by Les Weil
The new green of the renewed grasses was bright and clear. The new green of the fresh young leaves of the long-bare trees was light and brilliant against the dark old green of the pines. The sun rose higher overhead and shone more hours into the canyon. It sparkled on the leaping spray of the waterfall and the running ripples of the stream. It shone warm and friendly on Little Bear as he crawled from his shelter and stripped off his leggings and breechclout, leaving only the manhood string around his waist, and ran and plunged into the pool for the splashing and the washing that was the first morning activity of every male Cheyenne when he was near water.
This water was cold, still tangy from the still melting snows that fed it far on up in the hills that were not hills but mountains. It made him splutter and catch his breath in short puffs. It made him climb out quickly and jump and run to have his blood leap and flow with good warmth.
He dressed and ate. He took a piece of meat to the flat stone among the upthrust rocks. The piece left there yesterday was gone. The badger had not been sleeping in the sun-hours for many days now.
He started down the canyon. Every morning he made this circuit. He passed by the slanting walkway of piled rocks leading up to the first ledge and the niches that were up past the third ledge above and he did not look up. He could be hammering more niches in weather like this but he did not look up. There were always so many things to be done. There was no hurry for the niches. There was no need for them.
He saw the buffalo grazing on the renewed good grasses. He counted them. There was the young bull that must be called the old bull now because he was the oldest male among them. The healed scars on his great head were badges that showed his right to be leader of the herd. There were the two growing calves that were not calves any more but yearlings, a young bull and a slenderer young cow. There were three of the old cows with three little calves beside them, old enough now to walk almost steadily and butt against each other. But where was the fourth old cow that had produced no calf though she was very big and heavy? She was off by herself near the rock wall muzzling something on the ground.
He went closer but not so close that he would alarm her. Two somethings were on the ground and she was licking them, first one and then the other. They were two calves, smaller than the others were when first born but sturdily built and trying already to struggle up on wobbly legs. They would soon catch up to the others in growing. Twin calves were almost always healthy calves and grew fast. Their mother was a good mother. She had waited longer than the other mothers and for a good reason. She was the best of the mothers. She would have to eat plenty of good grass to have milk enough for those two lively calves. ...
The grasses and the leaves were fresh green and the sun was warm and the rains were soft and did not last long and food was various and good and the days drifted and there was always so much to be done and so many hours to be spent in the warm sun watching the endlessly changing life of his canyon and so many more hours to be passed lying outside the shelter in the gentle nights and waiting until the moon climbed over the canyon wall and shone softly into his eyes. ...
And then the dreams began.
He was nervous and for no reason. He was restless and did not know why. He was irritable and sudden angers flared in him when there was nothing at which to be angry. He ate little because he had no appetite and became thinner in the body. He ate more and stuffed himself and the food did him little good. It did not put strong flesh on him as the grasses were putting strong flesh on the buffalo. This was the season of fattening with the good living of late spring and he did not fatten. He slept little and when he slept he dreamed.
The dreams were formless and when he woke he could not remember them. Sometimes he woke more tired than when he went to sleep and he lay quiet and a strange lassitude held him. Sometimes he woke tense and disturbed and jumped up and walked around with hard hurried steps angry at all things. He strove to remember the dreams and he could not. They were elusive and he almost had them and they were gone. And then one came clearly and remained.
It was the dream he had before during the starving. He was walking in a good land and he knew this time it was his canyon and a fine well-sewn lodge of buffalo skins was before him and he knew it was his and by the entrance was a woman. It was the same woman and he could see her plainly and she was young and yet womanly and she was not beautiful but there was a warm wisdom and an understanding on her face and she was beckoning to him. He went toward her and she was gone and somehow he was gone too and he woke shaking as if with a strong fever. ...
He sat cross-legged on the ground. He watched the flat stone and the piece of meat upon it. The dark brown head of the badger with its long white stripe appeared over the stone. It saw him. There was recognition in the small black eyes with the tiny flashes of light deep in them. It moved and the whole broad graybrown body was on the stone. It ate the meat, it was thin and tired. It looked as if it had wandered far and had little to eat. Yet it did not finish the meat. It lay on the stone and looked at him.
He sat very still and the sun was warm upon them both and at last his head dropped forward in drowsiness. The badger looked at him and its eyes became very bright. It spoke and its voice was low and mournful. "There is much," it said. "But there is something lacking. There is no warmth of body to body in the shelter at night. . . ."
The rays of the late afternoon sun found Little Bear far up the near rock wall above the third ledge. His feet were set firmly into a niche. His left hand gripped the edge of the niche under his shoulder. His right hand held a piece of flint stone and struck against the rock above his head. The blows were hard and the tiny chips danced. . . .
THE LIFE of a Cheyenne of the high border country is given meaning by customs and the rituals of daily living. In that he and his people are no different from any other people, anywhere, anytime. The customs and the rituals alone are different.
