The Changing Wind (13 page)

“Come, White Buffalo, make the apology for us,” someone called.

The medicine man and his assistant made their way down the hillside. The hunters had already selected the largest bull of the day, and one was busily chopping off the head. Then two men carried the massive trophy aside, placing it in the spot indicated by White Buffalo.

“There,” he said, pointing. “The nose to the east.”

The head was propped in a more lifelike position with stones, and White Buffalo took a pinch of some powdered plant material from a pouch to sprinkle over it. He sang:

The women were now beginning to straggle over the hill, preparing to start the butchering. They were chattering over the success of the hunt.
“Aiee
, the medicine of White Buffalo is powerful!” Elk heard one say.

As the butchering began, Bluejay came hobbling up. His left arm hung limp, and pain lined his face.

“Ah, Bluejay!” one of the other hunters exclaimed. “You will do anything to avoid the butchering!”

There was general laughter, even as several helped the injured man to lie down and White Buffalo came to help with the broken arm, a mixture of concern and relief that the injury was no worse. The man could have been killed, and fatal injuries were not unusual in such a hunt. That Bluejay’s was the only injury and not a life-threatening one was a cause for joy and laughter. An arm would heal. In the importance of things, anyone would prefer a broken arm to being gored in the belly, would he not?

The band moved into winter quarters, choosing a favorite area in the southern portion of their range. There were thickets of scrubby oaks, which would hold their dead leaves for most of the winter, to provide an effective windbreak. The campsite itself was bordered by such a thicket on the north and west, leaving the east ceremonially open to the sun. This location also had a major advantage in that
there were no trees to the south for perhaps a hundred paces or more. The rays of Sun Boy’s dying winter torch would strike the camp unimpeded. Beyond that open space was the river, clear and swift over white gravel. Their water supply would be convenient and reliable.

Another advantage to this location was the presence of numerous squirrels. In a hard winter, a few of these could make the difference between survival and death. There were also signs of deer in the thickets, drawn by the same acorns that sustained the large population of squirrels. In the dark moons of winter, a change to fresh meat might prove a refreshing diversion. Not that there was any threat of starvation this year; the fall hunt had gone well.
Aiee
, how well! Every lodge had a store of dried meat and pemmican, stored in rawhide packs behind the lodge-linings. Even the arm of Bluejay, the only casualty of the fall hunt, was healing well.

The People utilized the long still days of the Moon of Falling Leaves to prepare their lodges against the onslaught of Cold Maker. Some, whose locations gave more exposure, carried brush and sticks to build a small snow fence directly northwest of their own lodges. Everyone cut and carried armfuls of dry grasses to stuff in the space around the bottom of the lodge. Between the outside cover and the lodge-lining, which hung like a vertical curtain of skins, was a dead space for storage. Supplies would keep well, away from the heated inside of the lodge. But in winter, stuffed with dried grasses, any remaining space became an important part of the winter preparation; it was insulation against Cold Maker’s howling winds.

By the first frosts, late in the Moon of Falling Leaves, most of the lodges were ready. Even then, there would be a period of perhaps half a moon of fine open weather, cool at night and pleasantly warm by day, the Second Summer. Some called it Spirit Summer. It was a happy time, a time of excitement but no urgency, a time to enjoy the pungent smells of autumn and rejoice in the beauty of Earth.

Long lines of geese trumpeted their way south, and in the distance, the challenge of the young bull elk resounded across the prairie. It was the rutting time for the deer in the thickets, and the clash and rattle of their antlers in the battle for a harem of does was frequently heard. It was a good time to hunt, the bucks more concerned with rutting
than with caution, but few men bothered to hunt. There was enough stored already.

It was discovered that a half-day’s travel downstream, there was a village of Growers. This led to an increase in hunting for a short while. Surplus meat and hides could be traded for corn, beans, and dried pumpkins. There was brisk trade for half a moon before Cold Maker put a virtual stop to travel.

During the pleasant time of Spirit Summer, Small Elk worked and studied as never before. It seemed that his father would never finish with the gathering of plants, seeds, and flowers. Bunches and bundles of herbs hung from the lodgepoles to dry, bringing the pungent smells that Elk’s memory always associated with autumn. As they gathered the plants, Elk received instruction in identification and habitat.

Once, they spent an entire day lying on the ground, painstakingly scraping and brushing dirt from the roots of a gourd vine. The root was branched and convoluted, and when it was exposed, it was apparent that it could be interpreted as the likeness of a human figure. This, said White Buffalo, was especially good, but even more dangerous.

He explained as he scraped and brushed. This gourd, whose dried fruits were used for rattles and whose root was powerful medicine, was different from many plants. It would die each autumn but come to life again in the spring and so live forever. The silvery blue color of its vine and leaves identified it. The danger in digging the root was accidentally breaking it. That would be very bad medicine. No one but a medicine man would ordinarily even attempt this dig, and even he was in jeopardy. White Buffalo told as he worked of a medicine man who broke such a root and returned to his lodge to find that his son had been bitten by a real-snake. Another had broken a root such as this human-shaped one, destroying one of the legs. On the way home, he had fallen among the rocks, badly shattering his own leg, which never healed properly.

By this time, Small Elk was having second thoughts about his apprenticeship. His father read his face and chuckled.

“Is the responsibility too heavy?” he asked teasingly.

Small Elk was more serious. “I think not, Father. Are there many who are offered the gift but refuse it?”

White Buffalo wanted to laugh aloud, but saw that his son was serious. “There is no way to know,” he answered. “I am made to think that in some generations there are many who are offered the gifts of the spirit, and sometimes only a few.”

