Chapter 3 #2
Big Eagle said nothing, but in his gaze, there was censure.
If LaCroix took note of it, he said nothing.
Instead, he shook off his host’s hold and, looking down into the bowl, called out, “The big claw is on end, or thirty points. There are no red claws, so there are no points there. Two burnt sides up at four each equals thirty-eight sticks.” He paused.
“There are no blue sides up, but there are five eye sides up, or ten sticks. It is a total of forty-eight.”
Was it a draw?
No one spoke, not a word. Not even Grey Coyote, although with brow lifted, Grey Coyote fixed an unwavering gaze on LaCroix.
LaCroix cleared his throat, opened his mouth, but no words issued forth.
It was left to Big Eagle to settle the matter, and stepping forward, he called out, “There are also three concaves up, at one each, thereby making Grey Coyote’s roll fifty-one sticks.
Grey Coyote wins the game, the horses, the rifle, the powder horn, the clothes, the white woman.
” He fell silent for a moment. “It is done.”
Instantly, murmurings took root within the crowd.
“But I have another wife…” LaCroix jumped to his feet.
Big Eagle shook his head. “It is over. I will not allow Scout LaCroix to gamble his other wife. Not tonight. Your luck has deserted you. You, Scout LaCroix, must take your loss like a man.”
“But, with one more roll, I could—”
“I have spoken,” said Big Eagle. Only the host had a right to interfere, and his declaration in his own home was law.
“But, monsieur, I—”
Big Eagle’s gaze at the man was severe. For whether LaCroix knew it or not, he had this moment insulted this very proud man. To the Indian way of thinking, a man need speak his request but once.
However, it appeared Big Eagle was prepared to weather the abuse, and in a voice traced with sympathy, he said, “Take what little you have left. Take your last wife and be content that you still have her. Now, quickly, before the sun rises, you have much work to do. You must prepare your white wife for what is to come.”
LaCroix hunched his shoulders, and with his gaze cast down over the bowl—which still held the last roll—he muttered, “I… I…” He seemed at a loss for words.
At last Grey Coyote drew in a breath and stood to his feet, as well. “Hau, hau,” he said to the crowd, as he accepted their praise and their hands in congratulations.
Outside of the expected polite murmurings, Grey Coyote found there was little happiness in him. In truth, it was on his mind to give the woman back to LaCroix.
Not that he wasn’t tempted to keep her. But in his opinion, he was certain this woman would be pure distraction.
However, if he let the woman go, by the precise rules of the game, he would have to hand back his other winnings to LaCroix. And this was an action he was not at liberty to do.
If LaCroix were the man from his vision—and Grey Coyote suspected he very well might be—then Grey Coyote had best tread carefully. To do otherwise would sabotage his vision.
Stepping toward LaCroix, Grey Coyote said, “I will leave this village at first light. Therefore, you should awaken the white woman and prepare her for what is to come. You will also tie your horses next to mine. You may leave the other winnings here, next to the fire. I will see to them.”
LaCroix nodded. “But, monsieur…”
“Hau, hau?”
“The woman… I should tell ye that…” LaCroix paused, and Grey Coyote waited. “I…I cannot…”
Their host, Big Eagle, suddenly loomed before them and bestowed a wary look toward LaCroix.
“Remember, Scout LaCroix, that you staked not only your possessions here tonight, but your honor, as well. Recollect also, my friend, that while the white man might cheat another and suffer no repercussion within the white man’s lodge, this is not so in Indian country. Here, a liar always comes to harm.”
As the words were spoken, Grey Coyote stared hard at LaCroix.
The man’s reaction was difficult to interpret.
True, LaCroix had tensed his shoulders, was breathing heavy and his eyes were flung down toward the floor.
But when LaCroix looked up, his features were set as he said, “I will prepare her for ye, monsieur, but she will not like it.”
“Hiya,” responded Grey Coyote. “I do not suspect that the woman will like the turn of events at all.”
For a moment, LaCroix stared at Grey Coyote, as though it were on his tongue to say more. But at last, Grey Coyote’s silence must have spoken for him, and without further incident LaCroix slouched forward, turned on his heel and stepped from the lodge.
Frowning, Grey Coyote watched the man walk away.
“Beware, my friend,” said Big Eagle, who still reposed next to Grey Coyote. “I do not trust this man.”
