ABACUS (9 page)

Chapter 13: Talking Cloud

You fidgeted all night,” Kate complained the next morning. “I hardly slept.”

“Sorry. I was dreaming about buffalo eating ice cream. Probably all those strawberries we ate.”

“And guess what's for breakfast?”

“I'll pass,” said AP.

“You have to eat.”

“Not right now. We'll find something later—there must be plenty of fish in the river.”

“So, what's the plan?” asked Kate. “Hang out here for a while?”

“Better to keep moving. If we follow the river downstream, we'll reach the Yellowstone. There'll be steamboats—lots of people—we can find out what's happening.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Kate. “Let's go.”

In contrast to the parched terrain of the previous afternoon, they were now traveling along a lush green corridor beside the river, which was on their right. The water was deep in parts, but there were many places where they could have waded across.

AP nodded toward the sandstone hills, banded like a layer cake, on their left. “How far away are those badlands?”

“At least a mile,” guessed Kate. “They look so desolate. I'd rather have this.” As she gazed around something caught her eye, down by the river.

“See over there,” she said, pointing. “A huge dog. What's that doing out here?”

Shading his eyes against the glare, AP stared long and hard.

“That's no dog,” he said finally, “it's a grizzly bear.”

As they watched, the grizzly plunged into the water and came up with a large trout wriggling in its mouth.

Soon they discovered that the river was teeming with fishes—there were turtles too.

A blue heron swooped low across the water. “I can't believe it,” Kate marveled. “It's like we're in some exotic land. We never saw this much wildlife on that camping trip with Mum and Dad.”

“Goes to show how people have changed things,” said AP thoughtfully.

Both walked on in silence, captivated by the unspoiled beauty.

Later that day, AP became aware of an unfamiliar sound. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Like the rumbling of thunder.”

They stood still, listening.

“Okay,” said Kate, “I hear it now. Sort of a drumming, in the distance, and it's getting louder. You can almost feel it through the ground. Is it an earthquake?”

“No,” said AP, “it's coming from over there.” He pointed away from the river. “Let's check it out.”

Before going far they both saw what was making the noise—buffalo! Hundreds of them, charging across the plain toward the river.

“Quick!” AP shouted, grabbing her arm. “Run for the trees!”

They threw themselves behind the nearest tree, wishing it was bigger. Peering around it, they saw the stampede was heading straight for them. The sound of pounding hooves and snapping branches was unbelievable. AP looked around nervously. He wondered if their tree would withstand the onslaught.

AP watched in grim fascination as the lead buffalo closed the gap. Soon it was so close he could see the terror in its eyes. Then, at the last moment, it swerved away and the rest followed.

Kate gasped. “That was so close. I thought we'd be killed.”

“Me too. I wonder what spooked—”

The next instant they saw the cause of the stampede—Sioux horsemen were chasing the herd.

“What do we do?” shrieked Kate. “Those warriors will attack us!”

“Keep calm,” said AP, sounding more composed than he felt. “They're too busy hunting to bother with us. And they can't see through solid wood.” He banged the trunk to emphasize his point. “Besides, maybe they're friendly.

“Look at those guys go!” cried AP. “How do they stay on their horses like that?”

Kate peeked cautiously.

“They're riding without saddles,” said AP, “using their knees to guide their horses. That leaves both hands free to fire their bows.”

The riders seemed to flow with the motion of the horses. Bare to the waist, their pigtails streamed out behind them.

“See that?” yelled AP. “A buffalo tried to butt that guy's horse and he just swerved away—the horns barely missed him.”

As he spoke, the hunter swung his horse back again. Then, with horse and buffalo charging neck and neck, he pulled back the bowstring and fired. The arrow streaked across the narrow gap, burying itself into the buffalo's chest. In a flash, the hunter drew a second arrow

from the quiver and shot again. The buffalo kept running, but was slowing down. A third arrow followed and the buffalo crashed to the ground, dead.

“Wow,” exclaimed AP. “That was awesome.”

