Sacajawea’s mind went looking for words to tell him she had only been curious, that she had meant no disrespect.
The man said, “You are not a Minnetaree.”
Sacajawea hesitated a moment, looking about for Rosebud. “I am a Metaharta, daughter of Redpipe. We have come for the Buffalo Dance. I am sorry; for a moment I forgot I was a woman. My mind flew away on bird’s wings. I now know and have regained my manners.” She tried to move past, thinking she had apologized sufficiently to let the matter drop.
A frown appeared between the man’s black eyebrows. “You! No! A daughter of Redpipe?” he asked.
“Ai!” she exclaimed, glad to find that he spoke Minnetaree now, not the strange sounds of Mandan.
“You will forgive me,” he said with grave courtesy. “I can see you are prydfa, beautiful.” He seemed embarrassed. “I mistook you for one of the akeeuee, the disgusting women of your chief, Kakoakis. You spoke not a clear tongue of Minnetaree, and I assumed you were a captured slave.”
“Ai, and so I will go now,” Sacajawea said, pushing past the man.
“Redpipe is here?” he asked.
She had taken a step to one side to give herself room to pass him. He turned toward her, so that now the sun fell full on his face as he added, “I am Four Bears, old friend of Redpipe.”
“And,” Sacajawea said, looking up at him, her knees no longer soft gruel, “Fast Arrow is here, too.”
Then she felt embarrassed, wondering if she had said too much. He did not move, but looked down at her with a stern face. She had not noticed how tall he was, a good deal taller than most Mandans, and very lean and hard. Now that the sun shone on his face, she saw thatit had a very light coloring, and she saw, too, that though his hair was dark, his eyes were a light blue-green, the color of ice on a winter lake, and just as cold. He had a granite grimness, and she tried not to let her thoughts get into her voice; she wanted now only to leave this place.
“I have not lived with Redpipe and Grasshopper for long.”
His green eyes narrowed involuntarily. His thin lips parted in astonishment. “Then you are a slave?” He said it again, as though to make sure he had really heard her. “They have taken you as a slave?”
Now she was sure her tongue was wagging at both ends. She had talked more than had been called for. She wet her lips. “No, they adopted me. Grasshopper had the Becoming a Woman Ceremony. I am her daughter.”
“But where did you come from?”
It was unusual for a man to take so much time speaking with a woman he did not know, she thought. Why was he asking all these questions? Still, she could not keep her tongue quiet; he seemed to be somebody important, and so maybe had a right to stand and ask a woman questions.
“I came from the land of the Shining Mountains. I am of the People, the Shoshoni.”
“Oh, I want to know where you came from after that,” he asked, his face grave and rather forbidding.
Sacajawea felt a twinge of puzzled irritation. She had thought she was going to like the Mandans, but she did not like this one. She tried to be polite because he was a friend of Redpipe’s.
“I belonged to a Minnetaree from the big Hidatsa village. I was sold and traded at the spring fair.”
“And,” said Four Bears, “you know the story from that village about the Girl Who Loved a Dog?”
“Ai.”
His lips parted in what she supposed she would have to consider a smile. It was not a friendly smile, nor even an unfriendly one; it was simply the courteous movement of the lips that a man might make if he were amused by a child.
Sacajawea felt her irritation rising. Now that hethought he knew she was the Girl Who Loved a Dog, he was not going to trust her. She tried to hold on to her temper, but she could not help showing her annoyance. “Who were the people who belonged to the stone with the strange markings?” she asked rudely.
“You will be punished severely if you touch those things. I will not allow you to take the stone to some white trader who believes he can trade it for many beaver pelts in the north.”
“But I—” Sacajawea was startled, and her tongue now would not move. She could not imagine anyone bartering with these ancient tokens like vegetables and hides. To her they were valuable because they resided in the ark, reminding the villagers that they were not the first to live upon this land. She could not imagine why he had spoken in that manner to her.
“You are foolish this day,” he said. “Do not be foolish tonight, and enjoy the Buffalo Dance.” He turned to the open area.
