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Authors: James Welch
Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction) (4 page)
BOOK: Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)
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Just as he turned to leave, something across the valley floor caught Eagle Ribs’ eye. At first he thought it was patches of old snow, but as he squinted his eyes, he made out the straight sides and sloping roofs of the Napikwan tents. Not far to one side he saw the hulking traders’ wagons, their oxen teams grazing nearby.
That the white men came to the Crows to trade in such numbers was something new. Usually the Indians went to the trading houses. From the boisterous nature of the camp, Eagle Ribs knew there was much of the white man’s water being passed around. That would be good. The bad part was there would be many new rifles in camp.
Yellow Kidney had been right. The young men did not get much rest the next day. They huddled beneath a rocky outcropping on the south side of Black Face Butte. They strung their bows, unstrung them, shaped the feathers on their arrows, checked the soles on their several pairs of moccasins to make sure they had on the best ones, felt in their war bags to make sure their medicine and paints were accounted for. They thought many fearsome thoughts: that they would be discovered, that they would choose the wrong horse to mount, too slow or not yet broken to ride, that they would be killed. Yellow Kidney himself had been affected by the young men’s nerves. He caught himself thinking that he might not be able to lead them, that they would panic in the middle of the Crow camp. They had conducted themselves so well on the long trek—had he been lulled into thinking that the horse-taking would be smooth and easy? One thing he was grateful for. A long slide of thin clouds had come down from the north. While they wouldn’t block Night Red Light completely, they would make a raider’s movements less distinct. Experienced horse-takers could take advantage of these clouds, but what about these young men?
Just before the light went out of the day he called to Eagle Ribs to once again give an account of the Crow encampment. He listened carefully as Eagle Ribs detailed the locations of the lodges, the white men’s camp, the horse herds. When he was satisfied, Yellow Kidney told the young men to eat a little of their pemmican and then make ready for the raid.
White Man’s Dog squatted near a small spring and mixed the yellow pigment into a paste. Then he stood and stripped off his skin shirt. He dipped his finger into the paint and traced two lightning streaks from his clavicles to his waist, just as Mik-api had instructed. Then he drew two yellow sun dogs on each side of his face, from temple to chin. He said the prayers that Mik-api had given him. He prayed to Thunder Chief, whose long rumbling voice foretold the beginning of life and abundance on the ground of many gifts.
He prayed to Sun Chief, who watched over the Pikunis and all the things of this world. Then he dropped his head and made a vow. He vowed that if he was successful and returned home unharmed, he would sacrifice before the medicine pole at the next Sun Dance. Finally, he sang his war song, his voice low and indistinct. When he lifted his head he saw that the other men had painted their faces. Yellow Kidney had painted the left half of his face white with a series of small blue dots in a familiar pattern. Seven Persons, thought White Man’s Dog. As he pulled his shirt back on, he glanced over at Fast Horse, who was tying a quill roach to the back of his head. He had three eagle feathers dangling from his topknot. With his face painted vermilion, he looked almost comically fierce.
But it was Fast Horse’s shirt that made the others stop what they were doing. They watched as he pulled the cloth shirt over his buckskin top. They knew from the ragged holes and crude designs that it was an old war shirt. Yellow Kidney recognized it instantly. It had once belonged to Head Carrier and had deflected many arrows and greased shooters aimed directly at the warrior’s heart. Because he was old and had no desire for the war trail anymore, he had sold it to Boss Ribs, Fast Horse’s father. The shirt had great power and many of the men in the Lone Eater camp thought Boss Ribs, being a heavy-singer-for-the-sick, didn’t need it. He never warred against the enemies. Now Yellow Kidney knew why Boss Ribs had acquired the shirt. Perhaps it will bring its protection to us all, he thought as he fastened his owl feather medicine to his left braid.
