The Changing Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  “One more hunt, Heads Off,” some of the young men requested. “Let us go into the winter with plenty.”

  “It is good,” Heads Off agreed. “Tomorrow, a last hunt, and then I must go.”

  White Buffalo rose early and watched the hunters go out. He wished them well and performed the ceremony for success in the hunt. But then, after their departure, the holy man performed a private ceremony outside the camp, unknown even to Crow. He burned fragrant herbs, chanted, and prayed that the stranger who had become one of them not depart. He wondered if this complete reversal of position might displease the spirits but decided that he must risk it.

  It was later in the day that White Buffalo saw Heads Off ride in, jerking the elk-dog savagely to a stop. He was puzzled. Word had been sent back that the kill had been made, and the butchering parties had already gone out. Why, then, was Heads Off so furious? The young man stripped saddle and bridle from the horse, released it to graze, and stalked away to be alone. In his present mood, no one dared speak to him. Curious, White Buffalo waited.

  Sun Boy had passed the top of his run before people started to trickle back to the camp, laden with meat. Impatiently, White Buffalo waited, wondering what event had provoked the rage he had seen in Heads Off Finally, Coyote approached and came straight to the lodge of the holy man.

  “What is it?” White Buffalo demanded. “Heads Off came back, and—”

  “Aiee, Uncle, he was mad with rage! He broke his spearpoint.”

  “Broke it? But it is made of the shiny metal… it can be broken?”

  “Yes! It struck a bone and snapped. It was maybe this long, you know, and broke near the middle.” Coyote indicated with his hands. “My wife found the broken point as she butchered and gave it to him, but it appears that it is useless.”

  “But spearpoints do break,” White Buffalo observed.

  “Yes, but he has no other.”

  White Buffalo began to understand. The weapon had been part of the medicine of the elk-dog. It was different from any other weapon and essential to the hunt as Heads Off performed it. Without it, he could not hunt, and… aiee, without it, Heads Off was virtually unarmed!

  “I will talk to Stone Breaker,” Coyote said. “Maybe he can make a new point.”

  During the next days, it was quite unpleasant to be around Heads Off. It was a little while before the others realized the gravity of the loss. Stone Breaker did indeed craft a magnificent spearpoint of the finest blue-gray stone. Some said that it may have been his finest work yet. However, when Stone Breaker and Coyote took the point to give to Heads Off, the young man’s reaction was quite irrational. He shouted angrily at them in his own tongue and seized the carefully crafted spearpoint in a rage. He threw it into the river, accidently cutting his finger on its sharp edge as he did so. This, of course, further angered him, and they felt it best to let him alone.

  In a few days, when his rage quieted, Heads Off did seem apologetic. Stone Breaker managed to recover the spear point from the crystal-clear stream, but he and Coyote decided to wait awhile before approaching the subject again.

  Heads Off made several attempts to repair the broken point. Coyote faithfully reported to White Buffalo on these occasions. The metal could be heated in a fire until it glowed red, like hot coals in the ashes. Heads Off then tried to make the broken parts stick together by pounding them with a rock. Coyote had assisted him in this, but each effort was a failure.

  “Once, I thought it would work,” Coyote related. “It did stick together until he tapped it on the ground, and then it snapped again.”

  Finally, Heads Off gave up the effort at repair. He remained withdrawn and depressed, and no one had summoned courage to suggest the stone point again.

  “Has he said what he will do?” asked White Buffalo.

  “No,” Coyote answered, “but what can he do? He cannot travel without a weapon, so he must stay another winter with us.”

  White Buffalo said nothing. He was a bit apprehensive as he thought of his secret ceremony. He had attempted to cause Heads Off to remain with the People and had succeeded. At least, it appeared so; yet something had gone wrong. The thing that had made Heads Off stay was the loss of his spearpoint, part of his elk-dog medicine.

  White Buffalo’s heart was heavy because the possibility that he had caused this dilemma nagged him. His prayer had been granted, that Heads Off remain with them. But there was this cruel twist. The medicine, the reason they desired Heads Off to stay, was gone. Now he could not leave, but there was no longer a purpose for wishing him to do so. The secret ceremony had been too risky, White Buffalo decided. He had overstepped his authority, had misused his medicine.

