Lakota (15 page)

Perhaps it was because the Lakotas boasted too often of their power that the medicine went bad. Or maybe it was only another of the hard things the spirits set out to make the warriors strong. Tacante never knew. He did get close enough to the boxes before his pony was shot to notice a strange thing. The wasicuns had new rifles that could be loaded lying down. The bluecoats fired, then reloaded, and fired again so swiftly there was no opportunity to charge unharmed.

Tacante huddled behind his dead horse and fired the new rifle at the boxes. Once he thought he must have struck a bluecoat, but he couldn't be certain. He had lost heart. The wonderful buffalo shield was pierced a dozen times that day, and all around him brave young men bled to death.

Gradually the Lakotas gave up the charges and withdrew out of range. Tacante, too, fell back. He cautiously wove his way between fallen horses until he reached the safety of the sloping hill. There he joined other Lakota riflemen who were continuing the fight. A few others fired burning arrows at the wagons, but though they caused much smoke and burned some of the wagons, the woodcutters remained safe.

One final attack was planned. There was a ravine which led to the wagon box, and a party of young men agreed to try a charge on foot. Many horses had already been lost, for the wagons blocked the path too well. Men could rush the boxes, leap over their sides, and overwhelm the wasicuns inside.

"Hau!" Tacante yelled. "Surely we will succeed this time."

He stood with Hokala and Cehupa Maza on either side. Sunka Sapa and Waawanyanka rushed over to join. Again the five friends would fight together. Tacante made a strong medicine prayer and lifted his riddled shield skyward in hopes of gaining protection for them all. Then they joined the hundred warriors in the ravine.

A wild, reckless charge might well have succeeded. But the ground was rough, and the last steps between the ravine and the wagons were full of slain horses and fallen men. The rifle fire was hot as ever. No sooner did Tacante take a step in the open than he felt something warm splatter his bare shoulder. He gazed in horror as Cehupa Maza, the fearless Iron Jaw, fell forward. His face was blown apart, and two red circles marked his chest.

"Wakan Tanka, give me strength," Tacante prayed as he struggled to grip his rifle. A wasicun bullet then shattered the stock, and a second pierced his chest just above the left nipple and left through the armpit. He dropped to his knees, then screamed in rage.

"Tacante!" Hokala called. The Badger turned back, only to be struck in the right shoulder.

So, here is where the young men of the Sicangu will die, Tacante thought as he discarded his fine new rifle, its stock shattered and the magazine hopelessly fouled. He drew a pistol and fired off its six rounds. By then the attack was clearly coming apart. The whole wasicun band was firing into the shattered remains of the chargers.

"Where are the others?" Hokala asked as he crawled to Tacante's side.

"Cehupa Maza is dead," Tacante whispered.

"The warriors," Hokala cried. "The older men. Why don't they join us?"

"Enough have died already," Tacante answered. "It's a bad day for the Lakotas."

"Yes," Hokala agreed as he stared at the blood seeping from Tacante's chest.

"Once my father, Hinhan Hota, said that a man knows nothing of his birth," Tacante recounted. "It's only for him to die well."

"Yes," Hokala agreed. "Can you stand?"

Tacante tried to rise, but strong hands reached out and pulled him to the ground.

"It's too good a day to die," Waawanyanka declared. "Have heart, Tacante. We've come to take you back."

Sunka Sapa then knelt beside Hokala, allowing the Badger to climb onto his back. Tacante sighed as Watcher slipped an arm under his arm and helped him crawl from the bloody grass. A step at a time, they withdrew down the ravine until the four of them sat together in the pines.

"I'll bring back the Jaw now," Sunka Sapa said, heading back toward the ravine as Waawanyanka tore a blanket into strips for bindings.

"I owe you my life," Tacante told his friend.

"I owed you mine," Waawanyanka answered. "We're brothers now, yes?"

"Always," Tacante agreed, gripping the Watcher's hand firmly. "And more. My kola, Waawanyanka."

"Yes," Watcher agreed.

"And you, Hokala?" Tacante asked.

"Yes," Hokala readily answered.

And when Sunka Sapa returned, a fourth firm hand was added to the pledge.