Night Red Light showed her face through the thin clouds as the three men lay on their bellies on the crest of the hill overlooking the Crow encampment. Seven Persons was at its highest point and the camp was darker and less active than it was on the previous night. But there was enough light for Eagle Ribs to point out the lodges, the white traders’ camp and, downstream, the horse herds. Yellow Kidney grunted as his eyes followed Eagle Ribs’ hand. He was silent for a moment as he considered all that he saw. Then he leaned closer to White Man’s Dog. “Now you see where the horses are,” he whispered. “They are many and strung out. Take Medicine Stab and the other young men. Circle around—stay high on the bluffs—until you come to the end of the herds. Then look around, look around good before you decide which horses to take. Make sure you know where the night-riders are. There shouldn’t be many of them. These Crows feel secure here. Take only as many horses as you can drive away safely. Do not run them. Let them move easily. Pick out strong horses to ride, strong and gentle so they will work the herd smoothly.” Yellow Kidney looked up at Night Red Light. Her edges were hazy behind the clouds. “It is not as dark as I would wish.”
“Where shall we take the horses?”
Yellow Kidney had watched White Man’s Dog closely the past few days, so he wasn’t surprised by the calmness of the young man’s question. “When you get far clear of the village, drive the horses as fast as you can to Black Face, then on to Woman Don’t Walk. Do not stop until you get there. Do not think about Eagle Ribs, Fast Horse or myself. We will not go into camp for the buffalo-runners until Seven Persons is well on its journey down. That will give you a good head start. We will catch up or meet you at Woman Don’t Walk.”
The four young men stood listening in the grove of big-leaf trees near the edge of the water. The river flowed slowly, silently, and they heard a distant drumming from the direction of the camp. They were between two horse herds, and they had not seen or heard any night-riders since entering the grove. Rattler, the youngest at fifteen winters, whispered, “They are ours, White Man’s Dog! We can take both herds. These Crows sleep like old women.”
“We will have many horses, as many as we want,” said another.
From the ridge, they had seen three night-riders to the south and two to the north. They were in groups, talking among themselves. They were not alert, but White Man’s Dog could not see them now and it made him nervous.
“I will walk first among the horses to the north. If it looks safe, we will take them.” For the first time, White Man’s Dog felt the responsibility of his charge. Suddenly it was not a game. They were in the country of the enemies, and it was up to him to see that the young men did not become foolish. He squatted and motioned the others to do the same. He looked from face to face, pale in the filtered moonlight. “I will decide which horses to take,” he whispered. “You will do as I say. If we are to be successful, we must act as wisely as our fathers. We must be as brave and strong as our long-ago people. We have traveled long to reach this place and now we will take horses—but we must not be greedy. We will take as many as we can safely drive. If we create a commotion now, it will go hard on us and on Yellow Kidney and the others.”
Medicine Stab, the quiet one who had spoken little on the journey, now surprised White Man’s Dog. “We will wait for you. We are of the Lone Eaters band of Pikunis. We will do as you say.”
White Man’s Dog moved quietly among the horses. Some shied away but most stood still, regarding him with little interest. By the time he reached the north edge of the herd, he had counted well over a hundred horses. He looked off toward the encampment. From where he stood, he could barely make out the bulk of the lodges. He waited and listened, but he heard only a faroff barking. The night riders were not visible. As he passed back through the herd, White Man’s Dog felt his heart beating hard in his chest. He couldn’t understand the way he felt, the combination of fear and almost hysterical glee. It had come suddenly upon him and now he felt weak, light-headed. He was glad the others weren’t there to see him tremble. He stood still and watched the horses around him, afraid his state would cause panic among them. But the horses continued to graze or doze and White Man’s Dog became ashamed of himself. He had heard his father, Rides-at-the-door, and the other men talk of fear, their own fear in dangerous spots, but he had not really believed them. They were warriors, men who had proven themselves. They would laugh to see him tremble so. They would mock him, scorn him, and for good reason. He was not fit to be on such a raid, much less lead young men. Sun Chief, take pity on me. Thunder Chief, give me your strength. I will honor you all my days, I will live according to your guidance. White Man’s Dog sang his war song in a low voice and felt his strength returning. His chest had quit heaving and he felt he could die with honor.