“That was horrible,” rebuked Kate. “The poor buffalo. How could anyone kill an animal like that?”

“They're hunting for food, Kate. Without buffalo the people would starve.”

“They should find other things to eat.”

“Like wild strawberries?”

Kate had more important things on her mind to bother replying. “We ought to plan our escape route while they're still busy,” she said

“Good idea,” agreed AP. “If we can make it down to the riverbed, we'll be out of sight.”

“That's just what I was thinking.”

“The tricky part is getting there without being spotted,” said AP. “We'll have to crawl on our stomachs. Ready?”

Using their elbows and knees, they wriggled through the grass like lizards. Kate, more athletic than her brother, was well in front. Minutes later they arrived at the river and slithered down the bank.

“Do you think they saw us?” asked Kate anxiously.

“There's only one way to find out. Stay here while I peek over the top.”

AP returned looking grim-faced.

“What's wrong?” she gasped.

“I saw over a dozen warriors. Heavily armed.”

“What can we do?”

“Just keep going,” he said with a grin. “They're still busy chasing buffalo!”

“Arthur Percival!” she said, grabbing his collar. “I could STRANGLE YOU!”

They started walking, enjoying the sights and sounds of the river again. One unexpected occurrence was a flock of white pelicans, flying overhead. “I thought they were seabirds,” said AP, chewing on a stalk of grass.

The babbling of the river was gently soothing. A brilliant gold butterfly flitted into view and landed on Kate's shoulder.

“That's a good omen,” said an unfamiliar voice from above.

Glancing up, they saw an old man sitting comfortably on an overhanging bough. He wore a knee-length deerskin shirt fringed with tassels. His tight-fitting leggings were a darker shade of tan, as were his moccasins. The weather-beaten face was lined with age, the wrinkles revealing a man accustomed to smiling. His black hair was braided into two waist-length pigtails.

He seemed friendly and AP thought it only polite to reply.

“I didn't know that—about butterflies,” he began awkwardly. “We're not from here.”

“Where are you from?” There was nothing intimidating in his question.

“We're from the east,” explained AP, pointing in that direction.

The old man smiled and nodded. Then, glancing down at Kate, he asked, “Is she your woman?”

“Who, Kate?” blurted AP, surprised at the question. “No! She's my sister.”

“Huh,” the man grunted, throwing back his head. “She's dressed wrong.”

Then, turning back to AP, “And your clothes are not those of a young blood.” There was no hint of suspicion—he was simply curious. He sat pondering for several moments. “You

people puzzle me,” he began again. “You dress like white folk. You look like white folk. Yet you speak with our tongue. How is that so?”

AP's mind was racing to come up with a likely story, but the old man resolved the problem for him. “You were taken by the Sioux when you were young. Your parents died and my people raised you like their own. Is this so?”

“Yes,” agreed AP, “that's exactly what happened.”

Kate smiled and nodded too.

“We stayed with our Sioux family for three summers and three winters,” AP said, slipping into this new role. “Then we were taken back east.” He emphasized the word “taken” to suggest it was against their will.

“We have been away from this land too long,” continued AP, noticing Kate's astonished expression. “Now we've returned.”

“So much has changed in our world,” said the old man sadly. Then he asked, “What name do they call you out east?”

“Arthur Percival,” AP replied after a moment's hesitation.

“That is a bad name.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “I will call you Young Man Who Sits Too Much.”

Turning to Kate he said, “You shall be Gold Butterfly Woman. It is a lucky name—

you will have a good life.”

Kate smiled at the old man. And, for reasons she couldn't explain, she felt a closeness, like the bond she had shared with her grandfather.

“What is your name?” asked AP.

The old man smiled. “I am Talking Cloud.” Grasping an overhead branch, he stood up from his comfortable perch. “Come. We will go to the village now. You have chosen a good day to return—the hunting goes well and there will be feasting tonight.”

