Conquering Horse (26 page)

Sounds The Ground jerked back volcanically. His eyes popped open, so wide for a moment he resembled a great gray owl of the north. Then, his eyes snapping down to fierce slits again, he leaped to his feet and grabbed his warclub and gave her a resounding whack over the backbone. He hit her so hard she fell in a heap on the ground.

While she lay groaning, Sounds The Ground quietly lit his pipe again and had another leisurely smoke with No Name.

Sounds The Ground said, “What you have done is a brave thing. I honor you for it. Loa-ah. It is not often that an enemy has crept through the Pawnee village secretly at night and entered the lodge of the head chief without anyone knowing. Also, you could easily have killed us all in our sleep. But you did not. I thank you. Well, my son, now I must tell you a thing. If the others find you here they will ask for your life.”

“I have a helper. He is with me and works for me at all times.
Therefore I do not fear any thing or any person. Also it is fated that I will catch a certain wild stallion. A white horse of great fierceness.”

“Then no one saw you creep through the village?”

“One did. He called to another as an owl. I had to strike him.”

“Ai, now there will be much weeping and wailing by his mother. Rough Arm will be like a mad one.” Sounds The Ground shook his head. His plume waggled back and forth like the heavy mane of an old stud. “My son, this wild stallion you wish to catch, did you know of him before you found Leaf?”

“A white mare came to me in a vision. She told me to visit the Pawnees. She said there it would be given to me.”

“Were you not late in receiving the vision?”

“Yes, my uncle, it came to me only after the fourth time. The gods were testing me.” No Name then told of his various vigils, how the vision finally came to him in two parts, the first half on the Butte of Thunders, the second half in the torment of the sun dance.

“It is a true vision. It is a great vision. Loa-ah.” Sounds The Ground nodded. “I see now that you had to come. I am glad. I honor you for it. I will tell you where I have seen the wild stallion. He is white. As you Sioux say, he is wakan. He is very swift and very fierce. He is a killer and will try to destroy you. But I see your vision is also wakan. Therefore I shall show you where he is.”

Sounds The Ground put his pipe aside. A green fly came to life at the base of the support pole next to him, and seeing it flex its wings, Sounds The Ground quietly cupped his hand, then snatched at it and caught it. He pinched it so that it popped lightly, dropped it into the firepit. Then he turned and looked at his groaning prostrate wife. “Old woman, get up. There is much work to be done. Prepare more food. Get wood. We shall soon have many visitors.” He next fixed his eyes on his oldest son, a lad of ten. “Stiff Twig, my son, call Rough Arm. Tell
him a visitor is here from a far place. Tell him we wish to hold a feast for this visitor. Will you do this?”

Stiff Twig nodded and darted out through the door. He went with such reckless speed he woke up all the sleeping dogs in the vestibule. They followed him out and barked after him as he went the rounds.

While the women bustled around the firepit, Sounds The Ground casually prepared himself for company. He combed his roach. He waxed his scalp lock with fresh bear fat and formed it into a neat horn. He put on a deerskin clout, a pair of black leggings fringed with human hair from ankle to thigh, a pair of moccasins, and a buffalo robe thrown casually over the shoulder. He placed a board between his knees and chopped up some fresh tobacco. He got out his best pipe and set it up on a small forked stick before the firepit.

Presently a glittering eye peered in through the dark funnel opening. There was a polite cough. Then the funnel filled with a line of stooping bronze men, all heavily painted, with closely shaven heads, and all wearing the plumage of birds. They filed in in an orderly manner and, sitting, formed a circle around the fire. Each newcomer threw a quick burning look at the guest, then looked at the fire with iron gravity. Behind them poured in a motley array of children and old men and young girls and wondering dogs, all of them looking at No Name with unwavering gaze from the dark part of the lodge.

The men sitting in the council circle were all given to eat, fat ribs roasted, and something to drink, water from the River That Sinks, and then the pipe was lighted and passed, solemnly, in ceremony, moving from right to left around the circle. The ceiling was soon lost in eddying clouds of smoke, both from the firepit and the pipe.

