The Elk-Dog Heritage (8 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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When the Elk–dog
band resumed travel next morning, there was an entirely different mood. The depression of the previous day had been replaced by good-natured optimism. Young women, who had rebraided their hair in masculine style, donned garments of their husbands or fathers. They strutted around, brandishing weapons and looking completely like lithe young warriors, while families and friends joked and made fun.
A number of women with young children pooled the youngsters under the care of one or two mothers, while the others took part in the deception. Heads Off was glad to see that the women handled the weapons well. There was some practicing in evidence, and a good-natured wager or two on a trial shot with the bow. Their proficiency was quite acceptable. The chief devoutly hoped that the ability of these young women in combat would never be tested. But it was well to be prepared.
It was not entirely unheard of, among the People, for a woman to take up arms. There were stories of women who had stood fast in defense of their husbands in time of attack. One old woman was called “Bear's Rump Woman.” As a young bride, the story said, she had once thrust a spear into the posterior of a bear that was mauling her husband. The startled animal had fled, squealing, and she had proudly worn the name ever since.
So, although the People might joke about armed women, and exaggerate the situation in pretense, the basic approach was
deadly serious. A capable woman was highly respected, and a source of pride for her husband.
The spirit of playacting extended to the teenagers. Several young men solemnly pretended to be heads of their own lodges. They tied the borrowed lodge poles to elk-dogs belonging to their parents, and prepared to join the procession as the band moved out.
Heads Off mounted his gray mare and cantered to a nearby hilltop to get the general effect. He was amazed at the change in appearance of the Elk-dog band. Had he not known of the subterfuge he would have thought their fighting strength doubled since the previous day. He rejoined the column, pleased and more confident. He doubted that a stranger to the group would notice that there were very few loose horses. Nearly every available animal carried a burden.
The band traveled well, raising a commendably spectacular plume of dust. Certainly a chance observer would be impressed with the size and strength of such a unit.
It was three suns before they encountered anyone. The advance scouts hurried back to tell of an approaching column. The strangers appeared to be a traveling band of Head Splitters.
The People drew together, became more alert, and continued in the same general direction. It would be another of the usual noncombative confrontations. Both groups would wish to avoid fighting, with families present, but sometimes, something could ignite the spark of combat. It could be a touchy moment.
The front of the column reached a low ridge and Heads Off saw that the meeting would occur in a grassy flat ahead. He beckoned to Long Elk, Standing Bird, and Coyote, and the four rode forward to meet the advancing party from the other band.
“Stay well back, and bear around them to the left,” he called over his shoulder.
To himself, he voiced the hope that none of his people overplay the thing. If the enemy discovered the extent of the subterfuge, it would become immediately apparent that there must be a reason for it. Maybe, Heads Off told himself grimly, this entire thing wasn't too good an idea. It might only call attention to the fact that something was wrong among the People.
Now they were approaching the other chief and his cortege. Both groups reined in and stepped forward at a walk, hands raised in greeting. The Head Splitter chief looked familiar, one the People had seen before. Opposing chiefs often became acquainted in this way, by repeated encounters from year to year.
“
Ah-koh
, Hair Face,” spoke the other, in word and sign. “How is it with you?”
“It goes well,” Heads Off replied with sign talk. “Bull's Tail, I believe you are called?”
The other nodded, and ran his glance over the Elk-dog band as they skirted the meadow at a little distance. Heads Off held his breath and tried to appear casual. Would the other chief see anything unusual in the column? His gaze followed the Head Splitter's, and he could plainly see the telltale shape of a well-formed leg here and there against a dark horse, and the outline of ample bosoms in loose-fitting, male shirts.
Apparently the significance was lost on the enemy chief.
“Your young men ride well,” Bull's Tail observed.
“Yes, they are well taught,” Heads Off answered quickly. “You have found game?” It might be as well to change the subject.
The other nodded. “We have seen many buffalo. Our children are fat and our women happy. And you?”
“All we can use,” Heads Off nodded, “but just now, we come from our Big Council.”
It would do no harm to reveal this fact. Their back trail was
plain anyway, if anyone wanted to follow it. To tell the precise truth about that event would lend credence to the rest of the conversation.
