Lakota Dawn (2 page)

“Be silent, Two Feathers, and let him speak what lives in his heart and head,” Wind Dancer interrupted his angry cousin. “Do you wish to speak in our tongue to my father or will I reveal your words to him?” he asked Chase.

“It has been a long time since the Lakota tongue has lived in my mouth, but I will speak it.” He turned to the chief. “What of the Four Sacred Virtues, Father? You must show Courage and Generosity by allowing me to return and to prove myself. Where is the Wisdom in rejecting or slaying me? Where is your Fortitude, your strength of mind and body at this difficult and painful event? Are we not taught to be fiercely loyal to our family and people? I did not leave them by choice: I was stolen from both by the enemy. You did not refuse to take back your wife when she returned from our enemy’s captivity, so why do you retreat from one who carries your blood and came from your man seeds? What Red Shield or Lakota law have I broken that says I must be banished? Give me until the first snow falls from the sky to prove I am more Lakota than White. If I fail to do so, you can slay me or order me to leave and I will obey; you have my word of honor as a man and as your son by blood.”

Nahemana stepped forward. “Three summers past when we gathered near Fort Laramie for the Treaty of the Long Meadows,” he said, “I had a dream and revealed it to Wind Dancer. The sacred dream said: ‘The past is not wrapped in a blanket or buffalo hide and does not rest on a death scaffold. It hides in clouds and will be seen before many more seasons
pass.’ That message has come to be: Cloud Chaser is alive and has returned.”

Chase remembered the shaman, father of Rising Bear’s wife, and grandfather to Wind Dancer, War Eagle, and Hanmani—his half-brothers and half-sister. It was evident from everyone’s expression and reaction that the elderly white-haired man with much weathered skin and stooped shoulders was loved and respected and was believed to know and speak great wisdom.

Nahemana continued. “The moon your adopted white mother died, an Indian maiden appeared to you in a dream and said it was time for you to return to this land and your father’s people. Is that not true?”

Chase was amazed by that news. “How did you know about my dream?”

“The Great Spirit put that thought inside my head, for He knows and sees all things,” Nahemana replied. “He has a purpose for calling you back to this land, but He has not revealed it to me.”

Wind Dancer knew his grandfather’s revelation about his dream long ago was true. Yet, even if this man was Cloud Chaser, the motive for his return might not be a good one. Perhaps evil forces were at work in Chase’s life and heart, powers which could endanger his loved ones. Wind Dancer decided that until he was certain his half-brother was no threat to their father and people, this long-lost man must be watched closely.

“You must prove yourself worthy to rejoin our band, if that is the Great Spirit’s will,” Nahemana told Chase. “You must prove when the time comes—for surely it will do so during this hot season—you are more Oglala than White and you will side with us in all things and ways against our enemies, those who carry the same White blood as did your mother and the people who reared you far away. Can you turn your face from the Whites forever? Can you raise your weapons against them when they attack us?”

“I will do whatever I must, Wise One,” Chase vowed to the shaman.

“Let him prove himself at the Sun Dance pole,” Two Feathers scoffed.

“I will surrender myself to the Sun Dance to prove myself worthy to be a Red Shield and to give thanks to Wakantanka for bringing me home, but I will do so when the time is right, not by your challenge, my cousin.”

“Are you afraid to—”

Rising Bear lifted his hand. “Enough, Two Feathers. Our shaman has spoken and so it will be until the Great Spirit tells him otherwise or our laws are broken.” He said to Chase and his other two sons, “Come to my tepee; there are many words to speak between us.”

As the four men headed for the chief’s dwelling, Chase glanced to his left. His gaze widened and he missed a step as he stared at a young maiden not far away. If he didn’t know she was real, he would swear it was the female spirit who had appeared to him in his beckoning dream months ago! She was the most beautiful and tempting woman he had ever seen. He saw her lower her gaze and turn to speak with a younger girl beside her, and he refocused his strayed attention on his retreating father and brothers. Even so, he experienced a strange and powerful pull toward her and knew he must discover her identity. As he glanced toward Two Feathers, he saw the warrior’s sullen gaze flicker from him to the maiden and back to him. Judging from the scowl on Two Feathers’ face, Chase concluded the other man was going to cause trouble for him as he had in the past, but he would ponder that problem later. For now, other matters were more important. He was eager to see how his father and brothers treated him in private, for they had shown no affection, joy, and acceptance in public, to his dismay.

