The Changing Wind (33 page)

There remained the doubt, however, the silent fear of being displaced. If the stranger and his medicine remained with the People, there would be no need for the medicine of the buffalo. White Buffalo’s usefulness was over. So he must do something. He could wait a little while. Maybe for the winter, even. But then, if the stranger did not leave… how should it be done? By use of his medicine? Simply kill him? Or maybe someone could be found who would act as an assassin. Kill the elk-dog, maybe? That was a possibility that had not previously occurred to him. With no elk-dog, could there be elk-dog medicine?

White Buffalo finished the ceremony, and the drum fell silent.

“Now,” said Coyote. “Come, we will show you the elk-dog medicine.”

Coyote led the way outside to the place where the elk-dog waited. The shiny medicine-thing was in the creature’s mouth, and the pad was strapped to its back. White Buffalo had not seen the creature up close before and was impressed by its size. It did not appear too threatening, however. It turned its head to gaze curiously at him with large gentle eyes. There was little that was frightening. And this was plainly the creature of his vision quest.

Now Coyote was talking.

“… this circle, I think, Uncle, the ring around the jaw. That is the medicine that lets him control it.”

Maybe
, White Buffalo thought to himself.
That is not too complicated
.

“What is the purpose of the elk-dog?” he asked. “Besides hunting buffalo?”

“Heads Off says, to ride long distances, for war, or to hunt.”

“Do his people eat elk-dogs?”

“No. Hump Ribs asked that. Sometimes if they are starving, but not usually, Heads Off says.”

The little man cleared his throat, a trifle embarrassed, and went on.

“I am made to think, Uncle, that the medicine of Heads Off is greatly different from yours.”

“Of course!” snapped the holy man.

“No, no,” Coyote said quickly, “I meant no harm. Uncle. It is only that the medicines seem to work well together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Uncle, your medicine makes for easier kills. One medicine helps the other!”

Of course. Coyote, the thinker, had found the answer to the dilemma. It was only necessary to acknowledge the new medicine to remove its threat—to point out its differences.

“Yes,” White Buffalo said slowly, “they are quite different, these medicines. Mine brings the buffalo, to be killed with the aid of the elk-dog. It is good. They will help each other.”

White Buffalo was quite pleased with the outcome of the meeting. This was a situation that he could now manage. But he was no more pleased than Coyote, who smiled to himself as he turned away. It had gone quite well.

O
nce he had decided in his own heart and mind that the two medicines were not in conflict, White Buffalo settled into a more comfortable existence. He still did not feel, somehow, that his position allowed him to associate closely with the stranger and his medicine. He was content to observe, to let Coyote relate to the new elk-dog medicine.

He sometimes felt pangs of jealousy that Coyote’s interest lay there, instead of in his own, the medicine of the buffalo. It was different, however. It became apparent that the medicine of the elk-dog was a very physical thing. Agility and active use of the body were required, while Coyote was a bit clumsy and at best, lazy. Coyote’s relationship to the medicine of the elk-dog was that of a thoughtful observer rather than a participant. That pleased White Buffalo. It also kept him informed, as Coyote continued to share his observations. But the stranger seemed less threatening now. No longer semisupernatural, he could be observed as a man. A strange complicated man from a far tribe, it was true, but that was only a matter of interest now. It was discovered that the black fur did not cover the entire body of Heads Off. Coyote had seen him remove his garment to empty his bowels.

“His butt is as shiny as mine,” Coyote reported with glee.

Heads Off proved quick to learn. By the time Cold Maker arrived in earnest, the hair-faced outsider could use sign-talk well and converse in the tongue of the People. He still spoke with an accent but was understandable. Coyote continued to instruct and inform the visitor.

It was known that Heads Off wished to return to his own
tribe. It was simply too foolhardy to attempt in the winter moons, noted on the plains for unpredictable weather. So Heads Off waited, a little impatiently at times. When the band moved north in the Moon of Roses, White Buffalo supposed, Heads Off would move south, the direction from which he had come. That would be a time of mixed feelings. The People would regret the loss of easy procurement of meat when Heads Off was no longer there to kill buffalo. To White Buffalo’s way of thinking, however, that would be an opportunity to return to the traditional ways. He would no longer need to be concerned by any possible threat to his own prestige. Yes, it would be good to see the visitor go when the time came.

Meanwhile, the moons passed in winter camp, with gambling and smokes and storytelling. Heads Off participated, and his communication skills continued to improve. Coyote related that they had exchanged Creation stories and that Heads Off had reacted much as anyone else would in the telling.

“Is the Creation story of his tribe a good one?” asked White Buffalo.

“I have heard worse,” Coyote observed. “Their Great Father made First Man out of mud and breathed life into him. Then he gave the man a woman to live with.”

White Buffalo nodded.

“I must listen to it sometime.”

“He liked our story also,” Coyote went on. “I told him how we crawled out of the earth through the log.”

That had always been a favorite story of the People. They had lived in darkness, it was said, until they were summoned by a deity who seated himself astride a hollow cottonwood log. With a drumstick, he tapped on the log, and with each tap, another of the People crawled out into the sunshine. There was a joke involved in the telling. It was customary when a stranger was present to stop at that point in the story, hoping that the listener would ask the obvious question: Are they
still
coming out? No, said the standard reply. Alas, a fat woman got stuck in the log, and none has come through since. That is why we are a small tribe.

“Did you tell him about the Fat Woman?” asked White Buffalo.

