Wolf Mountain Moon (55 page)

It was the Sacred Turner that Medicine Bear immediately cast his eyes upon now as he entered Coal Bear's dwelling.
Nimhoyoh,
what he had been called upon to carry that terribly cold day of blood on the snow that was still so fresh in their memories.

Coal Bear said, “I see you are wearing Box Elder's powerful shirt.”

Young Medicine Bear ran his hands down the front of the fire-smoked elk-hide shirt the great blind shaman of the
Ohmeseheso
had given him to wear. The four long legs of the elk hide swayed back and forth below his knees. “He told me that if I wore it, you could not fail to give me the Turner.”

Coal Bear finally grinned. “The old man is a smart one.” He turned to gaze down at the sacred objects as the noise outside the lodge grew loud: men shouting farewells to families, women sobbing and children crying, dogs howling and ponies snorting. “Like Box Elder, I think I can trust you to protect the great power of
Nimhoyoh.
With your own eyes you have seen how its magic turned the soldiers' bullets. There is no other reason why all of us escaped from the village with our lives when all around us the soldiers and their scouts darted here and there.”

That bitterly cold dawn in the Big Freezing Moon, with the first gunshot and at the first shout of warning, Box Elder had clambered to his feet. For many winters already his vision had been clouded. As his apprentice, Medicine Bear was the old man's eyes. Together they had scrambled to seize the most important object in Box Elder's life before they had abandoned the shaman's lodge and plunged into the madness of the retreating village. In that screaming, fleeing crowd they had somehow managed to find Coal Bear, with
Esevone
wrapped in its special bundle and tied upon his woman's back.

In the midst of that confusion and panic Coal Bear himself had been holding the Sacred Turner, both hands clutching the round cherrywood stick about the length of a man's arm. Suspended from the stick was a crude rectangle of buffalo rawhide, the edges of which had first been perforated, then
braided with a long strand of rawhide. From three sides of
Nimhoyoh
hung many long buffalo tails, tied to the rawhide shield much like scalp locks.

“Give the Turner to Medicine Bear!” Box Elder had ordered that morning when the greatness of their people had turned to blood on the snow. “So that he might carry it above him on his pony to turn away the soldier bullets!”

As instructed, the Medicine Hat Priest gave the heavy object to Box Elder's young apprentice so Medicine Bear could ride behind them all on his skittish pony, holding aloft
Nimhoyoh,
waving the thick hide of the Sacred Turner and its long black buffalo tails back and forth to ward off the enemy's bullets that kicked up snow and dirt “from the ground at their feet, knocking twigs and splinters from the trees all about them until they reached the open valley.

Turning his sightless eyes to Medicine Bear, Box Elder had said in a strong voice, “The powerful medicine of
Nimhoyoh
you carry turns away all the bullets flying around us. Do not be afraid!”

Nor would Medicine Bear be afraid now. He had seen for himself the power of
Nimhoyoh
—how it turned the soldier bullets to puffs of dust, nothing more than air.

Now this night Coal Bear turned and handed the long cherrywood pole to the young apprentice and said, “Take this. And with it protect our warriors.”

Medicine Bear rubbed his hands around the cherrywood handle, thinking quickly on the many generations who had held this sacred object of such great and awesome power. “Through its magic I will protect our warriors,” he vowed. “So that those warriors can protect all the
Ohmeseheso”

Through the cold fog of dawn Medicine Bear rode, far behind the first who had hurried from the village as the storm clouds rolled in to cover the late rising of the moon. It was not a hard thing to follow the trail of the others—the way was wide and deep through the snow.

Just past the coming of day's gray light he heard the first shots fired to the north. By the time Medicine Bear reached the hills west of the river, he looked down to watch the soldiers driving back the last of the warriors into the ravines across the Tongue from the knoll where the
ve-ho-e
stood around their wagon guns. With the warriors' retreat that band
of soldiers themselves withdrew across the river to rejoin the other white men.

But just when Medicine Bear had decided to cross the river himself to join those warriors flooding to the tops of the bluffs, many of the
Tse-Tsehese
fighting men came out of the coulees and brushy draws, drawn to the apprentice who held the Sacred Turner above his head.