As the crowd dispersed to return to their chores, the two young women walked into the forest to speak beyond the hearing of others.

Hanmani, cherished daughter of Rising Bear, told her best friend Macha, “I was only four winters old when he vanished, so I am not sure I remember him. After living so long as the half-white man he is, why would he want to return to a land filled
with conflict and hatred between the two bloods he carries? How will he bring himself to side with one against the other? If he is not loyal to his mother’s and adoptive parents’ side, how can we trust him to be loyal to ours? Dawn, what do you think of him and his coming?”

Macha vividly remembered the boy called Cloud Chaser, though she had been only six when he disappeared. Even at that young age, she had loved him and used many pretenses to be around him. Now he was back, a grown man, a handsome and virile one with great courage, strength, intelligence, and boldness. “Perhaps the Great Spirit has summoned him here to help bring peace between our two peoples.”

Hanmani shook her head. “Father and others say there can be no peace with the Whites who seek to destroy us and steal our lands. Already they have misused and broken the Long Meadows Treaty with us and other tribes. If a treaty born only three summers past has withered and died, what and who can give it new life, and how long will the second one last? It cannot be, my best friend, for our peoples and desires are too different.”

“If there can be no peace as our leaders say, perhaps there can be a better truce, for the Whites are here to stay, Hanmani. Even if all enemies who live or travel through our lands are slain, more will come, as will a bitter war if we attack them. Do not forget what we have learned: they have many powerful weapons and their numbers are larger than the buffalo herds which cover the grasslands. If we do not find an honorable way to live with them or a means to utterly defeat them, we, along with the buffalo, will vanish, and we will not be able to return as Cloud Chaser did. Perhaps the Great Spirit allowed his capture so he could learn the white man’s ways, then return to teach them to us, or to help us use those ways against our enemy.”

That speculation intrigued and excited Hanmani. She smiled and asked, “Do you really think so, my friend?”

Macha thought for a short span, then sighed and shrugged. She could not outright lie to her best friend, but she was not ready to expose her deepest feelings on the matter. “I do not
know why he has come, but surely the Great Spirit will soon reveal it to our shaman.”

“If he seeks to trick us, he will be slain by Wind Dancer or War Eagle.”

“Could they truly slay their own brother?”

“If he is a threat to us, they will do what they must. I am sure they will watch him as keen-eyed hawks until they know he can be trusted. We must gather our firewood so we can hurry back to see what happens.”

As they worked, Macha struggled to quell her fear at that possibility, and her elation and suspense at his sudden return. It was as if she had been dreaming and waiting for Cloud Chaser to reappear since the day he had vanished. Why, she did not know, as any kind of relationship with him was impossible. She had noticed Two Feathers’ study of them when they had glanced at each other. The warrior had begun to crave her as his wife. Yet, she could think of little which would be more saddening or repulsive than mating with Hanmani’s cousin. Macha sighed. She felt trapped in a powerful whirlwind that was blowing her in two directions at once: one toward the bond to her people and one toward the man who caused her body to warm and tingle, her heart to pound, and her mind to race with forbidden thoughts and desires.

As she did her daily task, several questions plagued Macha. What if his
wasicun
blood and years with the Whites had changed Cloud Chaser from the boy she remembered? What if his reason for returning was-not a good one? What if he called down the wrath of their enemies upon them? Even if he had not become more White than Indian, what if he could not bring himself to choose sides when that awesome moment arrived? If he could not convince the others he was being truthful and sincere, would he be slain or simply sent away? She, too, must watch him for answers.

When their woodslings were filled and they headed back toward camp, Macha somehow knew that her parents, especially her father, would tell her to come home whenever Cloud Chaser visited his family and to avoid him completely. Could she—would she—obey that impending command? She could not
decide how she would react if Cloud Chaser approached her, especially in private, or surmise how she was going to handle the imminent and repugnant joining offer from Two Feathers.
Help me, Great Spirit, for my heart and mind are caught in traps and I do not know how to free myself.

