Buffalo Medicine

by Don Coldsmith

  Now was a critical moment. Owl kicked up his heels and scampered toward the opening, followed by the calves. The cow’s bellow became more insistent, and she came lumbering after her errant offspring. The dam of the other calf, now noticing something amiss, rose and trotted after. A large bull which had been in their company followed ponderously, and a yearling calf joined the procession. Good! The first few were most important. A variety of ages and sexes would more easily encourage others to join the little band.

  Owl led the group well inside and into choice lush grass before he slipped away and returned to the open prairie. He wondered how Two Dogs was faring. Had his opponent actually spent the hours and days necessary to do this sort of work? The uneasy thought crossed his mind that perhaps Two Dogs was even better than he. And, so much depended on luck. A chance false move, a startled animal beginning to run, and all would be over.

  He looked in the direction of Two Dogs’ area of effort, but could see nothing beyond the hundreds of slowly moving animals.

  He selected a new calf that appeared to want to play, and began to maneuver it to the edge of the herd. The cow followed, with another yearling, probably her last year’s calf. Owl was disappointed to spend so much time for only three animals, but they moved to join his previous nucleus, and he returned to the herd again. He was uneasy. There was a limit to the number of times the buffalo would tolerate his movement through the herd before they became uneasy.

  But, as he approached the main herd again, he noticed a couple of coyotes trotting among the scattered animals at the edge. There were always coyotes among the herds, and sometimes the big prairie wolves, too. The animals circled, waiting, hoping for a sick or injured calf. This kept the strength of the breeding herd at a good level, Owl knew, by the elimination of weaker individuals. He watched the pair of coyotes, wondering if in some way he could use their presence.

  Suddenly the nearest of the animals turned, directly facing him, and sat on its haunches. The head cocked whimsically to one side, and clear yellow eyes stared straight into his. There was something familiar about the pose, and the facial expression of the coyote. Even then, it took him a moment to recognize his medicine animal.

  As soon as Owl made recognition, the coyote turned and trotted away, but the meaning of the visit was clear. The day was to be good. His medicine animal was with him.

  38

  True to his expectation, the next sortie into the herd netted twelve more animals. Those inside the canyon were beginning to bed down comfortably, and the newcomers joined them, completely undisturbed. Owl wondered about how much time might be left, and cast a glance at Sun Boy’s torch. He was unable to tell. He must simply continue to work buffalo until notified that the trial was over, he supposed. It bothered him a little. The main herd might become restless, and his smaller group would attempt to rejoin them if a general move began.

  He turned again into the herd, stepping cautiously around an irritable-looking old bull. Suddenly he noticed a subtle change in the mood of the animals. There was nothing at first that he could quite identify. It was merely a quiet unrest, an uneasiness of mind. Owl would have missed it altogether, he thought, if he had not been inside their heads. He stood still, trying to identify the source of the feeling. A yearling bull blundered past him, curiously seeking the source of the same unrest.

  Owl was undecided. He could withdraw quietly and stand guard at the entrance to his trap to prevent the buffalo already there from leaving. That was probably the most sensible course, but what if Two Dogs had more animals gathered? Could he take that risk? Or, would he risk more to continue working the herd? He glanced around, hoping to see his medicine coyote again, but the creature was nowhere in sight.

  With a feeling a little like panic, Owl wondered what was causing the growing restlessness in the herd. Several of the younger animals were moving in the same direction, ears pricked forward in curiosity and wonder. He decided to return to his gathered herd. The animals were becoming too restless to work with now.

  His direction of progress was with the general drift of the disturbed buffalo. Then, ahead, Owl caught a glimpse of what must be the inciting factor. A handful of yearling calves were gathered around a misshapen light-colored object that moved in a strange unnatural fashion. At first he thought it was one of the big wolves. They were sometimes very light gray in color, but the movements were not appropriate. The creature moved like a buffalo, but was much smaller, and almost white in color.

  The thought crossed his mind that here was a young white buffalo. If he could only entice that individual into his trap, he would prove that he was the possessor of the greatest of all buffalo medicine. The one animal would prove beyond a doubt who was more fit to inherit the title.

  Owl moved to a position where he could better see the animal. Other buffalo shifted and shuffled, and dust rose, blocking his view. He must not lose sight of the sacred animal. He moved closer.

  Then, with a shock, Owl realized the truth. The figure was that of a man. Two Dogs! He was actually wearing the precious white cape of the medicine man, handed down through so many generations. What a fool, thought Owl, to risk the sacred object in the milling herd.

  He had no way of knowing whether Two Dogs had started the contest wearing the white cape, or had changed at some time since. Regardless, it was a fool-hardy thing to do. The unusual appearance would be more likely to alarm the herd than quiet them. Could it be that Two Dogs believed the cape’s medicine alone would protect him?

  The other man moved closer, and Owl changed position to avoid the shifting of the restless animals. He lost sight of Two Dogs for a moment, and when he saw him again, the white-caped figure was closer yet.

  At last Owl realized what was happening. The other man was maneuvering the disturbed animals to present a threat to his opponent. Three young bulls snorted and wheeled, almost running over him. Skillfully, Owl skipped aside, alert to the next danger.

