Follow the Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  “Suppose he refuses?”

  “He will not refuse. It will be a great honor for him to have such a warrior as you in his family.”

  “But Juan, where would we go? I can’t bring a bride home to your lodge!”

  Heads Off laughed.

  “You’ll find this hard to believe, my friend. Most of the young couples move in with the girl’s family until they can afford their own lodge. It makes mighty hunters of the young men, trying to save enough skins for a lodge cover. The girls become pretty proficient at tanning, too.”

  Cabeza looked crestfallen.

  “There is another possibility, Ramon. The weather is good at this time. The two of you can go off by yourselves for a few days. The People often live in a brush arbor in summer or when they’re traveling and don’t want to put up the big lodge. South Wind will know how to build one.”

  36

  The idea of a few days alone with South Wind in the beauty of nature was a very appealing thought for Cabeza. That very evening, he led the gray stallion proudly through the village and stopped in front of the lodge. The father of South Wind emerged from the doorway, ostensibly to see what was going on, though by this time he knew full well.

  “Ah-koh, uncle, I would ask for your daughter, South Wind.”

  Cabeza had been carefully instructed in proper etiquette.

  Lame Fox hesitated a long time, as was proper.

  “What will you give?”

  “My best elk-dog.”

  My only elk-dog, in fact, he thought miserably. What if he refuses?

  The warrior appeared to consider long, then finally spoke.

  “Come in. We will talk.”

  The invitation into the lodge was equivalent to acceptance and Cabeza relaxed. The host held the door skin aside and they entered the dim of the lodge.

  Lame Fox indicated a pile of robes for the guest to sit.

  South Wind sat beside her mother on the opposite side of the lodge. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. Cabeza wondered if he could manage the sign talk well enough to handle this situation. Well, if it became too difficult, perhaps he could induce Heads Off to come and speak for him. He heaved a deep sigh.

  “The weather has been very good,” he began.

  The faces across the fire broke into friendly smiles. It was a situation of great honor to have the war chief of the Hair-faces marry into one’s family.

  “Yes,” signed Lame Fox. “Very good.”

  Preparations were soon under way for the nuptial ceremony of the daughter of Lame Fox. She would be given in marriage to the war chief of the Hair-faces, the tribe of the great chief of the People, Heads Off.

  Lame Fox was extremely pleased. As one of the Bowstring Society, he had little use for the great gray elk-dog given by his prospective son-in-law. Still, the prestige of owning such a fine animal was important. There were few families among the People who could boast such a possession. And the family of Lame Fox had never been wealthy. An injury in his youth had resulted in a pronounced limp. It made it difficult for him to achieve great success at the hunt.

  True, he had managed to keep his children fed and a lodge over their heads, but it had been hard. Even now, as he began to feel the gnawing bite of Cold Maker in his stiff knee on chilly mornings, he wondered what the future held. He had begun to understudy the work of Stone Breaker, maker of weapons, against the time he could no longer hunt. His work was not yet proficient enough for prestige and recognition, but now the People would at least know the name of Lame Fox, whose daughter had married well.

  And the daughter! Aiee, she had been a problem. Headstrong and unpredictable, the girl seemed to take after the family of her mother, Chickadee. They were of the Eastern band of the People, noted for foolishness and poor judgment.

  Ah well, theirs had been an exciting marriage. Even with the extra concern over the volatile South Wind and her childhood escapades, it had been good. Chickadee was a good wife.

  True, Lame Fox had sometimes wondered if this, their oldest child, would ever marry. She had spurned the attentions of all the young men. This secretly pleased her father, who saw none worthy of South Wind anyway. All the young men of the Rabbit Society as she grew up had been defeated by her in running, swimming, or in the proficient use of weapons. Lame Fox had wondered if there might be any warrior among the People who would be a fit partner for his fiery daughter.

  When she had been abducted, he and her mother had despaired of ever seeing her again. Now, in the space of a few short days, events had occurred so rapidly that Lame Fox could hardly comprehend.

