Death Chant
Page 14
Finally, reluctant yet determined, he walked down to the buffalo wallow where they had tethered their horses. The dun greeted him with an affectionate nicker, nuzzling his shoulder with her nose. Despite the soothing yarrow paste his burns were still stiff. He almost groaned out loud as he swung up onto his pony and headed north out of camp.
Touch the Sky was almost certain that Lagace had hightailed it toward the camp at the confluence of the Yellowstone and the Powder. Since water was scarce hereabouts, he would almost surely follow the Little Bighorn River northeast to the Yellowstone, then turn east and follow the Yellowstone straight to the camp.
By the time the sun was high enough to warm the air, Touch the Sky knew he had guessed correctly. Near the Little Bighorn he had picked up a fresh set of tracks made by an iron-shod horse. Now time was the critical element because Lagace had a swift horse and a good lead. Could Touch the Sky close that lead before the white dog reached the safety of his camp?
He reached down and touched the antelope horn Arrow Keeper had hung around the pony’s neck. The medicine man’s words drifted back to him now from the hinterlands of memory: “I have just blessed your pony with long wind, speed, and strength.”
Touch the Sky dug his moccasined heels into the dun’s flanks and urged her to a gallop with a shrill war cry. Within moments he knew the old shaman had spoken the straight word. The dun did not gallop. She flew. Touch the Sky’s black locks streamed straight out behind him, the wind whistled past with a sound like a fierce windstorm so powerful it brought tears to his eyes. The ground raced past him, an indistinct blur.
His pony seemed tireless. Her pace did not once abate, and no slope or cutbank was steep enough to lather her. By the time the sun was straight overhead, Touch the Sky spotted a lone rider dead ahead, a mere speck on the horizon.
The distance between them closed rapidly, and soon Touch the Sky recognized the magnificent sorrel gelding. Not until the youth was close enough to also recognize Lagace’s long yellow hair did the white man realize he was being followed.
Viciously, he dug his long-roweled spurs into the gelding’s flanks, drawing blood. The sorrel lunged forward from an easy lope to a full gallop.
Still Touch the Sky’s dun closed the gap. As the white man turned to gauge the distance between them, the contempt on his face turned to disbelief. His horse was fresh, and he had paced him easily for the journey. Never had he been caught in a race.
When Touch the Sky had closed the gap to perhaps three lengths, Lagace drew his Colt-Patterson and fired. The bullet whizzed past Touch the Sky’s left ear with a sound like an angry hornet. The pace was too fast for Lagace to load another primer cap on horseback. Desperately, he dug his rowels into the gelding’s flanks.
Lagace swerved toward the rim of a steep cutbank overlooking the river. Touch the Sky nudged the dun over too, now almost close enough to touch the sorrel’s sweaty rump. Lagace drew his Bowie just as Touch the Sky drew up alongside him.
Pulling High Forehead’s obsidian knife from his legging sash, Touch the Sky made a daring sideways leap off his pony. A moment later he and Lagace hit the ground together and rolled so hard and fast that Touch the Sky felt the wind being knocked out of him.
But he never once let go of his quarry. The white man was incredibly strong and quickly got one big hand on Touch the Sky’s throat. His knee raked Touch the Sky’s burn-scarred chest, causing a pain as intense as the hot rocks themselves had. The day started going dim as Lagace continued to throttle him.
In one last desperate struggle for life, the Cheyenne youth arched his strong back hard. The quick movement threw Lagace clear. Not wasting a moment, Touch the Sky leaped on him again and drove the obsidian blade into his enemy’s ribs. It slipped smoothly between the fourth and fifth ribs and straight into Lagace’s heart. Touch the Sky felt the satisfying release of body heat as he cut into the vitals.
But they had landed on the very verge of the cutbank. As Touch the Sky finally sat up after regaining his breath, the soft dirt bank beneath Lagace gave way. The body dropped straight down into the river and was washed away with the current, streaming ribbons of blood behind it.
