The Spirit Path (27 page)

Slowly, Bobby opened his eyes, frowning when the darkness remained. Where was he?

It came back to him in a rush, the Sacred Cave, the blackness, the fear. Had he failed?

Rising to his feet, he raked his fingers through his hair, brushed the sand from his clout. He was stalling for time, he thought wryly, afraid to find out if he’d failed—and even more afraid to learn he had succeeded.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked toward the entrance of the cave. What would he find outside? Was it still 1993, or had he managed to find the spirit path that led into the past?

Heart pounding, he made his way toward the entrance and stepped out of the cave into the light of a new day. Hands clenched at his sides, he turned and looked down the hill toward Maggie St. Claire’s house.

But the house was gone. His horse was gone.

He looked the other way, just to make sure, but there was no sign of human habitation, only the timeless Hills covered with tall ponderosa pines.

He uttered a quick prayer, praying that he was in 1872, and then, filled with a sense of exhilaration, he started down the far side of the hill, oblivious to the hunger clawing at his belly, oblivious to the fact that he had no food, no horse, no weapons. He would worry about those things later. For now, he must find Hawk.

When he reached the bottom of the hill, he saw the scattered remnants of what had been an Indian village. Hawk’s village? The one destroyed by the Army?

He wandered through the ruined camp. Not much remained now. A few weathered lodge-poles, a few scraps of leather that had been chewed by rodents. Digging in the debris, he found a blanket that was only burned around one edge. Laying it over his shoulder, he poked into the burned lodges, experiencing a sense of satisfaction when he found a long-bladed knife. The beaded sheath had been destroyed, but the bone haft and the blade were still intact, and he shoved it in the waistband of his clout, feeling better now that he had a weapon.

He spent another hour wandering through the village, but he found nothing else he could use. For a moment, he stood there wondering which way to go, and then he started walking away from the village, headed for Fort Laramie for no other reason than it was, the only landmark he knew that had existed in 1872.

He stopped at a shallow waterhole and quenched his thirst, then continued onward, grateful that he’d been working out the last few months.

Fear was his constant companion as he made his way across the plains, but he fought it down.

Follow the Hawk. Follow the Hawk.
The voice in the cave had told him to follow the Hawk, the voice of Heart-of-the-Wolf had told him to follow the Hawk, and even now he seemed to hear the words repeating in the back of his mind. Surely it was his destiny to find Hawk. Surely the gods of the Lakota would help him if he didn’t succumb to panic, if he held fast to his courage, to the conviction that he was doing the right thing.

As he walked briskly, Bobby’s gaze shifted from right to left. The Black Hills looked different, yet the same. The main thing he noticed was the silence. The ranch had been quiet, set as it was in the little meadow away from the road, but there’d usually been noise of one kind or another in the background—Miss St. Claire’s stereo endlessly playing the record of
The Phantom of the Opera
,
the muted roar of airplane engines, the low hum of the air conditioner in the summertime, the ring of the telephone, the sound of Veronica’s Ford Mustang. It was a little eerie crossing the prairie with only the muffled sound of his footsteps for company.

He’d walked about five miles when he became aware of the faint sounds of battle, sounds that grew steadily louder as he topped a grassy rise.

He stared at the battle in disbelief. Horses raced back and forth across the short buffalo grass, their riders armed with bows and arrows, feathered lances, war clubs and rifles.

Pawnee and Lakota. He recognized the two tribes at once. Neither party was painted for war and he guessed they were hunting parties that had run into each other.

There wasn’t much killing going on, mostly warriors trying to count coup on one another.

He saw two men in hand-to-hand combat, fighting over a knife which lay on the ground at their feet, and he leaned forward, silently rooting for the Lakota warrior who, in a quick, graceful move, managed to slip out of the Pawnee’s grasp. Diving for the knife, the Lakota rolled onto his back, the blade up, just as the Pawnee lunged at him.

The Pawnee let out a bone-chilling shriek as the knife pierced his stomach. The sound drew everyone’s attention and all other fighting came to a halt. Slowly, the two hunting parties separated while two warriors went to look after the wounded man.

Bobby ran down the hill, calling to the Lakota until one of the warriors rode toward him.

