The stealing was not difficult. When the lodge was empty Kenoma entered and replaced the wampum with his most worn loincloth. Then he and his compatriots fled south. They chose canoes to hide their way but later traveled swiftly along the ancient trails.
If all had gone as planned, the theft could have been long unnoticed, but with fear of discovery hurrying his movements, Kenoma had improperly replaced the doe hide roll. A woman of the lodge reported the theft and a search began.
Eight of the Tuscarora had been seen paddling swiftly. Who were they? Others knew. Still others recalled Kenoma's venom and some had noted the earlier departure of his lodge. Onto their trail surged a war party, and even swifter, runners raced to the south to spread warning and close the trails to the thieves.
To the warrior Friend Seeker came the last of many who had carried the message. Almost on the border of Iroquois lands, the Buffalo Creek village would be the runner's last stop. Although he and the Seeker were but twigs on the Iroquois tree, only if each did its share would the tree be strong, so Friend Seeker gave the problem his best thought.
It was probable that the thief, Kenoma, had already been taken or that he would not come this way, but the Susquehanna could be ridden and just across Tuscarora Mountain lay that tribe's traditional route to and from Iroquois country.
While the weary runner ate and rested, Friend Seeker discussed their chances with Late Star. Young Warrior knelt with his teachers, matching their reasoning with his own, and he was pleased that they were the same.
"If the thieves chose the western side of the mountains we will not see them," Friend Seeker drew in the dust with an arrow point, "but if they decided on the shortest journey, they could be nearby."
"Or they could have divided into many parties. They could also have run as swiftly as the message carriers and be far south." As usual, Late Star first expounded the negative, but when Friend Seeker nodded agreement he chose the other side.
"But of course they did not. These have chosen a thief, a weak man, to lead them, which means that they too are of little heart. If they have a choice, such mice do not travel alone. They will be together." The Seeker's nod encouraged Star to continue.
"They could not remain on the river, for where would eight paddle without being noticed? There are only two choices. The thieves could follow the river trail or they could choose the great path north of the Tuscarora Mountain." Lips pursed, he raised his eyebrows to his friend. "Which will it be, Friend Seeker?"
Listening, Young Warrior found himself unable to reason further. To follow a fleeing party only by thought across the many days from near the Great Lakes to the southern borders of Iroquois lands seemed barely possible, but this final choice of equally swift paths appeared beyond deciding. Friend Seeker did not agree.
"One path is familiar, for they have traveled it. The other is strange with uncertain meetings. Along the Susquehanna lies Shamokin whose hunters range far. To the west, beyond the mountain the forest lies empty." It was Star's turn to nod acceptance, and The Seeker continued.
"If they were surprised on the Tuscarora trail there is escape into hills on either side. Here, they could be pinned against the river."
Friend Seeker stopped as though finished, and after sucking on his pipe, Late Star spoke the final words. "By now they will be confident, and they will walk when they should still be running.
"Their fires will be high, and they will no longer avoid being seen by passing lodges. If they have not already been taken, we may well find them."
Young Warrior's lips quirked at the use of "we", for Late Star never took a warrior's role. Friend Seeker paid no attention.
++++
It was good to again be on the trail. As usual they trotted easily, the Seeker leading and choosing the pace. They did not travel as swiftly as they once had, and Young Warrior shortened his step to avoid his teacher's heels. On the wide traveling paths he had time to think about it and other changes recently more evident.
Although his own strength grew with each season, his gains appeared greater because Friend Seeker failed a little nearly as often. A certain stiffness had entered The Seeker's movements and he bent his great bow with effort. It was no longer a matter of who was stronger or swifter. Young Warrior had moved far beyond the Seeker's best.
There was grey in Friend Seeker's braids and at times he muttered over teeth that hurt in chewing. Although neither spoke of it, before many seasons the teacher would remain with his pupils and Young Warrior alone would scout the war trails. But for now, Friend Seeker led, and at every opportunity offered hard won knowledge for his student's consideration.
