Buffalo Medicine

by Don Coldsmith

  The other member of the family was a younger brother, called Chipmunk by the band. He had not yet received warrior status. This reminded Owl with some chagrin that he himself had no name of adult status. Eventually, he would accede to the title of White Buffalo, but for the present he still had only his childhood name. At least, he thought to himself, somewhere along the path he had lost the designation “Little” Owl. No one seemed to notice his dissatisfaction with his name, so he said nothing.

  Chipmunk followed Owl with adoration. He received much status among his peers as the brother-in-law of the great medicine man who had now married into the band. At times the boy became a real nuisance, especially when Owl and his wife tried to be alone. Tall Grass finally intervened, and the situation improved somewhat.

  One very difficult step for Owl was to think of himself as a father and head of a family. The small girl with the big dark eyes of her mother was slow at first in accepting him, but soon would curl against his chest in sleep, and chatter happily to him at play. She was called Red Bird, after the bright scarlet bird of the thick bushy canyons. Owl loved to watch the child. Her bright eyes and graceful movements, even as a child of but one summer, reminded him of her mother.

  And Willow! Aiee, it was as if they had been separated forever when they were reunited. In other ways, it seemed they had never been apart. They made love whenever they could, and the understanding people of the band respected their privacy.

  They had much to talk about and share. Many times both would start to speak at the same time, then they would laugh together and try again.

  “You first.”

  “No, you, my husband.”

  Gradually, they learned each other’s stories. Each had been told that the other was dead. Apparently their captors had used this as a device to prevent their collaborating in another escape attempt.

  Willow was reluctant to tell her story, preferring to ask about Owl’s experiences. Finally, in the privacy of a sunny hillside one afternoon, he insisted on hearing the entire tale.

  “How did you escape? What about Many Wives?”

  “Many Wives is dead. I killed him.” Her eyes studied the grass beside them. Owl could see that this was as painful a memory for the girl as those that scarred his own past. He took her in his arms.

  “I will tell you, my husband. Then we will speak no more of it.”

  Willow had half-wakened after the blow of the club, to find her hair and face sticky with clotted blood. Her head throbbed beyond belief, and she had no strength to move. Through the dim haze of her pain came the constant thought that Owl was dead, or worse. She sobbed quietly.

  While she lay in this stuporous state, one of the riders returned for a last look and discovered that she still breathed. He shouted to Many Wives, and the entire group returned. She later could vaguely recall being thrown across the back of one of the horses, and of the blinding pain which drove through her injured head. Again she sank into unconsciousness.

  The next few days were a blur of agony, as her head pounded whenever she moved. The other wives tried to help her to clean her bloodied face and hair, and to help her eat.

  Meanwhile the sadistic Many Wives seemed to become almost crazed by the turn of events. The thought that a woman who was his property had been possessed by another man was totally unacceptable to him. He would shriek and rant at her, and his sexual demands became intolerable. Even before she was able to be up and about, he would demand frequent submission. His demands were sadistic, painful, and degrading.

  Sometimes, after a cruel session in the robes, Many Wives would taunt her by threatening to “throw her away” to the warrior society. Willow was aware of this custom among these people. An unfaithful wife could be given by the husband to the men of the tribe, to be repeatedly raped by any and all. It was, in effect, a death sentence.

  “You want other men?” he taunted. “You will wish you could return to the arms of Many Wives!”

  Despite these frequent threats, he made no move to carry out such an action. Apparently his pride would not allow him to give up such a possession as a beautiful enemy captive. The girl kept hoping that his sadistic ardor would cool, but instead it became worse and more painful with each dreaded episode. She must take action if she were to survive. She might be killed in the attempt, but that was better than the continued degradation.

  Her decisive move came after a session in the robes. She had attempted to comply with what she knew were his desires. She struggled just enough to provide the resistance she knew he enjoyed, to achieve satisfaction for him. Then, after he had rolled aside and lay sleeping off the effects of his activity, she cautiously drew out the small flint knife she had been concealing.

  The slash across the throat was not quite from ear to ear. Many Wives woke with a scream which never reached his lips. The girl was able to watch the terror in his eyes as he choked, realized that he was drowning in his own blood and fought for his life’s breath. Somehow, there was less satisfaction than she had expected.

  The other women looked on, horrified, but there was no outcry. Willow calmly turned, lifted the lodge lining, and crawled under the outer skin into the night. Then, thinking more clearly, she returned to gather some food and small articles of clothing.

  The dumbfounded girls still sat stunned, but one told her in brief sign talk that they would raise no alarm until she was gone. Some of the others appeared to be also preparing to flee as Willow slipped again to freedom.

  She untied the best of Many Wives’ buffalo runners from behind the lodge, and slowly led the horse toward the stream. This attracted no attention. She would appear to be merely one of the wives caring for her husband’s favorite elk-dog.

  Safely beyond the stream and screened by the trees, Willow kicked the animal into a lope. She hoped the other girls could make their escape also, but felt that they were on their own, as she was. Their best defense was to scatter, like quail in the fall grasses:

  Distance fell behind her, and by first gray light of dawn she was sure there was no pursuit. She had succeeded.