The four kolas headed south toward Hinhan Hota's camp that afternoon, riding captured wasicun mules. The animals were proof of the poor bargain they had made. Exchanging blood and fine war ponies for a hundred overworked mules! Behind them the smoke from burning wagon boxes mixed with the roar of a thunder gun to mark the scene of the terrible fight. They needed no reminders, though. Tied to Sunka Sapa's horse, the sole surviving pony, were the bloody remains of Cehupa Maza, their true friend.

You are the first,
Tacante thought as he bounced painfully along atop the mule's bare back. But not the last, he feared.

Tacante led the weary young Lakotas into Hinhan Hota's camp. The hollow cheeks and bent, bloodied bodies of the four warriors quickly silenced the brave heart shouts of the old men. Little Itunkala raced out to take his brother's horse, and Tacante let the boy tend the broad-backed mule.

"You are hurt," Itunkala called in surprise.

"Yes," Tacante admitted, touching his brother's shoulder, "I and the others."

A throng soon gathered to gaze at the frozen eyes of Cehupa Maza. Voices cried out, and the women trilled the mourning chant. Hinhan Hota greeted his son with sad, knowing eyes, and Tacante collapsed in his father's powerful arms.

"Look to Hokala," Tacante managed to mumble before darkness swallowed him.

In the days that followed, Tacante told the Owl of the wagon-box fight. Hinhan Hota took in every word, then put on a dark face.

"Wakan Tanka makes our path hard," the chief said solemnly. "But we have brave hearts."

Tacante drank in the words, but they failed to cheer him. A brave heart had not saved Cehupa Maza. Iron Jaw was dead. The bullet that had torn through Tacante's left side left him sore and mostly useless. Hokala remained in bed. So it was with every band among the warring Lakotas.

Flesh mended, though, and before the first snows fell on the earth that winter, Tacante was again riding to the hunt. Hokala's shoulder remained stiff, and his limp was more pronounced than ever. Still, the boys of the camp tended his needs and sang the brave songs of his many fights.

Great honor soon fell upon the four young kolas. In the dead of night, a drum awoke the camp. Tacante tossed off his blankets and threw on clothes. The memory of Blue Creek was suddenly with him, and he feared the wasicuns had come. The drum raised no alarm, however. For already assembled in the center of camp were the many members of the Kit-foxes, the famed warrior society known for the many brave hearts it sent into battle.

Hinhan Hota, who was one of the two leaders of the Kit-foxes, then looked to old Wahacanka Mazasu, the Bullet Shield. The Shield was a pipe carrier, one of the honored two who presided over the society's meetings. Wahacanka Mazasu called forth Tacante to join the Tokalas, the Foxes, and the young man stepped to his father's side. Hokala was summoned next. Finally Waawanyanka and Sunka Sapa were called.

The four young men were led away to a secret place. There older warriors recounted their many coups. Howls of approval followed. Then a fire was kindled, and the pipe carriers invoked the spirits to look upon the company with favor. Finally the young men were placed between two lines of their elders and forced to walk calmly as one after another of the older warriors jabbed lances or knives at the unprotected flesh of the novices. Tacante read the fierce eyes of the Tokalas, but he refused to fill his heart with fear. Even when a knife drew blood and a lance pricked his tender shoulder, he didn't cry out. He grinned as he saw his companions also complete the difficult task.

Afterward many medicine words were spoken, and the song of the Tokalas was sung. It was a good song, boasting of courage and determination. When the older warriors finished, Tacante and his friends sang it.

"I am a fox. I'm supposed to die. If there's anything that's difficult, anything dangerous, that's mine to do."

When the words died down, the second pipe carrier, Wicahpi Inyan, the Stone Star, recounted brave heart deeds performed by the Kit-foxes in fights against the Crows and the Snakes.

"Now you are with us, my sons," Hinhan Hota told the new foxes at last. "Much is expected of a Tokala. Much."

The two lance bearers, Wamanon, the Robber, and Tonweya, Rides Ahead, stood silently and showed their lances. Throughout the Lakota people there was no braver man than a lance bearer. Tacante knew that once such a man drove that lance in the earth, tied its cord to his leg, and faced the enemy, he could not retreat with honor. Only another Tokala could free a lance bearer of his obligation, and that was rarely done. Such warriors carried their lances but a short time when the people were at war.

