Judith backed away. As she retreated, she kept looking at the dancing risen Scarlet Plume until she could see him no longer.
It was only when she lay down again by her tepee fire that she remembered who she was: a white woman captive.
At dawn the form of Traveling Hail loomed a golden copper in the leather doorway. He was naked except for clout and bow and arrows.
Whitebone was instantly awake. He reared up from his fur pallet. “What is there, my son?”
“My father, a big dust has appeared in the air across the plains. It is the buffalo.”
“What is the direction, my son?”
“They come from the northwest.”
“Where lies the wind this morning, my son?”
“It comes sweet and warm from the southeast.”
“How many buffalo are there?”
Holding up both hands, Traveling Hail bent down each finger in turn. When all ten fingers were down, he let them spring up like geese flying away. To remember each ten, he kept down a finger. He counted his ten fingers ten times and then added six. “Six and ten bending downs, my father.”
“Ah. They are the buffalo Scarlet Plume saw in his divination. It is good. Hoppo! Up! Awake the people.”
“They are already awake my father.” Traveling Hail smiled down at his uncle in a slow, sober manner. “We await you and Two Two. Also the Woman With The Sunned Hair. Hurry. The people tremble at the thought of the great day before us.” Traveling Hail was careful not to look at Judith as she lay beside the old man.
“Have they all had the morning bath?”
“All, my father. Already they wear freshly washed moccasins. My brother warns we must be very careful not to leave any scent in the grass for the wise bulls to smell.”
“You speak well, my son. Have the women tied up the dogs?”
“They have, my father.”
Whitebone turned and placed his hand on Judith’s belly. “Awake, woman. Be ready to run far. There will be no time to warm the wake-up soup. First the chase. Ho hechetu, the buffalo awaits us. He wants us to catch him so we can all eat fat pa-pa again and be merry.”
Whitebone was quickly out of bed. He grabbed up his robe and stomped off to take his morning dip. Two Two followed him, hopping along lightly.
Judith and Smoky Day and Tinkling also got up and hurried off to take their required baths.
Returning, Judith slipped on her tunic and freshly washed leggings and moccasins. The buckskins, having become rounded to her form, fit her perfectly. Never in her life had she worn such comfortable attire.
She stepped outside. Sparkling lemon light brought out the deeper greens in the grass and the subtler reds in the rocks. Her stomach gnawed in hunger; nevertheless she felt extraordinarily alive, ready to run miles.
Yanktons who were to make up the two wings of the human corral were gathered under the oaks: camp soldiers, young mothers, boys and girls. Traveling Hail was giving them some last-minute instructions. They listened, eyes flashing, flushed to their chins. Some ran about not quite knowing what they were doing. Some touched the hard elbows of oaks for strength.
Judith found herself assigned to the south wing, the one which would form along the rim of the escarpment far to the south. She and Two Two, and others, would hide behind rock outcroppings.
Scarlet Plume stalked in among them carrying his buffalo effigy.
Judith couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of him. Several times already she had caught herself daydreaming about him, and in a way to make her blush.
Scarlet Plume looked each member of the chase in the eye.
All fell silent.
Slowly Scarlet Plume’s calm face changed. A great weep took possession of him. Copious tears ran down his red-brown cheeks. He let the sparkling tears fall on his buffalo effigy.
Scarlet Plume spoke. “This we do in memory of all the pa-pa who will die for us today. We are of their blood. We weep for them now because we already know their fate. Ho-ha. Listen at all times to my brother Traveling Hail. He has been appointed the master of the surround. Remember, it is very bad to disobey him. I have said.”
Scarlet Plume’s tears abruptly ceased. He covered his little effigy with a parfleche, and turning on his heel, disappeared behind the scrub oaks.
The Yanktons hurried. Each carried a scaring blanket. Sometimes they ran skulking, sometimes openly. The land rose under them like the slanted deck of a vast ship. They toed through patches of buffalo grass, its blades curly and crinkly. They raced across islands of sage, its silver dusty and muted. Sprigs of wild onion and lonesome bull thistles speckled solid stands of golden-rod.
