The Changing Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  When the two young people next came to the lodge, White Buffalo could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. As soon as possible, he contrived to draw Coyote aside.

  “Let us walk,” he suggested.

  The two men strolled out of the camp toward the crest of a low rise a little distance away. Coyote asked his usual questions, his casual manner concealing his depth of thought and the solemn character of the inquiries.

  “Uncle, the People do not eat bears, but some others do. Why?”

  “Because… well, that is our way.”

  “Yes, Uncle. But why is it our way?”

  “It has always been so, since Creation.”

  Coyote walked in silence a little way. He appeared to realize that questions like this could irritate the holy man.

  “Some were told to eat bears at Creation, but we were told not to do so?” he asked cautiously.

  “Yes,” White Buffalo stated crisply. “It is the way of things.”

  “What would happen if one of the People did eat bear meat, Uncle?”

  “That would bring very bad happenings.”

  “On the eater, or on the People?”

  “Both, maybe. Aiee, Coyote, you ask questions that are too serious. Only after much instruction—”

  White Buffalo paused, aware that he was about to imply too much. He tried to relax and remain calm.

  “But let us not speak of bears, my son,” he said in a kindly voice. “Your questions do, however, remind me of why I asked you to walk with me.”

  Coyote interrupted briefly to point to a pair of young foxes a bowshot away, rolling and playing like puppies in the sun.

  “Yes,” White Buffalo nodded, smiling in spite of himself. He was slightly irritated by the distraction. But, this very character of young Coyote, the inquisitive observation, was the very thing that made him a likely apprentice.

  “Coyote, let me speak with you of a serious matter. Here, sit.”

  He pointed to a ledge of white stone near the rim of the hill, and the two men sat down. White Buffalo hurried into his subject, before some other sight or sound could distract young Coyote.

  “I am made to think,” he began cautiously, “that you have the gift of the spirit. I could teach you my medicine, you and Big-Footed Woman, to use for the People, after me.”

  Coyote was silent for a little while and looked unusually serious.

  “You would allow me to learn your medicine, Uncle?”

  “Of course. That is what I am suggesting.”

  “I thought you did not even like me.”

  White Buffalo brushed this aside.

  “I was offended when you stole my apprentice. But now you bring me another. Yourself. You have the gift. Now, when do you plan your marriage?”

  “I… I do not know, Uncle.”

  “Well, no matter. We will continue instruction, and when that happens, so be it!”

  Coyote appeared troubled.

  “Uncle… I am pleased that you think well of me and would take me as apprentice, but…”

  “Wait!” White Buffalo said quickly. “You do not need to give an answer now. Think about it; talk with your wife-to-be.”

  “I have thought already, Uncle. I cannot do this.”

  “But…” the holy man sputtered, “you have the gift; you love the learning… you could be a great holy man.”

  “That is true,” Coyote stated, with no modesty whatever, “but the task is too hard. No, I do not want to take the responsibility. I must refuse the gift.”

  White Buffalo stared at him in amazement. Slowly, the realization dawned.

  “You knew,” he said in astonishment.

  “Of course. I have known for a long time,” Coyote said calmly. “And I knew that I must refuse. My way is not to work that hard. Maybe it is like bearmeat, Uncle. Some eat it, some do not. And I am made to think that I should not do this.”

  White Buffalo stared at the younger man. He felt a strange mixture of emotions. Surprise, anger, disappointment. He argued, cajoled, almost pleaded, but Coyote was firm.

  How ironic, thought White Buffalo. He had searched for years, almost but never quite finding an apprentice worthy to become his successor. Now he had found one who seemed already to have the gift of the spirit and to recognize it. How tragic to have him then reject it.

  Coyote rose and stretched.

  “No, Uncle,” he said. “I am honored, but it is not to be. I am not a White Buffalo. I am only Coyote, the laugher on the hills and the teller of small jokes.”

