Song Of The Warrior (9 page)

 

 

In the morning, Bear told Raven to go to the parson's house and escort Willow to the camp to teach. “But be careful, little brother, there is great unrest and you might not want to be seen by most white men.”

Raven frowned. “Why do you always feel you have to lecture me? I can take care of myself.”

“I meant no harm,” Bear said gently, “it is long habit, I suppose.”

“You will never let me grow up.”

He didn't want to argue with Raven. Sometimes he despaired that his brother would ever show any maturity. “We never used to have this kind of conflict.”

“That is because until lately, I always did as I was told like an obedient puppy.”

Bear almost reminded him that Raven had a tendency to create confusion and then leave his brother to straighten things out, but that would only lead to more disagreement. Bear was frankly weary of his guardianship, but he had sworn an oath to a dying woman. “All right, don't go escort her as I told her you would; but she really didn't want that soldier to come with her again.”

Raven gave him a searching look from the doorway of their lodge. “How do you know that?”

He didn't look at his younger brother; he was remembering the feel of Willow, soft and slender and yielding in his arms. “Did I not tell you I was out looking for you after you stormed out? I heard a gunshot and galloped up. A cougar had attempted to kill the old buggy horse.”

“So you were a hero all over again.” Raven made a wry face.

Bear shook his head. “No, not much happened, the cougar got away. The soldier looked so frightened, I thought he would soil his bright blue uniform. The woman merely indicated that she would feel safer if one of the Nez Perce warriors escorted her.”

“You volunteered me?”

“If you do not wish to, I can ask another warrior,” Bear feigned a yawn, “and—”

“Why don't you escort her?”

Bear made a face and shrugged carelessly. “The chit hates me; you surely realize that. Besides, you are the one she is teaching all the books.”

Raven's chest puffed out. “In that case,” he announced grandly, “I will escort the teacher. The children must have their lessons.”

He left the lodge and Bear smiled. To be in charge of some small thing would make Raven feel more important, build his shattered self-confidence. No one knew if in a crisis, Raven could be counted on or whether he would turn and run as he had that day of the grizzly attack. Bear wanted his brother to be happy and no Nez Perce would ever feel like a man until he fulfilled a warrior's role and women sang songs of his prowess and bravery.

Besides, he did not want to be alone with Willow. The thought startled him and Bear stood up, paced the lodge. In fact, he did not want to see her again, wanted her out of his mind and out of his life. He was a warrior leader and there was trouble on the horizon. He had no time for anything else right now; especially not a girl who might be part-Indian, but in her heart was white as the snowcapped peaks in the distance. Besides, she hated the sight of him; she had made that all too clear.

 

 

When he went outside his lodge, Joseph was waiting for him. “I am calling a meeting of my warriors this morning to decide what to do.”

Bear looked toward Raven who was riding away in the distance. “Can it wait? Raven—”

“No,” the chief made a dismissing gesture, “only the real men; the ones I know we can count on.” Then he seemed to see Bear's stung expression and put his hand on his shoulder. “The boy is young; someday, he may be a great warrior.”

There were other men crossing the circle toward the big meeting lodge who were younger than Raven, Bear thought, but they did not have this mark of cowardice against their honor. Bear said nothing. Instead, he wondered how he would explain this to Raven when his brother heard about it.

“Besides,” Joseph said, “he will be gone awhile if he goes for the teacher; and we need to meet now.”

“Of course.” Bear nodded. “Important matters don't wait.”

Inside the lodge, most of the warriors had gathered, waiting solemnly to hear what Joseph had to say. Looking Glass, the old and battle-hardened warrior was there; the small trader's mirror that he wore around his neck as jewelry, caught the firelight when he moved. Handsome Ollokot, Joseph's younger brother and a great war leader, sat next to Joseph. Bear looked around. The one called Lawyer was not there, nor would anyone expect him to be, having signed the treaty and sided with the whites. Another who was missing was Reuben, Joseph's brother-in-law, who had elected to cast his fortunes with the whites. Bear was not the only one who had conflict with men who were brothers by blood or marriage.