  Owl now realized that Two Dogs had never intended this to be a legitimate contest. The other expected to take the life of his challenger in any way he could. Owl was completely unarmed, but knew that Two Dogs would be carrying, at the very least, a concealed knife. He must avoid both his old enemy and the shifting, nervous buffalo, now beginning to snort with alarm and jump skittishly about. The fool could get them both killed, he now feared. He tried to retreat, but the crouching figure in the white cape moved closer, stepping among the animals. He did possess a certain amount of skill, Owl saw, but he was careless.

  When the decisive event finally came, it was so sudden that even Owl was surprised. Two Dogs, intent on approaching his enemy, failed to observe the rudiments of his medicine. He allowed himself to come between an old cow and her small calf. The calf gave a short bleat of alarm, and the mother wheeled to defense.

  White Buffalo had made much of this point. One must never, never be caught between a cow and her calf. If a cow threatens, put her calf in front of you. Two Dogs, having forgotten these basics in the passion of the moment, now stood completely defenseless. He tried to jump, but the massive head of the angry cow swept him aside as she drove to reach her terrified calf.

  Two Dogs, now off balance, was flung against one of the big herd bulls. The animal, already irritated and on the alert by the bleating of the calf, now perceived this strange creature as the threat to the herd. The great head swung, and a polished black horn pierced soft under parts of the intruder. In the space of a heartbeat the head swung upward, tossing Two Dogs high over the backs of the animals. Not until then did he scream. It was a long, shrill death scream, throwing nearby animals into a running frenzy.

  Owl saw the frantically flopping white-robed figure strike the rump of a young cow, and she lurched forward in a panic. The others began to run, and an earth-shaking rumble began to spread as hundreds of startled buffalo started to stampede.

  Before he quite realized it, Owl was running, too. All sense of direction was gone. There was only one, that of the herd. In a moment he
managed to clear his thoughts, trying to create some sort of plan as he ran.

  His long hours and days of training with the buffalo had put one thing foremost. When working with buffalo, one must appear to be a calf. He must move, act, walk, even smell like a calf. Now, he thought grimly, he must run like a calf. He was already sprinting as fast as he could, trying to match the speed of the herd. Fortunately, he found himself in a group of cows and calves. The small animals were just a bit slower, and the cows were holding back a trifle to wait for the youngsters. Owl saw a calf running, pressing close against the flank of the mother. Perhaps he could imitate. He leaned toward an animal on his right, and grasped a handful of thick curly hair at the shoulder. By holding tightly, he was partly carried along and was able to maintain more nearly the speed of the animals. The cow tossed her head at him, but was more concerned with running.

  Owl’s lungs were burning, his legs tiring rapidly. Soon he must let go and when he did, he would instantly be trampled by the animals running behind. This thought alone kept him moving, running for life.

  An animal just ahead stumbled and rolled, then another, and something struck him just below the left knee. He realized that this portion of the herd must have run into a strip of limestone rimrock. A large square boulder loomed ahead and he half fell and scrambled behind it, dragging his injured leg.

  It seemed a long time that the thunder of the herd continued. Animals fell, were injured, scrambled up and continued to run, limping. He must have been near the edge of the herd when the panic started, he knew, or the push of the animals behind would have crushed those who fell. A buffalo stumbled over Owl’s very boulder, almost landed on top of him where he crouched, and rolled to its feet to run on. Thick dust choked him, he could not see, or breathe, and he had to stifle the urge to jump to his feet and run in a panic.

  It was nearly nightfall before the herd began to thin, and complete dark before the choking dust settled to allow him to look around. He tried to stand, and found that he could not use his left leg. Frustrated, he wrapped himself in his calfskin for warmth and settled down for the night.

  It was probably just as well, he decided, that he must stay here. He had no clear idea of direction anyway. Perhaps he could see more in the morning.

  39

  Intermittently through the night, Owl slept fitfully, woke, and slept again. He was chilly and stiff. Each time he wakened he discovered areas of soreness of which he had been unaware. His left leg throbbed painfully.

  He was certain the bone was not broken, because, to the best of his memory, he had run several steps before falling. Maybe it was the smaller bone. Gingerly he touched the puffy area below his knee. At very least, there was a lot of internal bleeding about the area. He shifted uncomfortably.

  The distant rumble of the thundering buffalo herd had faded and was inaudible now. The dust was settling, and Owl could begin to see the sky and the outline of distant hills. He began to orient himself by the stars. There he saw the Seven Hunters, the last two pointing the way to their lodge at the real-star. He had been badly disoriented, he now saw. The herd must have run in a southerly direction.

  With this in mind, he looked in the direction of the camp. There, on the distant crest of the ridge, twinkled a signal fire. It was good. At least, the rest of the party had survived. Some of them, anyway. He had confidence in the self-reliance of Willow, Coyote, and the real-chief, and apparently the main herd had not turned in their direction.