  Here was his returned daughter, more mature and more attractive than ever. Circumstances had placed her in a situation to become practically a heroine of the People. In addition, it required no imagination to see that her medicine with the young hair-face chief was very strong. Lame Fox was proud.

  Now it remained only to set a time for the ceremony and make certain there would be enough food for the feast. Lame Fox, Chickadee, and South Wind were discussing the matter in front of their lodge.

  “Spotted Cat owes me meat. I will ask him.”

  “Yes, my husband. Deer Woman will help me cook. Probably Tall One and Big Footed Woman, also.”

  “Father, when will the ceremony be?”

  Lame Fox shrugged.

  “When can you be ready, Chickadee?”

  The bright eyes of the little woman danced and Lame Fox thought once more how easy it was to see how she had come by her name.

  “Would two suns be soon enough?”

  “For me, yes,” answered Lame Fox solemnly. “For South Wind, I am not sure.”

  He smiled at his daughter.

  “Two suns will be good, father. It will give us time to find a place to be together.”

  South Wind already had a place in mind. Upstream from the village, not quite half a sun’s journey, was a hidden canyon she had discovered as a child. The People had camped nearby for a season and South Wind had used the retreat for all the pretending of a small girl. It was protected on three sides by steep, rocky walls and a sparkling spring fed the tiny stream that wandered among the rocks and trees.

  South Wind was dreamily planning the bower that she and Rah-mone would build together for their first temporary home.

  “Look!”

  Her mother interrupted her reverie.

  “Coyote comes!”

  Even from a distance, it was apparent that something was wrong. Something in the slope of the little man’s shoulders, the downward tilt of his head, sent the information ahead of him. Anxiously, the family of Lame Fox watched as Coyote came closer.

  “Ah-koh, my friend,” greeted Lame Fox.

  Coyote stood a long moment.

  “Ah-koh, Lame Fox. I have bad news.”

  Thoughts of trouble raced through the minds of the others. Had Rah-mone changed his mind? Had something happened to him? South Wind leaped to her feet.

  “No no,” Coyote shook his head, “it is only that the marriage must be postponed.”

  The others relaxed slightly, but stood waiting, still concerned.

  “The chief’s father is dying.”

  37

  Don Pedro Garcia had appeared to do so well initially that news of his worsening condition came as a shock to many. Daily activities continued, but there was a sort of hushed reverence around the lodge of the chief’s family.

  People shook their heads and told one another that they had thought so. It is a rare thing to recover from such a chest wound.

  The more philosophic of the People talked of how it was good that the old hair-face chief had been able to enjoy his son’s adopted people for a time.

  In truth, it had meant more to Don Pedro Garcia than anyone could ever know. In a certain sense, his dreams for his only son were being fulfilled and he, Don Pedro, was privileged to see it.

  He had thought of his son as a leader of men and, as all could see, this had been accomplished. It was in a strange way in a strange land, but all t
he same, Juan Garcia had become a leader.

  Likewise, it was very important to the old man that his son was respected. There was no questioning the looks of admiration among the younger men of the tribe.

  Then there was the family of his son. Again, it came in a strange land, but Don Pedro appreciated the opportunity to know them. Though he could speak or understand scarcely a word of his daughter-in-law’s tongue, he had come to love her. He admired her beauty, her quick smile, her gentle touch. Ah yes, he could not better have chosen the mother of his grandsons had he picked her himself.

  The boys were the idols of his waking hours. Don Pedro watched them endlessly. They would be too small to remember ever having seen their grandfather, but he felt that he could die happily, having seen the next generation, the offspring of his loins. What stalwart boys! The older, Eagle, he was called, was aggressive, athletic, and well liked. His ready smile would take him far.

  The younger child, Owl, was quiet, almost timid. He was introspective and thoughtful. The huge dark eyes of his mother peered cautiously from the infant’s face, seeming to understand all things. Ah yes, this one! This one is the dreamer, thought Don Pedro. He will make a great thinker.

