“His butt is as shiny as mine,” Coyote reported with glee.
Heads Off proved quick to learn. By the time Cold Maker arrived in earnest, the hair-faced outsider could use sign-talk well and converse in the tongue of the People. He still spoke with an accent but was understandable. Coyote continued to instruct and inform the visitor.
It was known that Heads Off wished to return to his own tribe. It was simply too foolhardy to attempt in the winter moons, noted on the plains for unpredictable weather. So Heads Off waited, a little impatiently at times. When the band moved north in the Moon of Roses, White Buffalo supposed, Heads Off would move south, the direction from which he had come. That would be a time of mixed feelings. The People would regret the loss of easy procurement of meat when Heads Off was no longer there to kill buffalo. To White Buffalo’s way of thinking, however, that would be an opportunity to return to the traditional ways. He would no longer need to be concerned by any possible threat to his own prestige. Yes, it would be good to see the visitor go when the time came.
Meanwhile, the moons passed in winter camp, with gambling and smokes and storytelling. Heads Off participated, and his communication skills continued to improve. Coyote related that they had exchanged Creation stories and that Heads Off had reacted much as anyone else would in the telling.
“Is the Creation story of his tribe a good one?” asked White Buffalo.
“I have heard worse,” Coyote observed. “Their Great Father made First Man out of mud and breathed life into him. Then he gave the man a woman to live with.”
White Buffalo nodded.
“I must listen to it sometime.”
“He liked our story also,” Coyote went on. “I told him how we crawled out of the earth through the log.”
That had always been a favorite story of the People. They had lived in darkness, it was said, until they were summoned by a deity who seated himself astride a hollow cottonwood log. With a drumstick, he tapped on the log, and with each tap, another of the People crawled out into the sunshine. There was a joke involved in the telling. It was customary when a stranger was present to stop at that point in the story, hoping that the listener would ask the obvious question: Are they still coming out? No, said the standard reply. Alas, a fat woman got stuck in the log, and none has come through since. That is why we are a small tribe.
“Did you tell him about the Fat Woman?” asked White Buffalo.
“Yes,” chuckled Coyote, “but he did not understand it. Uncle, I am made to think that the tribe of Heads Off does not enjoy its religion very much.”
“Perhaps that is their way,” suggested the holy man.
“Maybe so,” Coyote pondered. “Maybe he would like to hear the Creation stories of the Growers. Did some of them not come up out of a great river?”
“I think so. Someone to the north of us… Mandans, maybe, crawled out much as we did, by climbing the roots of a large grapevine.”
“Ah, yes, I remember that one. A good story.”
It was still assumed that in the spring, when the People moved north to the Sun Dance, Heads Off would return to his own tribe. Despite the interesting contact for a few moons, White Buffalo continued to look forward to that event. It would be the time of returning to the old ways. The confusion of the strange medicine from outside would be finished, and it would be good.
There was still a question in White Buffalo’s mind, however, that refused to go away. Why? Why had he been given the vision of the elk-dog so long ago? When he first saw the animal in the flesh, he had known that it was the creature of his vision, and it seemed that all was complete. Yet there was something missing, something not quite right. Soon the hair-faced outsider would leave, and the great episode would be at an end. The holy man had already painted the event on the story skin. It was a figure of Heads Off, removing his headdress in the incident which had provided his name.
Still, something was missing, and White Buffalo could not think what it might be. There seemed, in the events of the past year, not enough importance to give meaning to the vision of his youth. Ah well, maybe he was only showing his age, the holy man pondered. The visions of youth are always bright with the promise of the future and become less important with the reality of the passing years. But he did not believe it. There was something, a purpose of some sort, he was sure. He had simply not seen it yet. Maybe he never would…. Heads Off and the elk-dog would be gone soon, and he, White Buffalo, would have missed the entire significance of this important event in the lives of the People.
He worried, prayed, and even discussed the matter with Crow. That was unsatisfactory because even with her keen insight and intuition, Crow had not seen the vision of the elk-dog. She could not understand.
It was now common knowledge, as the Moon of Greening changed the prairie almost before one’s eyes, that soon the People would start their move. Not everyone realized, probably, that Heads Off would be traveling in the other direction, but it was foremost in the mind of White Buffalo. He was wondering when Hump Ribs would announce… maybe he should go and talk to the chief.
These thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Coyote. The little man was laughing.
“Heads Off cannot leave us!” he announced with glee. “His elk-dog is pregnant!”
A mixture of emotion washed over the holy man. Regret that the incident of Heads Off’s stay would not be over. Relief that he might have the opportunity to solve the mystery. And many questions came to mind about elk-dog reproduction.
“What… how?…” he mumbled in surprise.
Coyote laughed again, the high-pitched animal chuckle of his namesake.
“I do not know all, Uncle,” he admitted. “Heads Off was very angry. I think the elk-dog may not travel well when it is near to birthing.”