As much as possible they kept to the exposed red rock. The soil was so thin that in spots whole acres of absolutely naked red rock lay open to the sky. The open red rock made Judith think of the time when as a child she had badly barked herself falling out of a tree. There were skinned areas on her thighs as big as peeled beets, red flesh showing. The exposed red rock was sometimes so glassy slick she had trouble keeping to her feet. Across the face of one such exposure ran long, wavering lines, as if some cosmic groom had run a currycomb across it.
Judith ran easy in her Indian garb. She ran lightly up the hard rising plateau. She seemed to have endless breath that morning.
She came across a tumble of rocks where the quartzite still seemed to be in a state of violent boiling. Mad scarlet and bruised blue and veined purple and raw pink swirled underfoot. She couldn’t resist pausing for a look.
“Why do you stop, my mother?” Two Two called.
“It’s this rock. Like flowing blood.”
“It is Boiling Rock you are looking at.”
At last Judith found herself hidden behind an outcropping. The outcropping resembled a family of blue buffalo snoozing in the morning sun. The outcropping was reddish along the edges near the grass, but thick blue lichen bearded over the rest of it. Some of the edges, about waist high, shone as if polished with a lapping rag.
Two Two was stationed not far off, west some fifty steps. He also lay hidden behind a tumble of rocks. The Yanktons once again seemed to have vanished into the ground.
Judith allowed herself a cautious look around. To the south, the escarpment dropped away in a series of rock shelvings, until it leveled off into a prairie. The view beyond was stunning. She could see miles and miles across an expanse of valley. A spacious sky arched high over a sweeping land. The valley lay like the palm of an open hand. Down it ran a life line, the River Of The Rock.
“The prospect from Summit Hill in St. Paul can’t compare with it,” Judith thought. “Not even the hills west of Davenport.” She nodded to herself. “I see it now. This is why men have westered. Yes. Beyond the ridge of every horizon lies a new Eden prairie. Each new valley is a virgin in itself, and if a man is any kind of bull at all, he has to possess it, he has to fulfill it.”
Judith wished she were a man.
She looked down. At her feet she spotted the purple flowers of a cluster of wild onions. There seemed to be three of them in a bunch. Kneeling, she dug out the pale bunched roots. The ancient turf was tough and it took a firm forefinger to pry them loose.
She nibbled at all three until they were gone. The wild onions were strangely sweet. It made her think of what she had seen the night before, Scarlet Plume dancing naked and risen. Some dirt had gotten under the nail of her forefinger and she sucked it out.
“They come,” Two Two called over in a piercing whisper.
Judith turned to look.
“Do not show yourself,” Two Two warned. He smiled at her from behind his rock and tilted his head in such a way as to show it wasn’t his fault the laws of a buffalo surround were hard.
Judith looked cautiously around a corner of her rock.
Blinking, she saw them, lumps of dusky brown against a shimmering morning green. Except for their color they reminded her of a herd of cattle. The cows and yearlings were up front, the bulls behind.
They came grazing. A
crop here at a better tuft of grass, a switch of the short tail, a half-dozen steps forward, then a crop there. They grazed through little gardens of golden aster. The soft wind blurred the brown hair over their humps. With every step they loomed a bit larger, sometimes all at once, sometimes in varied groups, sometimes singly. Dipping swallows caught insects on the fly above the herd. Bolder cowbirds sat on the backs of the bulls and dug out the larvae of botflies.
“Scarlet Plume comes,” Two Two whispered low along the ground.
Judith slid around the tumble of her rocks and looked from the other side.
At first she couldn’t find him. All she saw was yet another buffalo, a bull, grazing alone. Then she noted the single bull was smallish. Scarlet Plume. He had put on a buffalo skin and head. She guessed instantly what was up. He was the decoy, a Judas buffalo.
Scarlet Plume grazed quietly along. Every now and then he lifted his shaggy head to sniff the air. He switched his tail. He stomped a foot at a fly. He grazed.
When the herd was yet some distance away, Scarlet Plume sang a song, softly:
Come, buffalo. Come, pa-pa.
