by Gayle Rogers
Natosin looked at the Snake without any change of expression, his eyes as deep, calm, and tolerant as they were the first night that Maria had seen him. Angrily the Snake signed again. “I have no words from the great Natosin. Does he tremble like a woman without speech before Shonka’s awful words?”
Slowly and with indescribable dignity, Natosin raised his arm and signed back. “I do not shake and I do not tremble at words that boast of such courage. When the courage is in the words, the man is empty. If tomorrow Shonka of the Snakes wants to die, he shall have his wish. If it is that my son will die I will remember that I did not tremble at his birth, and so I will not tremble at his death.”
The Snake looked at Natosin for a long moment. Maria and all of the Blackfoot looked too, drawn to his majesty. Like the greatest of kings he sat his horse, royal with his crown of ermine skins and buffalo horns, thin, polished, and gleaming in the sun.
Shonka seemed changed; some virility was now gone from his face. “Tomorrow,” he signed, “the four Mutsik warriors will lie dead too, and their lodges will be emptied and burned. Your village will weep with the wailing of their women and the weeping of their little children! I am Shonka, of the Snakes, and I have spoken!” Fierceness was in the words but no longer in the man. Slowly he led his war party from the inner tipis, through the outer lodges, and Maria could see that they would camp that night out by the guarded horse herds.
Natosin and Nakoa turned their horses and rode away too, and then the crowd dispersed.
“He will not kill Nakoa,” Maria said to Atsitsi as they walked to her lodge.
“No,” Atsitsi answered. “But if Nakoa die tomorrow you go to Siksikai, and then it bad. Siksikai might take you for wife and you not lucky to be good whore!”
“Oh be quiet!” Maria snapped, not hiding her concern at what she had just seen.
“Whore lucky woman. My words are straight. Whore accepts all. Whore no fool!”
Maria went to bed early that night, suddenly numb with exhaustion, but the premonition of coming doom made her restless. Late at night she heard the beating of a drum.
“What is that?” she asked Atsitsi.
“Prayer song of Ahkiona, one of Nakoa’s Mutsik, Snake to kill.”
“Oh,” said Maria and tried to go to sleep. Did only one of the five challenged Mutsik think it necessary to pray? Did only one have the desire to seek help?
A chanting began with the drum, and, tossing and turning, Maria heard it all night. The stars glittered coldly through the smoke hole of the tipi, and as Maria lay upon her back and watched them, they paled and disappeared with the coming of the dawn. Maria rose, shivering. The east would soon be touched with color, and would that mean that his blood would run as red as the eastern sky? She thought of his gentle beautiful mouth; the day had dawned already when he would kill, or be killed.
To the beat of the ceremonial drums, all the men, women, and children of the Pikuni village walked to the inner circle of the high chiefs. Maria and Atsitsi went there too, and all around her Maria saw eyes that were alert, shining, dark with excitement. For the first time since her captivity Maria was unnoticed, and she was quick to see also that there were no morning fires. A wildness was growing all around her, restrained now, but bursting to be unleashed.
When the drums commenced, people pushed to reach the high chiefs first and when they approached the inner lodges they formed a circle. Murmuring grew louder as Natosin appeared with all of the high chiefs except his son. Maria and Atsitsi stood near the crippled girl Anatsa, and Maria saw that the girl was twisting her hands as if she were suffering a terrible pain. “Weekw?” Maria muttered to her softly, but Anatsa only looked startled and tried to smile. She shook her head to indicate that nothing was the matter, but after awhile went back to twisting her hands again.
The sky in the east was red now, and for a moment the black forms of some flying birds showed darkly against it and then vanished. The early morning was cruelly cold. A shout suddenly went up from the spectators. Turning to where they all looked, Maria saw Nakoa and his four Mutsik warriors riding slowly toward them. In the terrible chill they were stripped for battle, wearing only breechcloths and moccasins, and their bodies and the bodies of their horses were painted. They came to the spectators and entered the circle where room was made for them to pass. For a moment they held their horses still, and except for the constant drums a silence settled as the crowd became worshipful and reverent.
