Thunder on the Plains (5 page)

“Is he always this cheerful in the morning?” I asked my cousins sleepily.

“Yeah, Dad makes every day seem like a day at army boot camp,” Crow replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

I could smell sausage and biscuits cooking in the kitchen. My brain cells began to kick into action. And so our summer routine began.

After breakfast, Robert took us to the tribal offices where he introduced me to the head of the summer jobs program.

Then we jumped into the back of a pickup truck filled with rakes, mowers, shovels, and hoes. We headed off to the first elder's home in need of repair.

Every morning we cleaned yards, mended fences, fixed walkways, painted walls, hauled off junk, and mowed lawns. The elderly residents were very grateful. They often gave us cookies, lemonade, and other goodies.

But I also had to work at being accepted by the other kids in the program. As a newcomer from the city, I took a lot of teasing.

Our afternoons were spent doing chores around the farm or ranch or whatever it was. With the help of Amanda, Grandpa, and my cousins, I learned how to care for the animals on the property.

In my spare time, I watched TV, worked on my computer, and exchanged emails with Jesse back home. I showed Crow and Rabbit how to access websites with images on the Internet. I also taught them how to take images from different sources, merge them together,
and create new images. They thought it was pretty cool.

In exchange, Crow and Rabbit showed me how to ride horses. The family owned several of them. The horses were used to being ridden on a regular basis. So a couple of times a week, we headed out for the reservation's wide open spaces. There ain't nothin' in L.A. like that.

One afternoon, after I had finished my barnyard chores, Grandpa Nathan took me into the house. He led me to a back room where he kept his special collection of old American Indian stuff. He sat me down on a campstool and took a seat in a big, old, faded brown chair in the corner.

“Danny, what did your father teach you about the Cheyenne people before he died?”

“Not much that I can remember, Grandpa. He was always too busy working and trying to make a living for us. We did go to powwows sometimes. But I usually just played with other kids there.”

“That's too bad,” he said. He picked up a long wooden box with a black handle that sat on a table beside his chair.

“He always told me to be proud of being Cheyenne,” I added. “He had a collection of old pictures of Cheyennes in the 1800s, like Black Kettle, that he used to show me.”

“Did he tell you about the Pipe, or the Sun Dance, or the Buffalo People?” He placed the wooden box in his lap.

“No. What's the Buffalo People?”

“First things first,” Grandpa answered. He opened the box and pulled back a piece of deerskin that covered what was inside.

“There are things that a Cheyenne boy of your age should start learning. Since your dad is gone, it will be up to your uncle and me to teach you these things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Important things. Cheyenne things,” Grandpa said.

He pulled an old metal TV tray from the other side of the chair and set it between us. Then he took four little plastic bags from the
box and placed them on the tray. Grandpa opened the bags and poured what looked like cooking herbs out on the tray. What was all this stuff?

“I want to introduce you to four sacred gifts given to us by the Creator for our use,” Grandpa continued. “These are sage, sweetgrass, cedar, and tobacco.” He pointed at each as he spoke its name in Cheyenne. “Each one has a special use to help us as we perform our duties as human beings.”

He reached once again into the box and took out a fan made of brown feathers. The handle of the fan was covered in beautiful beadwork. He put the fan nearby on the tray. Then he placed a metal bowl in the center of the tray.

He took a pinch of the cedar and dropped it in the bowl. Then he took a couple of sprigs of sage and crumbled them into the bowl. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small lighter.

“Stand up,” he said. I stood up.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I'm going to give you a cleansing blessing,” Grandpa replied. He fired up the lighter and put the flame into the bowl. That got the mixture of sage and cedar burning. A stream of smoke that smelled sweet came up from the bowl.

Taking the bowl in one hand and the feather fan in the other, Grandpa stood up. He began fanning the smoke toward me, spreading it over the front of my body. He sang a Cheyenne song as he fanned.

Suddenly I remembered my dad doing this ceremony for me on my first day of school. He had said I could do this for myself anytime I was bothered by something or before an important event. I had totally forgotten about it.

I stayed quiet and let Grandpa finish the ritual. Next, he stepped behind me. Grandpa fanned the smoke all over my back and legs and the top of my head.

“Okay, that's all for today,” Grandpa said. He sat down in his big stuffed chair. “We'll start ‘Indian school' tomorrow after your
chores.” He began putting the items back in the box.

I was a little puzzled about what had taken place. Just as I was about to ask a question, Grandpa said, “I'll explain a little at a time as we go along. Tomorrow, we'll start with the Buffalo People. Now run along and play with your cousins.” He smiled.

And so it began. Almost every day after I finished my chores, I'd sit with Grandpa in the back room listening to tales of the days of Cheyenne glory. But Grandpa was really interested in telling me about the buffalo. He had books with paintings, drawings, and photographs of the animals.

“The Buffalo People were the Creator's greatest gift to our people,” Grandpa said. “We got almost everything we needed for life from them. But we did not take life from our Buffalo Brothers for the sport of it. First we asked their permission, respectfully. Then we used everything that they had to offer. We wasted nothing. And we honored them with
our songs and dances. We were spiritually connected to them.”

“Spiritually connected? What does that mean?”

“It means they were part of us. And we were part of them. That's why we called them our brothers.”

My grandfather's stories painted beautiful pictures in my mind of the olden days. That was a time when the Cheyenne people were free and lived close to the earth. Grandpa longed for those “good old days.” Back then, the buffalo roamed the plains and the Cheyenne moved their camps regularly to be near them.

