The Owl Hunt

by Richard S. Wheeler

  The Dreamers brought him food, this time rabbit, and he nibbled at it. Ever since the time of the darkened sun, he had not eaten much and had felt little hunger. Yet he was no thinner. It was one of the mysteries that he could live on almost nothing, and it had not escaped the Dreamers. What sort of being was this son of Buffalo Horn who had swiftly become the prophet of the Shoshones?

  Sun by sun, runners kept Owl informed of the progress of the blue column wending its way up the river for the purpose of showing the power of the white men. Now it was a joke. Wherever the soldiers went, there were no Shoshones to see it. Only once in a while did the soldiers even encounter a lodge of old people, who watched impassively. All the rest of the People were long gone, so that Captain Cinnabar found only cold ashes, tepee rings, some of the refuse of living in a camp, but scarcely a soul who might set eyes upon his mighty column.

  In time, the captain reached the western edge of the reservation, and continued a few miles farther upriver for good measure, perhaps hoping to uncover nests of Shoshones, but he still found few of the People, and finally turned his column home, this time on the north side of the river, where he had as little luck impressing anyone as he had on the other side. If he had actually seen the People, he would have found them in rags, their bones poking from their flesh, or in skins that were falling apart, for the agency had given them almost nothing by way of cloth or leather to replace what they had gotten from the buffalo herds.

  Owl mused about that. What if the blue column had been seen by all the People? What difference would it have made to see the fat horses and well-clad soldiers? The People had no meat. What they needed was buffalo meat, a tongue or hump ribs. The People needed good buffalo hides to scrape and tan and sew into their lodges. The People needed robes to sleep under because the agency had not given them all the blankets that had been promised to them. The People needed to live beside a bison herd, where there would be food and clothing and comfort, and all of it more reliable than the promises of the white men.

  Soon, oh so soon. Soon there would not be a white man anywhere near.

  ten

  A woman and two children were sitting patiently at the door of the schoolhouse when Dirk arrived the next morning. They rose at once as he approached, and he discovered a young Shoshone mother and her two daughters.

  She seemed overwhelmed with shyness, but finally managed to speak, in her own tongue.

  “Grandfather, I am Dawa, the woman of Pan-mook, of the People, and these are my daughters, Kills Bird and Lizard. I give them to you now.”

  “Ah, teach them?”

  Dawa nodded sternly. “Give them magic.”

  “I would be glad to have some students. I have very few, so I can give all my time to them.”

  “Nine winters has Kills Bird, eleven winters has Lizard.”

  “And have they a place to stay? Have you brought your lodge here?”

  “The grandfather, Washakie, he said bring my girls to him for a while.”

  “The girls will stay with him?”

  She nodded. “For a moon.”

  “Is there anything I should know about them?”

  “Pan-mook is not a Dreamer!”

  So, Dirk thought, this passion overspreading the reservation was not universal, and might be generating some resistance.

  “I will keep that before me, madam.”

  “Our lodge is a long way.” She pointed upriver. “I must go now.”

  “But tell me about these girls…”

  She was a pretty woman, with golden flesh and bright eyes, but now she seemed distraught. “I go,” she said, and retreated.

  The girls stared at him solemnly. Then at their retreating mother. They revealed nothing of themselves.

  “Well, my new friends, come inside and we’ll start somewhere.”

  They girls eyed him fearfully, this schoolteacher they knew so little about. Lizard seemed more confident than Kills Bird, but the empty schoolhouse subdued them both.

  “This is where you’ll go to school,” he said. “Every morning, you’ll come here as early as you can, and I’ll usually be here, or in the house over there.” The girls studied the empty place, making no sense of it.

  “I’ll be talking to you in the tongue of the People, except when we learn to talk English. I’ll teach you that language because it will help you in the future. We will learn words and phrases and how to write and spell. Then I’ll teach you numbers, which you already know. How to multiply, divide, subtract, and add.”

  They were plainly bewildered.