More confusion whirled in the thoughts of White Buffalo. The elk-dog at first had been an almost supernatural creature in his mind. Now it was almost commonplace. Even the earthy process of reproduction marked it as a quite ordinary creature, though one with special talents. Why, then, why had he been subjected to the startling vision of the elk-dog so many summers ago? It must be something to do with the medicine of the elk-dog. Yet he had satisfied himself that the elk-dog medicine was not his medicine but that of Heads Off.
Aiee, every time he thought he had solved the mystery, there was a new twist to the path he was following. And such a ridiculous twist. Aiee! A pregnant elk-dog!
It was only half a moon later when the elk-dog gave birth to a black, furry creature with knobby legs and large curious eyes. Long Elk and Standing Bird were enthralled and in a short while were handling and stroking the small elk-dog. It was a source of much amazement to all. In a remarkably short time, the foal could lope alongside the mother.
According to Coyote, this event led to much indecision. Heads Off was undecided whether he could travel with the small elk-dog. Apparently there was some thought of killing or abandoning the foal to spare the mother the stress of nursing. In the end, Heads Off decided that such a thing would be unwise. This pleased Coyote greatly.
The visitor had still not chosen his path of action when the word came that the time to move was at hand. White Buffalo waited, with the old confusion of mixed feelings, to see what Heads Off would decide. In the end, with apparent reluctance, Heads Off mounted the elk-dog and followed the People, the small elk-dog scampering playfully alongside.
“Why does he do this?” the holy man asked Coyote as they walked.
“I am not certain. Maybe the elk-dog would not travel well with her young. It is a far journey that Heads Off must go.”
“But he goes with us?”
Coyote spread his palms, perplexed.
“We travel more slowly… alee, Uncle, I do not know. Who knows what a Hairface is thinking?”
So the confusion continued for the holy man. He still felt, somehow, that he was overlooking something. He would have been more comfortable if Heads Off had gone home to wherever his own tribe lived. But
again, that would not solve the question that still burned below the surface like hot coals deep in the ashes of an almost-dead campfire. Why was the elk-dog so important to the life of White Buffalo? He was a holy man of a small band of hunters belonging to a tribe that was not a great power on the plains.
A hundred times he almost convinced himself that the coming of the stranger, riding on an elk-dog, was an isolated incident. Heads Off would be gone as soon as the small elk-dog was able to travel well. The entire season of the elk-dog would be only a memory and a picture on the story-skin. Then why, he asked himself, was he given the vision, and the sense of the elk-dog’s importance? Once more, he would arrive at the same point with no apparent answer.
One further incident occurred which confused White Buffalo even more. The band was traveling without incident when one of the wolves trotted in to report that there were Head Splitters over the next ridge.
“They are traveling too,” he told Hump Ribs. “Women and children… it is as usual.”
Still, there was a thrill of excitement and potential danger that swept through the band like a chill wind. Children clung closely to their mothers, and men checked their weapons, all the while hoping they would not be used. Hump Ribs, Mouse Roars, and another warrior moved forward to the low ridge to meet the delegation from the enemy column. Coyote and White Buffalo followed closely, and the rest of the People grouped closely together some distance behind, protected by the rest of the warriors.
There were the usual greetings, small talk, and comments on the weather, carried on in hand-signs between the chiefs. Then an apparently meaningless observation by the enemy leader seized the holy man’s attention.
“I see,” signed the Head Splitter, “that you have an elk-dog.”
There was a moment of confusion, there being no standard hand-sign for “elk-dog,” but there was little doubt of meaning as the Head Splitter pointed to the animal. The mare was grazing calmly while Heads Off had dismounted to hold the rein.
“Yes,” Hump Ribs replied calmly, as if elk-dogs were an everyday sight, “it belongs to an ally who is spending the season with us.”
White Buffalo smiled to himself. Hump Ribs was certainly handling the situation well. Then a slight doubt arose in the back of the holy man’s mind. It concerned the Head Splitter’s attitude. The enemy chief had also tried to act as if elk-dogs were commonplace. This implied that the animal was not unfamiliar to him. As far as could be observed, this band of Head Splitters had no elk-dog, but they had seen them. This indicated, in turn, that there were more elk-dogs on the plains. The implications of this idea made the holy man’s thoughts whirl. What if the Head Splitters too could hunt as easily as the hair-faced outsider? They would become wealthy and powerful. And dangerous, more dangerous than before. The People might easily be driven from the Tallgrass Hills that had been their home for many generations.
Now White Buffalo was more confused than ever. This, perhaps, was the importance of the elk-dog vision. But how did the office of the holy man fit into this? He still did not understand.
39
The Sun Dance that year was memorable. The Southern band had much news to report at the Big Council, and Hump Ribs was equal to the task. He told the council in glowing terms of the elk-dog and of the powers of Heads Off with the lance. It was obvious that the Southern band was well fed and well dressed, and that the reason was the outsider and his hunting skill. Of course, each member of that band took pride in telling of their collective good fortune.
White Buffalo was quick to note the difference in the condition of the Southern band from the others’. The Red Rocks band, for instance, looked thin and ragged by comparison. They had eaten many of their dogs. The Eastern band had also seen better winters. Maybe, thought the holy man, the elk-dog was even more important than he had thought.
