. You need me.”

I looked to the other kids. They all nodded.

“I guess you're in,” I said. “What's in the sack?”

“War paint,” Grandpa smiled. “You can't go on a dangerous mission like this without the proper preparation. Our ancestors painted themselves and their horses to bring courage, strength, and hope at times like these.”

He opened the sack and spread out his paints. Then he marked each of our faces with a different design. He sang a Cheyenne prayer song for our protection.

Finally, he painted his own face. I saw pride fill my grandfather's eyes. When he was finished, Grandpa nodded that he was ready.

We mounted our steeds and headed across the country. We had food and supplies to last several days.

Uncle Robert and Aunt Amanda probably panicked when they found out we were gone. But Grandpa left a letter explaining what we were doing. The letter said everything would be all right.

“This is a journey into their own adulthood,” Grandpa wrote in the letter. “This is what
tribal youth did in the old days. Please don't let anyone try to stop us. These kids want to do this. I need to do this.”

“This is foolishness,” Robert said when he found the letter. “One old man and a bunch of kids out there alone. Someone could get seriously hurt or even killed.” He crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. Amanda hugged him and tried to calm him down.

“I think you're overreacting,” she said. “We should talk about this.”

He broke away from her hug.

“It's not that simple,” he explained. “There are other factors to think about here.”

She reached out and brought him back to her.

“Have a little faith,” she urged. “You're the one who's always talking about staying in touch with our Indian roots and Mother Earth. Well, they believed you. Now they're willing to put those words into action. And you have to support them in this. Otherwise, your words mean nothing.”

He thought about what she said and calmed down.

“All right,” he said finally. “We'll try it your way. But I need to let the other kids' parents know what's going on.”

He picked up the phone to call the first set of parents.

Meanwhile, out on the trail, it was a hard trip. We had to use everything we had learned at survival camp. We made it to Yellowstone in two days as planned. We were guided by my maps and Grandpa's stories.

On Sunday night, we made camp on a ridge overlooking the park headquarters. That night Grandpa told us a story he'd been saving. His story went like this:

On Monday morning, we presented ourselves to ranger Jasper Perkins and the park officials. We told them we were ready to pick up their buffalo.

To our surprise, Robert and the tribal chairman were waiting for us in the ranger's office. Uh-oh. We all feared this meant the end of our plan. All that planning and riding for nothing. I thought we might spend the rest of the summer locked in leg irons working on a chain gang.

Grandpa went into the office and spoke to the men alone. In a few minutes, the four men came out of the office. The tribal chairman spoke first.

“Danny, I was extremely upset when I found out that you had forged my name on official tribal stationery to make this happen.
That's a very serious crime, as far as I'm concerned.” He paused.

“But your grandfather told me that what you and the rest of the kids were doing was for the good of the tribe. He said the tribal council should be ashamed for not taking any action to protect these animals. He's right. They represent part of our history and culture.”

He looked at Robert. “And your uncle, who I respect very much, agreed. These were harsh words, but sadly true,” the chairman continued. “So I've asked Mr. Perkins here to release the buffalo to you. He has agreed. Bring 'em home with my blessings.” The chairman smiled.

I was so relieved! I shook the chairman's hand and hugged my uncle. The rest of the gang jumped for joy and hooted and hollered. Then Mr. Perkins stepped over to me.

“Danny,” he said, “because of your efforts, I've contacted Martin Two Bulls of the Inter-tribal Bison Cooperative. We're going to start a tribal bison program that will allow other
tribes in the area to take some of our excess animals to build up their own bison herds.”

That was great! Perkins shook my hand. “Good luck on your ride home, son,” he said.

We, the Cheyenne buffalo rescuers, mounted our horses and rode to the buffalo stockade. There were fifty of the most wonderful creatures I had ever seen. Up close I could see they were large and powerful. Almost scary. A couple of them were pawing the ground and snorting loudly. One was banging his horns against the stockade fence.

What had I gotten us into?

Then Grandpa began singing his Buffalo Song. The beasts started to calm down. The stockade gate was opened. The buffalo moved out of the pen, following Grandpa as he sang. It was amazing! We moved in behind and around the small herd. We began the long trip back to the reservation.

It was a slow but magical journey. With Grandpa singing in the lead, the herd followed him as readily as a herd of old dairy cows heading to the barn.

On the second day of the trip, Grandpa guided his horse close to mine.

“The oldest member of the herd asked me to thank you for this,” Grandpa said.

“What?” I asked. “What did you say?”

“These buffalo are grateful to be going home to be with their Cheyenne brothers,” he continued.

“How do you know this?”

“I speak Buffalo,” Grandpa replied. “My grandpa taught me. One day I'll teach you.” He smiled and moved back over in front of the herd.

The trip back took longer than we expected. The bison were walking very slowly. Finally, we made it back to Buffalo Gap about noon on Wednesday. There was wild excitement when the people saw us coming toward the edge of town.

The Cheyenne people of Rocky Point recognized the importance of this day. They stopped what they were doing and stood in doorways and on porches to watch the sight. They were in awe as the beautiful beasts
trotted majestically down their main street and into the tribe's cattle pasture. Tears came to the eyes of many elders as they welcomed their four-legged brothers to their home.

That evening, the tribal chairman held a huge feast to honor me and the other kids. Before dinner, I stood with the chairman in front of the guests.

“Tonight we're here to honor a young man who has shown courage, vision, and leadership,” Chairman Spotted Horse said. “I'm just glad he's not old enough to run for tribal chairman. Otherwise, I might have a real fight on my hands come the next election,” he laughed.

The chairman gave me a carved wooden buffalo as a gift from his office and the tribal council. Then he launched into a campaign speech for his re-election.

After dinner, Robert, Grandpa, and I stood together outside in the front of the house, talking and watching the sunset.

“I'm proud of both of you,” Robert said. “You've reminded a lot of our people what
can be accomplished when you believe in something strongly enough.”

Grandpa smiled.

“But it was still a foolhardy thing to do, Dad,” he told Grandpa. “Your health's not good. And somebody could've gotten hurt!”

“But that's why I had to go with them, son. I knew I couldn't talk them out of it. So I thought it best to go with them in case there was trouble.” He winked at me. “Anyway, I've never felt better or stronger in my life,” he finished proudly.

“We couldn't have done it without you, Grandpa,” I admitted. “There's no way we could've handled those buffalo alone.”

“Frankly, I wasn't sure we could really do it,” Grandpa confessed. “But I didn't want to spoil it for the kids.”

Just then a loud laugh rang out from inside the house. They looked inside to see the tribal chairman standing in the midst of a circle of people. He was spinning a tall tale.

Robert shook his head. “Politicians. You can't do anything with 'em, and you can't do
anything without 'em. Funny how the tribal chairman turned this into a political victory for himself,” he said.

The three generations of men laughed and went back inside for dessert.