"One day, if you prove your heart is brave, you may come to carry the lance," Wamanon explained.

"Hau!" the others shouted.

The Tokalas then welcomed their new companions with food and good talk. Tacante felt himself glowing in the bright gaze of his father's eyes.

"A man can only be proud of such a son," Hinhan Hota said, gripping Tacante's wrists.

Hinhan Hota moved the people north as winter arrived. He joined his camp to that of Wanbli Cannunpa's Oglalas and a smaller band of Sahiyelas. Nearby, Tacante was pleased to learn, a larger Oglala camp nestled among the tall pines. It was there that Sunkawakan Witkotkoke erected his winter lodge. The Horse soon appeared to greet his young admirers.

"Hau! All the brave young men aren't dead," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke shouted.

"See how the scars boast of courage," Sunka Sapa cried as he opened Tacante's shirt and revealed the scars where the bullet had entered and left. Hokala displayed his shoulder, too, and the Horse shouted again.

"Soon we will kill all the wasicuns," he boasted. "Brave hearts! We will punish them for the wagon box."

Tacante found himself howling in response. Afterward, as he recalled the pain, saw again the cold, lifeless eyes of Iron Jaw, he had less eagerness to ride again to war. And as the heavens emptied and the snows painted the land white and solemn, even the bravest warriors ceased to speak of battle. It was enough to see the people had wood to burn and meat to eat.

Tacante devoted most of his time to hunting. The wasicun wagons traveling the stolen road had run much of the game into the hills, but a clever man could still locate an elk or a few deer. Often Tacante returned with fresh meat for the kettles and hides for his mother and sister to work. Whenever the fierce bite of the cold north wind abated, he took little Itunkala out to shoot rabbits or look after the horses. And when the sun broke through the haze under the tree-popping moon, he took his courting flute to Wanbli Cannunpa's lodge and waited with his blanket for Hehaka, the Deer Woman.

As a blooded warrior who now wore the feathers of many coups in his hair, Tacante was received more cheerfully by old Eagle Pipe. Now the two were both Tokalas. And when the Oglalas spoke of their battles, young Tacante's name was often mentioned.

Still Wanbli Cannunpa held back permission for Hehaka to be a wife. The girl had become a healer among the Oglalas, a medicine woman. Old He Hopa had been a man of great power, and the Pipe hoped his daughter might possess some of the magic. But though Hehaka knew of the medicine plants and could pound the many powders, she did not know Wakan Tanka. Her dreams did not point the way.

"My father is disappointed," Hehaka told Tacante as they huddled beneath his blanket. "Soon he will see it is you that He Hopa guided upon the sacred path. When you next bring ponies, Wanbli Cannunpa will welcome you to his lodge."

Tacante hoped it would be so, but he saw no sign of it. It was another false promise, like the one spoken to the Oglalas by the wasicuns at the middle fort. One of the soldier chiefs, a man called Dandy, had talked of leaving the forts if the Lakotas would cease their attacks.

"If the wasicuns kept promises, no forts would have been built," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke said. It was what many thought. And when the bluecoats cut more wood to keep them warm when the heavy snows came, Dandy's words were seen for what they were, smoke in the wind.

Tacante was called to fight only once that winter. Wamanon, the Robber, spotted some wasicun horses under a light guard near where the woodcutters were working.

"I am a fox," Robber spoke. "Tokalas, follow me."

Soon a band formed. Tacante and Hokala rode with Hinhan Hota. Waawanyanka and Sunka Sapa were watching the bluecoats at middle fort.

At first it seemed an easy thing to do. The horses were digging their noses in the snow, then chewing the moist grass underneath. Only two wasicuns kept watch. Wamanon crept over and cracked the first one over the head with a rock. Hinhan Hota drove an arrow through the second one's chest. Both guards died silently, and the Lakotas collected the horses and prepared to drive them back to their camp. Then the air was torn by the blast of a soldier horn, and fifteen bluecoats galloped toward the startled horse stealers.