The Changing Wind (40 page)

“This season?”

“Probably. We must be ready.”

The first inkling that hostilities were being resumed came shortly after the Sun Dance. Four youths, confident in the glory of their manhood and the strength of their elk-dog medicine, had boldly left the Sun Dance before the others.

As the Southern band traveled the next day, White Buffalo had been watching a pair of buzzards circling high on fixed wings above the prairie. Suddenly, first one and then the other broke the perfect symmetry of the circles to drop away to the plain below. Another and yet another of the creatures appeared in the distance, each dropping as it neared the same spot.

The four bodies had been placed side by side, almost ceremonially, where the travelers would be sure to find them. The skull of each was split by a blow from a war ax. There was no sign of their elk-dogs.

Two of the four had apparently been already dead from arrow wounds when they had been placed here. The shattering of their heads was purely symbolic, a message to the People. Travel was delayed for a day to allow for mourning and for scaffold burial of the corpses. Then Hump Ribs called a council.

“We must be very careful, my brothers. We must have wolves out at all times.”

There was some discussion but basic agreement. This season, it seemed, would be a time of decision. A summer campsite was selected largely on the basis of defensibility.

And the attractive stream with its tree-lined banks and clear pools over white gravel received a new name. No longer would it be known as Sycamore Creek, but as Head-Split Creek.

*  *  *

Despite the expectations of conflict, there was none that summer. Impatient, the young men suggested a campaign against the enemy, but Hump Ribs objected, and the council firmly backed him. There must be no unauthorized forays. Mention of the fate of the four who had met the enemy at Head Split Creek quieted the discussion.

White Buffalo was pleased with Hump Ribs’s handling of the matter. Quiet, firm, and sensible, the band chief seemed to grow in stature as he held the office. Again White Buffalo recalled that some men seem to grow when a position of leadership is thrust upon them. It had been so with Hump Ribs. Part of his leadership was a matter of circumstance, of course. The Southern band had been the one to acquire the First Elk-dog and had the advantage of Heads Off to teach the young Elk-dog men. But even that might not have been, had not the insight and quiet leadership of Hump Ribs allowed for it.

Now the Southern band, increasingly called the Elk-dog band, was easily the most prestigious band of the People. Its leader, in turn, was respected above any other of the band chiefs. It seemed certain that when the time came, Hump Ribs would be the new real-chief.

At the appropriate season the band moved into winter camp. Again, the chosen site was for the best defense against attack by mounted warriors. It was an excellent site, a long narrow meadow several hundred paces in width, protected on the south by the river. On the north was a rocky slope, gradually curving down to meet the river at the east end. The only access to a mounted attack was from the west.

No winter attack was anticipated, but a close watch was kept. With the Moon of Awakening the wolves began to range farther across the prairie. The reason was twofold. This was the time of year favored for forays by Head Splitters. In addition, the buffalo herds would be migrating northward, following the lead of the restless geese.

Long Elk and Standing Bird, ranging to the west by two days’ journey, first observed the Head Splitters. At least fifty mounted warriors, well armed, traveling eastward with their wolves well deployed. This was no hunting party. Long Elk stayed to observe their progress, while Standing Bird hurried to report the approach of the enemy.

It must be assumed that the Head Splitters knew their location, so it also followed that the camp might be under observation. A carefully contrived charade was carried out to make everything appear normal. Women scraped skins and chattered to each other at their work. Men lounged against their backrests and visited, and children played happily among the lodges. To the enemy they must appear totally unsuspecting.

The horse herd had been carefully divided. Mares, foals, and immature animals were herded into the meadow behind the lodges, openly watched over by youths too young for combat. The best of the hunting horses, meanwhile, were kept hidden in the heavy timber along the creek, each under the care of its owner. White Buffalo’s vision promised success in the venture.

Part of the strategy involved enticing the enemy to attack at the proper moment. A decoy hunting party set out next morning in an innocent manner. Four young men, mounted on the fastest and most surefooted of horses, set out casually, wandering as if looking for game. They were sure to be observed and avoided any opportunity for surprise or ambush by using the terrain. Finally, at the proper location, they showed themselves at the top of the hill, and pretended panic at the discovery of the enemy.

They turned and urged their horses in frantic escape. The Head Splitters, scenting blood, raced in hot pursuit. The four youths pounded across the valley, down the long strip of meadow, and in among the lodges, screaming the warning.

Behind them came the rolling thunder of dozens of hooves. Women screamed, children scurried, and there was a general exodus from the village as the People fled in panic before the charge. Echoing down the valley and reechoing from the rocky hillside, came the chilling war cry of the Head Splitters.

T
o the charging Head Splitters, this must have seemed an ideal raid. To be able to pursue four terrified youths directly into the unprotected camp of the enemy was beyond all expectations. People were screaming and running frantically away from the attack, toward the timber beyond the horse meadow.

White Buffalo and Crow ran with them, but stopped in a rocky outcrop and settled down to watch. Nervously, the holy man began to chant, while his wife beat the cadence on the drum.

The first of the riders had almost reached the nearest of the lodges when the unexpected happened. From behind and within the front row of scattered lodges, suddenly appeared well-armed warriors. The seasoned bowmen of the band, led by Hump Ribs himself, loosed a flight of arrows at almost point-blank range. The effect was devastating. Several riders were swept from their mounts, and horses in the front ranks went down before the withering fire. The charge faltered, then reformed for another approach, just in time to be met with another barrage of arrows. Casualties were heavy again.

