Journey of the Spirit

by John Foxjohn

  “Hoya,” Mans Afraid spoke. “Hump speaks true. Perhaps we need to fill the leaders’ place. We need new hearts among our leaders. Perhaps it would be well to renew the chief’s society, and make the ceremony of the shirt-wearers.”

  Excited murmurs ran through the crowd.

  “Yes. The shirt-wearers are what we need to control the young warriors.”

  Later that night Hand asked Worm what the chief’s society and shirt-wearers were.

  “The chiefs’ society is a group of older warriors that plans and decides about the fights. They also choose a few selected warriors who have the honor of wearing the shirts for the people. Shirt-wearers lead the fighting and direct the actions during the fights.”

  “Who will the chiefs’ society select to be shirt-wearers?” Hand asked.

  “No one is supposed to know, but everyone does. Mans Afraid, Bad Face, Sitting Bear, and Brave Bull are all older warriors who will surely be in the chief’s society. We sometimes call them Big Bellies. They all have young warrior sons and it’ll be these who are selected as shirt-wearers.”

  Hand tapped his index finger on his chin, confused that they would consider Bad Face’s son, Woman’s Dress as a recipient of this honor. He had believed that Woman’s Dress belonged to the secret society called Contraries. A few years before, he had asked Crazy Horse about this group. Not wanting to speak of them, Crazy Horse finally told him that this group did things backward. Still not understanding, Hand asked his brother what he meant. Crazy Horse told him that the men in this group preferred men to women. Because of their preference to men and since they could not have children to carry on Lakota traditions, Contraries could not speak in council or hold positions. Crazy Horse had cautioned him about talking of this group.

  Hand glanced up at Worm. “I thought Woman’s Dress was the son of Bad Face?”

  “Yes, that’s true. I’d forgotten. He won’t be selected.”

  “Who will be chosen for this honor?”

  “Perhaps Red Cloud. I know he’ll try to get it,” Worm said.

  “Do you think he’ll get it?”

  Worm looked up from the medicine pouch he worked on and smiled. “No. There’s too much bad blood on his hands.”

  Two days later, the elders selected the members of the chief’s society. Before they made a decision on the shirt-wearers, the bands had to split up. The camp had too many people, not enough grass for all the horses, and not enough buffalo and antelope in the area to feed a big bunch.

  * * * *

  On a warm morning in the moon of tender grass, April, a runner came to the village with a message that there would be a great council meeting at what the whites called Fort Laramie. The little white chief wanted all the Indians to come in, receive presents, and sign what they called a peace treaty. This angered many of the people, especially Red Cloud.

  “The best way for us to have peace is for the whites to say out of our country and out of our hunting grounds,” he screamed in the elder’s council. “The people need to rise up together as one and kick out all the whites. If we all come together, the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho, they’ll flee us in fear.”

  Many agreed, but most also agreed Red Cloud wouldn’t even be able to get all the Hunkpatilia together because of bad blood over Old Smoke’s death.

  After the council meeting, He Dog and Crazy Horse stood talking when Lone Bear walked up.

  With a smile, Lone Bear asked, “Should we go tell Hand about it?

  He Dog laughed. “We might need to. He hasn’t come out of his lodge in a month. Maybe he needs some help.”

  A smile crept on Crazy Horse’s face. “I bet you are volunteering to help…too. Have you looked at Cat Woman? If she was your wife, would you…come out of that lodge?”

  “Nope. I wouldn’t,” He Dog said. “I have seen her. That’s why I’m offering my help. For all we know, that poor boy might be dead in there.”

  All three boys laughed.

  “They have to run out of food in there, soon,” Lone Bear said. “Maybe I should take them some meat.”

  “They’ll have plenty of meat…if you go in that lodge,” Crazy Horse said. “Hand will skin you.”

  A month before, after the mourning period, Hand and Cat had wed. After the women constructed a temporary lodge, the two had retired. After the honeymoon ended, they would move into the lodge of Cat’s mother as custom dictated, but no one had thought that the honeymoon would last a full month.

