Squint said nothing but in his heart he felt the old chief was more than a shade nearsighted in his reasoning. He knew what Wounded Elk was referring to. The army was trying to build a railroad up to the Montana territory and, if his memory served him, it was going to run smack-dab through the middle of Sioux hunting grounds—little wonder Red Cloud was upset. There were more Sioux than there were prairie dogs in the Big Horn country and Red Cloud ought to be able to raise a whole lot of hell. But what the Sioux didn’t understand was the inexhaustible supply of blue coats the army could send against him. In the end, the Indian had to lose. It wasn’t necessarily right, but it was the way it was gonna be. Wounded Elk figured the army wouldn’t bother with him way off up in the mountains. But he was dead wrong. Before this thing was finished, the army would have every last Injun on a reservation somewhere. He also knew something else. His days of solitary trapping in these mountains were damn near at an end. It was going to get a trifle too hot for one lone white man in these parts when the real wars got heated up.
“Well”—Squint stretched and rubbed his belly—“I need to feed this old coyote inside me. I can hear him growling and getting riled already.” The conversation about war had gone on long enough to suit him. If the old chief was going to get too occupied to remember his manners, then Squint would just have to remind him.
“Forgive me, my friend.” Wounded Elk smiled. “Let us share some food and then you must go into my lodge to rest.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he added, “Perhaps Broken Wing will lie down with you to see that you are not disturbed.”
Squint grinned. This was what he had really come for in the first place. Wounded Elk proposed the same hospitality for Little Wolf but Little Wolf declined. He had more serious thoughts on his mind. The talk of war with the whites troubled him. He told Wounded Elk that he must find what was in his heart and he was going to fast and seek a vision, hoping Man Above would show him what he must do. Wounded Elk understood and suggested that he purify himself in the sweat lodge. He would have one of the women assist him in his preparation. When asked when he would like to start his fast, Little Wolf replied that he was ready then.
“Good,” the old man responded. He knew the seeking of a vision was a good and necessary thing for a young man to do and he was eager to help Little Wolf get in touch with the spirits.
Squint, perplexed by the sudden request of his young friend, stepped aside as Little Wolf was led from the lodge by an old aunt of the chief’s. “Well,” he stammered, “I reckon I’ll see you in a few days then.”
Little Wolf only nodded in reply, already focused on the ordeal ahead. Unlike some of the other tribes, Arapahos never sought visions until they were adults; consequently this was to be his first experience with this highly important and religious ceremony. Leaving Squint to satisfy his sexual needs, he followed the old woman to a small sweat lodge on the edge of a rocky stream. It was constructed of willow branches bent into a dome and covered with hides. The lodge was barely high enough for him to stand if he stooped over. A fire pit was dug in the middle of the lodge and large rocks were arranged within it. After a hot fire was built, using a stack of hardwood piled on one side of the small structure, the stones were rolled into place. Once they were heated enough, Little Wolf removed his clothes and the old woman poured icy water from the stream over the rocks to make steam. She seemed oblivious to his nakedness, apparently more interested in keeping the fire hot and continuing to bring water to make sure the small lodge was filled with steam.
Little Wolf crouched before the fire. Soon the heat brought little droplets of sweat to the surface of his skin. In a matter of minutes, rivulets of perspiration ran down the insides of his arms and legs. His breath became labored as he breathed the hot damp air into his lungs. When he could stand it no longer, he went outside and plunged into the icy waters of the stream. The sensation caused his head to spin and every nerve in his body came alive. At the coaxing of the old woman, he repeated the ritual several more times until he felt so weak he had difficulty standing. Satisfied that his body was purified, the old woman wrapped a blanket around him and helped him to Wounded Elk’s lodge. After giving him a bowl of tea made with special herbs and purifiers, she directed him to lie down and rest. Tomorrow he would begin his fast.