  “You’ll learn many good things. How to use money. How to preserve food. How to grow cattle, how to cook meals on a woodstove. You’ll learn about how the United States is governed and what your rights and duties are. I’ll show you a map of your home, the Wind River Reservation, and we’ll learn the names of places.”

  They listened silently, and he knew they understood little. But they would pick up things quickly; the ones who cared to learn usually did learn quickly.

  He was so glad to be teaching. For several days he had opened his classroom only to stare at empty desks and hear only a sad silence. The Dreamers had stolen his students. The girls listened, and even if they were shy, they were absorbing whatever he talked about.

  He taught them a few words of English. He showed them arabic numerals and what they meant. He showed them the slate boards, and showed them how to draw letters. Soon they had a sense of much of the alphabet.

  Two shy, eager students. Dirk felt rich.

  Then Harvey Patella popped through the open doorway. “Skye, the major’s called a meeting. He’s ready to see you.”

  “I’ll come later. I’ve some new students.”

  “Now. He’s got every interested party over there except you.”

  The agent’s commands were law on the reservation. Dirk nodded. “I’ll get my Crow mother in here.”

  Patella vanished, and Dirk scraped Victoria out of her bed, where she was having her morning doze.

  “The major wants me, and I’ve two new girls.”

  Victoria wordlessly followed him into the schoolhouse, where the girls craned to see an old Absaroka woman wearing a blanket even on this hot day.

  “This is our Crow grandmother and she will teach for a while. She understands your tongue, and she’ll teach you some English.”

  “You gonna learn a bunch of goddamn good words,” Victoria said.

  Dirk fled, and soon found himself in Sirius Van Horne’s lair, along with the Partridges, their sexton Alfred, Aphrodite Olive Cinnabar, a sergeant with two enlisted men, and a few clerks. Apart from some soldiers, the only white people missing were the two officers’ wives, Jane Wigglesworth and Glory Merchant.

  “Ah, at last, Skye. Always bringing up the rear.”

  Dirk didn’t reply. Notably absent from this gathering was Washakie, the other real authority living at the agency. This was to be a white man’s party. Van Horne seemed more ruddy than usual, which translated to hundred-proof ruddiness.

  “I’ll be swift and to the point. We’re under siege. There’s a rebellion on this reservation. Lives are in peril. This strange cult, called Dreamers, have set the Shoshones aflame. The Partridges were threatened with an owl arrow, a sure sign of death. I’ve dispatched a trooper to find Captain Cinnabar’s column and bring it here on the double for our protection. And I’ve sent a trusted man south to Laramie to wire for help. This insurrection must be stopped, and these rebels caught and hanged.”

  “What insurrection?” Dirk interrupted.

  “Of course you would think that way,” the agent replied. “It’s out there, and it could strike any time. I’m ordering the remaining troops to guard the agency and associated settlement. And I’ve ordered the post to prepare to receive civilians in the event of a siege.”

  “And what of Chief Washakie?”

  “We can’t trust him. He’s not included here.”

  “Have you talked to him?” Dirk asked.

 
“No, and I don’t intend to.”

  “Then you’re not aware that he received an owl feather.”

  “So what? He’s a Shoshone.”

  “He still has a large following, Major. He probably could quiet the reservation just by commanding it.”

  “Bah! Bah! This is for me to handle.”

  “Everyone’s off in a tizzy,” Aphrodite said. “Some Dreamers drum, and a few owl feathers decorate a few porches.”

  She was amused.

  “Not a bit funny, miss. I suggest you hold your tongue,” Major Van Horne said.

  “Before I get the vapors,” she added, her smile widening.

  “This is a clash of worlds, miss. Their superstitions have driven them over the cliff.”

  “So they want to deprive us of our superstitions, I take it.”

  “Sergeant, please escort Miss Cinnabar safely home.”

  “I’ll do so,” Dirk said, “if Miss Cinnabar agrees.”

  The agent studied Dirk levelly, as if escorting her was an act of insurrection. “Well, what do I know about teaching aborigines?” the agent said.

