The Changing Wind (29 page)

There were other questions, about things of the spirit. Over a period of time, White Buffalo came to look forward to Coyote’s visits. Then came a day when the holy man reached a startling conclusion. He was actually covering information in these sessions that he had taught before. These were the things he had been teaching to Big-Footed Woman. Ah, he thought, of course! Here is a young couple who can work together, as Crow and I do. The spirit-force is strong in both.
Aiee
, what a wonder that he had not seen it before! This Coyote, who was already beginning to learn, could be his apprentice. Yes, of course! He, White Buffalo, would begin at once to teach them. The only thing that still stood in the way was Coyote’s agreement. He could be asked at his next visit.

Crow Woman was not so certain.

“He may not wish to do so,” she warned.

“Of course he will,” White Buffalo scoffed. “Look at him, the questions he asks. Already, he understands many things. Things of the spirit. Crow, this is the one! Big-Footed Woman came to bring him to us. It is meant to be!”

When the two young people next came to the lodge, White Buffalo could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. As soon as possible, he contrived to draw Coyote aside.

“Let us walk,” he suggested.

The two men strolled out of the camp toward the crest of a low rise a little distance away. Coyote asked his usual questions, his casual manner concealing his depth of thought and the solemn character of the inquiries.

“Uncle, the People do not eat bears, but some others do. Why?”

“Because… well, that is our way.”

“Yes, Uncle. But
why
is it our way?”

“It has always been so, since Creation.”

Coyote walked in silence a little way. He appeared to realize that questions like this could irritate the holy man.

“Some were told to eat bears at Creation, but we were told
not
to do so?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes,” White Buffalo stated crisply. “It is the way of things.”

“What would happen if one of the People
did
eat bear meat, Uncle?”

“That would bring very bad happenings.”

“On the eater, or on the People?”

“Both, maybe.
Aiee
, Coyote, you ask questions that are too serious. Only after much instruction—”

White Buffalo paused, aware that he was about to imply too much. He tried to relax and remain calm.

“But let us not speak of bears, my son,” he said in a kindly voice. “Your questions do, however, remind me of why I asked you to walk with me.”

Coyote interrupted briefly to point to a pair of young foxes a bowshot away, rolling and playing like puppies in the sun.

“Yes,” White Buffalo nodded, smiling in spite of himself. He was slightly irritated by the distraction. But, this very character of young Coyote, the inquisitive observation, was the very thing that made him a likely apprentice.

“Coyote, let me speak with you of a serious matter. Here, sit.”

He pointed to a ledge of white stone near the rim of the hill, and the two men sat down. White Buffalo hurried into his subject, before some other sight or sound could distract young Coyote.

“I am made to think,” he began cautiously, “that you have the gift of the spirit. I could teach you my medicine, you and Big-Footed Woman, to use for the People, after me.”

Coyote was silent for a little while and looked unusually serious.

“You would allow
me
to learn your medicine, Uncle?”

“Of course. That is what I am suggesting.”

“I thought you did not even like me.”

White Buffalo brushed this aside.

“I was offended when you stole my apprentice. But now you bring me another. Yourself. You have the gift. Now, when do you plan your marriage?”

“I… I do not know, Uncle.”

“Well, no matter. We will continue instruction, and when that happens, so be it!”

Coyote appeared troubled.

“Uncle… I am pleased that you think well of me and would take me as apprentice, but…”

“Wait!” White Buffalo said quickly. “You do not need to give an answer now. Think about it; talk with your wife-to-be.”

“I have thought already, Uncle. I cannot do this.”

“But…” the holy man sputtered, “you have the gift; you love the learning… you could be a great holy man.”

“That is true,” Coyote stated, with no modesty whatever, “but the task is too hard. No, I do not want to take the responsibility. I must refuse the gift.”

White Buffalo stared at him in amazement. Slowly, the realization dawned.

“You
knew,”
he said in astonishment.

“Of course. I have known for a long time,” Coyote said calmly. “And I knew that I must refuse. My way is not to work that hard. Maybe it is like bearmeat, Uncle. Some eat it, some do not. And I am made to think that I should not do this.”

White Buffalo stared at the younger man. He felt a strange mixture of emotions. Surprise, anger, disappointment. He argued, cajoled, almost pleaded, but Coyote was firm.

How ironic, thought White Buffalo. He had searched for years, almost but never quite finding an apprentice worthy to become his successor. Now he had found one who seemed already to have the gift of the spirit and to recognize it. How tragic to have him then reject it.

Coyote rose and stretched.

“No, Uncle,” he said. “I am honored, but it is not to be. I am not a White Buffalo. I am only Coyote, the laugher on the hills and the teller of small jokes.”

Part III
Two Medicines

W
hite Buffalo sat in the sun in front of his lodge and leaned against the willow backrest. The years had continued to pass more swiftly, and he had still found no successor to whom he could teach his medicine. It was still a worry to him, but he had nearly decided that this was meant to be. Through the passing of the seasons, year after year, he had searched, but no suitable apprentice had been found. The likeliest would have been Coyote, although his wife, Big-Footed Woman, could easily have been the one. But both had rejected the gift, and they had married.

