Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction) (29 page)
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Authors: James Welch
BOOK: Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)
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“It was in my mind.” The other laughed. “It would not displease me to have this seizer’s hair hanging from my lodgepole.”
“That is why I lean on you for advice, my friend—you have the blood of a warrior flowing through a peace-talker’s body. Now, what do you advise?”
“Wait. Until the other bands have received Joe Kipp’s message. It is important to know what Mountain Chief and Heavy Runner think. As you know, they are as different as the real-bear and the prairie chicken. Mountain Chief wishes to deal harshly with the Napikwan, while Heavy Runner would seek to clean their long-shoes. The other chiefs fall in the middle and could perhaps be persuaded one way or the other.”
They had reached Three Bears’ lodge. They listened a moment to a woman singing. “My youngest daughter. She is the only one left to marry off, but she is getting older and has the withered leg. It will not be easy.” Three Bears bent to enter the lodge; then he stood and turned. “If this council at the agency takes place, can I count on you to speak for the Lone Eaters? I have no heart for this matter.”
“It would be an honor—but I would speak only those words that came from Three Bears himself.” Rides-at-the-door laughed with little humor. “But I have it in my mind that the Pikunis are invited only to listen. We are being squeezed, Three Bears. I’m afraid this is the latest trick, perhaps the last, to gain our lands without fighting. The seizer chief will certainly demand the impossible. I think he will try to divide the Pikunis between those who would follow Mountain Chief and those who would line up behind Heavy Runner. Already, they attempt to solidify their friendship with Heavy Runner.”
“You do not agree with his—”
“Desire to please the Napikwans? No. Heavy Runner would have us give away everything for a few blankets and a tin of the white man’s grease.”
“He thinks they would take care of us, that we should put our fate in their hands,” said Three Bears.
“And Mountain Chief would like us to fight. Either way, we will lose.” Rides-at-the-door looked up at the night sky. He felt old suddenly and envied the stars their distance. “We will lose our grandchildren, Three Bears. They will be wiped out or they will turn into Napikwans. Already some of our children attend their school at the agency. Our men wear trousers and the women prefer the trade-cloth to skins. We wear their blankets, cook in their kettles and kill the blackhorns with their bullets. Soon our young women will marry them, like the Liars and the Cutthroats.”
“Perhaps it is useless to resist?” Three Bears looked keenly into the eyes of his friend and adviser. He was alarmed to hear this kind of talk. But he needn’t have worried, for even as Rides-at-the-door delivered his harangue, he had begun to anticipate the seizer chiefs’ demands and seek ways of countering them. It would require compromise, but he had no intention of counseling the Pikunis to give in. One thing did trouble him—suppose he wasn’t allowed to enter into the talks? He wasn’t a head chief or a band chief. He had no right to be heard, and the head seizer chief would undoubtedly be unyielding in his demand that only chiefs be present. The only chance he had was the knowledge that the chiefs valued his ability to deal with the Napikwans, as he had proven in the past. He spoke the strange language and had clarified many points in the previous treaty discussions. If the moderate chiefs showed up—those somewhere between Mountain Chief and Heavy Runner—they would seek his counsel and even desire him to speak for them in some instances.
“We must resist them,” said Rides-at-the-door, “but we must also give them something—even if we have to kill Owl Child ourselves.”
“That would give some among Heavy Runner’s band great pleasure; it was one of their people that he killed. Bear Head’s relatives would welcome the chance. But who would be foolish enough to go to Mountain Chief’s camp and demand that he turn over Owl Child? And would this be enough to satisfy the seizer chiefs? What about the Napikwan horses?”
“They will have to understand that the return of the horses would be impossible. Most of them have already been sold to the traders north of the Medicine Line. If the seizers insist on this point ...” Rides-at-the-door threw his hands up to the night sky, as though the stars were horses out of reach.