“Yes,” chuckled Coyote, “but he did not understand it.
Uncle, I am made to think that the tribe of Heads Off does not enjoy its religion very much.”

“Perhaps that
is
their way,” suggested the holy man.

“Maybe so,” Coyote pondered. “Maybe he would like to hear the Creation stories of the Growers. Did some of them not come up out of a great river?”

“I think so. Someone to the north of us… Mandans, maybe, crawled out much as we did, by climbing the roots of a large grapevine.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that one. A good story.”

It was still assumed that in the spring, when the People moved north to the Sun Dance, Heads Off would return to his own tribe. Despite the interesting contact for a few moons, White Buffalo continued to look forward to that event. It would be the time of returning to the old ways. The confusion of the strange medicine from outside would be finished, and it would be good.

There was still a question in White Buffalo’s mind, however, that refused to go away.
Why?
Why had he been given the vision of the elk-dog so long ago? When he first saw the animal in the flesh, he had known that it was the creature of his vision, and it seemed that all was complete. Yet there was something missing, something not quite right. Soon the hair-faced outsider would leave, and the great episode would be at an end. The holy man had already painted the event on the story skin. It was a figure of Heads Off, removing his headdress in the incident which had provided his name.

Still, something was missing, and White Buffalo could not think what it might be. There seemed, in the events of the past year, not enough importance to give meaning to the vision of his youth. Ah well, maybe he was only showing his age, the holy man pondered. The visions of youth are always bright with the promise of the future and become less important with the reality of the passing years. But he did not believe it. There
was
something, a purpose of some sort, he was sure. He had simply not seen it yet. Maybe he never would…. Heads Off and the elk-dog would be gone soon, and he, White Buffalo, would have missed the entire significance of this important event in the lives of the People.

He worried, prayed, and even discussed the matter with
Crow. That was unsatisfactory because even with her keen insight and intuition, Crow had not seen the
vision
of the elk-dog. She could not understand.

It was now common knowledge, as the Moon of Greening changed the prairie almost before one’s eyes, that soon the People would start their move. Not everyone realized, probably, that Heads Off would be traveling in the other direction, but it was foremost in the mind of White Buffalo. He was wondering when Hump Ribs would announce… maybe he should go and talk to the chief.

These thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Coyote. The little man was laughing.

“Heads Off cannot leave us!” he announced with glee. “His elk-dog is pregnant!”

A mixture of emotion washed over the holy man. Regret that the incident of Heads Off’s stay would
not
be over. Relief that he might have the opportunity to solve the mystery. And many questions came to mind about elk-dog reproduction.

“What… how?…” he mumbled in surprise.

Coyote laughed again, the high-pitched animal chuckle of his namesake.

“I do not know all, Uncle,” he admitted. “Heads Off was very angry. I think the elk-dog may not travel well when it is near to birthing.”

More confusion whirled in the thoughts of White Buffalo. The elk-dog at first had been an almost supernatural creature in his mind. Now it was almost commonplace. Even the earthy process of reproduction marked it as a quite ordinary creature, though one with special talents. Why, then,
why
had he been subjected to the startling vision of the elk-dog so many summers ago? It must be something to do with the
medicine
of the elk-dog. Yet he had satisfied himself that the elk-dog medicine was not
his
medicine but that of Heads Off.

Aiee
, every time he thought he had solved the mystery, there was a new twist to the path he was following. And such a ridiculous twist.
Aiee! A
pregnant elk-dog!

It was only half a moon later when the elk-dog gave birth to a black, furry creature with knobby legs and large curious eyes. Long Elk and Standing Bird were enthralled and in a short while were handling and stroking the small elk-dog. It was a source of much amazement to all. In a remarkably
short time, the foal could lope alongside the mother.

According to Coyote, this event led to much indecision. Heads Off was undecided whether he could travel with the small elk-dog. Apparently there was some thought of killing or abandoning the foal to spare the mother the stress of nursing. In the end, Heads Off decided that such a thing would be unwise. This pleased Coyote greatly.

The visitor had still not chosen his path of action when the word came that the time to move was at hand. White Buffalo waited, with the old confusion of mixed feelings, to see what Heads Off would decide. In the end, with apparent reluctance, Heads Off mounted the elk-dog and followed the People, the small elk-dog scampering playfully alongside.

“Why does he do this?” the holy man asked Coyote as they walked.

“I am not certain. Maybe the elk-dog would not travel well with her young. It is a far journey that Heads Off must go.”

“But he goes with us?”

Coyote spread his palms, perplexed.

“We travel more slowly…
alee
, Uncle, I do not know. Who knows what a Hairface is thinking?”

So the confusion continued for the holy man. He still felt, somehow, that he was overlooking something. He would have been more comfortable if Heads Off had gone home to wherever his own tribe lived. But again, that would not solve the question that still burned below the surface like hot coals deep in the ashes of an almost-dead campfire.
Why
was the elk-dog so important to the life of White Buffalo? He was a holy man of a small band of hunters belonging to a tribe that was not a great power on the plains.

A hundred times he almost convinced himself that the coming of the stranger, riding on an elk-dog, was an isolated incident. Heads Off would be gone as soon as the small elk-dog was able to travel well. The entire season of the elk-dog would be only a memory and a picture on the story-skin. Then why, he asked himself, was he given the vision, and the sense of the elk-dog’s importance? Once
more, he would arrive at the same point with no apparent answer.

One further incident occurred which confused White Buffalo even more. The band was traveling without incident when one of the wolves trotted in to report that there were Head Splitters over the next ridge.