  28

  Owl held the girl in his arms and the two rocked softly, tenderly sharing the moment.

  “So, I traveled until I reached the People.”

  “When did you learn you were pregnant?”

  “I already knew that, Owl. That was one reason I had to escape. I could not bear your baby among the Head Splitters. The child of our love must be raised by the People.”

  He chuckled and hugged her more closely.

  “Child of my life’s springtime,” he teased, “it makes no difference at all, but you know the chances are very poor that the baby is mine. You were with Many Wives so long, and we were together only one night.”

  Tears came to her eyes, and for a moment she pushed him away in anger. Then her face softened and she cuddled against him again.

  “Of course,” she said gently, “you did not know. Many Wives was unable to father a child. That is why he tried with every young woman he could buy. Owl, you are the only man who could be the father of Red Bird.” She looked directly, lovingly into his eyes. “Did you not see how much she looks like you?”

  Yes, Owl thought, the child did resemble him a great deal. He had merely assumed that they would never know the exact truth. He had come to love the child as his own, and was prepared to raise her with that presumption, but this was even better. Aiee, this was indeed good medicine! The child was the proof of their one ecstatic night together. He clasped Willow closely to him.

  Owl could almost feel sympathy for the strange, troubled Many Wives. The Head Splitter chief, though wealthy, had been tragically unhappy. His death, far from a brave death with dignity, had been an ignoble end. Both tribes would talk of this event about the fires for many seasons.

  Aiee, Owl thought. What a way to meet one’s end! He could imagine the horror of waking to strangle in one’s own blood. Many Wives would have lived long enough to understand what was happening and realize that he had bee
n bested by this slim girl of the enemy. The hair prickled on the back of Owl’s neck at the thought. He could hardly grasp the idea that this soft female creature curled against him could be capable of such an act. Still, he was tremendously proud of her. How fortunate he was to have such a woman call him “husband.”

  How fortunate he was anyway, he realized. Aside from the fact that Willow’s spirit and example had undoubtedly kept him alive, there was every indication that his medicine was strong. His good fortune had been too great to be mere accident. And, now that he was ready to accede to the full duties of the medicine man, he must begin work on his medicine.

  Willow was delighted to help him. He began to gather and dry various plants which he noticed in their travel. With Red Bird safely in the care of her doting grandparents, Owl and his wife would travel parallel to the moving band, investigating every nook and meadow for useful herbs. He freely instructed Willow in their identification and use. The wife of a medicine man was hardly less important than he.

  The Mountain band was traveling toward the Big Council, as he had guessed. It would be held this season on the river the People called Oak River. There were bluffs and low flatlands in that area, and his father-in-law assured him that it would be a good place to cut poles for the lodge of the young couple. Cottonwoods grew in the flats in thick profusion, tall, slender, and straight. The women were already preparing skins and sewing the lodge cover for their home.

  Meanwhile, they continued to stay in the lodge of White Hawk. This was customary, to live with the parents of the wife until one’s own lodge was ready. Then, it became optional, in a case such as this, which band they would join. Owl was afraid this might present a problem, but found that Willow had already decided.

  “Of course we will join your people. You are the medicine man of the Elk-dog band.”

  He was glad that she understood. His debt to White Buffalo was one that he could never repay. It was his duty to the band of the old man to carry on his work.

  The days passed pleasantly in travel. Owl found time to talk ceremonially with Black Beaver from time to time. They talked of tribal politics, and mutual acquaintances. Yes, Owl’s family was well, the chief told him. His father was well respected by the entire tribe. The People had become a powerful force on the plains because of the power of Heads Off and his elk-dog medicine.

  Owl had heard this saying all his life. He had been bored with it as a child. Now, from a more mature viewpoint, he began to appreciate the significance of the story. He longed to sit with his father for man-to-man talk. He would tell him of his experiences with the Hairfaces, and let his father know that Owl understood why he had left them.

  He longed, too, for the coming chance to tell White Buffalo of all the wondrous medicine he had observed. He doubted that he could adequately describe the smoke-log, and the carts pulled by spotted buffalo. Perhaps the old medicine man could tell him more of the use of the yellow medicine stones.

  He had tried to tell Willow of these things. She had been fascinated by his descriptions of the strange multicolored birds raised by the Hairfaces. They were like turkeys but smaller, and could be killed and eaten when the Hairfaces wished, just as if they were dogs. Owl thought perhaps she believed this an exaggeration. She preferred to hear about El Gato’s final flight off the mountain. He did not even tell her about the prisoner staked to the wall in the medicine lodge.

  In one other area he must not share his secrets with anyone, however. He was assembling his medicine pouch. The contents must always be secret. Even if seen, they would be meaningless to anyone else but would represent the best and strongest of his own medicine.

  At his request, Willow constructed a small pouch of soft buckskin. Without his asking, she and her mother decorated the bag with quills in a traditional design of the People, representing the owl. He was pleased with the result. From this time forth, the medicine pouch must be with him always. No one must ever open it, or know its contents except himself. He began to gather the medicine things.

