Murder at Medicine Lodge (10 page)

The normally timid Lieutenant Danny exploded with laughter. Everyone did—with the exception of Sergeant Cullen. Snorting in disgust, he stood and walked off into the darkness. During the moments he was out of sight, the entire camp became tense, waiting to see if he would come back or if the remaining Blue Jackets would have to be tied up again while Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber rode him down. Presently he came back into the light and the tension lifted. Immediately Little Jonas and The Cheyenne Robber were playful again, this time comparing the size of their upper-arm muscles. As both had extremely healthy biceps, Skywalker judged the contest to be a tie.

While Skywalker was still in such a good mood, I leaned in and said, “I would like to speak to you in private.”

The only evidence that I had been heard was his setting his cup down, then standing to his feet. When he walked off, I scrambled to stand, and followed after him.

*   *   *

We were still inside the circle of light, but far enough away from the camp to be able to speak freely. We knelt and sat on the backs of our legs, staring at each other over the small distance.

“I want to know what is wrong with you,” I said.

“If you mean now,” he jeered, “I'm feeling pain behind my eyes.” He raised a hand to his forehead, his thumb and middle finger rubbing against the brow bone.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Oh, I didn't think you would want to be bothered by my unimportant malady.”

Becoming incensed, I rose and left him, going to retrieve my medical bag.

He remained quiet, listening to the laughing voices behind us as I ground up the mixture of herbs in my hand-sized rock bowl. That rock bowl and matching grinding stone have always been my prized possessions. It had taken me a long time to find just the right size rock and then chip out and make smooth the center to form a bowl. My next task was to find just the right size grinding rock to fit the bowl. The grinding rock had to be long, but not too long, and just the right weight. I owned a lot of bowls and grinders, but they were too bulky to take on the trail. The two I'm telling you about were perfect for my travel bag and, knowing how difficult they would be to replace, I guarded them carefully.

Skywalker continued his silence as I placed a dried leaf inside the bowl and began to reduce it to powder. Even though he was annoyingly interested in the medicines I made for other patients, he never once asked me about the plants I used when preparing his. I believe I understand why. It was because he knew that one of the plants was a poison. He'd sensed this from my careful use of it, the extreme caution I took when measuring it out. And that's true. That plant was highly dangerous but it was also the most beneficial herb in my collection because it has the ability to numb pain. But if the utmost care isn't used when administering it, it will kill. The trouble I had with Skywalker was that, over periods of extended usage, he'd built a tolerance, and the amount I was forced to use was nearing the lethal dosage. He knew that, too, but even so, on that night when he was so angry with me that I felt his anger like a tangible presence between us, he still trusted me not to kill him on purpose.

“Is your pain increasing?”

He wouldn't look at me, instead he studied the blackened space of ground between his knees. “Yes. And that noise you're making isn't helping.”

I was forced to make even more noise as I ground the herbs in an effort to be a bit quicker. Feeling more angry, I said, “You know better than to wait this long. How many times have I told you that it's better to attack the pain when it's only beginning?”

He looked up, his eyes catching mine. “I really didn't mind so much about the pain in my head. The pain in my heart bothered me more.”

“What's the matter with your heart?”

He scoffed bitterly, then fell silent. The two of us did not try any further conversation while I reduced the dry herbs to a fine powder. Knowing just what to do, Skywalker opened his mouth and raised his tongue, sat perfectly still while I carefully sprinkled the powder in that watery space between tongue and teeth. Closing his mouth, he took a deep breath through his nostrils.

And then we waited.

This was always the tricky part and I especially hated it that during those times, he was quietly forgiving me for his death. I didn't want his forgiveness because I didn't want him to die. So while he waited and silently prayed, I was holding the antidote, bracing myself for the fight to save the same life he was calmly prepared to lose. When he began to hum his death song, I leaned close and watched him for signs of heavy perspiration, a sudden shortness of breath. When after a span of minutes, these symptoms failed to materialize, I sat back, humbly thanking the Creator yet again, for sparing me the awful guilt of my friend's death. I said this prayer with my eyes closed.