  The old man’s major regret was that his wife, Doña Isabel, would not be able to see her grandchildren.

  “Cabeza, you must tell my wife of all these things when you return.”

  “No, Señor, you will tell her yourself.”

  “Thank you, Ramon, but I know. You forget, I am an old soldier. I have seen chest wounds.”

  He paused to cough, the exhausting hack that was becoming worse. Cabeza shuddered at the sound.

  “You tell her,” Garcia finished weakly, sinking back on the pallet.

  It was only the next day that the old man became unconscious and the word rippled through the Elk-dog band. The old chief, father of Heads Off, was dying.

  Yet three more days the old warrior fought. The People were amazed at his stamina, though failing to understand his reluctance to cross over into the Spirit World. To them it would have been a natural progression. In the words of their Death Song,

  The grass and the sky go on forever,

  But today is a good day to die!

  For the People, any day was “a good day to die” when the sequence of events decreed it. So there was puzzlement at the old hair-face’s stubborn refusal to let go, even as it drew admiration.

  White Buffalo was almost constantly present, chanting, dancing, sprinkling pungent herbs on the hot coals of the fire to fill the lodge with fragramt smoke. The medicine man used every technique and ceremony in his knowledge to assist in the comfortable passing of the spirit.

  Comatose and unable to take nourishment, Don Pedro grew weaker, his breathing more shallow, until at last, in the dark of a cloudy, drizzly night, the breathing stopped. His son, who had been at his side almost constantly, was dozing, half asleep. At the cessation of the rhythmic quiet sound of breathing, Heads Off came suddenly awake. The big dark eyes of Tall One looked deeply into his.

  “His spirit has crossed over, my husband.”

  Immediately, her clear voice rose in the Mourning Song. It was picked up and echoed in the adjacent lodge of Coyote, then by another and another, as the People came awake to mourn the loss of their chief’s father. The song would usher in the period of mourning, carried out over the next three days.

  Now Heads Off was faced with a dilemma. The People were already preparing to carry out the traditional ceremonies of burial. The body would be placed on an elevated funeral scaffold after the customs of the tribe.

  Juan Garcia had been raised in the Church, though he had never taken the teachings very seriously. Now, somehow, he wondered if he should not insist on a Christian burial, with interment in the ground. There were problems, of course. There was no priest to officiate, none among the party, even, who knew the proper procedure.

  There were even more basic problems. How was one to dig a grave? The People had no tools for digging in the earth. The young man sought out his father-in-law, his friend, adviser, and confidant.

  “Coyote, I am troubled. How can I be sure I am doing the right thing? Should my father be buried with the customs of his own tribe or that of the People?”

  The pudgy little man was quiet a long while, drawing slowly on his pipe. His eyes were half closed in thought, and once the younger man thought he had gone to sleep. At last he spoke.

  “My son, there are many paths to the top of the hill, but all reach the same spot.” He spread his hands in an exaggerated shrug.

  “What does it matter? Your father has crossed over on our path and may continue it to the top. But I know his people have their own medicine. I would see no harm in using both. Either way, he is a chief, and will be a chief in the Spirit World.”

  It was a long speech for Coyote, but Heads Off found it somehow very comforting.

  Don Pedro Garcia received the honor of a chief of the People. He would depart this world with his weapons, food for the journey, and dressed for battle, befitting a warrior. His armor had been lost in the flood, but the great sword was placed beside him as the body was wrapped for the scaffold.

  There was some discussion as to whether the sword should be broken to release the spirit. Some tribes known to the People believed that every item involved must be so treated. Heads Off assured them that in the tribe of his father this was not necessary.

  Likewise, there was discussion of his need for a horse to ride in the Spirit World. Should an elk-dog be killed beneath the scaffold to furnish transportation on the other side? Again, Heads Off advised against it.

