Now Fools Crow stared at Pretty-on-top. He knew that the soft young man had become a spirit-man in the manner of the Napikwans, and for an instant he doubted the power of the Pikuni medicine, of Mik-api and Boss Ribs’ medicine and of his own puny efforts. Then a thought came to him that caused his breath to catch in his throat. Suppose this Sturgis had come to infect the Lone Eaters? He did not bring the Napikwan medicine and he knew the Pikuni medicine was weak. Perhaps he brought the sickness instead? Fools Crow watched Three Bears light his ceremonial pipe. It was much valued for the red stone of its bowl. In happier days, before the Napikwans came in great numbers, Three Bears had obtained it in a trade with the Dirt Lodge People. Now the white-scabs came from the Dirt Lodge People. Three Bears passed the pipe to his right, to Sturgis. The white man did not hesitate; he puffed three times, blowing the smoke upward, then passed the pipe on to Pretty-on-top. The young man held the pipe by the red bowl. He glanced across the circle to Mik-api, but the old man was tracing patterns on the quillwork on top of his winter moccasin. All the other eyes were on Pretty-on-top as he finally put the pipe to his lips and drew in the warm smoke. Often when a man is put to the test, the others breathe in and out with him in a kind of relief. But this time the others held their breath too long, and it was clear that they too no longer trusted Pretty-on-top. It was one thing to smoke with a Napikwan, but another to trust a Pikuni who had taken on the Napikwan’s ways.
The two visitors were taken to Rides-at-the-door’s smaller lodge to rest up for their return trip. The men sat silently staring at the small fire. All of them had relatives in the afflicted camps. Now each man wondered who among his own kin would not appear at the Sun Dance encampment next Home Days. And they wondered when the first survivors would find their way to the camp of the Lone Eaters. How many would come? How would they all eat? Winters were difficult in the best of times, but with so many in one place, the animals would be hunted out in a short time. All would face hunger, perhaps starvation. And if the survivors brought the white-scabs ...
It was Sits-in-the-middle who broke the silence. “How can we turn away our own relatives? Would we see them die piteously on the edge of our camp? Would we shoot them if they tried to enter?”
“That is not our way,” said Three Bears.
“But the Napikwan says we must do this.” Sits-in-the-middle looked around the circle. “Even Pretty-on-top says this is the way it must be.”
“Do you listen to Pretty-on-top who wears the Napikwan’s clothes, who sleeps in the Napikwan’s bed?”
The sudden anger of Fools Crow’s voice made Mik-api look up for the first time since entering the lodge. “I do not think he is a bad man,” he said. “It is true he has taken to the white man’s ways, but I think in his heart he is still a Pikuni. He smokes the pipe with his brothers.”
“And what about the white man Sturgis?” Three Bears addressed Mik-api, but his eyes were on Fools Crow.
“It is natural for us not to trust this man, for we have never had much luck with the Napikwans. But I find this one different. He suffers the loss of his wife. He suffers the loss of her people. The Black Patched Moccasins trusted him. Many of us know and respect the judgment of Takes Gun—he has joined many parties against our enemies. If he trusts this Napikwan, we would be wise to respect that trust.”
“I feel as you do, Mik-api. I find no deceit in this man. But what he says makes my heart fall down. If his medicine will not help the Pikunis, then I fear many of us, our young ones, will go to the Sand Hills.”
“Perhaps we should move camp.” Rides-at-the-door spoke so quietly that the others were not sure he had spoken at all. “Perhaps we should move across the Medicine Line, to Old Man River. The Siksikas would let us camp there until Cold Maker retreated to his house in the north.”
“Or we could go to the agency on the Milk River. They would have to take us in.”
“I’m afraid that all the afflicted ones, the ones healthy enough to make it, will be there, Sits-in-the-middle. That direction would bring us death.”
“But why must we leave our ranges? There are no blackhorns in the country of the Siksikas. We would have to eat the slippery swimmers. I would go into the Backbone and eat the bighorns and white bigheads before I would eat the Siksikas’ food.” Sits-in-the-middle looked at Fools Crow as if he sensed that the young man would be with him.
But Fools Crow was ashamed of himself for his outburst against Pretty-on-top. He was there to listen, not speak, not speak so violently against one who had chosen another way. He had spoken out of place against one who was not there. But he also had been thinking about what his father had said. In some ways he agreed with Sits-in-the-middle. It would be better to winter in their own country. If they went south they could find game and be far enough away from the other camps to spend the winter untouched by the bad spirit of the white man’s disease. Why then would his father suggest they go north, into the teeth of Cold Maker’s fury? It was true that the Siksikas were their relatives. They would take the Lone Eaters into their country and help them. But to leave their ranges in the middle of winter ...?
Then it came to Fools Crow as though it had been in the fire all along, in the smoky curls that drifted straight up to the smoke hole, and he spoke again. “There, the Napikwans are not thick like ants. They do not wish to make the Pikunis cry. These seizers here will ride us down before the moon of the new grass.”
Rides-at-the-door said nothing, but a look of pride softened his eyes.
The other men in the lodge let Fools Crow’s words hang in the air. For the last several sleeps they had put the threat of these invaders out of their minds. They had listened to Rides-at-the-door’s account of his meeting with General Sully and they had watched him ride off to council with the band chiefs at the camp of the Hard Topknots. Even Mountain Chief had been there. But when Rides-at-the-door had returned two days later, they saw the look of dejection on his face and they knew that the chiefs had rejected the seizer chief’s demands. The dread they had felt then returned now and, coupled with the immediate threat of the white-scabs disease, made their world seem hopeless.
“Perhaps we should call the societies together,” said Three Bears. His voice was low and far away.