When I opened them, Skywalker was gone.

He hadn't even said, Thank you, Tay-bodal. All he'd done was go off to find his bed. Well, now, that made me really mad. Mad enough to seriously reconsider our friendship. Then I mentally kicked myself for believing that a Kauaun, a commoner, could truly be friends with an Onde, a prince of our Nation, and take such pride in a friendship Skywalker so easily threw away.

Anger gave way to despair, followed rapidly by self-pity. Because of our Nation's class system, I would not be able to look to Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber for friendly support. You must understand, they, too, were Ondes, and my acceptance in their midst was by Skywalker's sponsorship. He was the sole reason I had ever been welcome in their company. If he ended our friendship, the others would quickly fade away as well. For many years I'd lived in obscurity and loneliness, not minding the one, almost totally unaware of the other. It was on account of Skywalker that I'd found my life filled with love and friendship. Were I suddenly to lose any of it, I wasn't so certain I would have the strength to travel again that bleak and lonely road.

And what of Crying Wind? True, she complained about the duties required of her high status, but if, on account of her marriage to me, those duties were taken away and her sister Ondes shunned her, she would be devastated. I figured that sooner or later she would turn against me, and after that, divorce me.

Every man, no matter how brave or strong he might be, has at least one great fear. The Cheyenne Robber's fear—and one he was eternally teased about—was of spiders. But not just any spiders. He was afraid of tarantulas. Numbering somewhere in the millions, these big hairy spiders live in underground lodges throughout our home country. When it rains hard, those spiders come out of their water-filled hidey-holes and cover the ground in furry masses. And The Cheyenne Robber goes crazy. He won't eat, just in case a spider walked over his food without his knowing, and he definitely won't sleep, terrified spiders will get inside his lodge and walk over his face and body. What he does, is roost on his horse, grimly suffering the downpour, waiting for the rains to stop and the spiders' retreat.

My dread of losing Crying Wind was a thousand times greater than any silly fear as that. I suppose it was because I understood too well I had done nothing to deserve her. The truth is, if it hadn't been for White Bear and Skywalker, our marriage never would have happened. I would have spent my life loving a woman who was too far above me to even say my name. Suddenly propelled by the fear of losing her, I jumped to my feet and sprinted to where Skywalker lay, giving himself up to medicated sleep, oblivious to the raucous voices of the others. The second I reached him, I solidly kicked his thigh, feeling the force from my toes on up to my upper leg. His eyes flew open and he stared up at me in complete astonishment.

“Did you just kick me?” he cried incredulously.

“I most certainly did,” I answered. “And I will again if you go on refusing to talk to me. If you are determined to end our friendship, the very least I deserve is an explanation.”

His expression livid, he stared up at me as if I were the most contemptible man he'd ever met. With flourish, he threw back the thin blanket.

Witnessing this exchange, Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber became very still. Little Jonas fell quiet mid-laugh, when Billy's staying hand clamped his arm. One by one, all eyes became riveted on us as Skywalker stood, stepped in close, his mouth set in a twisted snarl. I did not back down. Admiration for my courage, and determination flitted through his eyes with the speed of a darting minnow. Then he turned away, strode off into the darkness.

That night was as black as pitch. The stars were nothing more than uncountable pinpoints of light and the moon was only about a third full. Skywalker was a dim figure I doggedly followed and although I stepped carefully, each and every contact made between the soles of my feet and solid ground came as a jolting surprise to the rest of my body. But none of that was anywhere as near as jarring as when Skywalker whirled around and yelled in my face.

“Why did you vote against me about coming to Medicine Lodge?”

I had to clear my throat before lamely answering, “I—I had my reason.”

“Yes,” he fumed, “you most certainly did. And your reason is called Hawwy.”

“That's not true!” I shouted. “I didn't even know he would be here.”

