Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)

by James Welch

  Fox Eyes looked behind him. All the warriors had made the plain. They were a fearsome group, decked out in their war regalia, their painted bodies, their fastest horses. Some of them carried plumed lances and shields, as in the old days, but most carried guns. To his left rode Rides-at-the-door and, beyond him, Crow Foot and Takes-good-gun. Crazy Dog and Lone Medicine Person and Almost-a-wolf were to his right. They were good war chiefs and would handle their men well. If the Pikunis could take their enemy by surprise, it would go well for them. Perhaps then Fox Eyes could deliver his men safely home. But if the Crows learned of their party and met them with equal force, there would be much grief in the Pikuni lodges.

  They followed the Yellow River south, keeping to the plain on the east side. Two sleeps away lay the Snowy and Little Belt Mountains. To the southeast, a little closer, they could make out the dark-forested Yellow Mountains. It would be easy going. Fox Eyes and his chiefs figured they would be in Crow country in six sleeps. The wolves were good, experienced men—Eagle Ribs was among them—but in this open country they would need luck to remain undiscovered. They wore no paint, no regalia, so even if the enemy discovered them, they might think the wolves were simply lone hunters. But they would be sweeping the country for distant movements, for recent fires, for blackhorn guts. They knew the signs of men and how to interpret them. But even now, thought Fox Eyes, a Crow party or their allies could be watching us from any of the surrounding buttes. A party of three hundred men was hardly invisible.

  Fox Eyes called to Lone Medicine Person, who had been most recently in the Crow country. “My friend, I hear you have taken Crow horses this season of Home Days. Did you come upon the camp of Bull Shield?”

  “We passed it by. It is on a small creek between the Bighorn River and the Red Mountains. I had too many youths with me to risk taking their horses.”

  Fox Eyes almost smiled. Lone Medicine Person was a rangy man with a big nose and large hands. He was proud of his horse-taking ability.

  “Were they many?”

  “I counted eighty lodges. And there was another camp a short distance away. Thirty-eight lodges.” Lone Medicine Person spat. “And the white hide-hunters were with them. Seven of the Napikwan lodges. They had many big-ears to pull their wagons. We did not wish to get mixed up with them. Their guns are big and sound like thunder. I didn’t want any of my youths to piss on themselves.”

  The war chiefs laughed and then the men behind them laughed. Fox Eyes’ big roan put back his ears in disapproval.

  “And you, Lone Medicine Person—were you frightened?”

  “You bet I was. Those guns can make a man’s guts want to leave his body. When I get old I want to tell my grandchildren I have seen something.”

  “I would like to punish Shoots-near-the-water and his people,” said Crow Foot. “He took some of my best horses last heavy-wind moon. He took that big horse with the spotted rump I took from the Black Paint People on the other side of the Backbone.”

  “Rides-at-the-door tells me you got that horse from the Liars,” said Crazy Dog. “He said you had to sleep with their ugliest woman to get him.”

  “Rides-at-the-door tells lies that make the Liars look good. Their women are ugly, though,” admitted Crow Foot.

  “They make good wives for the Napikwans. I have seen the offspring—they are pink like the entrails of the slippery swimmers. Even their eyes are pink.”

  Fox Eyes listened to this banter with patience. The men were happy to be finally on the move against the Crows. The tension of waiting for this journey was dispelled and the men could now joke and laugh. But it would return in a short time as they neared the enemy’s camps. Fox Eyes had made up his mind, and he felt a tingle of excitement crawl up his backbone. When the talk died away, he said, “I think we will punish Bull Shield. He is the strongest of their chiefs and many will cry for him. His is the head that will be cut off so that our friend Yellow Kidney may sleep well in his lodge.”

