The Changing Wind (32 page)

“Aiee,”
he said softly.

“It is beautiful,” Crow Woman whispered at his side. “This is the turtle-footed creature of your vision?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. What more was there to say?

Now their attention turned to the figure near the elk-dog. Yes, thought White Buffalo, it was as Coyote suspected. This was a man, not a god. The man moved stiffly, as if from injury, even limping a little. He picked up something from the ground, something not seen well at this distance, and approached the elk-dog. It was difficult to see, but the man appeared to wrap some thongs around the creature’s head and place something in its mouth.
Ah
, he thought.
This is his secret, the way he controls the elk-dog, his elk-dog medicine
. White Buffalo longed for a closer look, to determine the nature of this powerful spell over so large and strong a creature. He could see a shining sparkle, a reflection of sunlight, around the elk-dog’s nose and mouth. It reminded him of the flash of silvery minnows in the stream, when they turn as one, and their sides glint in the sun. This must be part of the powerful medicine.

Even though he was beginning to understand, he did not quite know how—ah, now the man picked up a small robe or pad with thongs and straps attached and carelessly tossed it on the animal’s back. He tightened the straps, placed his foot in a dangling loop of some sort, and stepped up, to sit astride the creature’s back.

They saw now that the man carried a long spear. Its point, too, sparkled like the medicine around the mouth of the elk-dog.

“Should we run?” whispered Crow.

“I think not,” White Buffalo answered, his voice hushed in awe. “He does not even see us. Look, he rides toward the buffalo.”

Fascinated, they watched while the elk-dog trotted calmly toward the grazing animals. The man seemed to select one, and moved toward it, a fat cow. It was over in a moment—a sudden rush, a thrust of the long spear. The elk-dog slid to a stop, withdrawing the weapon, and the running cow took a few more frantic leaps, stumbled, and fell to lie kicking in the grass. White Buffalo was astounded at the efficiency of the procedure.

“Ah, so
this
is the real value of the elk-dog! To hunt!”

It was the voice of Coyote, who had joined them, unnoticed.

White Buffalo nodded, still entranced by the scene be low.

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “Maybe there are even more things that this elk-dog can do. But do you see how his medicine controls the animal?
Aiee
, he is powerful, Coyote.”

The man had dismounted now and was rather clumsily hacking a chunk of meat from the hind quarter of the cow with a knife. He succeeded and withdrew to some distance away, to build a cooking fire, using sticks from a packrat’s nest in a scrubby tree on the hillside. He appeared to have no use for the rest of the carcass.

It was not long before some of the hunters had sent word back to camp. A butchering party approached, cautiously at first. When it appeared that the elk-dog’s rider, who owned the kill, did not object, they fell to the work of butchering with enthusiasm. In a short while, only stripped bones remained.

By evening, the word had been passed from Hump Ribs and the council. Heads Off, the outsider, and his elk-dog, were not to be bothered in any way. There was a strong feeling that it would be good to have him in the area. It was apparent that he could easily kill more buffalo than he could use, and someone might as well benefit from his kills.

White Buffalo had grave doubts, however. He saw too ready an acceptance of this strange foreign medicine. He would remain cautious until he knew more. Of one thing he was certain—things would never be the same again. It was a time of change, and in his declining years, he had come to dread change.

T
here was change in the wind. It had been some time since Heads Off’s first kill when White Buffalo saw the signs of the seasonal shift. From the gentle breezes that blew from the south all summer came the change to a new direction. A cutting northwest wind whipped across the prairie, chilling the bones of the elderly and nipping the noses and ears of the young. Cold Maker was coming.

That was not the only change observed by White Buffalo. The People had developed a new attitude toward Heads Off, the outsider. With the help of his elk-dog, the newcomer could kill a buffalo, almost at will, whenever he was hungry. The People watched closely because Heads Off never used more than enough meat for a day or two. The remainder of the kill was always utilized by the women. Winter stores were filling with much more ease than ever before. Increasingly, there seemed to be a dependency developing. The People were relying on the skills of Heads Off and the elk-dog. This worried the holy man. The People, he feared, would be unprepared when the visitor moved on, leaving them to fend for themselves in the old ways.

He wished that the man would do so and went so far as to carry out, quite in secret, a ceremony with prayers that Heads Off would go, to rejoin his own tribe. Of course, at first the head injury prevented it. It was apparent that any activity caused much head pain. Heads Off would lie on the ground for some time after a kill, holding his injured skull in his hands.

White Buffalo was somewhat offended by the attitude of Coyote. Coyote seemed fascinated by the stranger and had assumed the role of protector. He had given Heads Off a buffalo robe to protect him from the weather and was
teaching him the hand-sign talk. Coyote reported faithfully to the holy man, however, so there was a certain advantage to the tenuous arrangement. White Buffalo could remain well informed without seeming to do so.

It was some time before the holy man realized what he found so worrisome. Everyone in the band was talking about Heads Off, his activities, his skills. White Buffalo was threatened with a loss of prestige. Yes, that was it. He could hardly admit to jealousy, but it must come to that. In final form, the outsider presented a threat to the professional skill of the holy man. His elk-dog medicine was becoming more important daily, eclipsing the traditional buffalo medicine of the People. Again and again, White Buffalo found himself wishing that the man would go and take the cursed elk-dog with him. He wondered if his own position in the tribe would become obsolete. No one seemed to need him anymore. He performed small ceremonies designed to move the intruder on his way, though he was careful not to use his medicine for harm. It was more of an attempt to persuade, he told himself.

