The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (7 page)

Tyoga got to his feet and now became the aggressor.

He circled around in front of the retreating beast before he had time to melt into the underbrush, and forced him to back away toward the precipice of the drop-off into the gorge. There was no more ground for him to yield without tumbling to his death. Slightly bent at the waist, Tyoga approached the still defiant, snarling wolf. This time, the tomahawk was in his strong right hand.

Still standing on his three good legs, the wolf was looking beyond Tyoga while figuring out a way around his adversary to reach the safety of the pack.

Jockeying for position, Tyoga kept him cornered. When the wolf made his move to run for the cover of the woods and the safety of the pack, Tyoga charged him with the tomahawk raised high above his head. The flecked glass edge of the obsidian blade came down on the wol
f’s
head, crushing him to the ground.

Blood poured from the open gash above his left eye, but still he would not surrender. Staggering to his feet, the wolf tried to clear his head with a mighty shake that sent thick sticky streams of blood and saliva flying through the air.

Tyoga could not believe his eyes when he saw the mighty beast rise from the ground. Exhausted and filled with the anguish of mortal combat, he was certain that he could not sustain another attack.

“Te heya, Ty. Now. Throw it.” He heard the voice of his companion as if from afar.

Tyoga grasped the handle of the ax at its base, raised it above his head, and let it fly.

As if in slow motion he watched its spinning course through the air, handle-head, handle-head—once, twice, three times. At the last instant, the wolf juked to the left and over the ledge it flew, handle-head, handle-head.

The wolf was seated at the ledge, his once proud head bloodied and hanging down. He was panting for breath and holding his injured forepaw off of the ground. His eyes met Tyoga’s, and the snarl once again curled his murderous lips.

It wasn’t over.

Staring hard into the piercing yellow eyes, Tyoga picked up a large jagged granite boulder and held it high above his head. Slowly, steadily he walked toward the ledge. Tyoga straightened his elbows and went up on tip-toe to muster every ounce of strength to leverage into the final blow. He was only inches away from the battered broken body of the majestic king, when suddenly the growling stopped and the Commander lay his bloody head on the earth at the feet of his conqueror.

The fiery passion of combat drained from the yellow brilliance of the vanquished dog’s eyes and was replaced by a docile hazel green filled with admiration and promise. As if reckoning with distant voices, he closed his eyes in acceptance and resolve. He opened his eyes again only after he heard the thud of the stone as it was released from Tyoga’s grasp and crashed to the ground.

Enveloped by the inky blackness of the night, Tyoga’s silhouette was outlined by the glow of the dying fire.

Inches away from the pearly fangs that had lusted for the stain of his blood, Tyoga dropped to his knees and stared deep into the wolf’s eyes. He was shocked at the clarity of his own reflection mirrored from the glassy chasm of his eyes.

Rooted in the timeless rhythmic change, metered not in years but in millenia—the serenity spilled from the pools of cocoa brown and morning gold to fill Tyoga’s soul. He shivered as waves of sensation electrified his spent body with a curious urgency that he did not recognize but understood. With resigned acceptance, he welcomed its embrace. His blood flowed through his veins with a purpose and strength that had previously been shackled by propriety and convention. He sensed more than felt the transformation that was taking place within.

What he had spent to stay alive was repaid by what had been given. In their primal struggle to defeat and to conquer, both man and wolf had surrendered something to a cause yet unknown. The part of themselves they had given to the test was reborn in a communal exchange.

Both had given. Both had received.

It was as if they had perished together in their struggle to survive, and arisen as something new. They would never be the same.

Tyoga continued staring into the wolf’s eyes, and watched as his own reflection silently dissolved away. With a curious sigh, and a blink of his eyes, the wolf released the young man from the embrace of their stare.

It was done.

Tyoga rose to his feet and backed away from the beast. The wolf lifted his head from the ground.

He heard Tes Qua screaming, “What’s the matter with you, Ty. Kill him. Kill him or he’s gonna kill us both.”

“No, Tes ‘A. It’s over.”

He looked down at the wolf lying at his feet.

