Authors: Janelle Taylor
Most fathers and older brothers were occupied with important tasks. Some warriors and braves were away hunting or scouting for enemy tracks. Others sat near their conical abodes
or in the forest shade to work. Joe lingered for a while at a few groups to watch them sharpen old weapons whose blades were dulled from use or repair edges that were chipped. He observed the preparation of feathers for one end of the arrow shafts, as they controlled the flight of the most frequently used weapon. He saw how they smoothed slender and sturdy limbs chosen for shafts, as any rough spot could change its speed and direction. He watched them chiseling away at certain stones to make arrowheads with sharp and jagged points, and how they attached the tips and feathers to the shafts. Joe was intrigued by the men’s deftness, and how they balanced the weights of each piece to construct a lethal and accurate weapon. He observed men restringing bows, their strength and skill displayed in rippling muscles and agility. Some of the elders sat with them smoking pipes, telling stories, or gambling. Joe was impressed by their comradeship and hard work.
He liked the way they smiled or nodded at him and allowed him to spend time with them. Those who could speak English explained the details of their chores to him. Some were more genial and open than others. Most of them had ridden with Sun Cloud over the years, and a few with the legendary Gray Eagle. He wished he had gifts of gratitude and friendship for each of them, but he had made purchases for only one man: Payaba, the old shaman who had foretold his coming and aided it.
Joe went to his horse and retrieved the knife and small ax, more like a hatchet. He headed for the past medicine chief’s tepee, as he’d seen the elderly man return home earlier. From the custom he had learned, he called out, asking for permission to come inside and visit.
“U wo.”
Payaba granted it.
Joe held out the knife and hatchet. “I bring you gifts of friendship and thanks, Payaba. I don’t understand visions, but yours was filled with knowledge and truth. Morning Star speaks only good and loving words of you. I’m honored to know you. If there’s a chore I can do for you today, my hands and mind are willing.”
“Your heart is kind and pure, Tanner Gaston. Payaba thanks you. Many others see me as a grandfather, brother, and uncle; they do chores for Payaba and Winter Woman. They fetch
wood and water, and bring food. Morning Star gathers herbs
and
plants for my medicines. I need nothing more. My heart is warmed by your generosity and friendship.”
Payaba retrieved something from a medicine pouch and wrapped it in a small piece of hide. “It is medicine to tend the cut you place on your hand in the ceremony this moon,” he explained. “It will halt redness, bad water, and fever. No evil spirit must be allowed to sicken a man who has a great task before him.”
Joe thanked him for the gift. “Payaba’s medicine is strong. Morning Star used it to tend a bullet wound I got after I helped her escape those white men. It’s almost healed now.”
“Cover the cut. Let no dirt or insect enter. The evil white-eyes put many bad things into Mother Earth.”
As the snowy-haired man watched Joe’s departure, he reflected on the dream he had experienced following the contest. He decided it would be damaging to reveal it to his chief. Besides, if it was more than a dream— as he suspected— destinies of those involved could not be changed. There was no need to worry his leader until the time came…
As Morning Star went through her possessions one last time to make certain she had packed everything she would need on the trail, she lifted her flesher and gazed at it with pride and joy. At a girl’s ritual introduction to womanhood, she was given a special elkhorn upon which her good deeds were recorded by whomever was in charge of an event. The color, shape, and number of dots revealed the reasons for those marks. Some were for tanning hides and making robes, for winning beading or quilling contests, for helping others construct their first tepee before a joining ceremony, and for performing a charitable or brave deed. Possible suitors often asked to view a woman’s flesher before he shared a blanket with her or asked her to become his wife. For a female, counting her dots was comparable to a warrior counting his coups of prowess and generosity.
Many women had earned a new dot for helping Morning Star prepare for the great task before her. The Lakota beading was removed from all her possessions and replaced with the colors and symbols of the Arapaho, a tribe that was neither ally nor
foe of either the Dakotas or the Crow. It would be a safe identity to assume as Joe’s squaw. Even her new necklace and wristlets were Arapaho.
Morning Star wondered where Joe was and how he was doing in her camp. As soon as the last task was completed, she would look for him.
Knife-Slayer returned from hunting with a buck across his horse. He sighted the white man near a corral and headed to speak with the paleface before skinning his kill. As he approached, the hated rival heard him.