You are one of the Yankton gods.
We wish to eat you.
Hohe! Give us your strength.
We wish to eat you.
Hohe! Give us your succession.
We wish to draw closer to the gods.
Wana hiyelo.
This is a very good song I sing.
Listen to it, buffalo.
Hohe. I have said.
The herd came on, cropping at ease. All the buffalo were fat.
Scarlet Plume grazed through an island of rippling sage. His brown fur took on a blackish luster against the silver leaves.
Judith watched Scarlet Plume, fascinated. She forgot where she was.
The calves cavorted in and around the cows. The calves had fluffy yellowish hair, remindful of just-hatched chicks out for their first perky walk.
Certain of the bulls walked a step behind the cows. Every now and then an old bull would mount a young cow, and he would be so heavy for her she would almost collapse under him. When a young bull mounted a cow, usually an old one, he could scarcely make connection. Sometimes the young bull missed entirely and his charge of seed floated on the air like a liquid arrow.
The rest of the bulls formed the rearguard. Sometimes they stopped to rub themselves on the edges of the taller rocks. They gave themselves a good scratching. Their vigorous rubbing explained the polished lapped edges.
There was one very old bull. He trailed along far in the rear with the yellow calves. He had hair on his forelegs and chin so long it dragged through the grass. From a distance his hair resembled shadows trailing under his body and tapering off to wavering points.
Immediately behind the herd traveled a small army of jack-rabbits. They moved along in erratic bounds. Still farther behind came a pair of spying wolves.
Scarlet Plume sang another buffalo song. His voice was low, persuasive. Out of the midst of the song there occasionally broke the urgent grunt of a bull mounting a cow.
Come, friends. Come, pa-pa
We belong to you.
Ungh. Ungh.
You belong to us.
Ungh. Ungh.
This is a good song I sing.
You are walking into our trap.
You like this.
Ungh. Ungh.
We like this.
Ungh. Ungh.
See, the ghosts of our dead ones
Come along to share the fun.
They will feast with us tonight.
Come, pa-pa.
We have you in our power.
Hohe. We thank you.
Wana hiyelo.
The tufted buffalo drifted farther and farther into the trap. The sun rose to the midpoint of the morning sky. The wind continued warm and sweet from the southeast. Flowers opened. Perfumes hazed upon the air. Bumblebees flew about drunk. Meadowlarks cried their cheer that all the skies were clear.
The two trailing wolves were the first to smell trouble. They stopped, sat on their haunches a moment, sniffing the air with lifted noses, laughing with long red tongues, then up and with a twirling whisk of brush tails were gone. The jackrabbits were next to sense it. They abruptly began to bound away to the left and the right.
Traveling Hail stood up from his hiding place. He gave a high, clear coyote call. It wavered over the entire plateau. Instantly the heads of all the Yanktons popped up from behind stones and boulders and, making even lines, formed the wings of a human corral. There was another clear call and the ends of the wings ran toward each other, closing the corral. “Yip! yip! yip!” everyone hallooed, waving their scaring robes.
The buffalo didn’t scare immediately. They were fat, lazy. The laggard bulls in back turned their great heads about in mild curiosity. They chewed, and wondered.
But the old bull with the long shadow hair knew. He let go a great snort.
The snort galvanized the entire herd. Up came their heads, they stiffened, and then, tails in the air, they broke into a heavy run. They headed into the wind. They went straight for the highest dropoff of the escarpment, Buffalo Jump.
The Yanktons hallooed, “Yihoo!” and waved their robes, and shrilled and barked and hooted. “Yihoo!” The stampede was on.
Scarlet Plume up ahead appeared to be the least concerned of all the buffaloes. He casually grazed toward a grayish-red boulder. When the rampaging herd was almost upon him, he deftly stepped behind the boulder. The buffalo thundered by, going as fast as they could hump it. When the last one was well past him, he stepped into view again. Gone were the buffalo head and buffalo skin. He was sweating and in the sun his limbs shone like freshly burnished copper. With the others he ran after the buffalo, shouting, waving, hallooing.
