The Elk-Dog Heritage (2 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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By full darkness
,
the appointed time for the council, the village was buzzing with excitement. Many of the younger of the People were elated, singing and dancing over the success of the young warriors. Actually, some of them appeared to feel that this council was to be held in honor of the incident. They certainly appeared to expect no reprimand.
The older, more mature members of the band were reserved and quiet, understanding the gravity of the situation.
In between were the young men of the Elk-dog Society. They appeared confused. They were young and exuberant, could easily understand the sentiments of the miscreants, perhaps even admire them. Still, their rigid training into the first disciplined mounted unit on the Plains made them resent this affront to authority.
Heads Off himself was not without mixed feelings. A few years earlier, he had been one of the miscreants in a faraway military academy. He could identify with the exuberant young hotheads. Perhaps this was the very reason he was determined to stop this rebellion against authority at the outset.
The council fire had been lighted and people were filing into the area to find good seats. There was still a happy, holiday atmosphere on the part of some of the exuberant young.
Coyote knew there were problems ahead, possibly worse than they had realized, when the young warriors arrived. The three in question were accompanied by several more budding warriors, and the entire group wore facial paint. The symbolism of the
blooding ceremony was being extended. On the forehead of each member of the entire group was a broad slash of red paint.
Not that facial painting was uncommon. At the ceremonial dances the use of paint was sometimes quite ornate and spectacular. This was a different matter. This was not a ceremonial occasion. Here were young men, banding together as a group, and painted with the stark stripe of red. Unmistakably, this was intended to represent the drawing of blood. Coyote was afraid that it was also intended to represent a challenge to authority.
These things he communicated to his son-in-law as the People gathered for the council. Heads Off nodded, understanding the tension of the occasion. The ritual of council, however, was a pretty formalized thing.
The ceremonial pipe passed around the circle, each warrior blowing puffs of smoke to the four winds, to the earth and the sky. Finally, the pipe returned to the chief, and Coyote, acting as pipe bearer, restored it to its case.
Heads Off opened the council, asking for a report from the red-painted young warriors in the second row of the circle. Badger swaggered to his feet, while his followers gazed admiringly.
“My chief,” he began, “we three were hunting.” He indicated his two companions. “We came upon three Head Splitters. They were skinning an antelope, and did not even see us at first. I killed one with an arrow, one rode away, and one could not catch his horse. On that one we all counted several honors, before we finally killed. Then we blooded ourselves to honor the victory.”
Heads Off nodded. The custom of counting honors had become familiar to him. To touch a live enemy was a great show of bravery, because of the danger involved. He had reservations as to the value of honors inflicted on a helpless enemy prisoner,
but said nothing. One of the other warriors was asking permission to speak. Heads Off nodded.
“My chief,” began the man, “I would ask these young men, had you thought what the one who ran away will tell? The Head Splitters may send a war party against us!”
“Let them!” sneered the Badger. “We will show them the worth of the People!”
The older warrior looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Another man spoke.
“My chief, this is a dangerous thing. The People cannot go about in small groups looking for Head Splitters to kill.”
Badger spoke, without permission.
“Those can who are not cowards!”
A murmur of shocked surprise at such a statement ran round the circle, followed by a smaller murmur of agreement with the speaker from his companions.
“Stop!” commanded Heads Off firmly. Why, he wondered momentarily, had he ever consented to this office? “There will be no such talk! There is no question of courage. Sees Far,” he indicated the other warrior, “was with the bowmen at the Great Battle.”
“Where were you, Badger?” the soft chuckling voice of Coyote interrupted.
Badger, of course, had not yet come of manhood two seasons ago at the time of the battle. Coyote knew this full well, but used the ruse to discredit the young warrior before the council. There was a general chuckle around the circle, and Badger shot a furious look at the speaker. Coyote shrugged innocently and said nothing.
Another of the Bowstrings spoke, after receiving the chief's nod.
“My chief, it seems the council should make some laws about
this, as we do about hunting when the season is poor.”
There were many nods of agreement, and a discussion followed. At length, the matter was resolved, though not to the satisfaction of the young dissenters.