All of the People were fascinated by the elk-dog and her foal. All the bands had heard of these creatures, but none had seen them except the Red Rocks. They sometimes ranged far to the southwest and had encountered a band of strangers, they said, who possessed such an animal. It was used as a dog to carry packs, but they had not seen it ridden.
Because of the great interest, Hump Ribs, through Coyote, arranged for a demonstration of the hunt as carried out by the outsider. Heads Off was willing, and the wolves began to scout for buffalo. A small herd was located and arrangements made for an appropriate site where the spectacle could be well seen. White Buffalo took an active part in the preparation. How could he do otherwise? He must strengthen his own position by pointing out the effectiveness of his medicine in attracting the buffalo. Heads Off also seemed to take an interest in the preparations, as one should who wishes to show his medicine well, thought the holy man.
The meadow which had been selected was relatively long and narrow, bordered along one side by the stream, and on the other by the ridge where the People sat. From generations of hunting buffalo, the People understood the importance of quiet and concealment. Even so, there was a tension in the air as the first of the herd entered the meadow from the far end. White Buffalo found his palms sweating. The wary old cow in the lead paused, sniffed the air, and finally seemed to decide that the meadow was safe. She led the way, the other animals scattering to feed in the grassy flat.
Now Heads Off nudged his elk-dog forward from behind the shoulder of the hill. He chose a fat yearling bull and carefully moved toward it. A good choice, thought White Buffalo. That one will be excellent eating. It was a distinctive animal also, an odd mouse-colored hue, different enough to attract attention. Yes, a good choice.
The demonstration went extremely well. Heads Off pursued, and managed to drop his quarry directly in front of the party of warriors who sat on the ridge with the real-chief. A cheer of victory went up, a yell of triumph, led by the voices of the proud Southern band. Heads Off turned the elk-dog and rode slowly up the slope to face the assembled council. He lifted his lance.
“I give this kill,” he shouted, “to Many Robes, chief of the People!”
Aiee, what a clever thing, White Buffalo thought. This outsider understands the use of medicine. Possibly Coyote had suggested such a dedication, but no matter—it was good. That distinctive skin… no matter where Many Robes chose to use it, the robe would always recall Heads Off and the strength of his elk-dog medicine.
The rest of the annual celebration—the Sun Dance, with its prayers, sacrifices, and ceremonies—seemed almost an anticlimax now. The days were completed, and the People began to disperse to their separate areas for the season.
None could fail to note, however, as they went their separate ways, that the Southern band had grown. Seven lodges, with possibly ten hunters, counting young men still in their parents’ homes. Of course, White Buffalo observed, some were the opportunists, always ready to switch allegiance for some gain in social status. Everyone knew who these were.
But there were others whose reputations were above reproach. He noted Two Pines, of the Red Rocks, with his family. Another lodge appeared to be that of Two Pines’s daughter and her husband. Well, the Red Rocks had suffered. Not from lack of leadership, perhaps, but from the whims of fortune. They would be in a time of change, some seeking a band with a stronger chief. Such was the shifting of political prestige. These changes did take place, and White Buffalo was pleased that it was to the Southern band that the discontented were shifting. Sheer numbers would strengthen the band’s reputation.
Of course, he knew that it was largely the novelty of the stranger and the elk-dog that created the attraction. No matter. Once the newcomers became members of the band, even for a season, they would see the leadership of Hump Ribs. At least, the more desirable individuals would. It was a good feeling to see others wishing to join the Southern band. It had long been one of the weaker bands of the People. Now the prestige was moving their way, and it was good. Possibly, when Heads Off went to rejoin his own tribe, the numbers would shift away again. That was to be expected. Meanwhile, let the Southern band e
njoy the honor.
The hunting was good that season. Every lodge was able to store an adequate supply of food for the winter with the help of Heads Off. The young outsider seemed to enjoy using his skills for this purpose. But the time came when Heads Off announced that he must leave. The small elk-dog was growing rapidly, and Heads Off thought that it should travel well now.
There were many who were sad to see Heads Off go. Especially disappointed were the two young men who had spent so much time learning of the elk-dog. Strangely, though, the holy man found himself reluctant too. After the threat to his authority had been set aside, he had rather enjoyed the novelty of the elk-dog, as well as its efficiency. White Buffalo actually found himself wishing for Heads Off to stay. There would be great benefits from the elk-dog’s continued presence, not only to the Southern band but to the whole tribe. It was apparent that if Heads Off remained, there were now not one, but two elk-dogs. That would make the hunt even easier as the younger animal grew to maturity. Possibly Long Elk or Standing Bird could learn to ride and use the long spear. Already, Heads Off had allowed them to sit on the larger animal.
White Buffalo did not share these thoughts, even with Crow. A few moons ago he had actually considered killing the stranger, and now—aiee! It was a good joke on himself; unfortunately, one he could not share. Now he wondered if there might be some way he could prevent Heads Off’s departure.
As the season drew to a close, the preparations of Heads Off to depart neared completion. Finally, the actual day was decided. There were many who regretted this loss. Life had been much easier when the difficult part of the hunt had been carried out by the hair-faced newcomer.
The Changing Wind Page 24