  Part III

  Two Medicines

  34

  White Buffalo sat in the sun in front of his lodge and leaned against the willow backrest. The years had continued to pass more swiftly, and he had still found no successor to whom he could teach his medicine. It was still a worry to him, but he had nearly decided that this was meant to be. Through the passing of the seasons, year after year, he had searched, but no suitable apprentice had been found. The likeliest would have been Coyote, although his wife, Big-Footed Woman, could easily have been the one. But both had rejected the gift, and they had married.

  Aiee, that seemed only a short while ago, but it was many years. Their lodge had several children, and the eldest were now of fifteen or sixteen winters. That seemed hardly possible. How could it be, when he, White Buffalo felt no different? He had sometimes felt old then, and he did now, sometimes. At these times he worried more about a successor, but the years had numbed his anxiety about it. Maybe the Southern band was simply destined not to have a holy man… or woman. That would be unfortunate, but in the long view, it probably made no difference. If the Southern band died out entirely, time would go on. One band had been destroyed many generations ago and was now remembered only by the empty space in the council circle.

  At first, when Coyote had rejected the gift of the spirit, White Buffalo had been furious, then hurt. It was some time before the holy man had been able to converse with Coyote without becoming angry all over again. Slowly, however, he had been able to realize that the decision had been Coyote’s to make. He was helped greatly in this by the wisdom of Crow and Big-Footed Woman.

  Slowly, he came to tolerate, even appreciate, the presence of Coyote. In a year or so, the two men had become close friends. There was a great difference in their ages, but this was more than overcome by the communication of their spirits. Coyote continued to have a vast respect for the knowledge and skill of the holy man. White Buffalo, in turn, increasingly appreciated the whimsical wisdom of Coyote. The young man had an uncanny knack of cutting cleanly through to the heart of any matter. But it was done in an unassuming, jocular way. No one could take offense.

  White Buffalo noticed this especially when Coyote would speak in council. These occasions were rare, because the young man was not inclined to venture opinions. Usually, his comments were phrased in the form of questions, allowing others to think that they had thought of the solution themselves. It was a strange but quite effective form of leadership.

  One incident was fixed in White Buffalo’s memory. There had been a heated discussion over the move to winter camp. The weather had remained warm and pleasant, and the hunting was good. There was much reluctance to move yet, though it should have been time to go. Hump Ribs, unwilling to risk an unpopular decision, had called a council. The discussion was going poorly, popular opinion leaning against the wisdom of an immediate move. Finally Hump Ribs, frustrated by the opposition, had looked around the circle.

  “Coyote,” he said, “you have not spoken.”

  Coyote looked startled, as if he had been roused from half-sleep.

  “What?” he stammered. “Oh, I was listening to the geese.”

  He pointed overhead, and in the sudden silence could be heard the honking cries of southbound flocks.

  “How do they know,” Coyote asked, as if to himself, “when Cold Maker is coming?”

  There was a murmur, and the discussion was resumed, but the tone was different. Coyote’s simple question
, actually a diversion, had put the problem into its proper place. White Buffalo chuckled to himself. Soon the vote had turned, and the question was not whether to move but how soon. No one seemed to realize that the tide of opinion had been turned by Coyote’s simple ploy. But Hump Ribs knows, thought the holy man. He did this intentionally This observation pleased White Buffalo greatly. It showed the skill and wisdom of the chief, and of young Coyote.

  Through the years, this odd combination of leadership and wisdom had worked well. Probably, few people were aware of the process. Coyote was content not to be a leader but to help quietly to bring about that which was for the good of the band. People laughed at his droll remarks but valued his counsel and appreciated it. Their appreciation was shown by gifts of meager value. A shared haunch of meat, an extra skin. The lodge of Coyote and Big-Footed Woman was never hungry, and the mention of the name of Coyote always brought a smile.

  Under the leadership of Hump Ribs, the Southern band had remained stable, neither gaining nor losing lodges. It was respected by the other bands, though others were larger and carried more prestige.