  That struck Dirk as piquant.

  “There is no wisdom to be gotten here,” she said. “So I’ll retire.”

  He reminded himself to call her Olive, even though he preferred Aphrodite, mostly because she inspired Aphrodite-like sensations in all quarters of his person. He discovered that every eye was upon himself and Miss Cinnabar, and the general look on all those faces was Good Riddance.

  “Thank you for your gallantry, but I didn’t need rescuing.”

  “I took it as a chance to escape the collective madness, and snatch you for my own pleasure for as long as you will have me.”

  She simply smiled at him, a smile so warm and pleasured that he smiled back at her with even more pleasure.

  “So they’ve sent a courier to fetch my father,” she said.

  “And another to bring up a brigade or two from Laramie.”

  “Is it that grave?”

  Dirk was tempted to play the expert, but something in him bridled at that. “I wish I knew,” he said.

  “At last! A male who isn’t sure. You’re a card, Dirk. I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment.”

  Aphrodite would take some getting used to.

  “The Dreamers are fevered with a vision of a homeland purged of all whites, a return to their old ways. But so far, their leader, Owl, hasn’t given the word.”

  “But the drumming last night, and the owl feathers.”

  “They make themselves known, and stir up some dread. It seems a good tactic.”

  “Should my father return?”

  “I’m not a mind-reader, Aphrodite.”

  “Olive.”

  He smiled wilfully. “Aphrodite. It fits you.”

  She stared at him too long.

  “Olive, then,” he said.

  “I think I should like the comfort of two companies of troops.”

  “Green troops.”

  “We’re very vulnerable here.”

  “Your father should be back soon. He’s not far away.”

  They reached the teacherage.

  “I could escort you back to the fort, or I could invite you to help me teach two Shoshone girls. Lizard and Kills Bird. This is their first day in school.”

  “I think Aphrodite’s a better name than Lizard. But Kills Bird’s a better name than Olive.”

  “I think the presence of a woman would help the instruction.”

  “I don’t speak—”

  “I’ll translate.”

  She acquiesced, so he steered her to the schoolhouse, where they discovered Victoria sitting in a student desk, a girl on either side of her.

  Dirk made the introductions, and spoke to the girls in Shoshone. “This woman lives at the soldier post and her name is Olive. She will help teach.”

  Victoria was enjoying herself. “Goddamn, I think I’ll go to school,” she said.

  So now there were three students.

  The day passed quietly. Dirk and Olive taught words and numbers, and the Shoshone girls ended up filled with delight, for it was almost a game, and the very presence of old Victoria and young Miss Cinnabar made the schooling an adventure.

  But outside the window, something had changed. Dirk noted pairs of armed guards steadily patrolling the agency and surrounding buildings. Not that a few armed guards and a handful of soldiers could make a difference.

  Dirk thought it unwise to push the schooling too long.

  “All right now, Lizard and Kills Bird, you come early tomorrow, and if I’m not here, I’ll be over there.” He pointed toward the teacherage. “Look for me.”

  Victoria retreated, but Dirk and Olive escorted the girls to the chief’s home, and left them there. Washakie’s women collected the girls and hustled them into the chief’s house. Dirk hoped to see Washakie and discuss matters with him, but the chief remained within, which was unusual for the hospitable Shoshone.

  Dirk and Miss Cinnabar drifted along the weedy pathways that had become the lanes binding this settlement. It all seemed peaceful enough.

  “I would like to teach again tomorrow if you would let me, Mister Skye.”

  “I was going to ask if you would.”

  She hesitated. “Do you think anything will happen tonight? The Dreamers?”

  “No. They had a chance to kill us all last night, and didn’t take it. They aren’t ready for that. Drumming, owl feathers, an owl arrow—all warnings.”

  “Arrow?”

