“And the boy grinned and said, ‘But men are different.’
“‘Yes and no,’ I said, ‘different but similar. Men hide in the ignorance and greed and carelessness of towns and cities just as animals hide in tall grass and thick trees. Anyway, you asked me where I stand and I’ve told you. I’m outside the corral, the enclosure. And from where I stand it seems strange to me that you State people can believe that a good life can be built on the lie you make your livings by. I know it’s odd when you think about it—if you can bring yourself to think about it—but that is the way it is. And when you think honestly about it and accept the fact that past times go on living in the generations that follow you will recognize that truth is always stranger and more difficult than fiction. But when a man thinks about how the things that happened—or weren’t recognized as important—can hold on and become snarled in the things of the present, the truth is even stranger.’
“I said, I told the boy, ‘When you look back on what I’ve told you it might seem like a lie, but you have to remember that times have changed and many of the folks who were here in those days are now gone. Now folks don’t dress the same, and there are few horses and many autos, unlike the days when cars were so scarce that spooked horses gave the hoof to runningboards, windshields, and bumpers. Today many things that were rare are now common, but the old troubles hang on and are mixed up with what seems new. The old lies are still being told, and the old debts unpaid—Yao! So the State people are a strange people; very strange. They seem to forget what lies behind them, or at least they refuse to think upon it. So like I say, they’re in deep trouble. All of them are in trouble. In fact, they remind me of a man I knew many years ago when I was still a greenhorn at my profession. I was just an apprentice, and it was shortly after I achieved my first flights….’ ”
“Flights?“Hickman said. “You’ve lost me—what do you mean by flights?” “A trance in which the soul leaves the body and climbs to the world of spirits,” Love said, taking a sip of beer. “I mean as a medicine man. It was after I had completed my trials and the Eagle had finally revealed himself to me.” “Now I understand,” Hickman said. “So what about this man?” And now Love focused his eyes on the trees outside the porch as he said, “He was a man of the People, the son of our Chief by a mother who was the daughter of a chief. A fine young man and much admired by the People. Yes, but he was one to whom strange things would happen—in your religion you would say that he had been ‘designated and set aside.’ Anyway, I have it from my pappy that when this young fellow was still a papoose, a baby, his mother took him along when she went with the squaws to pick berries. And Pappy said that she left him lying under a tree where she could keep an eye on him while she and the other women worked the bushes for berries. But then, being a woman talking woman’s talk with the others, she forgot about him until she happened to look up and see a bear disappearing in the woods with her child under its arm. With that she and the other women started screaming back to the camp and the hunters set out for the bear. But they never found him, not even a cave. So for the People it was a terrible time of great sadness, but there was nothing to do but mourn the baby—which was done with grave ceremony.
“There was great mourning, and everybody was sad. And not simply for the loss of the baby, but because this was the Chief’s only son, and a son who would have become a chief like his father….”
“As a minister I understand what such a loss can do,” Hickman said. “It’s terrible. But was any trace of the baby ever found?”
“Not at that time,” Love said. “But sometime later, after there was no longer talk about what had happened, a tall gray-eyed white man came to the village. Pappy said that he was dressed in black with his white collar worn backwards, and that he had a high voice and the soft white hands of a woman. This man brought the baby back all wrapped in the hide of a bear which a strange white man had brought down with a shot. A bitch bear …”
“… And was the child alive?”
“Alive and kicking—except for a broken leg, which the tall man had set and put in a splint. Pappy said it was a strange sight to see a baby kicking with its little leg in a splint, but the man had done his work well and the bones soon healed and were strong….”
“Who was this white man who returned him?”
“A preacher, a missionary. Hickman, there were many who came here in the old days. And through them some tribes took up the white man’s religion. Like the slaves and the Nez Perce under Chief Joseph they embraced it—Yao! And for all the good it did them. Still, that’s part of the story, because that was the end of what the Nez Perce had been. Anyway, when this white man appeared with the Chief’s son there was great joy because the son would someday be a chief himself. So naturally everybody felt grateful toward the tall man. They felt in his debt, so when the tall man asked the Chief to let him take the son away for a while to educate him in the white man’s ways, the Chief consented. He was that grateful for having his son back alive. After all, the bitch bear had been defeated, and his son was strong and healthy. And some of the elders thought that it was possible that the baby had special powers. Because like Pappy said, until the tall man found him he had lived mainly on bear’s milk.
“So with the tall man having rendered such service to the tribe it was according to custom that his wish be granted. Pappy said that both the Chief and his wife hated to give up their baby so soon, but they said yes. So the little boy was taken East by the tall man, who swore on his Bible that he would bring him back in five years.
“Well, the tall man welshed on his word. The five years came and things were made ready, but the white man and the Chief’s son didn’t appear. It was during that time that I was born and learned to walk but not to talk. Hickman, as a child I was very slow to talk—but that is another story….
