Buffalo Medicine (7 page)

Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: Buffalo Medicine

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With the new
information as to the Hairfaces' intent and purpose came new understanding. Old White Buffalo had continually urged his young apprentice to look beyond, to see why, to learn how all things relate.

Now Owl could see more clearly the position of the Mud Lodge people. The Hairfaces must have men to dig and carry the shiny medicine rocks. If they did not have the men they needed, they would find them. The nearest tribes, those of the Mud Lodges, would be forced to dig and carry, unless they could furnish prisoners for that purpose.

This new understanding did not prevent Owl's ill will toward both groups. It simply was comforting to him to realize that there was some reason left in a world which had seemed completely mad.

In one area of the Hairfaces' medicine, however, he was still completely baffled. That was their medicine man. Owl
had identified the man early in his captivity. He knew this must be a medicine man because his garments were different. The other Hairfaces showed a great deal of respect for the man, also.

He was short, somewhat fat, and wore a robe that reached nearly to the ground. There were several objects made of the shiny yellow medicine rock that dangled around his neck and waist. The medicine man constantly handled the beads on one of these thongs, sometimes murmuring a chant under his breath. His chants were highly regarded by the other Hairfaces. More than once Owl had seen an individual stop and lower his head while the medicine man made gestures over him, sometimes with a short chant.

This man was the only Hairface who did not actually have facial fur. For a time Owl wondered if this had some meaning, but finally decided not. Other Hairfaces had varying amounts, seemingly independent of their status and power.

Owl did puzzle considerably over the medicine symbols used by the man. One constantly recurred, in the objects hanging around his neck, and was stitched on the front of his garment. It consisted of an upright portion, which appeared to be connected to a shorter cross member. This design held very great significance for all the Hairfaces, but was apparently under exclusive control of the medicine man. He obviously held the symbol in great reverence. Once he was seen to take the dangling example around his neck and touch it to his mouth in a kiss. This, no doubt, rejuvenated his powers, Owl decided.

The same symbol, which now appeared to Owl the most powerful medicine of all, was seen in one more prominent place. In the center of the Hairfaces' village, among the cluster of dwellings, stood the medicine lodge. The lodges were all similar to those of the Mud Lodge people, squarish and flat topped. But these of the Hairfaces had large square
doorways, through which a man could walk upright. These openings could be shut with a flat device made of wood, instead of skins. They hung from one side of the opening, rather than from above.

But in the midst of the cluster of these curious dwellings was the medicine lodge. It was easily the tallest man-made structure Owl had ever seen, towering high above the ground. It would be as tall as several men standing on each others' shoulders, and was magnificent in appearance. Decorative designs in stone adorned this lodge, and on the top of the highest point of the structure was yet another symbol. It was the same as the emblem so revered by the medicine man, but in a greatly enlarged form.

The upright was formed of a log as thick as one's thigh, fixed firmly in the solid sun-baked mud of the medicine lodge. Lashed tightly to this was the second log, equally massive, and greater than the span of a man's arms. There remained the mystery of the symbolism of this device, but it was obvious that it was a very potent force in the customs of the Hairfaces. Perhaps their greatest medicine, Owl thought.

He was puzzled. Why did his father, from this same tribe, not have this most powerful of medicines? It was generally assumed among the People that Heads Off possessed strong medicine, but it was different. It was elk-dog medicine, and related primarily to control, management, and training of horses.

Perhaps, Owl reasoned, this medicine of the tree was the exclusive property of the medicine man. Yes, that must be it. It would be like White Buffalo's knowledge of the herds, and the time of the firing of the grass. Like his own medicine, in fact, learned laboriously as the old man's assistant. Indeed, the medicine man of the Hairfaces seemed to have a couple of young apprentices who assisted him, especially in the area of the medicine lodge.

The big medicine lodge was unquestionably under the
sole authority of the medicine man. Under his direction, large numbers of the Hairfaces gathered periodically for a time. The voice of the medicine man could be heard, raised in chants and incantations, and occasionally, his listeners could be heard to respond in a short chant, also.

Owl longed to catch a glimpse inside. As the days dragged on, it became almost an obsession with him. He came to think that a brief look, an insight into the qualities of this most potent of medicines, was somehow his most important goal. Next to escape, of course. That remained his primary occupation, but had been postponed until the changing of the seasons. Still, Owl came to believe that many of the mysteries of all existence might be opened if he could only see inside the medicine lodge.

He spoke to Long Bow about it, and received an answering look of terror.

“I do not know, Owl, but I think it would be very dangerous. It is too powerful a medicine for us.” He refused completely to talk about it any further.

Owl was inclined to discount Long Bow's fears. The use of a powerful medicine is only dependent on knowledge of it. Long Bow did not have expertise in such things. Besides, he had been a captive so long that his spirit was gone. He had become fearful.