The horsemen milled in confusion, attempting to reorganize under the shouted commands of their chief. Just at that moment came a long yell from the timber. Dozens of young warriors of the Elk-dog Society poured out of the trees with lances ready, cutting off the avenue of retreat. A few of the Head Splitters fled in panic into the broken rocks of the hillside. Others turned to meet the new attack, and in the space of a few heartbeats, the two groups of horsemen were mixed in a dusty, bloody melee.

The Head Splitters were traditionally fierce fighters, skilled in the use of weapons. In addition, they were fighting
for survival, trapped between the foot soldiers of Hump Ribs and the mounted lancers of Heads Off. There was no retreat, and the invading force fought with the ferocity of a trapped cougar at bay.

The men of the People, although backed by a tradition of defensive combat only, had readied for this day. The pent-up resentment of years, perhaps centuries of abuse by the Head Splitters was reaching its climax today. Lances found human torsos as vulnerable as the rib cages of buffalo, and warriors tumbled into the dust.

Heads Off kneed his mare through the milling, fighting crowd, searching for the Head Splitter chief. He made a run with the lance at a youth scarcely older than Long Elk. The young warrior initially made a firm stand, readying his shield and club. At the last moment, his resolve faltered, and he threw himself backward from his horse to avoid the lance thrust. Heads Off swept past, unable to stop his charge, and as he glanced down, saw the young Head Splitter’s face contort in agony. His own horse, stepping backward to avoid the impact, had crushed the boy’s chest.

Heads Off dodged the swing of a club and thrust out in answer with his lance. The point drew blood, but he knew that it was only a flesh wound. The next moment the tide of battle had swept the two apart, and he lost sight of his adversary in the dust and confusion.

Still, he must find and challenge the Head Splitter chief, Gray Wolf. The other would be looking for him also. The reports of personal revenge had continued. Now was the time to resolve this conflict once and for all.

Across the meadow, White Buffalo saw two of the elk-dog soldiers charge at a tall, burly Head Splitter on one of the largest horses he had ever seen. The two made an excellent run. One or the other would certainly strike home. To his amazement, the Head Splitter was as quick as he was large. He parried the lance of one attacker with his rawhide shield and almost simultaneously swung his war club at the other lancer. The club was longer and heavier than most, and even the glancing blow to the shoulder bowled the young rider from his horse. The youth rolled, regained his feet, and ran, his left arm hanging useless as he dodged the pursuing Head Splitter.

Heads Off reined his horse around and kneed her in that direction. The boys were clearly outclassed by a veteran
combatant. As he moved closer, the young man gained the shelter of the broken rimrock. The pursuer abandoned the chase and reined his huge bay around to rejoin the battle. As he turned, the symbol on his painted shield became visible to Heads Off for the first time. A geometrically styled design of an animal, with erect ears and a drooping tail—a wolf! This must be Gray Wolf, the mighty warrior, real-chief of the Head Splitters.

At almost the same instant, the other seemed to recognize his sworn enemy. He roared a challenging war cry that was more of a bellow and kneed the bay forward in a charge. The heavy war club whistled in a deadly circle as the two horses approached each other at full speed. Heads Off directed the lance point at the soft midriff just below the ribs and confidently braced himself for the shock of contact.

To White Buffalo’s complete surprise, at the last instant the other swung his shield into position. The parried lance-thrust slid on past, and the shoulder of the larger horse crashed into the gray mare’s. The little mare rolled, but her rider had kicked free and managed to get out of her way. He was dazed and somewhat disoriented as he floundered around in the dust, trying to avoid the finishing blow that must be coming.

Momentum had carried the Head Splitter’s horse beyond the fallen Heads Off, and now they whirled for another run. Heads Off was on hands and knees in the dust. The whirling war club began to gain momentum in circles designed to finish the fight at the end of the charge. Dimly through the dusty haze, White Buffalo saw the big horse thundering down and saw the deadly swinging club.

The next action of Heads Off was more instinct than reason. He dove directly under the front feet of the galloping bay. His reasoning, if he had any at all, was simply to put something between himself and the deadly club. The Head Splitter would be unable to strike directly beneath his own horse. The horse unwittingly assisted too. A horse instinctively jumps to avoid obstacles under its feet, and the big bay tucked up his forefeet neatly and cleared the rolling body. Momentum carried the charge beyond, while Heads Off floundered around looking for his weapon.

White Buffalo gasped as the pounding hooves thundered down on the unhorsed Heads Off, who was at a definite
disadvantage. He was on foot. The other’s mobility and the length of the club made the lance less effective. He could throw the weapon, but if he missed, he would be unarmed.

The great horse approached, the rider swinging his ax. Then, to White Buffalo’s astonishment, Heads Off leaped aside and turned to thrust his lance deep into the soft flank of the elk-dog instantly the holy man understood. Now they must fight on foot.

The bay screamed and reared, nearly falling backward, then bucking convulsively until it fell headlong. Heads Off was already running forward. The impact had torn the lance from his grasp, and he snatched the knife from his belt. Gray Wolf was rising from his knees when Heads Off dived headlong over the dying horse to prevent his finding the war club.

The two rolled in the dirt—kicking, biting, gouging. Gray Wolf kneed at the other’s groin, grasped his knife wrist, and rolled on top, striving to turn the blade toward its owner.

In desperation, Heads Off swung a long sweeping blow with his left fist. It collided with Gray Wolf’s ear, startling and confusing him. The use of fists in combat was entirely unfamiliar to the Head Splitter. Heads Off struck again, and the grip loosened on his wrist. Another blow and he wrenched the knife free and thrust upward with all his strength in a last desperate effort of survival. The point entered the other’s throat between the jawbones and sank deep. Blood spurted over Heads Off’s face, as the massive weight of the warrior’s body sank heavily on his chest. He lay his head back, unable to move.