A Whisper In The Wind (7 page)

“Next, the scalp will be placed on a buffalo chip, flesh side up. You must take a piece of charcoal from the fire and rub it over both sides of your knife, from the hilt to the point, then you must hold the knife over the scalp and say, ‘May we again conquer our enemies.’ Then, using the point of your knife, you will cross-cut the scalp from north to south, then east to west, always beginning at the edge of the skin away from yourself. Once the scalp is properly prepared and secured to the hoop, it will be attached to a willow pole, unless you wish to use it for decoration.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble for a piece of hair,” Michael remarked.

Yellow Spotted Wolf shrugged. “It is the way of our people. Did those who raised you not teach you how to lift a scalp and how to preserve it?”

“No, they didn’t do a lot of scalping where I come from.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf grunted softly. “If you find the taking of a scalp distasteful, it need not be done. It is the counting of coup that denotes bravery and courage, not the taking of a scalp. Any man who goes into battle carrying only a hatchet or a war club is considered brave indeed, for these weapons require hand-to-hand combat and cannot be used from a distance. A lance is more creditable than a bow. Bravest of all is to carry only a coup stick. Our people count coup on an enemy only three times.”

“Sounds like a good way to commit suicide,” Michael muttered.

“A brave man does not consider suicide, but a man who has been long sick, or one who has had great misfortune and wishes to die often declares that he is going to give his body to the enemy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Some years ago, Sun Path declared he would do just such a thing. He had been ill for many months and had given up all hope of recovery. His father agreed and, after giving his son his strongest medicine and a fine horse, sent Sun Path off with a war party, armed only with a small hatchet.

“After they reached the land of the Pawnee, they encountered two warriors returning from a hunt. Both of the Pawnee had guns. Our people charged the Pawnee. Sun Path, who was riding his father’s best war horse, quickly overtook one of the Pawnee warriors, who turned and tried to shoot him, but the gun misfired and Sun Path killed him with his hatchet and took his scalp. The other Pawnee was also killed.

“Sun Path had completed his vow and he returned to our people, a hero.”

Michael frowned. “I thought he went out to die.”

“He did. But he did not die, and his sickness left him.”

“Because he took a scalp?”

Yellow Spotted Wolf shrugged. “Who can say?”

“I think you made that story up.”

“There is his lodge,” Yellow Spotted Wolf said, gesturing at a tall tipi painted with suns and moons and bright blue stars.

“Okay,” Michael said, “I believe you.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf grinned. “The taking of a scalp is important, but more important is being able to ride, to be one with your horse.”

“I can ride.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf snorted. “You ride like an old woman. I have a fine gray stallion, but he has not yet been broken to ride. If you can tame him, he is yours.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I have an old mare my girl cousins ride.”

“All right, where’s this horse?”

Michael was soon sorry he had agreed to try to break the stallion in question. The horse bucked like a rodeo bronc, quickly unseating Michael.

Word soon spread that Wolf was trying to break Yellow Spotted Wolf’s big gray stallion, and a score of men and women gathered to watch the fun.

Michael swore softly when he saw Two Ponies and Winter Song in the front of the crowd. He could not give up now. No matter how many times he was thrown, he could not give up. There was more at stake now than a horse.

But riding a bareback pony was like sitting on a piece of waxed paper, and no matter how hard he wrapped his legs around the gray’s middle, the horse threw him with ease. Michael knew there were places on his body that would be black and blue and sore in the morning, but he mounted the stallion again and again, determined not to let Two Ponies see him defeated, determined to look good in Winter Song’s eyes. Gradually he managed to stay on the horse’s back for longer and longer periods of time. He learned to match his movements to that of the horse, and he began to realize that it wasn’t brute strength that kept him on the animal’s back, but the ability to move in rhythm with the horse, to anticipate its next move, to roll with the punches, so to speak.

And finally, after what seemed like hours, the stallion stood quiet and Michael was still on its back. Both were sweating profusely and breathing hard.

Michael smiled faintly. He didn’t know if he’d broken the horse to ride or just worn it out, but at the moment it didn’t matter. He had won.

He saw the admiration in Winter Song’s eyes, the envy and thinly veiled loathing in the hard stare of Two Ponies, and he knew he had won a great victory. And he owed it all to Yellow Spotted Wolf.

There was a courtship dance that night, given by the
Wohkseh’hetaniu,
or Fox Soldiers, one of the warrior societies. There were several such groups, among them the
Mim’oweyuhkis,
or Elk Soldiers; the
Hota’mita’niu,
or Dog Soldiers, and the
Mahohe’was,
or Red Shields, who were also called the Bull Soldiers. The Kit Soldiers claimed superiority over all other bands; both Mo’ohta-vo’nehe and Yellow Spotted Wolf belonged to this society.

Michael did not hesitate when Winter Song chose him to be her partner in the first dance. Nor did he miss the look of resentment on the face of Two Ponies as he took his place across from Winter Song. Two Ponies was a tall warrior, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Many of the maidens desired him, but he had eyes only for Winter Song, and everyone in the village knew it.