He scraped a few moments in silence.

“Elk,” he said seriously, “if you have doubts, if you want to refuse, it is no disgrace.”

Small Elk took a deep breath. “No, Father, it is not that,” he said slowly. “I was only wondering if I am worthy of such responsibility.”

Ah, thought White Buffalo, pleased beyond measure. What better evidence that this boy
is
worthy? Again, he felt the strong suggestion that Small Elk would somehow become very important to the People. Just how, he was unsure. But there was much to suggest it. Those strange visions at the time of his quest…

“Here, Elk,” he said, handing him the slender digging tool, “you scrape a little while. But be very careful.”

The shadows were growing long when they returned to the lodge, but Small Elk proudly carried the root of the gourd-that-lives-forever. More importantly, the root was unscathed. Small Elk’s pride was well justified but was no greater than that of his father. It had been a day well spent.

“W
e have hardly seen you this fall!” Stone Breaker protested.

It was the Moon of Long Nights, when Sun Boy’s torch nearly goes out. There had been no extreme weather yet. Cold Maker had blustered and bluffed occasionally, and several times the grasses had been powdered with frost when the sun rose. Once there had been a light dusting of snow, which soon disappeared.

“I have been busy with White Buffalo,” Elk explained.

“Yes, we know,” Stone Breaker said. “But now, you are here, and welcome to our lodge! Both of you.”

It was a chilly overcast day, and White Buffalo had decided that it was a poor day for instruction. Elk was quite willing to take a day’s respite from his learning to be with his friends. Such a day was good for socializing. Many of the people were visiting in one another’s lodges, smoking, visiting, or gambling with the plum-stones or the stick game. Crow and Small Elk had decided to call on their friends, and were warmly welcomed to Stone Breaker’s lodge. Crow Woman was holding the baby, a fat, happy child that Cattail called Little Bear. The name seemed to fit quite well. Crow Woman was thoroughly enjoying cuddling and rocking the infant.

“How motherly she looks!” Cattail teased. “Elk, could you not do something about this?”

Everyone but Small Elk was amused; he knew there was no answer for the present. At that moment the infant, rousing, turned his head and attempted to nurse at the buckskin-covered breast of Crow Woman. Disappointed, he wrinkled his small face and stuck out his tongue in disgust.

“Aiee!” shouted Stone Breaker with glee. “He is used to better food than leather!”

“Here, you take him!” Crow Woman handed the child to his mother. “I cannot help him.”

Cattail loosened the front of her dress to uncover a breast, and Little Bear began to nuzzle hungrily.

“Your learning goes well, Elk?” asked Stone Breaker.

“Yes, but there is much to learn. Sometimes I think my head cannot hold it all.”

Stone Breaker nodded understandingly.

“I think it would be very hard.”

Small Elk shrugged. “Maybe. But, I could not do your work.”

“Oh, you could.” Stone Breaker held up his work-hard hands. “But it takes a long time to grow such calluses.
Aiee
, my blisters were so sore when I started!”

“But now, my friend, I hear people speak very highly of your work.”

“Thank you, Elk. What are you working on this winter?”

“Many things. Plants, preparing them for use; also the rituals and dances. When the Moon of Greening comes, I suspect that White Buffalo will have much to show me about the grasses.”

“Is that not when the burning takes place?” Stone Breaker asked.

“Yes, but I have not yet learned how to tell when the time is right.”

“What if you choose the wrong time?” Cattail asked.

“Maybe the buffalo would not come back.”

“Then everyone would starve,” suggested Stone Breaker. “What a responsibility!”

“Except for Little Bear,” said Crow Woman, pointing at the noisily feeding infant.

Everyone laughed.

“But seriously, Elk,” Stone Breaker said, “you are learning the dances and chants?”

“Yes, but what—”

“And your mother beats the cadence, as she does for White Buffalo?”

“Yes. Sometimes I do, for my father.”

“Ah, yes! I have a thought. Would it not be well to have your own assistant, to beat your cadence? Someday, Elk, it
will be so. Would it not be better to have her learn as you do?”

He pointed to Crow Woman. There was a long silence.

“I… I do not think it is done, Stone Breaker. I do not know of a medicine man whose cadence is set by other than his wife or assistant.”

“That should be no problem!” insisted Stone Breaker. “She would be a better wife
and
assistant later if she learns now, while you do.”

“It sounds good to me,” laughed Cattail. “You could be together more!”

It sounded so sensible, so reasonable, that surely there was something wrong with the idea. Finally, the other three teased and cajoled until Small Elk’s temper flared.

“All right,” he snapped. “I will ask, now!”

He rose and left the lodge. The wind was cold as he crossed the camp to the lodge of his parents. White Buffalo was sitting against his willow backrest, enjoying a smoke.

“Ah-koh
, my son,” he said. “Back so soon?”

Elk nodded, speechless.

“Does it look like snow?” Dove Woman asked.

“Maybe tonight,” Elk guessed. “It grows colder.”

Cold, however, was hardly the word for the reception that his question brought. White Buffalo stared at his son with an expression of righteous indignation that left a chill hanging in the air.

“Of course not!” he sputtered. “Elk, have I not taught you better?”

“But, Father, if Crow could learn while I do—”

“No,” White Buffalo stated positively. “It is not good. Elk, you are not taking this seriously.”

There was no use arguing, and Small Elk left the lodge, angry and frustrated. It was not easy to return to his friends’ lodge and face the others. He told them very tersely that White Buffalo would not consider such a thing and sat again by the fire. In a little while, the antics of the baby and the bright conversation had lifted his spirits a little.