What Talking Cloud meant by a “village” is what Kate and AP would have called a campsite—a scattering of tents in an idyllic spot where campers could be at one with nature. But this was like no campsite they knew. The towering tipis would have dwarfed their tiny pup tent, and there was so much activity. Children and dogs ran wild, while adults attended to chores or relaxed in the shade.

Two small boys sneaked up on a rack of buffalo meat drying in the sun. Using a tipi for cover, they waited until the woman preparing the meat turned her back. Then they each made a grab for a tasty treat. When she spotted them, all they got was a mock scolding. Dashing off, they joined a band of hunters who were running and whooping between tipis, aiming make-believe bows at imaginary buffalo. Several dogs joined in the chase. When the woman returned to her work, she noticed that Talking Cloud had returned.

Talking Cloud made several stops along the way to greet people, giving Kate and AP an opportunity to talk alone.

“How come everyone's so friendly?” asked Kate. “We've just walked into their village, a pair of total strangers—white strangers—and nobody minds.”

“I guess it's because we're with Talking Cloud. Things might be different if we came here on our own.”

“I think he's the Chief,” said Kate.

“He could be,” agreed AP. “Everyone listens to him. When he comes back, ask him.”

Kate's question amused Talking Cloud. “You've been living with the Wasichus—

the white folk—too long! We don't have chiefs like they do, each reporting to the one above. Our people do what they want.”

“But they listen to you,” Kate reasoned.

“People listen to me and to other old men.” He smiled. “With wrinkles comes wisdom they say.”

“Do the people ask elders for guidance?” Kate continued.

“They seek our advice and we give it. Nobody tells anyone what to do though. We have some great leaders, but they don't rule.”

AP pointed to the tipis. “Do the same people live here all the time?”

“We come together for spring and summer to hunt game. Some also spend winter together, while others go their own way.

“Are you all from the same tribe?”

“Yes. We are Oglala Sioux. Part of the Sioux Nation.” He stared at the village, as if searching for something. Then he closed his eyes. “Young Man Who Sits Too Much, how many tipis do you see?”

AP counted them quickly. “Twenty-two.”

“Is that all?”

AP counted again. “Yes.”

“Do you know how many I see?” asked Talking Cloud, eyes still closed. “More tipis than stars in the heavens.

“Once we were many people, from different Sioux tribes—Lakota, Nakota, Santee, Hunkpapa—together with our Cheyenne and Arapaho brothers. They were good times.”

He stood for a moment, and then opened his eyes. “Enough talk. Come, you must meet Sings To Her Children.”

Arriving outside his own tipi, Talking Cloud gestured Kate and AP to enter. After the hot sun, it was cooler and dark inside. Compared with the tents they knew, the tipi was a mansion. The walls tapered high above their heads, with a smoke hole at the top for the fireplace below. “This is my wife, Sings To Her Children,” he announced, introducing an elderly woman the same height as AP. “My dear, this is Gold Butterfly Woman and her brother, Young Man Who Sits Too Much.”

His wife grinned, revealing more gaps than teeth. She was happy to meet them and, with typical Sioux hospitality, invited them to use her tipi as their own.

Talking Cloud made more introductions. “This is my second wife, Running Deer. She is my wife's youngest sister. I married Running Deer after her husband was killed during a raid on the Crow tribe.”

His second wife was equally friendly, and just as old.

“And this is my older brother, Sleeps A Lot, and his wife, Buffalo Woman.”

His brother shuffled forward, yawning and stretching.

“So many names,” thought AP. “But I'll remember his!”

While AP talked with Talking Cloud and his brother, the women led Kate away.

“We've so much room,” Sings To Her Children told Kate. “Most families sleep eight and more.” Then, pointing to a pile of buffalo-hide blankets, “I'll put you and your brother here. I hope you'll be comfortable.”

Kate thanked her and said they'd be fine.

“We usually cook the evening meal at this time,” she continued, “but tonight there's a feast and—”

Suddenly a loud commotion erupted outside. Shouting and screaming heralded the thunder of hooves as riders charged through the village. Then the shooting began.