  Just after midday of the fourth sleep, a strange event took place. The party had ridden down a shallow coulee just north of the Elk River, keeping above a brush line that marked the course of a dry creek. The grass around them had turned golden in the late summer sun. The yellow-wings jumped and buzzed in the air before the horses. Fox Eyes had decided to await the return of the wolves at the mouth of the coulee. From there they could see the valley of the Elk River and remain unseen. The scouts would by now have located the camp of Bull Shield. On their return a strategy could be determined.

  White Man’s Dog was worried about his horse. Although he didn’t limp, there was something wrong with his gait, as though he were favoring a leg. White Man’s Dog pulled out of the dusty stream of riders and got down. The sun was warm on his back as he felt the horse’s legs and bent the fetlocks to look at the hooves. He could find nothing wrong and decided it must have been his nerves. He stretched his back and looked up to the southwest. The Day Star was a brilliant pin of light in the orange sky. He hadn’t noticed how bright it was this day. He adjusted his leggings, which had ridden up his crotch during the ride, and as he did so he noticed that the sky was turning gray. He shielded his eyes and peeked between his fingers. The sun had ceased to glow and a chunk of it was missing. He had not seen this happen before. He looked down the coulee and saw the last of the riders round a bend beneath a sandy bluff. He became uneasy and tried to mount his horse but the animal shied away from him. He grabbed the horse by the ear and squeezed tightly. Around him it had become dusk. The grass which just moments before had been burnt yellow now was silver and the edges of the coulee cast shadows. Again he peered at the sun, and this time he didn’t have to shield his eyes. It had become a dark ball with just a rim of glowing gold. His horse had gentled some and he released the ear and stared at the hole which had replaced Sun Chief. Gradually he became aware that his whole body was trembling. The air was colder but the trembling came from within. White Man’s Dog was too frightened to pray or even to think. He heard a far-off barking of coyotes in the quiet dusk. He looked around him and the grass was shimmering. A large white stone on the other side of the dry creek was glowing as though lit from within. Then, just as the coyotes began to howl, a sliver of fire appeared at the side of the dark hole. He looked away from the light, and when he looked back, the sun had begun to grow fire wings.

  Soon the sun was whole again and the air warmed quickly. The coyotes had quit howling and the gray horse grazed at the golden grass. White Man’s Dog remembered his grandfather telling of a similar event. That time, when Sun hid his face, the people trembled and cried. A few days later, Emonissi, the great head chief of the Siksikas, was thrown from his horse and trampled by the blackhorns.

  When he caught up with the party, all had dismounted and were crouched silently in small groups. Only the war chiefs were animated, huddled together, gesturing, their voices rising and falling as each spoke his words. He saw his father’s broad back, his war shirt stretched over the powerful shoulders. The gray blackhorn headdress, his war medicine, bobbed up and down as he nodded his head. He seemed to be speaking but he didn’t gesture as did the others. Fox Eyes sat passively to one side as though he didn’t listen to what the others were saying.

  “It is a sign we cannot ignore,” Rides-at-the-door was saying.

  “It is a sign of catastrophe,” said Crow Foot.

  White Man’s Dog had crept close enough to hear their words. He squatted beside Running Fisher. He wanted to ask what the leaders had said before he arrived, but as he looked at his brother, he saw a look of cold fear. The young man’s eyes were staring straight ahead, at the backs of the leaders, but he seemed to see nothing. White Man’s Dog touched his shoulder, but Running Fisher didn’t seem to notice. It was the first time White Man’s Dog had seen real fear in his brother, and he didn’t know what to do.

  “We have come this far—we must go on,” said Lone Medicine Person.

  “We are Pikunis,” said Crazy Dog. “We are not afraid.”

 
Almost-a-wolf signed his affirmation, his fist over his heart.

  “What about these young men?” said Rides-at-the-door. “They are afraid now. They can’t be counted on.”

  “We will talk to them. Those that want to turn back, we will let them.”

  “Did we come here to avenge Yellow Kidney? Are we going to run away like women?”

