Buffalo Medicine

by Don Coldsmith

  This bold face-down with death proved not immediately necessary, however. After a few days’ travel the war party reached an encampment of lodges, apparently of their own band. Various of the men were greeted by women and children. Much ado was made of the prisoner. Owl was jeered and pelted with rocks and sticks by the children. Dogs barked and nipped at his feet as he plodded at the end of a rope behind his captor’s horse. An old woman hobbled alongside, jabbering toothlessly, and spat into his face.

  All this did not bother Owl, particularly. He had expected it. He had seen prisoners of his own people treated similarly. This was merely the initial expression of contempt for an enemy captive.

  More worrisome was the thought stirring uneasily in the back of his mind. What would be his ultimate fate? Public torture was a strong possibility. Owl had little knowledge of the niceties of Head Splitter torture. None of the People did. For good reason, too, he thought grimly. He knew of no one who had survived torture by this dreaded enemy. Thoughts of escape faded.

  A horrible thing flitted across his mind. It was known that some tribes, far to the south, ate human flesh. Owl could not recall ever having heard that of the Head Splitters. Of course not, he reassured himself, with more confidence than he actually felt. The Head Splitters might hold him to sell or trade back to his own people. He would be more valuable to them for that purpose than for food. Still, the thought sent chills up his spine as he plodded through the thick dust of the enemy village.

  His captor halted the horse before one of the largest of the lodges, and slid to the ground. An assortment of women and children welcomed the man warmly. Strange, thought Owl. He had never considered the fact that the enemy, the dreaded killers, must have a family life, too. This scene, except for the different ornamentation and slightly varying construction of the skin lodges, could have been in his own village.

  The returned warrior took the rope from Owl’s neck, and retied the young man’s hands behind him, as had become the custom for the night. The man handed the other end of the rope to an old woman standing near the lodge doorway. There was general laughter, then a few more words of explanation from his captor. More laughter, exclamations of awe, and some jeers from the older children.

  Owl began to realize the situation. This man, probably a chief, claimed Owl as his prisoner. It would be a matter of great prestige to hold the son of an enemy chief as a captive. And, to further the humiliation, he was being turned over to the women. This in itself was a threatening circumstance. Among Owl’s own people, it was regarded that the women of the tribe could be relied on to create new refinements of cruelty in torture. True, this was not the case in Owl’s immediate family. His parents, in fact, rather disapproved of excessive torture of prisoners. But some individuals among the People were noted for their imaginative deeds in this area. Owl shuddered a little, and hoped that the family of his captor was not so inclined. And, there was the ever present threat of Broken Nose and his avowed intentions.

  The old woman shuffled over, examined Owl like a warrior sizing up a new horse, and then jerked on his rope. He moved in the indicated direction, and she motioned him to sit. The rope was then tied, with only a few hand-spans’ slack, to the base of a lodge pole. Any attempt to escape, he realized, would rattle the lodge cover and warn the occupants.

  The young man tried to maintain a dignified and confident manner. It was a difficult task, he discovered, while sitting in the dirt among yapping dogs, and with hands tied behind him. His captor’s family trooped into the lodge. Much later, one of the younger women returned, and half threw him a bone with shreds of meat.

  Then, as an afterthought, she turned and retied his hands loosely in front of him. Now he could pick up the bone, and fend off the dogs while he ate. Owl signed his thanks, but the woman only nodded as she slipped back inside.

  5

  Owl soon found that things were much better for him if he cooperated. If he obeyed his captors, his treatment was tolerable, and he received food that was edible at fairly regular intervals. If not, he received many a whack with sticks from the women. In addition, he literally had to fight the dogs for such bones and offal as were thrown into the dust for him to eat.

  Likewise, cheerful cooperation resulted in more freedom. His bonds were all but forgotten after a few days. He was tied only at night, and then later, when he showed no tendency to escape, not at all.

  The young man was assigned work, of course. Hard, exhausting work. Carrying wood and water, preparing meat and skins for use. Women’s work, in short. It was probably well that Owl did not fully understand this. The work assigned to him, that of women, was intended to be demeaning. It was some time before he grasped the subtle difference in attitude toward women among the Head Splitters. Among his own people, women were held in high regard. Some were heard in council, they could hold property, and basically were well respected. The Head Splitters, while demonstrating a certain love and affection for the women of the family, still seemed to regard them as possessions.

  Just as he was regarded as a possession, he grimly decided after one exhausting day at the drudgery of butchering buffalo. He sill had no inkling as to his ultimate fate. Nothing of a very threatening nature seemed imminent, however.

  Owl realized that the better he understood his captors, the better his chances for escape. Therefore, he set his powers of observation to work, learning all he could of the language and customs of the tribe. He found that he grasped the language without too much difficulty. Rather more rapidly than he expected, in fact. Owl was reaping the benefits of his strictly regimented training under the medicine man, old White Buffalo. How far away that part of his life seemed already.

  Soon he could understand the major thrust of any conversation he happened to overhear. Granted, he could not have phrased an answering sentence. There were still many words completely foreign to his ears. Yet he could gain much information in this way. He elected to appear as ignorant as possible. This was greatly to his advantage in adding to his store of knowledge. His captors, believing him to be totally without understanding, would carry on conversations in his presence as if he were non-existent.