Aiee
, that seemed only a short while ago, but it was many years. Their lodge had several children, and the eldest were now of fifteen or sixteen winters. That seemed hardly possible. How could it be, when he, White Buffalo felt no different? He had sometimes felt old then, and he did now, sometimes. At these times he worried more about a successor, but the years had numbed his anxiety about it. Maybe the Southern band was simply destined not to have a holy man… or woman. That would be unfortunate, but in the long view, it probably made no difference. If the Southern band died out entirely, time would go on. One band had been destroyed many generations ago and was now remembered only by the empty space in the council circle.

At first, when Coyote had rejected the gift of the spirit, White Buffalo had been furious, then hurt. It was some time before the holy man had been able to converse with Coyote without becoming angry all over again. Slowly, however, he had been able to realize that the decision had been Coyote’s to make. He was helped greatly in this by the wisdom of Crow and Big-Footed Woman.

Slowly, he came to tolerate, even appreciate, the presence
of Coyote. In a year or so, the two men had become close friends. There was a great difference in their ages, but this was more than overcome by the communication of their spirits. Coyote continued to have a vast respect for the knowledge and skill of the holy man. White Buffalo, in turn, increasingly appreciated the whimsical wisdom of Coyote. The young man had an uncanny knack of cutting cleanly through to the heart of any matter. But it was done in an unassuming, jocular way. No one could take offense.

White Buffalo noticed this especially when Coyote would speak in council. These occasions were rare, because the young man was not inclined to venture opinions. Usually, his comments were phrased in the form of questions, allowing others to think that they had thought of the solution themselves. It was a strange but quite effective form of leadership.

One incident was fixed in White Buffalo’s memory. There had been a heated discussion over the move to winter camp. The weather had remained warm and pleasant, and the hunting was good. There was much reluctance to move yet, though it should have been time to go. Hump Ribs, unwilling to risk an unpopular decision, had called a council. The discussion was going poorly, popular opinion leaning against the wisdom of an immediate move. Finally Hump Ribs, frustrated by the opposition, had looked around the circle.

“Coyote,” he said, “you have not spoken.”

Coyote looked startled, as if he had been roused from half-sleep.

“What?” he stammered. “Oh, I was listening to the geese.”

He pointed overhead, and in the sudden silence could be heard the honking cries of southbound flocks.

“How do they know,” Coyote asked, as if to himself, “when Cold Maker is coming?”

There was a murmur, and the discussion was resumed, but the tone was different. Coyote’s simple question, actually a diversion, had put the problem into its proper place. White Buffalo chuckled to himself. Soon the vote had turned, and the question was not whether to move but how soon. No one seemed to realize that the tide of opinion had been turned by Coyote’s simple ploy.
But Hump Ribs knows
, thought the holy man.
He did this intentionally
This observation pleased White Buffalo greatly. It showed the skill and wisdom of the chief, and of young Coyote.

Through the years, this odd combination of leadership and wisdom had worked well. Probably, few people were aware of the process. Coyote was content
not
to be a leader but to help quietly to bring about that which was for the good of the band. People laughed at his droll remarks but valued his counsel and appreciated it. Their appreciation was shown by gifts of meager value. A shared haunch of meat, an extra skin. The lodge of Coyote and Big-Footed Woman was never hungry, and the mention of the name of Coyote always brought a smile.

Under the leadership of Hump Ribs, the Southern band had remained stable, neither gaining nor losing lodges. It was respected by the other bands, though others were larger and carried more prestige.

The Southern band, however, continued to be a favorite target of Head Splitter raids. The run-and-hide tactics of Hump Rib’s chieftainship had been only moderately effective. Gray Wolf had mellowed not at all and led an attack whenever opportunity offered. The enemy chief, it seemed, still held a grudge, a bitterness from long ago, when he had been shamed by Hump Ribs and the other warriors of the People.

When White Buffalo saw Coyote approaching on this pleasant summer afternoon, he perceived immediately that something was wrong. The usually placid face of Coyote was drawn with care. He approached the seated holy man and sat down, puffing just a bit from his exertion.

“Ah-koh
, Uncle,” he said.

“Ah-koh
, Coyote,” the holy man answered.

He assumed that there was a matter of some concern—probably the Head Splitters, though no one else seemed to know of it.

“There is some difficulty, my friend?” he asked.

Coyote looked at him sharply.

“Do you know of something, Uncle?”

“No. You seem concerned.”

“Oh. I do not know, Uncle. It is something to talk of. You may know some meaning.”

“Coyote, what are you talking about?”

“Strangers, Uncle. From the south. A man from one of
the Caddo tribes stopped with us this morning. I talked with him at length.”

“Are these strangers Caddo?”

“No. They are like gods, it is said. They come from far away, no one knows where. Their skins are bright and shiny, and they are many. Too many to count.”

“Aiee!
What is their purpose?”

“No one knows that either. But this Caddo said that some of his people were tortured and killed. That is why he came north.”

“To escape?”

“Yes, and to warn.”

“But why should Caddo warn people of the Tallgrass country?”