Chapter 16 #2
“Well,” Hawk commented, moving Tor along next to Nutmeg, “at least you seem to get along well enough with my friends. Enjoying the ride?”
There was a slight edge to his voice. For the moment, she decided she’d enjoy it. She smiled. “It’s very beautiful here.”
“Wakan Tanka lives here.”
“The Great Mystery?”
He nodded.
“Do you believe that? You gave your father a Christian burial.”
He shrugged. “My father was a Christian.”
“And you?”
“Among the whites, I’m a Christian. I believe in a power greater than man. You may call him God or Wakan Tanka. And all men are his creatures, no matter what their color may be. When you see this kind of beauty on earth, then you must believe in a god. Do you?”
She nodded. “Definitely. And in all the powers of good—and evil.”
“Heaven and hell?” he inquired.
She nodded.
“Evil spirits?”
“Evil,” she told him softly, “lies in and is created within the hearts of men.”
“Red men?”
“Perhaps—if they are the same as white men.”
“Imagine,” he murmured to her. “Something we agree upon.”
She smiled, then laughed. It was amazing, but the fear and terror of last night seemed so very far away.
“Of course, among the Sioux, Wakan Tanka is the Great Mystery. But the Sioux have many gods, and they are all very colorful.”
“Are they?”
He nodded gravely. “There are four superior gods beneath Wakan Tanka. They are Inyan, the Rock; Maka, the Earth; Skan, the Sky; and Wi, the Sun. They all have very special responsibilities. Beneath them are four more gods, associate gods, because they all associate with one above them. Wi’s associate is Hanwi, the Moon.
Tate, the Wind, is associate to Skan, the Sky.
Whope is the associate of the Maka, the Earth.
Whope is the daughter of the Sun and the Moon and is known as the Beautiful One.
Wakinyan, the Winged, who cries out like thunder and has eyes like lightning, is the associate of Inyan, the Rock. Make sense?”
“I suppose…what a world!” Skylar exclaimed, gesturing at the clear blue big sky and the magnificent land.
“Many Sioux feel that they have the world. The sky, the sun, the earth, the beauty of the land around them.”
“The land they are losing?”
He nodded gravely.
“What will happen?” she asked him.
“The government has determined that the American people must have the Black Hills.”
“And?”
“They will have them.”
“But if an agreement can be reached—”
“There have been dozens of agreements. None has ever been worth the paper it was written upon. Yes, the Indians have committed atrocities upon the whites, and indeed, the whites have practiced tremendous cruelty as well. One wonders if any man’s god is looking down at all of this.
Personally, I think that a time has come when there will be a great deal more tragedy before another ‘agreement’ is reached. ”
“So then—”
“So then I’m here with Sloan because we always try for peace, the least possible bloodshed. It’s the best that anyone can do.”
He smiled ruefully at her and nudged Tor’s ribs with his heels and started riding hard, cantering ahead of the cattle to ride alongside Sloan.
That night, when they stopped to make camp, Skylar took it upon herself to tie Skeffington securely to a tree.
The mule still twisted and wiggled to elude her, but Skylar was determined she’d not be gotten the best of by a mule again.
She had Skeffington’s packs down and the coffee perking before the men returned from caring for the cattle for the night.
No one, however, seemed to expect her to know how to cook over an open fire.
It seemed to be Willow’s task to prepare their meal, but Skylar had never minded cooking, and she made herself available to Willow to help in any way she could.
They hadn’t hunted that evening, so they warmed some of the food Meggie had packed for them.
Ham, beans, and corn muffins, warm against the coolness of the night.
Yet even as they ate, and even if it appeared that they were all relaxed, Skylar was aware that either Sloan or Hawk was standing at all times, that they were both well-armed with their Colt repeaters and knives, and that, though they didn’t seem to expect an attack, they intended to be prepared should one come their way.
“Do you think there are more Crow near us?” Skylar asked Hawk, trying not to sound nervous.
“Not now,” he said, shaking his head and taking a seat beside her while Sloan rose and leaned against a tree as he stared out at the night sky. “We’re very close to the Crazy Horse people.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“The trail.”
“The trail?”
