The Changing Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  “All bets are no good!” cried one of the wagerers.

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  It was during the night that the rain came. Small Elk heard the dull plop of the first fat drops as they struck the lodge-skin. He was already awake, waiting. He had been sleeping the well-earned sleep of exhaustion when the distant mutter of Rain Maker’s drum roused him.

  “Listen!” said Crow Woman softly. “Do you hear it?”

  “Yes,” Elk whispered. “My vision… it was true!”

  “Your heart was good,” Crow stated simply, “and you made a good decision.”

  “I am glad that my father is not still angry.”

  “Your father is proud, Elk. Did you see how tall he stood as he danced?”

  “Maybe so. Crow, it hurt my heart to go against him.”

  “I know. But you were right, and he knows it too now.”

  “About the change in the wind,” he agreed, “some rain, maybe. But Crow, I do not know if the buffalo will come.”

  “One thing at a time,” said Crow Woman soothingly. “Listen. The rain comes.”

  At first there was only an occasional drop, plunking on the taut, dry lodgecover, but soon there were more, and then a constant drumming as Rain Maker seemed intent on making up for his summer absence. Real-fire flashed, illuminating the doorway and the smokehole. Then, a few counts later, the boom of the thunder-drum would shake the earth. Elk and Crow Woman snuggled together, reveling in the smell of rain and the storm’s cooling effect.

  The height of the booming thunderstorm moved on, leaving behind only the rain, a steady quiet patter that lulled the senses, soaking into the thirsty ground. In some seasons a storm of this kind in early autumn would bring the threat of a flash flood, sending the People scrambling to move the camp to higher ground. Not this time. The water would be quickly swallowed up by the great cracks in the earth. They had opened through the hot moons of the summer, widening as the hot winds dried and cracked the prairie. In some areas the yawning fissures were large enough to thrust an arm into or to present a hazard to walking. Now, with the moistening effect of the rain, soon there would be no wounds in Earth’s skin to remind them of the dreadful Year-of-No-Rain.

  By morning, the main part of the storm had passed. For a little while after daylight, the thinning patter continued. Then there was only the occasional drip of water from the trees. Children ran, shouting and splashing happily in the puddles, while adults spread their belongings to dry. The river was beginning to stir, the small rivulets between stagnant pools widening in a promise of normal flow to come.

  As the sun broke through clouds to the east, the medicine men stood on the hill behind the camp, evaluating the scene.

  “It is good,” pronounced White Buffalo.

  At no time did he ever mention their quarrel.

  In the glorious feel of this moist autumn morning, it was possible to see the change in the prairie—mostly a change in color. From the stark, sun-baked yellow-brown that had become so familiar, the general tone was now of green. Not the lush green of spring, but a mature green that would soon ripen into the yellows, pinks, and muted reds of autumn grasses. Here and there were autumn flowers, already striving for blooms to re-create before the dying of winter. Their golds and purples had seemed wilted and pointless. Now they blazed in all their glory, heralding the season.

  “It is good,” White Buffalo repeated.

  “Yes,” Small Elk agreed.

  “Now,” White Buffalo continued, “comes the greatest question. Will the buffalo come?”

  22

  When the scouts reported the approach of buffalo, the People accepted it almost as a foregone conclusion. There was very little surprise, only delight, at the good fortune that had come their way. It was seven days since the rain and the weather change that had broken the drought. Small Elk, in the minds of the Southern band, was responsible. He knew that his major part in the event had been to announce the change, not to cause it. In truth, the People might realize this too. But there was much of the spirit about the medicine man, secrets not revealed to ordinary mortals. This gave him the ability to foresee the future. This time, the young medicine man had boldly announced the coming of rain when there seemed no signs. He had even challenged his teacher. More importantly, he had been right. Small Elk’s prestige soared. Quiet discussions among the lodges suggested that possibly White Buffalo was past his prime, that he would soon step aside in favor of the young holy man. Had Small Elk not performed the ceremonies to bring rain? Aiee, the Southern band was fortunate to have reared such a man!

  By the time the buffalo came, morale was high. There was no longer any question whether the herds would come, only when. From hopeless despair to open optimism had been a matter of only a night’s rain, a few cool days, and a hint of green on the hills.

  There would be no individual hunting, at least at first. In a time when the survival of the entire band would depend on success, no individual had the right to threaten the success of the others. No one would disturb the herd until the council decided that the time was right, based on the advice and counsel of the medicine men. The kill must include enough animals for the entire band.

  Small Elk and White Buffalo went out together to view the approaching herd. Since the rain, the older man had undergone a great change. He no longer appeared so weak and frail. Much of his strength had returned with the life-giving moisture that had given a new strength to the world. With White Buffalo’s returning confidence, however, was a new respect for his apprentice. He now treated Elk almost as an equal. It may have been, in part, an effort to convince the People that there had been no real quarrel between them, only a professional disagreement. Regardless, the People saw their two medicine men as seers of great skill whose medicine was strong, and it was good.

  The two men crouched in a sumac thicket and surveyed the herd. It was half a day’s travel away, and at the slow rate at which the grazing animals usually moved, they would not approach for a day or two. One thing was immediately obvious. This was not a great seasonal herd of many thousands.

