Dinosaurs!

by Jack Dann

  I was smoking outside my lodge one day when he came to see me. I puffed on my pipe after offering some smoke to the winds. Then I sat facing the open end of the circled teepees. The sun had been up a few hours.

  "Grandfather!" he said, all out of breath. He was thin and his hair was as black as night. He wore deerskin leggings even in the summer. It was all the fashion among young boys that year, as I remember.

  "Yes? Something excites you?"

  "Onion Boy is no longer Onion Boy. He went off three days ago and came back, and now he is Falcon Foot."

  "Ah, that is good. I shall try to remember his new name. Is he changed much?"

  "No, except that he now has a medicine bundle with a falcon foot in it. He said the hawk must have been shot, because as it flew over him, it lurched in the air and its foot dropped to the ground before him."

  "Ah, a good sign. Did he dream of flying? Usually people who take bird's names have visions of flying while on their quest."

  "I forgot to ask him."

  "Not important," I said.

  "Grandfather?"

  "Yes?"

  "What was your vision quest like?"

  I saw before me in my mind's eye the river valley, the wavering of my sight and my tiredness, felt the ache in my lids and the cuts between my toes where I had wedged the sharp rocks. I experienced again my shakes and sweats, and the heat of the day. Then I saw again the man who was me walking through snow without a blanket, walking and walking, not cold, not tired, not sick or fevered. It would be forever on my brain.

  "Oh, that was a long time ago," I said. "I saw a man who did not need a blanket in the winter."

  "Did you see a spirit animal?" he asked.

  The great beast reared up before me, huge and terrible, its eyes afire, its shaggy coat rippling with power, its claws large as knives, its teeth the size of bullets, its head wide as a hide shield, its breath rancid, its smell stifling, its charge unstoppable. I had evacuated my bowels.

  "A bear," I said. "Go and play now."

  One of my sons-in-law was brought in with a bullet in his leg. I did the medicine and took out the bullet and chewed tobacco and invoked the Great Mystery to wrestle with death for him. He was up and about in no time.

  I decided to ride up to the big dirt road where the fighting was going on and see it for myself.

  "Can I go with you, Grandfather?" asked Fall Colt.

  I looked at his mother. She shrugged her shoulders.

  "Yipppppeeee!" he said, running to get his pony.

  "You must remember we will not be able to see much," I said after him.

  "I don't care!" he said. "I don't care!"

  There were three small hills before you got to the big wooden fort. Our people stayed on the third hill, just outside rifle range from the walls.

  Between the first and second hills, woods used to grow, but the soldiers had cut those down to build the forts, and they had to come between the second and third hills for their firewood. That was still in sight of the fort, and occasionally they would send men out to get logs in a wagon. They would also send men out to shoot at us while the others gathered wood. That was when we would try to kill them and they would try to kill us.

  We did not like fighting this way, but other methods had failed. Early on, some of the warriors had attacked during the night and had been shot. Others had tried getting close during the day but the soldiers had used them for target practice. They seemed to have plenty of food and ammunition, but no firewood. So we waited till they came out.

  It was boring work. Most of the time our men lay around and watched from the warm grass on the hills, polishing their coup sticks or sharpening their knives. Others would go hunting or fishing. They always cooked the game on the hills where the soldiers could see. The soldiers always shot at them when they did. That is how my son-in-law got the bullet in his leg.

  Fall Colt and I walked up the hill where his father, Terrible Wolf, was dozing in the sun.

  "Ho, Father," he said, waking, as he saw us come up the draw. He sat up.

  "Don't get up on our account," I said.

  Fall Colt ran to his father and hugged him. "You embarrass me," said Terrible Wolf. The boy let go of him.

  "How are things in camp?"

  "Dull," I said. "Your brother is fine. He will come back this week." We sat down. Terrible Wolf and I started to talk.

  It was a few minutes before I noticed that Fall Colt had not said anything. He was back down the draw toward the horses. But he kept looking toward the top of the hill behind me. He appeared nervous.

  "Hey-A! Hey-A!" yelled someone from the top of the hill. Instantly Terrible Wolf and all the other men were up, rifles in hand and onto their horses. They swept up over the hill in a cloud of dust.

  From the direction of the fort we could hear rifle fire. I went to my horse and pulled my shotgun from its holder and Fall Colt got his boy's bow and arrows from his mount. Then we went to the ridgetop.

  Below us the ground swelled downward to the fort. Soldiers were on the walls, others milled around in the open gateway. Halfway between us and them, a wagon and several dozen mounted soldiers were on the near side of the first hill.

  The warriors swept down toward them from all sides, yelling and raising a great bother. The soldiers came determinedly on, until they reached the timber on the near side of the second hill. Then the wagon stopped and the horsemen dismounted and began to shoot while others with axes started cutting up dead trees.

  The braves rode toward them and stopped and dismounted and began firing. The soldiers all fired at once, the warriors whenever they wanted. The sound of axes could be heard intermittently.

  Then came the formal charge from the fort, with another two dozen soldiers on horses riding out toward the braves. The warriors mounted and turned back up the third hill. Then they stopped and fired back at the blue-clad soldiers.