  White Man’s Dog watched Fox Eyes rise and walk slowly away from the group. He was halfway to the bend that hid the party from the Elk River valley when a wolf scout rode into view. His horse was lathered and winded. He slid down and walked up to Fox Eyes. It was Eagle Ribs. White Man’s Dog watched the two men talk; then he looked at his brother. The fear was still there but his eyes had come back. “A-wah-heh,” whispered White Man’s Dog. “Take courage, brother.”

  12

  THEY ATTACKED THE VILLAGE of Bull Shield at dawn. White Man’s Dog had sung his Wolverine power song and had tied a small pouch containing the white stone around his neck. He rode between his father and Crazy Dog, slightly ahead of them. It was his honor, in Yellow Kidney’s place, to strike the enemy first. The long gallop down the hill seemed to take forever. Behind him he heard the thunder of the horses’ hooves and the cries and yodeling of the warriors. A steady pop of rifle fire increased until it seemed that Thunder Chief, Many Drums, rode with them. White Man’s Dog’s throat was dry in the surging wind, and his heart beat strongly in his ears. Then he was on the flat, guiding his horse with his knees, firing his many-shots gun, his wedding present from his father, blindly at the lodges. He saw a man emerge from one of the tipis clad only in leggings. He turned the gray horse slightly and bore down on him and he heard a strange animal cry that filled his heart with fear before he realized that it came from him. His horse had his head lowered in his all-out gallop, and White Man’s Dog could see the laid-back ears just below his line of fire. The man raised his musket but now White Man’s Dog was upon him. He felt his horse swerve between his knees as he fired at the man’s chest. The man toppled back into the entrance of his lodge and lay there with just his feet sticking out. White Man’s Dog looked quickly around and saw the Pikunis weaving between the lodges, screaming and firing their weapons. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Crow warriors scrambling out of their lodges, some shooting at the Pikunis, others running for cover. He urged his horse forward until he was near the middle of the camp. A pack of dogs raced by, cutting him off, and he felt his horse’s front legs come up off the ground. He leaned forward to regain his balance and that’s when he saw a black horse rearing against a lariat tied to the lodgepole of a tipi decorated with blue buffaloes. For an instant he stared at the tipi and the panicked horse. Then he slid off his own horse and trotted between two lodges. He heard someone calling to him, a voice that he didn’t recognize over the din of the guns and crying and shouting. He stepped over the body of a man who had been shot in the face. The arms and legs were still trembling. He fired a shot into the blue buffalo tipi and a man appeared at the entrance. When he stood up, his headdress fell to the ground behind him. There was a wild look in the man’s eyes and White Man’s Dog thought he was going to run back inside. But the man gathered his courage and began his death song. In his right hand he held a short-gun; in his other hand, a feathered shield with red sharp-cornered designs. For an instant the two men looked at each other. Then White Man’s Dog heard the voice again, the one who had called to him earlier. He glanced to his left and saw the blue seizer’s tunic that Fox Eyes wore. He heard a pop and felt a warm pain in his side. He stumbled back and fell down. As he fell, he heard Fox Eyes call out the man’s name. In spite of the burning in his side, he lifted his head and watched Fox Eyes ride down on Bull Shield and knew that his chief wanted to count coup, that just shooting Bull Shield from a distance was not enough. In disbelief White Man’s Dog watched the short-gun come up and fire just as Fox Eyes leaned to his right for a shot. And he saw the horse shy and Fox Eyes land in a heap at Bull Shield’s feet. White Man’s Dog moaned and fell back. It seemed to him that he lay there for a long time—he could hear the gunfire and the screams—but when he opened his eyes Bull Shield was still advancing. Without knowing how, he found his gun, lifted it and fired. The greased shooter tore through the warrior’s shield and into his chest. He shot the warrior twice more and then his rifle was empty. Bull Shield stepped back with the first shot, as if in surprise. The second and third shots caught him in the belly and he doubled over, tottered forward with little steps and fell. White Man’s Dog got to his feet—the pain was less severe now—and felt his side. His hand came away bloody. He looked down at the dead man and his head felt strange, as though it were trying not to be there. Then a horse galloped up and skidded to a stop and a rider jumped off. It was Almost-a-wolf. He gathered up Fox Eye’s body and hoisted it up over the saddle, arms and legs dangling on either side of the horse. Almost-a-wolf glanced at White Man’s Dog; then he was on the horse, behind the saddle, and the horse was galloping off. White Man’s Dog looked back for his own horse. It was not there. As he looked about he saw bodies on the ground and men engaged in fighting. Twenty paces from where he stood he saw a look of shock on Lone Medicine Person’s face as a Crow knife was plunged into his stomach. A girl of not more than three winters stood crying, holding her bloody fingers to her mouth. As he watched the girl, he heard a voice behind him; then he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He whirled about and saw that it was his father leaning down from his horse. “Take his hair, son,” he said.