Sacajawea bit her lip. She did not like Redpipe’s friend. She walked past him, hurrying when she saw Rosebud come through a crowd of people.
“Sacajawea! I saw you talking with Four Bears,” Rosebud said cheerfully. “I’m glad you are acquainted, although he looked as if one of his women had fed him bugbane for the morning meal.”
The girls began walking back to their lean-to.
“Is he always like that?” Sacajawea asked suddenly.
“Like what? You mean judging people before he knows them well? Ai, he is like that. That is what makes him a good chief. He is not surprised by anything. He already has guessed what his enemy will do. But he can be jolly. He is always kind to women and does not treat them as though they were only to wait upon him or other men.”
“I cannot believe that. Not the way he just acted here.”
“Well, I’ll tell you a story that Grasshopper tells about him. One day Four Bears lifted me high on his shoulder and gave me a braid for each hand. I was only a little girl then. He said ‘Tchtch,’ the sound that starts horses, and he pranced. I felt shy and clutched him about the head with my arms, and everybody laughed.
Grasshopper came, and he stopped so she could reach me. She told me that my fingers had to be pried from the reins, his strong black braids!” She giggled. “A girl clinging shamelessly to the hair of a neighboring chief!”
“Does he remember?” asked Sacajawea.
“No, probably not. Girls are not so much to be remembered, or even talked about later. But my father, Redpipe, said that it showed Four Bears had a special bond for girls and his children would probably all be girls.”
“And so—”
“He has seven women and many papooses. They are all girls.”
Just before nightfall, Rosebud and Sacajawea followed at the correct distance behind Redpipe and Fast Arrow to the council area, where the tom-toms were already beating and the harps were twanging in anticipation of the Buffalo Dance.
“See that child’s hair—like milkweed fluff. It is unbelievable,” said Sacajawea, pointing to a towheaded girl running barefoot through the dust.
“And so, we told you to watch for such things here,” said Rosebud, smiling.
Sacajawea noticed that most of the men of the village were stripped down to breechclouts because of the heat. Each carried his bow and bag of arrows and a knife. Their women carried their buffalo headdresses. Many were moving toward the Medicine Lodge, on the right of the Council Lodge, where they would prepare themselves for the dance. Some other women pointed. Sacajawea followed their fingers and saw a pair of Mandans dancing alone. A sand devil rose up from the flat, open space, gathered a whirling cascade of sparks from the ashes of the fire, and showered them over the two dancers and their beautiful unsoiled tunics. They brushed at their dresses and stamped on the sparks with big, bare, bony feet. The feet were men’s feet.
Sacajawea asked, “Are they women?”
“Ai,” said Rosebud. “And then, no.”
Sacajawea said, “She looks like a man, and so does she.”
Then Rosebud said, “They are dandies. The Mandanscall them ber-da-shes.7 Don’t you know anything at all?”
“I know a man, and I know a woman.”
“So, he’s a woman of this village and so is the other one,” said Rosebud.
Sacajawea said, “I never knew there were people who could be both.”
“There are never many of them,”
said Rosebud.
Sacajawea watched, fascinated, as the dandies mounted dappled ponies and waved to their friends with fans made of turkey tail feathers. On the wrist of one was a whip and flybrush. They rode on saddles ornamented with porcupine quills and ermine tails. Their dresses were decorated with swansdown and quills from ducks.
“Would they rather be women?” asked Sacajawea.
“You do ask a lot of questions—just like Four Bears,” said Rosebud. She poked her foot into the dust. “I might as well tell you all I know because you will ask until I do. The boy is a dandy from the time he has his first dream. When he comes to the age for dreaming in the hills, he still dreams he wears a dress. His mother calls in four dandies if there are the sacred number of four in the village at the time; otherwise, she calls in enough old women who know the singing to make up the four. They sing all night over the boy while his mother or grandmother makes his tunic. In the morning he wears the tunic, dances the sacred number of times—four— around the fire of his lodge, then dances outside the door. He is now forever a dandy.”
