They called it being blooded, and it was an occasion eagerly looked forward to by every youngster. The fact that J.T. was no longer a child did not lessen the thrill, or diminish its significance.
He learned to hunt and to track Lakota style. He learned the ancient songs and stories and legends. Some were familiar, taught to him by his mother. He learned to pray.
They had been in the village about seven weeks when a war party returned to camp. That night there was a Scalp Dance to celebrate the Lakota victory.
J.T. sat with the men, while Brandy sat on the women’s side between Tasina Luta and Wicasa Tankala’s wife. It was an event unlike any he had ever seen. During the dance, the warriors were joined by their mothers and sisters, who carried the enemy scalps on poles.
Honoring songs were sung for the victorious warriors. J.T. watched with interest as the men danced, their steps mimicking animals and birds. The women, who wore their finest dresses, sidestepped on the outside of the circle. Black face paint was worn by all as a symbol of victory.
J.T. stared thoughtfully at the scalps. The Lakota were at war with the whites, and with the Crow. What would he do if he was called upon to fight against the Army, or against the Crow? Could he do it? He glanced at Brandy. How would she feel if he went to war against her people?
It wasn’t a thought he dwelled on, and yet, as the days passed, it was often there, lurking in the back of his mind.
It was a busy time for the people. Men and women went in search of box elder trees, tapping them for their sap to make sugar. Warriors spent hours breaking yearlings and two-year-old horses. They went through the vast horse herd, castrating stallions not fit for breeding. The women repaired their tipis with new hides collected during the fall. They fashioned new leggings and moccasins from the smoked tops of the old lodgeskins.
Daily, J.T. felt more at home with his mother’s people. The Indian way of life suited him as nothing else had. And always Brandy was there. Her smile was the first thing he saw in the morning, her kisses sent him to sleep at night. Here, in the land of the Lakota, he was at peace as never before.
On a warm morning in early July, the camp crier went through the camp announcing that the Nacas, who were the venerable leaders of the tribe, had decided it was time to move the village to the summer camp.
The site of the camp would be chosen by the Wakincuzas. These men were the pipe owners, warriors of recognized authority who were chosen from the various soldier societies. It was their duty to direct the move, which would take place the following day. It was the duty of Wakincuzas to determine which route would be taken and the length of each day’s journey.
Though it was not customary for a man to do such things, J.T. helped his grandmother pack her meager belongings and dismantle her lodge, then went to help Brandy do the same. Since they were new and had no traditional place in the order of march, J.T. and Brandy fell in behind Tasina Luta, who followed Wicasa Tankala and Chatawinna.
It was an amazing thing to see, J.T. mused. Far ahead of the main body rode four scouts. Directly ahead of the bulk of the people rode the Wakincuzas, who officially carried the fire. No one was permitted to ride ahead of the Wakincuzas, or to wander off on their own to hunt or sightsee, or to fall behind.
The Akicita rode at the sides and rear to keep the people in order. In camp, it was their duty to see that the People lived in accordance with the customs of the camp.
Each Akicita wore a black stripe painted across his right cheek, from his eye to the lower edge of his jaw. The head man of the Akicita painted three stripes across his cheek. Everyone in the tribe was subordinate to the Akicita, who acted as police, judge, jailer and executioner.
Wicasa Tankala warned J.T. that the penalties for disobedience were harsh. A man who deliberately left the line of march risked being severely beaten, or possibly the destruction of his lodge and belongings at the hands of the Akicita.
Each year, the leaders of the tribe selected one of the policing societies, such as the Kit Foxes or the Brave Hearts, to be in charge for a season. The rear of the caravan was also protected by scouts.
Stops were made during the day to allow the people to eat and rest. In spite of the availability of horses, many of the people traveled on foot, preferring to walk, to feel the earth beneath their feet.
Brandy chose to ride. Seeing the village on the move was a sight to behold, one she knew she would never forget. She had seen many Hollywood Westerns, but none had managed to capture the beauty, the grandeur, the excitement, of an entire village trekking across the plains. The only thing she had ever seen that came close was a scene in the Ten Commandments that had depicted the children of Israel leaving Egypt bound for the Promised Land.
The laughter of the children and the chatter of the women drifted on the breeze. The horse herd spread out behind them, a shifting blanket of colors against the green grass. The warriors rode up and down the line to check on their families.
Brandy felt her heart skip a beat each time she saw J.T. Mounted on the bay gelding, he rode alongside Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta. She thought she had never seen a more handsome man in all her life than J.T. Cutter. Dressed in buckskins, his long black hair flowing over his shoulders, he looked every inch the warrior. No one, looking at him now, would ever guess that he was only a quarter Lakota.
“He is a handsome young man, is he not?” Tasina Luta remarked.
“Yes, indeed,” Brandy replied, smiling at the old woman riding beside her.
“He looks much like his grandfather,” Tasina Luta remarked softly. “My husband was a fine-looking man, tall and strong.”
“You must have loved him very much.”
