Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)

by James Welch

  Yellow Kidney had one option and he decided to take it. They would go on, they would continue into Crow country, but at the first sign that things were not right they would turn back. Meanwhile, he would keep an eye on Fast Horse. As he picked his way down the rocky slope toward camp, he thought of White Man’s Dog and felt his spirits rise. In spite of his unlucky reputation, there was a steadiness, a calmness in White Man’s Dog that Yellow Kidney liked. These were rare qualities in a young man on his first adventure. He can be trusted, thought Yellow Kidney. He will do well.

  After four more days making cold camps and traveling by night, they rested in a small deep draw that emptied out into the valley of the Elk River. Not far downstream stood a Napikwan trading fort. Eagle Ribs had scouted it from a nearby bluff. Many Crows were trading there, along with Spotted Horse people and Parted Hairs. Yellow Kidney was surprised because the Crows and Parted Hairs had never gotten along, but he also knew that the white traders made the tribes behave before they would trade.

  “We are less than two sleeps from the Crow camps on the Bighorn,” said Eagle Ribs.

  “We will have to travel far tonight. We will strike them when Seven Persons reaches its highest point the next night.” Yellow Kidney knew where most of the winter camps would be. He wanted the camp of Bull Shield because the Crow chief had made the Pikunis cry many times. He also had many horses. But mostly, Yellow Kidney wanted to take Bull Shield’s buffalo-runner. He had thought many times on the journey of doing this. It would be a great coup and would be talked about among the Pikunis. But it had been merely a thought. Now he would do it. He took Eagle Ribs aside. “You must find the camp of Bull Shield,” he said quietly. “He has many horses. If you leave soon, you can find his camp and double back to meet us at Black Face Butte by the time Morning Star comes up.”

  “I will eat something first.”

  “It will be dangerous to travel by day. There will be many Crow hunters out. But you are cunning, Eagle Ribs, and your medicine is good. You must remember to give the Underwater People some tobacco before you cross the Elk River. They will help you to stay unseen.”

  Eagle Ribs smiled. He liked the challenge of traveling in Crow country by day. Only the best of the wolves could do it.

  After Eagle Ribs left, the young men sat back in a hollow surrounded by rosebushes. They checked their weapons and war paints; they prayed and thought of the night two sleeps hence when they would prove they were men of heart. The long march had sharpened their senses, the nights of seeing and feeling their way across the plains, the cold water of the fords, the almost constant hunger in spite of the meat they had killed and eaten. Each of them had watched the stars closely and had become attuned with the night and the four directions. Now they had to test their courage.

  White Man’s Dog held the small pouch of yellow pigment that Mik-api had given him. It was a strange powdery earth that Mik-api had obtained from the Siksikas in the far northland. Just to hold it made White Man’s Dog tremble with expectation. He remembered the sweat he and Fast Horse had taken with the many-faces man. Mik-api had dabbed water on the hot stones with his blackhorn-tail swab and the steam took their breath away. Mik-api sang and prayed as the purifying sweat rolled from their naked bodies. White Man’s Dog had felt then that the bad spirit that caused his misfortune had left his body. He had felt empty and content as the infant who just enters this world. After they had bathed in the Two Medicine River, Mik-api led them to his lodge. There they smoked to the four directions and to the Above Ones, the Below Ones, the Underwater People. Then Mik-api had given White Man’s Dog the yellow paint and the instructions for its use. If he painted himself exactly as Mik-api had told him, he would gain the strength and cunning necessary to be successful. Now he packed the pouch away carefully in his war bag.

  The dream of the white-faced girls had not come to him in several sleeps. During the long silent night walks he had tried to interpret the dream. He had memorized all the details and called them up, one by one, but the meaning was as far from his grasp as the stars. So he put the dream away and thought instead of his good fortune.