Though not actually taboo, the undertaking of a war party was to be only with the knowledge of the chief and his advisers. To ensure this, they must have the vision of the medicine man, and his assurance of success. A war party of any size without this implied consent was to be considered in violation of the law.
The voting members of the council were in unanimous agreement on the new rules. There were those, however, who did not fail to note the sneers on the faces of some of the red-painted youths. They were sullen and silent, and Coyote doubted their cooperation.
One further matter was discussed, that of enforcement. It had always been the responsibility of the Warrior Society to enforce the law. Now, with more than one society, who would be the internal police force?
After much discussion, it was decided that the Bowstrings were to assume the function. They were the older, more stable group. Offenders were more likely to respect the age and experience of an older warrior than one of the young Elk-dog warriors.
It could easily be argued the other way, Heads Off thought uneasily. There was much to be said for social pressure from one's peers. Still, the problem seemed settled for now. He devoutly hoped that the sullen, withdrawn looks of anger on the red-smeared faces were temporary. He would not have wagered on it.
Coyote noticed with some apprehension another fact, as the council broke up. Several younger boys, not yet warriors, were hanging admiringly around those with the painted faces. To his
great disappointment, he saw that one of these starry-eyed admirers was the son of Sees Far, one of those who had been called cowards.
No good could come of this.
For some time
it appeared that the young rebels had quieted and become cooperative. Badger and his friends were careful to ask the official ceremony of the medicine man before starting on a hunt. Apparently their medicine was good. They were successful at the hunting, and their lodges were well supplied.
The more moderate faction of the band began to relax somewhat. Even Heads Off hoped that these had been merely exuberant youths, who were now returning to the ways of their elders.
Coyote, however, still had a lingering, gnawing doubt. There were things which bothered him, and Coyote, above all, knew how to read people. Those of the People with little insight considered the little man an object of humor, a buffoon. The more perceptive of the tribe saw him for what he was. With his shrewd mind and wit, Coyote had always been respected by the chiefs in council. The disarming, chuckling little coyote-like laugh, which had earned him his name, could cover the most serious of manipulations in the politics of the tribe. As wise old White Buffalo had once remarked, Coyote was able to lead without appearing to do so.
Just now he was disturbed about the young rebels. True, they seemed to be conforming, but there were questionable factors. All their hunts were with their own group. Of course, a man traditionally hunted with his friends. No harm in that. But
every
time? Coyote had noticed that the members of Badger's loosely organized
group repeatedly turned down invitations to hunt with other hunters of the band. In fact, as time went on, the young followers of Badger seemed to become even more cohesive. Secretive, almost, thought Coyote. Yet they had broken no rules of the council. The precise dictum of the law was being obeyed, and no enforcement by the Bowstring Society was necessary.
There were annoying and worrisome things afoot, however. The members of Badger's group continued to blood themselves after every successful hunt. It became commonplace to see the young men returning from a buffalo hunt with faces smeared with crimson. Their songs of success were always loud and arrogant, full of boasting. Some people were referring to them as the “bloods” in a derogatory way.
Strangely, the group adopted this name for themselves. Just as their leader had taken for his own the disparaging term “badger,” now his group took with pride the name “Blood Society.”
Some of the elders of the band tried to convince themselves that here was a group of youths merely holding strongly to the proven ceremonial rituals of the ancestors. Coyote suspected more. He believed there was more ritual taking place, some of it in secret. The rebels had given up too easily. Their entire attitude was wrong. Instead of quiet obedience, there was this constant arrogance, a restless, ambitious self-esteem.
And then there were their dances. The Bloods celebrated after every hunt, even when there was little apparent cause. There were the songs and reenactment of the hunt, then dances recalling other hunts, and always the final act, the story of the controversial killing of the Head Splitters. The Bloods seemed to brandish this reenactment in the faces of the rest of the People. There was a certain defiance of authority in the reenactment of this event which had caused their censure.