Cheyenne customs and rituals change, but they change slowly. It is more accurate to say that they grow, that traditions encrust them ever more deeply, that the changing is a gradual adaptation of the old under the influence of the new. They are changing very slowly right now, so slowly that the people of the tribe do not know they are changing and think they are changeless. The wrenching impact of the whitemen and their ruthless overriding ways is still to come.
In nothing are these customs and rituals stronger and more carefully observed than in marriage and all that pertains to the mating cycle. On that rests the ultimate welfare of the tribe. That is what will keep it a social order, a loose social order but a social order nonetheless, of healthy and homogenous people properly trained in the customs and the rituals that give their life meaning. . . .
The women of the tribe are as important as the men. They are the real rulers in the camp and the village as the men are the rulers in the chase and in war. Even in these latter things the women often advise the men and restrain the men from being hasty and overzealous and the men listen to them. The women own property and retain that property in marriage. They have their own societies and guilds. A woman who can make a fine lodge is as important as a man who is a good hunter. No woman is given in marriage without her consent. Strong persuasions may be spoken by her parents or by the brother or uncle who may "own" her in the sense that he is in charge of her disposal in marriage, but she will not be forced. Her person will be respected by all men at all times and in all places as long as she herself respects it. She is not a drudge, a chattel, a slave. She is a Cheyenne woman.
The young man who seeks to marry a Cheyenne woman will have a hard time if he cannot offer many presents for her father to distribute among her family and her near relatives. These show that the young man is a man able to take care of her and that he regards her highly and that he comes of a good family whose members have helped him gather together the presents. If he is accepted, the presents given in return to be distributed to his family and his relatives may match or overmatch those he has offered. But without his presents he will hav
e a hard time. Without them he must be one who bears an important name and has counted many bold coups or she will not look with favor upon him. And if he is such a one, he is almost certain to have presents to offer. It is a difficult situation for a man who has no important name and no coups counted and few presents to speak for him in their place. He may be a good man and she may look upon him with eyes soft and regretful. But she is a Cheyenne woman. As a girl she has been trained more carefully than has been any boy for she will be a mother of the tribe and she is mindful of her responsibilities. ...
All loyal Cheyennes respected by the tribe regard that procedure as the right and the normal procedure. Good marriages are built by it, good marriages that endure so that there are many old men whose favorite companions in all things are the old women who accepted them when they were young and full of life and have kept clean lodges for them and borne their children and winnowed the good out of the long drifting years together with them. There are exceptions, marriages made otherwise without careful observance of the customs, made sometimes in violation of them. But these are not often good marriages. . . .
That is the situation which confronted Little Bear.
He is there. He has finished his niches and is out on the open plain. He is Little Bear, onetime foster son of Strong Left Hand, now the strange one, the wanderer, who will not speak of his starving and what came of it in the four long seasons he was gone or of the scars he bears on his breast and thighs and will not dwell in any village but wanders from one to the other on a painted pony, wearing a shirt made of the skin of the puma and carrying a lance with an iron-bladed knife for a head-point. He hunts with a mighty courage to bring meat to the lodge of the man with whom he stays for a brief time and he wanders on searching and searching for something that is no more substantial than a woman seen in a dream. ...
There was silence in the lodge. All the family slept. But Little Bear did not sleep. He lay on the couch made soft by the robe for visitors that was unpacked and put upon it for him and he did not sleep. She was not in this village. Perhaps she was not in any village. Almost four full seasons he had searched and she was not in any village. He had been at the Medicine Lodge of the western villages and she was not there. He had been at the Medicine Lodge of the southern villages near the river called Niobrara and she was not there. Villages to the eastward remained and he must go among them. But sometimes families changed from village to village and how could a man be certain she was not now in some village where he had already been? How could he be certain she was in any village anywhere?
The soft light of the late spring moon sifted through the lodge entrance and called to him. Quietly he rose and went out and through the village and on to the open plain. He sat cross-legged in the long grasses and the night sounds murmured around him. And the Maiyun of that place whispered through the grasses and they knew him. The Maiyun of all places were kindred and they spoke to each other in the depths of the earth and shared their knowledge. And these Maiyun knew him and they spoke to him. "Little brother," they said, "have you found her?" He lowered his head forward until his chin rested upon his chest and he was very sad. The breezes rustled more strongly in the grasses and the Maiyun spoke chiding him. "Little brother, have you forgotten the old one?"
He raised his head and he looked at the moon. "The old one is dead," he said. "The old one has departed on the trail where all footprints point the same way and he dwells now with the spirits of the friends of his youth in the camp among the far stars." The head of Little Bear sank forward again and he was very sad. But the breezes rustled even more strongly and the Maiyun spoke and they were angry. "Did the old one fail you when your laughing father who did not laugh then spoke his name for the piercing of your ears? Did he fail you when he fought for the last breaths that would keep him living for your sake and he forced his spirit out into the night and across the dark plain and into the hills when you were afraid and would have fled from your starving?" The Maiyun spoke and they were angry with him and they raced rustling away through the grasses and it was still.