  That evening the men got together and ate the last of a small deer that they had killed three sleeps back. The wind had picked up, forcing its way through the rosebushes the men huddled behind. The night would be clear but cold, colder than any of the previous nights. Yellow Kidney thought once again of Fast Horse’s dream of Cold Maker. He looked over at Fast Horse and thought the young man seemed less confident, a little more drawn into himself, than he had before the search for the ice spring. Even now he squatted a distance apart, looking back toward the country they had come from. Yellow Kidney swallowed the last of his meat.

  “We will walk long tonight,” he said. “We must cross the Elk River and make it all the way to Black Face Butte this night. There we will meet up with Eagle Ribs and he will tell us about the Crows. I have it in my mind to strike the camp of Bull Shield.”

  The five young men looked at him with wide eyes. They had heard many stories of this hateful Crow chief from their fathers, their older brothers, the men who sat around the fires at night. Many Pikuni parties had gone after him only to sneak back into camp, their bellies low to the ground.

  Yellow Kidney laughed at their startled faces and laughed at himself. He too had been surprised to hear himself speak Bull Shield’s name out loud. But now it was in the open, and if Eagle Ribs could find it, Bull Shield’s camp would be struck.

  “Come now. You wish to be warriors? You wish to follow the war trail? Then let us count coup on this enemy who has made our relatives cry! When you get home you can tell your families you have done something. The way will be hard from now on. You will get little rest, less sleep. We have had a sign that does not offer us much encouragement.” He glanced at Fast Horse. “But we have come this far undiscovered. Our power is strong and we are Pikunis, so we shall continue.” Now he looked hard into each youth’s eyes. He was no longer the tired, lame man who envied these young men’s spirits; to them he had become the warrior who had returned to camp many times with horses and war honors. He turned and began to walk quickly down the draw. The young men scrambled for their weapons and packs.

  Night Red Light cast her full face on Eagle Ribs as he came to the series of low hills above the Bighorn. He kept as best he could to the swales and washes, to the clumps of greasewood and sage. He had his short-robe over his head and back, but he knew he would appear as large and distinct as a real-bear in the bright light. The wind was in his face and he was grateful because it would blow his sound and smell back away from the camp dogs. The same wind carried the sound of drumming up the hills from the valley floor. He stopped and listened and heard the shrill voices of the singers. Near the top of the last hill he dropped to all fours and crawled around the sage clumps, sniffing the sharp sweet odor into his nostrils. He crawled until he reached the brow and then he looked down at the encampment.

  The lodges loomed white and ghostly in the full moonlight, and he had to look hard to see the yellow glow of cooking fires. He lay and let his eyes adjust and then he saw figures walking among the lodges, women with kettles of water from the river or loads of firewood, a group of men in robes sitting around a fire by one of the main tipis. They would be young men. Then he heard dogs barking and children yelling. On a plain north of the camp he saw a large band of children kicking up dust as they played horses. The dogs milled around them, barking and feinting into the group. Three men on horseback left the south perimeter of the camp, and he followed them with his eyes. Then he saw the great herds of horses, hundreds of them, strung out on both sides of the river, the nearest bunch a good distance from camp. These would be easy. The young men would be able to sneak down and drive away many of them. Once again, he focused on the camp and began to pick out the buffalo-runners staked to the lodges. Because of the distance, Eagle Ribs could not make out the blue buffalo tipi of Bull Shield. But he would surely be there. And it struck Eagle Ribs that he had not seen s
uch a large encampment outside the Sun Dance encampment of his own people. It was bundled up like a winter camp but it was too large. That many people would hunt out the game in a matter of days.

  Then he heard talking and laughing almost beside him. He shrank back away from the crest and flattened himself against the cold earth. Not a hundred paces to the left, six men led a string of horses down a draw to the river bottom. Two of the horses had green blackhorn robes on them; the other five were packed with meat. The men were so close Eagle Ribs could see their bodies sway from side to side as their horses descended. He hugged the earth until he no longer heard the clatter of stones. When he looked again, the hunters had reached the valley floor and had broken into a trot, waving their arms and hallooing the camp. The children who had been playing now ran to greet them, followed by the barking dogs.

