The Changing Wind (27 page)

Mouse loosed his arrow, and the cries of approval indicated another successful shot. Several ran toward the target to retrieve arrows while Mouse followed, pausing to fit another arrow to his bow.

At first, White Buffalo thought, in his sleepy state, that his eyes were deceiving him. But, no! There were shadowy
figures flitting among the dogwood behind the target. He sat upright, wide awake now, ready to sound the alarm. Maybe it was only some of the dogs from the camp. Then he noticed the figure of a man crouching behind a bush only a few steps beyond the target. Even as his mind tried to interpret the message from his eyes, the man rose, part of a concerted rush. One of the girls screamed as a painted warrior sprinted toward her. Two other enemies were equally close, swinging the dreaded stone axes. More were visible among the bushes.

There was complete confusion. Some of the young men of the People had actually left their weapons behind when they ran to the target. One of the most arrogant braggarts, a popular youth called Red Hawk, turned with a squeal of terror and ran like a rabbit. An arrow came searching after him but missed.

Amid all of the terror and danger there was one who seemed to remain calm. Mouse dropped to one knee, took aim, and calmly drove an arrow into the chest of a charging Head Splitter. Surprise was evident on the man’s face as he fell forward from his own momentum, driving the arrow on through, to jut upward from his lifeless back. Mouse roared a slightly high-pitched version of the gutteral war cry of the People and reached for another arrow. The Head Splitters paused. They had not expected resistance from these mere children.

“Fight!” yelled Mouse to his companions. “Shoot!”

He released another arrow, wounding a warrior who turned to cripple away, clutching at a bleeding arm.

A slim girl stepped forward to pick up the ax dropped by Mouse’s first victim and turned to defend herself. The man who had almost reached to seize her now stopped, confused. His hesitation was his undoing. An arrow from the bow of one of the other youths struck him in the side. As he turned, trying to pluck away the offending shaft, the girl stepped forward and swung her captured ax.

“After them!” cried Mouse.

The fleeing youths turned to join the pursuit. Mouse sounded the war cry again. Now there were answering war cries from the camp, and warriors came pouring out to assist. The Head Splitters were in full retreat, leaving three dead and others carrying arrows in wounds of varying severity.

“Enough!” shouted Hump Ribs as he and the others caught up with the fight. “Do not go farther. It is too dangerous.”

The young men began to withdraw, talking excitedly.

“We did it! We drove off the Head Splitters!”

“Is anyone hurt?” asked Hump Ribs.

Quickly, they looked from one to the other.

“No, we are all here,” Red Hawk announced.

“Good,” Hump Ribs answered. “What happened?”

“They came out of the bushes!”

“That one nearly grabbed Oak Leaf!”

Everyone was talking at once. White Buffalo had made his way down the slope in time to hear his impressions verified.

“Mouse killed that one,” Oak Leaf said admiringly. “He turned the attack on them.”

The others nodded.

“Who sounded the war cry?” asked Hump Ribs.

“Mouse,” said several at once.

Hump Ribs looked over at White Buffalo, who nodded agreement.

“I was on the slope there,” he told Hump Ribs later.
“Aiee
, that one is a fighter! He saved us from losses today. Our Mouse, it seems, speaks with a loud voice.”

There was a celebration that evening in honor of the victory. The dances reenacted the events of the day—the first arrow from Mouse’s bow, the turning of the fight, and the defeat of the Head Splitters. There was no immediate danger of counterattack. It was well known that Head Splitters avoided fighting at night. Their fear was that a spirit crossing over as it left a dying body would become lost in the darkness to wander forever. Thus there would be no attack tonight. Probably not at all. The attackers had been severely punished.

The hero of the day, of course, was Mouse, who was rather embarrassed by all the attention, though proud. Partway through the celebration, Hump Ribs stood by the fire to make a proclamation.

“We will move camp in two days. But for now, we celebrate.”

He beckoned Mouse forward, and everyone shouted approval.

“Our young Mouse,” Hump Ribs announced, “has done
well. He has shown bravery and gathered honors. Ours is not a timid mouse, but a Mouse That Roars!”

The crowd shouted with approving laughter.

“Mouse Roars!” someone cried.

The young man had acquired a new name, one that honored his bravery and would commemorate his deeds forever.

“It is good!” stated Hump Ribs. “You shall be Mouse Roars!”

The celebration continued, but White Buffalo and Crow Woman made their way back to their lodge.

“You were right about this young man,” Crow said as they prepared for sleep. “He is a leader.”

“That is true,” acknowledged White Buffalo.

“Then why do you not seem more pleased, my husband?”

White Buffalo did not respond at once.

“Is something wrong?” Crow finally asked.

“No, not really,” he answered wearily.

He was tired from the excitement of the day and the celebration. The throb of the dance-drums still sounded across the camp, and the chant of happy, triumphant songs echoed the cadence. He had been excited, but now in the aftermath he felt old and tired again. There was a disappointment that he did not quite understand in the thrill of victory.

Grow Woman snuggled close to him under the robes.

“Elk, is there something that the others do not know?”

“Maybe. Gray Wolf was one of those I saw. He tried to get his warriors to turn and fight.”

“But that is nothing new.”

“Yes, I know. But, today was not the end, only another fight.”

“Yes, my husband. It has always been so.”

“That is a bad one, that Gray Wolf,” he said, almost to himself.

“But what…”

“I do not know, Crow. I am made to think he will become more of a problem than ever, and for a long time.”

“Is there something we must do?”

“I think not. This is ours to live with.”

“But what of Mouse? Mouse Roars.” She chuckled in the flickering firelight.
“Aiee
, he has proved himself!”