“He could have called for help. He could have ordered us killed at any moment. But he didn’t. And now the choice is mine.” Bowing his head to approve the words, he added, “I choose mercy. Life is my gift.”

Stopping his retreat, he said, “Ta oh hey, Wahaya.”
(Rest, Wolf.)
“Ta oh hey peaose.”
(Rest in peace.)

He turned his back on the wolf and started back towards the fire and his friend.

Like a specter materializing from the darkness, Tes Qua watched him emerge from the shadows of the night. Slowly, his features began to reappear as they were illuminated by the dying flames of fire.

He knelt down by Tes Qua and extended a bloody arm to comfort his friend.

Tes Qua’s eyes widened in amazement and fear. He could only gasp the word “Wahaya!”
(The wolf)
before passing out.

Tyoga turned expecting to see the wolf at his back.

Nothing was there. The wolf was gone.

The night was still.

As he melted into the night, the Commander turned a final time to inspect the boys’ camp.

He could see by the confidence in Tyoga’s gate, the carriage of his shoulders and the cock of his head that the exchange had occurred exactly as it was meant to be.

The wolf shook his head and surveyed the blackness that surrounded him. He sniffed the air and turned back toward the boys.

His reluctance to leave them was born of the bond forged between himself and Tyoga, but there was something more. When it came down to the choice between life and death, the young man had chosen mercy and compassion. While the Commander had tested Tyoga’s courage, strength and will to survive; benevolence was the sign for which he had been waiting. The wolf understood that the admirable—and singularly human—trait that made him worthy, was a fatal flaw in the wild.

For the beauty and majesty of nature is always balanced by the raw brutality that dispassionately tips the scale in favor of life or death. There is no justice in the choice. There is no judgment of worthiness, nor distinction between right or wrong. In nature, there are but two possible outcomes, and each is in keeping with nature’s plan.

In truth, there is no choice at all.

With a resigned exhale, and a lick to his forepaw, the Commander looked at the campsite on the ridge for a final time. Cutting through the blackness of the night was the penetrating amber glow of Tyoga’s piercing stare.

The wolf limped away.

His spirit, he left behind.

Chapter 7

The Journey Home

T
he night had only begun for young Tyoga.

Kneeling beside Tes Qua, he gently brushed the jet-black sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. He had passed out from the loss of blood and excruciating pain of his badly mangled lower leg.

Without the anesthesia of adrenaline rush supplied by the fight for his life, Tyoga’s own battle scars began to make themselves known. The wound to his thigh was worse than he had thought but not nearly as bad as it could have been. His broken nails from the death drag left several of his fingertips bleeding. The ones that had broken off at the nail bed made the slightest movement of his fingers indescribably painful. There was a three-inch gash on his forearm administered by either fang or claw. It wasn’t a deep wound, and it had stopped bleeding.

Somehow, he had to get his friend back to the village and to Yo-nev-ga-do-ga (Standing Bear) the medicine man, but to be able to do that, he had to take care of himself first. At the ledge where he had cornered the Commander, he stepped over the precipice and slid down the slope on his backside to the mountain run at the bottom of the ravine. The cool water felt good on his face and stemmed the sting of his wounds and hands. He cleaned the wounds on his thigh and arm, and then submerged his swelling hands in cold rushing water. The rest wouldhave to wait until he got back to the village. He slowly climbed up the ravine’s steep incline back to his friend’s side.

The bleeding had stopped and the jaws of the killing machine secured Tes Qua’s ankle to his lower leg. To remove the device would only cause the blood to start flowing again, and when the trap was released, Tes Qua’s foot and ankle were coming off with it. The trap had to stay.

Tyoga weighed his options.

He could not leave Tes Qua alone and go for help himself. His friend would be dead without someone to care for him over the next twelve hours. He had to get Tes Qua out of the mountains and to the care he desperately needed.

It was at least a two hour trip following the most direct route to Tuckareegee over the mountain trails and through the high passes. The terrain was too steep and treacherous for him to carry his friend through the night on his back. Some places along the trail were covered in coarse, loose gravel and one misstep would be the end of both of them.