“Hin. I knew from the first moment I saw him that there would be no other for me. My parents were angry when I told them I was going to marry a wasichu, but they soon realized that he was a man of courage and honor.” Tasina Luta made a sound of derision in her throat. “Not like the worthless wasichu who took my daughter from her people. I knew he would bring her shame, but she would not listen to me.
“I often urged her to leave him, to send him out of her lodge, and out of her life. There would have been no shame in this. It is a woman’s right to leave her husband, just as it is his right to throw her away if she is lazy or unfaithful.” Tasina Luta sighed heavily. “But she would not listen.”
Not knowing what to say, Brandy placed her hand on the old woman’s arm and gave it a squeeze.
Tasina Luta offered her a faint smile. “I am glad you are here,” she said, covering Brandy’s hand with her own. “Glad that my grandson has come home at last.”
Brandy was bone-weary by the time the Wakincuzas called a halt for the day. J.T. told her they had traveled almost twenty-five miles, and she felt every one of them. Her back and shoulders ached, and she thought maybe it would have been wiser to walk, after all.
With the campsite chosen, the leaders smoked the pipe and announced their decision to the camp crier, then the people began making camp for the night. The women set up their lodges in the order they had marched, with the doorways facing east.
Looking around, Brandy saw that there was a good water supply, forage for the horses, protection from the wind.
Soon after dinner, Tasina Luta bid J.T. and Brandy goodnight and sought her bed early.
Later that evening, dark clouds gathered overhead. Thunder shook the earth, lightning zigzagged across the skies, and it began to rain.
After supper, J.T. and Brandy went to Wicasa Tankala’s lodge for an evening of storytelling, which was a favorite pastime among the Lakota. There were already six other adults and eight children in the old shaman’s lodge when J.T. and Brandy ducked inside.
Wicasa Tankala bid them welcome, and then he launched into the story of how the Devil’s Tower came to be.
Sitting near the front of the lodge, Brandy watched the faces of the children as J.T. translated the story for her. The Lakota children were like children the world over, Brandy mused, remembering how t
he boys and girls in her class had loved it when she read to them. The Indian children were no different. They were quickly caught up in the magic of the shaman’s story.
“It was long ago, when the world was new,” Wicasa Tankala said, his voice somber as he met each child’s gaze. “On this day, some maidens went out to gather flowers. They found a great many flowers and gathered armfuls of long-stemmed blossoms, red ones and yellow ones, and even some blue ones.
“When they were ready to go home, the maidens were attacked by three bears. The maidens fled to a big rock and climbed to the top, but the bears began to climb up after them.
“The maidens began to pray for help. To their relief, the gods heard them, and the rock began to grow. The bears started to slip down the rock. Their claws made deep gouges in the sides of the rock. You can still see their scratches. Finally, the bears gave up and went away. The maidens made ropes from the stems of their flowers, and climbed down the rock.”
The children clapped their hands as Wicasa Tankala finished the tale.
“I will tie another tale to that one,” said Tatanka Sapa. “Long ago, there was a very cold winter. The snow lay deep upon the ground. All the buffalo left the country, and the People could not follow. The People had not yet learned to ride the horse and could only hunt small animals for food. Soon, all the animals that were left also went away and the People were hungry.
“One day a young woman went walking. Beside the path she saw a cottonwood tree that was divided into two parts. Coming from the tree, she heard a beautiful song. The woman stopped, afraid to pass by the singing tree. Then she saw buffalo hairs in the fork of the tree. They were fastened to the tree with a strange-looking stone. After a while, the singing stopped, and the stone began to speak.
“‘Take me to your lodge,’” said the stone. ‘When it is dark, call the people together. Teach them the song you have heard. Pray that the buffalo will return.’”
“The woman took the stone to her lodge and showed it to her husband. As soon as it was dark, they called the People together. His wife showed them the stone, and taught them the song, and the People sang and prayed that the buffalo would come back.
“Then someone said, ‘Listen!’ The chiefs and the hunters recognized the sound. The buffalo were coming…”
Wicasa Tankala and Tatanka Sapa told stories far into the night.
Later, warm and secure inside their own lodge, with her husband’s arms around her, Brandy closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the raindrops splashing on the hide, and the warm, reassuring sound of J.T.’s heart beat beneath her ear.
* * * * *
Two days later, they reached the site of the Lakota summer camp. Other bands of the Lakota tribe had already arrived, their lodges set up in their traditional location.
By nightfall, it looked as if Wicasa Tankala’s people had been camped there for days instead of hours.
Brandy learned that, for most of the year, the Lakota set up their lodges in any order they pleased, but here, in the summer Sun Dance camp, the lodges were set up in a large circle, with tipi locations determined by family relationships.
The major part of the summer would be given over to the preparation and carrying out of ceremonial affairs. Summer was the season of celebration, a time for vision seeking, for the Sun Dance festival, for female virtue feasts and honor dances.
Brandy stood outside her lodge, feeling immensely satisfied with herself. She had set up the lodge without any help, and done a good job, if she did say so herself. True, it had taken her longer to set up her lodge than most of the other women, but then, she’d had much less practice. In time, she would get better…
She frowned at the thought. In time. How much time did J.T. have left? When his time was up, would he just disappear?