Suddenly, White Buffalo realized what it was that was bothering him, causing his depression.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “He has proved himself. But now I cannot ask him to be my apprentice.”

“Why not?” asked the astonished Crow Woman.

“I saw him today, when he ‘roared.’
Aiee
, that was something to see! The others were running in fear, and he turned it into victory.”

“But then—” Crow interrupted, but he waved her to silence.

“That is it, Crow. He is a leader. But that sort of leader. He might make a great medicine man, but the People need him as a warrior, a chief who can stand and fight the Head Splitters. Mouse Roars can do that.”

He fell silent, and Crow was silent too for a little while. Finally she spoke.

“Then we look some more.”

“Yes.”

Mouse Roars never knew that he had been considered, and the dejected White Buffalo continued to search in the Rabbit Society for the next holy man.

T
he girl was tall and well formed, and moved with a confident grace. Her walk reminded White Buffalo of the gentle sway of willows in a summer breeze or perhaps the nodding of heavy seedheads on the real-grass in the Moon of Ripening. It was not a seductive walk. At least, not intentionally, he thought, as he watched her at the games and contests. But it would be difficult for any man to watch her and not see the beauty of her body. Part of that beauty was that she appeared unaware of its effect on men. She used her long legs well in the contests of running, jumping, and swimming. She handled the bow with equal skill.

White Buffalo found it necessary to overlook her grace and beauty, and concentrate on her spirit. That, after all, was the thing which had caused Crow to notice the girl and to suggest that she would be one to observe.

Crow seemed determined to see that a woman would at least be considered. Certainly White Buffalo had no objection. His only reservation was that it would be a greater sacrifice for a woman.

He was impressed immediately with this young woman. Big-Footed Woman, she was called. Not that her feet were exceptionally large. True, they were ample, but a tall woman must have long feet to carry her longer frame. The reason for such a name, it appeared, was her skill in the athletic contests. Her strides, her accomplishments, were great, bigger than most. Her feet carried her well. As a thinker might be said to have large thoughts, so were this young woman’s feet in deeds of speed and skill. Yet her deeds were also those of spirit and thought, White Buffalo noted. He recalled that it had been Big-Footed Woman who had grasped the fallen Head Splitter’s ax and helped to repulse the invaders. A cool head. And confidence. Not
over
confident but secure in the knowledge of her own skills.
Mature
, that was it. The girl seemed to hâve wisdom beyond her years.

“She reminds me of you at that age,” he told Crow Woman.

“Aiee!”
Crow laughed. “I was not so pretty or so athletic. Besides, that was when you did not like me, so how would you know?”

“I was talking of her spirit,” he began.

Then he saw that she was teasing him. There was no way that he could win this discussion.

“Woman,” he snarled with a terrible grimace, “you test my patience!”

He threatened to tickle her, and she retreated, still laughing. Finally they tired of the game, and she turned to the fire where a stew of corn, beans, and dried meat bubbled in the pit. Crow removed a cooking stone with her willow tongs and deposited it in the coals, replacing it with a freshly heated one. The stew hissed and subsided to quiet bubbling again.

“Elk,” she said thoughtfully as she came to sit beside him, “it is good that you see good things in this girl’s spirit. I think she has the gift.”

“This may be,” he agreed. “Let us observe her a little longer, and then I will talk to her. Your feel for the spirit is good, Crow. You could have done this.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I think so. I knew it then, but I would rather have borne your children.”

A tear formed at the corner of her eye, and she brushed it away.

“You knew,” White Buffalo said sadly, “and you rejected the gift, for me. Now you have neither.”

“No, no, Elk. I have you. I have helped with
your
gift. I would do so again, to be with you.”

They sat, leaning together, enjoying the warm comfort of touching, until suddenly Crow sat upright.

“Aiee!” she
said, “I am neglecting my cooking. The stew will be cold.”

She began bustling around, busily attending the cooking pit which needed little attention.

*  *  *

The Southern band had settled into winter camp now. Crow and White Buffalo had continued to observe Big-Footed Woman and continued to be pleased. The girl was quick and observant, thoughtful of others. Already she was assisting with teaching the first dance-steps to the tiny beginners in the Rabbit Society. She was popular, but in a different way. Friends seemed to come to her for advice and counsel. There were others who appeared destined for leadership, but this one’s role seemed different. Perhaps her maturity lent itself well to helpful friendship, and her warm wisdom was appreciated by her peers.

“It is good,” White Buffalo observed to Crow. “This one will learn well and has the spirit to use her gifts wisely.”

Still, it was a long time before they approached her. White Buffalo must be very sure, certain that his choice was a good one. Eventually, Crow Woman issued the invitation.

“The holy man, my husband, wishes to talk to you. Will you cometo our lodge?”

The girl seemed surprised but quickly regained her composure.

“Of course, Mother. But what could he want of me?”

“He will tell you.”

“When? Now?”

“As you wish, child. There is nothing urgent in this.”

The sunny smile that they had noticed lighted the girl’s face.

“Then let us go now,” Big-Footed Woman suggested. “I would not keep the holy man waiting.”

Pleased, Crow led the way to their lodge.

The girl’s eyes were wide with wonder as White Buffalo questioned her about her thoughts and feelings about the matter at hand.

“You mean, Uncle” she finally blurted in astonishment, “that
I
might have such a gift, a gift of the spirit?”

“Why not, my child? You are wise beyond your years, and you know many things. I am made to think that you
do
have the gift of vision, of the spirit.”

“Aiee!
What must I do, Uncle?”

“That is your choice,” he said simply. “One may refuse the gift. Some do, for the trail is hard. There is much to learn, much responsibility. It
is
quite permissible to say.”