Judith found herself running with the others. Her two heavy braids clubbed her over the back and arms. The running and hallooing reminded her of the children’s game pump-pump-pull-away.
Judith gathered her tunic up around her waist and ran hard. She ran swiftly. Her long legs enabled her to keep up with the swiftest of the Yanktons. She was one of those women who could run fluid and elastic off the hip, not as though hobbled at the knees.
The buffalo thundered on, tails up. The faster cows and heifers took over the lead. Then came the bulls. Then came the yellow calves. All ran blindly. All ran scared. All ran with heavy grunting bounds.
There was a slight fall in the land just before the brink. The buffalo gathered even more momentum.
Then they poured over, somersaulting, the cows with their legs still galloping in air, the bulls bellowing, the calves bawling. Trees cracked below. Pillars of red rock tumbled over. There was a heavy thunder of many thumps. There was a moment of swallowing silence; then, dying miserably, all splashed to pieces, all the fallen buffalo let go with a rising massive moan.
The Yanktons ran so hard after the stampeded buffalo, they almost took the jump too. They had to lean back to stop at the brink.
The Yanktons peered down. From below rose a slow cloud of dust and hair and threshed-out milkweed seed.
Scarlet Plume lifted up both hands. “Yanktons, you see the power of the divination. You see all the killed buffalo. They have consented to die for us so that we may eat.”
The women trilled cries of thankfulness.
Scarlet Plume turned to Two Two. “Brother, run to the village for pony drags. We are ready for the butchering. Tell them not to forget the many parfleches. We will need them all. There is very much meat.”
Two Two ran to obey.
Scarlet Plume sniffed the air. “The smell of buffalo blood is sweeter than the smell of a Yankton rose.” He looked down. Buffalo bellies still stirred and buffalo limbs still crackled. “Friends, let us descend. Hohe.”
They filed down a pass in the red cliff, eyes popped and shoulders humped in anticipation. They surrounded the great tumble of broken buffalo. There were splintered hoofs, cracked spines, split bellies, running green anuses,
limp tails, dying hearts, bitten tongues.
The Yanktons waited for Scarlet Plume to speak again.
At last, in reverent manner, Scarlet Plume took a pinch of dried sweet grass from a pouch he carried at his belt and touched the nearest buffalo with it. That done, he scattered the rest of the sweet grass in the direction of all the broken buffalo. He took a knife from his belt and placed his moccasined foot on the head of the nearest buffalo. “Friend,” he said down to the dulled-over half-closed eyes, “we thank you for letting us catch you. Friend, we too were animals before we were people, hence we must apologize now that we have killed you. Friend, we will not forget this. We thank you. I have said.” He made motions with his knife as if to lay open the hairy hump of the buffalo, then on the fourth and sacred motion finally did cut into it. Flesh parted, blood flowed.
The Yanktons piled in with their knives and teeth and fingers. They were like thirsty weasels. They drank the blood of the buffalo before the heartbeat faded away. Each cut for himself a choice tidbit. The Yanktons believed that like parts of animals nourished like parts of man. Some fancied raw purple liver seasoned with a drop of green bile. Some desired certain portions of raw kidney. Others declared raw brains were the best. Young wives anxious to have more children craved the silky envelope of the embryo. Mothers who wanted powerful runner sons fancied the soft feet of the fetuses. Old men hoping for a return of virility cut themselves slices of raw testicles. There wasn’t a part of the beloved buffalo but what some Yankton didn’t fancy it. The Yanktons crawled in and out of the mass of flesh like beetles investing the dead carcass of a super mammoth. Soon they were all covered with blood from head to foot. Red blood for red men. Even Scarlet Plume.
Judith and Mavis were revolted. They turned away. They retched. Their empty stomachs pumped and pumped. The one’s retching led to more retching by the other. Gall burned bitter on the lip and smell of it cut the nostril. The human beast was no better than the wolf who lived from kill to kill.
Judith and Mavis started back for the village by the springs.
The Yanktons were amazed at the behavior of the white women. Enough food had been given them by Wakantanka to last them all of a bitter winter and a mother turned sick at the thought of it?
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