Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1953 (7 page)

           
Sam spun around, startled and a
trifle embarrassed that anyone could have come so close to him without his
knowing it. Eagle Wing stood there. Around his body he held a cloak of the
softest deerskin, embroidered with porcupine quills that had been dyed in
various colors. His face was gravely expressionless, but his eyes watched Sam
closely.

           
“You are looking at Giluhda’s
tracks,” said Eagle Wing.

           
“Is this the mark of his foot?”
inquired Sam, pointing downward.

           
“Yes. Look there. More tracks.”

           
A trail of the round, hard-tamped
marks led across the cornfield and toward the woods beyond.

           
“I think that Giluhda came close to
the town to find something,” Eagle Wing went on, with a touch of mockery in his
voice. “I think he smelled an enemy, one who set off some fire-powder in his
face on the night before last night.”

           
“Eagle Wing, you are saying that
Giluhda came to look for me,” said Sam, speaking hotly despite himself. “If
that is true, I am not afraid. I am looking for Giluhda, too. We may find each
other very soon.”

           
“Very soon,” agreed Eagle Wing
quietly.

           
“I will fight with him,” promised
Sam. “My fire- weapon will strike him.”

           
“White hunter, maybe I can help you
when you go to fight with Giluhda.”

           
Sam studied the medicine man’s face
narrowly. “How will you help me?”

           
“I know the ways of Giluhda. I can
lead you to him so that he does not know you are near him. But if I do that,
you must not talk about this to Woodpecker, the chief.”

           
“Why should I not talk about it to
him?” asked Sam.

           
Eagle Wing smiled wispily. “We are
alone together. We can speak straight words, with nobody to hear. I want to
help you kill Giluhda.”

           
“So does Woodpecker want to help
me.
”

           
“I want him to be killed by my
help,” elaborated Eagle Wing, “and not by the help of the chief.”

           
Sam grinned, a hard, young grin.
“They say that you did not want one of my people to come here,” he said after a
moment. “They say that you wanted somebody from the White Coats. They say that
you almost quarrelled with Woodpecker.”

           
“They say the truth,” Eagle Wing told
him. “But the council voted to bring a Red Coat. You are here. I will help
you.”

           
“I think you want to be greater than
Woodpecker,” Sam accused him. “I think you want to be chief in his place.”

           
Eagle Wing scowled. “Those are bad
words for a guest to speak.”

           
“We are alone together,” Sam gave
him his own reminder. “We can speak straight words, with nobody to hear. I am
not afraid to say what I think, Eagle Wing.”

           
“Then say what you think,” invited
the other, still scowling. “I am not afraid to listen.”

           
“You are the medicine man here. What
if you were chief? You would be obeyed. You would be both medicine man and
chief. You would have more power than any chief.”

           
“If I was the chief, that would be
true,” said Eagle Wing quietly.

           
“You would like to use this matter
of Giluhda and the danger Giluhda brings, to help yourself get into
Woodpecker’s place.”

           
“Woodpecker is lame,” said Eagle
Wing. “He cannot lead his people to hunt or to fight. They need a strong, wise
man. There are some in
Twilight
Town
who would like to see me be the chief.”

           
“I am not one of those,” said Sam
flatly.

           
“You are a stranger.”

           
“Yesterday you heard the council say
that I would be like one of your people. I feel like one of them. I think that
the chief should be chief, and the medicine man should be medicine man.”

           
“I can help you, white hunter,”
repeated Eagle Wing. “And you can help me. It would be good for both of us. Our
two medicines would be strong together, stronger than Giluhda.”

           
“No,” snapped Sam. “I don’t know
your medicine, Eagle Wing. I know mine. I will use what I know, without your
help.”

           
Eagle Wing’s chin lifted. His hard
smile grew harder.

           
“Do the thing you want to do,” he
said. His hand came from under the deerskin cloak and pointed. “There is the
trail of Giluhda. Follow it alone. He is waiting to fight you.”

Wing and back
toward the gateway in the stockade. He felt the medicine man’s harsh gaze
prodding the back of his buckskin hunting shirt, but he did not look around.

           
Straight to Chief Woodpecker’s house
he went, and from beside his couch he took the
Pennsylvania
rifle given him by Dan Boone. It was ready
loaded, as usual. He picked up his powder horn and bullet pouch and left the
house again.

           
On the path outside he saw
Woodpecker and Otter approaching. Behind followed several other men, close
together. Their brown, shaven skulls reflected the rays of the early morning sun.
Sam recognized these as some of the council members who had sat in the town
house with him the day before.