“Then we may have to join Mountain Chiefs side. We will not align ourselves with Heavy Runner,” said Three Bears. Only a moment ago his back hurt and his feet were cold, but now he spoke with determination. “We will not become like the whitehorns that these white people herd from one place to another. I will tell you this, my friend—if the Napikwans do not respect our lands and our people, I will lead the first war party against them. I am an old man and I see things I do not like. It is clear to me that our days of following the blackhorns where we choose are numbered. I see the signs all around me. Many of our young men go off on their own. They do not listen to their chiefs. They drink the white man’s water and kill each other. Some of our young women already stand around the forts, waiting to fornicate with the seizers for a drink of this water. They become ugly before their time, and then they are turned out like old cows to forage for themselves. It is bad for our young people and it will get worse. The Lone Eaters are lucky. We live many sleeps from these places of ruin. But the day will come when our people will decide that they would rather consort with the Napikwans than live in the ways our long-ago fathers thought appropriate. But I, Three Bears, will not see this day. I will die first.”
23
IT WAS A SUNNY WINDLESS DAY, and the seven children pulling their blackhorn-rib sleds to a steep hill beyond the horse herds talked and teased each other. The two girls, at twelve winters, were the oldest. They had been sent to keep an eye on the younger ones, but they were not happy, for the five boys made jokes about the size of their breasts and the skinniness of their legs. One Spot, in particular, was cruel to them. He liked these times when he didn’t have to follow his older brother around, and so he bullied the younger boys and made the girls chase him. He boasted of his hunting skills and rubbed snow in another boy’s face. When one of the girls hit him with a small skin of pemmican, it stung his cheek but he didn’t cry. He called the girl Skinny Weasel and he liked her, although she was a year older than he was. She liked One Spot’s brother, Good Young Man, but he was more interested in hunting than girls. He was off hunting the bighorns with Fools Crow now near the Backbone. They would be gone for two or three sleeps. One Spot picked up a handful of snow and threw it at Skinny Weasel. His cheek stung but he liked her.
None of them noticed the wolf that had emerged from behind a clump of drifted-over greasewood until he was fifty paces to the side of them. He was large and gray and his eyes were golden in the brilliant sun. Snow clung to one side of him as though he had been lying down. As he walked, his tail drooped and dragged on the deep snow, and a sound, somewhere between a growl and a grunt, came up from his chest.
It was this sound that Skinny Weasel’s girlfriend heard, and when she looked over she saw the animal’s gait was shaky and listed to one side. He had his head down, his tongue hanging almost to the snow. Then she saw the whiteness around his mouth and thought he had been eating snow. Her first impulse was to turn and run, but then the wolf began to veer away from them. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as the wolf circled behind them. Then she said something to Skinny Weasel in a low voice and the girls stopped and turned. It was at this point that one of the boys let out a cry bf fear, for he had just seen the wolf.
The wolf looked up at them and coughed and bared his fangs, making chewing motions as though he were trying to rid himself of a bone or hairball. He watched listlessly as the children ran, all but One Spot, who stood in the deep snow with his hands on his hips. He taunted the bigmouth with a war song that he had learned from Fools Crow.
The other children stopped near the base of the big hill and turned to watch. The wolf covered the thirty paces with such speed that they didn’t have a chance to cry out a warning. By the time One Spot had turned to run, the wolf was upon him, knocking him face down in the snow, standing over him, growling, the hair on his back standing up and shining in the sunlight. The children screamed as they watched the wolf attack the bundled-up child. He struck repeatedly at the blanket, his low growl now a roar of fury. At last he found One Spot’s head and sank his fangs into the exposed skin behind the ear. The child screamed in pain and turned over, only to feel a fang knock against his cheekbone, opening up the skin. Then the fangs were twisting and pulling at the cheek, gnashing into the soft flesh. One Spot felt the wetness and the hot breath. He saw for one brief instant a yellow eye and a laid-back ear—then he sank into the snow and the red darkness.
Skinny Weasel was crying as she watched the wolf stagger away. In his charge and attack, he had used up the last of his energy. Now his throat was swollen shut and the saliva hung in long strands from his mouth. He began a wide circle, veering always to his right, his eyes glazed, his breath coming in harsh barks, his tongue and tail once again hanging and dragging on the snow. Skinny Weasel watched him disappear behind a stand of willows near the river; then she ran to the limp form in the snowfield. When she rolled him over, she bit her lips to keep from screaming. A flap of ragged skin lay back over One Spot’s eye, exposing the clean white bone of his cheek. One earlobe hung from a thin piece of skin and there was a large mat of blood in the hair. She thought she heard a rattle deep in the boy’s throat. With a shudder, she placed the flap of skin down over the cheekbone. Then she and the others lifted him onto a sled. Skinny Weasel’s girlfriend covered him up with her own blanket. Then the two girls pulled the sled through the deep snow back toward camp. The sun was high and the sweat was cool on the girls’ bodies.
