Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
It was early evening, the time of day when the sun has set yet the west is still awash in the shimmering golds and pinks of dusk.
Straight overhead, however, the sky was the deepest blue.
In the east a lone star rose over the horizon, while the high-pitched singsong of the crickets and locusts grew loud, replacing the more melodious chirping of the lark sparrow, the longspur and robin. A lone dove cooed in the distance.
Grey Coyote was en route to the coulee where he had hobbled the ponies. Moisture hung heavily in the air as he trod over known ground. The fragrant scents of dry grass and wildflowers had settled densely over the land, perfuming the landscape with an aroma which was sweet but weighty.
It happened suddenly. One moment the western sky was alight with end-of-the-day images, the next it was pitch-black, thick with moisture-laden storm clouds dominating the landscape. Overhead, the thunder roared.
Though it was not uncommon for bad weather to suddenly come upon the unwary prairie traveler, Grey Coyote knew this was no ordinary storm. For five days Grey Coyote had experienced a reprieve of sorts from the duty that haunted him; for five days he had heard nothing from the Thunderer.
It appeared his breathing space was fleeting. Indeed, his archenemy was back.
All at once, a windstorm kicked up around him, and like a blast from a white man’s gun, a fast-whirling prairie wind knocked Grey Coyote off his feet. No rifle was fired, yet Grey Coyote ached as though he had been shot, and many times.
Flat on his back, unable for the moment to rise, Grey Coyote had no option but to look up into the sky.
There, images had formed above him…two images. One was familiar—the man from his vision, the man with unkempt, unclean and straggly hair. The other likeness was of a white trapper.
The trapper lay dead. But the beast—his appearance ugly and more bearlike than human—hovered over his victim like some wild monster, glad of its conquest.
And then came the familiar refrain:
“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.
“You alone must solve this, you alone must act on it, and if you do, your people go free.”
What did this mean? Why was he, Grey Coyote, being given a vision now, when he had not sought one?
And then the answer came to him: The white man was near. Grey Coyote’s moment, his chance to end the curse, was close at hand.
But was this all? Was it not also a warning from the Creator? An alarm raised to show Grey Coyote that he must be prepared? That the one he sought was capable of inhuman acts?
Hau. Grey Coyote feared it was so.
The images faded, allowing Grey Coyote to rise onto his feet. For an instant, he stood stock-still, his face upturned to the heavens. Lifting his arms, he began to sing.
“Haiye, haiye, hai-ha.
Haiye, haiye, hai-ha.”
It was a song of thanksgiving, a song sent to the Creator in acknowledgment. It was also a promise to the Creator—and to himself.
He would be prepared.
Grey Coyote had done what he must. Nevertheless, his heart was heavy as he dragged his feet all the way back to camp, his spirits burdened beyond comfort, for he dreaded the confrontation with his wife, an argument which would be forthcoming, no doubt.
But there was nothing for it. He’d had to do it.
He had let the ponies go. He’d had no choice.
After the warning from the Creator, Grey Coyote grasped that he must proceed with caution. Where this white man was, he did not know; where this white man might stage an attack, he did not know.
But one fact of the matter was clear, it was time to leave, to travel again over the prairie…safely.
Ponies, unfortunately, were a signal to war parties, as well as to the white hunters and mountain men of one’s presence; therefore, ponies to a lone rider were dangerous.
If Grey Coyote were to ensure that he and Little Sunset traversed this next part of their journey without incident—surprising the enemy instead of being surprised—then they must cross this land not as travelers, but as scouts.
Nevertheless, Little Sunset was not going to be happy, and it would be his responsibility to bring her to understanding, if he could. But her viewpoint, he feared, would be very different from his own, and he groped for the words to bridge the gap between their realities.
Alas, if only he could confide the deepest secrets of his soul, his task might be easier. But he could not; he alone must solve the riddle. So much was this true, he feared that to share his plight with another could cause the forfeiture of his entire life’s work.
So, with these somber thoughts deeply in his mind, he stepped into camp.
Little Sunset, unaware of what plagued him, welcomed him heartily.
Throwing back their shelter’s entrance flap, she crawled out from it and happily pushed herself to her feet.
