The Changing Wind (15 page)

“It is a good season!” White Buffalo spoke with approval. “A good season for you to learn the calfskin. Now, watch the calves. See, a calf is never far from its mother. But sometimes several will lie down together. One cow watches over them. See, to the left there? The others graze, and then return.”

Small Elk nodded.

“Now, watch when they play,” White Buffalo continued. “You must make your motions look like theirs. And
think!
Your thoughts must be theirs. Here, put on the skin. Tie it well. Now, practice a little before you go down. Ah, that
is
good! That little kick, yes!”

Small Elk’s heart was beating fast. This was a climactic day, one he had long been preparing for. White Buffalo seemed every bit as tense.

“Remember,” he cautioned, “do not place yourself between a cow and her calf. And do not panic. They can smell the fear. Above all, do not try to run.”

With his palms sweating, Small Elk made his way toward the herd. He was certain that they would run, but none of the buffalo seemed to notice him. He moved among the first animals, trying to mimic the stiff-legged walk of the young calves. He must think like the buffalo, now, react as they would. He passed near a grazing cow, and she lifted her head to threaten him. For a moment, he felt the grip of fear. The horns—so black and shiny and sharp, the broad forehead so big—
no
, he told himself,
she is not threatening Small Elk. She threatens a calf that is not hers, lest it try to suckle
. In that way, he slipped “inside the head” of the cow. As he had seen the calves do, he made a move toward the cow’s flank, pretending to try to nurse. She swung her head again, and he dodged playfully aside to trot on a few steps.

A large bull grazed peacefully, and Elk approached it. Bulls, he had noticed, paid almost no attention to a small calf. Their minds were on other things. Boldly, he approached the huge animal, who continued to crop grass. As he had expected, there was no reaction. As he had seen calves do, he nosed curiously, and actually brushed against the massive shoulder. Then he moved on.

He felt, rather than saw, a calf approach him to play. The creature loped around him, playfully made a make-believe charge at him, and then approached to try the head-pushing game. Trying to behave like a normal calf, he pushed back, but the calf was persistent. Besides, it was stronger than he and had a weight advantage; he was handicapped by his stooped-over stance. He could not stand without revealing his true identity. Finally, in desperation, he slapped the calf boldly across the nose. The startled youngster retreated, and Elk glanced around to look for reactions from other animals. There were none. Apparently the adults had ignored the episode as the play of the young. In retrospect, he realized that it would have been more in character if he had retreated to end the game. But no matter… he moved among the herd, with growing confidence now. A cow swung a threatening horn his way, and he stepped aside without a thought.

White Buffalo had advised that the first time or two in
the herd, he should merely get the feel. The skill of moving them would come later. For now, he found that despite the uncomfortable position, he was actually beginning to enjoy this experience. It was a spiritual uplift, a feeling of power, to be able to move through a herd of the great animals at will. If he was perceived as a human, he could be in great danger instantly. But the smell of the calfskin, as well as the scent-killing herbs that White Buffalo had rubbed on him, seemed to prevent identification.

He skirted around the edges of the herd, pleased at his success and looking forward to the time when he could advance to the next step, trying to manipulate the herd’s movement.

A flash of motion caught his eye on the side
away
from the herd, and he turned curiously.
Alee!
Here was a thing he had not foreseen. A wolf, one of the gray ghosts that follow the herds, was creeping through the short grass. Always ready to pull down a sick or crippled animal, a straggler or a stray calf, the great wolves were always circling and ready. It took a moment to realize that while the calfskin might fool the buffalo with their poor eyesight, the wolf would perceive it quite differently. Here was a calf which was not quite right, which appeared misshapen, which moved oddly—
aiee
, he had suddenly become the quarry!

It was tempting simply to stand up, jerk the calfskin aside, and flap it at the wolf to drive it away. Surely, it would not attack a man standing upright. But there were some doubts. What effect would this action have on the buffalo? He must do something quickly. The hunter was so close that he could see the glitter of the yellow eyes as it crept forward on its belly. At any moment now, it would make its rush.

Then the idea came. He was pretending to be a calf… what would a calf do? There was no time to stop and consider. He raised his head toward the herd and let out a bleat of terror as he began to scramble away.

The effect was, to say the least, startling. At least six or seven cows answered his bleat with a protective motherly call, even as they charged forward. For a moment, Elk was sure he had made a fatal error. Even if he escaped the wolf’s rush, he seemed in danger of being trampled by the defensive action. He turned toward the wolf, who now
seemed confused. It appeared about to rush at him but seemed to reconsider, then turned to retreat. The cows thundered past Elk on each side, brushing close and kicking up dirt in his face but avoiding injury to him.

The confused wolf barely made its escape, turning on an extra burst of speed to elude the horns of the leading cow. Elk watched it retreat over the hill, tail between its legs. He in turn retreated, before the return of the cows, to rejoin his father on the rise.

“Aiee!”
greeted White Buffalo, his eyes bright with excitement. “Elk, you have done well. You will be a great medicine man!”