  Just as he turned to leave, something across the valley floor caught Eagle Ribs’ eye. At first he thought it was patches of old snow, but as he squinted his eyes, he made out the straight sides and sloping roofs of the Napikwan tents. Not far to one side he saw the hulking traders’ wagons, their oxen teams grazing nearby.

  That the white men came to the Crows to trade in such numbers was something new. Usually the Indians went to the trading houses. From the boisterous nature of the camp, Eagle Ribs knew there was much of the white man’s water being passed around. That would be good. The bad part was there would be many new rifles in camp.

  Yellow Kidney had been right. The young men did not get much rest the next day. They huddled beneath a rocky outcropping on the south side of Black Face Butte. They strung their bows, unstrung them, shaped the feathers on their arrows, checked the soles on their several pairs of moccasins to make sure they had on the best ones, felt in their war bags to make sure their medicine and paints were accounted for. They thought many fearsome thoughts: that they would be discovered, that they would choose the wrong horse to mount, too slow or not yet broken to ride, that they would be killed. Yellow Kidney himself had been affected by the young men’s nerves. He caught himself thinking that he might not be able to lead them, that they would panic in the middle of the Crow camp. They had conducted themselves so well on the long trek—had he been lulled into thinking that the horse-taking would be smooth and easy? One thing he was grateful for. A long slide of thin clouds had come down from the north. While they wouldn’t block Night Red Light completely, they would make a raider’s movements less distinct. Experienced horse-takers could take advantage of these clouds, but what about these young men?

  Just before the light went out of the day he called to Eagle Ribs to once again give an account of the Crow encampment. He listened carefully as Eagle Ribs detailed the locations of the lodges, the white men’s camp, the horse herds. When he was satisfied, Yellow Kidney told the young men to eat a little of their pemmican and then make ready for the raid.

  White Man’s Dog squatted near a small spring and mixed the yellow pigment into a paste. Then he stood and stripped off his skin shirt. He dipped his finger into the paint and traced two lightning streaks from his clavicles to his waist, just as Mik-api had instructed. Then he drew two yellow sun dogs on each side of his face, from temple to chin. He said the prayers that Mik-api had given him. He prayed to Thunder Chief, whose long rumbling voice foretold the beginning of life and abundance on the ground of many gifts.

  He prayed to Sun Chief, who watched over the Pikunis and all the things of this world. Then he dropped his head and made a vow. He vowed that if he was successful and returned home unharmed, he would sacrifice before the medicine pole at the next Sun Dance. Finally, he sang his war song, his voice low and indistinct. When he lifted his head he saw that the other men had painted their faces. Yellow Kidney had painted the left half of his face white with a series of small blue dots in a familiar pattern. Seven Persons, thought White Man’s Dog. As he pulled his shirt back on, he glanced over at Fast Horse, who was tying a quill roach to the back of his head. He had three eagle feathers dangling from his topknot. With his face painted vermilion, he looked almost comically fierce.

  But it was Fast Horse’s shirt that made the others stop what they were doing. They watched as he pulled the cloth shirt over his buckskin top. They knew from the ragged holes and crude designs that it was an old war shirt. Yellow Kidney recognized it instantly. It had once belonged to Head Carrier and had deflected many arrows and greased shooters aimed directly at the warrior’s heart. Because he was old and had no desire for the war trail anymore, he had sold it to Boss Ribs, Fast Horse’s father. The shirt had great power and many of the men in the Lone Eater camp thought Boss Ribs, being a heavy-singer-for-the-sick, didn’t need it. He never warred against the enemies. Now Yellow Kidney knew why Boss Ribs had acquired the shirt. Perhaps it will bring its protection to us all, he thought as he fastened his owl feather medicine to his left braid.

