The Elk-Dog Heritage (9 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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As they hurried
toward the shelter of the broken, rocky ravine, Coyote rapidly sketched the happenings of the morning.
It had not taken long to realize that the village was extremely vulnerable, with all of the horses and most of the young warriors gone. The remaining warriors, realizing the possibility of a trap, had organized a defense. Coyote modestly played down his own very important part of the plans, but Heads Off was aware of it. Coyote could introduce an idea and make others believe they had thought of it.
As luck would have it, the most experienced group in the old ways of run-and-hide fighting were now in charge. The Bowstrings moved the women and children into the broken, wooded area, and prepared for the expected attack.
The wait was not a long one. Fifteen or more mounted warriors thundered into the area from the north, yipping their war cries. A shower of arrows left several horses riderless, and the bowmen retreated toward the ravine. Riders wheeled in pursuit of running men on foot, and several of the People fell before the survivors gathered at the mouth of the gully.
Protected by rocks and trees, they now made a stand. Every attempt at approach by the enemy horsemen was met by well-aimed arrows from ambush. For a time it appeared that the Head Splitters were considering an attack on foot, but they abandoned the idea, probably as too costly.
So, a stalemate resulted. The Head Splitters could not further
pursue the People, but the People could not move from their hiding places.
Frustrated, and knowing that the Elk-dog warriors would be returning, the enemy turned again to the empty village. They looted the lodges, fired a great number of them, and mutilated the few dead of the People. They were just starting to withdraw when their scouts called out the approach of the returning Elk-dog men. Insolently, the enemy mounted and rode over the ridge to the west.
Heads Off was greatly tempted to pursue and punish, but realized the futility. He beckoned to Long Elk.
“Get the others, and catch any loose elk-dogs. Stay near!”
Long Elk nodded, and swung to his horse, shouting to several others of the young men.
Tall One lay in a small clearing ringed by berry bushes. Big Footed Woman stood proudly by. Heads Off hurried forward.
“It is finished, my husband,” the girl announced proudly. She lifted a corner of the robe to show a round red face against her shoulder. “We have another small man-child!”
Heads Off knelt and touched his wife's face, squeezed her hand.
“The child is beautiful,” he told her. He was still numbed by the great risk they had just survived.
“No, not beautiful, but big and strong,” she answered, smiling. “Here, hold him!”
Heads Off lifted the carefully wrapped bundle and peered at the owlish face.
“He is healthy? Well-formed?”
“Yes, my husband, but he has no fur.”
The little group chuckled together. It was a family joke. At the time of the birth of Eagle, Tall One had been extremely
depressed that the newborn had no facial hair like his father.
Heads Off nodded solemnly.
“Yes,” he answered, “it is too bad. Shall we try until one has fur on his face?”
Coyote chuckled happily, and the baby blinked his large eyes at the brightness of the day.
“I think he should be called the Owl,” announced Coyote. The name would stick longer than anyone knew. Coyote was extremely perceptive when it came to names.
Another, temporarily deferred, thought struck Heads Off. He knelt beside his wife.
“Tall One,” he began, hesitating, “our lodge is gone.”
“I know, my husband. I saw it start to burn. It is no matter. We had none before our marriage. Now we will have another.”
Heads Off wished that he could be as matter-of-fact about possessions as the People. Their home, all their food supply, all had gone up in greasy black smoke, and “ … It is no matter.” He knew better. It would be a very hard winter. It must be spent here, at this place, with little food and worse, with little chance to hunt.
The Head Splitters now knew their weaknesses. In fact, they may have known all along. Increasingly, Heads Off began to suspect that they were engaged in a sort of cat-and-mouse play, with all the advantage on the side of the enemy.
“You will move in with us, of course.” Coyote was talking. “We have plenty of room.”
It was not “plenty,” Heads Off knew, but would be adequate, though crowded.
“What will the rest do?” he asked his father-in-law.
Coyote shrugged. “Move in with relatives. Not more than half have lost their lodges.” He spoke as if this were good fortune.
The People were scattering down the stream, returning to the ruined camp. Coyote and Heads Off turned to follow and evaluate the extent of the damage.
“See if you can find my cooking stones!” Tall One called after them.
People were already sorting debris, salvaging even unburned portions of smoldering lodge covers.
“They started with the biggest lodges,” observed Coyote.
It was true. The enemy had deliberately selected the lodges of the more affluent on which to wreak destruction. This lent more weight to the thing Heads Off feared. It had been a deliberate move to destroy supplies and to destroy the ability to obtain more, by reducing the horse herd.