The warriors were facing the rising sun. This was prayer; the cry for blessing. Then, a woman’s voice began chanting to the drums, and called out Nakoa’s name. He separated from the others, and walked his horse slowly around the inside of the circle, and the woman began chanting again.
“What does she do?” Maria asked Atsitsi.
“She count his coups. She tell why he is head chief of the Mutsik.” Maria listened intently to what the woman was singing, but she could not decipher the words. Then the spectators chanted, singing the praise of the man who rode before them, and as they chanted, young boys in the crowd walked proudly in the path of his horse. Nakoa’s cheeks were covered with vermilion paint, his arms and back bore bright gashes of color as if he were recently wounded. He was on display, the sign of Pikuni valor and courage, this man painted and dressed for fresh killing. On each face of each boy walking behind his horse was worship, idolatry, not for just the man who rode in front of him, but for the man he himself hoped to be.
When Nakoa had finished, Apikunni rode around the inner circle, his open boyish face obscured completely by its paint, and then came Siksikai, Ahkiona, and finally Opiowan. These were the men who had brought Maria back from Snake territory; familiar and yet so strange. Now, with no sign of nervousness, they were to fight for their lives. Nakoa alone wore the horns and ermine skins; the others wore feathers, but singly, not in the magnificent war bonnets of the Snakes.
When the coups of Opiowan had been recited and finished, the drums suddenly changed, and the boys following their chosen warrior quickly scattered. Faster and faster beat the tempo, and the challenged men rode together, chanting themselves.
“What is it?” Maria asked, tugging at Atsitsi’s sleeve.
“Wolf song. Now they fight!”
“What do you mean?”
“Sing Wolf song just before battle!”
The warriors nudged their horses into a wild run, and their ponies’ hoofs kicked dust at the spectators who stood oblivious to it. Enraptured, they listened to the warriors’ chanting, the lust to kill intoxicating them all. Wildness, savagery, pounded above the drums. Faster and faster went the horses beaten into a new frenzy, and with a sudden and wild shout, their riders urged them on, and broke from the circle. The spectators scattered in all directions, then ran frantically after them as they raced toward the waiting Snakes.
Row to row, man to man, horse to horse. Blackfoot and Snake stood upon the prairie facing each other. Panting, Maria reached the rest of the spectators, and when Atsitsi came and shoved her way to the front, Maria followed her. She saw Anatsa, and saved a place near them.
The girl stood watching Nakoa’s friend. Maria saw that her eyes were filled with tears.
“Anatsa—” she said gently, and took the crippled girl’s hand.
“Apikunni,” the crippled girl whispered. “Father—the Sun …” She did not go on.
“Why she loves him!” Maria thought, and within her own hand, Anatsa’s grew cold.
At last the Blackfoot drums became silent. A meadowlark called out near them. “Bet forget white titty now!” Atsitsi said, still watching Nakoa.
“Shut up!” Maria hissed, shaking in spite of herself.
“Dumb man might be killed and not get to hear you talk Pikuni,” said Atsitsi.
“Keepetahkee!” Nakoa shouted to Shonka who shouted the word back, and kicking his horse into a run, made a wide circle away from Nakoa and his Blackfoot warriors. Thirty yards away he turned the animal, and rode at a dead run toward Nakoa as if he
meant to ride him down. Nakoa’s horse began to plunge in terror, and when Shonka threw his lance almost at his feet, Nakoa had difficulty holding him down.
A soft sound came from the Blackfoot spectators. Nakoa kicked his horse and riding a similar circle, plunged his lance before Shonka’s horse. Instantly Nakoa and Shonka rode away from each other, turned, and came back upon each other as fast as their horses could skim the rank grass. Maria hid her face within her hands and in a second heard the awful twanging of bows, a sound that made her sick with terror.
“Haiyah! Haiyah!” the Blackfoot were shouting excitedly. Maria looked up and saw that the Snake’s horse had taken an arrow and was thrashing upon its side in agony. A woman screamed, “Initsiwah!” The crowd around Maria repeated the word excitedly. “Initsiwah!” Kill him! Kill him!
