He wore nothing that night but a loincloth, and he carried his bow and his new shield.
All night they heard Buffalo Hump praying. Once the sun edged into the sky, and light came to the canyon, Buffalo Hump was still sitting on the high rock, with his bow and his thick shield. When he walked back into camp, with the sun well up, there was a hush in the camp. The women didn't talk of copulating as they worked at the cooking pots, as was common in the morning.
The hush silenced the children; they didn't run and play. The dogs ceased barking. Everyone knew that Buffalo Hump had found his vision.
When he sat down in front of his tent and began to paint himself for war there was joy throughout the camp.
Within a few minutes he sent runners to call the warriors from the other bands. Solemnly but gladly all the warriors began to do as their chief was doing. They began to put on war paint. No one asked Buffalo Hump what he was planning; no one needed to. There would be a great raid on the whites--Comanche warriors would be proud men again. The endless talk about whether to grow corn was over. Their greatest chief had found a vision, and it was not a vision of peace.
By afternoon, warriors from the nearby bands began to ride in, painted and ready. There was much selecting of horses and packing of stores. The women worked hard, but their voices were hushed. They did not want to be joking when their men were going on a raid that might mean glory or might mean death.
Finally one old warrior, old Crooked Hock, known for his great curiosity but not for his good judgment, had the temerity to ask Buffalo Hump how far he planned to raid.
Buffalo Hump did not look at the old man. He wanted to concentrate on his vision of burning houses. Anyway, he did not know how far he planned to raid--he would raid until it was time to quit. But, as he was about to answer the old man brusquely, he saw in his mind another vision, this one of the sea. The Great Water rolled toward the land and spat from its depths the bodies of whites. The vision of the sea with the white bodies bobbing in it was so powerful that Buffalo Hump realized he ought to be grateful to Crooked Hock for asking the question that had enabled him to see the final part of his vision--the vision of rolling waves spitting white bodies onto beaches of sand. The vision was so strong that Buffalo Hump stood up and yelled at the warriors loudly, his voice echoing off the canyon.
"The Great Waterffwas he yelled. "We are going to the Great Water, and we are going now!" Six hundred braves rode out of the canyon behind him, the sun glinting on their lances. When sound came back to the camp it was the sound women make, talking to one another as they cooked and did chores. A few babies cried, a few dogs barked, the old men smoked. By the time the moon rose Buffalo Hump and his warriors were already miles to the south.
"Hector leaves a damn large track," Scull said to Famous Shoes, after they had been walking for four days. "If we had some form of torch I believe I could track him at night." "We don't have a torch," Famous Shoes pointed out. They were in country where there was little wood. When they made little fires to cook the game they killed, jackrabbits mostly, they had to use the branches of creosote bushes or chaparral.
"Hector will probably be slimmed down a little when I catch him," Scull said. "There's not much fodder out here." "They may have to eat him soon," Famous Shoes warned.
"I doubt that," Scull said. "I don't think Kicking Wolf stole him to eat. I expect he stole him mainly to embarrass me.
I'm for walking all night if you think we can stay with the track." Famous Shoes thought Scull was crazy. The man wanted to walk forever, without sleep. Kicking Wolf, the man they were following, was crazy too.
He was taking the horse straight to Mexico, which made no sense--Kicking Wolf's people did not live in Mexico. They lived in the other direction.
He himself was growing tired of being a scout for the whites. One crazy man was chasing another crazy man, with his help. Famous Shoes decided it must be the tobacco Scull chewed all day that made him able to walk so far. He did not want to sleep long at night, and grew restless when there were clouds over the moon, so Famous Shoes could not track. On those nights Scull sat by the fire and talked for hours. He said there were forests to the south so thick that little beasts called monkeys could live their whole lives in the trees, never touching the ground. Famous Shoes didn't believe the story--he had never seen trees that thick. He had begun to think of walking away some night, leaving Scull while he napped. After all, he had not yet got to visit his grandmother in her new home on the Arkansas.
He could understand Scull's anger at Kicking Wolf for stealing his horse, but the decision to follow on foot was more evidence of Scull's insanity. Kicking Wolf travelled hard. They were not going to catch him on foot, not unless he got sick and had to stop for a few days.
The evidence of the tracks was plain. Kicking Wolf and Three Birds would soon be in Mexico. Though he and Scull were walking exceptionally fast, they only had two legs, whereas the horses they were following had four.
Famous Shoes told Scull as much, but Scull would not give up, not even when they reached the desolate country where the Pecos angled toward the Rio Grande. In that country the water was so bitter from the white soil that one's turds came out white--a very bad thing. White turds meant that they were in the wrong place, that was how Famous Shoes felt. He was thinking more about walking off, but Scull had quickly mastered tracking and might follow him and shoot him if he left. He did not want to get shot by Scull's big rifle. He had begun to hope they would run into some bandits or some Indians, anything that might distract Scull long enough that he could slip away. But even if there was a fight, escape would still be risky. Who knew what a crazy man such as Big Horse Scull might do?