He pondered this a long time. He rose and went back through the village to the lodge. Quietly he took the lance with the iron-bladed knife as its head-point and slipped again through the village and out to where the horses grazed in the moonlight. He mounted the painted pony and rode eastward. All night he rode and well into the next day. In the late afternoon he came to the place. The village was there. It had not been moved. But the lodge with the painted symbols was gone. It was two miles away, folded in fashion for traveling, resting beside the favorite weapons and the favorite pipes upon the burial platform in a grove of small trees where the old bones and the last fragments of flesh that had clung to them of the old one, the great one, Standing All Night, slept forever in a wrapping of buffalo robe.
He knew it would be so yet his heart was heavy to see that it was so. With the old one gone, why would this village be different from any other?
He rode forward and at the first lodge a man stepped forward, a man not young and with a withered left arm but with strong eyes and a strong face. The man held up his right hand. He spoke. He spoke as one Cheyenne to another, direct and with courtesy. "My friend. I am called White Wolf."
"My friend. I am called Little Bear."
"You are welcome, Little Bear. How can I help you?"
"It is in my mind to stay with this village for a time."
"That is good. You will share my lodge."
"That is very good. I will hunt for you. I will bring you much meat."
"There is no need for meat. You will honor my lodge."
They sat together cross-legged on the ground. They smoked a pipe and passed it between them according to custom. The feeling of a man for a man was between them. White Wolf puffed on the good pipe. He held it from his mouth. "My friend. Word of your wandering has come even here. Why do you move from village to village?"
Little Bear took the pipe. He puffed on it in silence. He sought for words that would answer without answering because he could not speak to another what was in his heart. He sought for words and then he forgot to seek them.
The women of the village were going to the stream nearby for water for the cooking of the evening meal. They carried bowls and they laughed and talked together. And one among them was young and yet womanly and she was not beautiful but there was a warm wisdom and an understanding on her face. The heart of Little Bear leaped within him and his breath quickened. "My friend. Who is that one?"
The eyes of White Wolf became very bright. His question was answered by another question that yet was an answer. He took the pipe and drew in smoke from it. He let the smoke drift out through his nostrils. "She is called Spotted Turtle."
"She is unmarried?"
"She lives in the lodge of Yellow Moon."
The heart of Little Bear sank down within him. His head sank forward until his chin rested upon his chest. But the eyes of White Wolf were brighter even than before. "My friend. Yellow Moon is her brother."
There was much meat in the lodge of White Wolf. Even when his left arm was good and the great storm had not frozen it, there had not been so much meat in his lodge. There was meat to be given to those who always gave him of their own when they returned from a hunt because they knew he could no longer kill his own food. There was meat for feasting and the inviting of friends to the feasting. He was proud to have Little Bear, the strange one, the different one, but a mighty hunter, sharing his lodge. Three buffalo had Little Bear killed on this day, three in the one riding, and with no arrows but with the lance, and those who had hunted too said a laughter was in his mouth as he leaned from the painted pony and drove the lance straight into the life-center of the buffalo.
The old crier of the village called the names. The friends of White Wolf came to the feasting. But when the talking was loud and the food was being eaten, Little Bear was not in the lodge. He was standing in the dusk near the lodge of Yellow Moon. He was waiting as young men waited for the young
women they wished to court to come out to fetch wood or to carry water so that they could pluck at the robes of the young women to attract their attention and see if the young women would speak to them. He was afraid. Little Bear, the mighty hunter, was afraid. He was shy and he knew that he was a strange one, a different one, and he was afraid.
A woman came out of the lodge. It was the wife of Yellow Moon. She saw him waiting in the dusk. Perhaps she smiled to herself remembering when young men waited in the dusk for her. She went past him without seeming to notice him and down the path to the stream. She returned and entered the lodge. He waited and was more afraid. Another woman came out of the lodge, a younger woman, in years not much more than a girl yet very womanly. It was Spotted Turtle. She did not look his way. She looked the other way. But when she moved towards the stream she passed very close to him. He reached and plucked at her robe.
She stopped and turned towards him. He strove hard to speak. "Spotted Turtle," he said. "Oh Spotted Turtle."
She saw that he was afraid and she smiled at him. "I am the one called Spotted Turtle."
"I am the one called Little Bear."
"I have heard. I have seen."
Then she looked closer at him in the deepening dusk and she stared at him and her eyes became wide in wonder. "You are the small one who had the moon in his eyes." He could not speak for the surprise and the wonder her words brought and she saw this in his face and smiled again at him. "I saw you. You saw me and did not see me. You had eyes only for the old one. I heard what you spoke and what he spoke. I was the great-granddaughter who prepared the soups for him." Still the wonder held him. Her face became sad and she spoke again. "Seven days after you left he died. He started up in the night and cried out. He was very troubled. He had failed you. He fell back and there was no life in him."
Little Bear was no longer afraid. He was a man and he could speak. "Oh Spotted Turtle. He did not fail me. Not in anything did he fail me." And then the words came rushing from him. "I saw you. I did not know it but I saw you. You leaped through my eyes into my heart. You have lived in my mind. You have beckoned to me in dreams in the night-"