           
“You have your fire-weapon,”
Woodpecker greeted him, limping close to see.

           
“Brother,” said Otter, “the chief
and his wise men have been thinking about the strong medicine you brought here.
They think you should show it to them.”

           
Sam lowered the butt of the rifle to
the ground, leaned on the barrel, and faced Woodpecker. “How shall I show it?”
he asked.

           
“Let the fire-weapon speak,” said Woodpecker.
“Let it strike a mark for us. Our eyes have never seen such a thing.”

           
“I will do it,” agreed Sam.

           
He walked toward the gate,
Woodpecker limping at his side and the others following.

           
Eagle Wing still stood in the
cornfield. As the group came out of the gate, he joined it. He gazed at Sam’s
rifle, but without any sign of wonder or curiosity. Sam ignored him, and looked
here and there for a proper target.

           
Above the green plumes of the young
corn sprouts
hovered
a crow, as if in his wise, thieving
heart he estimated the crop that would ripen there. He cawed loudly, then went
winging across the field to a young pecan tree and perched upon a limb.

           
“Chief,” said Sam, “you and the men
of your council can see the crow in that tree.”

           
“We see it,” said Woodpecker
gravely, shading his eyes with a brown palm. “That is a long distance—a hundred
paces. Can you make the fire-weapon strike that far?”

           
“I will try,” said Sam, and lifted
his rifle.

           
Planting his left foot well forward,
he pointed his moccasin toe toward the pecan tree. He clamped his rifle butt
against the bunched muscle of his right shoulder. Catching half a breath in his
lungs, he steadied himself. He peered through his sights, aimed at the crow,
and touched the trigger.

           
Bang!
A puff of pungent
smoke, a yell from the watchers and the crow seemed to spring upward from its
perch. It spun in the air, and fell to earth like a clod.

           
“Get it,” said Woodpecker to Otter,
who ran swiftly forward across the field. Sam lowered his rifle, drew his ramrod,
and swabbed out the bore. Happy triumph warmed his heart. It had not been too
difficult a shot for a practised meat hunter, yet it would be praised even
among the good marksmen of the
North Carolina
settlements. And it was plain to see that
these Cherokees were amazed and impressed.

           
Otter was fetching back the dead
crow. The bullet had ripped its black head clear away. The chief and his
council members gazed and grunted their admiration.

           
“The crow was small,” said Eagle
Wing at last.

           
“That is true,” replied Woodpecker.
“It was small and far away. Yet our white friend’s medicine was strong. He
struck it down.”

           
“The crow was small,” said Eagle
Wing again. “It has a soft skin, it was easy to kill. But Giluhda is big. His
skin is thick and tough, like the shield of a warrior. He will not be killed so
easily.”

           
“My fire-weapon can send its round
ball through a warrior’s shield,” said Sam quickly.

           
“Is this true?” inquired Eagle Wing,
making a sneer of the formal question.

           
“I tell no lie,” replied Sam, in the
same tone. “Let somebody bring a shield. I will show my medicine against it.”

           
“I will get my shield,” offered one
of the council, and left the group to go back inside the stockade.

           
While Sam waited, he finished
cleaning his rifle. Then from his horn he carefully poured a charge of powder
down the muzzle. He opened the spring lid of the little chamber in the stock,
produced a small round patch of oiled linen, and in this wrapped a bullet from
his pouch. Every eye watched with deep interest as he rammed the bullet home.

           
The council member returned with his
shield, and Sam looked at it carefully. It was round in shape, a full yard
across, and made of tanned leather stretched on a hoop of hickory wood. On its
front was painted the crude likeness of a bear’s head, in red and yellow and
black colors. Sam took the shield in his hand and turned it over.

           
The leather of the shield seemed
tough but springy, like the head of a drum. And it was amazingly thick —as
thick as the sole of a shoe made in the settlements.

           
“What skin is this?” asked Sam.

           
“It is from a buffalo,” replied the
shield’s owner. “They are few in this country, the buffalo, but we hunt them
for skins to make our winter robes and our shields.”

           
“I have never seen any skin so thick,”
remarked Sam.

           
A sniff of
scorn—that was Eagle Wing.
“Let me tell the white hunter how we make a
shield.”

           
“Speak,” said Woodpecker, folding
his arms.