At last Sounds The Ground lifted his eyes. “My children, I have called you here because the son of a benefactor has come to visit me. Redbird his father helped me when the others in his band treated me as a slave. Redbird saved my life. Also,
Redbird gave me his best horse and helped me to escape so that I might return alive to my people. Now his son has come and it is my turn to help.” Sounds The Ground told of No Name’s vision, how he had come specifically to him to ask where the great white stallion of the plains lived. “His dream is wakan and we must honor it. If we do not, we will invite the wrath of our god, Tirawa, The One Above, the supreme power.”

Rough Arm’s savage eyes fixed in hate on No Name. Rough Arm had painted his face and the shaven portion of his head with vermilion and the whole of it looked like a large red potato with a fat sprout still attached to it. In youth he had been dragged by a horse across stony ground, bruising his right arm so badly that it left a long scar resembling the rough skin of a muskrat from the elbow to the wrist.

Rough Arm said to Sounds The Ground, “It has been told me that this dog of a Sioux is the husband of the maiden we thought was a virgin.”

Sounds The Ground glared at his wife. “I should have struck thee twice. Once on the back and once on the mouth.”

Shifting Wind’s old eyes rolled around wildly. Luckily for her, some dogs just then began to nose through her cases of food by the door. Spotting them, she picked up a club, the same one used on her by her husband, and began beating and cursing the dogs with all her might. She made them howl so loud as they shot out through the door that some of the men had to cover their ears with their hands. She followed the dogs out.

When the commotion died down, Sounds The Ground said to Rough Arm, “The Sioux is my guest.” His nostrils dilated. “No one shall touch him.”

At that very moment the wild cry of someone singing the death song sounded in the doorway, and then an old woman rushed into the lodge, tearing her hair, ripping her leather clothes. “My son
has been murdered!” she cried. “Aii! my son has been murdered.” It was an old mother known as Woman Who Walks Ahead Of Her Man.

Sounds The Ground flashed a swift look in No Name’s direction. The look did not quite reach No Name, as if at the last moment Sounds The Ground just barely managed to check himself.

Rough Arm caught the look. He rose to his feet in trembling rage, warclub in hand.

Before he could speak, Woman Who Walks Ahead Of Her Man let out another piercing shriek. For all her wild crying, she had been quick to spot a Sioux warrior sitting beside Sounds The Ground. She fell upon No Name, old claws working. She gave his wolf cap such a jerk it came off and his two braids tumbled down his shoulders. “It is this Sioux, this cutter of throats, who has killed him!” She gave No Name’s braids a ferocious pull. “Where is the scalp of my son Sharp Horn? His spirit cannot depart for the other world until we find his scalp! Where is it?”

No Name gave her a dignified shove with his elbow, finally managed to shake off her clawing fingers. He got to his feet and with a look at Rough Arm quietly drew his knife. The scalp of Sharp Horn, which he had secreted in his shirt, began to burn against his skin.

The old dame turned on Sounds The Ground. “Where is the scalp of my son Sharp Horn? His spirit cries for revenge!”

Sounds The Ground got to his feet. He pointed to the door. “Old mother, each thing in its own time. When we have finished with this council, we will listen to what you have to say.”

Rough Arm could no longer contain his towering rage. He let go with a great bellow. “Waugh! And I say we shall listen to what she has to tell us! I too wish to know where our brother Sharp Horn has gone! Does anyone see him here? Can we let his mother suffer the torment of his loss without striking in return? No! Death to the Sioux!” Rough Arm gave an explosive
downward gesture with his hand, the sign for death. “I have said.”

The crowd in the shadows began to cry loudly for the death of the Sioux intruder. Meanwhile the warriors around the circle sat in stiff dignity. Only their eyes showed interest. They burned like winking coals.

No Name understood what was wanted. He waited. He was ready.

Sounds The Ground raised his hand. He spoke slowly, with quiet even composure, his eye lingering on each face in turn. “My children, I am a mild man. You know this. For fifteen winters I have herded you like a band of horses. In the winter I have defended you here in the village against the enemy. In the summer I have led you over the wide plains and found buffalo for you. My tongue has been worn thin and my teeth have been loosened in giving you advice. Listen. Listen well. My advice to you now is that we honor this guest who has come to your chief to ask where the great white stallion lives. The dream of this Sioux is wakan. It is fated that he will catch the fierce white horse of whom we have often talked. We cannot oppose the will of his god. No one was there to see who killed Sharp Horn. Has our guest waved Sharp Horn’s scalp in our faces to taunt us with it? No. It is thus my advice that we should help him in his quest.” Again he looked each warrior in the eye. “We are known as the men of men. Loa-ah. Let each now speak what is in his heart. Whatever is decided upon let it be manly. I will listen. I have said.”