  40

  It was spring before Coyote managed to coax Heads Off into testing a spear with the stone point. Stone Breaker flatly refused to offer anything to Heads Off again but agreed to cooperate with Coyote. With the skill of a weapons expert, he assembled a spear, using the broken weapon as a pattern. Coyote had quietly borrowed it for the purpose. The new weapon was tipped with the recovered stone point, carefully scraped and smoothed for balance.

  “Its heft is as good as his own,” insisted Stone Breaker, still somewhat disgruntled by the rejection of the past autumn. “He should appreciate this, but I will not offer it to him.

  “No, no,” Coyote agreed. “I will do that. You have done your part well.”

  So it was that Heads Off, convinced by Coyote that he had nothing to lose, agreed to try the new lance. He made his kill flawlessly and seemed a new man. He was almost jovial and made a great show of thanking Stone Breaker for his efforts.

  But now, White Buffalo observed, the same dilemma had returned. Now, with a weapon, the rearmed Heads Off was ready to depart. The solution came about in a very frightening and unexpected way.

  The holy man was relaxing in the warm sun of the Growing Moon when it happened. He heard a cry of alarm and looked up to see a dozen Head Splitters mounted on elk-dogs, charging into the village. It was terrifying, happening so rapidly that no one had time to think. The total surprise and the unfamiliar appearance of attackers on elk-dogs caused complete and utter confusion. Very few even tried to resist as the enemy swept through, clubbing and spearing, riding boldly through the camp, yelling their bloodcurdling falsetto war cry.

  There were some exceptions. He saw one aged warrior, Black Dog, step calmly into the path of the charging horsemen, singing the death song:

  The grass and the sky go on

  forever,

  But today is a good day

  to die.

  Black Dog loosed his first arrow, which knocked one of the leading warriors from his horse as if swatted by a giant hand. The old man managed to shoot again, but White Buffalo could not see whether the arrow struck. Black Dog was overrun and trampled beneath drumming hooves.

  The People were running in terror, fleeing for the questionable safety of the river and its fringe of timber. Resistance was still thin. He saw Heads Off running toward the fight, pausing to grab the lance. Mouse Roars emerged from his lodge and began shooting calmly at the invaders. A warrior came swooping down on Heads Off, club swinging, and an arrow from the bow of Mouse Roars struck the rider down. Heads Off turned.

  Both he and White Buffalo saw the young chief on the spotted horse at the same moment. Horsemen were riding among the lodges, striking or thrusting at targets of opportunity. As Mouse Roars readied his arrow for another shot, the horse came stepping quietly from behind his lodge. It was a beautiful creature, white with reddish rosettes over the entire body, spots no larger than a man’s palm. The rider urged the animal toward the unsuspecting back of Mouse Roars. White Buffalo tried to yell a warning but could not make himself heard amid the screams and war cries. Heads Off was running forward, but too late. The Head Splitter’s club swung, and Mouse Roars slumped forward, his weapon under him.

  The attacker turned, and as the wife of Mouse Roars rushed from the lodge to kneel beside him, the horseman circled, looking at the mo
urning wife. He seemed to consider, to decide that the woman was not young enough, or perhaps not pretty enough, to be worth abducting. The great stone club swung again, and she fell across the body of her husband.

  Now Heads Off rushed forward and charged at the horseman, screaming a challenge. The young chief reined toward him and kicked the horse into -a run, his club whirling for a death blow. In the space of a heartbeat, it was over. White Buffalo had expected to see the form of Heads Off fall to join those of the others, but it was not so. Heads Off had dodged the swing of the club and had thrust his buffalo lance up over the elk-dog’s shoulders into the belly of the attacker. He had grabbed the elk-dog’s rein, and was hanging on as the animal reared and plunged, bucking frantically to dislodge the flopping corpse on its back.