“Like I say, the promised five years passed, and then ten more, and then fifteen years came and went but still no son. The People had been patient, they had kept the faith and held on to hope and been disappointed. So now it was decided that the Chief’s son had died. Died because the ways and the food and the customs of the white men in the East had been too much for his nature. Some of the elders even advised a ceremony of mourning, but that the Chief was against. Other elders advised him to take another wife and have another son while he was still in his vigor, but the Chief wouldn’t have it that way. At the time I was too young to understand what was happening, but the People had fallen on bad times and worried over what would happen in days to come. Their leader was in trouble and the State folks were moving closer and closer. Then another year passed and then another, all cloudy and sad….
“But then, in the eighteenth year of his leaving, and about the time I began reading books, the Chief’s son came back. He returned in the evening, and the next morning we all saw him. He was now very tall like his father, and very handsome. And except for a black Stetson which he wore peaked in the crown—which was the fashion of the few People who took to hat-wearing—he was dressed like a white man from the East. There was great excitement because his coming back was like a miracle, in fact it was like a second miracle, because he had already been returned from the den of the bitch bear. So now his return set off a time of rejoicing and feasting. A time of ceremonies through which the Chief’s son would be fitted into the life of his people.
“There was great concern that he have the traits of our Chief, his father, who was a great leader. So the young man was tested, and it was soon clear that he was a fine marksman with the rifle and that he had the instincts of a great hunter. This pleased everybody because it had been expected that the tall man would train him as a preacher, a missionary. But it turned out that although it had taken the white man more time than he promised, he’d had the boy study veterinary medicine so that he could return with gifts and knowledge which would benefit the tribe.
“Like I told the boy, in those days we were great breeders of horses, but with the State folks crowding the range we w
ere losing too many foals to sicknesses they brought here with them. So in time the Chief’s son was able to stop it, and he taught even the old horsemen things that they didn’t know. And after a while the bloodlines of our horses were much improved, and we were doing well in our trade with the State folk’s army.
“So I asked the boy if he’d heard of the Buffalo Soldiers, and he said he hadn’t. ‘So,’ I said, ‘you talk to me about history, but like most State folks after being born out here you don’t bother to learn what happened.’
“So he asked me why he should know about that particular group of Indians.
“‘Because,’ “I said, ‘they weren’t of the People; they were State Negroes, that’s why. Black cavalrymen who fought against the People. Hell, Janey Glover had a brother who served along with them. Fellows who fought against the People when they should have joined with us. Things might have been different if they had—but it wasn’t in the stars, because they were State Negroes and black-white men in their customs and thinking. So they couldn’t see the advantage or irony. The machines and the gadgets had bit them, so that was that.’
“But Hickman, I tell you, there were some good years that followed the Chief’s son’s return. And during that time I grew up, and like everybody else I thought of him as a hero, as a great leader. But by that time the life of the People was fast changing, too fast, and for a while he helped keep things in balance and helped ease the passage from the old way to the new. And it was felt certain that when his father stepped down or passed on he would be our next chief. So the People were happy and much too satisfied. Because soon bad times fell upon us. Very bad times. And soon it was felt that in being eager to make up for the time he’d lost while away from his people the Chief’s son had broken some powerful taboo. Not that anyone knew that he had committed a crime or when he had done it, but one morning he showed all the signs….”
“… Signs?” Hickman said. “What kind of signs?”
“Indications that he’d been taken over by angry spirits. And in cases where a man has violated a powerful taboo you could tell from just looking for the signs. First he refused to eat—which meant that he was accusing himself. Next, the sick one covers his head with his blanket and punishes himself by refusing to eat, to speak or move. And he stays that way until death finally overtakes him….”
“But didn’t someone try to help them? Did you simply let them die?”
“Yao! Because among the People the guilty one knows of what he’s guilty, and that in breaking a powerful taboo the rest must follow. You State folks call it ‘self-indictment.’ But this time it was different because the elders felt that the circumstances called for special consideration. This was the son of our Chief, and through his experience the son of a bear woman—Had-Two-Mothers was one of his names. Yes, and after his life as a bear cub he had returned to do great good for the tribe. So instead of following the usual course and letting him die, which would’ve been the just and proper thing, the elders suggested that he be saved and it was agreed.”
“Thank the good Lord for that,” Hickman said.
“Listen before jumping to conclusions,” Love said. “Because I speak of the world of the People, of a world that’s in your State folks’ world but hidden to your unseeing eyes. Everybody was upset over what had happened to the young man, and the Chief even offered to die in his son’s place, which was his right as a chief. For among the People a chief had the power to step between a guilty man and his punishment. Just as he could offer sanctuary even to murderers. It was the right of the Chief to take punishment in the place of the guilty, so this was another reason for trying to save the sick son. For we loved our Chief, who was a great man and good.
“So, Hickman, after much powwowing and debating it was decided that some of the elders would take the sick son on a many-days’ journey to the south. Far to the south, where a powerful old shaman, a medicine man, lived in the mountains, in hope that he could make the sick man well.”
