The Changing Wind (12 page)

But he could see the difficulties in a marriage at this time. It would be very hard to turn aside from the company of Crow Woman in their own lodge to devote time away from her to learning.
Aiee
, there should not be such a thing, the necessity to make such a choice. But it must be. He should not postpone his apprenticeship now that the trail lay plainly before him with his quest behind. And now that he and Crow Woman had resolved their misunderstandings, they would be able to share each other’s company. What little time he was able to spend away from his duties as the medicine man’s apprentice they could share.

He dreaded telling Crow Woman of his decision. He was certain that she had her heart set on an immediate marriage, as he had. Now he must explain….

“It does not matter,” she assured him. “We were apart for a long time. Now we can be together when we can, when your duties allow. And later, together always.”

She snuggled next to him in a suggestive way that implied that the rewards would be worth whatever delay was necessary.
Aiee
, this could become more and more frustrating!

He also told her of his vision quest, omitting the part in which he identified his spirit-animal, the buffalo. Later, perhaps, it would be good for her to know that too; he felt a closeness in their spirits that said so. But he wished to share now the visions of the strange creatures, especially that of the hornless elk with the turtles on its feet.

“You are joking,” she accused, eyes wide with wonder. “You are teasing me.”

“No, no, it is as I told you. It came close to me, rose on its hind legs, and pawed the air!”

“Like the real-bear?” she asked. “The bear-that-walks-like-a-man?”

“No, not like that. It is hard to tell, but it was different.”

“And it seemed something special? Your spirit-guide?”

“No. White Buffalo asked me that. That was another… I will tell you some day. But this… Crow, you know my spirit well. What could it mean?”

“Aiee
, I know nothing of vision quests, Elk. It must be something of meaning. If it is for you to know, someday it will be shown to you. You have dreamed of it since?”

“Yes, twice. It was the same both times. The strange animal came and stopped on a hill near me, to stand and cry out. Its cry was frightening and loud, a roar almost, but there seemed little danger.”

“Then it must be a good sign. I do not know, Elk.”

There was little time to wonder. Now that the decision had been made, White Buffalo was anxious to proceed with his son’s education. Elk was only too willing. The sooner he began, the sooner he and Crow Woman could establish their own lodge. However, he had not counted on the immense quantity of information that his father was eager to give him.

It was nearing the Moon of Ripening, when all things that grow are completing the year’s cycle and preparing for the winter’s sleep. It would be a while before that process would be completed. But already, the bluish stems of the big grasses were pushing upward, sometimes taller than a large man before the seedheads opened.

In the giant oaks along the streams and in the canyons,
busy squirrels hurried to gather and store acorns. Sometime soon, the restless herds of buffalo would be migrating, drifting south for the winter. It would be a time for the People to hunt, to store as much food as possible for the winter. It was the responsibility of White Buffalo, possessor of the buffalo medicine, to predict their arrival. He would also assist with the plans for the hunt, sometimes using his calfskin cape to mingle with the herd and gently maneuver them to an area favorable to the hunters.

“But how do you tell when the buffalo will come?” asked Small Elk.

“Patience!” White Buffalo said impatiently. “You have much to learn before that.”

They walked the prairie together. White Buffalo sniffed the air, seeming to study the maturing grasses, the stage of development of the nuts and acorns along the timbered streams, the profusion of golden flowers of different types.

“At this moon, most of the flowers are yellow or purple,” he pointed out.

“Why, Father?”

“To tell that it is the Moon of Ripening!” White Buffalo said.

Small Elk wanted to ask about the buffalo but sensed that it would not be advisable.

“Now, at about this season,” his father was saying, “there will come a change in the weather. Rain Maker has been resting, and the land becomes hot and dry. Then comes the change, and that tells the buffalo to move. One day we notice that the prairie smells different,
feels
different. We must be able to tell, just a little while before it happens.”

Elk started to ask why, but realized his own answer. The holy man must be ready to tell the others, so that they could be ready for the hunt.

“There are many things to watch for,” White Buffalo explained. “Hear how the insects in the trees sing at evening? It is their time.”

Small Elk remained quiet, sensing that more was coming.

“The change sometimes comes with rain, sometimes not. The summer wind is from the south. When it begins to change—but look! There is a sign!”

He pointed across a little meadow. Elk saw nothing except some swallows, apparently from nests in a nearby
cliff. The birds were swooping low, crisscrossing the meadow, darting after an occasional insect.

“But, I—” Elk began, but his father held up a hand.

“When birds fly low, the weather is about to change. Rain, maybe.”

“Why, Father?”

“Aiee
, Elk, you have asked such things since you were small! Maybe they are hunting insects, and
they
fly low. Yes,
‘why?’
I suppose. There is a difference in the air… do you not feel it?”

Elk nodded. It was something that could not be described, but it was there. A different
spirit
The wind, which had been blowing steadily from the south for many days, was now quiet. The air was still and heavy.

“The South Wind,” said White Buffalo. “It is resting. A change is coming.”

Strange, thought Small Elk. This had been happening each autumn since he was born. No, since Creation maybe. He had never noticed before—well, that the wind usually came from the south. That was a recognized fact and gave the area one of its names. There was even a tribe who called themselves South Wind People. Small Elk had noticed that the wind sometimes changed and that the change often meant rain, but he had not even begun to realize the intricate connection here, the thing his father was teaching him. This change, this time in the late summer, was a signal. At least, it seemed so.

There was a stirring in the air now, a breathlike movement that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, and to have no direction. White Buffalo pointed to a distant line of timber to the north. The trees were writhing in the grip of the changing wind, like a great green snake, their tops twisting to show the silvery undersides of the leaves.