Michael felt a slight twinge of guilt, knowing that Two Ponies had been sure of winning Winter Song’s hand in marriage before he, Michael, had entered the picture. But his guilt was quickly swept away when Winter Song’s gaze met his. Face to face, they moved to the right and then to the left. The steps were simple and uncomplicated, and though they never touched during the dance, he was ever aware of the young woman across from him. Once she smiled at him and he felt the warmth of it touch his soul.

Some time passed before he had a chance to dance with her again, and when the dance was over, he spoke to her quickly and quietly, urging her to meet him in the shadows, and then he left the dance lodge, wondering if he had been too bold.

He walked into the darkness beyond the first lodge, certain she would never follow him.

And then he heard the sound of her footsteps.

He felt the blood pound in his brain as she drew close to him. She was trembling like a rabbit caught in a trap as she slowly lifted her gaze to his, and he knew that she had never gone walking into the shadows with any other man. But she had come to him. The thought filled him with exhilaration, and a sudden, unwelcome sense of responsibility.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked.

Winter Song shook her head. “No.”

“Is it wrong for us to meet like this?”

A shy smile curved her lips. “No. Young people often sneak away to be alone.”

“But…”

“It is best not to get caught.”

Michael chuckled, amused by her answer and her honesty.

Taa’e-ese’he,
the night sun, washed her hair in silver, and Michael thought he had never seen anything more lovely than Winter Song standing in the moonlight.

Murmuring her name, he drew her into his arms and held her close. Her hair was like black silk beneath his cheek.

After a long moment he tilted her face upward and kissed her, gently. She had never been kissed before; he knew it instantly, and it pleased him beyond words. She would be his, only his.

Winter Song gazed up at him, her eyes filled with wonder and surprise as she placed her fingertips to her lips.

“Did that not please you?”

“It pleased me very much,” she replied, and standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his.

She was, Michael mused, a quick study. Her kiss was sweet and inexperienced and left him yearning for more, much more.

It would be so easy to press her to the ground and make love to her. So easy…he let his hand slide down her back, along her thigh. He paused as he felt the protective rope. It was something all proper and decent Cheyenne women wore, a thin rope that passed around the wearer’s waist and was knotted in front, then passed down and between her thighs, each end of the rope wrapping around the thigh and down to her knee.

All men, both young and old, respected the rope.

And so did Michael.

“Come along,” he said, taking her by the hand. “We’d better go back to camp before one of us gets in trouble.”

Chapter Eleven

It was surprising how easily he adapted to the Cheyenne way of life. Songs he had been taught as a child came back to him, old stories he had heard from Yellow Spotted Wolf, games he had all but forgotten.

He practiced with his bow, wanting Yellow Spotted Wolf to be proud of him. He used a hide for a target; a buffalo hide at first, then the hide of an elk, then a small deer, and finally a rabbit.

Yellow Spotted Wolf taught him how to track a deer, an elk, a bear, how to find water on the plains, which plants were good for food, which were poisonous. Despite his youth, Yellow Spotted Wolf had acquired a great deal of knowledge and he shared it willingly. If he wondered at his cousin’s ignorance in such basic skills, he never mentioned it.

For Michael, it wasn’t so much learning as remembering the lessons that a much older Yellow Spotted Wolf had taught him at the reservation so long ago.

When he wasn’t hunting or tracking or practicing with his bow, Michael was stalking Winter Song. He waited for her at the river, hoping to catch her alone so they might share a few words. Sometimes he followed when she went to gather wood, pleased when she smiled in his direction. And at night, he continued to let his flute sing to her of his love.

A Cheyenne warrior was expected to court the maiden of his choice from one to five years. After he felt certain of her consent, he applied to her parents or older brother for approval, usually sending an old friend or his mother to ask for the girl’s hand in marriage. With the messenger he sent a number of horses, as many as he could afford to give. The messenger tied the horses in front of the father’s lodge and then went inside and said, “A young man wishes to take your daughter to wife.”

After naming the young man, the messenger left the lodge without waiting for a reply.

But Michael could not wait five years, and after waiting five months, he went to Yellow Spotted Wolf for advice.

The young warrior shook his head. “Winter Song’s parents will never approve the marriage. You must be patient. Prove yourself in battle. Count coup on our enemy. Offer her parents a part of your next kill. They must know you can protect their daughter, that you can provide for her.”

“I can’t wait,” Michael insisted. “Two Ponies will not wait. You have seen the way he looks at her.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf nodded. “The father of Winter Song has long approved the match between Two Ponies and his daughter. Two Ponies is a fine warrior, a brave man in battle, a hunter of great knowledge and skill. This is what you must become.”

“Then show me how.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf grinned. “First, we must prove you can provide meat for Black Knife’s daughter. Tomorrow we will go hunting.”