“Strange,” said Sacajawea.
“To tell the truth now,” said Rosebud, “I think it is the mother who makes the dandy—a mother who has only one son, or a youngest son she might want to keep around camp. She can keep him from going to war or going to live with some girl. She starts on him when he is young, lets him sit like a woman beyond the time when he should be taught to sit like a man, teaches him to play with dolls and to think like a woman. She can teach him to talk like a woman and to dread things that men do—like hunting and war. Then the boy dreams he is a dandy. Ai! The mother can work on him until he can’t dream a man’s dream at all. Then all hecan do is stay at the village and take care of the women and children and worry about his beauty, smoking a pipe while he fans himself to sleep dreaming of beautiful tunics.”
Sacajawea was silent, thinking on all this.
Suddenly the flames of the center fire shot high and Mahtoheha, Old Bear, principal Shaman of the Rooptahee, began wailing in a fast, high crescendo that rapidly decreased until his voice died away.
A group of men who had gathered together in a close huddle moved off toward the Medicine Lodge.
“They are getting ready to start!” cried Rosebud.
“I can see,” said Sacajawea. They squatted down among the women, directly behind the men’s circle, where they could watch everything.
The Shaman came out of the Medicine Lodge with a buffalo head on his shoulders. The last rays of the sun were filtering over the arena, and Sacajawea caught Rosebud’s hand when twelve men, each wearing a buffalo head and carrying a favorite hunting bow or spear, began to dance. The drum became louder, the harpists twanged more strongly, and the rattle shakers began.
Because neither the Mandans nor the Minnetarees traveled long distances from their fortified villages for a buffalo hunt, they frequently resorted to this medicine to bring the migrating herds close to them. More warriors and more women and children came from the village to watch. Men stood around, wearing their headdresses, weapons in hand, ready to take the places of those who became too exhausted to continue. When a dancer reached the end of his endurance, he began bending his body lower and lower. Then one of the others would draw his bow and hit him with a blunt arrow. The man would fall to the ground like a wounded buffalo. Then he would be dragged out of the way by the bystanders, who would go through a pantomine of skinning and cutting him up just as a dead buffalo was handled. That dancer’s place would be taken by a new dancer.
Far into the night the dance would continue, to the sounds of the drums and the harp and the Shaman chanting, “Madoc Paho Paneta am byd dyawf buch,”“Great Spirit, forever thank you for bringing the buffalo.”
The sky had turned dark and the watchers on the high lodges had lit torches so the hunting scouts could see them when Redpipe left the dance and made his way to the lodge of Four Bears. His friend had insisted they eat together this night.
On a pole by the lodge entrance were whitened shields, quivers, scalps of warriors exposed as evidence of warlike deeds, and a medicine bag. Redpipe knocked loudly. A young woman came to the door and led Red-pipe to the inside, where he was seated upon a handsome robe. Four Bears nodded to his friend; he was seated on another robe close by. Another woman with a light tan, round face and merry gray eyes brought in woven rush mats, on which she placed a large clay bowl of roast buffalo ribs, a bowl of wild turnip flour pudding flavored with dried currants, and a clay tray heaped with pemmican and marrow fat. Beside the feast was laid a handsome pipe and a tobacco pouch filled with kinnikinnick.
Four Bears lit his pipe and after a few puffs presented it to Redpipe. No word had yet been spoken. With his knife Four Bears cut a small piece of meat and cast it into the fire, giving his thanks to the Great Spirit for food. Redpipe then drew out his own knife and began eating. The guest ate first, while the host sat by at the guest’s service, ready to wait upon him. Four Bears and Redpipe sat cross-legged. Four Bears cleaned the pipe, preparing it for another smoke. After it was filled he took out a dried beaver castoreum, the bitter, orange-brown substance from the animal’s perineal glands, and shaved off very thin pieces to add flavor to the tobacco. Then he sprinkled a pinch of powdered buffalo dung on top. Four Bears sat patiently with the prepared pipe in his lap, waiting for the right time to light it. His women were seated in silence around the sides of the lodge, waiting for their man’s orders. The small children were kept very quiet.