“Where in the South?” Hickman said.
“Near Mexico, and as a young apprentice I was allowed to go with them. This would be my first participation in anything so serious, and my first real testing in my profession. So I was there to witness that which I’m telling you with my own eyes—Yao! And in my mind nothing that happened has lost its sharpness. With my own eyes I saw that old medicine man, that shaman, and he was truly powerful….”
Pausing, Love smiled, shaking his head as he fingered the bright scarf around his neck.
“Yes, Hickman,” he said, “this one was of a wisdom that you wouldn’t recognize today because you don’t respect wisdom unless it comes in a certain kind of package. Or unless it wears a certain cut of clothes and operates in places staffed with young gals who answer telephones. Places with framed sheepskins hanging on the walls. Yet wisdom is wisdom, and it is always so hard to come by that few possess it. Yes, and maybe the first step to achieving wisdom is to recognize it in whatever form and place you find it. Yes, and it is only men who have forgotten from whence they came who forget this.
“No, don’t answer, just listen and don’t feel too bad at what I’m saying. Because I say this not out of anger, but to keep close to our subject. Hickman, this old shaman was an Einstein among medicine men, and my being able to watch this Old One’s medicine was a great privilege. Maybe as great a privilege as it would have been if you could have watched old Moses operating in Egypt—ha!
“It was a long, hard journey, slow to begin, but a journey of hope. And after the elders roped the sick man to the back of a blind pony we set out on our horses and traveled south by the moon….”
“Why a blind pony?”
“Because with only the trail to concern him he wouldn’t be shying at snakes or shadows—understand? It was best for the sick man.”
“Yes,” Hickman said. “It was the same logic as using blind mules in coal mines.”
“You have it,” Love said. “So as I was saying, we traveled by the moon. At first we rode the well-traveled cattle trails. One was the old Chisholm, which ran past the old State Fairgrounds, and once we got started we pushed our ponies for all they were worth.
“It was a strange journey, very strange, and butt-busting long, with the roads rugged and the heat hellish, and the sick man screaming obscenities aimed at everything from the earth to the gods and the weather. And while this went on the rest of the party rode silent and sad that such a thing could happen to a fine young brave. So for mile after mile there was only the hoofbeats of horses and the sound of his blasphemy.
“It became so bad that even the elders became afraid of what it might bring down upon us. So finally the leading elder halted the party and gave orders that the sick man’s mouth be muffled with a gag. But the gag only muted his cursing, for now as we rode he growled like a wolf with his jaws in a trap, and his eyes were on fire with his madness.
“Like I say, it was a strange, difficult journey. With old men, the elders, punishing themselves and their ponies each day to their limits. And then we were far to the south, where with the sun even fiercer and water holes scarce it was impossible to go on in the daylight. So now we kept to the shade and rested until the sun slanted westward and then it was back to the trail—Yao!
“And then we rode in the dark and under a blanket of silence out of fear of what the Chief’s son’s sickness foretold for the tribe. Together we rode and thought and suffered as we moved farther south. Then at last the mountain for which we were seeking arose before us, and we slowly ascended to that place—not of history, Hickman, but of mystery….
“Seen from a distance it appeared like any other mountain, harsh, sunswept, and high—Yao! A place for eagles! But now, in the westward dropping of the sun, in the dying of the light—that was when it revealed itself. Seeing it at the distance from which we saw it I expected thunder and lightning. It was like a god, suspended there and waiting. And when a man approached it in the dark he could feel it filling up the night with its presence. Fr
om miles in the distance you could feel it, and that was a part of its mystery. And when approached in the dying of the light it stretched forth its power and a man could feel the hair on his neck spring erect like the hair of a cat caught in static discharged by a storm of thunder and lightning. His eyes became unsure of distance and form and his ears heard the sound of silence. That’s how it was with me, and between my knees I could feel my pony shy and tremble.
“That was the kind of place into which we were climbing, and suddenly the sick man broke the silence, mumbling and screaming behind his gag. Up we went, up and up, tugging our ponies by their bridles. Up and on, until our legs were trembling from fighting the overgrown trail. And then, just as the sun died with a splash in the night, we arrived.
“Just where we were I could not tell exactly, for before me I could see only the rocks and the shadows. We were panting, and me no less than the elders. I remember the nervous blowing of the ponies as they expelled the hot air from within them. They too felt the presence, and the air had become both rare and cold.
“That was when the leading elder climbed some hundred yards ahead of the party, where he gave the call of the great horned owl and waited. At first there was silence, then a tired pony stamped its hoof on the stone, and among the towering rocks I could hear the elder’s voice echoing and dying.
“Then, giving the lonesome call of the owl, he said, ‘Shagatonga! Old Wise One, we need you….’
“And again the voice echoed among the rocks, echoing sadly with the motion of a discarded feather floating high in the air.
“Then one of the elders broke the silence.
Three Days Before the Shooting . . . Page 125