  He began to gain knowledge not only of the language and customs of this Head Splitter band, but of the nebulous political structure. As in his own tribe, the shifting weight of prestige governed the actions of many of the people. His captor, he discovered, was called “Bull’s Tail,” and was one of the more respected of the sub-chiefs in the band. Everyone seemed to think well of the man. His courage and integrity were above reproach. Bull’s Tail had four wives, Owl observed, and several children. The taking of more than one wife, while not unusual among the People, was apparently much more common among the Head Splitters.

  In fact, it became almost an obsession with some men, it seemed. One of the party which had originally captured Owl, the man Owl thought of as Broken Nose, was one of these. He had at least seven or eight wives, all very young, and some quite attractive. Owl was not surprised to learn that the man was called “Many Wives.” His penchant for buying any young and attractive prisoner was well known in the tribe. It was regarded as something of a joke.

  Owl found the practice repulsive, and quite foreign to the customs of his own people. He was already wary of the man, who still used every occasion to communicate his intentions of bodily harm to the prisoner. The man’s preoccupation with possession of young women fanned the flames of enmity in Owl. Many Wives was apparently considered wealthy, and his ability to pay well for girls he found desirable was well known.

  On one occasion, some days after Owl’s captivity began, three men from another Head Splitter band arrived with a prisoner, a young woman. They had come, it appeared, solely for the purpose of selling the girl to the affluent Many Wives. Owl watched from a distance as haggling over the price took place before Many Wives’ lodge. Apparently an exchange was agreed on, and the visitors departed, leading several horses.

  This incident disturbed Owl immensely. The girl was very
pretty. Although obviously unhappy, she carried herself proudly, and demonstrated spirit and courage that Owl found admirable. He realized that she, like himself, was a prisoner with little hope of escape. He became depressed for several days, at times almost despairing the possibility of any change in his miserable status.

  The new girl was treated badly by Many Wives. That was apparent, even when observed from a distance. She was assigned the most distasteful tasks. Still, she maintained a proud demeanor. She kept her appearance neat and well-groomed, and even the way she walked and stood showed pride, Owl thought.

  He benefited tremendously from observing this captive girl over the next few days. Her spirit was contagious, and he began to take more care of his own appearance. A captive slave-wife of a Head Splitter sub-chief could show proud example. Should not he, Owl, deport himself in a manner befitting the son of a chief of the People? His pride ultimately triumphed over his depression, and he regained a determination. Some day, no matter how long, he would escape and return to his position in his father’s band, the Elk-dogs of the People.

  It became apparent that any such plans must be indefinitely postponed, however. The Head Splitters began to make preparations to break camp. Owl gathered that they were to travel south to more comfortable wintering quarters. And away from his own people, he realized glumly. He must wait until the following season to make his escape attempt.

  Still, it was probably well that the seasonal move was to take place. There had been frost in the air, as Cold Maker blew his chilling breath from the north. Owl had begun to snuggle at night among the dogs for warmth, outside the lodge of Bull’s Tail. He had started to wonder how he was to survive a winter with no shelter except the scrap of ragged buffalo robe he had managed to possess.

  For as many days as he had fingers and toes the band traveled, into strange, forbidding country. The Head Splitters seemed quite at home here, but to Owl it was the end of the earth. Sand, dust, spiny plants with strange growth habits. The grass, such as it was, seemed thin and poor when compared with the lush grasses of his prairie homeland.

  The band had paused for a rest stop. Owl slid the heavy rawhide packs from his back and sank to a reclining position. He checked the ground carefully first, of course. He had never seen an area with so many small creatures that could bite or sting or inflict harm. And real-snakes! Only three suns past, a horse had died, horribly swollen and distorted, from the bite of the biggest real-snake Owl had ever seen. The snake had not, it was said, even bothered to rattle a warning.

  After making sure of his reclining place, Owl relaxed his aching muscles and closed his eyes. He hoped the stop would be a long one. The load he had been forced to carry was a heavy and clumsy one. The exhausted young man was very near sleep when a soft voice broke through his consciousness. It was lilting and jaunty, almost mocking, yet sincere.

  “Do not move, only listen,” came the melodious feminine tones. “You wish to escape, man of the People?”

  With a shock, Owl realized the woman was speaking in his own language, the tongue of the People, which he had not heard for several moons.

  Owl sighed deeply, and flung an arm over his head, rolling over, as if shifting to a more comfortable position. Now on his side, he cautiously opened his eyes, only a slit at first. There, seated on a red sandstone boulder a few feet away, was a young woman. The slave girl, he realized, of Many Wives.

  “Who are you?” He spoke cautiously and softly. “You are of the People?”

  “I am called Willow. Mine is the Mountain band.” She paused. “I saw you at the Big Council a summer ago. Your father is Heads Off, chief of the Elk-dog band.” It was more a statement than a question. “I was taken by the Head Splitters in the Ripening Moon last season.”

  Voices approaching threatened to cut short the conversation. Owl muttered as if in sleep, and rolled to his back again.