Owl's opportunity to look into the secrets of the medicine lodge came quite by accident. It was in what must have been the Greening Moon, shortly before the prisoners were moved to the mountain. Owl was among a group of workers who had been unloading firewood from carts. Sun Boy was nearing the edge of the world and shadows were long as they shuffled back through the village to their enclosure. Their over-seer walked alongside, intent on watching for any infraction.

Just as they were opposite the medicine lodge, one of the Hairfaces called to the man with the whip, and the other stopped to converse with him. The prisoners, glad
for any opportunity, began to slump to a squatting position of rest. Owl glanced at the preoccupied overseer, and took a few steps in the direction of the medicine lodge as he squatted.

From this position he could see through the massive doorway, which stood open. It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the dimness inside, but soon he could make out shapes and objects. Light came from the small fires burning on the tips of the lumps of fat used by the Hairfaces for this purpose. By this dim light he could see what originally appeared to be men and women in strange garments. Then he realized they were only effigies.

Suddenly he saw, at the far side of the medicine lodge, an effigy larger than all the others, and horrifying beyond belief. He hoped it was an effigy, though it could have been an actual person. At least, it was life-sized.

Against the far wall of the medicine lodge had been erected another of the symbolic trees. And, horribly impaled with stakes driven through hands and feet, hung the prisoner. He was clad only in a breechclout, and his head hung forward, in death or unconsciousness.

Owl crept cautiously back to the line of other prisoners. He could hardly comprehend the barbarity of this form of torture.
Aiee
, it was no wonder the medicine man commanded such respect. Owl resolved to stay as far from the man as possible.

He did not abandon his thoughts of escape, but he would have to be very careful. He had no desire to be the next prisoner to be staked to the tree for torture.

The trail to
the mine was narrow and steep, crawling along the shoulder of the mountain. On the uphill side the slope was rough and broken, with scrubby junipers scattered in the few accessible areas of soil among the boulders. On the other side, dropping precipitously, the canyon stretched along the trail nearly its entire length.

The depth was breathtaking to Owl, raised in the gently rolling prairie. He had, at first, an almost irrational fear of the cliff, soon erased by the hard physical labor of the task required. Still, after many days of staggering up the narrow path, and returning, bent under a heavy ore sack, there remained the dread of the height. Whenever he looked down at the pointed tops of tall fir trees, dwarfed by distance, his bowel tightened and his equilibrium became disturbed for a moment. He tried not to look down often. This was easy, because the utmost attention was required not to make a misstep, especially on the descent.
On this leg of the journey the ore sack on one's shoulders made a top-heavy load, and balance was critical.

On the return trip, several times between dawn and dark, it was sometimes possible to look far off across the canyon. The opposite range of shining mountains rose on above them, while in the vast intervening space eagles flew and fluffy clouds drifted. Owl never became accustomed to the strange feeling of looking down on drifting clouds or soaring eagles.

These moments of wonder were fleeting, however. Stationed along the trail were the overseers, each with his ever-ready whip. If a prisoner stumbled or seemed to be malingering, the stroke of the cat followed without hesitation. El Gato, more malevolent than ever; could always be counted on to assume a post about halfway up the trail. It was a difficult part of the path at best, very narrow around the shoulder of the mountain. Here there was not room for two to pass on the trail, so it was sometimes necessary to wait for another to traverse the narrow spot. Unfortunately, El Gato's post overlooked this portion of the path. The man had selected as his own a huge boulder, several paces in length and taller than a man's reach. He would pace the distance of the boulder's flat top like his namesake, turning at each end, to constantly keep the prisoners in view, if not in reach of the long lash.

It was the most dreaded portion of each round trip. To the prisoners, it was a grim game, the object of which was to save one's strength to traverse this short passage as rapidly as possible. If one loitered too long in other areas, of course, the whips of other overseers came searching. Still, in the mind of each prisoner was the sure thought. No cat searched, bit, and cut the skin as severely as that of El Gato. To pass El Gato's rock safely was the most important point of each trip.

Owl was pleased about one thing. Because of his youth and the strength of his legs, he had been placed on the
carrying crew. The others, the diggers, were those who could sit or crouch in the hole for many hours and chip away at the rocks. It required less strength, so many of the older or weaker prisoners were assigned there. One exception was the Old Man. His sinewy build seemed to contain an inexhaustible reserve of strength. Though he might at times be confused, mumbling to himself or chuckling insanely, his step on the trail was quick and sure.

Owl, thankful for the assignment in the open air and sunlight, felt glad for the Old Man, too. A prisoner who had tried escape as many times as the Old Man's reputation indicated must long for freedom. Owl could sympathize. He felt that he himself would soon go mad in the depths of the mine-hole. He longed to talk with the Old Man about his escapes, to ask the reason for his failures, and his theories on the possibility of success. Several times he attempted to initiate such a conversation, but each time the same result ensued: The Old Man would become suspicious, withdrew, and revert to the incoherent babbling of the deranged mind. His lapses into insanity seemed to become, if not more frequent, at least more sudden as the moons dragged along.