The lodge grew still; only the crackle of the small fire broke the silence, but outside, the sound of Atsi's voice drifted on the air. No doubt the little girl was playing tag with her friends while waiting for the teacher to arrive.

Joseph cleared his throat. “There is nothing new to tell; General Howard has sent word again that he will show us the rifle instead of extending the hand of friendship. My father was a very wise man with his predictions.”

There was no sound, save the crackle of the fire and the scent of sweet tobacco as the pipe passed. Joseph stared into the fire. “When my father was dying, he called me to his side and said these words: ‘My son, in a few more years, white men will be all around you. They have their eyes on this land. My son, remember my dying words. This country holds your father's body. Never sell the bones of your father and mother.' I heed his words.”

An old warrior nodded gravely. “We understand, but the soldiers do not. I feel I know the one-armed bluecoat's heart; it may be good, but he must do as his chiefs in this faraway place called Washington tell him.”

Ollokot, tall and strong, belying his name which meant “frog,” jumped to his feet. “The young warriors say fight!”

His brother looked at him gravely. “And can the old and the women fight?”

In the background outside, a child began to cry. Bear recognized Cub's voice and wondered if the toddler's mother had slept off her latest drunk?

“Hear that?” Joseph nodded toward the sound. “Can babies fight? We have a few warriors, the rest are old people, women, and children.”

A murmur of agreement drifted through the lodge.

Ollokot looked around at the silent circle. “What has happened to all of you? No woman will sing songs in our praise when they hear this, they will laugh behind their hands at our lack of bravery.”

Another old brave with many war honors looked at him. “Better the women should laugh in derision than that they should weep over their slaughtered children.”

Looking Glass scowled. “I will not lead my people into war, but we cannot survive on that tiny piece of land they have allotted; and without good hunting and all the fine salmon of our rivers, we shall die slowly.”

Joseph nodded to Bear. “We value your thoughts, oh, bravest of the brave.”

Very slowly, Bear stood. He felt all eyes upon him and knew his opinion carried much weight. It was a heavy burden because like Joseph, he would always put his people before his own safety, his own happiness. “Is there any reason to discuss this? Even if we try to do as the one-armed general orders, we cannot get our horses gathered up, we can't meet his deadline. We have no way of knowing what the soldiers will do.”

Joseph pursed his lips. “Can you suggest any way out of this, Hohots?”

Bear looked around at the silent group. The bravest men in this Northwest wilderness were sitting at this fire, but what good did bravery do when they were so outnumbered? “Even if we managed to gather up our livestock and get them across the spring-flooded rivers by the deadline, what Looking Glass says is right, we will die only more slowly in that place.”

Again the murmur of agreement. Bear walked to the lodge opening, stood staring out toward the rugged, snowcapped ranges of mountains to the east of them. “Sitting Bull has escaped to the Grandmother's Land after his warriors won the great victory last year against Yellowhair.”

Behind him, Ollokot cleared his throat. “The Sioux are not great friends of the Nez Perce and I see no point in your thoughts.”

“What you say is true,” Bear said, “but now we seem to have a common enemy with the Sioux; that will make a difference.” Bear stared at the distant mountains again. Some of the wildest, most rugged terrain in the whole continent lay to the east of the Nez Perce, high peaks, dangerous narrow passes through the Bitterroots and other mountains. Besides, in that more than a thousand miles of trails, there were enemy tribes occupying the lands.

The silence lengthened.

“Brave one, what is your point?” Joseph inquired politely.

Bear shrugged massive shoulders and returned to the fire. “We die if we go to the reservation and we die if we fight outnumbered, we have little to lose.”

One of the finest virtues of the Indian was patience. They waited silently for him to continue. Bear turned his thoughts over in his mind. Dare he even suggest it? His idea was the most daring, risky.... He shook his head.

