The Elk-Dog Heritage (18 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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As the time
for the council drew near, the celebration was already starting. White Buffalo was strutting through the village, resplendent in his paint and finery. He was only too ready to accept the congratulations and to take credit for the astonishing turn of events.
Heads Off wondered if the medicine man himself had actually believed his predictions. From an objective view, it had been a shrewd thing to do. If the band survived it would be remembered that the signs had been favorable, and the strength of White Buffalo's medicine would gain in prestige. If not, it would hardly matter. The Elk-dog band of the People would be dead, along with all memory of the medicine man's favorable prediction.
The young chief had boundless admiration for the ability of the medicine man to manipulate each ensuing situation. Invariably, White Buffalo could maneuver so that his prestige was increased and his medicine made stronger.
Heads Off had once asked his father-in-law about this. Coyote merely shrugged.
“Who knows? White Buffalo is a good medicine man.”
In this present instance, Heads Off strongly suspected that, having nothing to lose and all to gain, the old man had simply chosen to give the favorable report. Yet, he had seemed genuinely surprised when he cast the stones. Had that, too, been a part of the charade?
No matter, the young man finally decided. Coyote had summed up the situation nicely.
“White Buffalo is a good medicine man.”
Perhaps the entire mystery was encompassed in that one observation. Heads Off shrugged to himself. No matter. He would never know.
Long Elk, Standing Bird, and a few of the Bloods had now returned from a cautious scout of the area. The Head Splitters had really departed for good, it seemed. In their haste, the enemy had left most of the supplies in their abandoned camp. There was even one usable lodge, the scouting party reported, and many lodge poles.
They had quickly gathered all the loose elk-dogs they could. Driving these animals and carrying what supplies of food they were able, the scouts returned just before dark, laughing and singing in triumph.
Now, as the council began to gather, the pleasant smell of cooking fires drifted gently through the camp. There would be much feasting throughout the night. By tradition, the People were accustomed to hunger or plenty, depending on the outcome of the hunt. Now, with food available from the enemy's stores, there was no question as to what should be done. It was time for a feast.
But first, the council. Heads Off passed the pipe, taking care to see that it was offered to Red Dog, as leader of the Bloods. When it was returned after completion of the circle, and replaced in the pipe-case, the chief finally spoke.
“It makes us happy to welcome the return of our brothers, the Bloods. We are one People again!”
He had never heard such a murmur, almost a shout, of approval in council since he had joined the People. It was a few moments before he could be heard again.
“Now,” he was finally able to continue, “we must make plans. It is nearly time for the Sun Dance.”
More subdued, formal discussion now circled the council fire. There was much to do. There were the dead to care for. Most
families wished to salvage lodge poles and whatever else offered from the enemy camp before preparing to travel.
The second sun was chosen as time for departure. It was short notice, but the Elk-dog band would very possibly be late for the Sun Dance now.
The Bloods, it was decided, would comb the area for more elk-dogs while the camp prepared to move. The scouts had seen many other animals on the brief foray just before dark, and they would be badly needed.
As the council drew near a close, Red Dog requested permission to speak.
“My chief,” he began, obviously tense, “our hearts are happy for our return, but what of the Big Council?”
There was silence for a long moment, then a subdued whisper in the circle. Many of the People had not foreseen this issue.
“Will we be allowed in the Big Council?”
Now there was a murmur of discussion. The Elk-dog band, owing their lives to the Blood Society, had warmly welcomed them back. However, they now must come face-to-face with the ruling of the Big Council, which would supersede any decisions of individual bands.
Heads Off had placed this problem out of his mind, hesitant to face such a thing. After all, these were the warriors who had defied the Council of Chiefs. They had, in fact, walked out of the Big Council, scorning all tribal authority. This was a far more delicate matter than it appeared.
Individual arguments were starting around the periphery of the circle. Heads Off recognized Coyote's request to speak.
“My chief,” the little man spoke with a comic-serious expression, “this is a matter for the Big Council to decide. For now, I am hungry! Let us not use for argument time that could be spent in eating and dancing!”
The council dissolved in good-natured laughter, and someone began to warm and tune a drum by the fire.
It had been a shrewd way to postpone a knotty problem, Heads Off thought. Once again he admired Coyote's skill in council. Even so, he knew the problem was only postponed. He was unsure what measures would be necessary, whether punishment would be forthcoming. He would have to discuss it with Coyote. Ultimately, he supposed, it would be up to the Big Council, what should be done with the Bloods.
He was still concerned, but managed to forget in the excitement of the celebration. The People ate, danced until it seemed they must drop, then ate and rested and started again. Heads Off found that he was the recipient of much honor as leader of the Elk-dog band. He felt that his was no great credit, that mostly good fortune was involved. He looked over to where White Buffalo was accepting homage for his astute predictions and felt somewhat better.