  * * * *

  Crazy Horse, Little Hawk, and Hand stood looking at a new horse Crazy Horse had stolen from somewhere. He never told them where. A voice from behind interrupted.

  “That’s an excellent mare you have, Crazy Horse.” They turned and saw Red Cloud admiring the horse.

  “I don’t need you to tell me…what a good horse I have, Red Cloud. I know horses as well as you do.”

  Red Cloud glared at him. “That’s not a Lakota way to respond to your elders,” he said through clenched teeth. Flames crept up Red Cloud’s neck, but for some reason he tried to hold his temper.

  “When someone hears you speak of their horse,” Crazy Horse said, “they need to watch…that horse.”

  Hand watched Red Cloud closely. He had a reason for coming here. It had nothing to do with the horse, either.

  “You know I’ve never stolen a horse from the Lakota or Cheyenne. I steal horses from our enemies as you do. I’m more interested in stealing the good white man’s horse.”

  Crazy Horse looked at him for a moment with his head cocked. “I thought you knew more about horses than that. Their horses are bigger than…ours, but they aren’t as good. They feed them too well and when they get out on the prairie…they can’t keep up with our horses.”

  Why was Red Cloud trying so hard to control his anger? Everyone knew he didn’t like Crazy Horse, and now he had made a special point of coming out here to talk to him. He was up to something. Hand wondered if Red Cloud thought Crazy Horse would forget what he had done with Black Buffalo Woman.

  “This is true, but if we steal their horses they can’t ride into our country looking for us,” Red Cloud said.

  “You didn’t drop by here about horses. What do you want?” Crazy Horse asked.

  The loathing and anger etched on the older warrior’s face.

  “I’m going to the council at Fort Laramie, and I wanted to know if you would go, too.”

  Crazy Horse paused for a long moment. “You should know better than to ask me that. There is no way I’m going to that council, but I’m not surprised you’re going. Are you going to take the white man’s handouts again?”

  Over time, while Hand observed his brother, learning his peculiarities, especially his speech patterns, Crazy Horse hesitated, paused, and showed his discomfort in speaking. However, when he became passionate about something, or heated, the hesitations of his words ceased, as they did now.

  Red Cloud jerked back, and Hand could tell Crazy Horse had hit a nerve. Red Cloud didn’t say anything for a long time, and the small smile on Crazy Horse’s mouth didn’t help.

  Red Cloud spoke at last. “We haven’t gotten along in the past, and that’s my fault. I’ve done some things I thought were best for my family. They weren’t meant to be personal against you and I hope you didn’t take them personally.”

  “You hope wrong,” Crazy Horse said.

  Red Cloud continued as if he hadn’t heard. “We haven’t gotten along, but we do have one thing in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sorry for anything I’ve done. I did it because I thought it was the best for my people. There’s Lakota blood between us and that other thing. I can’t change the past, but we can help change the future. I’m going to the council for the same reason you don’t want to. I can’t see into the future, but I do know that these whites have become dangerous to our people. If we don’t stop them now, they’ll swallow us all like the coyote gulps down the small rats.”

  Hand twitched his
mouth. That’s why he’s here. He knows the younger warriors won’t think bad of him if Crazy Horse goes, too.

  “If this is how you feel, why are you going to their council?” Crazy Horse asked. “They’ll lie to get what they want and if you don’t give it to them they’ll take it anyway.”

  “What you say is true, but I go to stop the others from giving our land away to these whites.”

  When Red Cloud left, the boys stood in a stunned silence.

  “Do you believe him?” Little Hawk asked.

  “For some reason…I do.”

  “Are you going to the council?” Hand asked.

  “No. I won’t…go to the council. It’ll do no good. But I’ll be in the hills…watching.”

  After leaving the group, Hand walked back to his lodge. They’d moved in with Cat’s mother. He found Cat carrying wood to the lodge. With a smile, she glanced at the ground, but a moment later, her gaze lifted, but not her head. “My mother has gone to visit relatives across camp. She’ll be gone awhile.”

