The Elk-Dog Heritage (3 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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The two men
found that their chief was not completely unaware of the undercurrents in the band. Though he might be a newcomer to the ageless customs of the People, Heads Off was a shrewd observer. He had sensed the tension behind the defiant attitude of the Blood Society. He had, in fact, discussed the matter at length with Tall One as they lay close in the warmth of their sleeping robes.
Coyote was much relieved to be able to share the burden of his knowledge, and the three men talked at great length. White Buffalo was convinced that a warning to Badger and his friends would be in order. Still, they had broken no rules. There was nothing to criticize. It was a matter of attitude. And, if one says his attitude is good, and he has broken no rules, who is to call him liar?
After discussion at great length, it was agreed that there was nothing to be done. In fact, the less talk the better. However, it would be important to watch carefully for any infractions or open defiance of the laws of the People.
The summer moved on, through the Moon of Thunder and the Red Moon. It was nearly the Moon of Hunting before the next incident occurred.
Badger and a handful of the young Bloods were on one of their frequent hunts. These expeditions were not productive of much in the way of game. The young men did continue to ask the visions of White Buffalo before the hunt, but they were apparently
ranging far and ignoring good hunting nearby. If they were hunting, Coyote thought grimly, it was not buffalo that they sought.
Thus, it was no great surprise when the small group of Bloods returned to the band after a three-day absence, without meat, but minus one horse. A severely wounded youth slumped behind one of the other riders, and still another showed minor injuries. One of the other horses limped from an arrow wound in the fleshy part of the hip.
Excitement rippled through the camp, and word of a council passed immediately. It was a foregone conclusion that the main purpose of the council would be to discipline the miscreants. Yet, despite this common knowledge, the Bloods continued to behave as if they were heroes.
From the standpoint of the chief, the council that evening was completely unsatisfactory. Neither Heads Off nor even the wily Coyote was able to entrap the young warriors into an admission that they had done anything wrong. They had merely been on a buffalo hunt, with approval of the medicine man. White Buffalo grudgingly acknowledged that this was true.
It was no fault of the innocent hunters, Badger insisted, that they had encountered a superior force of the enemy. They were lucky to escape with their lives. Still, Badger seemed to take far too much glory in the details of the fight. They had killed one of the Head Splitters and severely wounded another in the skirmish.
The council adjourned without action on the incident. There was none to take. The Bloods had still broken no rules of the council, and their account of the circumstances of the fight must be respected.
The Bloods immediately began a victory dance in celebration, much to the disgust of Heads Off.
Coyote was preoccupied with observing the ceremony. Someone had brought a drum and people began to gather as one of the girls tapped a rhythmic beat with the dogwood beater. The warriors of the Blood Society began the dance, stepping, singing, reenacting not only this but previous skirmishes with the enemy. Each had painted the now familiar broad band of crimson across his forehead.
The ceremony lasted nearly till dawn, and for Heads Off there was little sleep. He, as well as Coyote, had seen the looks of admiration on the faces of the younger boys. The children growing up must not be allowed to idolize these deviant young rebels. And, Heads Off thought in despair, there was so little that could be done about it. Even Coyote, who usually had suggestions, seemed at a loss. The thing was tearing the People apart. It was alienating father from son. Heads Off, as well as Coyote, had noticed as the council broke up, that the young son of Sees Far again followed the Bloods with an almost worshiping gaze. That honored warrior, in turn, seemed so filled with pent-up rage that it appeared for a moment that he would physically attack Badger. How can a man react when he sees his son following the wrong path?
At least, Heads Off thought to himself as he turned restlessly on his robes, the boy is not quite old enough to ride with the Bloods. Maybe something will happen for the best. He did not actually believe it.
Toward morning, the distant thump of the drum was becoming tired and slow. The diminishing vigor of the song was replaced by another sound from a distant part of the camp.
It started as a low wail, rising in volume and pitch, moaning and grating on the ear of the listener as it grew. Heads Off recognized the sound, although he would have preferred to ignore
it. The unnerving wail was the Mourning Song of the People. It came from the far side of the encampment, and the chief knew without investigating from whose lodge it came.
Bird Woman had been widowed in the Great Battle. With the help of her brother, Sees Far, she had maintained her lodge as Fox Walking, her oldest son, came of age. She had staked her entire future on the young man, and many had been distressed when he had followed Badger and the Bloods. Now he had been severely wounded in the skirmish of the day. The wail from the distant lodge could mean only one thing. Fox Walking was dead.
Heads Off turned miserably, frustrated at his inability to take any action. Tall One placed a comforting arm across his chest and snuggled close, wanting to help, but equally frustrated. The girl did not fully realize how very important her mere presence was to the troubled young chief.
Some relief from
the internal pressures of the band was provided by the annual move into winter camp. Heads Off was thankful for any distraction at this time.
Stone Breaker, the weapons maker, had requested that they move by way of the flint quarry. They could replenish supplies of the scarce commodity, and still move into the desirable area for wintering before the Moon of Falling Leaves. The suggestion seemed a good one. Within three suns the Elk-dog band was on the move.
The chief was concerned about the attitude of Sees Far. That warrior was brooding, with a black sullen hate, over the death of his nephew. He had forbidden his son, Yellow Bird, to associate with Badger and the Blood Society. This naturally resulted in defiance on the part of the boy. The entire band was aware that the youngster still covertly followed the Bloods.
Heads Off again discussed the possibilities with Coyote, and neither saw a solution.
“It is like the river where it comes near the falls,” Coyote said grimly. “The water moves slowly at first, then faster and faster.”