When they were only a day away from the Rio Grande, Famous Shoes noticed a curious thing about the tracks they were following. He did not mention it at first, but he might as well have mentioned it because Scull was such a good tracker now that he noticed it too. Scull stopped and squatted down, so as to study the tracks better. When he spat tobacco juice he spat it carefully to the side, so as not to blur the message of the tracks.
"By God, he knows we're following him," Scull said. "He's sent Mr. Three Birds back, to spy on us--now Three Birds has marked us and gone back to report.
Am I right, Professor?" That was exactly correct, so correct that Famous Shoes did not feel the need to reply.
Three Birds had come back and spied on them.
"He marked us and he's gone," Scull said.
"I expect he's reported to his boss by now." "Kicking Wolf is not his boss," Famous Shoes corrected. "Three Birds travels where he pleases." Scull got up and walked around for a few minutes, thinking.
"I wonder if there's a big camp of Indians down there somewhere that he's taking my horse to," he said.
"No, there is no camp," Famous Shoes assured him. "Comanches won't camp where their shit is white." "I don't care for this country much myself," Scull said. "Let's get out of it." The next day, at a winter sunset, they came to the Rio Grande. Scull stopped for a minute, to look north toward a long curve of the river. The water was gold with the thin sunset. There was no sign of Hector or the two Indians, but to his surprise he saw an old man, walking slowly along the riverbank, going south.
A large dog walked beside him.
"Now there's somebody--who would it be, walking this river alone this time of year?" he asked.
When Famous Shoes saw the old man coming he gave a start; though he had never seen the old man before he knew who he was.
"He is the Old One Who Walks By The River," Famous Shoes said. "He lives in a cave where the river is born. The river is his child. Every year he walks with it down to its home in the Great Water. Then he goes back to his cave, where the river is born, high in the Sierra. His wolf walks with him and kills his food." "His wolf?" Scull said, looking more closely. "I took it for a dog." "He has been here forever," Famous Shoes said. "The Apaches believe that if you see him you will die." "Well, I've seen him and I ain't dead," Scull commen
ted. "I just hope that wolf don't bite." "If I had known I would see the Old One I would not have come with you," Famous Shoes said.
"I need to see my grandmother, but now I don't know if I will be living long enough to find her." Scull had to admit that the sight of the lone figure coming along the river at dusk was a little eerie. Certainly it was not an ordinary thing.
They went on to the river and waited for the old man to come. When he appeared the wolf had vanished. The old man came slowly.
His white hair hung to his waist and he wore buckskin clothing.
"I think he has stopped speaking because he is so old," Famous Shoes said.
"I'll try him with a little Yankee English-- he might want to stop and sup with us," Scull said. Earlier in the day he had shot a small owl --his plan for dinner was to have owl soup.
"Hello, sir, this is a welcome surprise," Inish said, when the old man came to where they waited. "My name is Inish Scull-- I'm a Bostoner--and this is Famous Shoes, the great professor of tracking. If you'd care to join us in a meal, we're having owl soup." The old man fixed Scull with a lively blue eye.
"You've spit tobaccy juice up and down the front of yourself," the old man said, in a voice far from weak. "I'll have a chaw of tobaccy if you've any left after all your wasteful spitting." Scull reached in his pocket and pulled out his plug, by then so diminished that he simply handed it to the old man, who had spoken as matter-of-factly as if they had met on Boston Common.
"It's true I'm reckless with my spittles," Scull said. "You're welcome to this tobacco--how about the owl soup?" "I'll pass--c't digest owls," the old man said. He carried a long rifle, the stock of which he set against the ground; then he leaned comfortably on his own weapon.
"I fear it's a weak offering but we have nothing else," Scull admitted.
"Don't need it--my wolf will bring me a varmint," the old man said. He lifted one leg and rested it against the other thigh.
"I'm Inish Scull and I'm in pursuit of a horse thief," Scull said. "It's my warhorse that was taken, and I want him back.
Who might you be, if I may ask?" "I'm Ephaniah, the Lord of the Last Day," the old man said. From down the river there was the howl of a wolf.
"Excuse me, you're what?" Scull asked.
"I'm the Lord of the Last Day," the old man said. "That's my wolf, howling to let me know he's caught a tasty varmint." He put down his other foot and without another ^w or gesture began moving on down the river.
Famous Shoes gestured--on a rise still lit by the last of the afterglow, the wolf waited. The old man was soon lost in the deepening dusk.
"Now that's curious," Scull said. "I'm out my tobacco, and I don't know a thing more than I did. Why would he call himself the "Lord of the Last Day"'? What does it mean?" "The Apaches may be right," Famous Shoes said. "When you see the Old One your last day may be close." "If mine's close I'd like to have a good feed first," Scull commented. "But I won't, not unless the hunting improves." "We don't have to eat the owl--I hear ducks," Famous Shoes said.