“It comes,” he said softly. “The changing wind.”

He turned back down the ridge toward the camp.

“Come,” he said over his shoulder. “I will make the announcement.”

Small Elk was puzzled.

“That it will rain?”

“No. They can tell that, and it is coming soon. I will tell them of the buffalo.”

“But Father! We saw no buffalo!”

“No. But things are right. All the signs. This is the season. I will dance the Buffalo Dance and bring them.”

“But… what if they do not come?”

“Ah!” said White Buffalo. “Sometimes they do not, and the dance does not work. Then the People will say someone broke a taboo, or the buffalo are displeased with where we camped—or maybe, even, White Buffalo is getting old, and his medicine is weak.”

He paused a moment to catch his breath and continued. “But most of the time, Elk, they will come this way. Then, the People say, ‘Aiee! White Buffalo’s medicine is strong. He has brought the herds back again!’”

Small Elk was astonished at this revelation.

“Then your medicine does not really?…”

“Ah, did I say that? Who knows, my son, why they come. When I see that everything is right, I say, ‘the herds may come.’ It would be foolish to say that when things are
not
ready. The medicine is strong, but I must help it, by knowing when to use it. Now, I am made to think, is the time to do the Buffalo Dance. Maybe they come, maybe not.”

“But more likely than not?” Small Elk persisted.

“Of course. If the herds were more likely
not
to come, I would not try the dance.”

“And in the springtime?”

“Ah, you will learn that later. That is a matter of firing the grass at the right time. You have much to learn before then. Come, we must hurry.”

They approached the medicine man’s lodge, and he called to Dove Woman. She unrolled the bundle and shook out the white buffalo cape with horns attached, the symbol of office. White Buffalo swung it across his shoulders and tied the thongs under his chin and across the chest. He settled the horned headdress portion on his head and nodded to Dove Woman. She began a rhythmic beat on the small dance-drum as White Buffalo picked up his rattles and eagle-fan and began to dance.

Small Elk had watched this ceremony all his life, but now he seemed to see it for the first time.

“Watch the cadence,” Dove Woman whispered. “Next time maybe he will let you try it.”

People were coming to watch the ceremony, and in the distance came the mutter of Rain Maker’s drum in answer to the one held by Dove Woman.

T
he buffalo did come, and the People were loud in praise of the medicine man’s skill. Small Elk was mildly confused. He was not certain whether the skills included
causing
the herds to return or skillfully
predicting
the event.

“Does it matter?” his father asked with a quiet smile. “They are here. Either way, it was successful. Maybe both are true.”

On one point White Buffalo was absolutely correct. Either way, it was a successful season. After a day of rain, which freshened the prairie and brightened the green of the grasses, the sky cleared to a bright autumn blue. Days were warm, nights cool. On the third day, the scouts spotted the first of a large herd, grazing as they came and moving slowly southward. It was soon enough after the ceremony for White Buffalo to take credit for the herd’s appearance. He modestly accepted the praise and the attention that fell to his office and his buffalo medicine. He conducted a ceremony for the hunt, and it too was an outstanding success. White Buffalo was riding high on a crest of prestige.

“Will you use the calfskin to move the herd, Father?” Small Elk asked.

“No, it is not necessary. The buffalo already come where we want them. Anyway, that works better in the spring hunt.”

White Buffalo and his apprentice watched this hunt from a low ridge overlooking an isolated meadow. A few animals, some twenty in number, had detached themselves from the main herd and grazed into this meadow. It was formed by a loop of the stream which meandered past, partly enclosing this level spot of choice grass. It was a long
bowshot in diameter, making it ideal for the hunters, hidden in the brush, trees, and rocks around the perimeter. Short Bow would loose the first arrow.

This was the first time that Small Elk had had the opportunity to watch a hunt as an observer. He could see the entire sequence unfold. The animals moved, unhurried, into the loop of the stream, past the narrowest part of the opening. Short Bow waited until they were well into the meadow and chose a fat yearling as his quarry. The animal jumped as the arrow struck, staggered a few steps, and stopped, sagging slowly to the ground. The others milled around nervously, now catching the scent of the hunters. Another animal stumbled and fell.

This could go on only a few moments before the herd began to panic and run, but now there were at least three kills. A fourth animal was struggling along, probably with a fatal wound. A hunter, unable to restrain himself further, let out a yell of triumph, and the buffalo started to run. They were deterred on three sides by the creek and its screen of timber; it was by no means a barrier, but by nature the buffalo saw the open plain as their path to safety. They turned to rush back to the plain, where they had come from.

Now came a crucial and dangerous part of the hunt. A few men, the bravest and most daring, would jump out from concealment among the trees to try to turn at least some of the animals back toward the other hunters. Small Elk saw Short Bow leap from behind a clump of willows, flapping a robe and yelling at the top of his lungs. This signaled the others, who seemed to appear like magic to confront the running herd. The leading buffalo paused and shied away from the noise and the threat of danger. Some tried to turn back uncertainly; others dashed ahead toward the blockers, who leapt nimbly out of the way. One man, Elk thought it was Bluejay, was tossed high in the air by a large bull as it thundered to safety. That unusual sight itself seemed to turn back some of the herd.

Now those remaining in the meadow seemed to feel trapped. In a panic, they crashed through the brush and small trees to reach the streambed. There they were met by another rain of arrows from the hidden bowmen as they clattered and splashed across the stream to safety. In a short while it was all over. Dead or dying buffalo were
scattered across the meadow. Men poured out of concealment to identify their kills and congratulate each other.