Someone suggested a demonstration with crossbows and the crossbowmen gladly obliged. There were gasps of amazement at the power and accuracy of the weapons. Especially at longer ranges, the short, heavy crossbow bolts made an impressive showing. On an impulse, one of the Blood warriors raced up the hill to hang his bullhide shield for a target. The flint-hard rawhide was able to turn the point of any weapon known to the People.
One bowman selected a steel-tipped bolt and inserted it carefully in the groove of his weapon. He assumed the shooting stance and, with quick aim, squeezed the lever. The missile twanged on its way. In a moment, the shield jerked convulsively on the bush and a murmur of amazed exclamation rose from the nearest of the spectators.
“Aiee!”
“It has killed Yellow Hawk’s shield!”
“The far-shoots bow has strong medicine.”
Everyone clustered around to see the amazing occurrence. It was true. The bolt had actually penetrated the hard rawhide of the shield. The point projected a hand’s span on the other side, with the shaft wedged tightly in the defect.
Instantly, crossbowmen increased tremendously in prestige, as the strength of their medicine was realized. Those lodges now entertaining crossbowmen basked in reflected glory. Sanchez strutted pompously.
Further demonstration, however, was precluded by the scarcity of crossbow bolts. The skirmishes and the final battle had used nearly the entire supply carried by the expedition and few were recoverable. Those left were to be hoarded carefully.
As shadows grew longer, the impromptu activities dwindled. The People returned to their lodges to dress and ready themselves for the celebration. By the time Sun Boy’s torch had disappeared, light from the fire was replacing its illumination. Several older warriors gathered around the dance drum and, softly, tentative thumping of the dogwood sticks on the big skin drumhead began.
The People came by twos and threes and family groups, drifting toward the dance arena. Each was wearing his best finery, garments of soft-tanned skins with intricate decorations of quillwork.
Members of the Bowstring Society arrived with the dignity befitting their years and station in life. Most were near middle age or older, their warrior careers dating from the days before the elk-dog. An occasional younger man joined them. The use of the traditional methods was by choice for these. All youngsters in the Rabbit Society were instructed in athletic skills and the use of weapons and horses. Some simply chose the role of the warrior on foot, using the time-honored bow and arrows. They were inducted into the Bowstring Society when they achieved warrior status. Their dress and ceremonial face paint was that of ancient tribal custom.
The Bowstrings, with their ties to tradition, were charged with the planning and execution of the celebration. Older Bowstring warriors, unable to physically participate in the dance, would beat the cadence on the great drum and chant the traditional songs of valor.
Next came the men of the Elk-dog Society, the younger warrior group. They arrived with their young families, dressed and painted as befitted the station of rising warriors in the tribe. These were the horsemen, the new warrior generation, proven but still rising in wealth and influence in the tribe. Their facial paint had been modified in design, especially in the narrow yellow stripes and dots across the cheekbones. Yet the influence of tradition could be easily seen.
The Elk-dogs stood, visiting easily with their families and with the Bowstrings. Heads Off himself arrived, wearing around his neck on a thong the silvery horse bit that had now assumed the status of a talisman. It had become almost a sacred symbol of the acquisition of the horse, the powerful elk-dog medicine of the People.
Warriors carefully lifted Don Pedro Garcia and carried him to the celebration. The old man was made comfortable on a pallet of soft robes, with a willow back rest to support him in a semireclining position. Near him were the other wounded, now gaining strength in their recovery. These, two from the Garcia party and one from the People, would be honored heroes in the dance celebration.
Still, there was an air of waiting. The People kept peering expectantly toward the darkening perimeter of the camp. At last someone pointed.
“Aiee, here they come!”
The Blood Society, arrogant nonconformists, were arriving in a group. These were the young rebels, so recently reaccepted by the tribe. Their dress was flamboyant, their facial paint stark and challenging. The broad crimson band across the forehead was accentuated by a wide black horizontal stripe under each eye. Decorations on their capes and bodies were uniformly red and black. With their proud bearing, the advancing group made a spectacular picture as they approached the fire. Their leader, Red Dog, nodded pleasantly to the older men of the Bowstring Society and the group stood waiting.
White Buffalo stepped forward, arms upraised. He held a tortoise-shell rattle in one hand, in the other one of the small, shapeless medicine bags of his profession.
“Let the dance begin!”
34
Cabeza and his everpresent companion, South Wind, found seats next to the arena, near the young chief of the People. This man, to Ramon Cabeza, was still Juan Garcia, his boyhood acquaintance from home. The lieutenant was unaware or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge the tremendous sense of security that Heads Off represented. He was the only person among the People with whom Cabeza could fully communicate.
To enter into a ceremony one has never seen is a worrisome thing. He knew that the members of his party would be expected to participate to some extent, but beyond that he was unsure. He desperately needed someone who would be able to inform him what was going on.
South Wind was very helpful, but their conversation was necessarily limited by the nature of the sign language. A general idea was no problem, but the intricacies of the meaning and symbolism of the ceremonies were beyond such simple signals. Cabeza was anxious that he might not respond correctly and at the proper time.
