Authors: Don Coldsmith
Follow the Wind (6 page)
It was hours
later and the party was quieting for the night. Don Pedro Garcia still sat by the fire, holding the helmet in his lap. He had eaten not a bite and had spoken hardly a word to anyone. Since the finding of the helmet, he had spent most of the time busily scouring the object with sand, cleaning and polishing it. His gnarled old fingers moved lovingly, almost reverently, over the now-shiny surface. From time to time, he ran his thumb nail along a deep nick in the upturned brim and a corresponding groove in the smooth curve.
later and the party was quieting for the night. Don Pedro Garcia still sat by the fire, holding the helmet in his lap. He had eaten not a bite and had spoken hardly a word to anyone. Since the finding of the helmet, he had spent most of the time busily scouring the object with sand, cleaning and polishing it. His gnarled old fingers moved lovingly, almost reverently, over the now-shiny surface. From time to time, he ran his thumb nail along a deep nick in the upturned brim and a corresponding groove in the smooth curve.
Cabeza, concerned over the old man's preoccupation, sauntered over to sit beside him. Don Pedro did not even look up, but after a long moment began to speak softly, feeling the groove along the left side of the helmet.
“It was in the south of France,” he related, almost to himself, as if unaware that he had a listener. “The man was big, very big for a Frenchman, but he was quick. He dodged under my stroke and nearly killed me. The helmet saved me, but the armorer could never polish the scar out of it.”
He fingered the deep groove again.
Slowly, the significance of the half-forgotten story sank into the consciousness of Cabeza.
“You mean,
señor
,
this
is the helmet?”
señor
,
this
is the helmet?”
Sanchez had joined them and the story now became clear to him, also.
“Yes,
Señor
Cabeza, the young Officer Garcia wore his father's armor!”
Señor
Cabeza, the young Officer Garcia wore his father's armor!”
Slowly, Don Pedro turned, the look of wonder still on his face. He stared at Sanchez as if he had never seen him before.
“Sanchez, at times I have thought you were a liar. You still may be, but I have trusted you because it was all I had. Now this,” he held up the helmet, “proves you told some truth.”
Sanchez was almost overcome by the approval he was receiving. He was uneasy, however. The presence of the helmet worn by the young Juan Garcia proved nothing. He might be dead. Someone else might have carried the helmet halfway across the continent to this spot.
Yet, it was easy to be optimistic. This terrain did look remarkably like that in which the young officer had been lost. Hope continued to grow in the mind of Sanchez. It would be a wonderful thing if the son of Don Pedro could be found. With a sudden start, he realized that he was hoping for something without thinking of the financial return for himself. What a strange feeling. Perhaps he was becoming addled from too much time in the hot sun.
“
Señor
,” Cabeza was protesting mildly, “this does not mean that he is alive.”
Señor
,” Cabeza was protesting mildly, “this does not mean that he is alive.”
“I know, Ramon.” Something like a tear glistened in the old man's eye. “But I wish to know. And he did come this way!”
It was only a few days later that they sighted riders in the distance. There were perhaps a score of men, sweeping confidently across the plain. The two parties saw each other at approximately the same moment and the strangers altered course to approach slowly and with caution.
The travelers had seen horses used by the natives, mostly as pack animals. These were ridden. Don Pedro, with an old campaigner's eye, sized up the approaching contingent. The savages appeared to be experienced horsemen. What few natives they had seen on horseback previously were poor riders,
seated too far back and clumsy in their handling of the animals.
seated too far back and clumsy in their handling of the animals.
These men, on the contrary, sat well forward on the withers and exhibited good control. They appeared to be of a different bone structure than the natives previously seen, also. They were muscular in appearance, with longer facial features and high cheekbones. All were heavily armed.
Three of the newcomers detached themselves from the rest of the party and rode slowly forward. The man in the middle, a leader by his bearing and demeanor, held his right hand up, with open palm forward. The travelers had begun to recognize this as the signal for an invitation to talk.
Don Pedro pointed to Sanchez, Cabeza, and Lizard. They advanced cautiously to meet the newcomers halfway. Lizard, the only one on foot, walked proudly beside the old don's horse, with Sanchez on his other side. They stopped at a conversational distance and the sign talk began. Cabeza followed it closely.
“We have traveled far. We have gifts and we wish to ask questions.”
The other chief nodded stiffly.
“How are you called?”
“I am Lizard. These are men from across the Big Water. We look for the son of our chief.”
He indicated the elder Garcia.
Garcia, thinking to help explain the situation, drew the helmet from his saddlebag and held it up.
“
Aiee!
” exclaimed one of the warriors. The three began an animated conversation among themselves. At last, Lizard interrupted them to ask another question.
Aiee!