As reaching the trail was their main objective, avoiding the mountain passes was swifter. This time Friend Seeker found the Tuscarora path by following the Juniata River through its gap in Tuscarora Mountain.
The river path was flat and well beaten but it was a mere trace if compared to the permanency of the ancient Tuscarora route. Reaching its broad width was like a creek joining a river. Where the Juniata path at times offered abreast travel, the Tuscarora route had been widened by generations of travelers who dragged poles, used wood for fires, and camped almost everywhere. Often three could walk side by side and generations had beaten its surface into unusual regularity.
Traffic along the great path made sign reading impractical, but soon travelers would appear, If they came from the north they might have been passed by Kenoma's party. If they had not seen the escaping thieves it could mean that Kenoma had not yet arrived. It could also mean he had taken another trail.
They ate from Young Warrior's pouch and Friend Seeker soaked a blistered toe in a water trickle while his student worked at his panther stretches. Examining the offending moccasin The Seeker grumbled his irritation.
"Look at that, Young Warrior! Surely the maker worked in the dark. Even a Chippewa would not place a knot alongside a toe." He twisted the thong a little and tried it for fit.
Grinning, Young Warrior quoted an oft spoken reminder, "'A runner is no better than his moccasins.'"
Friend Seeker grimaced at the sound of his own words. "Somehow, the thought does not bring satisfaction." He rose stiffly and stretched a little as Young Warrior continued his exercises.
"Lately your movements have been strange, nephew. There is no grace in your training. Why is this?"
Young Warrior's mouth firmed in his thin-lipped smile, and he changed to the more fluid stretches that Friend Seeker had taught.
"There is no strangeness, my teacher. There are some things that all could do better. Others avoid them; I seek them out. As before, each becomes easier through practice and who can tell when it could prove useful."
He leaped upward and hung one handed from a limb before sliding a tomahawk from his belt and hurling it solidly into a tree trunk. Instantly he switched hands and buried his second hatchet beside the first.
"Once I could not do this." He recovered his weapons and turned again toward Friend Seeker. "And I do not think I will often hang by one arm but," without warning he snapped a tomahawk backward between his legs so that it spun twice before burying itself in the same tree. "The hanging throw has made others seem easy." His lips straightened in amusement, "And such things entertain the young boys."
They also entertained Friend Seeker who shook his head in mild amazement. "Each day you surprise me, Young Warrior." His eyes drifted in memory. "Only yesterday you hung bravely from my fingers and your legs were still bowed from birth. Today . . .?" He shrugged almost in disbelief, "I wish that Three Feathers could see."
"Perhaps he can, Friend Seeker. Late Star says that the old uncles watch us."
The Seeker humphed in pretended disdain. "That old crow says many things. Yes, the old ones judge us, but not until they are in The Great Hunting Ground. Three Feathers promised to wait along the path for me." Friend Seeker's face creased into its countless smiling grooves, "And I suppose I must then wait for you. I wonder if any of us will ever reach the land of The Great Spiri
t?"
They spoke once to a lodge of many that straggled north on the trail. They disguised their questions so that word of their waiting would not be carried, but no one had seen Tuscarora hunters traveling south. Friend Seeker believed they were in time. Kenoma could still be trotting toward them.
Waiting was rarely pleasant but the weather remained dry and the nights were warm. Their camp overlooked the path so that one sat on watch close by the trail. Few traveled at night, but Friend Seeker took no risks. Occasionally a lodge passed but the watchers remained hidden. No warning must reach the fleeing Tuscaroras or they might vanish into the forests.
Young Warrior saw them late on the third day. He alerted the Seeker by a tossed twig and pointed out their quarry.
Eight Tuscarora hunters walked in almost single file along the path. They carried only weapons and light packs. They moved with purpose but with a certain heaviness that came with long days of steady travel. Eyes did not question the passing forest and only desultory conversation was shared. One carried meat in a bit of deer hide so they would probably not hunt before camping.