Apparently Heads Off, formerly Juan Garcia, sensed his guest’s distress.
“I will explain what is happening, Ramon,” he assured Cabeza in their boyhood tongue.
The young chief himself could well remember the first dance celebration he had observed. It had been only a few seasons ago. He now marveled that he had seen no significance in the ceremony. He remembered that, to an outsider, the entire affair would be only a boring repetition of chanted nonsense syllables and endless gyrations of painted bodies.
“First, there will be a procession, led by the Bowstrings. They circle the area, announcing the ceremony. Then there is a dance for the warriors, before the story songs begin. Don’t worry—I will tell you as we go. For now, you stay here.”
Heads Off rose to join the other warriors and South Wind cuddled reassuringly against Cabeza, her hand resting gently on his arm.
The procession was led by White Buffalo and two of the oldest warriors of the Bowstrings. One, thought Cabeza, seemed barely able to totter around the circular arena. Methodically, they wound their way around the periphery of the circle, followed by the other warriors. All were singing in cadence to the thump of the great drum—and hair prickled on the back of Cabeza’s neck. There was a deep stirring of primitive rhythms in forgotten recesses of his very soul. He found himself swaying and moving with the others, in time with the beats of the chant.
Close behind the Bowstrings came the warriors of the Elk-dog Society, proudly stepping, swaying, and singing. Then came the Bloods, spectacular in the dress and paint, lusty in their rendering of the traditional songs.
Three times the parade circled the arena and then the drums stopped. The dancers scattered for a moment, returning to their respective families for minor adjustments to their paint and finery.
Soon, however, the circle began to reform and the drum started again. This time, the rhythm was slightly different. The dancers, likewise, faced toward the center of the circle and began to step in time to the drumbeats. The step was sideways now, everyone moving to the left in a clockwise rotation. Cabeza noted that amo
ng the warriors, women now joined the circle, stepping and gliding.
The medicine man now stepped to the center of the circle and loudly made an announcement of some sort. A few seated warriors rose self-consciously from their scattered places and joined the shifting circle.
The medicine man repeated his call, looking directly at Cabeza and the others of the Garcia party scattered behind him. Confused, the lieutenant turned to the girl beside him.
“What does he say?”
“He asks other warriors to join the Warrior Dance.”
He still did not understand. What in Christ’s name was he supposed to do? He glanced around in a momentary panic. His lancers sat behind him, also puzzled, but not quite so concerned. They looked to him for leadership.
Heads Off danced past them, now accompanied by his tall, attractive wife. They both smiled at the visitors’ confusion.
“Come on, Ramon,” the chief called. “Bring your lancers!”
Cabeza struggled to his feet and motioned to his companions. The group began to find places in the circle and, impulsively, Cabeza reached a hand to South Wind. He pulled her forward with him, crowding into place just to the right of Heads Off and Tall One. The girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“This is the visitors’ dance,” the young chief spoke above the thump of the drum. “Any visiting warrior is invited to join in. There are three from our Northern band, one from the Mountain band. Even a couple of the Growers are here. And your party, of course.”
The circle moved slowly to the left, with the monotonous chant now moving steadily. Cabeza found the rhythm not difficult, and soon was stepping with growing confidence. He glanced at the girl beside him. She flashed a bright smile and such an adoring look that he felt like the mightiest warrior alive. He heard a pleased, lilting trickle of laughter at his other elbow and turned to smile at his host’s wife. Tall One nodded approvingly.
The visitors’ dance ended and people resumed their seats. Other dances followed. One for the women only, one by each of the warrior societies. Children of the Rabbit Society performed one dance, hopping enthusiastically around the arena to the amusement of proud parents. It was apparent to the visitors that the People regarded their children with the utmost importance.
Finally, the dance proper began. Heads Off was now seated beside Cabeza and able to more fully explain the sequence of events.
“Now there will be songs of warriors. The first songs tell of battles a long time ago, famous deeds by heroes of the People. The dancers will act out the stories. Then the songs come close to the present and the last ones will be about the fight at the flooded creek.”
With this explanation, Cabeza could thoroughly enjoy the dances. Occasionally, he asked a question of his host or conversationally exchanged a series of hand signs with the girl beside him.
There were interminable songs and dances. Sometimes Heads Off would explain in detail.
“This is the story of the Great Battle with the Head Splitters. It happened after we got the horses.”
Finally, there was a ballad which seemed to depict almost current happenings. People turned to look at the visitors, as a group of dancers slowly retreated backward across the arena.
South Wind tugged at Cabeza’s sleeve.
“That is you, Ramon,” she signed.
Heads Off turned.
“Yes, that is your defense at the creek. It is strong medicine among the People that your handful of lancers held off the Head Splitters.”
South Wind smiled adoringly and proudly squeezed Cabeza’s arm.
“Oh yes, Ramon,” the young chief spoke casually, “there is one other thing. When you asked the girl to join you in the warriors’ dance, that was a proposal of marriage.”