           
“We cut a round piece of new buffalo
hide, twice as far across as we need. Then we boil the hoofs of deer until they
make thick glue. We dig a hole and build a fire in it. Over the hole we fasten
the round piece of buffalo skin, with pegs all around its edge. Then we pour on
the glue and rub it in. The round piece grows smaller and thicker as it gets hot
and the glue soaks into it. We pull up the pegs as it draws tight, and drive
them in again to hold it in place. Finally it is a piece twice as thick and
half as wide as before.”

           
“That is work well done,” said Sam.

           
“The Cherokees know things the white
men do not,” taunted Eagle Wing.

           
He took the shield from Sam’s hand
and turned it face down. The back was furnished with two looped straps of
leather. Eagle Wing passed his forearm through the larger loop, and gripped the
smaller in his dark fingers.

           
“Now I will go and stand over there
and hold the shield up in front of me,” he announced. “Let the white hunter
make his loud medicine and throw his round ball against it.”

           
There was a low murmur from the
council members.

           
Sam held the loaded rifle across his
body and shook his tawny head. “No,” he said. “I will not strike the shield
while there is a man behind it.”

           
Again Eagle Wing’s mouth hardened
into his hostile smile. “I am not afraid,” he said. “This is a good shield. It
will turn away the point of any spear or arrow that touches it.”

           
“No,” said Sam again. “Let somebody
hang it on the tree where the crow was sitting.”

           
“Hang the shield on the tree and
come back here,” Woodpecker ordered Eagle Wing.

           
Eagle Wing looked at the chief. He
did not scowl, but his bright eyes were narrow. Plainly he did not like to be
spoken to as though he were a runner of errands. But he unslung the shield from
his arm and walked with long strides across the field to the pecan tree. He
hung the shield on the stub of a branch, so that its round expanse lay directly
across the trunk, with the painted bear’s head turned toward Sam. Back he came
and stood to one side, crossing his arms beneath his robe.

           
“Show us your medicine again,”
Woodpecker said to Sam.

           
Sam brought his rifle to his
shoulder and sighted quickly. He touched trigger again. Another loud
report,
and the shield quivered where it hung.

           
“Bring the shield,” commanded
Woodpecker, and Otter raced off like an eager boy to get it.

           
Returning to the group, Otter thrust
his finger through the bullet hole, to show that it went through from side to
side.

           
“Chief, there is a hole in the tree,
too,” said Otter. “My brother’s medicine went through the shield, and into the
tree behind it.”

           
“If Eagle Wing had held that
shield,” said Woodpecker deeply, “the medicine would have made a hole in his
body. Eagle Wing, the white hunter held your fife in his hand when you said you
would stand behind the shield. He was wise to say that he would not use his
fire-weapon against you. He was merciful.”

           
Eagle Wing cleared his throat with a
great rasp. His gaze was fixed on the pierced shield.

           
“That skin is twice as thick as a
buffalo’s hide,” he said, “but Giluhda is more than twice as large and strong
as the biggest buffalo. The round balls are not big.”

           
“They are big enough,” said Sam,
drawing his ramrod again.

           
“Let me see them,” said Eagle Wing,
holding out his hand.

           
Sam unslung the bullet pouch from
his shoulder and passed it to the medicine man. Then he began to swab out the
bore of his rifle.

           
With the utmost interest Eagle Wing
opened the pouch and took out one of the bullets. The others came close to see.
Eagle Wing returned the bullet to the pouch and drew its mouth tight. He looked
up at Sam—and beyond him.

           
“Giluhda!” he cried.

           
Every face whipped around to look.
And now, by daylight, Sam saw the creature he had travelled so far to kill.

           
Giluhda’s immense bulk had come part
way into the open from a thicket of bright green saplings, his forward half
looming bigger than Sam had imagined. Lycurgus Meehaw, safe at home back at
Brooke’s

           
Fort,
had
been right about the elephant notion—only this was no notion, it was flesh and
blood and bone, tons of them.

           
Giluhda was an overwhelming brown
mass, tall and broad. His face looked as wide as a shed, with great fanlike
ears cocked forward on either side. Between two enormous, outcurving, white
tusks twitched and swung the long, snakelike “arm” of which the Indians had
spoken—the trunk, it would be called.

           
“Run!” cried Otter, and they all
dashed toward the gateway.

           
At once Giluhda began to run, too.
On legs like hairy logs he hurled himself forward, incredibly swift. His trunk
lifted itself like a whip. He squealed his fury and challenge.

           
Sam had been standing next to
Woodpecker, and, holding his rifle in one hand, he flung his other arm around
the chief’s gaunt body. With a mighty effort, Sam half-lifted the chief and ran
with him.