The young men, too, were fascinated by the novelty of the outsider and his elk-dog. There were two especially, youths not quite grown, who followed him and pulled grass to feed the elk-dog.
Aiee
, that was a bad sign, White Buffalo thought. It was unlikely that any gifted youth would be interested in apprenticing to the medicine man when they had the elk-dog to follow. To make matters worse, one of the favorites of the outsider was Coyote’s son, Long Elk. The other was Standing Bird, son of Mouse Roars.

Meanwhile, Heads Off had been invited to live in the lodge of Coyote. It was now understood that “Heads Off hunts for the lodge of Coyote.” Of course, Big-Footed Woman was generous with the kills, and the arrangement continued to benefit all.

All except White Buffalo, of course. He was increasingly frustrated. It was becoming extremely irritating to have Coyote popping in, every day or two, to relate the wonderful events that had occurred. Coyote seemed as completely charmed by Heads Off as the boys.

Something must happen soon, White Buffalo reflected as he strolled through the camp. They had made the move to winter camp shortly after Heads Off joined them, and he
had accompanied them. According to Coyote, the stranger was staying with them to find water, since the People knew its location. Their southward migration was the proper direction for Heads-Off too, so it seemed logical. Except, of course, that White Buffalo did not like it. Heads Off had stayed so long now that with the change in the weather, it would soon be too late to travel. He was looking for Coyote, to ask him about it.

His eye caught a group of children at play. One boy rode on the back of another and struck a third with a long stick. Even without an explanation, it was easy to tell what the game represented, but he stopped to ask.

“We are playing Heads Off, Uncle,” a child replied. “He strikes the buffalo with the real-spear, and the buffalo falls down.”

“Yes, I see,” the holy man said, half to himself.

He saw only too well. The young of the People were being corrupted by the influence of the stranger. Something must be done to stop the spread of this evil. But what? He was certain that Heads Off was using his medicine to invade the minds of the children, but what to do? it must be done quickly, for when even the children’s play was affected, how long before they would lose their time-honored heritage?

Reluctantly, he began to think that to remove the threat, the stranger must be destroyed. The most powerful medicine of the People must be their own, the medicine of the buffalo. He told himself that this was not just a threat to his own prestige but to the People’s way of life. A test of power between the two medicines. He was uneasy, because in a clash of power, he was not certain that his own medicine was strong enough to triumph. Maybe, if he could not use his medicine against the intruder for fear of defeat or the risks of misuse… maybe he could kill Heads Off himself. No, that would not be good. That would surely sacrifice all his prestige. Maybe someone would be willing to assassinate him….

“Ah-koh
, holy man, are you looking for something?” asked Mouse Roars.

Mouse Roars was seated in front of his lodge, smoking comfortably against his backrest.

“I…ah… yes, have you seen Coyote?” White Buffalo stammered.

“Yes, Uncle, Coyote and Heads Off are in the lodge of Hump Ribs.” He pointed at the chief’s dwelling. “Shall I tell him when he comes out?”

“No… no, Mouse. It is nothing. I will see him later.”

He turned and stalked off toward his own lodge, angry and even more frustrated.
Aiee
, for Coyote to take Heads Off to visit the chief… were they all in a plot to discredit him?

It was later that day when Coyote appeared at the lodge of the holy man.

“Ah-koh
, Uncle,” he began pleasantly.

White Buffalo merely grunted a greeting. He was still angry.

“I have come this time at the bidding of Hump Ribs,” Coyote said formally. “He wishes me to bring Heads Off to see you.”

Ah, then the test of medicines was to be at the request of the chief. The thought was like ashes in his mouth. After all his years of faithful service, of selflessness and sacrifice for the People, such ingratitude was beyond belief. Yet to refuse the contest would admit weakness. All his prestige would be gone and his medicine weakened.

“I think his medicine is very powerful,” Coyote was saying, “but Heads Off has used it only to help with the hunt. Maybe I can persuade him to bring his medicine, so that you can examine it.”

“This is not a contest?” White Buffalo asked.

“What? Oh, no, Uncle. Hump Ribs wishes you both to use your medicine to help the People.”

That was not quite Hump Ribs’s interpretation but Coyote’s. He was carefully manipulating the shifting power structure as skillfully as any diplomat of other cultures.

White Buffalo set the scene carefully—his paints, fragrant-scented herbs and powders to toss on the fire, ready for use. He shook out the white cape and brushed it with a hawk’s wing, smoothing and grooming the thick white fur.

“Ah-koh
, Uncle, we are here,” called Coyote, outside.

Crow Woman welcomed the visitors into the lodge. White Buffalo noticed at once that Heads Off was wearing the strange shiny garment once thought to be his skin. It was also apparent, however, that the young outsider had adopted the garment of the People to some extent. His
feet were now covered by soft moccasins, which showed the unmistakable patterns and craftsmanship of Big-Footed Woman. He also wore new leggings and breech-clout, undoubtedly from the same source. White Buffalo found himself somewhat irritated by this easy acceptance of the interloper. Big-Footed Woman was treating him like family.

The customary small talk ensued, and the holy man was surprised at how rapidly the newcomer had learned to communicate. There was some hesitancy, but between his knowledge of some words and some hand signs, a conversation was possible. White Buffalo did not fail to notice, however, that it was constantly assisted by Coyote. At times he was not certain whether the ideas being expressed were those of the visitor or of Coyote.

The holy man found, however, that he was powerfully intrigued. Rarely, once in a lifetime, perhaps never, would this opportunity happen to understand the medicine of another. Especially a medicine so powerful and so different from his own.

As he began his dance, imitating the dance of the buffalo, his mind was occupied with these thoughts. He concentrated on perfection of the ritual, giving meaning to each shake of the head, each pawing motion of a hoof. As he began to feel each swaying motion, once again to get “inside the head” of the great animal he represented, he felt at home, confident. This was a medicine that the stranger did not have,
could
not have.