There was no easy way down, and Touch the Sky was too exhausted to chase after it. Now he had no scalp to take back and hang on the village lodge pole. But his enemy was dead!
When his muscles finally quit trembling, he set out to round up his pony and the magnificent sorrel. Now, he told himself, with this horse and the gray he had stolen from the Crows, he had the beginnings of a fine bride-price to someday offer Honey Eater.
But first, he reminded himself with a heavy heart, he must face the consequences of his disobedience.
By the time his shadow was long in the waning sun, he was heading east toward the Tongue River and Yellow Bear’s camp.
“Brothers!” Chief Yellow Bear said. “The charges against these two young Cheyenne are grave. You have heard Black Elk describe what they have done. You have seen also that neither of them accuses Black Elk of speaking with a double tongue. Now have ears for my words.”
Seven sleeps had passed since Touch the Sky’s return to camp. Now the councilors and warriors were formally meeting in their lodge to discuss the fate of Touch the Sky and Little Horse. The two young Cheyenne had been instructed to sit in the center where all could stare at them. The common pipe had been smoked, and the sweet, fragrant smell of burning willow bark hung over the lodge.
“Brothers!” Yellow Bear said. “Lakota word-bringers have arrived with joyous news. The white men have removed their talking paper which offers gold for Cheyenne scalps. There is no sign of this scar-face or his dogs who sell strong water to the red men. Touch the Sky claims to have killed him, and I have never known this young buck to speak in a wolf bark.
“All of these things are important to the tribe. And now an old man would add this: Honey Eater has been returned safely to her people. It is a serious thing to disobey a war chief, a terribly serious thing. But it is even more serious to banish a Cheyenne from his people. Consider these matters carefully before you vote with your stones. Now I have spoken, and you have kindly listened.”
The lodge was silent until Wolf Who Hunts Smiling rose to speak. “Fathers! Brothers! I am young, and my words carry small weight. But this troubles me. No one here has seen Touch the Sky kill this scar-faced dog! Where are his weapons, his scalp? True, Touch the Sky returned with a horse, but who among us has not stolen a horse from our enemies?”
A few of the councilors nodded at this, and Wolf Who Hunts Smiling said, “Not only did he disobey the orders of a warrior, but of a war chief! And now High Forehead wanders alone in the Forest of Tears, killed before he could sing the death song. He lost his life because Touch the Sky and Little Horse willfully disobeyed their leader!”
This time a low murmur filled the lodge. Chief Yellow Bear folded his arms until it was quiet again. Old Arrow Keeper, seated to the left of Yellow Bear, looked troubled but said nothing.
Touch the Sky felt the old hatred for Wolf Who Hunts Smiling boiling inside of him. But he forced himself to hold his face impassive and say nothing. As Arrow Keeper had already advised him before the council met, he must place his trust in Arrow Keeper’s vision at Medicine Lake. His fate was already determined, and his actions would not affect it.
Now Black Elk rose. “Fathers! Brothers! Place my words in your sashes and take them away with you. I have told you what these two young braves have done to disgrace the Cheyenne way. But I have also told you that their courage and skill in battle have made my heart sing. I, for one, do not doubt Touch the Sky when he claims to have killed the scar-face. I ask only this. When you vote with your stones, do not judge them for their lack of manly courage. Ask yourselves only this: have their crimes been sufficient to send them forever away from the tribe? Remember, too, that High Forehead will never smoke the common pipe with us nor bounce his child upon his knee. I have spoken.”
His last words filled Touch the Sky with an agony
of remorse. He would never forget that magnificent moment when High Forehead leaped the breastworks, bravely shouting the war cry. Nor the awful moment when he had died.
Yellow Bear rose for the final time. His voice weary, he said, “Enough! Let the headmen speak with their stones.”