  The horse quieted, and now Heads Off was shouting to the others to catch the loose elk-dogs. A few warriors were still shooting, but the battle was over. The Head Splitters were retreating after the death of their leader but leaving a village strewn with the dead. White Buffalo saw a small girl, thrown across the shoulders of a Head Splitter’s elk-dog, screaming and struggling as she was carried off. A riderless horse thundered past and clattered across the gravel bar at the river.

  People were returning or emerging from lodges where they had hidden, and the wailing dirge of the Song of Mourning began to rise here and there. Standing Bird stood, numbly staring at the bodies of his parents. Others were frantically calling names of missing loved ones.

  A hastily called count indicated that there were three Head Splitters dead but seven of the People. In addition, it appeared that four were missing and presumed abducted. One was a boy of about ten summers; two were small girls. The fourth was Tall One, the oldest daughter of Coyote. She had run forward to stop the abduction of one of the younger children, and the abductor, probably pleased with his good fortune, had taken her instead.

  Tall One had recently developed into a strikingly beautiful young woman with the intelligence and poise of her mother. It had seemed only natural to those who observed that Heads Off had been attracted to her, living in the same lodge. Still, nothing had come of it. Perhaps Heads Off himself had not realized it until now, when the girl was taken. But it did explain his active participation in the hastily held council.

  The discussion was loud and argumentative, largely about what should be done, which direction to flee. Into this argument, head-on, came the hair-faced outsider. At first he shouted in his own tongue. Then, in the moment of calm that resulted from the shocked surprise, he seemed to realize his mistake and calmed somewhat. He proposed pursuit of the Head Splitters, pointing out that there were no more than ten and that their leader was dead. Instantly, several youths volunteered to go with him, led by Standing Bird and Long Elk. It was a touchy moment, but Hump Ribs rose to the challenge.

  “Wait,” said the chief firmly. “If there is to be a war party, I will lead it, with the help of Heads Off.”

  Clever, thought White Buffalo. Hump Ribs enlists the help of Heads Off without giving up his own authority.

  It was quickly decided. A war party of fifteen would proceed on foot and would probably overtake the Head Splitters in the darkness. That in itself would give the People an advantage. White Buffalo performed a ceremony for success, and they were gone, following the trail left by the horses.

  They were back shortly after daylight, and Coyote came to relate the events of the night.

  “Hump Ribs let Heads Off direct part of the attack,” he explained. “Part of the plan was to steal elk-dogs. That would create a diversion, and when the Head Splitters stood up against the sky, Hump Ribs’ bowmen… aiee, my friend, it was a great victory.”

  The little man chuckled, still excited.

  “You recovered the children then? Your daughter?”

  “Yes, yes. And elk-dogs too!”

  “Elk-dogs? How many?” asked the astonished holy man.

  “I do not know, Uncle. We caught two or three after the battle. Maybe six more. All they had.”

  “You captured all their elk-dogs, Coyote?”

  “Of course! Well, not I, but those who were with Heads Off.”

  “But how?”

  “Long Elk said they took thongs, like those they had been using on the small elk-dog, and tied them around the lower jaw… you remember, the medicine-circle, the ring?”

  White Buffalo nodded, still amazed.

  “Well, they rode on some of the elk-dogs and led the others.”

  “Were the Head Splitters all killed?”

  “No, a few got away. Some wanted to chase them, but Hump Ribs said to spare them. They could tell their tribe that the People are to be reckoned with!”

  Coyote danced a joyful little step or two, then stopped suddenly.

  “Uncle,” he said seriously, “something else! He asked me for Tall One!”

  “What… who did?”

  “Heads Off! She rode on the elk-dog with him on the way back. You have not seen how they look at each other?”

  “I… ah… well, yes. Will you let her marry him?”

  “Why not, Uncle, if she and her mother agree? Which they will. We will be proud to have him in the family. And it may prevent him from leaving.”

  White Buffalo looked at him sharply. Was Coyote aware of the holy man’s changing feeling about this? Did he even suspect the part White Buffalo had played, or attempted to play, in keeping Heads Off with the People? There was just a hint of a cunning smile on the little man’s face. Maybe…

  “Well, I must go and rest, Uncle,” Coyote continued. “It has been a long night. But I wanted you to know.”