  “In his Spirit World, there will be elk-dogs,” he assured.

  “Aiee!” Coyote answered. “His is a strong medicine!”

  The ceremony at the funeral scaffold was brief. The procession wound its way to the site, to the chant of the Mourning Song, and the carefully wrapped body was placed upon it. The choice bits of food, a skin of water, and the old warrior’s weapon were arranged to be convenient to him. The song became quiet.

  For want of a better idea, Perez, the sergeant of lancers, recited a Hail Mary while the People stood quietly in respect for the Hair-faces’ medicine.

  In contrast, or perhaps in support, White Buffalo chanted the corresponding ceremonial ritual of the People. Thus, in this strange mixture of cultures, was the old warrior honored as he was ushered from this world to the next.

  Coyote voiced the feelings of the group as they turned away to return to the village.

  “My friends, we have seen the passing of a chief.”

  38

  Ramon Cabeza lay on the soft fur of a buffalo robe and felt the warmth of sunshine on his bare chest. He turned to look at the girl beside him and found that she was awake also, her large dark eyes watching him quietly.

  It had been three days now since their marriage. Lame Fox had proudly spread the robe around the shoulders of the couple and they had walked from the village together to spend a few days in solitude.

  Time was short. Already it was the Moon of Ripening and on some mornings there was a sharp chill in the air. It would be necessary for the expedition to depart shortly, to complete the journey south before the onslaught of Cold Maker.

  Cabeza had discussed the possibility of wintering among the People, but Heads Off advised against it. If there were any delay after the coming of spring, any unforeseen circumstance, they might easily miss the return of the ship.

  “I would be pleased and proud to have you stay, Ramon, but there is much risk. If you fail to show up at the appointed time, your ship’s captain will sail on and report you lost.”

  So it had been decided. Cabeza and South Wind would proceed with their marriage and their brief sojourn for privacy. Meanwhile, Heads Off, Sanchez, and Sergeant Perez would see to the gathering of supplies and equipment for the journey.

  The visitors would be escorted through the country of the Head Splitters, even as far as the hair-face camp that Cabeza spoke of
. Long Elk would lead a party of warriors as an honor guard, proven men of the Elk-dog Society.

  These preparations could easily proceed during the temporary absence of Cabeza and his bride. Then the group would depart before the Moon of Falling Leaves. The Elk-dog men, traveling rapidly, could return to meet the People for winter camp in the southern part of their territory.

  Meanwhile, the party under Cabeza would winter with the garrison at the river or perhaps with Lizard’s people in the Caddo country. Then they would easily be able to meet the galleon at the appointed time for the sea voyage home. For the first time in a long while, things seemed to be falling into place.

  Cabeza and South Wind had spent three idyllic days alone together. They were like delighted children, learning words and phrases of each other’s language.

  South Wind had many things to show her new husband. She led him to all the hidden corners of the rocky glen where she had played as a child. They watched silvery minnows in the quiet stretches of the stream or swam together in a beaver pool just below their campsite.

  They would emerge from the water and lie naked on the robe in the mottled sunshine under a great sycamore, allowing the warm rays to dry crystal droplets on their skin. They watched fluffy clouds drift over their little paradise and, in the sign language, tried to describe what shapes of animals, birds, and trees they resembled.

  A pair of quail and their half-grown brood inhabited the canyon and many times they saw the graceful birds slipping quietly through the undergrowth. South Wind puckered her lips in the whistling challenge call of the male bird. Much to Cabeza’s amusement, the cock quail, bristling with indignation, strutted up almost to the edge of their robe, ready to fight the unseen intruder.

  Cabeza had never before been in a situation where there were endless hours to merely sit and watch and wonder at the world around him. They watched, unmoving, as a doe and her mottled fawn stepped carefully down to drink at the beaver pool. At another time they might be hunted for food, but for now, with supplies in plenty, the graceful animals were merely fellow inhabitants of the glen.