” exclaimed one of the warriors. The three began an animated conversation among themselves. At last, Lizard interrupted them to ask another question.
“You have seen a man with hairy face?”
The three glanced uneasily at each other. Another animated conversation ensued. Finally, the leader turned and signed back.
“We may be able to help you. You must come to our camp.”
There was now the interpretation and discussion among the Garcia party and tentative agreement.
“Ask who they are,” Cabeza suggested. “They must be one of the hunter tribes.”
“How are you called?” signed Lizard.
“I am Lean Bull. Come with us. You spoke of gifts?”
Lizard translated and Garcia turned to call forward one of the servants with a pack of trade goods. Some small trinkets were presented, to the obvious pleasure of the warriors.
At length, the two groups moved on together, each party of armed men still somewhat suspicious of the other. They moved in two parallel files, a few paces apart. The lancers eyed their native counterparts and the savages returned the attention.
Cabeza was interested in the equipment of the other group. Long lances bristled along the column. They appeared much like those of his own men, except for the stone lance points. Other men carried short, heavy bows and quivers of arrows. It was some time before he noticed that at the waist of nearly every man hung a war club. The implement consisted of a stone the size of a man's fist, bound into a handle of wood, somewhat like an ax. It appeared to be a formidable weapon.
The combined party traveled for nearly half the afternoon across rolling prairie and flat-topped hills. Herds of buffalo, their brown color appearing black in the distance, dotted the plain. Finally, topping a long ridge, the group looked over a vast basin in the prairie. Through the center of the lush, grassy meadows meandered a stream, marked by a darker green fringe of trees. In places, one or two huge old cottonwoods stood like sentinels presiding over the course of the stream.
Lean Bull, leader of the savages, stopped his horse and pointed across the valley. There, in the haze of distance, the travelers could see smoke along the stream. The source seemed to be a cluster of dwellings. Nearby, a scattered herd of horses grazed.
Cabeza stood in his stirrups to obtain a better look. A slight change in the breeze cleared some of the smoky haze for a moment and he could catch a glimpse of the structures in the village. They were conical in shape, sharply pointed on top, with smoke rising lazily from the apex of the cone.
It took a long moment for the significance of the scene to sink into Cabeza's consciousness. These were the leather-tent people of Sanchez's stories.
Another thought occurred to the young lieutenant as the
party started down the rocky hillside. He waited until they reached easier terrain in the meadow, then caught the attention of one of the savages who was riding near him. He indicated a wish to converse in the sign talk and the other nodded.
party started down the rocky hillside. He waited until they reached easier terrain in the meadow, then caught the attention of one of the savages who was riding near him. He indicated a wish to converse in the sign talk and the other nodded.
“How are your people called?” gestured Cabeza, by way of conversation.
The warrior reached down and lifted the heavy war club dangling below his waist. He cheerfully held it out for the inspection of the other.
“Our enemies call us the Head Splitters.”
That night, under
cover of darkness, in an area a few days' travel away, three men and a woman gathered in the dense timber along a stream. It was hardly more than a long bow shot from their village.
cover of darkness, in an area a few days' travel away, three men and a woman gathered in the dense timber along a stream. It was hardly more than a long bow shot from their village.
Most of the People slept, but for these, the meeting must be of utmost importance.
“Where are they now?” asked Coyote.
The messenger was stripping the saddle pad and rawhide war bridle from his tired horse. He turned the animal loose and gave a parting slap on its flank, the hair stiff from drying sweat. They had covered much distance this day. He stepped over to squat on the ground and the others did likewise.
“They met the Head Splitters today. They stay tonight with them on Walnut Creek, maybe two sleeps from here.”
The others nodded.
“Which way do they go?” asked Big Footed Woman.
“North. They should not find us at all.”
Again, they all nodded with satisfaction.
“It was good, White Buffalo, that we moved as we did.”
The medicine man accepted the compliment in silence, no less pleased. It had been his suggestion, when the rumor of a party of Hair-faces on the plains had first been heard.
The People had become affluent and successful under the leadership of a young outsider. He had, in the few short seasons with them, helped to change their way of living. He brought the horse and, with the improved methods of hunting buffalo, the People prospered. The children were fat and the women were happy. There were jokes that the Moon of Hunger, in late winter, needed a new name, for there was now food in plenty.
In addition, the People had, for the first time, successfully defended themselves in battle against the traditional enemies, the Head Splitters. This success had increased their pride as well as their prestige.
And then, the leader of the Southern band of the People had been killed in battle. The young warriors had rallied around their young leader, the hair-faced outsider who had instructed them in the skills of the horse and lance. He had married into the tribe and it was with pride that the People claimed Heads Off as one of their own and chief of the Southern band, now called the Elk-dog band.