Small Elk untied the thongs, removed the calfskin, and stood erect, working the stiffness out of his back.

“Thank you, Father!”

It was the greatest compliment his father had ever given him.

“Of course,” White Buffalo added as they turned toward home, “you take too many chances.”

Part II
The Winds of Change

I
n later years, it would be referred to as the Year-of-No-Rain. There was no apparent reason, though there were many theories. The older members of the band were only too ready with accusatory explanations, with much clucking of tongues and wagging of heads. No one was certain exactly what taboo had been broken. As far as could be determined, no one had committed such a blatant transgression as eating bear meat. Surely the breaking of personal, private vows would not bring misfortune on the entire band, though that was a possibility.

The greening was not satisfactory. White Buffalo studied the sparse growth day after day, shaking his head and muttering to himself. The People grew restless and complained against the holy man. The prairie burned, though White Buffalo warned that it was not good. It was never determined how the fire started. It may have been from natural causes. It was possible, some pointed out, for sparks from the stones in the grass to ignite the grass. However, that usually occurred only under the trampling hooves of running animals, and there had been few. More commonly, spears of real-fire would ignite the dry prairie grasses, but again, Rain Maker had not come, with or without his spears of real-fire.

There was one frightening theory that Rain Maker was dead and would never come again. This was discussed only in whispers because it was apparent that without rain, the grass would not grow, and the buffalo would have nothing to eat, would disappear. Then the People would die.

Regarding the fires, most people suspected that someone, tired of waiting for the holy man’s proclamation, had fired the dead grass on his own. That too was seldom discussed publicly. It was a serious infraction, if true, and the
council must decide punishment. It would be far preferable if the rains would come, greening the prairie and restoring the season to normal. That would remove the problem and the council’s need to act.

But the rains did not come. Neither did the buffalo. The People were reduced to hunting rabbits and squirrels. They had already made great inroads on the dogs, having eaten far more than would have normally been consumed by the Moon of Growing. There were barely enough dogs left to carry or drag the baggage when the time arrived to move the camp.

There was an increasing mutter of discontent against the medicine men for their inaction. It was tempting to perform the rain ceremony, but White Buffalo was quite definite in his stand: It was not the time to do so.

“Tell me, Elk,” he asked his assistant privately, “have you seen any of the signs of rain?”

“No, Father, but maybe…”

“Ah, this is one of the hardest things,” White Buffalo said sadly, “to wait until the right time. Look, Elk, we burn only when the signs are right?”

“That is true, Father.”

“You would not dance the ceremony for the buffalo when there is snow on the ground?”

“Of course not.”

“Ah, and we do not dance for rain when there is no chance at all. Our ceremonies must be within possibility, or we fail and lose our respect.”

“But, Father, we are losing it now.”

“Yes, my son, but when the rains do come, it is restored. If we say now, It will not rain,’ the People will be angry, but they will know we are right. Then, when times are good again, they will say
‘Aiee
, the medicine of White Buffalo is good! He was right about the rain!’”

Small Elk nodded, not totally convinced.

“Our visions,” White Buffalo continued, “must tell things as they
are
, not as we wish them to be.”

Early in the Moon of Roses, the council decided not to attend the Sun Dance and the Big Council. The Southern band was tired, frustrated, and weak from lack of supplies. It was doubtful that they could make the journey. A runner was sent to take the message to the other bands, and returned in due course, tired and thin. There would be no
Sun Dance, he reported. All the bands were in trouble because the drought was widespread. The Mountain band had not been heard from, but it was assumed that they too were experiencing problems. It seemed likely that their solution would be to pull back farther into the mountains instead of coming onto the plain as usual.

Later, many of the People tried to blame the problems of the Year-of-No-Rain on the fact that there was no Sun Dance. That, of course, confused cause and effect. There was no Sun Dance
because
the People were already suffering from the worst season in the memory of the oldest of the band. Still, in later years, the story became confused with the retelling.

There was one puzzling question that was never really resolved. Where had the buffalo gone? If they were not here or in the areas of the other bands, then
where?
Again, fanciful explanations suggested that they had gone back down the hole in the earth, from where they came at the time of Creation.

The Southern band did move, in the Moon of Thunder, though in truth there was no thunder. There was no rain, and the water dried up in the stream on which they were camped. Despite the fact that the People were really too weak to make the move, they must find water or die.

There were several favorite springs in the Sacred Hills, but it was unsure whether they would remain productive in a year that was worse then any other in memory. White Buffalo studied the yearly paintings on the old Story Skins, and found no record of a worse year. He recommended that rather than risk the reliability of the springs, it would be safer to travel in the other direction, a bit farther, to reach one of the larger rivers. Though he said nothing at the time, he confided later to Small Elk that in part, he had considered the possibility that the People could eat fish.

“Aiee! Fish?”
Small Elk exclaimed.

It was known that some of the tribes who lived along the streams ate fish regularly, but it was not an acceptable thing for the People.