  Then our second bunch of braves charged from the draw near the third rise, and the soldiers in the fort went wild. Smoke rose up everywhere on the walls as they shot. The wave of troops rushing the hill turned. Everywhere was motion and gunshots. A lot of dust was raised.

  Some of the first braves had run back up the hill beside us and were yelling and taunting the soldiers. An occasional bullet whistled by. One man dropped his breechclout and danced ribaldly with his buttocks toward the fort. Then he held his ankles and hopped backwards down the hill toward the firing.

  Many bullets began to hit around us.

  The second wave of soldiers would never come up the third rise. Some started to, but the man with the sword and the two bars on his hat stopped them. They are usually more cautious than the ones with one bar on their hats.

  Dust obscured everything. The warriors on the hill fired down into the woodchopping party, holding their rifles high. The soldiers there and in the fort were firing as fast as they could. The troops between them and us flitted in and out of the smoke and dust.

  Then everything was quiet. The dust began to settle.

  The wagon and the soldiers were going back into the fort, only a few logs bouncing in the back. The mounted soldiers kept a wary eye backward on the hills. Some of our people put their thumbs in their ears and stuck out their tongues, an old white man's insult.

  The doors to the fort closed. We went back over the hill.

  No one had been hurt.

  I looked around, then up. Fall Colt was standing against the skyline, looking down at the fort. He was shaking and pale.

  "Come down," I said. "They might hit you by mistake."

  He shook himself, looked around.

  "What is it?"

  He looked down at the bow in his hand. "I don't know, Grandfather, . . . I . . . I . . ."

  "Was the excitement too much for you?"

  "No . . . I . . . I didn't pay much attention."

  His eyes were troubled. I said no more to him, and we rode back to our camp.

  It did not surprise me when I saw him calling his friends toget
her two days later. He handed one his bow, another his arrows and knife. Then he passed out his leggings, his moccasins, his breechclout. Naked, he turned his back on the lodges and fires of our people and walked toward the distant mountains.

  His mother came to me. "Father, did you see . . ."

  I took my pipe from my mouth so her shadow wouldn't fall across it and harm the tobacco. "It is time," I said. "This has been coming on for days. He will be fine."

  We watched him until he was lost in the evening sun.

  Then we got busy for a few days, and I thought of Fall Colt rarely.

  What we got busy doing was killing soldiers. It happened this way:

  I accompanied my other son-in-law when he went back to the big dirt road. We got there when the sun stood straight up. The heat was already oppressive, the air still. Sound traveled a long way. We heard the gates of the fort open from up on our hill. The brave on watch let out his cry then. I looked up into the sky. A lone flycatcher chased a winged insect. I drew my shotgun from its scabbard and mounted up.

  We did the same things we did the other day. The wagon came out, and we harrassed it. Then the other soldiers charged out. Then our reserves came out of their places. Then our warriors mounted up and came back up the hill.

  I saw what was happening before the others did. I let out a cry and began my death chant.

  Because the second wave of soldiers had not stopped at the near side of the second hill. They kept coming. They were led by a soldier with one bar on his hat. He pointed his sword at us and spurred his horse. I could see each of his horse's hoof beats raise dust. His eyes locked on mine.

  Supposing the ritual to be the same, some of our people had dismounted and were prancing on top of the hill.

  "Yah-Yah-Yah!" they said, turning somersaults. "Yah-Yah-Can't catch us!" Then they noticed the mounted soldiers had not stopped but were bearing down on them. They fell all over each other for a second, then jumped on their horses.

  Bullets whipped around me as the oncoming soldiers flew up the hill. As I jumped on my horse, I could see the man in charge of the wagon party shaking his fist at the man leading the charge up the hill. It was a very foolish thing for the man with one bar to do.

  For a few seconds, it seemed like a marvelous thing, but only because we did not expect it. But even as they neared the top of the hill and we spurred down into the open flat beyond, I saw that our reserves which had already made their ritual charge had turned and were heading up around the draw. Spotted Bull was in charge and he was a good man.

  So we kicked our ponies and made them run. We could tell when the white men reached the top of the hill, because they started shooting everything in sight. Bullets hit all around us. Somebody on my left went down. The man to my right turned and fired, and we circled to the right so the white men would come sooner between us and the reserves. We turned on the soldiers as soon as their fire became scattered.

  This was because Spotted Bull had gotten between them and the top of the hill. I turned to see the soldiers milling around as his bunch came down on them.

  There were twenty or so mounted soldiers. There were a hundred of us.

  I sent Terrible Wolf back up to the top of the hill. "Tell us when the whole fort is coming," I said. Then we turned back into battle.

  I had no coup stick with me, so I leaned down next to my mount and swung up and out when I neared a soldier. He fired at me with his pistol. Powder burned my face and arms. I came up and hit him under the chin with the butt of my shotgun. He went limp and slid off his horse.

  Then I saw the man with one bar and shot him in the face with both barrels. He died quickly.

  A few of the soldiers had killed their horses and were shooting at us from behind them. We dismounted and began walking toward them, firing as we went. Smoke hung over everything.

  "The whole fort is coming," yelled Terrible Wolf.

