The Changing Wind (18 page)

Then there was a sudden silence. Someone pointed with a gasp of amazement. White Buffalo had emerged from his lodge and was standing there, observing the dance. His face was stern, but even the most unobservant among them could not fail to notice one fact. The holy man was wearing his ceremonial paint. A gasp ran through the crowd. Was White Buffalo going to challenge the authority of his son?

He strode over to the council ring, and it seemed to the onlookers that he had grown taller, more sturdy. There
was a confidence, a strength, that no one had seen in a long time. He nodded to Crow Woman, whose beat never faltered as she nodded back. Now the old medicine man strode forward and fell into step with his son, dancing the cadences of the Rain Dance.

For a moment Small Elk seemed not to notice. Then he turned and came face-to-face with White Buffalo. Neither broke step, but Small Elk smiled and shook his gourd-rattle high for a moment. His father was more dignified, merely nodding a greeting as they passed.

“All bets are no good!” cried one of the wagerers.

The crowd roared with laughter.

It was during the night that the rain came. Small Elk heard the dull plop of the first fat drops as they struck the lodge-skin. He was already awake, waiting. He had been sleeping the well-earned sleep of exhaustion when the distant mutter of Rain Maker’s drum roused him.

“Listen!” said Crow Woman softly. “Do you hear it?”

“Yes,” Elk whispered. “My vision… it was true!”

“Your heart was good,” Crow stated simply, “and you made a good decision.”

“I am glad that my father is not still angry.”

“Your father is proud, Elk. Did you see how tall he stood as he danced?”

“Maybe so. Crow, it hurt my heart to go against him.”

“I know. But you were right, and he knows it too now.”

“About the change in the wind,” he agreed, “some rain, maybe. But Crow, I do not know if the buffalo will come.”

“One thing at a time,” said Crow Woman soothingly. “Listen. The rain comes.”

At first there was only an occasional drop, plunking on the taut, dry lodgecover, but soon there were more, and then a constant drumming as Rain Maker seemed intent on making up for his summer absence. Real-fire flashed, illuminating the doorway and the smokehole. Then, a few counts later, the boom of the thunder-drum would shake the earth. Elk and Crow Woman snuggled together, reveling in the smell of rain and the storm’s cooling effect.

The height of the booming thunderstorm moved on, leaving behind only the rain, a steady quiet patter that lulled the senses, soaking into the thirsty ground. In some seasons a storm of this kind in early autumn would bring
the threat of a flash flood, sending the People scrambling to move the camp to higher ground. Not this time. The water would be quickly swallowed up by the great cracks in the earth. They had opened through the hot moons of the summer, widening as the hot winds dried and cracked the prairie. In some areas the yawning fissures were large enough to thrust an arm into or to present a hazard to walking. Now, with the moistening effect of the rain, soon there would be no wounds in Earth’s skin to remind them of the dreadful Year-of-No-Rain.

By morning, the main part of the storm had passed. For a little while after daylight, the thinning patter continued. Then there was only the occasional drip of water from the trees. Children ran, shouting and splashing happily in the puddles, while adults spread their belongings to dry. The river was beginning to stir, the small rivulets between stagnant pools widening in a promise of normal flow to come.

As the sun broke through clouds to the east, the medicine men stood on the hill behind the camp, evaluating the scene.

“It is good,” pronounced White Buffalo.

At no time did he ever mention their quarrel.

In the glorious feel of this moist autumn morning, it was possible to see the change in the prairie—mostly a change in color. From the stark, sun-baked yellow-brown that had become so familiar, the general tone was now of green. Not the lush green of spring, but a mature green that would soon ripen into the yellows, pinks, and muted reds of autumn grasses. Here and there were autumn flowers, already striving for blooms to re-create before the dying of winter. Their golds and purples had seemed wilted and pointless. Now they blazed in all their glory, heralding the season.

“It is good,” White Buffalo repeated.

“Yes,” Small Elk agreed.

“Now,” White Buffalo continued, “comes the greatest question. Will the buffalo come?”

W
hen the scouts reported the approach of buffalo, the People accepted it almost as a foregone conclusion. There was very little surprise, only delight, at the good fortune that had come their way. It was seven days since the rain and the weather change that had broken the drought. Small Elk, in the minds of the Southern band, was responsible. He knew that his major part in the event had been to announce the change, not to cause it. In truth, the People might realize this too. But there was much of the spirit about the medicine man, secrets not revealed to ordinary mortals. This gave him the ability to foresee the future. This time, the young medicine man had boldly announced the coming of rain when there seemed no signs. He had even challenged his teacher. More importantly, he had been right. Small Elk’s prestige soared. Quiet discussions among the lodges suggested that possibly White Buffalo was past his prime, that he would soon step aside in favor of the young holy man. Had Small Elk not performed the ceremonies to bring rain?
Aiee
, the Southern band was fortunate to have reared such a man!

By the time the buffalo came, morale was high. There was no longer any question whether the herds would come, only
when
. From hopeless despair to open optimism had been a matter of only a night’s rain, a few cool days, and a hint of green on the hills.

There would be no individual hunting, at least at first. In a time when the survival of the entire band would depend on success, no individual had the right to threaten the success of the others. No one would disturb the herd until the council decided that the time was right, based on the advice and counsel of the medicine men. The kill must include enough animals for the entire band.

Small Elk and White Buffalo went out together to view the approaching herd. Since the rain, the older man had undergone a great change. He no longer appeared so weak and frail. Much of his strength had returned with the life-giving moisture that had given a new strength to the world. With White Buffalo’s returning confidence, however, was a new respect for his apprentice. He now treated Elk almost as an equal. It may have been, in part, an effort to convince the People that there had been no real quarrel between them, only a professional disagreement. Regardless, the People saw their two medicine men as seers of great skill whose medicine was strong, and it was good.