Inside the chief’s tepee, the four men sat cross-legged on oblong fuzzy hides, Chase facing Rising Bear and Wind Dancer facing War Eagle. It was as if each had assumed one of the four points on a compass, and leaving a space of three feet between him and the man opposite him. Since the Red Shield leader had implied he wanted privacy, all knew they would not be disturbed, even by his wife Winona or his daughter Hanmani.

Wind Dancer opened their talk by asking Chase to relate the news of his capture, life far away, and his journey back to them. More confident of his knowledge of English than of his alleged brother’s grasp of the Indian tongue, he told Cloud Chaser to use the white man’s language. Before reaching the tepee, he had whispered to his father that he and War Eagle would translate for their chief. He wanted Cloud Chaser to feel confident, comfortable. Perhaps then he might stumble more easily.

Chase focused his attention on Rising Bear, whose unreadable gaze was locked on him. “I was injured and captured because I disobeyed you, Father, and the teachings of the Great Spirit. There was much conflict between me and my cousin when we were boys, and from his behavior toward me today, that has not changed. After Two Feathers slayed the wolf who
attacked your war horse and gave you its pelt, he boasted to me about his brave deed and teased me about being weak because I was half white. I yearned to give you a better gift and to show greater courage than he had. Such feelings were wrong, but I was blinded by love for you and anger toward him. I went after the ghost horse who roamed our lands and could not be caught, though you had told your sons not to do so, for it was dangerous. As I chased him, a Crow hunting party tried to capture me. I shot many arrows at them, wounding two. They were angered and sent an arrow into my arm,” Chase disclosed, touching a spot just below his left shoulder.

“I was thrown from my pony when he stepped into a creature’s burrow and stumbled. My leg was broken and my head was injured, and a great darkness came over me. When I awakened, many suns and moons had passed and I was traveling inside one of the settlers’ cloud-covered wagons. When I told the white man and his wife I was from the Red Shield Oglalas and must be freed to return home or much danger would approach them, the man called Tom Martin said my people had been massacred by the Crow who had wounded me. He said I must remain with them to heal and to be safe from our enemies. When you did not come after me, I believed his claim that my family and people were dead. My heart was filled with more pain than my body suffered. My head was filled with anger and hatred toward the Crow and I hungered for revenge against them.” Chase quelled his bitterness and disillusionment as his father showed absolutely no reaction to his tale.

“His wife, a gentle and generous woman named Lucy, tended my injuries. She called me Chase, for I had murmured part of my name while ensnared by the blackness. My blood mother had taught me much English, and I learned more from the Martins. I could not walk or ride with my leg in wooden bonds; I was weak in body and spirit and I was in unfamiliar territory, and I was scared, for I was only a child of ten, and all I had known, loved, and was had been stolen from me. The Martins were kind to me and I believed my family and people were dead, so I stayed with them. I vowed to return and seek revenge on the Crow after I healed and learned my way home,
but time escaped me as I waited to grow older and stronger and wiser before challenging such a powerful force.”

Chase took a deep breath, but the others remained silent. “It is true I came to trust, love, and respect my adoptive parents. The land where they settled to make a farm was a wild and dangerous place. Many times I helped Tom Martin defend his home, wife, and land. I studied and learned all I could about their kind while I was with them, for I hoped one day to use such things for the good of my people—if any had survived. It is true they did not speak all of the truth to me, as they yearned for a son and they came to love me as their own flesh and blood. Just as my mother came to accept the Red Shields long ago. The one you called Omaste for her golden hair like the sun loved, obeyed, and respected you, your family, and your people. On his deathbed, my white father confessed he had spoken falsely to me long ago. He begged me to forgive him and to stay with his wife. Lucy was old and was always good to me, so I took care of her until her death. The night her last breaths were leaving her body, I dreamed of coming home, finding my family and people alive, and rejoining them.”