Scull heard them too and looked around in time to see a large flock of teal curve over the river and come back to settle on the water.
"When it's dark I will go down and catch some," Famous Shoes said.
"Help yourself, but I plan to scorch this owl anyway," Scull said. "I won't have provender going to waste."
When Three Birds caught up with Kicking Wolf he was walking out of a gully dragging a small antelope he had just killed. The antelope was only a fawn but Three Birds was excited anyway. They had had little meat since stealing the Buffalo Horse. The sight of the dead fawn made Three Birds so hungry he forgot his news.
"Let's cook it now," he said. "Why didn't you shoot its mother?" "Why didn't you kill her?" Kicking Wolf asked. "Where have you been?" "I had to go a long way to find Scull," Three Birds said. "He is following us but he is walking." At first Kicking Wolf did not believe it.
Three Birds often lived in his own dream time for days at a stretch. Often he would ride around so long, dreaming, that he would forget what errand he had been sent on. When someone reminded him that he had been supposed to secure a particular piece of information he would often just make up whatever came into his head, which is what he was probably doing when he claimed that Scull was following them on foot. Kicking Wolf had expected pursuit and kept up a fast pace to elude it.
How could Scull expect to catch him if he was on foot? He sent Three Birds back to investigate, thinking that perhaps Buffalo Hump or some other warriors had fallen on Scull and killed him.
Now, though, Three Birds had come back with a farfetched tale that no sensible person could believe. Three Birds was just trying to explain why he had been gone four days. Now all he could think about was eating the little antelope.
"I don't believe you--Scull had several horses," Kicking Wolf said. "Why would he follow us on foot?" Three Birds was offended. He had ridden for days, with little food, into the country of the enemy, to find out what Kicking Wolf wanted to know. He had found it out, and now Kicking Wolf didn't believe him.
"He is following us on foot and the Kickapoo is with him," he said. "Scull is four days behind but he walks fast and does not sleep much. If we wait we can kill him, and the Kickapoo too." Kicking Wolf gave the matter a little more thought, as he skinned the young antelope. Three Birds usually abandoned his lies if questioned closely, but he was not abandoning this lie, which might mean that it wasn't a lie. Big Horse Scull was known to do strange things. Often he would skin little birds that were much too small to eat; then he would throw the birds away and pack their skins with salt. When he travelled he would sometimes pick up beetles and other bugs and put them in small jars. Once he even sacked up some bats that flew out of a cave--what such activities added up to was some kind of witchery, that was plain. That he had chosen to follow them on foot was just more evidence that he was some kind of a witch man. Lots of Indians were out on the plains hunting--if they had seen Scull they would have killed him, yet he was still alive, which suggested more witchery.
"Famous Shoes would like to sleep but Scull wakes him up and makes him walk," Three Birds said. "When there is no moon they burn sticks to help them find the tracks." Kicking Wolf decided Three Birds was being truthful. He gave him the best parts of the fawn, for travelling fast to bring him the information.
"We will soon be in the Sierra," Kicking Wolf said. "Ahumado will find us. I don't know what he will do. I think he will like the Buffalo Horse, but I don't know. Maybe he won't like it that we have come." Three Birds was eating so fast that he could not figure out what Kicking Wolf was getting at.
Of course no one knew what Ahumado would like, or what he would do. He was the Black Vaquero. He had killed so many people that everyone had lost count. Sometimes he killed whole villages, throwing all the people in a well and letting them drown--or he might make the villagers dig a pit and then bury them alive.
He had an old man who was skilled at flaying; sometimes he would have the old man take all the skin off a man or a woman who had done something he disliked. He stuck people on sharpened trees and let the tree poke up through them. It was pointless to talk about what such a man might like or not like.
"If he doesn't like us he might stick us on a tree," Kicking Wolf said.
Three Birds grew more puzzled. Why was Kicking Wolf telling him all these things that he already knew? Ahumado only did bad things.
Sometimes he hung people in cages and let them starve --or he might throw them into a pit full of scorpions and snakes. But all this was common knowledge among the Comanches, many of whom had died at the hands of the Black Vaquero. Did Kicking Wolf think such talk would scare him? Was he trying to suggest that he run away, like a coward?
"I don't know why you are taking the Buffalo Horse to this man, but if that is what you want to do, then I am going too," Three Birds said.
"It is your choice," Kicking Wolf said.
He was a little ashamed of himself, for trying to scare Three Birds
away. Three Birds was a brave warrior, even though he didn't fight very well and was often wandering in the dream time when he should be paying more attention to things.
When he stole the Buffalo Horse he thought he would take him to Ahumado alone. There would be much power flow from such an act. He would take a great horse from the most powerful Texan and sell him to the terrible bandit of the south. No one else had done such a thing. It was a thing that would be sung forever. Even if Ahumado killed him his feat would live in the songs.
He had not meant to share it with anybody. He had thought when they reached the river he would send Three Birds back and go into the Sierra Perdida alone, riding the Buffalo Horse.
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