Buffalo Medicine (20 page)

Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: Buffalo Medicine

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Intermittently through the
night, Owl slept fitfully, woke, and slept again. He was chilly and stiff. Each time he wakened he discovered areas of soreness of which he had been unaware. His left leg throbbed painfully.

He was certain the bone was not broken, because, to the best of his memory, he had run several steps before falling. Maybe it was the smaller bone. Gingerly he touched the puffy area below his knee. At very least, there was a lot of internal bleeding about the area. He shifted uncomfortably.

The distant rumble of the thundering buffalo herd had faded and was inaudible now. The dust was settling, and Owl could begin to see the sky and the outline of distant hills. He began to orient himself by the stars. There he saw the Seven Hunters, the last two pointing the way to their lodge at the real-star. He had been badly disoriented, he now saw. The herd must have run in a southerly direction.

With this in mind, he looked in the direction of the camp. There, on the distant crest of the ridge, twinkled a signal fire. It was good. At least, the rest of the party had survived. Some of them, anyway. He had confidence in the self-reliance of Willow, Coyote, and the real-chief, and apparently the main herd had not turned in their direction.

With something of a surprise, he realized that they must now think him dead. There was little likelihood of anyone's surviving the stampede. They had lighted the fire in the slim hope that one or the other of the medicine men might still be alive. Owl realized that the fire might as well be many days' travel away. He could not travel well enough to reach it tonight anyway. Neither did he have any means to light a signal fire of his own.

Owl coughed heavily, burning his lungs and bringing up large quantities of salty-tasting phlegm. In the dark he wondered if it were blood. He turned on his side and drifted again into fitful sleep.

The dream wakened him. It was a dream that would haunt him many times in the future. He was running, all his muscles aching in protest, and hanging suspended, high in the air above him, was Two Dogs. The other seemed to float there, face distorted and mouth open in a death scream. The edges of the sacred white buffalo cape fluttered in the wind.

Owl woke with a start, sweating and anxious. The distant signal fire still burned. He hoped that they would come looking for him at daylight. His thoughts turned to his dream and to the death of Two Dogs. He was certain of the man's death. It was only a question whether he had died from being gored and tossed. It was possible, Owl supposed, that the other had lived long enough to realize that he was being chopped to pieces by a thousand sharp-edged hooves.

And, what of the white cape? It, too, must be torn to scraps by the trampling herd, and scattered by the prairie
winds. Owl was still unable to comprehend the loss of the cape, one of the most sacred medicine objects of the People. He sank into sleep again, his every muscle sore and aching.

Daylight presented a desolate scene. The great herd was gone, as surely as if it had never existed. Scattered here and there were individual animals, crippled or dead, trampled by the frenzied thousands. Vultures were gathering, circling on non-moving wings.

Owl turned to look at the ridge where the signal fire had burned. A thin line of smoke rose straight upward. Good. They had not given up on the chance of his survival, and were maintaining the signal fire. He pulled his aching body to a standing position, coughing painfully. He saw with satisfaction that his sputum was black from the dust, rather than bloody.

He stood, weak and swaying, trying to decide his next move. He doubted his ability to cross the intervening prairie. If he could only light a fire to attract their attention. But he had no fire sticks. Given time, he might contrive some. His primary concern was that the group on the distant ridge would give him up for dead and leave without him. He had no idea at all whether he would be able to move about enough to survive and find the People.

He decided to attempt to move toward the wisp of smoke. The distance would be less than half a sun's travel for a man able to walk. Owl, however, rapidly discovered that his pace would be much slower. Every jarring, limping step sent pain crashing into the base of his skull, and exertion also initiated paroxysms of coughing. In a short while he realized that it would take him several days' travel to reach the ridge. Meanwhile, he had no food. He sank down in the grass, aching in every muscle and joint.

Thirst, too, was beginning to make itself felt. After resting, Owl decided to try to make his way to the stream. No matter what the next day or two might bring, he must
have water. Painfully, he limped and crawled to the creek, stopping frequently to rest. He drank deeply, and sat back against a tree, too exhausted to move further.

He sat, becoming more discouraged as time passed. Was the power of his medicine gone? Had it been so closely tied to the medicine of White Buffalo that it had been trampled in the dust with the sacred cape? He fingered the medicine pouch around his neck and wondered.

Hoofbeats roused him from his dejected reverie. A rider on an elk-dog was passing along the ridge of the hill above him. Owl recognized one of the warriors who had accompanied Many Robes. The man looked constantly in all directions as he rode. Owl realized they were searching for him.

Weakly, he tried to shout, but the thick phlegm in his throat prevented the sound. Frantically, he cleared his throat, coughed, and managed a weak croak. The warrior did not hear, and continued to ride on. Three times Owl tried to call out, before the man turned and saw his feeble wave. Then he came clattering recklessly down the slope, shouting to others who were out of sight beyond the hill. There was a great deal of respect and deference in the warrior's attitude as he attempted to make Owl more comfortable and offered him food. Very slowly, Owl began to realize that his survival from the stampede would be regarded as the greatest of medicines.

Other hoofbeats were clattering down the hillside, and in a moment he was tenderly engulfed in the soft embrace of his wife. Her grateful tears were moistening his neck, and over her shoulder he saw Many Robes and Coyote picking their way across the slope.

The real-chief swung down and walked toward him, a trace of a smile on his stern visage.

“
Ah-koh
, White Buffalo,” the chief spoke. “It is well with you?”

Owl thought a long time before answering. He had not
given thought since the stampede to the fact that the office and title of White Buffalo would be his. Now it seemed an anticlimax. Weakly, he cleared his throat.

“My chief,” he managed to whisper, “that day is ended. The white cape is gone. I will be called only Owl, medicine man of the People.”

Many Robes nodded in understanding. Owl began to relax, as the others prepared to make camp. Someone was kindling a fire.

Willow still held him closely yet gently, inquiring about his various injuries. Owl smiled and touched her glossy hair. Here in her arms, he knew, was his strongest medicine of all.

ALSO BY DON COLDSMITH

The Elk-Dog Heritage

Buffalo Medicine

Daughter of the Eagle

The Long Journey Home

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

BUFFALO MEDICINE

Previously published by Doubleday Books in 1981

A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

ForgeÂ® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

eISBN 9781466820944

First eBook Edition : May 2012

EAN 975-0812-57969-7

First edition: December 2003
First mass market edition: December 2004