Arrow Keeper moved among the twenty voting headmen offering them a fur pouch. It contained forty small stones. Each councilor reached in and selected the stone of his choice: a white moonstone to signify forgiveness, a black agate if he chose banishment. He kept his choice hidden in his closed hand. When all had chosen, Arrow Keeper handed the half-empty pouch to Chief Yellow Bear. The chief spilled the contents out onto the buffalo robe at his feet.
Twenty stones rolled out: ten white and ten black.
The lodge broke into a clamor until Yellow Bear again crossed his arms. “Brothers! In such cases it is usual for your chief to cast the final vote. But you all know well that Honey Eater is the soul of my medicine bag and thus my vote would not be a fair one. Clearly I do not desire to banish these young men. However, many will resent them—and me—if I use my authority in this way. Instead, let their war chief cast the deciding word.”
The lodge grew so silent Touch the Sky could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He glanced at Little Horse and saw his friend’s lips trembling with the effort to disguise his emotions. Black Elk was a fair leader, but a hard one. His sense of honor and duty caused him to make his heart like a stone toward his emotions.
A Cheyenne without a tribe, Arrow Keeper had said, was a dead Cheyenne. Now, with the choice of a moment, Black Elk would determine if they lived or died..
Arrow Keeper crossed to Black Elk and offered the pouch. Black Elk hesitated for a long moment, his fierce black eyes trained on Touch the Sky. “Now,” Touch the Sky thought bitterly, “comes his chance to win Honey Eater from me forever.”
Black Elk reached in, made his choice, and tossed the stone onto the robe with the others. Every neck craned to see. Suddenly the lodge buzzed with excited talk.
Yellow Bear crossed his arms until all were silent. “The voting is done, and now the tribe has spoken with one voice. From this time forward, all discussion of this matter is over.”
He picked up the white moonstone Black Elk had chosen. “Little Horse and Touch the Sky are Shaiyena warriors and members of Yellow Bear’s tribe. The stones have spoken!”
Still, Touch the Sky held his face impassive. But inside, a great weight had been lifted. His eyes met Little Horse’s, and for a brief moment a smile touched his friend’s lips.
But Black Elk was not smiling when he took Touch the Sky aside as he exited the lodge. “I had no choice but to vote as I did. In banishing you, I would also have banished Little Horse, whom I admire greatly. All assembled today know full well that we both love Honey Eater. Had I voted as my heart told me to, it would have appeared that I used my power to steal her from your arms. Know this, you are a brave and strong warrior, but in my mind you are still far from acceptance as a good Cheyenne!”
Black Elk turned away and left him. His words quelled the elation Touch the Sky had felt inside the lodge. So did the realization that Wolf Who Hunts Smiling had seethed with bitter anger when Black Elk chose the white stone. He had vowed to kill him, and Touch the Sky knew they would soon have to confront each other for good.
“There will be many trials and many sufferings,” Arrow Keeper had told him. Would he never gain acceptance? His heart heavy with sadness, he returned to his tipi.
He lifted the elk skin flap over the entrance, and his gloomy face broke into a smile.
There, just inside the entrance, sat a horn cup filled with wild bee honey. Fresh white columbine petals had been arranged in a perfect circle around the cup. He felt his heart surge with renewed hope.
Honey Eater loved him, and he had a home. He was a Cheyenne, and though his future was still uncertain, he was no longer an outcast among the whites. He had chosen to make his stand here, among his own people.
Let the trials and sufferings come. With Honey Eater’s love to guide him, he was ready.
PICCADILLY PUBLISHING
Piccadilly Publishing is the brainchild of long time Western fans and Amazon Kindle Number One bestselling Western writers Mike Stotter and David Whitehead (a.k.a. Ben Bridges). The company intends to bring back into 'e-print' some of the most popular and best-loved Western and action-adventure series fiction of the last forty years.
To visit our website, click here
To visit our blog, click here
To follow us on Facebook click here
The Cheyenne Series
Arrow Keeper