The Seven Hunters and the Real-star were growing pale in the pre-dawn sky before the People shuffled tiredly to their lodges.
Tall One kissed her husband and drew him close, in the warm darkness under their sleeping robes.
“I am very proud, my husband.”
“But I did nothing.”
“You have led the People to victory. All is good for the future.”
In the deep shadows of the woods,
kookooskoos
, the great hunting owl, called to his mate.
Heads Off snuggled closer and relaxed, more content than for many moons. White Buffalo had been right, he decided. The signs were good.
Sun Boy's torch
rose next morning on a band of weary but enthusiastic People. Preparations for departure were already under way. The wailing lament of the Mourning Song hovered over the camp, even as preparations proceeded. This was always a tense and jarring experience for Heads Off. The People said goodbye noisily, with wives and mothers of the deceased smearing themselves with dirt and ashes, sometimes continuing the wailing for several days. One young wife gashed her forearms deeply with her flint knife. Blood mingled with dust and tears as she wrapped the body of her husband for burial.
Heads Off wandered through the camp, attempting to say a few words to each bereaved family. He felt clumsy about it, but it would be expected of him, as leader, that he acknowledge each loss in person.
He encountered Frog Woman, the mother of Badger. The Bloods had brought the young man's body from the hill, and the old woman was engaged in the mourning ritual. She had no one else, Heads Off reminded himself. Her husband was dead, and she existed only with the help of her brother's family. How difficult this past year must have been for her. The young chief was embarrassed that he had not realized this before. What could one say?
“I am sorry, Mother.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.
The old woman gave no sign that she was even aware of his presence. She only continued to rock back and forth, wailing the
Mourning Song. Heads Off walked slowly away, uncomfortable over the episode. But what could he have said or done?
Coyote fell in beside him, observing his discomfiture.
“It is good, Heads Off. Frog Woman only wishes to be alone.”
Yes, Heads Off finally realized. The woman has not only lost her son, but she must know that he was nearly the cause of the death of the entire band. Hers was not a happy lot. Heads Off was almost tempted to turn back, to try to let her know that he understood, but decided against it.
A large party moved out to the abandoned enemy camp for salvage, with a few mounted warriors providing security. Another group of the Elk-dog warriors scattered over the prairie, gathering all possible horses. Some animals had been abandoned, others had escaped from the Head Splitters in the confusion, and still others had become riderless when their warriors were unseated in battle. Several were found still wearing skin saddle pads and trailing broken reins. All these animals were gathered and herded into the protected meadow next to the camp, where young men maintained constant watch to prevent strays.
Shortly after the overhead portion of Sun Boy's journey, all the captured horses were herded together, and the People assembled. Coyote had made suggestions in private to his son-in-law.
“Each family will choose an elk-dog until all are gone,” Heads Off announced. “Those who have none come first.”
One family at a time, the People moved forward, looked over the available animals, and made their choices. As soon as everyone had at least one animal, the sequence began again, until each horse was the property of someone.
The crowd scattered, some to try out their new acquisitions, some to barter, but many simply to prepare for the move. It would be difficult to assemble and pack each family's belongings by the next sunrise, but it was absolutely necessary.
Already it was well into the Moon of Growing. The Elk-dog band would arrive late for the Sun Dance. It would, in fact, be necessary to send a messenger to announce their impending arrival, but that could come later, when the band was nearer their destination. It would take many suns to reach the Salt River, the appointed site for the Sun Dance.
Closer at hand, they must pause in travel to join the wives and families of the Blood Society, now two suns away. The Growers with whom they were camped lived almost in the line of march, and it would be little trouble to detour in that direction.
Heads Off had considered for a moment sending the Bloods to bring their families to join the band as they traveled. He rejected that plan. It was too risky to divide his force again. The Head Splitters, smarting from defeat, would be unpredictable and dangerous.
The People were moving next morning before full daylight, packing and stowing goods in their rawhide carriers. There were enough elk-dogs to carry the depleted possessions of the band, and to drag all the extra lodge poles salvaged from the enemy. Since most of the range of the People was nearly devoid of timber, good lodge poles could be prized possessions. They could be kept until enough skins for new lodge covers were available.
Heads Off rode to the rim of the hill to watch the caravan move out. In the lead were Long Elk and Red Dog, followed by the first of the family units, pulling their lodge cover on a pole-drag. It was a perfectly orderly exit, leaving behind the usual debris of a campsite. It appeared, however, that there was somewhat less remaining trash than usual. The People were in no position to throw away a pair of worn-out moccasins or a tattered garment. This year they would be worn.
He looked across the tops of the oaks in the woods below him, and at the pleasantly sparkling stream. How close this place
had come to being the final campsite for them all. He had never expected to watch again the straggling column move across the prairie to their next camp.