  Hand’s smile matched hers as she dropped the wood, caught his hand, and led him into the lodge.

  * * * *

  As Hand and Cat sat outside their lodge that evening, a crier ran through the village. He announced that the elders’ council had made a decision. They would hold the shirt-wearers ceremony the next day before anyone left for the great council at Fort Laramie.

  The atmosphere quivered with excitement. No one could remember why they’d ended the chiefs’ council or the shirt-wearers, but many said the people had needed this for a long time. Most also figured they already knew which young warriors the Big Bellies would choose.

  Hand had gone out of the lodge, and on the way back, heard two of the older women talking beside their lodge. He knew it was rude to listen in, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Of course they’ll choose their own sons to be shirt-wearers,” one of them said. “You know it as well as I do. This is the way it’s always been.”

  “That’s true. But for once I wish they could get past the politics and select the ones who are the best qualified.”

  “Who do you think would be better than the chiefs’ sons? There are some great warriors there.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but have you thought about young Crazy Horse? There’s no one more deserving. He doesn’t think of himself. He only thinks of the people.”

  “What you say is true, but he’s the son of a holy man and he won’t be chosen.”

  “That’s my point. He should be chosen.”

  “True, but this isn’t going to happen.”

  Hand eased away as the argument continued between the old women.

  As Cat and Hand lay in their robes that night, they talked about the upcoming ceremony. Cat agreed with the old woman. They should choose Crazy Horse, but they wouldn’t. It was a shame, he thought. No one deserved this honor more than his brother did. If they wanted to choose someone who could control the young ones, they needed to choose Crazy Horse.

  Under a bright clear sky the next morning, the people gathered around a great lodge they’d constructed for the ceremony, in a sacred circle with the opening to the east. Women had painted the cover with hoops to represent the circle of life. Colors indicated direction—north in red at the top of the hoop, south in white at the bottom. The left part of the hoop, or the west represented with black, and the east side with yellow for the life-giving sun.

  Buffalo in all shapes ran, eagles soared high above in blue, and a patch of green at the bottom represented grass.

  With a buzz of excited conversation, the people gathered around like bees swarming to a new hive. As Hand and Cat walked up holding hands, the seven chiefs, or Big Bellies, walked into the lodge and sat down. Outside the lodge sat four warriors on horses. Everyone else stood.

  Lone Bear and Little Hawk walked over and stood next to Hand. With a big smile, Lone Bear elbowed Hand in the ribs.

  “Where’s Crazy Horse?” Hand asked, ignoring Lone Bear’s jab.

  Little Hawk nodded his head across the circle. It took Hand several moments to spot his brother, in the rear on the other side of the circle almost out of sight.

  “Why are the four warriors mounted?” Hand asked.

  Lone Bear leaned close and answered in a whisper.

  “Those are the Big Bellies’ helpers. They’re the ones who’ll bring the chosen ones to the lodge.”

  All noise stopped when an old man stepped out of the tent. Hand knew he was some kind of medicine man but didn’t know his name. After lighting the sacred pipe, he held it up to the sky in all four directions—taking four long puffs, he returned to the lodge.

  Little Hawk elbowed Hand, and then Lone Bear in the ribs. When he had their attention he nodded toward the front of the crowd with his head.

  Woman’s Dress, in his finest regalia, strutted up, the only person who came to the ceremony in his finest clothes.

  After leaning over, Little Hawk whispered to Lone Bear, “Look at Woman’s Dress swagger. He knows he’s going to be chosen because he’s the grandson of Old Smoke.”

  “Ayiee. I wish it wasn’t true,” Lone Bear said.

  “Look,” said Lone Bear. “Everyone is eager for this, but the Bad Faces don’t look happy. Perhaps they’ll make their own shirt-wearers.”

  The four warriors on horseback started making a circle before the large crowd. Cat whispered to Hand, “They’ll make four passes before they choose the first.”

  “Why four?” he asked.