He paused, but again no one asked any questions or made any remarks, so Chase continued his story. “I became a trapper for a fur company in order to work my way here and to learn the land which separated me from this one. I know the white man’s tongue. I know his ways, his religion, his thoughts. I can read his words on paper. I know much of what has happened here while I was gone. I stayed at Fort Laramie and Fort Pierre for many days to gather news about the Red Shields and their allies and enemies. From my years among them and my travels here, I know there are many Whites and their weapons are powerful. I know they made a treaty with the Dakotas and other Indian nations and have not kept it. Many Whites are good people and do not desire war with us; yet, many seek our destruction. If you allow me to return home, I can be your eyes and ears against the enemy, for I can appear to be one of them. What do you say, my father and brothers?”

Chase saw Wind Dancer send their father a furtive message, and he had seen his older brother whisper to Rising Bear earlier
outside. He suspected they did not trust him at this point and might try to dupe him.

Wind Dancer sought to select his words carefully and cleverly. “Our hearts and minds hunger to believe you and accept you among us, my brother,” he finally said, “but you have lived among our white enemies for many seasons and it is hard and perhaps dangerous for us to do so.”

Chase nodded. “I understand it might be hard to trust me, a near-stranger after our long separation, but why would it be perilous to do so?”

“If you lie or crave revenge from a bitter heart or cannot bring yourself to side with us during battles, you could endanger or betray us.”

Chase noticed that his older brother was acting as the spokesman for their father. He knew that Wind Dancer was being groomed as the next chief, as it was the custom for leadership to pass from father to eldest son unless there was a specific reason not to do so, then another son had to earn that high rank. Yet, he was surprised and saddened that his own father didn’t speak or show any favorable emotion toward him. “When your mother was taken captive by the Pawnee and forced to live among them for two years, she did not forget her identity or become a Pawnee or ever stop trying to escape and return home.” Chase knew it was foolish to mention that it was during Winona’s absence that Rising Bear had turned to his white captive one night for comfort and the result had been his birth. “After she returned from the enemy, she was welcomed home, and was still loved, respected, and accepted. Why is it different for me, my brother?”

“My mother did not carry the enemy’s blood to pull her toward them,” Wind Dancer answered. “She was a grown woman and her thoughts were clear. You were stolen as a child, Cloud Chaser, when your heart and mind could be swayed by others, by those who reared you as their son.”

“My heart and mind have always remained Oglala, my brother. They could no more change me into a white man than you can change a doe into a buck. All I ask for is a chance to

“The agent called Thomas Fitzpatrick who persuaded us to go to Fort Laramie three summers past to hear the words of the Long Meadows Treaty is dead,” Wind Dancer divulged. “Broken Hand was the one white man who gave us respect and tried to do good. Life left his body almost five full moons ago, and much trouble has begun. Already our Lakota brothers ride against the Bluecoats and settlers, as do other bands and tribes.”

“For them to break the treaty will cause trouble, Wind Dancer, trouble which will spill onto the lands and lives of those who still honor the truce,” Chase cautioned. “The Red Shields must think long and hard before they ally and ride with other Lakotas against the Whites. It is perilous to break your word to them.”

“My father did not sign the treaty,” his half-brother replied. “The White leaders demanded we choose a head chief to speak and sign for all Lakotas: the man called Mitchell chose Brave Bear of the Brules and told all tribes to accept him as head chief. No other leader can speak or sign in our father’s place, but we pretended to agree to give us time to grow stronger. Attacks by the Crow and a white man’s sickness had stolen the lives of many of our warriors, and the lives of many in other tribes. The treaty”—Wind Dancer paused as he searched his memory for the English word used long ago—“des-ig-nated each tribe a separate territory and commanded all to live in peace. We hoped it would keep the enemy from hunting and raiding in our lands while we recovered from those past attacks. Our enemies the Crow, Shoshone, and Arapaho came and signed, but the Pawnee, Kiowa, and Comanche refused. The Gros Ventre, Assiniboin, Mandan, and Arickaree also came and signed, as did our allies the Cheyenne. The Bluecoats promised to protect any tribe from another’s attack, but they have failed to do so. They make many new trails across our lands and they put up more forts; those are for the Whites’, not the Indians’, use and protection. They promised many goods
in return for peace and for travel across our lands, but those goods are few and bad.”