The high wailing of the Mourning Song rose from the far side of the camp as someone discovered the loss of a family member.
Standing Bird trotted up, astride his red buffalo mare.
“We have several more elk-dogs, Heads Off!”
“It is good!” And there's not much that is, he added silently to himself. “Tie them all, so we lose no more. And, Standing Bird,” he called as the other reined away, “spread word of a council tonight. We must make plans.”
There was much to do before dark. The People moved like ants, meticulously working over the ruined debris of their homes. It was found that the empty make-believe lodges had been spared, probably because they appeared makeshift and worthless. Soon they were no longer a pretense, but actual homes of the dispossessed. Others did indeed move in with relatives.
One amazing thing had occurred. The lodge of White Buffalo was untouched. Even though one of the most pretentious, and therefore most subject to attack, the enemy had left it intact. The medicine man was taking credit for the omission, pointing out
that he was protected by the strength of his medicine. Most of the People readily accepted this interpretation of the matter.
Heads Off knew that his friend and adviser, White Buffalo, was an opportunist, taking advantage of a situation to increase his prestige. However, it seemed likely that the enemy had indeed avoided damage to the lodge. They could easily recognize it as the lodge of a medicine man, by the intricate and extensive painting on the lodge skin. Not knowing the extent of this man's powers, they would avoid direct confrontation as a matter of safety. So, in effect, the young chief realized, the old man was correct. His medicine, or at least the fear of it, had saved the lodge of White Buffalo. And, the sacred white cape of the People was still safe.
Bodies of the dead were ceremonially wrapped by mourning families, and prepared for transport next day to tree scaffolds for burial. The enemy dead and wounded had been carried away by their comrades as they departed.
All was far from complete as Sun Boy finished his daily run, but other activity came to a halt as the council fire was lighted. The People began to straggle to the center of their ruined camp.
Despite the urgency
of this council, the customary amenities were observed. Heads Off had long since come to understand that such serious matters as council must not be hurried. Still, he felt the press of time as he lighted the pipe and blew puffs to the four directions, to the sky and to the earth. He passed the pipe to the sub-chief on his right, and sat back to wait as the instrument made its circle.
Finally, the circle was completed, the pipe stowed away, and the discussion could begin. Coyote took the cased council pipe from the chief. He was very proud of his daughter, the Tall One, for having the presence of mind to pick up the chiefs pipe and his elk-dog medicine as she fled. These objects were practically all that had been saved from her lodge, but they were most important.
“Let us count the dead,” Heads Off was speaking.
A general accounting was discussed. There were apparently four dead, all males. This indicated good organization in the defense and retreat, but was grim news in light of the already thin ranks of fighting men. One had been a mere boy, eager to display his bravery, but too inexperienced to compete with hardened warriors. Even so, an older warrior testified, the youth had stood fast and shot an arrow which unhorsed his opponent.
“I saw the Head Splitter fall, but I do not know if he was killed,” finished the man.
“How many Head Splitters were killed?” the chief asked.
No one knew. Estimates ranged from three to seven, with a median figure probably most likely.
“There was one still alive,” a man related. “We found him hiding in the rocks and killed him.”
Heads Off was furious. He would have wished to question the prisoner, to see how much the Head Splitters might know of their plight. He was also wondering if the attackers were of the band of Bull's Tail. He had an accurate estimate of the size of that group.
“Let us not kill prisoners before they are questioned!” The irritation in the chief's tone was unmistakable.
There was another factor here, too, understood but incompletely by the chief. Coyote had already observed it. Traditionally, the People were much likelier to adopt a prisoner than to kill him. Now, with the stress of internal strife and the threat of the enemy, the easy-going attitude of the People was changing. Their first thought was to lash out, to kill. Coyote hated to see this change come over the tribe. Almost, he thought, it was better when life was simpler, and we thought more of run-and-hide.
The council continued. It was determined that everyone had a place at least for the night, and then Heads Off outlined plans.
“We have no more than twenty elk-dogs.”
“No, my chief!” interrupted Standing Bird. “Nearly thirty!”
The elk-dog men had found several strays, including mares, foals, and animals once ridden by Head Splitters who had no further use for elk-dogs now.
“It is good,” Heads Off acknowledged, “but still, we cannot move camp without more elk-dogs.”
A flurry of discussion followed. The People, it was noted, once moved entirely without elk-dogs, using only the power of their muscles and that of their dogs.