This would be a place important in the history of the People. Already he had heard the site called “Bloods' River” by someone, in recognition of the amazing charge that had turned certain defeat into victory.
White Buffalo was already planning the pictograph for the Story Skins, he had told the chief. It would show horses impaling themselves on a barrier of spears, and Blood warriors charging from the hill to strike the enemy. It would be a magnificent thing to depict. This would be known in the future, the medicine man said, as “the year we ate elk-dogs.”
And that, Heads Off reminded himself, would be considerably better than “the year the Elk-dog band was wiped out.”
He lifted the reins and touched the mare gently forward to rejoin the band.
Three of the
Bloods had ridden ahead to carry the news to the families at the Growers' village. It was found that they had already heard the news of the battle. The prairie grapevine was swift.
A small band of retreating Head Splitters had stopped to trade for supplies, and had told the story to the Growers. They believed that they had been attacked by the entire tribe of the People, at least by several bands. They recounted the charge from the hill, and that from the camp, and stated that they had been forced to retreat because they were outnumbered.
The Growers were noncommittal. They traded with all other tribes, and their somewhat precarious existence depended on the goodwill of all the hunting groups. Some black glances were thrown toward the families of the Bloods by the Head Splitters, but no overt action was taken. By tradition, one must not attack an enemy or his family or possessions while they are guests of a friendly tribe. To do so would be the worst sort of an affront to their hosts, the Growers. The Bloods' families were quite safe.
Their presence, however, did result in the early departure of the Head Splitters. They had no desire to be in the area when the People came back for their families.
The wives of the Bloods, meanwhile, were almost frantic with worry. They knew there would surely have been casualties. Which of them would have lost a husband or brother? They could only wait, and try to keep busy until they received word. They gathered
in groups of three or four, and in tense voices talked about almost anything else to distract them.
The circumstances of the men's departure had been rather unsettling. There had been arguing and dissension. Many of the Bloods had long since realized what most of the wives already knew. To leave the tribe to follow Badger had been a very foolish thing. It was pure good fortune that the little band had not encountered the enemy and been annihilated.
They had temporarily camped to trade with the village of Growers when rumors began to trickle in telling of a coming battle. The Elk-dog band of the People, it was said, were under attack by the Head Splitters, and were about to be overrun.
Most of the Bloods were eager to join the fight, but their leader dissented. Badger, still smarting from the humiliation of the Big Council, smoldered with resentment. He refused to consider such a move, pointing out that the Bloods were no longer a part of the People. If Heads Off and his band were in trouble, so be it. That was the problem of Heads Off, not of the Bloods.
Perhaps it was Badger's repeated references to the young hair-faced chief that began to turn the tide of opinion. All the young warriors present had been taught by Heads Off, and respected his elk-dog medicine. He had been hard, but fair, and none could hold any animosity toward him as their teacher.
When Red Dog finally announced that he was going, nearly every warrior joined him. Badger ranted and swore, at first forbidding anyone to go. Then, seeing he could not prevent it, he eventually joined the war party, all the while advising, complaining, and threatening.
That was the situation when the women had last seen them. It had been apparent that Badger's leadership was slipping, and that an uneasy feeling permeated the Bloods that perhaps their leader's position had not been logical from the first. There were
certainly many who deplored the killing of Sees Far, even though it may have been justified.
So, the waiting women at the village of the Growers had many unanswered questions. They did not know whether their men had taken part in the battle. They were forced to assume so because of the Head Splitters' description of great numbers, but how many of them had participated? Had the band split yet again?
With great relief they saw three of their warriors ride in the following evening.
“Badger and Heron are dead,” Red Dog told the waiting women. “The rest will be here tomorrow.”
The wife of Badger now began the Mourning Song, joined in sympathy by some of the other women. Heron, a lanky youth from the Mountain band, had had no relatives among the Bloods.
“Are there wounded?” a girl asked timidly.
Red Dog nodded. “Yes, but not badly.” Quickly he recounted the story.
“
Aiee
,” exclaimed a pregnant young woman. “Our men are with the Elk-dog band? Are we able to return to the People?”
“We do not know,” answered Red Dog seriously. “The Elk-dog band has made us welcome, but it must come before the Big Council.”
In the minds of most, this seemed a more important concern than the loss of their leader. Badger had become so irrational at times that there were those who privately felt a great sense of relief at his demise.
“Then we will go the Sun Dance?” someone was asking.
Red Dog nodded. “We must be ready to move. The Elk-dog band will be here tomorrow.”
The group scattered to begin preparations for the journey. The prospect was a happy one. A chance to see friends and relatives again, even temporarily, was a great lift to the spirit.
Red Dog made his way to his own lodge, where he and his young wife talked at great length. He was excited and optimistic. He was somewhat uneasy about the Big Council, but Red Dog had a better feeling than at any time since they left the Sun Dance last year.

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