  “Four’s the medicine number,” she said.

  Hand nodded. He’d known this, but had forgotten.

  After the fourth circuit, the helpers stopped and chose Young Mans Afraid, of the Smoke Clan. A huge ovation from the women erupted when the helpers chose the young warrior. As they yelled and chanted his name, Lone Bear spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Sword’s next.”

  Again, the four helpers made a complete circle of the crowd, but this time, Young Mans Afraid circled with them. As they rode, the selected warrior, with a proud smile, sat on his horse, chest out, head up.

  Another clamor erupted from the women when the helpers stopped in front of Sword, son of Brave Bull, and picked him up.

  Little Hawk whispered, “They will chose American Horse next.

  At a slow pace, the four helpers with the two blissful warriors circled the group, looking at the crowd. Hand believed they knew where the person they looked for stood, but wanted to draw the process out to give all possible recognition to the selected few. He also believed, now, that everyone had correctly predicted who would be chosen, and why.

  They confirmed Hand’s belief when the group stopped in front of American Horse, son of Sitting Bear. When the warrior leaped on the waiting horse, another cheer went up from the women. The chant of his name swelled and made its way around the group.

  “Ayiee.” Hand said. “Who will be next?”

  Good Weasel replied out of the corner of his mouth in an edgy whisper, “Woman’s Dress.”

  Bypassing Woman’s Dress and Red Cloud, for the first time, the helpers circled behind the crowd and stopped in front of Crazy Horse.

  Stunned silence gripped the crowd—most stood open-mouthed, disbelieving. A roar of approval started slowly and built to a deafening crescendo. This time the cheers and chants involved all, including the stoic warriors who had left the cheering to the women before. The small group with Hand was the most enthusiastic, with the boys jumping up and down.

  Chants of “Crazy Horse,” continued for several long minutes. When chosen, the other three had leaped on the waiting horses, chests puffed out like a swollen carcass in the hot sun. They gloried in the attention.

  Not the strange one, standing with his head hung. He crawled onto the horse.

  When the clamor over the picking of Crazy Horse settled, Hand heard one of the little boys say to another, “It’s good they choose a man because of his deeds and not because his father is a Big Belly.”

  Crazy H
orse’s selection electrified the already charged crowd. When the helpers escorted the young men to the awaiting lodge, the people followed. Warriors and boys led through the crowd, and the rest followed to see the four taken inside and seated on a fine buffalo robe spread in the center of the lodge.

  After the ritual ended, three selected shirt-wearers pranced around and talked with everyone who attended. Crazy Horse sat and stared into the fire.

  * * * *

  News spread among the people like wildfire. Most were pleased, some jealous, but it surprised few.

  Standing around, the young men joked, while the women kept a knowing smirk on their faces. Some of the older women had a faraway glint in their eye, remembering their times.

  One older woman said to another, “Well, what did you expect? The way they went at it, it had to happen.”

  Hand, the most joyous of all at the news, beamed anytime someone mentioned Cat Woman’s pregnancy.

  Ten

  As the sun set, flashing its rays through the trees and glistening off the water, Crazy Horse and Hand stood on a hill overlooking Fort Laramie. Across the rolling expanse separating the two from the fort, the tall grass swayed with the wind. Hand, in silence, watched his brother out of the corner of his eye. Not sure how long they’d stood there, they’d watched an approaching dust cloud on the Holy Road.

  Hand believed his brother tolerated him as a companion because he allowed Crazy Horse the opportunity to become engrossed in his thoughts, without having to explain them.

  “Maybe, Spotted Tail was right…after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My uncle went back to the east…where all the white men are…when he returned, he told us, ‘If you think there are a lot of whites…in our country, you should see the big villages…to the east.’ No one believed him.”

  “He was right. I’ve never seen some of the big towns, but I’ve heard how many people live in them. Single towns of whites bigger than all the Lakota put together.”

  “I’m beginning to…believe this. Sometimes it seems like more and more of the white people…come to our country.”