“Tell us,” an old man urged.

“First, maybe we should do as Joseph suggests,” Bear said softly. “Go to the reservation, try to work out a better agreement for our people.”

“And if not?” Ollokot asked.

“It would take much bravery, much desperation; that which I am thinking.”

They all waited expectantly.

And now Bear took a deep breath and gave voice to his thoughts. “If we can do nothing else, let us gather our people; our babies and old ones and begin a march through the mountains; let us join Sitting Bull in Canada!”

Just as Bear had expected, a loud and excited murmur ran through the group of warriors.

An old one shook his head. “Have you been eating the weed the whites call ‘loco'? It is through the mountains and along the steep Lolo Trail to reach Sitting Bull. Even in the summer, it sometimes snows there.”

“I did not say it would be easy,” Bear said, “and yes, it does seem impossible. What I meant was that if we have no other choices, it is better to die of cold and hunger in freedom than slowly by inches on that tiny reservation.”

But Ollokot gestured eagerly. “The weather is warming. With summer coming on, we might make it.”

Yet another shook his head. “This is madness! Walk an entire tribe across dangerous trails and cliffs, some of the most hostile terrain in the whole Northwest? Most would never make it; they would die in the attempt.”

Bear acknowledged the truth of the warrior's words with a nod. “Better to die breathing the sweet air of freedom than dying slowly of broken hearts. Besides, we
Nimipu
are a special people, so we might make it. Canada is not so different from the wild land we love.”

He let his words sink in, knowing they all knew the legend of the Creation. Nez Perce were special people because they were created from heart's blood.

“Would the soldiers pursue us?” asked another.

“Why would they want to?” muttered a third. “They lust for our land. If we leave, we will make it easier for them. The terrible journey would kill most of our people, saving them the trouble.”

“I am one of the oldest,” a respected elder said, his voice faint and shaking, “I,
Tzi-kal-tza,
am half-white, fathered by Clark when the explorers, Lewis and Clark, came through many years ago. I probably have not the strength to make that trip. By white men's miles, it must be well over a thousand miles.”

There was a murmur; some of the men had not known how many, many miles it must be.

The old man, White Bird, held up his hand for silence. “Yes, it is far. If we could go straight there, it would be a thousand miles. The twisted route down the trails and through the mountains will probably be twice that far. Yet would I risk it for the sake of freedom. And I swear now that if I falter, slow the march, I will lie down by the side of the trail and die rather than delay this journey.”

Everyone nodded approvingly. Old Chief White Bird was a very brave warrior. Now all looked toward Joseph, waiting.

His eyes were sad, his shoulders bent with the weight of the responsibility. He shook his head. “For me, I would do this daring thing, but I have the responsibility of the women and children. My own wife is expecting a child any day now.”

Ollokot, the war leader brother, made a murmur of disapproval, but Joseph only regarded him gravely. “Yes, the warriors want to fight, but the very old and the children cannot fight. We will try once more to get along with the soldiers; we will go to the reservation.” He stood up. “I go now to try to gather up my horses which are scattered over many miles. I will be gone several suns. When I return, I will expect that all have made ready to move. This discussion is ended.
Sepekuse
!” Having given notice to let the matter be, he walked from the lodge, followed by his brother and some of the other leaders.

Bear was deeply troubled as he left the lodge. So this was it then. When word spread to Raven and some of the young hotheads, they would not want to accept this docilely. It would be difficult to keep some of them off the war trail. Chief Joseph was the leader; Bear would do his best to follow his orders, even though he might not agree.

In the meantime, what about Willow? The new reservation was miles from here; she would not be coming to teach the children there. It surprised him that the knowledge saddened him. “It is because the children will be so disappointed,” he told himself.

Who would tell her? He didn't want to be the one. Probably this teaching thing was just a lark for her. She would go back East or marry some white man and steal Indian land like the rest of them. When he thought of her lying in a marriage blanket with a white man, it made him clench his teeth.