35
It was nearly noon of the following day before Cabeza managed to seek out the young chief for a serious conversation.
“Juan, I have to talk with you. Can we be alone?”
The other nodded. He had some idea where this talk would lead.
“Of course. Let us walk.”
The two men strolled out of the village, responding occasionally to pleasant greetings by various members of the People. The chief indicated the direction and they casually ascended a nearby hill. Juan Garcia seated himself on a boulder and pointed to another nearby.
“I come here sometimes to think. Did you ever see anything like this, Ramon?”
He traced the horizon with a sweeping gesture. Cabeza followed his gaze, again impressed by the vastness of the place. Range followed range of the low rolling hills, clothed in the lush grasses of the prairie. In the distance, the green became blue, until at last it was impossible to discern between the blue of the furthest inundations of the plains and the blue of the azure sky.
Buffalo dotted the distant meadows and fluffy white clouds sent blue circles of shadow gliding across the green expanse. Nearer their hilltop, an eagle swept past on fixed wings, uttering her high-pitched cry. Nearer at hand, a red-winged grasshopper clattered into the air and fluttered to rest a few steps away, becoming instantly invisible again as soon as it became motionless.
“Yes, Ramon, you wished to talk?”
Cabeza, startled, came back from his reverie with some embarrassment.
“What? Oh yes.”
Where should he begin?
“It is about the girl?” the other encouraged.
Cabeza nodded.
“Yes, that is part of it. I have to make some decisions.”
The man in breechclout and moccasins waited, silent. He had, he knew, undergone much the same sort of soul-searching himself nor too many summers past.
“How can I start? First, I know my responsibility is to your father. I am paid to lead the expedition’s fighting men. Now …” he shrugged. “I will have to lead the entire party home, what remains of it. There is Sanchez, of course, but you know …”
The other nodded, waiting.
“And how long until your father, Señor Garcia, is able to travel?”
He heaved a deep sigh.
“Then the girl. You say I have to marry her?”
“Don’t you want to?”
“Of course. But, my God, man, I can’t stay here with her. I have to take the expedition home. And I might never be able to return.”
Juan Garcia’s respect for this young man had been steadily growing. His loyalty and dependability were apparently above reproach. The elder Garcia had chosen his man well. Now, yet another facet of the lieutenant’s makeup was seen. The average man would think very lightly of a temporary liaison with a native girl. One could go through the motions of whatever mumbo jumbo was required. Then, when it became convenient, the girl could be abandoned with impunity.
Hence, Heads Off had been a trifle uneasy about this relationship. He felt protective over the girl and defensive toward any threat to her well-being. South Wind was, after all, one of the People, to be defended from men of other tribes. And marriage customs of the People were very strict. He smiled inwardly at the thought that he now regarded his fellow cadet from the Academy as an outsider. His own affinity for the People still astonished him.
“Cabeza, you could marry her—and then just leave her here when you go.”
For a moment, he thought the lieutenant was ready to strike him. Anger and disbelief distorted Cabeza’s face.
“Mother of God, Garcia! Could you abandon your wife and sons?”
That was the reaction the other had been seeking. Inwardly, he nodded approval. Outwardly, he waved aside the protests of the other.
“Of course not, Ramon. I only wondered how you felt. I have been through the same problem, you know.”
He pondered in silence a moment.
“You really love this girl, don’t you, Ramon?”
It was more a statement than a question.
“My friend,” answered Cabeza, “I can understand why you were never able to go back to Spain. But I must.”
The other nodded sympathetically.
“It strikes me, Ramon, that South Wind would follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“You mean—take her back with me?”
“Would you be embarrassed by her?”
For a moment, Cabeza became indignant again. Then, relaxed.
“Juan, I would be proud to take her anywhere as my wife.”
His companion was pleased.
“And so you should be. She is not only beautiful, but a woman of great courage.”
He paused a long moment.
“For me, it was wrong to think of going back to Spain. For you, it may be right. Now, it will be some time before Don Pedro is able to travel. Why not marry the girl and be happy while you wait?”
“How is this done?”
“The ceremony is simple. Her father just spreads a robe over the shoulders of the couple in a public announcement. But first, you have to give him something of value.”
“You mean, buy her?”
“No no, you just honor her family with a gift.”
Cabeza shrugged, dejected.
“But I have nothing!”
He picked idly at the sleeve of his threadbare shirt, as if to indicate that it was all he owned.
“He will know that, Ramon. But it should show some sacrifice on your part. Why not give him your horse?”
Cabeza’s face reflected consternation. He had commandeered one of the Garcia stallions after the death of his own animal. To lose it now would put him on foot again.
“But, Juan, I need my horse!”
“A horse is no problem. I will give you all the horses you want. But the gift to her father must be your horse.”
“And how is this thing done?”
“You lead the horse through the camp and tie it in front of her father’s lodge. Then when he comes out, ask him for his daughter. You can use the sign talk.”
Follow the Wind Page 14