“That's a lie.”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is,” he insisted, stepping nearer. The outline of his darkened face came so close that I felt my eyes beginning to cross. “White Bear knew Hawwy would be here, and whatever White Bear knows, you eventually know because White Bear doesn't know how to keep a secret.”

“He kept this one,” I cried. “I didn't know anything about it until I saw Hawwy for myself.”

He was breathing hard, his chest expanding and retracting rapidly. “Maybe that is the truth,” he countered, “but I couldn't help but notice that since our first day here you've remained constantly in his company.”

Anger ripping through me like fire, I pushed my face close to his. “If you'll recall, White Bear ordered me to stay close to the Blue Jackets. And another reason I stayed close is because Hawwy owns doctoring tools I have been working very hard to convince him to sell to me.”

Skywalker retreated a pace, his silhouetted head canted to the side as he considered. I could not see his eyes but I keenly felt his concentrated gaze. The racket made by the chirping insects seemed to increase, their otherwise-cheery clatter beginning to throb against my ears. Working to take some portion of control over my thudding heartbeat, I reminded myself exactly how to breathe—in, out, in, out. Soon I was so fixated with this task that the sound of his low, almost husky voice gave me a start and my heart was charging again.

“And that's the full truth?”

“Can't you hear my mind?”

“No. With this headache I can barely hear myself think.”

That statement allowed my brain full rein—a freedom I rarely enjoyed with Skywalker for, when we were together, I consciously loaded my mind with trivialities I wouldn't object to his knowing. Realizing this was one of my infrequent moments of mental freedom, a flurry of thoughts were unleashed—the more dominant … jealousy.

Friendships during the days of my early manhood were much more important than they seem to be now. Back then, when each day brought with it a new kind of peril, friends guarded your back, watched out for you, trusted you to do the same for them. Therefore any type of disagreement between friends was a serious matter, but jealousy was the most serious matter of all.

All forms of jealousy have always been frowned on by my people because we know envy to be destructive. More crimes have been committed in the name of jealousy than for any other emotion. Which is why we have tried very hard to stamp it out, most especially the Black Leggings Society, who treat jealousy with such contempt that any warrior accused of it faces a harsh judgment. Of course, jealousy has always been the root cause of the ongoing friction between White Bear and Kicking Bird, even though they try never to allow their squabbles to degenerate to a personal level for it is not considered envious for one chief to call into question another's abilities as a leader. Far from it. Chiefs correcting fellow chiefs is considered prudent, for the lives of young men depended on trustworthy leaders. The only two in the entire Nation who were fooled by their petty bickering were the two most deeply involved—namely, White Bear and Kicking Bird. That these two superior men could fall victim to envy was a lesson for us ordinary folk, reminding us how easily this ugly nature could creep into our hearts and cause trouble.

Just as it was doing now.

Skywalker was angry with me because he was deeply jealous of my friendship with Hawwy. Of course, I couldn't say this to his face.

To spare his dignity and to salvage our shaky friendship, I said, “I apologize. I should have come to you and asked your advice on the matter of Haw-we-sun. That I didn't can be blamed on my anxiousness to please White Bear, and then finally, on my own greed.”

He turned, folded his arms across his chest, and stood in profile while he pondered. In a less-strained voice he asked, “What kind of tools does he have that would make you risk so much?”

Instantly I cried, “The most marvelous doctoring tools I've ever seen. He keeps them in black bags. He has four such bags. I was hoping he wouldn't notice if one of the bags got lost. But that's not all. Earlier, when we were burying the dead man, he had a digging tool that folds up. Crying Wind would love that tool. If nothing else, I intend to get that for her.”

Skywalker turned his face toward me. “Do you know where he keeps this folding tool?”

“Yes. He put it on the dead man's grave.”

“What?” he shouted. “You mean he just threw it away as an offering to a dead man who isn't even his relative?”

“He doesn't think of it like that. He said that the tool is now a marker, that when other whites see it, they will stop to say prayers for the dead man.”