“You met to the west of here? How far? Two, three suns?”
This was logical conversation. The other band would not wish to travel into country recently hunted out by a large meeting of the People.
“No, four,” Heads Off indicated. “Nearly straight west.”
Bull's Tail nodded again. “Then we will go farther south,” he announced, picking up his reins.
The two chiefs cautiously backed their horses a few steps, then turned and rode slowly back toward their respective groups.
“Do you think he tells truth about where they go?” asked Long Elk.
Coyote shrugged. “Who knows? That is what he wishes us to believe.”
Heads Off glanced over his shoulder at the retreating party from the Head Splitter band. Bull's Tail was staring intently after the now distant Elk-dog column. Did he suspect something? The young chief wasn't sure. In fact, even much later, after the events of later moons, Heads Off was never certain in his own mind whether the Head Splitter had fathomed their secret.
The area for
summer camp was chosen carefully with defensibility in mind. A large number of people with many horses required a dependable water supply, as well as grass for the elk-dogs. A level grassy flat which spread within a long loop of the river served both purposes. As well, the river formed a difficult approach from three sides. Only from the north could a mass attack by mounted warriors come.
Behind the village area, to the west, the river crowded through a rocky ravine, shaded by massive oaks and cottonwoods. The broken nature of the rock-strewn gully, and the heavy growth of brush and timber, would furnish a thousand hiding places. Heads Off remembered grimly how, a few seasons previously he had ridiculed the “run-and-hide” philosophy of the People. Now he found himself assisting in planning for the same eventuality.
The young chief walked alone to the top of a low hill overlooking the village. The People were establishing a semipermanent camp, one to be used for several moons. He saw with amusement that some of the youngsters, still in the spirit of charade, were setting up make-believe lodges. A few poles, some old lodge skins, and the appearance was easily that of another lodge. To a distant observer, that would mean one or two more warriors. The total appearance of the camp was that of a strong and well-armed band.
Unless, he thought with some apprehension, unless the subterfuge is detected, then the whole thing could go wrong. Perhaps,
Heads Off tried to reassure himself, no Head Splitters would be in the area this season. It was not unknown to go an entire season, even two, without an encounter.
Deep in his heart, he knew this was a false hope. The Head Splitters would have encountered the hot-headed young Bloods, who were looking for trouble. Then, having exterminated the reckless youngsters, they would realize something else: somewhere there was a band of the People whose young warriors were gone. They would be eager to attack the relatively defenseless band.
Perhaps they might even be aware that the vulnerable camp was that of Hair Face, the hated outsider. The Head Splitters would dearly love a chance for revenge after their defeat at the Great Battle. Perhaps, after all, the Elk-dogs should join the Red Rocks for a season or two.
Heads Off drew a deep sigh. It was ironic that his presence, originally the salvation of the People, had now become one of their biggest dangers. Why had he ever consented to the leadership of the band? He should have gotten as far away as possible, and as rapidly. In his mind's eye, he relived the events of some seasons earlier. He could have climbed on his gray mare and headed south until he encountered some of his own people. He knew there were scattered Spanish settlements all through the southern part of the area called Tejas.
A woman, heavy with child, came out of a lodge far below, leading a small boy by the hand. She headed toward the river, and Heads Off watched her long stride, graceful even in the last moons of her pregnancy. He recognized Tall One, and his reverie was abruptly returned to proper perspective. He could not have left the People, he knew. If he had the whole thing to do again, he would do the same.
His only regret was that he felt that he had bungled his responsibility.
His wife, son, and unborn child depended on him for protection. So, too, did the entire Elk-dog band. And Heads Off now had serious doubts as to his ability to provide that protection.
He watched the torch of Sun Boy slide below earth's edge, and by the time he had walked down the hill in the soft twilight the young chief had reached two conclusions. First, he would learn the run-and-hide philosophy if necessary. He would fight if necessary. In short, he would do whatever was required to ensure the safety of his family and his people. For, these were now, completely and totally, his own, by virtue of their common danger and their willingness to stake their lives on his leadership.