  White Man’s Dog dropped to his knees over the fallen Bull Shield. He took the hair in his left hand and made a slice across the top of the forehead. Then he began skinning the scalp back as though he were dressing a deer. At the last cut, the head fell limply forward, the white patch of bone glistening in the dusty sun.

  “Get up, get up, you brave!” shouted Rides-at-the-door. “Take this fine horse, this prize Crow horse!” He had cut the black horse loose, and now he handed the lariat to White Man’s Dog. “My fine son, this day you are a brave!”

  White Man’s Dog looked at the happy face of his father, and the strange feeling in his head went away. He swung up on the horse and felt the pain in his side sharpen. Then he and his father were galloping toward the north ridge above the camp. Several of the Pikunis were there already, shooting their guns in the air, their horses skittering nervously beneath them. On both sides of them other warriors were racing for the ridge. Behind them they heard the pop! pop! pop! of the Crow guns. White Man’s Dog looked down at the sticky scalp in his fingers. Then he leaned over the side of the black horse and vomited.

  The next day, well away from the Crow camps, they stopped to rest at the edge of Big Lake, a shallow body of water in open country. There was no danger that the Crows could organize swiftly enough to follow such a large war party this far. The men were weary with the battle and the ride, and many of them stripped and swam in the warm, weedy water. Some ate their last handfuls of pemmican while others dozed. Then the war chiefs moved among them, rousting them, and soon they were riding slowly to the northwest.

  Rides-at-the-door and White Man’s Dog rode behind the bodies of Fox Eyes and Lone Medicine Person. They were wrapped in sleeping skins and tied over Crow horses. White Man’s Dog looked behind him and counted six other bodies in sleeping robes. Thirteen men were missing and seven more were hurt badly enough that they had to lie on makeshift travois. White Man’s Dog searched for Running Fisher. He rode by himself off to the side, and his eyes were distant.

  White Man’s Dog stretched and the pain came, but it was only a dull throb. The shooter had opened the skin and nicked a rib. He had thanked Wolverine for giving him a war wound and he thanked him for not making it too serious.

  After they had traveled, a short way, Crazy Dog rode back among the men. Four of them got off their horses and built a fire. Soon the flames rippled away to the south, pushed by the strong north wind. Some of the warriors rode off and returned with greasewood from a nearby ridge. The greasewood caugh
t fire and began to crackle, and the riders dragged it along the ground behind them. Soon the grassy plains to the south were ablaze, the heavy smoke blowing ahead of the flames.

  “Now we make the Crows to cry twice. Their blackhorns will leave them and become someone else’s meat,” said Crazy Dog. With that he laughed and the Pikunis turned their horses north, to their own buffalo ranges.

  At twilight the men stopped beside a small creek flanked by dead big-leaf trees. They built platforms in seven of them and prepared the bodies for burial. It was a simple preparation—the dead men had few weapons with them, and their horses remained in the Crow camp. Crow Foot sprinkled tobacco over the sleeping skins and commended their spirits to the Shadowland. Then the bodies were laid on the platforms and a Crow horse was shot in the ear for each of them to ride in that other world.