  "Keep killing!" I said. "Keep killing!"

  "They're on the second hill," yelled Terrible Wolf, but he hadn't mounted up yet.

  We killed the last soldier just as the world filled with the sound of hooves. Terrible Wolf jumped on his mount and took off across the ridge.

  I got on mine and did the same. We divided up, half going east, half west.

  Seventy soldiers came over the hill in brown and blue waves. Bullets went by like bees. Then we all turned and went over the same hill back down toward the fort. We caught the wagon party unprepared.

  We killed most of them and looted and set the wagon afire.

  Somebody got off his horse and pissed on the face of a dead man. Then we rode as fast as we could away from there with everything we had taken from the wagon. They chased us until it was too dark to see.

  We moved the camp some miles away from where it had been. Things calmed down in a few days, and our warriors were back on the hill and the soldiers were back in the fort.

  It was evening. I sat smoking in front of my lodge. Then I saw a naked boy coming towards camp from a long way off. It was my grandson.

  He paused often. He was limping. He kept turning to stare back toward the near mountains, in the direction the fort lay.

  "Hello, Grandson," I said. "Did you follow our travois trail?"

  He stared at me a moment. "Grandfather," he said.

  "Yes?"

  "Can I sleep now? I will tell you about it later."

  "Here," I said, moving over and giving him half my buffalo robe. He lay down slowly and then he was asleep. I patted his head while he dreamed.

  He woke up late the next night.

  "Could you help me with my new name?" asked my grandson.

  "Most people do not need help with theirs," I said.

  "That is because they have seen a totem animal spirit and know its name," he said.

  "You saw no animal?"

  "I saw an animal, Grandfather, but I do not know its name."

  "That is a problem. Perhaps I can help."

  He began to tell me what he remembered of his vision quest. It was disjointed, like most are up until a vision comes. He had roamed the hills, chanted, he did not sleep. He put rocks between his toes and scoured his eyes with brambles to keep himself awake. He heard voices, but it was always the wind when he listened closer. He lay over a rock with his head down to help get a vision. One did not come until the third day.

  "I turned in the direction of the big dirt road," he said. "And I saw it. I saw everything. There was water out there, much water. It was shining in the sun. The ground steamed and all was green and growing. Many small animals I did not know moved through the growths. In the water, things with long necks waded thick as buffalo on the plains. Animals like bats with long noses wheeled through the skies and dipped into the water for fish. All was large and out of proportion. All was cries and calls and roars like cougars. I did not understand."

  "Visions are sometimes not meant to be understood, only acted upon," I said. "What was your animal like?"

  "Then I was an animal, moving through the reeds. The wading animals that had seemed large were small to me now, my size. I brushed aside ferns. I chased one of the long-necked things which was trying to run from me. Its eyes were filled with terror. I caught it in a jump. I bit into its head and it crushed like pecans. I felt blood and bone. I bit off the head and swallowed it, while the rest of the thing stumbled and staggered around, bleeding in great gouts. I waited and then I pushed it over and began eating while it flopped and heaved on the ground, mashing a place flat with its tail and legs. I threw my head back to eat and swallowed whole chunks without chewing.

  "I was near the water and I saw my reflection. I was huge and green. I stood on two legs and had tiny claws where my arms were. My eyes were at the sides of a great head. I had a long mouth full of sharp teeth, and a long thick tail which I used to balance.

  "I stood up from my prey and roared a challenge to all the world around me. The earth was silent for a moment, then all resumed as it was before."

  My grandson look
ed at me. "I feel great kinship with that beast, Grandfather. I do not know what it is. It is a beast of terror and strength, and it had skin like a snake."

  "There is no doubt it is a powerful animal."

  "Grandfather, there is something else."

  "What is it?"

  "It is still here. Near the white man's fort."

  My grandson looked around him, saw some of the booty from the attack on the wagon a few days before. "I will need that," he said, picking up a tool.

  "There is no great magic in a shovel," I said.

  "There is no great water near the white man's fort, either," he said. "But I saw it there."

  He said he would choose a new name after he was done with his work. The shovel was taller than he was. He strapped it on his pony and rode off toward the big dirt road.

  "Where is Fall Colt going?" asked his mother.

  "His name is not Fall Colt anymore."

  "What is it, then?"

  "He is going to find that out," I said.

  "Aren't you going with him, Father?" she asked.

  "I was just leaving," I said.

  When I arrived, Terrible Wolf was standing on top of the hill scratching his head. He held his rifle across the crook of his left arm.

  He has been on his vision quest, hasn't he?" asked my son-in-law.

  "Yes. He is troubled. It was inconclusive."

  "I can . . . wait . . . what's he doing?"

  We looked down the hill toward the fort. I saw that my grandson had been keeping to cover behind a clump of small trees, but now, shovel in hand, he took off running toward the fortress.

  We saw puffs of smoke from the walls, then heard the crack of Army rifles. My grandson zigged and zagged like the woodpecker in flight. Puffs of dirt went up around him.

  Some others had joined us on the hill, curious since they heard shots but no one had raised a cry. They watched the lone figure darting over the ground.