Running toward him and smiling, she flung herself into his arms, grinning. “You were gone so long. I worried.”
He smiled back at her. “Haye-haye, this is a good greeting. Perhaps I should be gone for a long time each and every day.”
“Maybe.” She looked around him, toward his back, then at each side of him. “Where are the ponies?”
He didn’t answer.
She seemed not to notice, however, and went on to say, “I have prepared all of our possessions for the horses to carry, our robes, everything, and we have much pemmican ready.”
Grey Coyote hesitated once more, his silence long and drawn out. At last, knowing he had to respond in some fashion, he came right to the point. “The ponies are gone.”
“Gone?”
“Hau.”
“Did someone steal them?”
“Hiya.”
“No? Then did they come loose from their hobbles and wander away?”
“Hiya.”
She looked puzzled. “What happened?”
He breathed deeply. “I let them go.”
She drew away from him slightly. “You what?”
Grey Coyote didn’t elaborate all at once. But knowing he must justify himself, he stated, “We are entering enemy country,” as though this explained everything.
“Yes?”
He jerked his head to the left. “When one is in enemy territory, and alone, one must be careful. If we bring the horses, we cannot predict we will be able to safely cross the prairie.”
“Oh. But…” She paused, and her voice was colored with confusion. Tentatively, she stepped out of his arms. She was frowning. “But I thought you went to collect them.”
“It had been my intention to do so, but I fear I underestimated the danger on the prairie at this time of year. And so I have changed my mind. Circumstances now demand we travel in a way so we will be as invisible as possible.”
“But the ponies were our only means of transportation, weren’t they?”
“We have other means.”
“We do?”
“Hau.” He pointed toward her feet. “You stand on them.”
He watched as enlightenment dawned, and he waited for her answer, although he knew her reply would not bode him well. At length, all she asked was, “We’re going to walk?”
“Walk, crawl…and creep a little too.”
Her eyes wide and with her mouth slightly open, she gaped at him.
He went on to explain, “We will have to travel as scouts, since there is no one but myself to defend us.”
“Scouts?”
He nodded. “Wolves of the plains. It is possible to roam the prairie unharmed when one is alone. But not on horseback, and not during the day. We will travel at night only, resting during the day. We will disguise ourselves, and we will arrive unscathed at our destination. I will show you how this is done.”
She continued to gape at him. “But others travel on horseback…”
“They are safe to do so, only as long as they go in large numbers and have the means and manpower to protect themselves. I, however, as you might remember, have few arrows left. Thus, we must be extremely diligent.”
“But…but…I thought… Who will carry all of our things?”
He groaned a little, giving himself a moment in which to think.
This next was probably what he most dreaded relating to her.
After all, had he not observed that she was unfamiliar with the wilds, as well as being unacquainted with necessary precautions?
Nevertheless, with jaw clenched, he plunged ahead.
“We will carry our things, or maybe I should say you will, for I will need to remain free of encumbrances in case we meet an enemy.”
The silence that met this statement was telling. When she spoke, all she asked was, “I? I will carry them?”
“Our load is not heavy.”
She tilted her head. “I beg your pardon. Your robe is very heavy.”
He nodded. “Yes, you are right. We will have to cache my robe before we go, along with anything else you cannot bring with you. We will cache my lance as well, for as a scout, I will not be able to bring it with me.”
“But that would mean you would be even less able to defend us, and you will be cold at night. Besides, we have done all this preparation. Maybe you have not noticed, but I am not very strong.”
“I have observed this,” he said. “However, the food is not heavy.”
“But extra moccasins, extra clothes for me, plus an extra robe for me? Do you forget we went to the trouble to make it?”
“I will carry your robe.”
“Can you? I thought you said you had to remain unencumbered in case we meet an enemy.”
“This does not suggest I will not tote a parfleche bag over my shoulder. In the bag we may place your robe.”
She inhaled deeply and hesitated, her brow furrowed as though she were thoroughly absorbed in thought. She screwed up her face and stared him straight in the eye. “Are you still planning a trip into a forest to obtain wood for arrows?”
“I am.”
“Might I ask how far it is to this forest?”
He shrugged. “It is perhaps a half moon away, maybe less.”
“A half moon?”
“Hau.”