  “There are only a few hundred animals,” Small Elk observed.

  “Yes, but we had none before,” his father reminded him.

  They watched for a little while the excruciatingly slow movement of the leading edge of the herd. It was like pouring honey from a gourd on a cold morning, a motion barely perceptible.

  “They move in the valleys,” Small Elk observed.

  “Yes. It will be wetter there, and the grass will be better.”

  They studied the direction of the buffalo’s progress. It would be necessary to surround the herd partially, so that the hunters, all shooting at once, could bring down several animals. Small Elk studied the roll of the land and the herd’s movement. This herd, a group which had split off from the main herd during the migration, would move steadily southward. It would reach a suitable place to winter and stop there, much as the People did to establish winter camp.

  A long line of geese went honking past high overhead, sounding much like barking dogs in the distance. Elk wondered if they too made a kind of winter camp somewhere far to the south. He turned his attention again to the buffalo, trying to estimate their direction of movement. It would be basically south, with some variation, depending on the gently rolling hills. Tomorrow they would be on an open flat, there to the northwest. It was wide and level, with no places to hide a hunter. Certainly, the grass was not tall enough this season to be a practical concealment. Another day south would bring the herd to rougher country, approaching the river west of the camp. At that point was an abrupt bluff, a cliff that dropped away from the flat grassland to jumbled rocks below. It was too steep to descend, so the herd would move in one direction or the other to find an easier slope.

  They would probably not move in the direction of the village. The scent of man was there. The herd would shift to the west to avoid the precipice. In that direction was rocky broken ground with many hiding-place
s. Even better, the slight breeze, if it held, was from the northeast, carrying the scent of the hidden hunters away from the herd. It was good, except for a problem or two. The hunters could easily be in position by that time, but the first animals to enter the rocky ravine would be alarmed by the man-scent. They would retreat back into the open prairie and be lost. There should be a way to put the herd where it would be easy to approach and yet ensure that there would be no flight. How to use the man-scent, and yet not cause a stampede… or maybe stampede into the ravine, where they would be slowed in their flight, long enough to shoot, and shoot again.

  He studied the distant terrain with this in mind. Yes, if the herd was gently moved, by careful use of men showing themselves upwind… if they could be made to approach the cliff at about the gray boulder near the rim, and then turned west into the ravine… How, he wondered, could they be made to approach the right spot to turn?

  “Father,” he said suddenly, “do you think the calfskin will work now?”

  “Maybe,” answered the old man cautiously. “It is better in spring, when there are calves. Why?”

  Quickly, Small Elk outlined his idea. His father’s eyes widened.

  “Aiee! It is very dangerous, Elk.”

  “Not really, Father. And if it is successful, our kill will be great.”

  “But if they run in the wrong direction?”

  “A few will still have a chance at a shot. Will you help me? Dance the Buffalo Dance?”

  White Buffalo paused only a little while.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “But we must hurry. Come, we will talk to Short Bow and Broken Horn.”

  It was a busy night. Men, women, and children were kept from sleep to accomplish the tasks that must be ready by daylight. When the sun rose, all was ready, the hunters in position in the ravine. A few men had spent most of the night circling far to the north, to approach the herd from that side. They would show themselves from time to time at a distance, just to remind the buffalo of their presence and keep the animals moving in their generally southern direction.

  The day dawned crisp and clear, bright golden sunlight streaking the prairie. Dense plumes of mist rose from the surface of the river below to hang like a furry white robe over the water. The creatures of the day were beginning to stir. An owl, who had stayed out too long, made his way across the grassy flat, pursued by a trio of noisy crows. A great blue heron sailed majestically toward the river and glided out of sight below the bluff. Small Elk had always marveled that a creature so ungainly and awkward-appearing on land could be full of grace and beauty on the wing.

  He turned to watch the approaching herd from behind the boulder where he crouched. He carried no weapon but wore the calfskin, firmly tied in place with its thongs. The skin of the animal’s head covered his own, and the legs were fastened to his wrists and ankles. Now, as the herd approached, he must concentrate. It was time to get inside the heads of the herd.

  He focused his attention on one old cow in the forefront of the advancing animals. She appeared to be the leader, picking out the path. She was nervous, probably from the knowledge of something behind. Yes, now he began to feel the cow’s concern. The hunters who had circled behind had shown themselves, and the entire herd was aware and alert, moving a little faster, but not yet alarmed. The leading animals were now approaching the critical point, where the plan would depend on Small Elk’s ability to feel their thoughts. At any moment, they should smell the smoke and man-scent from the village. Yes… now! The wary old lead cow stopped suddenly and raised her head for an instant. Elk knew that she had caught the scent-also that it was not an immediate threat but a matter for caution. Nervously, the cow shifted direction, moving a trifle toward the west and the ravine.