Joe noticed the cold glare in the warrior’s narrowed eyes and the hostility in his expression. He perceived hatred and resentment in the Indian’s aura. Hoping to avoid an unpleasant confrontation, he complimented the man. “Your hunt was successful; that’s a fine buck. How many arrows did it take to bring him down?” he attempted to converse in a genial way.
“A skilled hunter slays his game with one shot, White man. Knife-Slayer is a skilled hunter and a skilled warrior. Can you do the same?”
Joe tried to make peace by grinning and replying, “Most of the time, but I wouldn’t want to compete in hunting and shooting with a man of your prowess. I’m glad we’re on the same side. You’d make a tough enemy.”
The Indian avowed, “We are enemies, White-Dog. You do not trick me with your words as you blind others with them. Before many suns and moons pass across the heaven, you will prove to my people you are false, that your skills are few, and your task futile. When the whites and Crow attack us on the plains, war will come. Until my people see the truth, protect Morning Star from danger. And do not touch her,” he added with a coldness that startled Joe.
“I’m not your enemy, Knife-Slayer,” the blond argued. “I’m here to help your people. How can you doubt and reject a sacred vision?”
Ebony braids with coup feathers attached near their ends grazed strong shoulders as the warrior shook his head. “You cannot stop a war we have battled with the Crow since Grandfather created us. You cannot stop the whites from attacking.
Yes, Half-Breed, we are enemies. Your white blood and ways are strongest. When war comes, you will side with them. On that sun, I will slay you with great joy. If you try to steal Morning Star from me and her people, I will slay you sooner.”
Knife-Slayer’s insults and warnings angered Joe, but he controlled his temper. Joe knew the warrior was arrogant, as no other one wore his coup feathers in camp. He glanced at two Sun Dance scars on the bronzed chest of the man who craved the same woman he did; they told him the warrior could endure as much pain as he could inflict on foes. He couldn’t imagine Morning Star marrying and yielding to this fierce male. She was too gentle, kind, and smart. Yet, if Knife-Slayer stopped others from wooing Morning Star and made himself her only suitor, and if he offered many possessions to her father for her hand in marriage, would Morning Star feel compelled to accept her only proposal to avoid embarrassing her family by having no mate? The idea of her being entrapped by the wicked warrior vexed Joe. With boldness, he chided, “Your heart is filled with hatred and bitterness. Men like you are the only ones who can prevent peace with the whites and the Crow. It’s wrong, Knife-Slayer, to endanger and destroy your people.”
“A man fights his own battles, White-Dog.”
“Your intrusion can create a battle you can’t win, Knife-Slayer.”
“There is no battle I cannot win! There is no foe I cannot defeat!”
“Then why didn’t you attack and slay Snake-Man when you located him and spied on him?” Joe challenged, his own blue eyes narrowed now.
Although only two inches separated their heights, Knife-Slayer drew himself up tall and stiff to level their gazes. “He is an evil spirit,” he responded. “They cannot be slain, except with powerful magic. I am no shaman.”
“He isn’t a spirit. He’s only a man, a white man, a clever man.”
“You have not seen him! How do you know such things?”
“In a land far away, I have seen the kind of magic he does. They’re only tricks to fool Indians who haven’t seen them. I’m going to defeat him. Like you, he craves war, but I’ll find him
and stop him.”
“If he does not find and stop you first.”
“At least I’m not afraid to go after him,” Joe snapped unwisely.
“Knife-Slayer fears no man and no task, Piss of the Coyote!”
Provoked, Joe spoke his mind. “You fear I have the prowess to steal the woman you desire. You fear I have the prowess to gain a treaty to halt another war. You fear my victory will earn me a bigger coup than you’ve won. You fear that victory will put an end to the bloody raids you love. Fear is a strong and wicked power, Knife-Slayer, one you’d better defeat or learn to control for the good of your people and lands. If you change your mind about me and peace, I’ll offer you my hand in friendship,” Joe finished, but only to avoid more hostility. He walked away.
Morning Star was concealed behind a tree. After she saw Joe depart, she joined the warrior and warned, “Remove such fears and doubts from your mind and heart, Knife-Slayer, or they will bring much trouble and suffering to many. It is wrong to insult a man with Oglala blood, the same blood that lives within your chief and in my body. When the great task is done and peace rules our lands, I will return to my people and he will return to his. He is not what stands between us. We are too different.”