“
Hau, kola,
”
Bobby said. “Hello, friend.”

The warrior looked at him suspiciously. “
Hau, kola.
”

“Can you help me?” Bobby said, still speaking Lakota. “I’m lost.”

“Who are your people?”

“I have no people.”

The warrior looked around and then grunted softly. “And no horse.”

“And no horse.”

Scooting forward a little, the warrior extended his arm and Bobby vaulted up behind him.

The warrior reined his horse around and urged the spotted pony into a lope, following his companions.

Bobby could hardly contain his excitement. He had found a band of Lakota. Perhaps one of these very men was related to him.

It was an exhilarating thought and it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. Deep down, he had never believed any of it, not for a moment. He had never truly believed that Hawk was from the past, never believed the cave held any magic. But now…he murmured a quick prayer of thanks to
Wakán Tanka
.

He was here and he was never going back.

The hunting party caught up with the main body of the tribe three days later.

Bobby could only stare in awe at his first sight of Indians on the move. It was fascinating, incredible, a long procession strung out for miles.

Far ahead were the scouts, to the sides and rear were the Fox Soldiers who were acting as police. Then came the warriors, followed by the women, some riding or leading pack horses, some walking. The old ones rode the travois ponies, sharing their horses with their grandchildren. Dogs ran everywhere, weaving back and forth, barking at the horses, chasing rabbits and prairie dogs. The horse herd brought up the rear, colts and fillies darting away from their mothers, then hurrying back again.

It was a sight Bobby knew he’d never forget.

As they neared the horse herd, the warrior who had befriended Bobby said, “See that big roan? He is mine. Now he is yours.”

The warrior, whose name was Buffalo Heart, pulled an extra bridle from his war bag. “If we get separated, look for me when we make camp tonight. My woman will prepare a meal for you and then you will share my lodge.”

“
Pilamaya
,”
Bobby said. Taking the bridle, he slid from the back of Buffalo Heart’s pony and approached the roan gelding. The animal snorted and sidestepped, then stood docile as Bobby slipped the bridle over its head.

“Good boy,” Bobby murmured. He patted the horse’s neck for a moment, then vaulted onto the animal’s bare back and rode after Buffalo Heart.

Shadow Hawk rode near the head of the column, just behind Sitting Bull, his heart swelling with emotion. He had not realized how much he had missed being with his own people.

Riding across the plains, he drew a deep breath, drinking in the smell of dust and sweat, of horses and leather, grass and sage. The sun warmed his back, a gentle breeze cooled his face. He found pleasure in the easy rhythm of the horse beneath him and in the familiar sound of the Lakota language. He heard the piercing cry of a hunting hawk, the shrill whinny of a mare, the laughter of the women, and felt he had truly come home.

Glancing over his shoulder, Shadow Hawk saw Maggie riding beside his mother and he smiled at both women. Gradually, they were becoming friends.

The night before, Shadow Hawk had told his mother that Maggie was pregnant, Winona had looked at him for several seconds, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you think I am deaf and blind?” she had asked with a wry grin, and then she had hugged him and said maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad having a
wasichu
for a daughter-in-law.

He was about to face toward the front again when he saw a familiar face. He blinked hard, wondering if he was seeing things, but the face didn’t change and it didn’t go away.

Reining his horse out of the column, Shadow Hawk nodded to Maggie as she rode by, and then grinned broadly as Bobby Proud Eagle drew up beside him.

“Hi, Hawk,” Bobby said, laughter bubbling in his throat. “I bet you never thought you’d see me here, did you?”

“Bobby, what are you doing here?” Maggie asked. “How did you get here? I can’t believe it.”

“Look at you,” Bobby said, his eyes wide. “You’re standing. Walking. How…?”

“I guess the doctors were right. I just had to want it badly enough.” She shook her head. “When Hawk left…I couldn’t let him go. And here I am. Now, come on, tell me about you. How did you get here?”

“I came through the Sacred Cave. I remembered all the things you told me, and I did it! Finding you was just a lucky coincidence. I ran into the hunting party and Buffalo Heart picked me up.”

“But why have you come?”