Friend Seeker allowed them to pass. He judged about where they would camp and signaled Young Warrior to prepare their own things. They would follow the Tuscarora and greet them after they had eaten and were relaxed by their fire. If handled correctly, it might be possible to recover the wampum without the excesses of battle.
These Tuscaroras were not true warriors, but they were proud men and their pride might cut two ways. It could happen that the hunters were already shamed by their deed and would be almost glad to surrender the wampum belt. That would be best, for the Seeker did not desire vengeance, only return of that stolen.
Or, pride could demand resistance. Friend Seeker would be prepared for that as well. Either way, the sacred wampum of the Iroquois Nations would begin its journey back to the Onondaga.
As usual, Kenoma thought about the belt of wampum. Sometimes he drew it from his pouch and allowed his fingers to stroke its stiff complexity. By now he knew its colorful fragility better than his own hands.
At first he had exulted over the indignity thrust upon the Iroquois. Then, the wampum had been only a symbol of that victory, but the wampum possessed a power of its own that grew daily in the breast of Kenoma. In time his thoughts turned and he lusted over the beaded belt, considering its possession the true victory. His companions saw the change and in caution ceased their ridicule of the prize.
The wampum was short compared to many. Its beads lacked the brilliant colors of some valuable belts, and the design of four joined rectangles divided by a pine tree was threaded on plain white. Only significance gave it power, but the belt symbolized the joining of the five tribes to form the confederacy that swept away all that it opposed. Strengthened now by the Tuscarora, the power of the Iroquois Six Nations was awesome to contemplate.
The symbol of that power lay in the pouch of Kenoma and awareness of it changed its bearer. Where he had once boasted and stomped the earth, Kenoma brooded in silence. Before, he had schemed and plotted, but now he was turned inward in sour fascination. At times Kenoma wished he had never thought of the wampum, but once possessing it, he desired it forever as a source of strength and a talisman of great fortune.
Because of his increasing absorption with the wampum, Kenoma had allowed the escape to slow. Though they seemed safely away he at times wished they had hurried as planned, resting only in snatches and like smoke disappearing beyond the farthest ridges. He might consider how the tale would sound stronger without desperate running—but even those thoughts soon drifted as he turned again to contemplation of the wampum itself.
Friend Seeker squatted behind the bowl of a large tree until Young Warrior reluctantly nodded readiness. Then he rose, and with enough noise to be clearly heard, walked into the fire circle of the eight Tuscarora hunters. He held a hand high, palm outward in peace, and greeted the hunters as would any lone traveler seeking companionship.
Young Warrior had expected to fight. He had supposed they would decide who carried the wampum and simply take it, killing any who sought to resist.
Friend Seeker had rejected the plan and pointed out that these were not marauding killers, but weak men who had acted foolishly. Probably they would surrender the wampum without resistance and live to hunt for their women and children without ever again stealing. He shrugged away a reminder that the Iroquois desired vengeance and added his thought.
"If the wampum is returned, the Iroquois have lost nothing. Only their pride has been touched and perhaps a carelessness will be corrected. We need not kill to smooth their feathers, Young Warrior."
Nevertheless, until Friend Seeker was seated at the fire circle and his pipe was making its rounds, Young Warrior held the Seeker's bow at full draw and ready to strike at the first sign of violence. Even then, he kept his arrow nocked and his mind on the Tuscarora.
Until the pipe had made its second round and he had offered corn and pemmican from his pouch, Friend Seeker spoke only of general things. The Tuscaroras appeared wary but not suspicious. They were eight to his one, so fear was not present.
Kenoma was a sullen man of middle years and Friend Seeker judged him dangerous in a serpenty way. Kenoma would choose the back before the front and cunning before courage. The others were only malcontents drawn by Kenoma's stronger angers. Although he did not discount them, they were not likely to act without their leader's example.
When he was ready, Friend Seeker began in tones of sorrowed understanding.