* * *
With the first golden splinters of sunlight that filtered through the mountain pass above the Shoshone camp, Little Wolf emerged from Wounded Elk’s tipi. Pausing only to note the direction of the rising sun, he began his journey into the mountains, a journey that would last at least three days, maybe four, depending upon what he might learn from within himself. He took nothing with him but his knife, a heavy buffalo robe and a small pouch of dried elk meat which was to be eaten only after he had attained his vision. He would be weak from hunger then and food would be scarce in the mountains this time of year. The robe would serve as his coat and his bed.
He was surprised that he had slept so soundly the night before. Perhaps it was the potion the old woman had given him. Whatever the reason, he felt rested and stong, considering he had not eaten since the previous afternoon. Passing silently among the sleeping tipis, he left the village at a trot, a pace he could keep up indefinitely. This journey was to be made solely on foot, the destination unknown to him, as was the direction he was to start in. Each brave had his own medicine, known only to him, and Little Wolf was confident his medicine would be revealed to him and guide him on the right path and he would know when to stop and wait for his vision.
As he climbed higher into the mountains, he felt a sharpening of his senses, as he had on the trip to the Shoshone camp two days before. Only this morning they seemed to be keener still and he thought that he was aware of Spotted Pony’s spirit beside him. He smiled, for the thought pleased him. Could it be possible that his father had returned to guide and protect him on his quest? Little Wolf did not question it for he had listened to similar experiences around the campfire in Spotted Pony’s camp.
“Father, if it is your spirit, I welcome you. We will go on this journey together. Help me to find my medicine and to see the path my soul must travel.”
He was answered by the sudden chatter of a squirrel and he smiled. He took it as a sign that Spotted Pony had heard his prayer. His father’s early lessons returned to his memory and he whispered to himself. “Become one with the forest. Feel the trees and the streams and the earth beneath your moccasins. They will tell you what you want to know, just as they tell the fox and the bear and the hawk. But first you must become one with them.” He thought of the time when he was a young boy, stalking game with Black Feather, and the friendly competition they shared. His heart warmed when he thought of his boyhood friend and he had an urgent longing to see him again. As he made his way around the dark gray boulders, highlighted by the sun’s first brushstrokes, he carefully avoided the scattered patches of snow that would display evidence of his passing.
All that first day he journeyed, never stopping to rest, never thinking about food or water. When the sun disappeared behind the far peaks, turning the valleys into pools of darkness, he stopped and spread his buffalo robe under a giant fir, the low branches his only shelter. A handful of snow was all he permitted himself to take into his mouth. He slept fitfully and with many fragments of dreams but nothing that he would remember the next morning.
The second day brought the first sensation of real hunger. He expected it and ignored it, pressing on deeper into the mountains. As he made his way among the trees and boulders, he searched for a sign. He didn’t know what he was looking to find but he was certain he would recognize it when he saw it. Again, that night, he allowed himself no sustenance other than one handful of snow.
By the time the sun was directly overhead on the third day, the lack of food and water began to take its toll on his body, and the exertion expended in the climb up the steep mountainsides left him light-headed and dizzy. It became necessary to stop periodically to rest. By twilight, he felt his streng
th drain from his body and he almost staggered as he made his way slowly along a ledge high above a valley floor. Suddenly his feet seemed to take on a weight that strained him to lift and he knew he could go no further. Directly before him a huge boulder jutted out over the mountaintop and he decided that he should rest there that night. With what seemed to be the last few ounces of strength left in him, he pulled himself up the side of the boulder to find a flat grassy patch on the level top side of the rock. For a moment his mind left his body and recalled a day Spotted Pony had taken him to hunt for elk. When it was time to make a camp that night, Spotted Pony had selected a place high on a hillside. Little Wolf pictured his father’s face when he said simply, “This is a good place.” He took the memory as a message from his father, that this spot was where he was to meditate and wait for his vision. He smiled and whispered, “This is a good place.” Then he fell, exhausted, into a deep sleep.