His second conclusion was more a determination. Heads Off had resolved that he would allow no one to know of his doubts. He would give no hint that he thought their situation precarious. Even Coyote, yes, even Tall One, who knew his every thought, must not know his insecurity.
He walked through the dusk, the camp now lighted by cooking fires. People smiled, waved, and he nodded solemnly in answer. Would they be so friendly, he wondered, if they knew his doubts and fears? This was why they must not. He could not allow the People to think that their leader had doubts about his own ability to lead.
 
 
ACTUALLY, TALL ONE WAS MUCH CLOSER THAN HE WOULD have believed to an understanding of his thoughts. She had seen him climb the hill, and started to follow him, but then changed her mind. Her father stopped by a little later.
“Where is Heads Off?” Coyote asked. “We need to put out sentries.”
Tall One pointed to the solitary figure on the hill.
“Heads Off makes private medicine, Father. He will come down soon.”
Coyote took a long look, and nodded. A person's private medicine must be respected. He turned away.
Tall One picked up a waterskin and took young Eagle by the hand. She would have meat ready when her husband returned.
She knew he was troubled. It had been in his eyes today. But now they were in summer camp. The stress of travel was behind them. She could show him the extra little attentions that a man needs to make him feel the greatest and strongest warrior on the plains.
She could make her husband forget his troubles and doubts. At least, she smiled to herself, it had always been so.
It seemed for
some time that the fears of Heads Off had been groundless. There was no sign of the enemy. Buffalo were plentiful, and the racks of drying meat were full. Rawhide bags of winter provisions began to bulge behind the lodge linings. Soon it would be time to move to better winter quarters.
Heads Off continued to defer the move. Tall One's time for birthing was at hand, and he wished that event to be completed before the strenuous journey began. The Moon of Thunder and the Red Moon gave way to the Moon of Ripening before there was any change in the routine of preparing for winter. When it came, the change was in completely unexpected form.
It was near dawn and Heads Off was curled comfortably against the warmth of his wife's body. He had just wakened to change his position and Tall One murmured softly in her sleep and cuddled closer. Suddenly there was the sound of running hoofbeats, a shout, and more horses running. He sprang up and leaped toward the door skin.
“
Yip-yip yip …
” came the long falsetto yell that was the war cry of the dreaded Head Splitters. He stepped back and seized his buffalo lance, darting back out into the gray of the false dawn. A frightened horse thundered past him, striking him a glancing blow with a shoulder. Heads Off threw himself sideways and stumbled against the lodge. He saw that the horse had no rider.
Quickly he stepped around the lodge to make sure his gray mare Lolita was tied securely. She snorted, excited, and rolled
white-ringed eyes at him, but quieted to his touch. While he stood a moment and sleepily tried to decide whether to mount or remain on foot, more horses stampeded past, urged on by the yells of mounted enemy warriors behind. He dodged around, trying to keep from being trampled and at the same time find a target for his lance. A nearby lodge shuddered and jerked as a horse ran full against it. Other stampeding animals buffeted the structure as they forced past, and it slowly toppled. A woman screamed, and a child cried out in pain.
Then it was over. Thick dust choked his lungs and he coughed heavily, peering into the dusk after the fleeing horses. He had not seen even one of the enemy.
Through the camp people called out, trying to locate family members. There were cries of pain. A lodge cover, collapsed onto the coals of its cooking fire, began to smoke heavily. People ran to drag it free and stamp out the smoldering portion.
Heads Off satisfied himself of the safety of his family, then swung to Lolita's back.
“Over here!” he shouted from an open area. “All who have elk-dogs!”
A scattering of men began to converge in the growing light. Most men, like Heads Off, kept one of their best horses tied at the lodge. It had been the loose herd that the enemy had stampeded and driven off.
“Who was with the elk-dogs?” he asked as Standing Bird rode up.
“Small Bear. He is dead.”
The chief had assumed so. He had no need to ask further. He knew that, no matter how the manner of the young man's death, the head would bear the Head Splitters' identifying mark of the war club, the skull crushed by a blow. But, there was no help for Small Bear now. He turned to more urgent things.
“How many elk-dogs are here?”