The two men crouched in a sumac thicket and surveyed the herd. It was half a day’s travel away, and at the slow rate at which the grazing animals usually moved, they would not approach for a day or two. One thing was immediately obvious. This was not a great seasonal herd of many thousands.

“There are only a few hundred animals,” Small Elk observed.

“Yes, but we had none before,” his father reminded him.

They watched for a little while the excruciatingly slow movement of the leading edge of the herd. It was like pouring honey from a gourd on a cold morning, a motion barely perceptible.

“They move
in
the valleys,” Small Elk observed.

“Yes. It will be wetter there, and the grass will be better.”

They studied the direction of the buffalo’s progress. It would be necessary to surround the herd partially, so that the hunters, all shooting at once, could bring down several animals. Small Elk studied the roll of the land and the herd’s movement. This herd, a group which had split off from the main herd during the migration, would move steadily southward. It would reach a suitable place to winter and stop there, much as the People did to establish winter camp.

A long line of geese went honking past high overhead, sounding much like barking dogs in the distance. Elk wondered if they too made a kind of winter camp somewhere far to the south. He turned his attention again to the buffalo, trying to estimate their direction of movement. It would be basically south, with some variation, depending
on the gently rolling hills. Tomorrow they would be on an open flat, there to the northwest. It was wide and level, with no places to hide a hunter. Certainly, the grass was not tall enough this season to be a practical concealment. Another day south would bring the herd to rougher country, approaching the river west of the camp. At that point was an abrupt bluff, a cliff that dropped away from the flat grassland to jumbled rocks below. It was too steep to descend, so the herd would move in one direction or the other to find an easier slope.

They would probably not move in the direction of the village. The scent of man was there. The herd would shift to the west to avoid the precipice. In that direction was rocky broken ground with many hiding-places. Even better, the slight breeze, if it held, was from the northeast, carrying the scent of the hidden hunters away from the herd. It was good, except for a problem or two. The hunters could easily be in position by that time, but the first animals to enter the rocky ravine would be alarmed by the man-scent. They would retreat back into the open prairie and be lost. There should be a way to put the herd where it would be easy to approach and yet ensure that there would be no flight. How to use the man-scent, and yet not cause a stampede… or maybe stampede into the ravine, where they would be slowed in their flight, long enough to shoot, and shoot again.

He studied the distant terrain with this in mind. Yes, if the herd was gently moved, by careful use of men showing themselves upwind… if they could be made to approach the cliff at about the gray boulder near the rim, and then turned west into the ravine… How, he wondered, could they be made to approach the right spot to turn?

“Father,” he said suddenly, “do you think the calfskin will work now?”

“Maybe,” answered the old man cautiously. “It is better in spring, when there are calves. Why?”

Quickly, Small Elk outlined his idea. His father’s eyes widened.

“Aiee!
It is very dangerous, Elk.”

“Not really, Father. And if it is successful, our kill will be great.”

“But if they run in the wrong direction?”

“A few will still have a chance at a shot. Will you help me? Dance the Buffalo Dance?”

White Buffalo paused only a little while.

“Yes,” he said simply. “But we must hurry. Come, we will talk to Short Bow and Broken Horn.”

It was a busy night. Men, women, and children were kept from sleep to accomplish the tasks that must be ready by daylight. When the sun rose, all was ready, the hunters in position in the ravine. A few men had spent most of the night circling far to the north, to approach the herd from that side. They would show themselves from time to time at a distance, just to remind the buffalo of their presence and keep the animals moving in their generally southern direction.

The day dawned crisp and clear, bright golden sunlight streaking the prairie. Dense plumes of mist rose from the surface of the river below to hang like a furry white robe over the water. The creatures of the day were beginning to stir. An owl, who had stayed out too long, made his way across the grassy flat, pursued by a trio of noisy crows. A great blue heron sailed majestically toward the river and glided out of sight below the bluff. Small Elk had always marveled that a creature so ungainly and awkward-appearing on land could be full of grace and beauty on the wing.

He turned to watch the approaching herd from behind the boulder where he crouched. He carried no weapon but wore the calfskin, firmly tied in place with its thongs. The skin of the animal’s head covered his own, and the legs were fastened to his wrists and ankles. Now, as the herd approached, he must concentrate. It was time to get inside the heads of the herd.

He focused his attention on one old cow in the forefront of the advancing animals. She appeared to be the leader, picking out the path. She was nervous, probably from the knowledge of something behind. Yes, now he began to feel the cow’s concern. The hunters who had circled behind had shown themselves, and the entire herd was aware and alert, moving a little faster, but not yet alarmed. The leading animals were now approaching the critical point, where the plan would depend on Small Elk’s ability to feel their thoughts. At any moment, they should smell the
smoke and man-scent from the village. Yes…
now! The
wary old lead cow stopped suddenly and raised her head for an instant. Elk knew that she had caught the scent-also that it was not an immediate threat but a matter for caution. Nervously, the cow shifted direction, moving a trifle toward the west and the ravine.

To keep the main body of the herd moving in that direction, the People had spent a good part of the night carrying and placing objects from their lodges in a long line. Several hundred paces the line stretched, from open prairie, angling toward the bluff. It consisted of old robes, rawhide packs, worn-out buckskin garments too useful to discard. Anything long-used that would carry the scent. This assortment of items would not, of course, stop the buffalo. That was not the intent. When they became excited, there would be no stopping the rush. The immediate goal was to shift their direction ever so slightly, to place the herd’s leaders precisely at the right point when the moment came.