* * *
He was running. His lungs ached as they demanded more air and he longed to stop and rest. But he could not. Something chased him but he could not determine what that something was, only that he could not slow down or it would overtake him. As he ran, he was aware of many images and faces along his path. The faces watched him dispassionately, seeming unconcerned with the urgency he felt. Some of the faces he recognized—Black Feather, Buffalo Woman, Morning Sky. Spotted Pony sat beside a quiet stream, talking with Squint Peterson. They both glanced up at him and smiled as he trudged past. “I wouldn’t slow down if I was you, pardner,” Squint called out to him. The quiet creek bank looked so peaceful and serene that he wanted to stop and sit down beside the two men. But he could not. He had to keep running.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught sight of an animal chasing him. He felt the panic in his heart as he recognized the animal as a cougar. The cat was huge, its coat a golden hue, and it obviously meant to kill him. He tried to run faster but he could not. The beast was gaining on him, close enough now that he could see its gleaming white fangs, dripping with the blood of a prior kill. He felt helpless. Thoughts raced through his head that he did not want to die this way, running from a savage beast. He wanted to die as an Arapaho or a Cheyenne brave should die, in battle. He must stand and fight but his legs would not stop. Suddenly a huge bear stood directly in his path. The bear was as big as a mountain. Reared up on its hind legs, its massive forepaws flashed razor-sharp claws. Its teeth bared, it roared, filling the valley with a wave of thunder that caused icicles to form on his spine. Still he could not stop running, even though he feared the giant bear would send him to the Great Beyond.
However, when he approached the beast, the bear moved out of his path and let him pass. He did not look back but he could hear the sounds of mortal combat, and he sensed that the cougar was no longer a threat to his life. He looked down at his feet and was surprised to discover that he had on only one moccasin. His other foot, the left one, was bare but the stones in his path did not cause him any discomfort as he raced on. Then he glanced down again to find that the ground beneath his feet was far below him, as if he was flying. Suddenly, he could see the land below him in a wide vista of mountains and valleys. It was more beautiful than any place he had ever seen before. He passed over a long stretch of rocky mountain ridges until they ended in one great white wall, beyond which a valley appeared with a rushing stream running through the floor of pines and firs. Though he continued running, he was aware that the fatigue had left him. His running was effortless and he felt at peace with himself.
* * *
He awoke. He had slept so soundly that his eyes were swollen and puffy and he was reluctant to open them to the morning light. Although he had been exhausted the night before, and he was aware of the hunger that was now gnawing at his belly, he still felt refreshed and alert. His dreams were still fresh in his mind and he sought to make some sense of them. Although they told him nothing initially, he was sure that it had been more than a mere dream, that it was in fact the vision he sought. He must meditate and search the vision for its meaning. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him that his vision quest was over and it was now up to him to interpret the message sent to him.
Fully awake now, thoughts of food and water demanded his attention but he felt strongly that he must not think of those things until he searched his mind for the message he needed. The time to make his medicine was now, while the vision was fresh in his mind. Only then could he eat and drink. Sitting cross-legged in the center of the small patch of grass that had been his bed, he faced the rising sun and let his thoughts focus on the first rays lighting the tips of the green forest on the horizon. The floor of the valley was covered by a mist that lay over the stream like a great silent blanket. From his vantage point, high above the valley floor, he felt as one with the hawk and the eagle and he knew that he was as much a part of the mountains as the trees and rocks. He closed his eyes and let the vision come to him once more.
The full meaning of his vision did not come to him at once. Sitting there on the rocky outcropping, feeling the first warmth of the sun’s rays on his closed eyelids, he puzzled over the fact that he was running in his dream. Running from what, he wondered. True, he had to run to escape the soldiers at Black Kettle’s camp on Sand Creek. But he was no longer running. He was safe for the time being. He even had the choice of going with Squint, eventually returning to white man’s civilization. No one would know he was Little Wolf if he chose that path. One thing that stuck in his mind, however, was the fact that other than Squint’s, there were only Indian faces in his dream. There were no images of his real mother and father, of his brothers and sisters, or any childhood playmates. This seemed to be important to him because he felt certain it indicated his choice to follow the path of the Arapaho and Cheyenne to be the correct way for him. This in itself was enough to ease his troubled mind, for this was the question he sought most to answer.