It was still a source of amusement, the way their chief had received his name. The scouts of the People had found him, injured and lost, on the prairie. As the stranger sat up and removed his helmet, it had appeared to the onlookers, unfamiliar with that sort of headgear, that he had removed his head. It was Coyote, little dreaming that the stranger would be his son-in-law, who had dubbed him Heads Off.
Now, a few years later, all the advances of the People were threatened. According to rumors spread from one tribe to another, a column of the hair-faced ones was marching again from the south. Their purpose was unknown.
Fortunately, the scout who first heard of the matter from the Growers had become uneasy about the story. He had reported to Coyote, rather than to his chief.
“What does this mean, uncle?” The young man used the term of respect for any adult male of the People.
“I do not know, Standing Bird, but we must be very careful.
Come, we will talk to White Buffalo.” Surely, the medicine man would have words of wisdom.
Come, we will talk to White Buffalo.” Surely, the medicine man would have words of wisdom.
They found the old man relaxing on his willow back rest in front of his lodge. He, too, was concerned with the rumor. He recalled that for many moons after Heads Off had joined the People, his greatest wish was to return to his own tribe. Circumstances of one sort or another had prevented his departure. But now times were more stable. Might Heads Off not decide that it would be expedient to leave?
“It is not as great a risk what the Hair-faces will do, as what Heads Off will do.”
The others agreed. After much quiet discussion, a plan of action was outlined. The chief must be prevented from knowing of the expedition of outsiders. Thus, he would be unable to join them.
To this end, extra scouts would be deployed. Standing Bird, leader of the Elk-dog Warrior Society, would handle that end. The Elk-dogs, young men of unquestioned loyalty, would be informed of the crisis. Any information they acquired would be reported directly to White Buffalo. The medicine man could then advise a move to a new camp, in an area less likely to encounter the Hair-faces.
Only one move had been necessary. White Buffalo's visions had indicated that a change to an area two sleeps to the east would bring better hunting and it had been accomplished.
Coyote's heart was heavy over the necessity to deceive his son-in-law. They had shared thoughts since they first learned to communicate. The paunchy little man had come to respect and love the outsider, now a member of Coyote's own family. For these very reasons, it was necessary to take precautions to see that he was not lost. Neither the family of Heads Off, now including two sons, nor the People as a whole, could afford to be without his leadership. It was with regret, then, that Coyote was willing to compromise his usual integrity for the greater cause.
“Is anything more known of their purpose?” he now asked Standing Bird.
The young warrior shook his head.
“Among the Growers, they seek a hair-face and ask if a certain one has been seen. Who knows what they say to Head Splitters?”
Coyote chuckled the little high-pitched laugh that had long ago earned him his name. It was reminiscent of that animal's night cry on the hills behind the camp.
“
Aiee!
Would they ask Head Splitters of Hair-faces?”
Aiee!
Would they ask Head Splitters of Hair-faces?”
The others laughed softly. Since the time of the Great Battle, when Heads Off had defeated Gray Wolf, the Head Splitters had considered him the cause of all their troubles. It was said that there were many warriors among that tribe who would gladly die at any time if they could take the hated Heads Off with them. Among the Head Splitters, he was known as Hair Face, which struck Coyote as a delightful little joke. The party of outsiders would be asking the Head Splitters about their worst enemy, by name, but without knowing it. Coyote wished he could be there to observe the looks on their faces.
This could be a very good thing. If the Head Splitters overreacted to being asked about Hair Face by Hair-faces, the two groups might easily come to battle. How fortunate, if this new threat to the People were to be wiped out by the worst enemy of the People.
Of course, there was risk involved. It could happen that the two enemies of the People would strike an agreement. The Head Splitters might tell the newcomers where the hair-face was to be found, hoping that they would take him away with them.
Aiee
, it became confusing. They must especially watch the actions of the invading party now.
Aiee
, it became confusing. They must especially watch the actions of the invading party now.
The conspirators separated, re-entering the camp from different directions. Heads Off, half asleep, happened to glance past the door flap to see his wife's parents slip back to their lodge. He smiled to himself. An incurable romantic, that Coyote. They had probably slipped off for an interlude away from the children in their lodge.
Heads Off rolled over in the sleeping robes and cuddled against the warm body of Tall One. Their own children were too small to become that sort of problem yet. He would worry
about that later. For now, he considered that his was an almost ideal existence. A loving wife, fat children, plenty to eat, good horses, and loyal followers. There was little now to remind Heads Off, chief of the Elk-dog band of the People, that he had once been a young Spanish officer named Juan Garcia.
about that later. For now, he considered that his was an almost ideal existence. A loving wife, fat children, plenty to eat, good horses, and loyal followers. There was little now to remind Heads Off, chief of the Elk-dog band of the People, that he had once been a young Spanish officer named Juan Garcia.
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