He smiled. “Men have hunted through here. Many men. I don’t know what those Crows were up to, coming so far east. But this would be a very dangerous place for any Crow right now, so close to a large Sioux encampment of warriors.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s all still so confusing. Some of you get along, some of you don’t. The Crazy Horse people hate the whites so much that they won’t go to the agencies to talk, but both of you, with white blood, can go to the Crazy Horse people!”
Hawk glanced up at Sloan and shrugged in a way that assured Skylar that both men believed there were things she just would never understand—she wasn’t one of them. But Hawk tried to explain.
“Each man is an individual among the Sioux. He has his own path to follow. No man can tell another man what his path is.”
“So anyone can do what he wants to do at any given time?” she asked.
Hawk shook his head. “Most of the time, men and women desire to live up to certain mores that rule our society. There are four great virtues we strive to achieve: bravery, fortitude, generosity, and wisdom.”
“Naturally,” Willow offered, “they are virtues which helped us to survive through the years.”
“Naturally, a warrior must be brave. He must defend his home, be a great hunter, and take many coup against the enemy,” Hawk said.
“Coup?” Skylar murmured.
“Coup—unfortunately, taking coup has sometimes hurt us in warfare,” Sloan said. “Coup is what you took against that Crow yesterday.”
“What?” Skylar demanded.
“You struck him,” Hawk said. “In battle, it is a braver deed to come close to the enemy and strike him than it is to shoot him down from a great distance. Very often, in battle, the Sioux are determined to count coup, and so they come close and strike their enemies, but in so doing, fail to eliminate some of their numbers.”
“Whereas white soldiers know damned well they can be killed by tomahawks, rifles, and arrows and are determined to kill the enemy who are carrying those weapons with all possible speed,” Sloan continued. “In our system, officers must achieve great victories in order to rise through the ranks.”
“Or beyond. If the rumors are true, Autie Custer is trying for one great victory over the Sioux so that he can run for president of the United States, become the Great White Father, and keep his promises to his Crow scouts and others,” Hawk said, his voice carrying a definite note of irritation.
“A Sioux doesn’t need to seek a great victory.
He needs to lead a continually brave life,” Sloan said.
“Taking coup is part of the bravery of battle. And last night against the Crows, you, a woman, struck a warrior. They were still talking about it when we arrived on the scene. It was a great humiliation for the warrior.”
“But it made you a greater prize of battle,” Hawk murmured, throwing a stick onto the fire.
“Any warrior can instigate a war party,” Willow said. “And those who choose to follow him may do so.”
“If a man chooses not to follow a war party, then that is his prerogative,” Sloan said.
“However,” Willow continued, “during important movements, hunts, or major battles, the akicitas must control the young braves who might jeopardize the party by seeking to break early and count coup or rush the buffalo for the first kill.”
“The akicitas?”
Hawk looked to Willow and Sloan, then lifted his hands. “Indian police.”
“Who change with the wind.”
“I’m lost again.”
“They are chosen from the warrior societies, but the head men choose warriors from different societies so that no man may have too much control over others.”
Skylar smiled. “It all sounds very democratic.”
“It is a free society,” Hawk said softly, “and that is often the best of it, and the worst of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” Sloan said, “that in the army, the generals give the orders and privates obey without question. No one chief can command hundreds of braves if the braves do not choose to follow him.”
“The people who have banded together with Crazy Horse have done so because they have chosen to do so,” Hawk said. “And when we visit there, although we have chosen to enter the white world, we don’t visit there as whites.”
“So what am I?” Skylar demanded.
Hawk lifted his hands and looked to Sloan as if he were again seeking the proper explanation. Then he stared at her and shrugged. “Property,” he said complacently.
“You’re not serious—”
“You will own the tipi,” Sloan assured her, grinning.
“She’ll have to make it first,” Hawk reminded him. “And she’ll have to remember as well that women have their place. They serve their men, then dine themselves.”
“Oh?” she said.
“You may need to be careful. Wife-stealing does take place, though it is a shame upon those who indulge, unless, of course, a man is so powerful that the warriors around him are willing to let their wives go.”
“There have been such occasions,” Willow said.
“But sad ones as well!” Sloan commented. “Think of what it cost Crazy Horse when he fell in love and ran away with No Water’s woman.”
“Of course, he failed to pay No Water for the woman,” Willow reminded them.
“Crazy Horse was shot in the face, and his family was shamed. Thankfully,” Sloan said, “his family did not seek retaliation for the shooting.”