The sound of squeaking buggy wheels brought him out of his troubled thoughts. Willow's buggy was arriving, escorted by Raven on his finest pony.

Willow watched Bear as she drove into the camp, reined the old horse in. She couldn't decide from his expression whether he was annoyed or angry. Why did he care if she taught the children? He must be named for his disposition, all right.

The children ran toward the buggy, laughing with delight when they saw her. “She's come! The teacher's come!”

Their little faces gladdened her heart. Oh, she was going to teach them, all right, no matter how much Bear objected. Thank goodness, after Willow's remarks at the party, the Indian agent had brought her a few more slates, a speller, and two arithmetic books. A bunch of readers were promised for later. Right now, she would attempt to teach reading from her ragged copy of
A Tale of Two Cities
.

Here came Atsi, the plain, chubby girl, leading the toddler, Wolf, by the hand. The little boy actually brightened at the sight of Willow. She smiled and nodded back, wondering sadly if his mother were in camp today or drunk somewhere around the fort?

“All right, children,” she called, “gather everyone at the tree.”

Like playful puppies, they scampered off to do her bidding. She looked toward Bear. Their gazes locked. He frowned, made a gesture of dismissal and walked away.

Why did he hate her so? Was he jealous that his hero-worshiping little brother had found a new idol? Did he really not want her to bring white culture to the Nez Perce children? Soon the old ways would be no more and if the children didn't learn the white man's ways, they would always be cheated in dealings or tricked into signing papers they could not read.

Before she could step from the buggy, Raven came around and helped her, put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He was perhaps more handsome, but he was not so tall or strong as his brother. “I will get your things, Takseen,” he said.

She was most annoyed with Bear. A plan began to form in her mind as she walked to where the children waited. If it annoyed Bear for her to teach Raven, she would teach the younger brother twice as hard. Besides, once Bear saw how much it helped Raven, he would change his mind about Willow and her work. Why should she care what the taciturn warrior thought of her? She didn't know herself.

Willow settled herself on the ground and the children sat down in the shade of the tree around her. Atsi sat close and the toddler sat with her, smiled, reached out to touch Willow's hand. She smiled back at him, patted him. “Hello, Cub.”

“He thinks you're his mother,” Atsi whispered.

“Well, that's all right,” Willow said, pitying the tot. Someday, she would like to have a little boy of her own much like this one. Raven leaned against the tree.

“Today, children,” she cleared her throat, “as a special treat, I am going to show you what you can do when you finally learn all the letters I've been showing you.” She held the book up, opened it.

Atsi nodded solemnly. “Magic marks.”

“But what good are they?” Raven challenged.

“Because they open up whole new worlds, truly magic,” Willow said. “When you can put these marks together, they form words and with words, you can make stories.”

Everyone's eyes widened. Stories and legends were magic and sometimes very powerful, too.

Raven looked skeptical. “You truly mean that when we know these marks, we can read that book?”

Willow nodded. “This is one of my favorites; a story that you will understand because it is about a very brave man who dies to save another.”

All the little dark heads nodded. Yes, Indian children could certainly understand a story about a brave warrior who died to save others.

A little girl piped up, “Please, teacher, does he die in battle against the Shoshoni or the Blackfoot?”

Willow shook her head. “Both these men are in love with the same girl and the one she loves, the good, honorable one, is condemned to die.”

The children looked at one another. All had heard that the white soldiers had executed warriors who fought them.

“Good and honorable,” Raven said wryly under his breath, “just like Bear.”

She decided to ignore that. “The other man does not think much of himself. He feels his life has been a waste, but he loves the girl more than anything; more than his own life.”

It was so quiet, she could hear the children breathe. Anyone could identify with a classic story of love and sacrifice, whether white or brown.

Now she had Raven's full attention. “So what happens?” he demanded.

“Tamtaiza uatiskipg
,” Willow shrugged that tomorrow would tell, “you'll have to wait.”