Coyote must, he decided, talk to White Buffalo. Together, they could approach Heads Off if it appeared some action was necessary. It was unfortunate that the chief, with his upbringing far away, would not notice the subtleties of variant behavior such as this.
Coyote sauntered through the village toward the medicine man's lodge. He glanced toward the river, to the meadow where the youngsters of the Rabbit Society were receiving instruction. The warriors demonstrating the lessons were Standing Bird and Coyote's own son, Long Elk. He decided to watch for a while, turning aside from the path to walk to the meadow. Long Elk waved to him and came to meet him.
“No, no,” insisted Coyote. “Go on.”
Long Elk shook his head.
“We are nearly ready to stop,” he said. “Wait for me a little.”
The smaller children were practicing with throwing sticks or bow and arrow. Older youths on horseback were using the lance under Standing Bird's instruction. Coyote watched a young man make a good run at a willow hoop target, threading the circle neatly with his lance. It seemed such a short while since Coyote had first seen a buffalo killed in this manner. Heads Off had been a stranger then, and his control over the elk-dog seemed little short of a miracle. Now every young man of the People received instruction in the elk-dog medicine.
Aiee
, in other ways it now seemed that this had always been the way of the People.
Long Elk now dismissed his young charges and returned to where his father sat.
“Does it go well, my son?”
The young warrior squatted and shrugged.
“Well enough,” he replied vaguely. Something was troubling him. Coyote remained silent.
“Father, did you know that some of the young men are taking instruction from Badger?”
This was no earthshaking news. The loosely organized educational system, the Rabbit Society, provided for instruction by almost any of the warriors who were so inclined. Most men spent some time with the children, where both boys and girls learned the use of weapons, and the athletic skills of running, jumping, and swimming.
Coyote waited, knowing he would hear more.
“Standing Bird and I believe Badger takes them on the hunt before they are ready.”
If that were the only problem, thought Coyote. The entire matter was taking on a more ominous tone. If the impression of these young warriors was correct, then Badger might be actively seeking recruits for the Blood Society. The rebel group might be much more organized than he had thought. He must talk with White Buffalo.
Coyote visited a short while with the young men, and casually resumed his walk to the medicine man's lodge. He had not mentioned his suspicions.
White Buffalo was smoking in front of his lodge, and waved the invitation to sit. Coyote complied, and filled his own pipe. Crow Woman, the medicine man's wife, brought a burning twig to ignite the leafy mixture, and the two men smoked in silence for a time. They were friends of long standing, despite a considerable difference in ages. At one time White Buffalo had hoped that young Coyote might become his apprentice. He and Crow Woman had been unable to have children, so there was no son to carry on the position of medicine man. This had become a matter of considerable worry to him in recent seasons. None of the young men seemed interested. And, now there was this other
matter, that of Badger. How could he voice his suspicions to Coyote?
In the end it was Coyote who broached the subject.
“Uncle,” he began, using the People's term of respect for any adult male, “I would speak of the Bloods.”
Surprised, the medicine man answered, “Yes, I, too.”
They discussed their mutual fears and suspicions. There was really little to discuss, merely the uneasy feeling. For the medicine man, it was mostly a matter of reading attitude. Although the Bloods went through the ceremonial preparation for the hunt, their attitude was jocular and mocking. They were arrogant and insulting to the old medicine man, very demanding in their requests for the visions. So far he had been able to comply with their requests, but he wondered. What would happen on the day when he would have to advise against the hunt?
White Buffalo had also noticed another thing Coyote had overlooked. At the dances in celebration of the hunt, there were women participating.
Warrior sisters! This too implied a well-organized warrior society. The young women of the society would remain celibate as long as they held status as warrior sisters, but could resign to marry at any time. It was a position of honor, requiring knowledge of the society's ceremonials and active participation in the rituals.
The alarming fact here was that if Badger's Blood Society had now included warrior sisters, it must have immense influence with the young people. The vows of a warrior sister were not to be taken lightly.
This added evidence of the prestige of the illicit warrior society was sobering to the two men. Though nothing definite had happened yet, they must make Heads Off aware of their observations.
They rose and walked toward the lodge of the chief.

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