Shonka worked free from his horse. He faced Nakoa and held his quiver high so that Nakoa could see that in his fall it had been emptied of all his arrows. Nakoa pulled in his horse, and in spite of the frenzied shouting did not ride the Snake down. Swiftly, he dismounted, and holding his quiver high, threw it and the arrows it contained away from him. The Blackfoot moaned in fury. He then cast aside his bow and his shield. Shonka drew out his knife, and stripped to just his knife too, Nakoa went to meet him. Disgruntled silence settled upon the Blackfoot.
Nakoa’s hand moved toward his knife belt and came away empty.
Maria cringed. He had lost his knife! He had shown the Snake mercy, would not Shonka do the same for him? But Shonka would not wait for Nakoa to find his knife or get a new one.
The Blackfoot moaned again. Would not Natosin stop this, and see that his son was armed to fight? “Niikassi! Niikassi!” shouted some men to Nakoa, but his father made no move to help him, and Shonka came at him for the kill.
Maria could not see Nakoa killed. She could not accept his death. Oh, God, what good the prayer drum, the paint, the forlorn chanting. The crippled girl began to look at her closely.
Maria could not turn away. The dawn was red. Red sky burned all around her from the pitiful wagons, and now another would die that she loved.
Nakoa was backing away from Shonka. He stopped suddenly where he had thrown his bow and, with an incredibly swift movement, grasped it, parrying with it the knife thrusts that Shonka now dealt furiously upon him. Retreating all the while, in a magnificent gesture of surprise, he felled Shonka with one swipe of the bow and leaped upon him. Lying upon the earth, twisting, turning, thrashing, the two men struggled for the knife, and its blade slashed both of them, and each lay colored with the other’s blood. Nakoa was the stronger; wresting the knife finally away, he plunged it into Shonka’s heart. A long sigh traveled out from the Blackfoot; air rushed into Maria’s lungs; color returned to her face. Atsitsi began to scratch with relief.
Maria turned away. Nakoa was scalping Shonka, and when he had finished, he stood and faced the mounted Snakes, silently holding their leader’s bloody scalp.
Bloody sunrise was gone, and a golden morning rested upon the still grasses. A meadowlark called out sweetly. Now it was that Shonka lay dead in Blackfoot land. Now it was that a Snake lodge would hear the wailing of grief and useless despair, and the wandering soul of Easapa would know no peace.
The four Snakes looked down upon their leader’s hair held in Nakoa’s hands and spoke no words, and made no sign. The long black locks seemed to move with their own life. Silent upon their painted horses, they were but four men alone in the land of their enemy, four men alone and without even the protection of their medicine now. Even the great Shonka’s medicine had not been strong enough to save him from an unarmed man!
Slowly, one of the Snakes turned his horse to the south, back to where their villages lay. Another followed, and in time another, and when the first three were small upon the prairie, the fourth turned away from the waiting and silent Mutsik too, and not one Blackfoot spoke a word, or called anything after him. Now all of the Snakes were gone except Shonka who rested behind them with his hands outstretched, still reaching for the knife that had been taken from him.
With terrible difficulty, Nakoa mounted his horse, and rode slowly toward the spectators. Silently, the Blackfoot made room for him to pass, and Maria went to where his horse was picking his way through the crowds. Unthinking, on blind impulse, she blocked the animal’s way. With tears touching her face, she looked up at him, wanting to tell him that she loved him, that in these last moments she had learned that she wanted life with him, and could not bear life without him. “Nakoa,” she whispered, but this was all she could say, for she could not think of one word in his tongue.
His right arm was horribly mutilated, and dangled uselessly at his side. Blood welled yet in his chest, and at his side, and when Maria saw his bleeding, she shuddered against his horse. Without a word to her, he moved the animal around her, and then the crowds following him hid him from her sight.
He had looked at her without any expression of recognition. She looked back once more at Shonka. She would rather be dead than alive. In this awful world she was all alone, for the man she loved did not even know her.