“If I learn to read these marks,” Raven asked, “I will be able to read this book for myself?”

Willow nodded. “I will teach some of the letters and words every day, and finally, if you are patient enough and work hard, you will be able to read it yourself.”

All the children crowded closer, their eyes bright as chipmunks'.

“Now let us begin, I will read a few words and then I will explain what the words are in the Nez Perce tongue. Next, I will show you some of the words. This way, you will learn the white man's language.” She opened the book. “It was the best of times and the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredibility, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair....”

When she stopped a few pages later, the children urged her to keep reading, but she shook her head. “No, now we must learn some letters so you can begin to read for yourselves.”

For several hours they worked, even Raven diligently drawing his name in the dirt. By then, little Cub was asleep with his small, dark head in Willow's lap and some of the others were fidgeting. “I suppose we've done enough for today,” Willow said. “Class dismissed.”

With a shout and squeals of delight, the children scattered like quail, Atsi carrying the sleepy little boy.

Raven hung around as she gathered up her things. “I wasn't ready to quit; teach me more words.”

She looked into his urgent eyes and was moved by the intense interest she saw there. “All right, but you must be patient; it will take awhile to learn to read.”

They worked another hour until Willow sighed. “I'm tired, Raven; you must be, too. We'll do more tomorrow.”

He reached out and took the book in his hands and stroked the cover reverently. “This is indeed magic. I want to learn it all so I can read it for myself.”

Willow was touched. “I will teach you as much as I can.”

He looked at the book in his hands. “Is it very hard to own such a thing?”

“Raven,” she said, “perhaps when you get so you can read enough to teach others, I will give you this book.”

“No.” He shook his head and handed it back. “No, it is too great a gift. To accept such a present means I must give something of equal wonder in return; I have nothing so magic.”

“Well, maybe I'll think of something you can give me in return.” She smiled and stood up. It was not proper to insist that he accept the book, even when he had earned it, without him losing face if he could not give her a gift, too. Besides, it would take some weeks or even months for him to be able to read that well and he might lose interest.

“If I could read,” he seemed to be thinking aloud, “I could be as respected as Bear.”

She winced at the longing in his voice. “Perhaps you could even teach Bear to read.”

“He reads a little; one of the Blackrobes taught him before our people lost faith in the white people's religion because so many have cheated us.”

How, in the name of God, could the missionaries have done this thing? She was troubled now as she thought about Reverend Harlow and the new settlers he'd talked about bringing to the Northwest as they ate supper last night. She dare not confront him; the old man was irascible and ill.

She looked around for Bear as she and Raven walked back to the buggy, but she didn't see him anywhere. The camp did seem to be humming, people talking in whispers, men gathering in little groups. There seemed to be some kind of excitement in the atmosphere and Willow wondered what was happening?

“Takseen,
amitiz,”
Raven said, indicating they would go now. “I will escort you safely home.”

She nodded and got into the buggy before he could reach to put his hands on her waist. Willow looked around as he put her satchel in the buggy, her eyes searching in vain for his older brother. Raven mounted his Appaloosa and they started back to town. The silence between them was awkward, but it was difficult to carry on conversation with him riding ahead of her anyhow.

Willow hadn't told Reverend Harlow Billy Warton was no longer escorting her because he didn't ask and she'd just as soon not tell him the details. She didn't think he'd like a Nez Perce brave escorting her, although she felt much safer with Raven than with Billy, but she wasn't sure why. She had Raven leave her at the edge of town and returned the buggy to the livery stable herself, then went to the house.

Reverend Harlow was sitting in a chair, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. “Oh, there you are, my dear, I've been worried to death about you.”

Oh my! He must know about the trouble between Bear and Billy or what had happened yesterday. “What do you mean?”

“The Indians didn't say anything? Why, General Howard has given them a final ultimatum; they've got to pack up their horses and things, move right away to the new reservation.”

Willow felt her heart plummet as she set her books down. “That's away from here, isn't it?”