No, he would have to take the long route through the lowlands following the rivers and streams in the hollows that he knew so well. While the terrain was rough and some portions of the trail were narrow and steep, there were as many places that were wide, smooth and flat. Instead of a two-hour journey, it would be an all night trek.

There was only one thing to do. He would have to carry his friend to safety by making a travois, a sled used by the Indians to drag game from the woods. He set about the task.

Tyoga retrieved the makeshift spear from the underbrush where it flew when the Commander launched his first attack and removed the trapper’s knife from the shaft. Then, he cut two eight-foot long birch saplings and trimmed off the side branches. He cut the branches into two-foot lengths that he notched at either end. Removing his leather britches, he slid the long birch poles into each pant leg. At eight-inch intervals, he poked tiny eyelets along each pant leg, through which he could lace the branches to the long poles, which acted as dragging shafts.

Cutting Tes Qua’s loincloth into strips of leather for cordage, he secured the stays to the long poles to create a frame sturdy enough to support his weight. Skinning the two dead wolves took only minutes,and their pelts provided a cushioned platform upon which he could rest his friend.

After putting Tes Qua on the sled, Tyoga picked up the ends of the poles, and started the long journey home.

It was a dark clear night. The stars were out and with no cloud cover, the temperature was dropping fast. The new quarter moon provided only enough light for Tyoga to see the trail and the surrounding terrain on either side of the path. He would be able to see well enough to leave the footpath where it became too steep or rocky and drag the travois to one side of the trail.

The first big challenge confronted him before he had taken five steps.

No visible trail led from the escarpment down the steep slope to the stream below. He turned around so that he was facing the travois, and stepped backwards off of the precipice of the ridge. Holding the poles high above his head to keep the sled level, he inched down the slope until the end of the litter supporting Tes Qua’s head eased into the loose soil and rock that covered the slippery slope. Taking baby steps he backed down ever so slowly while praying that the poles at the far end of the litter would hold fast in the loose rocks so that he could control the rate of decent.

About half way down, he lost his footing on a flat piece of slate that slid out from under him like a wet moccasin on a frozen pond. Struggling to steady the litter, he fell to his knees. The sharp granite shards sliced his knees and shins as he slid fifteen feet down the slope while holding the poles of the travois high above his head. The heel of his left foot caught the lip of a small crevasse to stop the slide into the ravine below.

Tes Qua moaned at the jostling, but remain unconscious.

It took Tyoga over an hour to maneuver his friend down from the ridge, which, at the best of times, had been a thirty-second romp for the two of them. When they finally arrived at the stream along which the bear trap had been seated, Tyoga stopped, fell to his knees and took a long cool drink of the fresh mountain water.

Tyoga looked back over his shoulder at his unconscious friend.

Where is the dread and despair? Shouldn’t I be fearful that I won’t be strong enough to get Tes Qua to safety?

No where could he find those natural human responses. Before the events of that evening, he would have been a frightened white boy alone in the woods, injured, tired, hungry, cold, and engaged in a seemingly futile battle to save the life of his friend. Courage had taken their place.

Like a buffalo in a blizzard, or deer in a lightening storm, he was part of the fabric of nature’s course. The realization that whatever should occur will happen and unfold exactly as it is meant to be was an absolute revelation.

The promise had prepared me to anticipate and read nature’s signs and subtle cues, but did the wolf somehow teach me their meaning and let me know intuitively what to do when the guideposts were revealed?

A surrendering peace flooded his mind and soul.

He looked to the heavens and saw the stars peaking through the boughs of the willow trees lining the gurgling stream and remembered his papa’s words to him after his awakening.

“In all things there are but two outcomes – and each is in keeping with nature’s wondrous plan.”

He would be successful in getting his friend to the help that he needed—or he would not. In either case, their journey would end exactly as it was meant to be. He did not question whether he had the strength to get Tes Qua home. He did. He no longer questioned his decision to take the valley route. It was the decision that was made. It was right. He would see it through. Or not.