“What are the boundaries for the Lakota territory, my brother, and what goods did the treaty promise to deliver?”

“From where Cantewakpa ends its journey at Muddy Waters, travel the Mnisose to Skamakawakpa where Fort Pierre Trading Post stands, cross the grasslands and sandhills to where Kampeskawakpa divides itself, take the branch toward the land where the sun goes to sleep and halt at Paha Luta. There, ride toward the land where winter is born and travel beyond the sacred Paha Sapa to where the Cante waters spring to life.”

Chase’s mind quickly translated those boundary sites and markers: along the Heart River to the Missouri, southward on it to the White River, overland to the Platte branch, westward along the North Platte fork to Red Butte, then northward west of the Black Hills to the Heart River mouth.

“We were to be given food, blankets, kettles, hatchets, knives, cloth, cows and horses, and tools to farm in Mother Earth. They did not bring such things to our camps; they told us to come to the fort and to…stand in line for them to be passed out amongst many people, as if we were…beggars. The Red Shields refused such demands; we accept no handouts from the Whites. To others, they give little and they take much. They slay the buffalo as a game or only for its hide. They slay females with calves and leave the young to die without a mother’s nourishment and protection; that practice will prevent the renewal of herds. We find many carcasses rotting beneath the sun, the creature’s life wasted. The stock they give out to others is weak and has little meat on its bones. The flour has tiny creatures in it. The blankets are thin and the cloth tears easily. They refused to give us weapons for hunting, for they feared we would use the firesticks to slay them. They enclose us in a territory where they destroy our food supply and demand we take so-called gifts from them to make us dependent upon them forever.”

“If we make a claim on the farming tools promised in the treaty, my brother,” Chase suggested, “I can teach our people how to plant seeds and grow food in Mother Earth before and
after the great buffalo hunt each summer, for I was taught to farm by the Martins. Then, our people would have sufficient food and not become dependent on them. If they refuse, I can dress as a white man and buy tools and seeds at the trading post.”

“We not farmers, Cloud Chaser; we hunters,” War Eagle scoffed.

Chase looked at his younger half-brother when he spoke for the first time. There was a sharp edge to War Eagle’s tone and a chilly glare of insult in his expression. “Can you still be a hunter when the buffalo are gone or there is not enough of them to feed our people during the winter, the cold season?” Chase reasoned in English, having noticed that both of his brothers now spoke the language with great skill. Yet, when one was speaking to him, the other was translating for their father, who sat erect and with an impassive but alert expression.

“If bad sun rises, we hunt and eat deer, antelope, elk, moose, bear, beaver, fish, and many birds. We gather berries, nuts, and plants. Great Spirit is good provider. Red Shields need nothing from White enemy.”

“What of those creatures, War Eagle, when the white man traps them for their skins and many vanish from the streams, forests, and grasslands? Where will enough plants and berries and nuts grow when the white man clears lands for farms and ranches and homesteads? The Indian world has changed forever with the white man’s coming, and you must change with it or perish, for they can never be driven from your land for all time. Though you yearn for the Old Ways, you must learn new ones. The sun will rise when you must trade with the Whites for things you need for survival. Pride will not feed your people in the years ahead, War Eagle. You cannot make enough weapons or fire enough arrows to slay all Whites who enter your lands or cross them, for more will take their places, and soldiers will come to attack you for such deeds. I can help our people learn these new ways, for they were taught to me while I was gone. I can read the Long Meadows Treaty and see where and how you were tricked; I can read a new treaty to be certain it does not happen again.”

“We warriors, Cloud Chaser; we fear, slave to no enemy or force.”

“Even a brave and skilled warrior must know when to fight, War Eagle, and when to make truce or retreat. If your warriors are slain, who will feed and protect your women, children, and old ones? Where is the wisdom in fighting a battle you cannot win?”

“Where honor in not fighting for what ours?” War Eagle argued. “Man cannot live without honor. Lakota must live proud, free.”