  He turned and started away, then turned back.

  “Uncle,” he said seriously, “I am made to think that this man brings important things to the People. Beyond what we have talked of before. It is good, this feeling, to beat the Head Splitters.”

  This was a far more serious conversation than one could usually have with Coyote.

  “You think this is because of Heads Off, Coyote?”

  “Yes. Or, because of his medicine. Maybe… did you see, yesterday, Uncle, how great an advantage they had when they attacked on elk-dogs? But now we have elk-dogs.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am not sure, Uncle. But, all my life, the People have feared the Head Splitters. We always run and hide. Now … this feels different. Uncle, you and I have talked of the two medicines, yours of the buffalo and his of the elk-dog.”

  “Yes.”

  “But we have thought more of the elk-dog for use in the hunt. Maybe this other use, to defend ourselves, is more important even. And, when we move, think of all an elk-dog can carry. Uncle, there is a change in the wind.”

  There were, it turned out, eleven elk-dogs in all, not counting Heads Off’s gray “First Elk-dog” and her foal. Within a day or two, several of the young men had asked for the help of Heads Off in learning to use the animals. The Rabbit Society gave way, among the older boys, to instruction by Heads Off. Long Elk and Standing Bird, already well along in the skills of handling, progressed rapidly. One of the other boys inquired about the use of the real-spear. Wooden lances were contrived for practice until Stone Breaker could produce the special spearpoints necessary. Day after day they practiced, charging a willow hoop tied loosely to a bush until they could thread it neatly on the spear shaft most of the time.

  Meanwhile, some of the young men had begun to experiment with the use of a bow from horseback. This was foreign to the experience of Heads Off but appeared useful.

  “Look, Heads Off,” one called. “To use the real-spear, you approach the target from the left. For the bow, it is better from the right.”

  It was true, and in a combat situation or in a buffalo hunt, this could be significant. In addition, it was soon noted that some horses preferred to approach the target from the left, some from the right. Quickly the bowmen capitalized on this fact, trading for horses with the tendency to run to the right side. Heads Off was ple
ased and proud over their progress. He could hardly wait to let them try their skills at the hunt before they started north to meet the rest of the People at the Big Council.

  In a very short while, the group of young men were being called the Elk-dog Society, at first as a joke suggested by Coyote. But they wore it with pride.

  41

  It was with great pride that the Southern band arrived at the Big Council that season. A dozen warriors rode elk-dogs, and made a great show of doing so. By day’s end the others were referring to the Southern as the Elk-dog band. It was in a joking, tongue-in-cheek way, but their envy was plain.

  The Elk-dog Society had progressed rapidly. Already they had staged a buffalo hunt, killing nearly a dozen animals at a single sweep. Hump Ribs, a natural storyteller anyway, managed to extract every bit of attention with his report to the Big Council on the night after their arrival. By custom, the chiefs, seated around the circle in their assigned places, told in turn of their band’s doings during the year just past.

  On this occasion, though most of the bands had little news, it was obvious that there had been much change in the Southern band. The news had spread like a prairie fire in a high wind when the Elk-dog Society arrived. But still it remained for Hump Ribs to relate the tale formally in the Council. And Hump Ribs, aware that this occasion was coming, had rehearsed carefully. The listeners were spellbound as the deep voice of the Southern band’s chief related the details of the attack by Head Splitters, the bravery of Black Dog, of Mouse Roars, and of Heads Off. And the pursuit and capture of the elk-dogs, the rescue of the prisoners, all lent suspense and interest to the story.

  By the end of the seven days of the Sun Dance, there was much talk of the rising prominence of the Southern band. This band’s unique characteristic, of course, was the possession of elk-dogs. That much was plain, and there was surely prestige and honor involved. But there was more, a vaguely defined something, an attitude. There was a change in the Southern band’s approach to the world. Of all the bands, perhaps this one had traditionally been the most conservative. Maybe timid would be a better term. It was, in the end, a run-and-hide mentality, resulting from generations of persecution by the Head Splitters.