After White Man’s Dog told them his plan, the young men walked among the horses until they found big gentle ones. They made bridles out of their lariats, then mounted the horses. They began to move back and forth behind the herd, clucking, swatting gently with the ends of their lariats. The herd bunched up, looking around, grunting, shuddering, uncertain what it was these disturbers wanted. Then they moved, away from the river, toward the west, across the wide valley floor. White Man’s Dog rode at the north end, urging the horses forward and keeping his eye on the encampment. At the south end, Medicine Stab did the same, looking beyond the big-leaf grove to the herds below. The valley floor opened up before them, wide and long, but the clouds had thickened and the animals cast no shadows. The herd was moving slowly and steadily away from the river, stringing out as they moved. Once they veered south, but Medicine Stab was able to turn them without losing any. The hundreds of plodding hooves echoed in White Man’s Dog’s ears, and when the horses broke into a trot it sounded like all the drums of the Crow Nation were beating in his heart. He expected at any moment to see a ghostly stream of horsemen racing down from the camp, but so far—nothing.
The lead horses began to climb up a wide draw that led to the top of the plains. They were still in no hurry and the young men began to get excited. They cut back and forth and swatted at the rumps with more urgency. White Man’s Dog was about to ride over to caution them when he saw a painted horse step out to one side and look back toward the valley. He began to trot to the outside of the horse when she let out a long sharp whinny. He turned her back, but again she stopped and whinnied. Then she began to run, stiff-legged, back down the draw. White Man’s Dog looked beyond her and saw a colt running across the valley toward them. Somehow the colt had been cut out of the herd and had just noticed that its mother was gone. It whinnied in a high, sharper voice as it ran. White Man’s Dog was about to let the mother go when he saw a rider galloping up from the south in an effort to head off the colt. He looked back. The horses were about halfway up the draw. Soon the rider would be able to see them. White Man’s Dog looked around but there was no cover. The rider was so intent on heading off the colt he hadn’t seen them yet, but soon he would see the mother and then he would see the horse-takers. The chances were too good that he would gallop off to camp shouting out the enemy. White Man’s Dog bent low over his horse’s neck and began to trot down to the valley floor, his knife drawn and ready to strike. He saw the mother and colt stop to greet each other and the rider circling behind them. Then the rider stopped and sat erect. He had just noticed the tall dark horse coming toward him at a trot. He seemed puzzled but still he sat, looking. At twenty paces White Man’s Dog sat up and kicked his horse hard in the ribs. At ten paces he saw the look of recognition in the young eyes. Then the youth whirled his horse and the horse lunged away. But White Man’s Dog was on top of the rider. He plunged his knife into the youth’s back and heard him scream. But the knife hit bone; White Man’s Dog felt the jolt all the way up his arm. Again he struck and the knife slipped in up to the hilt. He struck twice more before the youth fell from the horse. White Man’s Dog reined up and looked down at the sprawled body. He heard the pounding of the riderless horse as it raced away to the north, toward the camp.
Just beyond the top of the draw White Man’s Dog caught up with the others. They watched warily as he caught his breath. He leaned off to one side and spit, then blew his nose.
“What was it?” said Rattler. His eyes were round and his voice high.
“Night-rider. He could have seen us.”
“Then we had better go.” Rattler looked quickly around the circle.
“He is dead,” said White Man’s Dog. “But his horse got away —in the direction of the Crow camp. Unless he slows down before he gets there, I am afraid the Crows will notice him and become alarmed.”
Medicine Stab looked up. “It is snowing,” he said quietly.
The others looked up as one at the heavy flakes drifting down. Cold Maker, thought White Man’s Dog. He has come to cover our tracks. He looks upon us with favor. Perhaps the ice spring flows only in Fast Horse’s dreaming mind. White Man’s Dog felt suddenly drained. Although they weren’t out of danger, the excitement of his first kill was beginning to wear off. He had killed a youth, not a man. The youth was an enemy and would surely have warned the other Crows, but he was not a man.
“Medicine Stab, we will drive these horses to Black Face. We have taken the Crow horses, but now we must move them as fast as we can. We must pray to the Above Ones to protect us and our comrades and lead us safely back to our home.”
BOOK: Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)
13.09Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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