By the time Fools Crow and Good Young Man returned from their hunting trip four sleeps later, One Spot was able to sit up and take some meat. But most of the time he lay in his robes and thought of the yellow eye and laid-back ear, the harsh breath and snapping teeth. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the bounding wolf and cried out in his weakness and pain. Heavy Shield Woman had slept little, despite the fact that Red Paint and another woman had taken over the nursing of her son. Now she sat in a listless trance and thought of the many things that had happened to her family. She didn’t really think much, but images of Yellow Kidney and Red Paint and Good Young Man entered her head and they all seemed far away, as though she had lost them all. Even when she looked down at One Spot, in one of his moments of peace, she saw the black pitchy substance that held his cheek in place and thought that he had gone away from her too. Only Red Paint was there to talk with, but Heavy Shield Woman didn’t talk. She had begun to wonder about her role as Sacred Vow Woman at the Sun Dance ceremonies. Had she done something wrong? She thought she could not be a virtuous woman, for she felt no happiness or peace since her husband was returned to her. She felt a day-to-day barrenness of spirit relieved only by moments of pleasure at the antics of her sons and Red Paint’s swelling belly. She knew she would never see Yellow Kidney again and that thought almost gave her relief, but then she would think of the happiness they had shared, the times they had lain together, the pride in his eyes each time she delivered him a child, and she would become consumed by a restless, quiet fury. Many times she thought of going to Three Bears and telling him what was in her heart and renouncing her role as medicine woman. In her mind she had already done so. Now when the girls looked to her for guidance, she averted her eyes and said nothing. She began to avoid them, for she was sure they would see in her eyes what she felt in her heart.
Fools Crow and Good Young Man rode into camp with the carcasses of two bighorns. Fools Crow had a set of horns for One Spot tied to the frame of a packhorse. He rode first to his own lodge and dumped one of the bighorns in the snow beside the entrance. Then he led the other packhorse to Heavy Shield Woman’s lodge, kicking a black dog in the ribs when he became too curious. As he loosened the rawhide strings that held the animal down, Red Paint emerged from her mother’s lodge. She came forward and squeezed his upper arm and smiled. She called a greeting to her brother, Good Young Man, who sat exhausted on his horse, ready to drive the packhorses back to the herd. Wearily he rolled onto his belly and slid off the horse. He had planned to return to the camp in triumph because he had shot one of the bighorns with Fools Crow’s rifle, but now he felt the stiffness in his legs and butt and wanted only to lie down and sleep.
But Red Paint motioned him close, and then she told them about One Spot’s encounter with the wolf. Even as she said that he was all right, her voice shook and she looked at the snow at Fools Crow’s feet. Good Young Man ducked into the lodge.
Red Paint looked into her husband’s eyes. “The children he was with think the wolf might have had the white-mouth. They say he was acting funny, walking sideways in a big circle. They think he had the foam on the mouth, but they couldn’t tell if it was that or if he was eating snow.”
“Did he breathe different?”
“Skinny Weasel said it was like a harsh bark in his throat.”
“Maybe it was a bone stuck.”
“Maybe,” said Red Paint.
“Is your mother in the lodge?”
“She is out gathering firewood.”
Fools Crow entered the lodge, with Red Paint right behind him. Good Young Man knelt beside his brother, holding his hand. One Spot looked at Fools Crow; then he grinned.
“I sang my war song,” he said.
“But did you have your weapons?” Fools Crow got down on his knees and ruffled the boy’s hair.
“No,” the boy said sheepishly.
“Haiya! What warrior goes out empty-handed?”
“He would kill this bigmouth with his bare hands. He would be a great warrior,” said Good Young Man.