“That is true,” observed Coyote, “but it was before the elk-dog. We now have bigger lodges, and longer poles. Dogs and people cannot move the lodges we now have.”
“But, the biggest were burned!” someone insisted.
“My chief,” interjected the medicine man, “there is a wintering place that the People used long ago, not more than three suns away. We should be able to move that far. We also need food. There are deer in the woods, and nuts among the trees. It would be better for the winter than this place.”
There were nods of assent. Others remembered the location, now unused for many seasons. Under Hump Ribs, the previous chief, the band had migrated farther south to winter. In addition, they had become more dependent on the buffalo in recent years. With the advent of elk-dog hunting methods, buffalo were more accessible. No one ate dog meat now except by choice, and rabbits and squirrels were hunted mostly by the youngsters.
Now, it seemed advisable to revive some of the old ways. In fact, this might be the only answer for the band. Ultimately, it was decided to spend another day in salvage and burial, and then make the move on the following morning.
It was a ragtag remnant of the proud Elk-dog band that straggled out onto the prairie two suns later. Heads Off had insisted on mounted warriors flanking the column. Yet at the same time, the strength of the men was needed to drag and carry. Stops were frequent and progress slow.
Tall One insisted on walking part of the time, carrying small Owl. Frequently, however, she consented at the urging of her husband, to ride for a time on a pole-drag behind one of the horses.
There was a time of fear when one of the outriders sighted a mounted warrior watching from a distant hill. No further such
observations were made, however, and by dark there was much doubt and discussion as to whether the young man had actually seen anything.
“But, my chief, there
was
a rider!”
The scout had come to the cooking fire where Heads Off sat eating. He had been derided and laughed at, and was becoming depressed.
“I know,” the chief nodded. “The Head Splitters will surely be watching our move. You,” he flattered the youngster a little, “are simply a better watcher than most.”
The young man left, immeasurably helped by the encouragement.
“That is good, Heads Off,” Coyote observed. “It will make him a better scout.”
“I spoke truth,” answered his son-in-law. “We know the Head Splitters are there, but only this young man has been able to see them. He may some day be as good as Sees Far!”
Midday of the fourth sun the Elk-dog band straggled into the area they sought. Heads Off rode ahead to evaluate and select a campsite. It must be judged both from the standpoint of winter shelter and from that of defensibility.
In the former case, he saw the selection was excellent. The level camp area was ringed on two sides by a steep and broken hillside. It would protect from the north and west, good shelter against Cold Maker. A dense patch of hardwood timber to the south promised shelter for the animals, as well as nuts and small game for provisions.
To the east, the fringe of oaks thinned out to a narrow neck of ground which opened onto the prairie. Defensibility against a mounted attack was adequate, against infiltration through the woods, not quite so desirable. This was partially offset by a nearby hill which would present a good location for a sentry.
Heads Off rode to that point, a few hundred paces away, and was pleased. A single observer, protected by the blankness of open prairie behind him, could overlook the entire area. It would be next to impossible for the enemy even to infiltrate the woods unobserved. He beckoned with a full-armed sweep, and the band filed into the little meadow to select lodge sites.
The next days were busy, almost frantic with activity. Lodges were erected and insulated with dry grass stuffed inside the linings.
While the leaves of the oaks and walnuts in the grove changed to gold and orange and crimson, the prairie grasses ripened to muted shades of red and buff. Prairie flowers of gold and purple showed their spectacular glory.
It was the Moon of Ripening, sometimes called the Moon of the Hunter by the People. The significance of the Hunter's Moon had been somewhat diminished with the change to hunting buffalo with elk-dogs. Now, both names took on added significance. The People, who had been moderately well supplied for the winter, now found themselves with practically nothing. The Head Splitters had been thorough. Most supplies had been looted or burned.
Nights were cool and crisp, the days pleasant and sunny, deceptively comfortable. Younger members of the band, including the chief, were filled with a complacence that the elders found alarming. There were those who remembered when the Moon of Hunger in late winter was marked by starvation. Already, long lines of calling geese were to be seen in the sky, making their southward journey. It would not be long before, in a short blaze of crimson, the sumac on the hillsides would suddenly drop foliage and the Moon of Falling Leaves would begin.
Cold Maker would sweep out of the north, pushing Sun Boy and his torch far to the south. White Buffalo watched the signs,
shook his rattles and danced his ceremonial dances. He, with others of the older generation, saw the coming season with dread. He could remember no time when the People were so poorly prepared for the onslaught of Cold Maker.

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