Owl had observed much about the digging of the medicine rocks. They seemed to come from only one or two areas of the mountain, he noticed. One hole had apparently yielded up its store of yellow rock, and was abandoned, like an empty eye socket in the face of the hill. The active source, that which they were now working, seemed to yield a good quality of the medicine stuff. At least, the Hairfaces were pleased as they conversed over samples of the ore from the mine-hole.

Sacks were carried from the hole by the antlike line of prisoners to a more level area along the sparkling stream and emptied in a pile near the
arristra.
This device was simply a round boulder, tethered to a stake in the smooth granite shelf of the stream bed. It could then be rolled in a circle, crushing pieces of ore beneath it. In the shallow
groove, ground by countless revolutions of the stone, gathered the shiny yellow particles so dear to the Hairfaces. The unwanted portions of the ore stones were washed away by the trickling water of the stream.

Owl had no knowledge of what became of the yellow sparkles after they were retrieved and sacked in small leather pouches. He did not particularly care. He had begun to suspect that this medicine might be more harm than good. He had seen no benefits that would appear to justify the extensive effort involved. Aside from the keeping of prisoners and the full-time effort of all the overseers involved, there were those who operated the
arristra.
All this for only a few pinches each day of the yellow stuff, And, so far, he could see not much use for it. It did not appear to make the hunt any easier, and was not used in growing. Aiee, there was much about the Hairfaces that was difficult to understand. Perhaps, he thought, there is something about the yellow stuff that makes men mad.

He shifted his uncomfortable load and stepped carefully along the trail. Ahead of him, the leathery Old Man plodded along, mumbling to himself. He had spent much time near the yellow medicine, Owl mused, and was clearly mad.

In front of the Old Man was another prisoner, carrying his load of ore. Owl had watched the man all day. He was sick, coughing frequently, and seemed very weak as they climbed that morning. Still, he had managed to keep up throughout most of the day, though staggering. At the mine, waiting to fill his ore sack, the man had been racked with such a paroxysm of cough that he had sunk to his knees. The overseer had prodded him up again, but now, several paces ahead of the Old Man, the prisoner seemed about to collapse.

Unfortunately, they were approaching the rock of El Gato when the man stumbled and fell. His precious ore sack pitched forward, struck the edge of the path, and bounced over the rim.

El Gato's roar of rage and cutting bite of the lash reached the prostrate form at almost the same instant. The man's shoulders twitched convulsively with the first few blows, then remained quiet. El Gato continued to curse and lash the unconscious form. Each stroke opened new cuts across the man's back, but he lay senseless on his face. The other prisoners remained still, fearing that the wrath of El Gato over the loss of the ore sack would extend to them also.

An overseer near Owl stepped past and trotted down the trail, squeezing past the Old Man. He spoke to El Gato and held a hand up to dissuade him for a moment. The Hairface stepped over to the prone figure and lifted the head by the hair with one hand.

“
Esta muerto!
” he called to El Gato, letting the dead face drop back into the dust. El Gato shrugged and coiled his whip. The other man straightened, placed his foot against the dead prisoner, and gave a shove, rolling the body over the edge. He stood and watched it bounce down the cliff side and out of sight far below.

Owl's attention was suddenly caught by a movement on the part of the Old Man. They had dropped their ore sacks to the trail to rest for a moment while awaiting developments. Now the Old Man very carefully and deliberately picked up his sack, swung it in a long arc, and pitched it out into the canyon. He stood watching it fall, growing smaller and smaller below. The overseer was running toward him, readying his whip, and El Gato leaped from his perch and followed, eager to be in on the punishment.

The Old Man seemed perfectly calm as he stood and waited. He did not cower, but stood proudly, not even deigning to look at his captors. Just before they reached him, he suddenly lifted his head and started to sing. Without even turning his head, he stepped calmly off the edge, and followed the path of the falling ore sack. At Owl's last glimpse, the Old Man's song still drifted upward.

Owl stood in the dust of the trail, stunned. The Old Man had seemed perfectly rational. His was not a crazed, deranged shout as he went over the edge. It had been a completely deliberate action. The song, Owl realized, must have been the Death Song of the Old Man's tribe, in his own tongue.

He picked up his ore sack and plodded on down the mountain. The words of the People's Death Song came to him.

The grass and the sky go on forever,
But today is a god day to die.

Not for me, Old Man, he thought. In battle or in defense, but not that way.

Long Bow met him on the trail before he reached the
arristra.

“What happened above?” he asked Owl as they passed.

There was no time for lengthy answers. Owl took a deep breath.

“The Old Man escaped,” he said.