  “A black arrow with owl-feather fletching. Sunk into a post near me while Victoria and I were sitting on the stoop, absorbing the night. It was intended to warn me. The Dreamers believe I’m betraying my Shoshone blood by teaching in a white man’s school. Whoever fired that arrow could easily have put it into me—but didn’t. That’s very important. The Dreamers are not murderous—at least for now.”

  “You didn’t say anything about it to the agent.”

  “There was more than enough hysteria in that room.”

  “I can’t tell you I have no fear, Dirk.”

  “I’m just as fearful as you, but we have to go on. Fear is what the Dreamers are dreaming of; fear in us so large that we flee for our lives—even when no one follows. In the shadow of the Owl.”

  “Your figures of speech mystify me,” she said.

  “I have Indian blood.”

  They reached the point where she would turn off to the post, and she turned to him.

  “Thank you. This has been a lovely day.”

  “Miss Cinnabar—”

  “You can call me Aphrodite if you want, Dirk,” she said.

  “Only if you want me to.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I’ll be Aphrodite for you alone.”

  eleven

  A great commotion late that afternoon proved to be Captain Cinnabar’s column, which trotted into the agency on the double, flags and guidons flapping. Dirk hurried from the schoolhouse to see what this was all about, and discovered weary soldiers, still on horseback, awaiting word from their captain and Major Van Horne.

  Little by little, a crowd collected outside the agency. Dirk lent a hand to Victoria, who hobbled, squint-eyed, toward the bored troops. Clerks and officials, storekeepers and Shoshone servants, gathered near the soldiers.

  Eventually the captain and the agent emerged. Van Horne chose the moment to address the quiet throng.

  “We’re in a state of siege here and the army’s going to protect us. We’ve sent for additional troops from Laramie. Soon we’ll have the means to stop this rebellion and punish the hostiles.”

  Dirk listened, amazed. What rebellion?

  “I’m requiring that everyone in the agency, as well as our missionary friends, report in the evening to the post for their own safety. By day we’ll resume our duties, protected by patrols sent out by Captain Cinnabar. It’ll take a week for an additional column to arrive, so we’ll have to resort to these measures until help is at hand.”
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  “Is there an uprising, Major?” Dirk asked.

  “You, above all, know of it,” Van Horne replied.

  “Has anyone been attacked, Major?”

  “Death threats, young fellow. Owl feathers. We all know what that means.”

  Cinnabar interrupted. “For your own safety, we’re offering quarters at the fort at night. And be prepared to retreat to the fort by day if we sound the bugle.”

  “How many hostiles are there, sir?” Dirk asked.

  “Several hundred, if the Bannocks are included.”

  Dirk chose not to get into an argument. He doubted there were more than a few dozen Dreamers, and he doubted that the half-starved and poorly armed Shoshones could collect even a hundred warriors ready to fight. But these were white men, and they were afraid, and prone to exaggerate, and itching to manufacture trouble.

  “Oh, God bless you, Captain. You’ve reached us in our moment of need,” said Amy Partridge. “Now we’re safe.”

  “We’ll see,” Cinnabar said. “This will require the utmost caution. I have two companies of green troops, both undermanned. Colonel Custer had twelve companies and look what happened to him. Be prepared. Stay armed. Know exactly what you’ll do if trouble comes. Bury your valuables. The savages might burn your mission to the ground.”

  “You make it sound so dreadful,” she said.

  “These are times to test men’s souls,” Cinnabar said. “Be strong as steel.”

  “And don’t let the redskins fool you,” Major Van Horne added. “They’re tricky devils.”

  “Goddamn right,” Victoria muttered just loud enough for Dirk to hear.

  “All right then, at seven in the evening, report to the post. I’ll prepare quarters.”

  “We’ll all be there, Captain,” Van Horne said.

  Cinnabar returned to his sweat-stained mount, clambered up, and led the column toward the military grounds. The captain had returned before a mob of howling savages scalped and shot and burned the Wind River Agency and its environs to the ground.

  “Kill all them Indian bastards,” Victoria said.

  “You going to the post at night, Absaroka Mother?”

  “Hell no.”