“Hau. You speak with good reason,” Grey Coyote agreed. “In truth, I fear I might acquire a knife in the back this night, instead of horses and a wife.”
Big Eagle nodded. “And yet, all here were witness. All here saw that it was not in your heart to gamble for the woman.”
“Hau, hau, I regret this.”
“But do not concern yourself,” continued Big Eagle. “While you sleep, we will watch this white man. We will ensure he will not do damage to you.”
Grey Coyote gave a quick bob of his head, and, holding up his right hand in a gesture of friendship, he murmured, “Hau, kola,” and turned away.
However, Grey Coyote was not concerned about LaCroix or what he might do. Compared to the turbulence of his thoughts, Grey Coyote considered the threat of death a minor detail.
No, what plagued Grey Coyote most was this: By the very edict of the riddle, once he had acquired the possessions of the man he sought, Grey Coyote was to communicate with the Creator by means of prayer, there to propose his speculations about the riddle.
For if he guessed correctly, Grey Coyote had only to put this thought into action, and the curse would be lifted. But if he were wrong…
Neither small nor large, nor wide, nor narrow, the white man possesses a thing that will propel you toward freedom.
Though he will think it is possessed by him and though you must possess it, and it will possess you, only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.
Striding out of the hut, Grey Coyote stepped toward the river. There, at this hour, he was certain he could find a place where he might be alone with his Maker.
The night was black. Storm clouds raced across the sky like dark omens. No light shone aloft, though a grumble of thunder and a slash of lightning lit up the sky briefly, as though the heavens mocked him.
Always it was the same. Always the Thunderer followed him, taunted him. Indeed, so much was this so, Grey Coyote’s adopted people, the Assiniboine, had given Grey Coyote his name because of this—coyote, for his spirit protector; grey, for the turbulent clouds that stalked him.
Lifting his face to the sky, he called out, “Mock me, if you will, Thunderer. But I have still several moons in which to unravel this riddle. And I will best you.” Then in a smaller voice, “I will best you.”
The Thunderer chose not to answer, and Grey Coyote turned his attention to other, more important matters.
Neither small nor large, nor wide, nor narrow, the white man possesses a thing that will propel you toward freedom.
Though he will think it is possessed by him and though you must possess it, and it will possess you, only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.
What was it LaCroix thought he owned which was now in Grey Coyote’s possession? What was it that, though Grey Coyote might own it, was not his?
Raising his arms to the midnight sky, Grey Coyote began his vigil by singing a song of thanks to the Creator. It was also a song to entreat the Creator to hear his voice:
“Wakonda, have pity on me.
Wakonda, I come to you to make my guess.
Wakonda, have pity on me, for I do not fully understand this riddle.
Wakonda, guide my thoughts.”
Overhead, the clouds parted, and for a moment a star shown brightly. Ah, the Creator listened. Grey Coyote continued:
“Wakonda, each time I obtain the possessions of the one I pursue, you have allowed me to guess at this riddle. I will do so now.
Wakonda, I venture that the woman is the possession I seek for LaCroix once owned her but now I have her yet I cannot own her since no man can really own a woman. Yes, Creator, I guess that the answer is the woman.”
Grey Coyote waited. The star still shone brightly; no thunder pealed in the sky. Barely daring to breathe, Grey Coyote recognized these as good signs. Indeed, if he were not mistaken, this meant he had thus far guessed correctly.
Now for the riddle’s final catalyst: If the woman were, indeed, the correct possession, what action was required of Grey Coyote that he might end the curse? Briefly, he recalled the words of the Lost Clan’s medicine man, White Claw:
“Show kindness and mercy to an enemy. Help them. Remember had we done this to the thunder god’s children so long ago, our fate would never have included an eternal curse.”
But who was the enemy? Surely it was not the white woman. How could a woman be his enemy?
Was it LaCroix? Hau, hau. It had to be LaCroix. After all, LaCroix was white. Had not the white traders cheated the Indians in trade? Did they not make the red man crazy from the white man’s water? Was not LaCroix also a liar? And a liar, as all wise men know, is an enemy to all men.
Surely, LaCroix was the enemy. But what action to take?
“…only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.”
How could one be free from a possession if one were acting as it? Overhead, the clouds moved, signaling that Grey Coyote must make a guess. Taking a deep breath, he continued:
“Wakonda, my final conjecture concerns the action I must take to end my people’s fate.
Wakonda, guide my words, as well as my actions, for I am but a simple man.