Rough Arm gave No Name yet another venomous look. Then, glancing down at the pipe where it lay resting in its forked stick in front of the firepit, he said to Sounds The Ground, “Father, your tobacco stinks. If I smoke more of it I will taste the blood of our brother Sharp Horn. I wish to kill this dog of a Sioux. It will please me to see the white skull of this young Sioux upon the ground. The teeth in the skull of a young man are sound and beautiful. When one sees the white skull of a young man,
such a skull appears to say, ‘I have died when I should and have not waited at home until my teeth were worn to the gums eating dried meat.’ Therefore let us kill this young Sioux because it is a good thing to do. I have said.”

No Name caught the meaning of the exchange of Pawnee words. He stood very straight, defiant, and cried, “Pawnee, listen! This I have to say. I want to die here! Come, kill me! You are many, I am one. You are in your own village, I am in a strange place. I want to die here! Come, strike! My heart was made to beat so that it might be stopped by my enemies. My lips were made to move so that they might be stilled by those who hate me. My scalp lock was braided long so that it might be taken with ease from my skull. Strike! I want my father to know that I have done this. It is what he wanted when he had me born.”

Sounds The Ground translated No Name’s words into Pawnee.

A gasp went around the circle. The motley crowd behind moved back into the shadows under the wall. All, including Rough Arm, marveled at this show of bravery.

Again Sounds The Ground looked at the faces around the circle. “You see? You asked for his life because an old woman comes crying into my lodge saying that her son has been killed. Yet no one has seen him killed. What can I do? This Sioux has been told by his god to visit me. Also he has eaten of my food. I cannot kill a man who has eaten with me in my lodge, who has smoked the pipe with me, who has drunk of my family water. Are the Pawnees to be known as treacherous hosts?” The eyes of Sounds The Ground searched each face around the circle. “What do my friends say? Shall he live? He is brave. He has a sacred quest.”

“Let him live!” cried certain of the braves as with one voice.

A murmur of assent went around the firepit and through the crowd behind in the shadows.

Rough Arm saw the drift of the meeting. He stood stiffly a moment; then, with a final throw of bitter eyes at No Name, stalked from the circle and stooped out through the door.

Sounds The Ground turned to the old mother. “Woman, go bury your son. After my guest has departed we will consider your trouble. Each thing in its own time.”

When the warriors and the crowd had dispersed, Sounds The Ground turned to No Name and said, “By your bravery you have saved your life. Also the life of Leaf your wife. I shall make white the road to where the wakan stallion lives. There will not be one blood spot on it.”

“Ai! my father, my mind is big when I look at you.”

“My son, I do this because of your father Redbird. When you were a child at his feet he was kind to me. Where he stepped I stepped. I trod where his feet were placed in the grass. Though he was of the enemy I had one mind with him. Also, my heart is sad because of what has happened to Leaf. I was chosen to catch an enemy virgin. I had to go. My heart is sad.”

“My father, I shall tell my father Redbird all the things I have seen.”

“Loa-ah. It is good. I will give you two horses. We will get Leaf from her hiding place. Then we will ride with you to the brink of the River That Sinks to make certain that Rough Arm and his young braves do not attack you until you are safely across.”

5

Riding a prancing blood bay, Sounds The Ground pointed out the true way. Sounds The Ground held his mount tightly reined in, so that its chin lay almost on its chest. Beside him rode No Name on a sorrel gelding, with Leaf following behind on a dun mare. A mounted guard of honor accompanied them, four fierce warriors ahead on white horses, four on the right on red horses, four on the left with blue horses, and four behind on black horses. The tail and mane of every horse was bedecked with bright eagle feathers. Each bridle bore several enemy scalps.

They rode across a vast expanse of grass, waving in the early morning wind, rising and falling. The eye ached to make out the end of it. In the swales the grass sometimes rose as high as a horse’s ears. Where the wind and rain had blown it down it clogged the way. Every now and then large flocks of green parroquets whirled past, screaming harshly, joyous with morning euphoria. Wild turkeys rose from a growth of chokecherries, first crying “quit, quit,” and then scolding “quawk, quawk!” Further
along buzzards sat perched on the naked red skeletons of buffalo.