“Do you remember I once told you I felt I’d been born in the wrong time? Well, the more you taught me about our people and the old ways, the stronger that feeling got. But that’s not the reason I came.”

Bobby ran his hand through his hair, then smiled. “Hawk, when you and Maggie disappeared, I went up to the Sacred Cave. While I was inside, I heard a voice saying, ‘Proud Eagle, you must follow the Hawk,’ and I remembered hearing the same words during my vision. At the time, I thought it meant what you said it did, that I would become a doctor and be the next Lakota medicine man back on the reservation. But when I went to the Sacred Cave, I knew it meant I was to follow you here, to your time. That I was supposed to find you.”

“And so you have,” Shadow Hawk exclaimed, pleased beyond measure at seeing the young man again. “Come, let us catch up with the others. We will talk more this evening.”

An hour before dusk, the Indians made camp. Later, when they were settled for the night, Bobby came to visit.

Maggie threw her arms around Bobby and hugged him tight. It was so good to see a familiar face, so good to see someone from home.

“Bobby, what are you doing here?” she asked “How did you get here? I can’t believe it.”

Sitting beside the fire Bobby retold his story. Winona listened quietly, politely.

Maggie could hardly sit still as Bobby told his tale. Bobby’s eyes fairly glowed as he told of going to the Sacred Cave, emerging to find everything that was familiar gone. His voice rang with excitement as he told of climbing to the top of the rise and seeing the Lakota battling with the Pawnee.

“So,” Maggie said excitedly, wondering at the pensive look on Hawk’s face. “You’re going with us to Canada! That’s wonderful.”

Bobby grinned. “I’m looking forward to it. Oh, and Miss St. Claire, don’t worry about your house. Veronica’s boys are looking after things.” Bobby frowned. “They said they’d stay until I got back…” Bobby’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t going back. “Maybe you should worry.”

Her house. Maggie shook her head. She hadn’t even thought of her house. Or the book she’d left unfinished. What must Sheila be thinking!

“Did my editor call?”

“Yeah, several times. She sounded real mad, especially since I couldn’t tell her where you were.”

“No, I guess you couldn’t,” Maggie agreed. She looked at Hawk and smiled. She’d always wanted to live in the past, to be swept off her feet by a handsome warrior and it had happened. “Well,” she said with a laugh, “there goes my career.”

Later that night, lying in the warmth of Hawk’s arms, Maggie thought about Bobby and wondered what it all meant. Had he truly been born in the wrong time? Had she?

Drawing back a little, she looked at the man sleeping peacefully beside her. Her husband. She had never known it was possible to love another human being so much. Just looking at Hawk made her heart swell with tenderness. He was everything to her: father, brother, friend, confidant. He had exorcised her guilt over Susie’s death, made her feel feminine and desirable, given her a reason to walk again, shown her how beautiful love could be.

They made their permanent winter camp four days later along the banks of a wide shallow river lined with cottonwoods.

Maggie helped Winona set up their lodge, marveling anew at how quickly and efficiently the Lakota women set up housekeeping. By midafternoon, it looked as if the village had been there for weeks instead of hours.

While Bobby and Hawk sat in the pale sunlight talking with Red Arrow and Buffalo Heart, Maggie walked along the riverbank looking for firewood. She nodded and smiled at the other women she met, glad for their friendliness toward her. She was, after all, a stranger, a white woman, but most of them treated her with courtesy and respect.

Still, there were a few who treated her rudely, ignoring her overtures of friendship. They called her names, their eyes dark with distrust and loathing. Maggie didn’t blame them for their feelings. White men had killed their husbands, their sons. Perhaps, if she’d lost a loved one in battle, she’d feel the same.

When she returned to their lodge, she saw that Winona had a fire going. The family altar was in place in the rear of the lodge, a pot of venison stew was cooking over the fire, filling the air with warmth and savory smells.

A short time later, the men came inside and Winona handed them bowls of fragrant stew.

Maggie sat in the back of the lodge behind Hawk, her gaze never leaving her husband, her eyes drinking in the sight of his broad back and shoulders, the easy way he moved. Her heart warmed to the sound of his laughter, her fingers ached to reach out and caress the black waterfall of his hair. She wished they were alone in the lodge, wished he would take her in his arms and hold her close and promise her that everything would be all right.