The young chief nodded grimly, agreeing with the analogy. Unfortunately, there was an unspoken extension of the same mental picture. The water must inescapably be pulled over the edge, to fall crashing on the rocks below.
The temporary stop at the flint quarry was profitable. Near
the head of a sheltered pocket in the rolling prairie was an outcrop of white stone. The entire area was dotted with ledges and protrusions of this sort, jutting horizontally from the lush green hillsides. On the surface of these stones could often be seen the outlines of small aquatic creatures, snails, and water plants. These fossil impressions in the limestone were a matter of curiosity to the People, but the valuable significance was of a more practical nature. Here and there, sheltered by overhanging white stone, were veins of hard blue-gray flint. Some of the better quarries had been worked for centuries. At the site now visited by the People, the horizontal layer of the precious stone was only a hand's span in thickness. Its breadth and depth were unknown, but a deep layer of rejected chips shifted underfoot as one approached the place. The vein of flint had been used by many tribes for many generations.
Stone Breaker squatted in the indentation of the hillside and methodically knocked flakes of the material loose with a large rock. Some of the warriors, taking pride in their own ability, joined the craftsman and gathered flints for their own use, or asked his expert advice. Stone Breaker, though lame from an old injury, was the acknowledged authority in weaponry. His skill was recognized among the other bands of the tribe, and a spear point made by Stone Breaker was highly prized among the People.
Still, Heads Off was anxious to lose no time here. The quarry was used by many tribes, including the Head Splitters. It would be well to move on as soon as practical into winter camp. Consequently, after a few suns, the young chief announced the move.
By the time Sun Boy had carried his torch halfway up the sky, the People were traveling south. They would winter, Heads Off decided, in the same general area where he had spent the first winter with the People. How long ago it seemed now. He had
been lost and injured, and Coyote had quietly seen to his needs, taking him into his own lodge as the winter approached. Now, returning to the same area seemed like going home. And, he reflected, how simple things were then. His major problem was to return to his own people. He had fretted impatiently at every delay, reacting irritably and miserably. At the time he had considered that season one of misery and frustration.
Now it seemed in memory, a pleasant, uncomplicated time when things were straightforward and all problems had simple answers. Compared to his present situation, the answers had been simple. Now, he must deal with all the friction of the internal politics of the People. In addition, he now carried the responsibility of a family man. His son, Eagle, had already taken part in the ceremony of the First Dance. Soon, there would be another child in his lodge. Tall One was just beginning to show the telltale change in shape, and the slightly different swing to her walk. Heads Off smiled to himself. Thoughts of Tall One always made him feel good.
This reverie was rudely interrupted by the approach of a scout. Standing Bird loped up and slid his mount to a stop, almost touching the chiefs gray mare.
“My chief, there are people ahead. Head Splitters.”
“A hunting party?”
“No, no, they have women and children with them, and carry their belongings.”
Heads Off relaxed somewhat. There would likely be no trouble. Neither group would initiate conflict, since there would be too much danger to the families of the warriors.
“It is good. Pass the word. We will move slowly ahead until we sight the other party. If you find Sees Far, send him to me. Then you return, too.”
Standing Bird kneed his horse into a fast walk and started on toward the rear of the column. Heads Off lightly touched the little mare's flank and moved toward the front.
The confrontation took place in a broad, open meadow. Both groups desired it so. As soon as the other group was in view, the People drew together in a tight knot, women and children in the center. Around this nucleus clustered the baggage animals and loose horses. The perimeter was ringed by mounted warriors, quietly circling, ready for any eventuality. The other group, at a few hundred paces, was carrying out a similar ritual.
Three riders emerged from the other band and approached at a walk. Heads Off glanced around. Everything was in readiness.
“Badger,” he called, “you will make no move of any kind!”
“Of course, my chief.” The other smiled sarcastically. Heads Off, flanked by Sees Far and Standing Bird, rode slowly forward to meet the strangers. Observing the ritual, the approaching strangers stopped halfway between the two groups and waited. Heads Off and his cortege cautiously rode to a conversational distance and reined their horses to a stop. Beyond the mounted Head Splitters, he could see at the far side of the meadow the women and children of the enemy group as they huddled together. Warriors circled protectively, as in his own band.
The other chief raised a hand in greeting, using both the spoken and sign languages. Heads Off spoke none of the other's tongue, but the sign talk was universal. He returned the greeting.
There followed diplomatic small talk of the weather and hunting. Heads Off stated that the People had just come from the flint quarry, where they had replenished their supply of the stone.
“Yes, you will need many weapons,” retorted the other smugly. “Your young men have much to learn.”
The emissaries of the People gripped weapons hard, but made no move. Any reply was up to their chief. Heads Off, his calm
exterior belying his tension, glanced at Sees Far. It was only to be hoped that that warrior, with his recent family tragedy, could control his emotions. If he were to strike out in anger, a bloody conflict would follow. Sees Far appeared calm and under control. He was a methodical thinker, and the gravity of the moment was clear to him. After all, thought Heads Off grimly, the object of the wrath of Sees Far was actually more within his own band than with the enemy. What a strange situation.
“My chief,” he signed in answer to the other, “
all
men have much to learn.” There was only a trace of a veiled threat.
The wrinkles around the eyes of the enemy chief tightened just a trifle, and he smiled a hard smile. He had heard of this hair-faced chief of the People, and recognized him by reputation. A calm-appearing but a dangerous man, it was said. This would be a good point to terminate the meeting.
“So be it,” he signed briefly, “until we meet again!” He turned his horse, exposing his back to the young hair-face with perfect confidence, and rode slowly back toward his own band.
The People did likewise, and the two groups circled each other warily and parted, continuing their respective directions.

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