  With something of a surprise, he realized that they must now think him dead. There was little likelihood of anyone’s surviving the stampede. They had lighted the fire in the slim hope that one or the other of the medicine men might still be alive. Owl realized that the fire might as well be many days’ travel away. He could not travel well enough to reach it tonight anyway. Neither did he have any means to light a signal fire of his own.

  Owl coughed heavily, burning his lungs and bringing up large quantities of salty-tasting phlegm. In the dark he wondered if it were blood. He turned on his side and drifted again into fitful sleep.

  The dream wakened him. It was a dream that would haunt him many times in the future. He was running, all his muscles aching in protest, and hanging suspended, high in the air above him, was Two Dogs. The other seemed to float there, face distorted and mouth open in a death scream. The edges of the sacred white buffalo cape fluttered in the wind.

  Owl woke with a start, sweating and anxious. The distant signal fire still burned. He hoped that they would come looking for him at daylight. His thoughts turned to his dream and to the death of Two Dogs. He was certain of the man’s death. It was only a question whether he had died from being gored and tossed. It was possible, Owl supposed, that the other had lived long enough to realize that he was being chopped to pieces by a thousand sharp-edged hooves.

  And, what of the white cape? It, too, must be torn to scraps by the trampling herd, and scattered by the prairie winds. Owl was still unable to comprehend the loss of the cape, one of the most sacred medicine objects of the People. He sank into sleep again, his every muscle sore and aching.

  Daylight presented a desolate scene. The great herd was gone, as surely as if it had never existed. Scattered here and there were individual animals, crippled or dead, trampled by the frenzied thousands. Vultures were gathering, circling on non-moving wings.

  Owl turned to look at the ridge where the signal fire had burned. A thin line of smoke rose straight upward. Good. They had not given up on the chance of his survival, and were maintaining the signal fire. He pulled his aching body to a standing position, coughing painfully. He saw with satisfaction that his sputum was black from the dust, rather than bloody.

  He stood, weak and swaying, trying to decide his next move. He doubted his ability to cross the intervening prairie. If he could only light a fire to attract their attention. But he had no fire sticks. Given time, he might contrive some. His primary concern was that the group on the distant ridge would give him up for dead and leave without him. He had no idea at all whether he would be able to move about enough to survive and find the People.

  He decided to attempt to move toward the wisp of smoke. The distance would be less than half a sun’s travel for a man able to walk. Owl, however, rapidly discovered that his pace would be much slower. Every jarring, limping step sent pain crashing into the base of his skull, and exertion also initiated paroxysms of coughing. In a short while he realized that it would take him several days’ travel to reach the ridge. Meanwhile, he had no food. He sank down in the grass, aching in every muscle and joint.

  Thirst, too, was beginning to make itself felt. After resting, Owl decided to try to make his way to the stream. No matter what the next day or two might bring, he must have water. Painfully, he limped and crawled to the creek, stopping frequently to rest. He drank deeply, and sat back against a tree, too exhausted to move further.

  He sat, becoming more discouraged as time passed. Was the power of his medicine gone? Had it been so closely tied to the medicine of White Buffalo that it had been trampled in the dust with the sacred cape? He fingered the medicine pouch around his neck and wondered.

  Hoofbeats roused him from his dejected reverie. A rider on an elk-dog was passing along the ridge of the hill above him. Owl recognized one of the warriors who had accompanied Many Robes. The man looked constantly in all directions as he rode. Owl realized they were searching for him.

  Weakly, he tried to shout, but the thick phlegm in his throat prevented the sound. Frantically, he cleared his throat, coughed, and managed a weak croak. The warrior did not hear, and continued to ride on. Three times Owl tried to call out, before the man turned and saw his feeble wave. Then he came clattering recklessly down the slope, shouting to others who were out of sight beyond the hill. There was a great deal of respect and deference in the warrior’s attitude as he attempted to make Owl more comfortable and offered him food. Very slowly, Owl began to realize that his survival from the stampede would be regarded as the great
est of medicines.

  Other hoofbeats were clattering down the hillside, and in a moment he was tenderly engulfed in the soft embrace of his wife. Her grateful tears were moistening his neck, and over her shoulder he saw Many Robes and Coyote picking their way across the slope.

  The real-chief swung down and walked toward him, a trace of a smile on his stern visage.

  “Ah-koh, White Buffalo,” the chief spoke. “It is well with you?”

  Owl thought a long time before answering. He had not given thought since the stampede to the fact that the office and title of White Buffalo would be his. Now it seemed an anticlimax. Weakly, he cleared his throat.

  “My chief,” he managed to whisper, “that day is ended. The white cape is gone. I will be called only Owl, medicine man of the People.”

  Many Robes nodded in understanding. Owl began to relax, as the others prepared to make camp. Someone was kindling a fire.

  Willow still held him closely yet gently, inquiring about his various injuries. Owl smiled and touched her glossy hair. Here in her arms, he knew, was his strongest medicine of all.

  ALSO BY DON COLDSMITH

  The Elk-Dog Heritage

  Buffalo Medicine

  Daughter of the Eagle

  The Long Journey Home

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  BUFFALO MEDICINE

  Copyright © 1981 by Don Coldsmith

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.