  Night Red Light showed her face through the thin clouds as the three men lay on their bellies on the crest of the hill overlooking the Crow encampment. Seven Persons was at its highest point and the camp was darker and less active than it was on the previous night. But there was enough light for Eagle Ribs to point out the lodges, the white traders’ camp and, downstream, the horse herds. Yellow Kidney grunted as his eyes followed Eagle Ribs’ hand. He was silent for a moment as he considered all that he saw. Then he leaned closer to White Man’s Dog. “Now you see where the horses are,” he whispered. “They are many and strung out. Take Medicine Stab and the other young men. Circle around—stay high on the bluffs—until you come to the end of the herds. Then look around, look around good before you decide which horses to take. Make sure you know where the night-riders are. There shouldn’t be many of them. These Crows feel secure here. Take only as many horses as you can drive away safely. Do not run them. Let them move easily. Pick out strong horses to ride, strong and gentle so they will work the herd smoothly.” Yellow Kidney looked up at Night Red Light. Her edges were hazy behind the clouds. “It is not as dark as I would wish.”

  “Where shall we take the horses?”

  Yellow Kidney had watched White Man’s Dog closely the past few days, so he wasn’t surprised by the calmness of the young man’s question. “When you get far clear of the village, drive the horses as fast as you can to Black Face, then on to Woman Don’t Walk. Do not stop until you get there. Do not think about Eagle Ribs, Fast Horse or myself. We will not go into camp for the buffalo-runners until Seven Persons is well on its journey down. That will give you a good head start. We will catch up or meet you at Woman Don’t Walk.”

  The four young men stood listening in the grove of big-leaf trees near the edge of the water. The river flowed slowly, silently, and they heard a distant drumming from the direction of the camp. They were between two horse herds, and they had not seen or heard any night-riders since entering the grove. Rattler, the youngest at fifteen winters, whispered, “They are ours, White Man’s Dog! We can take both herds. These Crows sleep like old women.”

  “We will have many horses, as many as we want,” said another.

  From the ridge, they had seen three night-riders to the south and two to the north. They were in groups, talking among themselves. They were not alert, but White Man’s Dog could not see them now and it made him nervous.

  “I will walk first among the horses to the north. If it looks safe, we will take them.” For the first time, White Man’s Dog felt the responsibility of his charge. Suddenly it was not a game. They were in the country of the enemies, and it was up to him to see that the young men did not become foolish. He squatted and motioned the others to do the same. He looked from face to face, pale in the filtered moonlight. “I will decide which horses to take,” he whispered. “You will do as I say. If we are to be successful, we must act as wisely as our fathers. We must be as brave and strong as our long-ago people. We have traveled long to reach this place and now we will take horses—but we must not be greedy. We will take as many as we can safely drive. If we create a commotion now, it
will go hard on us and on Yellow Kidney and the others.”

  Medicine Stab, the quiet one who had spoken little on the journey, now surprised White Man’s Dog. “We will wait for you. We are of the Lone Eaters band of Pikunis. We will do as you say.”

  White Man’s Dog moved quietly among the horses. Some shied away but most stood still, regarding him with little interest. By the time he reached the north edge of the herd, he had counted well over a hundred horses. He looked off toward the encampment. From where he stood, he could barely make out the bulk of the lodges. He waited and listened, but he heard only a faroff barking. The night riders were not visible. As he passed back through the herd, White Man’s Dog felt his heart beating hard in his chest. He couldn’t understand the way he felt, the combination of fear and almost hysterical glee. It had come suddenly upon him and now he felt weak, light-headed. He was glad the others weren’t there to see him tremble. He stood still and watched the horses around him, afraid his state would cause panic among them. But the horses continued to graze or doze and White Man’s Dog became ashamed of himself. He had heard his father, Rides-at-the-door, and the other men talk of fear, their own fear in dangerous spots, but he had not really believed them. They were warriors, men who had proven themselves. They would laugh to see him tremble so. They would mock him, scorn him, and for good reason. He was not fit to be on such a raid, much less lead young men. Sun Chief, take pity on me. Thunder Chief, give me your strength. I will honor you all my days, I will live according to your guidance. White Man’s Dog sang his war song in a low voice and felt his strength returning. His chest had quit heaving and he felt he could die with honor.