Redpipe finished his meal and reminisced with Four Bears while the latter ate. They continued amid clouds of smoke after the meal. Then Redpipe rose to leave, asking if Four Bears would come back with him to watch the remainder of the Buffalo Dance.
“Do not leave just yet,” said Four Bears. “I wish to make you a present of the pipe and the buffalo robe you are sitting on.”
Redpipe, his face expressionless, bowed his thanks and sat again upon the robe.
“We do not lie to each other,” said Four Bears.
“No.”
“Then I am glad I have the scar in my side where the Sioux arrow rested instead of going into your back. That was some battle, huh?”
“You have said that before. I have said before I am glad you saved my life,” said Redpipe. “You have something else on your mind, and it is hard to speak of, my friend.”
“You have a new daughter.”
“Ohhh. Ai, I have a new daughter. You think I would have been wiser to adopt a son? Ai. I suppose that is true. Women are not so valuable. They shed tears; they ask questions; they nag.”
“Your daughter is a former slave of the Hidatsas.”
“That is right. She is not Minnetaree, though; she is from the northern nation of Shoshonis.” Redpipe peered at his old friend, who only stared back, waiting for Redpipe to say more about his new child. “She has curiosity about things around her.”
“Ai!” agreed Four Bears. “Much for a woman. She is not restrained.”
“She is a joy to have around the lodge. She sings and learns quickly. Grasshopper, my woman, bestows much love on her. The child seems to need the love. She was not well when she came to us. The Hidatsas must have been heartless with her.”
“You speak with a straight tongue.” There was a glint of firelight in the blue-green eyes of the subchief.
“Why would I do otherwise with you, my friend?” asked Redpipe, puzzled by the conversation of Four Bears. He did not understand why his friend was interested in Sacajawea. She was just one more woman, and that was all Four Bears had in his lodge. He ought to be nearly surfeited by women by this time.
“I have met your daughter. I have spoken to her. Sheis not shy. She speaks back. She looked into the sacred ark and asked me about the ancient stone resting there.”
“Ai, I can believe that. She wants to know about all things.”
“There is a strange story going around about a young slave girl from the Hidatsas.”
Redpipe started, then he r
elaxed, waiting to hear what Four Bears had to say.
“The girl loved a dog more than her captors. The dog also loved her. He was like a guardian and saved her life on several occasions. It is said she could talk the wild dog’s tongue, like an animal. When the dog was killed, she mourned it as she would a relative. The spirit of the animal stood over the lodge she lived in, and to appease that spirit a shrine was built to honor it, a shrine of cast-off bones and meat, an actual rubbish heap!” There seemed to be an amused upturn to the mouth of Four Bears.
Redpipe listened carefully, wondering what this story had to do with him or his new daughter.
“The girl was a curse to her captors. They feared her power with the wild dogs. They thought she walked with spirits. She was to have been killed, but one who had befriended her sold her instead to an Ahnahaway in exchange for a caged crow. The Ahnahaway did not know how fortunate he was when he lost the girl to a Metaharta in a game of arrows.”
Redpipe was unable to speak. He had not heard the story before. “You speak with a straight tongue? This story is not some made-up thing?”
“There is no fork in my tongue,” Four Bears said.
“The story is unbelievable. Yet as I think slowly on it, I see that the daughter I have could have made friends with a wild beast. She is gentle and does not push herself with small children or even adults. She is straightforward and firm also. She is not devious. Yes, she is devious! She has put herself around my heart as if I had raised her from a small cub!”
The green-blue ice of Four Bears’s eyes were full of yellow sparks, and his mouth was curved upward. A chuckle came from deep in his belly. “Two grown men we are, sitting here discussing the behavior of a daughter. This is either for women to discuss, or to dismiss.
But we have been doing the talking—about a woman who is as nothing, really, not much use, except to keep one of our young men happy.” Again, Four Bears seemed to be laughing deep inside his belly.
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