"My brothers, within our nation a sad thing has happened. A totem of great honor had been taken from its rightful place by some who do not own it."
The words were stunning, and despite practiced stoicism, eyes jerked and movements froze. The heart of Kenoma changed to ice.
"Suns past, runners appeared telling of the theft and describing the righteous anger of the Sachems and Chiefs of the Six Nations. Behind these runners, surely along even this trail, trot war parties prepared to search for as many seasons as are needed. They are sworn to follow beyond the Cherokee, even to the places where the Frost Father cannot visit."
Friend Seeker sighed heavily, as though discouraged by it all. "If those being hunted were not known, they might escape, but the names of the eight have been marked, and their lodges recognized. By separating, they would live as outcasts among strange people and look constantly over shoulders for fear of discovery."
He let them chew on the bitter consequences while he stoked a pipe. Then he spoke in brighter tones, as though for the first time seeing hope.
"But all that need not be. If the sacred wampum was recovered, the Iroquois would grumble and threaten, but the warriors would return. If the wampum was found, runners could be quickly sent to turn aside the skilled trackers and deadly fighters that even now come closer to this place."
The voice of Friend Seeker again altered and, listening closely, Young Warrior admired the skill of his teacher in leading the eight thieves to where he wanted them. This time he spoke with barely concealed admiration and a little amusement.
"Surely the eight have successfully tweaked the noses of the haughty Iroquois. They have shown that protection must be given the honored wampum or real thieves might take it.
"As men of honor, the eight have no use for another's strung beads, and having done enough, they will choose to join their lodges with laughter in their hearts and a powerful story to tell.
"In this way, even the Iroquois may in time realize that the eight desired only to prove the need for a stronger watch—and perhaps enjoy a clever joke at their expense."
Young Warrior could almost feel the relief enveloping the Tuscarora. Grasping a sleeping bear's tail was fun only for the moment. Irritating the Iroquois was not dissimilar. The Tuscaroras would snatch at an opportunity to undo their actions. The hint that they could escape with honor intact was an even tastier attraction. Wise was the plan of Friend Seeker.
The fixation of Kenoma could not be suspect
ed by Friend Seeker. Possessive lust clouded Kenoma's mind, and unwillingness to surrender the wampum's power blinded him to the Seeker's words. Mere thought of the wampum tingled his palms and turned them damp with sweat. The wishes of his companions were as nothing, and he knew he would keep the sacred wampum despite the wrath of the Iroquois or a hand of nations like it.
None of this showed, as head bowed, he suffered the grunts of acceptance and relieved sighs of his companions. He knew that their eyes shifted to him to gauge his reaction and waited upon his agreement. When his head rose Kenoma's emotions were veiled, and he forced himself to nod acknowledgment of the others' wishes and to accept the wisdom of Friend Seeker's counsel.
Within, his soul seethed and his nerves hummed. A plan formed and he did not question it. A single warrior barred his final escape. Once past Friend Seeker he would disappear into the mountain fastness and none would see him again. The voice of Friend Seeker returned his thoughts and hardened his resolve.
"If the wampum is given into my hand, I will take it swiftly to a place of many runners. In the name of the Sachem, I will send them forth to recall the war parties. With guards of honor the wampum will be returned to its place, and that will be the end of it. Is that not the best way, my cousins?" His eyes rested on Kenoma, their leader, who seemed somehow transfixed by it all.
Kenoma roused with obvious effort, and slapped his thighs in resigned agreement. For an instant the Seeker saw wrongness in his eyes, but Kenoma turned away and the chorus of acceptance from the others stilled any warnings.
Kenoma rose and The Seeker stood with him. In hiding, Young Warrior's bow drew full and leveled on the Tuscarora' s chest.
The voice of Kenoma was choked with emotion. "The wampum lies there." He pointed toward his hunting pouch and turned to it. The arrow of Young Warrior followed him unerringly.
The Warrior (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 11