A quick glance around the camp revealed that all had arrived. His heart sank. There were hardly more than twenty. The band, he knew, could not move camp without more horses. Especially since the remaining animals were buffalo runners, not packhorses. They must recover enough animals to transport the big lodge covers, or the Elk-dog band would be forced to spend the winter here, in a poor winter location. He gave the arm signal to move out.
To chase the enemy with a small force was not as foolhardy as it might have seemed. Seldom would an enemy war party number more than twenty. They had not sought a fight, but only to steal horses. A stronger party of Head Splitters would have made an attack, enabling them to count honors.
Therefore Heads Off was confident as they pushed forward. It was probably a small party of the enemy, a horse-stealing raid. The People, twenty of the best warriors, on the best horses, could easily catch and engage a fight with the fleeing Head Splitters, encumbered by loose animals, and recover at least part of the herd.
The trail was plain in the morning dew, and they passed an exhausted foal with its dam standing by, head down and flanks heaving. His guess had been correct, then. The raiding party would push ahead to escape, leaving slower animals behind. He touched a heel to the gray mare's ribs, and urged her into a canter again.
Occasionally they could catch a glimpse of their quarry, far ahead in the distance. Suddenly Long Elk reined in beside the chief.
“Heads Off, something is wrong! There are only two or three riders with the elk-dogs!”
Heads Off shaded his eyes and peered ahead, but could distinguish
nothing in the blur of distance. He would take Long Elk's word for it. The young man's vision was among the best in the band, especially since the death of Sees Far. Long Elk could easily see the eighth star in the constellation of the Seven Hunters.
The Seven Hunters, Coyote had explained to his son-in-law, make a wide circle each night around the Real-star, where their lodge is located. One with good eyes can see that the next to the last hunter is accompanied by his dog. On a clear night, Heads Off could dimly see the Dog-star.
But now, with wind and dust making his eyes water, there was only a moving blur in the distance.
“
Aiee
, look!” There was a cry behind him.
All the warriors turned to look in the direction someone was pointing. A dirty gray smudge on the horizon marked the site of the camp. As they looked, the smudge became broader, blacker, and a column of smoke rose in the still morning air.
Mother of God, we've been duped, Heads off fumed as he jerked the mare around and slammed heels into her ribs. The other riders wheeled and followed. How could he have been so stupid, to fall for such a ruse? His instructor in tactics at the academy, half a world away, would have had cadets walking parade all day for such a blunder. To split one's forces against an enemy of unknown strength was unforgivable.
Aiee
, as stupid as the owl who catches a skunk and does not know that it stinks. He reverted to thinking like one of the People.
There was no doubt that the camp had been attacked. The spreading smoke attested to that. But how bad was it? His heart ached with thoughts of his vulnerable wife and son. It was all he could do to restrain the impulse to push the mare till she dropped. But then, he realized, he would be on foot.
Carefully he paced the animals, walking while they caught their wind, then pushing on.
Sun Boy was nearly straight up when they arrived back at the burning village. A handful of enemy riders, who had apparently been watching all along, rode over the ridge and out of sight, signing obscene gestures before they disappeared.
Fully half the lodges were in flames. Thick, greasy smoke stank of burning leather and meat. Anxiously, Heads Off reined among ruined lodges toward his own. The lathered mare stepped skittishly around a body with the head grotesquely distorted, and they looked around the last lodge.
The lodge of Heads Off and Tall One was in complete ruin, all their winter supplies greasy ashes. Almost frantic, he leaped from the mare and rushed forward. Were there bodies in the ashes? He could not tell. He saw the badly burned remains of his chain-mail armor, probably damaged beyond use. No matter, he never wore it anyway. But where was Tall One?
“Heads Off!” Coyote shouted. “Come! It is Tall One's time for birthing!”
The little man was picking his way among the debris.
“She and Eagle are with us in the woods. She says to tell you that your elk-dog medicine is safe!”
The wonderful girl, Heads Off thought, tears of relief in his eyes. The enemy attacking, she in labor, and taking time to save Lolita's Spanish bridle bit because it was her husband's most important symbol of strength, the elk-dog medicine.

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