Chapter Eight
The celebration of Nakoa’s victory went on for weeks. There was feasting in all the lodges. When the cooking fires were going, the flaps of all of the tipis were left open and anyone could enter and eat. Atsitsi was everywhere. Her own fire was dead; she was tired of the dried meat she had in store, and wanted the fresh game that the hunters brought to their lodges. Their women received her coldly, but this didn’t bother Atsitsi. She went from one lodge to another, eating constantly, and only stopped long enough to torment Maria when she too entered a lodge for food.
“Sweet little thing tired of own company?” she would ask Maria in English. “You die on own sugar?”
“I have come to see how long these women can stand you,” Maria snapped back.
“I much too good for them,” Atsitsi said. “Big damn fools. But fresh meat good. This good about men. Bring fresh meat and always have big stick.”
Maria shuddered. Her hostess looked concerned, as if Maria had found the food bad. Maria smiled at her, and told her in Pikuni how well the meat was prepared.
“Her husband good hunter,” Atsitsi commented in English. “Hunt all time for fresh meat and fresh girl. Find both. That’s why so strong. Exercise all the time.”
“Why don’t you say this in Pikuni?” Maria hissed to her.
“No. Let dumb wife sit all time on sweet ass. Why keep unmarried girls in tribe from good time?”
Maria decided to ignore her and turned to the Indian woman be side her. “I am called Maria,” she said in Pikuni.
“I am Sikapischis,” the woman answered. “I live two lodges from this one. I live with my son Siyeh, and with my father who cannot see with his eyes.”
“You have no husband?” Maria asked.
“My husband is dead. He went into Snake land for coups and did not return.”
“He went for coups and stayed for…” Atsitsi started, and Maria responded with an anger that startled everyone in the lodge.
“I know what you were going to say! You are not going to insult this woman’s dead husband to me!”
Sick with Atsitsi, Maria got up and left the lodge. They did not speak that night but the next morning resumed Maria’s language lesson and their bitter battle.
“Hurry up and fill brain,” Atsitsi said disgustedly. “Learn all by damn words so can screw in Pikuni. I tired of you around.”
“I don’t find you exactly charming.”
“Now how can you sit here in hot sun? You sweat in heat. Why not go quick and jump in river?”
“I have already bathed. But you haven’t, so I prefer it outside.”
Maria rose and walked away, her hands pressed to her ears as Atsitsi’s words followed her. She became dimly aware that ahead of her a large crowd was watching a horse race. She quietly joined the spectators. Across the circle she saw an Indian watching her. It was Siksikai. Other men beg
an to glance at her. If they thought it rude to look a person full in the face why did they all stare at her? She closed her eyes in helpless anguish, and when she opened them, she saw that two men, with their backs to her, talked to Siksikai. It was Apikunni and Nakoa, and when they turned toward her, she could see that she was the subject of their conversation. Her senses tightened, and her mouth became suddenly dry. What was happening was not good for her; she could feel it with certainty. Talk built everywhere around her now. Women were staring at her too. There was a sudden agitation as someone shoved toward the front of the crowd. It was Atsitsi.
“Now what I hear?” she shouted. Her little black eyes darting wildly around. “Ha! Siksikai and Nakoa talk!” She slapped her thigh, and showed her gums.
“Why do you always have to follow me?” Maria snarled.
“Like bee to sweet little flower,” Atsitsi chirped. She grabbed a woman standing near them and shook her roughly. They talked in Pikuni and Maria could not follow their words, but gathered that Atsitsi was asking her questions. “Ha!” she said again with such glee that Maria felt panic. “Why are you so happy?” she asked her.
“Good world now,” Atsitsi answered. She began to scratch happily.
Maria felt a chill, and the perspiration upon her body felt like ice. “What is it?” she asked. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
“To see if when you sweat, sweet bird song come from your body!”
Siksikai and Nakoa walked to the starting line of the racers. All talking around Maria stopped.
“They are going to race!” Maria said stupidly.