They left at dawn, just the two of them, armed with bows and arrows. Michael rode behind Yellow Spotted Wolf, admiring the easy way his great-grandfather sat his horse, the proud lift of Yellow Spotted Wolf’s head. He was already a warrior, a man who was well respected by the elders of the tribe. He had proved his bravery in battle, he had counted coup on the Pawnee and taken a Crow scalp. He had captured ponies from their enemies, and ridden to war against the
vehoe.
All who knew Yellow Spotted Wolf expected that, one day, he would be a great leader among his people.

But it would never happen, Michael thought with regret, and shook the bleak images of the future from his mind. Today was not a day for sad thoughts about what would be. Today was a day for rejoicing. He smiled as he recalled how his day had begun.

As was the custom, he had left his lodge early and offered a morning prayer to
Heammawihio
before going to the river to bathe. The water was icy and he wished fleetingly for a warm bath, but he scrubbed himself vigorously and returned to the lodge. It was amazing how quickly he had become accustomed to praying each morning, he who had never put much faith in prayer. But it was a good way to start the day, filling him with a sense of peace, of unity and belonging. Usually, Hemene had breakfast waiting for him when he returned to the lodge, but he had gone without on this day, for he had risen before dawn to meet Yellow Spotted Wolf.

Michael grinned as his stomach growled loudly. Perhaps being hungry would give added purpose to the hunt.

They had reached a well-traveled game trail now and Yellow Spotted Wolf dismounted, motioning for Michael to do likewise. Side by side, they knelt behind a clump of brush, bows ready.

Michael took a deep breath, drawing in the cool, crisp scent of early morning. The grass was damp beneath his moccasined feet, the air cool where it whispered across his cheeks. A bird twittered in one of the trees, a rabbit scurried across the trail and then, seeing the two warriors, quickly disappeared into a hole, its tail flashing white before it ducked out of sight.

And then the deer came, their dark noses testing the breeze as they made their way toward the stream. Four does, a buck, two yearlings, and three spotted fawns.

Like two men pulled by the same string, Michael and Yellow Spotted Wolf loosed their arrows and one of the does and a yearling fawn sprang into the air and then fell to the ground. The rest of the herd turned and fled.

Yellow Spotted Wolf stood up and examined the kill. “Why did you chose the yearling?”

“It was hurt.”

Yellow Spotted Wolf nodded his approval. “Well done,” he declared. “Winter Song’s father will be impressed with a good, clean kill, and with the prospect of fresh meat.”

It was early afternoon when they returned to the camp. Michael’s gaze quickly sought Winter Song’s lodge and there, to his dismay, he saw six ponies tethered near the entrance.

He knew immediately that Two Ponies had sent someone to ask for Winter Song’s hand in marriage. The warrior had purposely picked a day when Michael was out of the village. The horses were all prime stock, young and in good health.

“She has not yet said yes,” Yellow Spotted Wolf remarked.

Michael nodded. If the proposal had been accepted, Black Knife would have sent Winter Song and at least seven horses to the lodge of Two Ponies.

“I have eight fine horses,” Yellow Spotted Wolf mused. “They are yours.”

Michael smiled broadly.
“Ne’a’esel,”
he said fervently. “Thank you!”

“I will be your go-between,” Yellow Spotted Wolf offered. “We will place the deer we killed this morning on the backs of two of the horses. Surely, if Black Knife will consider you at all, he will accept such a generous offer, for it is greater than that of Two Ponies.”

“When?” Michael asked. “Should you do it now?”

“Yes,” Yellow Spotted Wolf answered gravely. “We dare not wait any longer.”

Michael went to Mo’ohta-vo’nehe’s lodge, where he paced restlessly back and forth. Once, he peered out and saw that the eight horses had been tied across from the offering of Two Ponies, and even as he watched, Yellow Spotted Wolf emerged from Black Knife’s lodge.

“There is nothing to do now but wait,” Yellow Spotted Wolf remarked as he entered the lodge a few moments later.

Mo’ohta-vo’nehe and Hemene exchanged amused grins as Michael began to pace back and forth again. It was the way of youth, the waiting, the anxiety. Often, a girl held her answer until the last minute, knowing that her suitor would be anxiously awaiting a reply.

As darkness fell, Michael heaved a heavy sigh of exasperation. Winter Song would have to make her decision soon. According to custom, the horses might not stand outside her lodge for more than one night. The horses must be accepted or sent back. If the horses were accepted, the marriage would take place within the week.

He scowled bleakly. What chance did he have to win her hand in such a short time? Two Ponies had been courting her for years. And what would he do if she decided to marry Two Ponies? How could he stay in the village, see her every day, and know she would never be his?

He halted in mid-stride at the sound of hoofbeats approaching the lodge. His heart seemed to stop, and then raced in wild excitement as Hemene welcomed Winter Song into the lodge.

The next few minutes seemed to pass in a blur as Mo’ohta-vo’nehe and Hemene offered Winter Song a seat and something to eat, and then they discussed the wedding, when it should be, and decided it would be in two days.

Two days, Michael thought, elated. In two days she would be his.