“See!” Beaver Dam cried to the others, waving them on. “Do not run!”

“Nimhoyoh!”
shouted Crow Necklace.

More and more painted faces appeared from the brush in the ravines. A large circle of warriors crowded around Medicine Bear's snorting pony.

“The Turner will protect us!”

“Attack the soldiers now!” Gypsum called.

“No,” warned Brave Wolf, an older warrior. “What we must do is circle around behind the soldiers.”

“Yes, go upriver,” High Wolf agreed. “Then cross and come in behind the soldiers to free our people from them.”

“Seize their wagons!”

“Steal their horses!”

“No bullets can harm us when we fight under the power of
Nimhoyoh!”

By the time the warriors rounded up their ponies and set off through the deep snow, spreading out to follow Medicine Bear like the point of a great arrow, they emerged around the river bend to discover that soldiers already occupied the top of a low line of hills on the west bank of the river.

“What are they doing?” Spotted Blackbird shrieked in dismay.

Like the others, Medicine Bear stared into the distance, studying the actions of the white men.

“Are they digging?” someone asked.

“Like a fox at its burrow!” was the answer.

Indeed, it appeared that the soldiers were hurriedly digging rifle pits for themselves atop that bluff—entrenching all the faster once the warriors came into view.

An older man named Long Jaw placed a hand on Medicine Bear's forearm. “This is Box Elder's shirt.”

“Yes,” he answered. “My Grandfather gave it to me to wear into battle this day.”

Long Jaw smiled at the apprentice. “It is good, Medicine Bear. You must lead us into this fight. Hold
Nimhoyoh
high over our heads so no bullets will touch us! So we can root these soldiers out like voles from their burrows!”

With a mighty yell from a hundred throats the
Ohmeseheso
charge began. In the van rode Medicine Bear, kicking his pony violently through the deep snowdrifts to keep it in front of the rest—mostly veteran warriors who carried many scars of countless battles against the
ve-ho-e
and other enemies.

Oh, how great was the honor of leading these men into battle!

He turned at the sudden shrill, high-pitched whistle, a foreign sound. Looking into the cloudy sky, Medicine Bear tried to find the cause of that strange noise. Then he saw it. A ball fired from the white man's wagon gun.

Sailing over the ranks of the warriors, the sphere crashed into that open ground between the horsemen and the soldiers entrenching among the red shale on the hilltop. Rocks and snow and shards of iron splintered into the cold morning air. Back tumbled the ponies and warriors, men crying out and horses whimpering in shock. Riderless horses bolted away. Men crawled on their knees, dragging themselves out of the snow. Everyone else milled aimlessly, some of them dazed.

Their charge was broken!

“Go! Go, Medicine Bear!” Long Jaw goaded, pointing to the slope of the nearby hill where the soldiers began to plop to their bellies, their rifles at ready. “Lead us now before the wagon gun shoots again!”

Swallowing down that first flush of fear, telling himself that no harm could come to him with the power of the Turner watching over them all, Medicine Bear did as he was instructed.

Wheeling the frightened pony in a circle, he yelped like a wolf, howling to give himself courage as he set off in front of the others. In that instant the others threw off the confusing mantle of shock and tore off again on horseback or on foot. A wide massed front of warriors followed the Turner onto that open ground that would lead them to the base of the soldiers' hill.

Right on over the shallow cannonball crater he leaped his
pony, paying it no heed as the soldier rifles opened up on them.

Back and forth he waved
Nimhoyoh,
giving its protection first to one side of the warrior formation, then to the other. Exactly as he had done in the battle against Three Finger Kenzie's pony soldiers. What he held in his hands at this moment was the sort of power that made the
Tse-Tsehese
a great people!

Power to turn soldier bullets away from the warriors who would sweep around behind the
ve-ho-e
camp, rescue the prisoners, then gallop over the last of the Bear Coat's soldiers.

Snarling wasps began to strike the ground all around him and the others at the front—soldier bullets. On through the middle of that hail charged the warriors who would protect the
Ohmeseheso!