And what would she do when he was gone? How would she find her way back home?
The joy she had felt earlier vanished like shadows running before the rain. What if she never got home again? What if J.T. disappeared and she was left here, alone, with the Lakota? She knew they would welcome her, but would she want to stay with the Indians, knowing that the Battle of the Little Big Horn would take place the following summer? The Indians would win that battle and consider it a great victory, but Custer’s defeat would signal the final end to the freedom the Indians now knew.
Heavy-hearted, she stepped into the lodge. It was hers. If she wished, she could toss J.T. out lock, stock and barrel, for a Lakota man owned little save his clothing and weapons. The lodge, and everything it contained, belonged to the woman.
But she didn’t want to toss him out. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, loving him, bearing his children. A child… She pressed her hand over her stomach. A boy, with J.T.’s eyes…
It occurred to her suddenly that she hadn’t seen him for the better part of two hours. Where was he, anyway?
Frowning, she straightened the bed, fussed with the few pots and pans she had acquired. If he didn’t hunt them up something for dinner soon, they’d go to bed hungry.
The sound of his footsteps sent a shiver of anticipation skittering along her spine. Smiling, she whirled around to meet him, felt her heart speed up as he took her in his arms and hugged her tight.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
“With Wicasa Tankala.”
“Oh. Why?”
J.T. locked his hands together at her back, then drew away a little so he could see her face. “I’ve missed out on a lot by not being raised here,” he said slowly. “I want to try to become a warrior.”
“You’re already a warrior.”
J.T. grinned wryly. “I’m glad you think so, but I want to be a Lakota warrior in the true sense of the word.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to seek a vision before the Sun Dance.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Brandy exclaimed softly. “My father did the same thing before he married my mother.”
“Was he successful?”
“From what my mother says, it made a new man out of him. My dad was always a great guy, but he tended to drink a little too much. After his vision, he never drank again.”
J.T. grunted softly. “If I’m successful, I want to take part in the Sun Dance.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I am, it’s just that…” How to explain it to him? She knew how important the Sun Dance was to the Lakota, and yet she dreaded the thought of J.T. being pierced.
She had never attended a Sun Dance festival, or at least she didn’t remember ever seeing one on the reservation when she was growing up. Of course, they had moved away when she was ten, and she’d forgotten many of the customs that had once been part of their daily life. Now, she wondered if it was the fact that she was half-white that made it hard for her to fully understand the Sun Dance, or acki’cirua, as the Crow called it. Maybe it was because she was a woman of the twentieth century that caused her to view the Sun Dance with something akin to revulsion.
She knew little of the actual ritual of either tribe.
Her mother had once told her that the Crow Sun Dance was a prayer for vengeance and that a man, overcome with sorrow at the death of a kinsman, considered the acki’cirua the best mean of getting a vision by which he might revenge himself upon the offending person or tribe.
“You don’t think I should take part, do you?” J.T. asked.
“You should do whatever you think is right.”
“I know it’s right.” He tapped his chest, over his heart. “In here.” He drew her up against him, his hands sliding up and down her spine. “I accompanied Wicasa Tankala in a sweat today.”
“You did!”
“Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it to you, how it made me feel. I guess clean is the best word to describe it. I came out of there feeling clean. Sort of like I’d been reborn.”
J.T. frowned. It was difficult to define things that he, himself, didn’t quite u
nderstand. Wicasa Tankala had explained that the Lakota believed that a man could not succeed without Power, and that that Power came from a force that emanated from the supernatural. The hawk, the eagle, the elk, the buffalo, each possessed a specific power; each represented a Lakota spiritual being. Power came to man through these creatures. In order to be able to communicate with one of these spiritual beings, a man must be pure in body and spirit, a condition that could only be obtained through a sweat.
“What was it like?” Brandy asked.
J.T. shook his head. “It was… I don’t know, kind of mystical. We stripped off our clothes before we went inside. It was dark and quiet inside the lodge.”
Heated stones had been placed in a iniowaspe, a small pit, in the center of the lodge. The earth from the pit made a small mound called hanbelachia, the vision hill. Tiny bundles of tobacco tied in red cloth had been placed as an offering on the hill. A sacred pipe had also been placed on the hill, its stem facing east.
“We sat in silence for a time, and then one of Wicasa Tankala’s grandsons passed four heated rocks inside. They were placed in the pit, and then Wicasa Tankala took up the pipe. He smoked it, then passed it to me.
“After that, he poured cold water over the hot stones and a great cloud of steam filled the lodge. He sang quietly while he did this. We smoked the pipe four times; he sprinkled water on the rocks four times. He sang four songs four times.”
Four was a sacred number to the Lakota. There were four seasons in a year, four quarters to the moon, four directions to the earth.
“Did you have a vision?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What does that mean?”
“I didn’t see anything, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that Gideon was there, inside the lodge with us. I can’t explain it. Anyway, we sat there until I thought I’d smother from the steam and the heat.” J.T. shook his head. “Funny thing is, when it was over, there were tiny hoof marks on the vision hill.”
The Angel and the Outlaw Page 18