But what was the significance of the battle between the cougar and the great bear? And why was he being chased by the cougar? Was there a message there? Or was it merely the nonsensical impulses that penetrate many dreams? In his heart he knew it was part of his vision for the Arapaho felt all dreams were messages from the spirits. He would think on it. Maybe, in time, it would become clearer to him.
He opened his eyes again, convinced that there would be no more explanation of his dream for the moment. One decision had been made for him. He was Arapaho. He would not go with Squint Peterson. Instead, he would seek out his friend Black Feather. In his dream, Squint and Spotted Pony had both smiled at him as he passed them. This indicated that they both approved of his decision. He recalled that, when he had been running and looked down at his feet, he had but one moccasin. It was significant to him that it was a moccasin and not a boot. He knew also that the cougar and the bear held significance for him and he would look for confirmation of this in the future. But for now, it was time to leave this place and return to the village of the Shoshone.
It had been nearly dark the night before when he climbed the rock outcropping. In the morning light, he noticed another ledge beyond and slightly above the one he had slept on. Out of curiosity, he decided to climb atop that ledge to have a look around before making his way back down into the valley. There was a small trail up from the boulder he stood on, used no doubt by the large white goats that abounded in the higher rocky elevations. As he made his way up into the rocks, he spotted an occasional hoofprint to confirm his speculation. At the top of the ledge he discovered a small patch of grass about the same size as the one on the boulder below. He discovered something more that caused his heartbeat to increase in alarm, the unmistakable paw print of a bear. By the size of the paw, it was a monstrous bear, a grizzly probably, and the tracks were recent, as recent as the night before, he guessed.
He was immediately alert. His body coiled in anticipation of danger and he quickly looked all around him. He was in no position to meet with a grizzly, weak from hunger and lack of water, with no weapon except a kni
fe. But there was no living thing on the ledge but himself. When he was sure of that, he relaxed and studied the tracks more thoroughly. They indicated that the animal had paced all around the narrow ledge and, from the looks of the matted grass on one side, it had slept there. What, he wondered, would a grizzly be doing this high up above the tree line? This was too unusual to be coincidence. When he turned back to look in the direction he had come from, he realized that the boulder he had spent the night on was immediately below where he now stood. His spine tingled with the realization that he could have been under observation by a huge grizzly the whole time he slept helplessly below him. From this vantage point, the bear could not help but see him. The fact that he had not been attacked could only be explained by the medicine of the bear power he had carried since he was a boy when he had killed the grizzly. It had even been a part of his vision—the grizzly had protected him from the cougar. The excitement of the thought made his spirits soar. He had spent the night weak and exhausted and the power of the bear had watched over him! A white man could not know of such things. Before descending from the mountain, he scouted around in an effort to find signs of a cougar but there were none.
After descending from the mountain to the stream in the valley floor, he satisfied his thirst and ate the elk meat he had brought with him. Before starting on his return journey to the village of the Shoshone, he looked around him at the valley lying before him. Then he turned and looked back at the mountain from whence he had just come. He wanted to impress this place on his memory for it was an important place to him. It had told him where his heart belonged and that the power of the bear would always be his special medicine. Shielding his eyes from the morning sun with his hand, he searched the ledges high up near the top of the mountain. There! He was sure he could see the very place he had received his vision. As he stared at the dark boulder, protruding from the face of the cliff, he remembered the great white wall he had seen in his dream. It was not this place, of that he was certain. But something told him that if he ever found the white wall, he would recognize it immediately.
Wind River Page 13