“If I had my knife—”
“If he had his knife! Listen to him talk!” Fools Crow laughed. “And now you have your first battle wounds. Let me see.” Fools Crow leaned over the boy’s face. The patch of skin held by the black pitch looked a pale purple and was slightly swollen. He almost lost his whole cheek, thought Fools Crow. As it is, it will always be swollen and discolored, but it will at least be there. The earlobe was completely bitten off and would cause no trouble. But behind the ear, in a patch of cut-off hair, there were several puncture wounds. The whole area was an angry red, except for the small white circles around each fang mark. These were draining, but the area was swollen and tender-looking. It scared Fools Crow to look at these wounds, but he didn’t say anything.
“He has nightmares,” said Red Paint. “He gets very little sleep because of them.”
“Sleep-bringer will visit soon. All warriors have bad dreams after battle. They will pass.” Fools Crow looked down at One Spot. “You must not think of this wolf as your enemy. He did only what wolves will do. The bigmouth is a power animal, and if he visits you in your dreams, it is only because he wishes to help you. Someday he will become your dream helper.”
“When I am old enough for my seeking?”
“Yes. Then he will come to you and give you some of his secret medicine. But for now, you must think of him as your brother and treat him with respect. Do you understand that?”
“But why did he attack me?”
“This one was—sick. I think he didn’t know what he was doing. But wolves are unpredictable. It is best to leave them alone, even if they are our brothers—like the real-bear.”
“Will I have a scar forever?”
“Do you remember the story of Poia—Scarface?”
“Yes. He came from Sun Chief and instructed our people in the Sun Dance. Afterward, Sun Chief made him a star in the sky, just like his father, Morning Star.”
“But before that he was a boy just like you, with a scar on his face.”
“But the people laughed and scorned him!”
“In those days, the people were not wise. Now we honor Poia. Of all the Above Ones, he is most like us, and so you must think of your scar as a mark of honor. You will wear it proudly and the people will be proud of you. And they will think highly of you because you did not kill your brother, the wolf.” Fools Crow laughed. “We will tell them you took pity on this bigmouth.”
One Spot thought for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed and staring up at the point where the lodgepoles come together. He heard some children run by but he didn’t envy their freedom. Finally he said, “Yes, I took pity on my brother. Bigmouth will come visit me when I am older and I will welcome him. But if I had my weapons, I surely would have killed him.”
One Spot did not get over his dreams, but now, instead of attacking him, the wolf turned away or stopped, sometimes lifting his lip to growl, other times simply staring at the boy through golden eyes. But he always kept his distance, and One Spot, in spite of his fear, began to look forward to the wolfs visits, for he was memorizing every aspect of the animal, from his silver-tipped fur to the way his long ears flickered when One Spot shouted at him. For seven sleeps he dreamed of the bigmouth, and on the eighth day he was well enough to walk down to the river to throw rocks. Good Young Man stayed with him, never leaving the lodge to play with friends or even to visit Red Paint and Fools Crow. Together, he and his mother had skinned and quartered the bighorn. The meat was strong but good and would last a long time. Heavy Shield Woman also seemed to be recovering her spirit. For the first time in many sleeps she went to visit a friend who lived on the other side of camp. The friend was happy to see her, for she had been concerned about Heavy Shield Woman’s misfortunes. They ate and talked until well after dark and the friend noticed that Heavy Shield Woman smiled and laughed more than she had in some time—since the days Yellow Kidney, then a whole man, and she had come to feast. When the friend’s husband came home, with a fat blackhorn cow he had killed on the cutbank, Heavy Shield Woman remembered that she had not fed One Spot and Good Young Man. She looked up at the stars as she hurried along the icy path to her lodge, and the cold air was fresh in her chest.
When she entered, Good Young Man looked up anxiously. He was kneeling by his brother’s side. “One Spot seems to be sick again. He seems to have trouble swallowing. He moves his jaws and is thirsty all the time but he can’t drink.”
Heavy Shield Woman ran to One Spot and sank to her knees. His forehead glistened in the firelight and his throat seemed to jump and quiver on its own. He looked up at her and his eyes were wide with fear. He tried to speak but the effort made him swallow and he cried out in pain. In panic he began to thrash around under the blackhorn robe. Heavy Shield Woman held him and spoke soothing words to him, but he didn’t seem to hear or know her.
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