“If he tries to steal you, I will challenge him to the death.”
“He cannot steal from you what you do not own,” she retorted. “If you intrude on the sacred vision, you will be banished or slain. We have known each other since children. I do not want such shame and torment to enter your mother’s tepee. Visit the sweat lodge to purify yourself of such wickedness. Pray to Grandfather to change your heart. Endure a vision-quest to receive His warnings of wisdom. Seek another female to share your love and tepee. Only this way can you survive and be happy.”
“I do not wish to survive without my love, my lands, and my honor.”
“You do not love me, Knife-Slayer,” Morning Star corrected, “you desire me and you crave the daughter of your chief as first wife. If you are patient, a true love will come to you. If you are patient, Joe will win truce, and your honor and our lands will not be endangered.”
“Why do you call him Joe?” He pounced on her slip.
Thinking fast, she explained, “That is the name he uses to fool the whites. I practice to avoid mistakes when we travel together. No one must know he is the grandson of Powchutu who was first called Tanner Gaston.”
“You are wrong, Morning Star. My love and need for you are as strong as my doubts of him. Do not shame our chief and people by not returning.”
“Have you forgotten we are of the same bloodline and cannot mate? Have you forgotten we are different? Morning Star cannot go to the white lands and accept the white ways; I am Oglala; I will always be Oglala. I swear to you, he will return to his home far away when his task is done.”
“Swear it to Grandfather, for you will not break your word to Him.”
“Nothing I say or do will change your mind, Knife-Slayer. I am troubled by the feelings I see in you. I pray they are gone when I return.”
Morning Star encountered her brother before she reached her tepee. She knew that meant another quarrel, and she dreaded it. She smiled and greeted Night Stalker, hoping he would be kind today.
“I pray you can return safely after the truth is revealed, Sister. Know, if you do not, your brother and Knife-Slayer will avenge any harm to you.”
“I will be safe with Tanner, my brother.”
“He was raised white. He is a half-blood. Do not trust him.”
“His bloodline is as strong and true as ours. Tanner said Powchutu joined a half-white woman. Both bloodlines have Indians and whites.”
Coldness entered the proud warrior’s dark eyes. “No, our blood is almost pure. His has been weakened and stained many times. Enemy blood came to Tanner from his paleface mother, his half-white grandmother, and a paleface parent before her.”
Seeing how upset Night Stalker was, she debated in a soft tone, “What of Shalee’s mother? What of Jenny’s parents? All were white, my brother. Much as you despise the truth, you cannot remove it or forget it. If Running Wolf had claimed his firstborn son, Powchutu would have become Red Heart chief, not
Gray Eagle, the second born. If Powchutu had been chief, his son— Stede— would now be chief, not our father. If so, Tanner/Sky Warrior would be next in line, not Night Stalker.”
He glared at her and alleged, “If Powchutu had become chief, he would not have met his half-breed woman in the white world he joined by choice. Do not forget, Powchutu loved our grandmother; if he had become chief, he would have taken Shalee as wife. All would be the same for us. I would still be chief next.”
“It would not be so, Brother. Different mates bear different children. We would not exist if Gray Eagle had not won and mated with Alisha/Shalee.”
“You are wrong, Morning Star. The Great Spirit and
Whope
give a maiden her seeds when she comes to season. No matter which man brings one to life, the child is the same.”
“If that is true, how does a white captive bear an Indian child, as Alisha did our father and uncle?”
“Because the Great Spirit makes a warrior’s water of life overpower the white woman’s seed.”
“If that is true,” she reasoned again, “Powchutu’s flow overpowered his mate’s seed to make Stede an Indian, and Stede’s flow overpowered his mate’s to make Tanner an Indian. As Oglala, you have no fight with him. To you, Tanner must be as Indian as you are, my wise brother.”
Night Stalker realized she was turning his argument against him, but he vowed to open her mind! “The Great Spirit does not live and work in the white world where Powchutu fled and mated. Stede was raised as a paleface and he joined to one. The Great Spirit did not intrude on their mating, and their son was born of her white seed. Tanner’s face marks him as white, and he carries little Oglala blood.”