  The Southern band, however, continued to be a favorite target of Head Splitter raids. The run-and-hide tactics of Hump Rib’s chieftainship had been only moderately effective. Gray Wolf had mellowed not at all and led an attack whenever opportunity offered. The enemy chief, it seemed, still held a grudge, a bitterness from long ago, when he had been shamed by Hump Ribs and the other warriors of the People.

  When White Buffalo saw Coyote approaching on this pleasant summer afternoon, he perceived immediately that something was wrong. The usually placid face of Coyote was drawn with care. He approached the seated holy man and sat down, puffing just a bit from his exertion.

  “Ah-koh, Uncle,” he said.

  “Ah-koh, Coyote,” the holy man answered.

  He assumed that there was a matter of some concern—probably the Head Splitters, though no one else seemed to know of it.

  “There is some difficulty, my friend?” he asked.

  Coyote looked at him sharply.

  “Do you know of something, Uncle?”

  “No. You seem concerned.”

  “Oh. I do not know, Uncle. It is something to talk of. You may know some meaning.”

  “Coyote, what are you talking about?”

  “Strangers, Uncle. From the south. A man from one of the Caddo tribes stopped with us this morning. I talked with him at length.”

  “Are these strangers Caddo?”

  “No. They are like gods, it is said. They come from far away, no one knows where. Their skins are bright and shiny, and they are many. Too many to count.”

  “Aiee! What is their purpose?”

  “No one knows that either. But this Caddo said that some of his people were tortured and killed. That is why he came north.”

  “To escape?”

  “Yes, and to warn.”

  “But why should Caddo warn people of the Tallgrass country?”

  Coyote shrugged.

  “They felt it important. There is more, Uncle.”

  “More?”

  “Yes. It is said that these strangers have with them many dogs of great size.”

  “Dogs?”

  “Yes, Uncle. They carry burdens, and some of the gods ride on their backs.”

  “Nonsense! The Caddo tells tales.”

  “Yes, that was my thought. But he seems sincere. He says that some of those who first saw this thought that they were all one—a large body like a dog’s, but with the upper part of a man on the front.”

  “Surely that cannot be,” White Buffalo pondered. But his resolve was weakening. He was remembering some of the strange things he had seen on his vision quest long ago.

  “Probably that was only talk,” Coyote said, “and this man agrees. It is now known that it is a dog, ridden by these gods with shiny skins.”

  “Where were they seen?” asked White Buffalo.

  “They come from the southwest. Now they travel nearly straight north.”

  “And they still come? This way?”

  He had not quite understood the immediacy of the problem.

  “Yes, Uncle. They are maybe only six or seven sleeps away.”

  “Aiee! Does Hump Ribs know?”

  “I sent the Caddo to him.”

  Somehow, it seemed that Coyote always knew what was happening more quickly than anyone else. Of all the men in the band, how appropriate that the visitor had encountered Coyote.

  “It is good,” White Buffalo stated. “Now, my friend, there are things we must do.”

  He rose quickly, almost forgetting the little jab of pain that went through his knees when he moved quickly.

  “Come, I will go to Hump Ribs. You wait for me by the stream, there.”

  The Caddo visitor had already departed when White Buffalo tapped on the lodgeskin of the chief. He was beckoned inside, and for a little while talked earnestly with Hump Ribs. The story was much the same, that of the advancing party of gods. Hump Ribs was inclined to doubt the story of the traveler, but there was much that seemed convincing. Unless the Caddo was completely crazy, he must have a story of much importance. And the man had not in any way seemed crazy, Hump Ribs admitted.

  “So Coyote says also,” White Buffalo commented.

  “He talked to Coyote?”

  “Yes, Coyote sent him here.”

  “Ah, I see. That makes sense.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Nothing, for now. Send wolves, of course.”

  The holy man pondered a moment.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “That is good. But my friend, I am made to think that this is a very unusual occurrence,”

  “You have had visions?”