“When a herd of the great beasts started a stampede, they made a loud rumble you could hear for miles,” he said. “It sounded just like thunder on the plains. That was a thrill!”

My mind became filled with fantasies about those days. At night I dreamed about those powerful animals. Sometimes they could talk to me. And I could communicate with them. They told me they missed the old
days too, when we played together. One night I dreamed that I was a Cheyenne hunter in the 1800s. I pictured myself riding on horseback across the plains with a hunting party in search of a herd. I woke up and my heart was pounding with excitement!

The time for survival camp finally arrived. We got our camping gear ready. On the last Saturday of June, Amanda cooked our final meal before we left. It was a hearty country breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and jelly.

Amanda and my grandparents stood in the front doorway of the house. They waved as we pulled out in Uncle Robert's pickup. We were headed to the tribal community center in Buffalo Gap.

On the way to the center, Robert said, “Danny, during camp I'm going to treat you like I treat everyone there. So don't expect any special favors. Got that?”

“Okay.”

“It's for your own good. That way you'll get the most out of the week.”

“Okay.” That's all I could think to say.

We were the first ones to arrive at the tribal community center. We had to be there early so my uncle could greet the kids and their parents. A half dozen teenagers from other communities on the reservation were dropped off that morning.

According to my uncle, these were kids who had been in some kind of serious trouble. We all kind of sized each other up as we waited for everyone else to arrive. One of the boys reminded me of my “favorite” bully back home, Willy.

When all the campers had arrived, Robert called us together.

“Okay kids, listen up,” Robert commanded. “You're mine for a week. Mommy and Daddy won't be here for you to run to or to kiss your boo-boos. I'm your mother, father, and teacher.” Everyone laughed nervously when he said the word “mother.”

“And if you get out of line,” he continued, “I'll be judge, jury, and executioner.” We stopped laughing. All of a sudden I had scary visions of Mr. Rippleton.

“During your stay with me, you will learn to work together, like it or not,” he declared. “You'll obey my orders at all times. We'll be heading into some rough country, facing unpredictable weather situations. Your life could depend on doing exactly what I say, when I say it. Got that?”

Nobody said a word.

“Got that?” he repeated loudly.

“Yes, sir,” a few of the teens replied weakly.

Robert walked over to the biggest kid in the group. The guy was leaning against the side of the building. My uncle grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him upright.

“I can't hear you!” Robert yelled right in this kid's face. He sounded like a boot camp sergeant.

“YES, SIR!” the kid barked. Every kid in the group was paying attention now.

My uncle smiled. “Now that's more like it,” he said. “What's your name, young man?” he asked softly.

“Cutnose, sir. Ben Cutnose,” he answered. Now he sounded nervous.

Robert let go of the kid's collar and straightened it out neatly.

“All right, Ben. Now that we've got that straight, let's begin. Pick up your gear and follow me.” He led all of us around to the back of the community center. Crow and Rabbit had ten horses waiting for us, saddled and ready to go. Robert easily mounted his.

“Okay, mount up,” he said. Nobody moved.

“What are you waiting for?”

Crow and Rabbit jumped up on their steeds. I was up on my horse next. My summer riding lessons were paying off. The rest of the kids struggled to get up on their animals. Some were having more trouble than others.

“Worse than I thought,” Robert said. “Have any of you ridden before?” One girl raised her hand.

“Oh, this is sad,” Robert said, shaking his head. “Your Cheyenne ancestors are turning over in their graves.”

He got off his horse.

“All right, we'll start at the beginning.” He walked over to the girl who had raised her hand.

“What's your name, young lady?”

“Charlene,” she said.

“Charlene, can you demonstrate the right way to mount a horse?”

“I believe so.”

“Go right ahead then,” Robert said.

She got off her horse, then got back on again. She smoothly put one foot in the stirrup and swung the other leg over the horse's back. She made it look easy.

“Very good,” Robert said. “Now everyone else try it.” He got back on his horse. All of us finally got mounted.

“Okay, let's head out,” he said. He backed his horse away from them. “I'll go easy on you this first day to let you get used to being on horseback. Don't let the horse know that you're scared. He'll sense it. If that happens, you won't be able to control him.”

He led us away from the tribal offices and out onto the flat grassy plain. As we rode
along, he took time to explain certain riding techniques. He showed us how to sit in the saddle the right way. How to lead the horse in the direction you want him to go. How to trot and gallop.

Our first day on the trail was pretty easy. We all had fun learning to ride and taking in the beautiful scenery.

I'm not certain, but during that first day, it seemed like Charlene kept moving her horse near mine on the trail. Maybe I just imagined it.

Around sunset, we rode into a campsite that was made of a circle of tipis around a center fireplace. As I got off my horse, I realized for the first time just how sore my bottom was. I looked around and saw that everyone seemed to be having the same feeling. The moaning and groaning was pretty loud.

After eating a simple dinner, we chilled around the campfire. The kids were tired from the day's ride and feeling a little sleepy. Robert got us talking about ourselves, where we were
from and what we liked and didn't like. Ben Cutnose decided to start picking on me.

“One of the things I really don't like is these urban skins who come out here and try to pretend they're real Indians,” he said while glaring at me.

“I'm not pretending to be anybody or anything,” I told him.

“Yeah? Well, why don't you pack up and run home to mama before you get hurt!”