  To keep the main body of the herd moving in that direction, the People had spent a good part of the night carrying and placing objects from their lodges in a long line. Several hundred paces the line stretched, from open prairie, angling toward the bluff. It consisted of old robes, rawhide packs, worn-out buckskin garments too useful to discard. Anything long-used that would carry the scent. This assortment of items would not, of course, stop the buffalo. That was not the intent. When they became excited, there would be no stopping the rush. The immediate goal was to shift their direction ever so slightly, to place the herd’s leaders precisely at the right point when the moment came.

  Now the lead cow and her companions felt better, having angled away from the man-smell. They moved on, into the ever-narrowing trap, even pausing to graze a little. A long bowshot from the cliff’s edge, Elk felt a sense of unrest among the leaders. Something was not quite right. They stared southward and sniffed the air, trying to make up for limited eyesight with their keen sense of smell. But the breeze continued to favor Elk’s undertaking. What little stirring there was had continued to move from the northeast, pushing the herd almost unconsciously to the southwest, toward the angle where the ravine met the cliff’s edge. His main concern was whether they would come close enough.

  The lead cow now decided that something was wrong. She circled, snorting nervously, turning back toward the prairie. No, Elk thought, she must not do that! Tense and sweating, even in the chill autumn air, Elk stepped from behind his boulder and assumed the position of the calf whose skin he now wore. A few steps into the open… now! He voiced the bleat of a calf in trouble, the tremulous scream for help that would strike to the heart of every mother in the herd. In an instant, a dozen alarmed cows came thundering toward him. It was an alarming thing, seeing that charge and knowing that the edge of the cliff was only a step or two behind him. He bleated in terror again, and the rush came on. He hoped that the hunters in the north end of the ravine understood their part in this scheme.

  At the last possible moment, Small Elk dodged out of the path of the thundering animals and took refuge behind his boulder. The confused animals slid to a stop, almost at the rim, and milled uncertainly, unsure at the calf’s sudden disappearance. Elk crouched there, wondering what they would do if they discovered him. But the great shaggy heads turned this way and that in confusion. The notoriously poor eyesight of the buffalo was helping him. In addition, his scent was obscured, not only by the herbs he had used to anoint himself but by the cloud of dust raised by pounding hooves.

  What was wrong? The moments dragged past. The hunters to the north should have acted by now.

  Then he heard it. A chorus of yells in the distance, followed by a low rumble as the herd began to run. Ah, finally! He could visualize the men, jumping from concealment to startle the herd. Shouting, flapping robes, swinging their arms, and rushing forward as if in attack. The buffalo, if they behaved as he expected, would come crowding down upon the ones near the rim. Their course as they ran would be somewhat limited by the man-smell of the carefully placed objects on the east and on the west, by the ravine where bowmen lay hidden. The crushing force of the herd would push down the narrowing course….

  The thunder was louder now. The animals that he could see were milling in panic. A few broke away toward the east, but the smells from the camp would soon deter them. Others tried to escape into the broken rocks of the ravine to the west. Elk could see that direction quite clearly. Hunters rose up, yelling and shooting. The animals tried to turn back toward the open prairie but were met by the oncoming rush. There was a crash as the main portion of the herd smashed into those near the cliff’s rim. Animals fell, to be trampled into the dust by those coming on. The herd was pushing, thrusting, running in panic. Elk saw the first cow, helplessly struggling, go over the edge. Another balanced for a moment, scrambling to survive, then toppled and fell. Yet another, and then the full force of the rush came, dozens of them, realizing their doom at the last moment but pushed by the relentless thrust from behind. It was like a gigantic brown waterfall, with death waiting at the bottom.

  Then, suddenly, it was over. The survivors split into smaller groups and broke away, east or west, it did not matter now. People were rushing forward, laughing and
cheering the success of the hunt. From the direction of the village, women and children began to straggle out to begin butchering and preparing the meat.

  Small Elk stood up and began to untie the thongs of the calfskin. It was over. Finally, the drought and the threat of famine were at an end.

  23

  The thunder died, to be replaced by shouts of joy and cheers of triumph. But there was to be mourning too.

  “Where is Antelope? I cannot find him!”

  “He was in the ravine. Otter, did you see him?”

  “There he is! What about those on the north end?”

  “They are safe.”

  Confusing reports and rumors flew back and forth as relatives searched for missing hunters in the aftermath of the carnage. The men from the north end came straggling in. The scattered survivors of the herd, they reported, had fled out into the prairie where they were grouping together again. Barking Fox was dead, tossed and gored by an aggressive cow in her escape. The family of Fox began the Song of Mourning as they started out to retrieve the body. Short Bow went with the mourners to show them the way.

  The task of skinning had already begun when Cat Woman, wife of the Southern band’s leader, began to inquire as to his whereabouts. She had at first supposed him to be assisting others who might be in need of help.

  “Small Elk, have you seen Broken Horn?” she inquired.

  “Of course, Mother, he was directly opposite me, where the ravine meets the cliff, there.”

  “I mean now, since the rush of the herd.”

  “I… I am not sure. Maybe… come, we will ask Black Bear. He was on that side.”

  “… not since the herd went over,” Bear admitted. “He was on my left, and I saw him stand to shoot.”

  “Aiee, Broken Horn is too old to do these things,” his worried spouse fretted. “He thinks he has to show the young men.”