  “Are there others of the People here?”

  “I know of only one old woman. Her spirit is broken and she will not wish to leave. But we must escape. We will talk again.”

  The girl’s voice trailed off into a musical hum, and as the others approached, she seemed only to be softly singing to herself. Nearby lay the sleeping Owl.

  Actual sleep did not come easily to Owl that night. His mind was filled to overflowing with thoughts of the girl and of escape. They must bide their time carefully, to avoid suspicion and wait for the proper moment. But his main feeling was that of happiness. What tremendous good fortune, to discover a woman of the People. One who appeared highly intelligent, capable, and best of all, one who was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. How appropriate her name, Willow, to describe the way she walked and moved.

  On a far hilltop a coyote called to her mate, and Owl, hearing, was almost exultant. His medicine animal was still with him. Good things were sure to result from the day’s events.

  6

  The girl was tall, as were many of the women of the People. Owl’s own mother was called the Tall One. This young woman, while not quite possessing the height of Tall One, was nearly as tall as Owl. She appeared to be about his own age. Her legs were gracefully shaped, and the supple resiliency of her long body gave promise of easy birthing.

  Owl could not remember ever seeing a woman whom he found so physically attractive. Her large eyes reminded him of the gentle eyes of a deer. These reflected sadness and hard times, but there was a flash of spirit. The look of eagles, White Buffalo would have called it. In addition, the eyes could reflect a sparkle of joy and humor over the smallest thing. And, Owl reflected glumly, she had very few things, even small things, to cause her to show sparkle.

  She continued to be an inspiration to him. Her appearance was always as carefully managed as if she were among her own people, taking a prominent place in the affairs of her tribe.

  Her hair, he now noticed, was plaited in the style of the People. This she seemed to do as a defiant challenge to her captor, realizing that it might irritate the man. At any rate, it was a public proclamation that she was proud of her heritage. Prisoner though she might be, at least for the moment, she was, above all, a woman of the People.

  The young people found occasion to be near each other whenever they could. Owl would try to casually encounter the girl while out gathering dung or firewood, or in the event of a buffalo kill, to work in close proximity to her. Willow cooperated in these efforts, but frequently warned him to be careful. They must not arouse suspicion. They intently practiced looking glum and dejected. It was extremely difficult to appear morose, however, when an occasion offered for them to be together.

  This became one of the strangest of all courtships. Both parties in servitude, and Willow ostensibly the wife of another man. They could hardly look or smile at each other, which became very frustrating Touching, of course, was next to impossible.

  They did manage, once, to clasp hands for the space of a few heartbeats. Bull’s Tail and Many Wives had shared a kill, a fat buffalo cow. Several of the women of both lodges were busily butchering out the animal, each trying to maintain claim to the choicest cuts and most desirable organs.

  Soon the two captives found themselves working side by side, up to the elbows in entrails in the body cavity. Owl grasped the girl’s hand, deeply out of sight, and she returned the quick squeeze.

  The jealous Many Wives, however, riding past at the moment, struck Willow across the back with his quirt. He scolded her for malingering, then sent her back to the lodge with a load of meat. He turned to Owl in a quiet rage.

  “And you, son of a snake, will be killed very slowly if you do not stay away from my wives!”

  Owl dropped his eyes submissively and continued his work. It had been a foolhardy thing to do, and now they had aroused suspicion. They would now have to be more cautious than ever. He silently cursed himself for a fool, at the same time smarting under the blow that the girl had received.

  If the truth were known, Many Wives had seen nothing at all. Only his resentment against anyo
ne who appeared happy at his work had brought forth the surly reaction. Nevertheless, the incident further fanned the smoldering enmity between the two. Many Wives would cheerfully have killed or maimed the prisoner at any opportunity.

  Owl, for his part, could hardly stand the thoughts of the ugly, sadistic Head Splitter taking Willow to his sleeping robes as a wife. He could think of innumerable variations of torture for the man. Owl realized that this was inconsistent with his general attitude toward the practice of torture, but this was a special case. Many Wives, he felt, had forfeited any right to consideration. He devoutly hoped that when the time came for their escape, he would somehow be able to kill the surly Many Wives. This became almost an obsession with Owl during the course of the winter. Only in this way, he felt, could he avenge the mistreatment of the captive girl. Owl had already begun to think of Willow as his own.

  The Head Splitters established winter quarters, and life became a little easier for Owl. There was not quite so much menial work, since hunting had slowed considerably. He was still expected to carry firewood and water.

  On very cold nights Owl was permitted to crouch just inside the skin doorway of the lodge. Grudgingly, of course. The first time he tried it he was whacked and berated, and was expecting to be turned back out into the sleeting rain. Just as he began to despair the possibility of surviving without shelter, Bull’s Tail intervened.

  “Let him stay,” he ordered casually, without looking up from the bone he was gnawing.

  Owl was careful not to tempt his good fortune too far. On any night when it was at all possible, he was outside with the dogs. Without thinking the matter out completely, he still had escape in the back of his mind. That escape would be easier if he were not encumbered with such things as tie thongs on the lodge doorway in case of a hasty exit.