  There was a small piece of buckskin from the breech clout he had worn at the time of his escape. Aiee, that would be powerful! He added a splinter of the flint from which he had made weapons, and a tuft of hair from his elk-skin robe. Rabbit fur, plucked from the edge of his cape, and a fluffy feather he had picked up and saved from the owl which had helped him with the rabbit hunt. There was a triangle of red pottery from the Valley of the Old Ones. This should be ancient medicine, and very strong.

  A few blades of grass from the site of his buffalo kill were wrapped carefully around a tuft of the animal’s wool. A knot plaited of hairs from the tail of his claybank mare acknowledged the medicine that helped him survive the storm and evade the Head Splitters.

  One more item found its way into the pouch. It was a wisp of shiny black hair. He had stealthily cut this talisman from the very tip of Willow’s long tresses one morning as she lay sleeping beside him. This, he considered, might well be the most important of all his medicine.

  29

  The site on Oak River that had been chosen for the Sun Dance was one of Owl’s favorites. Each year a location was selected for the next year’s meeting, and some were favorable enough that they would be chosen again in a few seasons. The Oak River site was one of these. Owl could remember at least two other councils held here during his childhood.

  A bend in the river, shaped like a fully drawn bow, enclosed a level area of meadow large enough for the hundreds of lodges of the People. Families in each band would still be within the river’s arc, and not too far from water. The People enjoyed swimming, and the clear stream would be filled with splashing children for most of the time of the council.

  An area upstream was designated for drinking water and for filling waterskins for cooking. Elk-dogs were to be watered downstream, below the swimmers. There was sometimes encroachment, but no big problems usually arose. The use of the respective areas was enforced by the warrior societies, and in the case of the area for cooking and drinking, by the shrill resentment of the women. There were few violations.

  It was late in the Moon of Roses when Black Beaver led his Mountain band into the council site. Young men had ridden ahead from a day’s journey out. There were friends and relatives to greet, and tales to tell of the year’s activities. Some people already at the camp rode out to meet the newcomers, and a festival atmosphere prevailed amid talk and laughter and warm greetings.

  The self-appointed messengers had returned with the news that only two other bands were already at the camp ground. No, Owl’s Elk-dog band was not one of them.

  Finally, too impatient to wait, Owl rode ahead with White Hawk to see the encampment. They stopped on the rim of the bluff overlooking the river, and gazed across at the mushrooming village. The buzz of camp life drifted across the valley to their ears, and the old excitement of the occasion began to stir Owl’s blood. Dogs yapped excitedly.

  Each band was assigned a specific area in the camp circle, corresponding to their chiefs’ places in the council. Owl could see that the Northern band was here, and already well settled. That was as it should be. Their chief, old Many Robes, was also the real-chief of all the People. It was the responsibility of his family to prepare the Dance Lodge. The large structure of poles and brush was already well under construction in the center of the camp. There were men on top of the lodge, and others were handing up armfuls of brush to be tied in place.

  Another motion caught the corner of his eye, and Owl shifted his gaze. A lodge skin was being lifted into place by a group to the southwest of the Dance Lodge. That would be the Red Rocks band. Apparently they had only recently arrived, for a number of their lodges were still merely pole skeletons, with the lodge covers laid out flat on the ground ready to hoist into position.

  The spaces assigned the other bands were still empty. Owl mentally noted the area between the two already present, and to the northwest of the Dance Lodge. That would be the camping site of the Mountain band. Directly on the south side
of the circle would be his father’s Elk-dog group, formerly called the Southern band. To the northeast would be the Eastern band. The area to the southeast was left open as a doorway, just as a lodge’s doorway faces southeast.

  The two men decided to ride on down and pay their respects to the real-chief. They threaded their way down the bluff and splashed across the gravel bar at the crossing. Confusion was everywhere. Children chattered at play, dogs barked, women laughed and called to each other at their daily tasks.

  Somewhere somebody was cooking hump ribs, and the smell nearly drove Owl to distraction. He felt that he had never had enough meat to eat since his reunion with the People. His tremendous appetite for broiled hump ribs had become a family joke.

  A man lounged against a willow back rest outside his lodge and smoked thoughtfully. He nodded and smiled as they passed.

  They located the chief’s lodge with no difficulty, and dismounted to pay their respects. Old Many Robes had changed little, as far as Owl could see. He had always seemed incredibly old to the boy. His mind still appeared as sharp as the snap of a fox’s teeth, however. He remembered Owl, and stated that he was delighted to hear that rumors of Owl’s death were unfounded.

  They smoked and then prepared to depart, just as the first of the Mountain band came over the bluff’s rim and started the steep descent to the river. They hurried to assist in the preparation of the lodge site. Tall Grass paced off the circle for the lodge, and then tied three of the poles together to form the initial tripod.

  “Now,” she instructed, “you men go and cut poles for the lodge of Owl and Willow. We can do this.”

  It was a wise suggestion; with hundreds of families moving into the area, new lodge poles would become scarce. In addition, the good camp sites would all be taken.

  They took a horse to drag their poles, and spent until nearly dark cutting and trimming the best cottonwood poles they could find. When they returned, Tall Grass had laid out the circle for the new lodge.