Maggie learned a lot about being a Lakota woman in the course of the next few days. She learned that young girls were to be reserved and retiring in the presence of both men and older women. A proper Lakota girl was loving, industrious, and generous, kind to all people and all animals. A woman did not eat with the men. She kept to the left side of the lodge. She was to sit in a way that was modest and becoming. She spoke the female language. For instance, a man would say
Tokiya la hwo?
Where are you going? But a woman would say
Tokiya la he?

Very young girls were expected to wash dishes, gather wood, pick berries and keep the lodge tidy. In this, Maggie thought, Indian girls were not so different from their white sisters. As a girl grew older, she learned to cook and to tan a hide. Quilling and beading were also considered things a Lakota woman should excel at. If a girl had a younger brother or sister, much of its care fell to her.

The next few days passed tranquilly. The men repaired their weapons or fashioned new ones while the women put the finishing touches on new winter moccasins, shirts, and robes and the boys began making sleds out of buffalo ribs in anticipation of the coming snow.

And then, overnight, winter was upon them in a howl of wind and a roar of thunder. Rain fell in great icy sheets, but inside the lodge it was warm and cozy. Grass had been stuffed between the tipi liner and the outer cover, providing insulation. A trench had been dug around the perimeter of the lodge to keep the rain out.

That night, Bobby, Hawk and Maggie sat around the fire while Winona told the story of how the crow came to be black.

“In days long past,” Winona began, “when the earth was young and the people were new, all crows were white. In those ancient days, the people had neither horses nor guns. Like the people of today, they depended on the buffalo hunt to survive.

“The crows made things difficult for Lakota hunters because they were friends to the buffalo. Flying high above the prairie, they would cry, ‘Caw, caw, look out, cousins,’ to warn the buffalo that hunters were coming.

“The people held a council to decide what to do. There was among the crows an especially large one who was the leader, and the chief of the people decided they must capture the big crow and teach him a lesson he would not forget.

“The chief found a large buffalo robe, with the head and tail still attached, and put it on the back of a brave young warrior. ‘Cousin, you must hide among the buffalo. They will think you are one of them, and then you can capture the big white crow.’

“Disguised as a buffalo, the young man did as he had been told and just as the chief had said, the buffalo thought he was one of them. When the young warrior was in place, the hunters came out of hiding. As they approached the herd, the crows began to call their warning and all the buffalo ran away, all but the young warrior who pretended to go on grazing on the lush green grass.

“Confused, the big white crow landed on the hunter’s shoulders. Flapping its wings, it said, ‘Brother, why do you not run away? The hunters are nearby. Run and save yourself.’

“Just then, the hunter reached out from under the buffalo robe and grabbed the crow by the neck. With a piece of rawhide, he tied the crow’s legs together and carried it back to camp.

“Once again, the people sat in council to decide the fate of the crow.

“‘I will burn him up,’ one of the warriors declared, and before anybody could stop him, he grabbed the crow from the hunter’s hands and tossed it into the council fire.

“The string that tied the crow’s legs together burned through right away and the big crow managed to fly out of the fire, but many of his feathers were singed and though he was still big, he was no longer white as the snow.

“Quickly, he flew away, promising that he would never again warn the buffalo. And so he escaped, but ever since that time, all crows have been black.”

It was a wonderful tale, Maggie thought, and clapped her hands in delight, while Bobby begged for another story.

“Just one,” Winona said, and began the tale of the end of the world.

“There is a place where the prairie and the Badlands meet and at that place there is a hidden cave. No one has been able to find it for many winters.

“In the cave lives a woman who is as old as the earth. She is dressed in deerskin. She has been sitting in the cave since the earth was young, working on a blanket strip for a buffalo robe. She is making the strip out of porcupine quills. Resting beside her is a big black dog named
Shunka Sapa
.
The dog’s eyes never leave the old woman.

“A fire burns a few steps from where the old woman is working. She lit the fire when the earth was young and has kept it burning ever since. Over the fire hangs a big earthen pot, the kind the people used before the white man came with kettles of iron. Inside the pot,
wojapi
is boiling. The soup, made of sweet berries, has been boiling ever since the fire was lit.