Suddenly Medicine Bear heard the smack of a bullet striking flesh and cracking bone. A warrior at his left hand pitched backward.

This could not be!

With his heart rising in his throat, Medicine Bear feared he had not done all he could to protect these fighting men. Back and forth more violently he waved the Turner.

Another horseman whirled off the back of his pony. And a third—barely hanging on, wavering atop his frightened animal.

All around him the once-mighty charge started to falter, men twisting to look at Medicine Bear, looking too at Long Jaw riding beside
Nimhoyoh.

“Ride over them, Medicine Bear!” the older warrior shouted, his words without fear. “Ride right over the soldiers!”

“We have the power!” Brave Wolf hollered at his other elbow.

With renewed strength the warriors screamed their war cries. Those who had rifles, mostly soldier weapons captured at the Little Sheep River last summer, fired them. Those with bows had to wait to draw closer before they could shoot—close enough to see the fear on the faces of those soldiers hiding behind the chunks of red shale in their burrows.

But the closer they raced toward the
ve-ho-e,
the more bullets fell among the
Ohmeseheso.
Another man was struck.
He cried out. Faces once filled with confidence, eyes once filled with complete trust—now they turned to see if they had been abandoned by
Nimhoyoh,
if Medicine Bear had deserted them.

Worse than bullets, confusion and doubt struck them all. The Sacred Turner was still there above them, yet the soldier bullets were not turned to air. Ponies and men cried out each time one of them was struck with bullets that were supposed to become harmless.

Again the big wagon gun across the river belched its mighty roar. A whistle drew closer, and closer, and closer—and suddenly Medicine Bear knew it was coming for him.

Closer and closer! Falling right out of the sky …

He was turning his pony savagely to the right when the ball struck the animal on the left rear flank.

Pitched off as the pony careened to the side, Medicine Bear landed among the feet of other milling, frightened animals. Scrambling to his hands and knees, he crawled forward to snatch up
Nimhoyoh
again. Then turned, finding his pony struggling back onto its legs, by some miracle managing to shake off the great blow as a dog would shake water from its back.

Leaping to his feet among the confusion as the warriors turned back on themselves, Medicine Bear lunged for the single rawhide rein, caught it, and brought the animal close, cooing into its ear to calm it as bullets snarled past.

Only a few old veterans pressed on with the charge against the hillside now.

Another shot might come from the wagon gun at any moment. Better to withdraw—some were shouting—better to cross the river and join the others on the ridgetops.

Gently he ran his hand over the wound on the pony's flank: the hair rubbed cleanly off in a path as wide as his outstretched fingers and palm, from the top of the flank down the animal's thigh. The flesh had turned raw and angry, but as smooth as if Medicine Bear had shaved it with a sharp knife.

Closing his eyes, he tried hard to remember Coal Bear's prayer that freezing day in the Red Fork Valley. He must give thanks to the Powers because
Nimhoyoh
had just saved him
and the pony. The powerful ball from the white man's wagon gun had not exploded.

Yet the warriors were retreating. They were not staying with Medicine Bear to defeat this band of soldiers, to sweep on across the river and around behind the Bear Coat's wagon camp.

Then Medicine Bear realized he had been spared. For some reason the Powers had spared his life. And he knew he must follow the rest of the warriors across the Tongue, carrying the power of
Nimhoyoh
into the fight on the far side of the river. And if need be—give his own life to protect the
Ohmeseheso.

Closing his eyes, he suddenly remembered Coal Bear's prayer, uttered that freezing day in the Red Fork Valley as the greatness of the People went up in oily smoke.

Now it would become Medicine Bear's prayer. The life of one man mattered little when the life of the
Ohmeseheso
was at stake. Today was the day on which the People turned. If they failed in battle this day, then the
Ohmeseheso
were finished as a great people.

Crying aloud as the soldier bullets landed harmlessly all around him and the pony, Medicine Bear repeated Coal Bear's prayer: “Hear me,
Ma-heo-o!
Save my people! If you must take someone—take me, I pray you! But save my people!”