  “No, I have not tried yet. I will, of course, but meanwhile, our wolves should leave to begin their journey.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “Now, we must have their discoveries quickly. We may have to move the camp out of the gods’ path.”

  “Yes. I will have wolves waiting at places a sleep or two apart, to carry the word.”

  “Ah, that is good,” White Buffalo agreed. “One more thing… I would have Coyote go with the wolves.”

  “Coyote?” asked Hump Ribs in astonishment. “He is… well, my friend, he is not one of our ablest warriors.”

  “True,” agreed the holy man, “but he is one of our ablest thinkers.”

  Hump Ribs considered a moment.

  “Yes,” he said. “That is true.”

  “Just as you need warrior information, I need things of the spirit, and Coyote can observe those.”

  “Yes, it is good,” replied the chief. “Coyote does have that ability. Did you not once consider him as an assistant?”

  “Once, long ago,” White Buffalo said sadly. “He refused.”

  Hump Ribs laughed.

  “He is lazy,” he commented.

  “A little, maybe. But he is useful as he is. He does not want to lead but is a keen observer. We both use that to our advantage, my friend.”

  Both men chuckled.

  “Do you think this mission is too dangerous to send such a man as Coyote?” Hump Ribs asked.

  “I do not know. Maybe I will have more thoughts on this later. But for now, my chief, I am made to think that this event of the gods’ advance into our territory is too dangerous not to have a man like Coyote with the observers. Now I must go.”

  He rose and made his way to the river where Coyote waited. Quickly, he outlined the plan.

  “Anything you see, or even think, I want to know,” he said. “If it is important enough, you come back yourself. If it is only about their location and direction, Hump Ribs’s wolves will tell us.”

  White Buffalo felt that he was not expressing well what he wished to say, but Coyote nodded in apparent understanding.

  “I will do so, Uncle.”

  Coyote moved toward his lodge to gather a few supplies, and White Buffalo watched him go. The little man�
��s casual gait belied the importance of his mission. The holy man could not have explained it, but he somehow felt that these events were a most important turning point in the history of the People. Whether for good or bad, he did not know.

  35

  It was much as the Caddo had told it, Coyote reflected, watching the moving column in the distance. There was a very large number of the big dogs the man had described. Some were indeed ridden. Not only that, they could be ridden at great speed, much faster than a man could run. For this reason, the wolves of the People had elected to stay some distance away and watch only the column as a whole.

  The gods were very dangerous according to a group of wolves whom they had encountered from another tribe. These warriors told, in sign talk, of capture and torture. None survived capture, it seemed. And the gods moved on, northward, relentlessly, day after day. Their purpose was still not known.

  Coyote viewed this entire venture with a confusion of emotion. His curiosity told him to get closer, to learn of these strange beings. His natural reluctance to expose himself to danger, or even much exertion, told him to stay away. He wondered sometimes what he would do if suddenly confronted by one of the gods astride his great dog and carrying the long spear that the wolves had noted. Coyote would prefer to run in such a situation, but he was not very good at running. The thought crossed his mind that he could leave the wolves to return to the band and report his impressions to White Buffalo. He was only two sleeps away. But his natural curiosity won out, and Coyote stayed.

  It had been decided not to move the camp. The path of the gods would bypass the area if they continued on their present course. That was the situation as told to the Southern band by word of mouth. Coyote, however, hearing the news from the messengers who shuttled back and forth, read a deeper meaning into such a decision. He knew that White Buffalo and Hump Ribs would be in constant communication. They would know from the messengers that an attempt to move would be useless. The Southern band, with lodges and baggage, would be more conspicuous, and more vulnerable, on the move. With the speed of travel that the gods possessed, the People could not escape anyway. Coyote knew this, but it was reassuring to most of the People if their leaders merely announced that they would not move. It would be a narrow miss at best, Coyote realized, if the column continued as it was, and he was concerned for the safety of his wife and family. Well, another day, and he could go to them. And, of course, to the holy man, to tell him of the amazing things he had seen.