A Warning from a Legend
CHAŊKU WAŠTE
Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á, Wawátʼečala Iȟá, her sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé, and I approached the rise where Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á had slain the buffalo during the running of the beasts to the killing pen. Óta Heȟáka was already there and had asked me to come forward after Pȟáŋžela Napé had told us she smelled something awful. Now Pȟáŋžela Napé asked, “Has that buffalo rotted so much in a day that it smells like this?”
As soon as she said that, the dogs immediately stopped, lay down, and started to whimper. “Tȟatȟáŋka Kat’á,” I whispered, “come with me. You’re going to feast your eyes on a magnificent sight.” I motioned to the two women to follow, and we made our way to where Óta Heȟáka was standing. At the top we looked on in amazement at the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka (chee-’ay ton-’kah: Big Elder Brothers).
There were two males and a female tearing strips of meat from the dead buffalo and gorging themselves. The Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had never been known to harm a Lakȟóta. We perceived them as our Elder Brothers. They lived in another dimension and only appeared whenever they had a reason to tell us something or to eat. When a Lakȟóta died, he moved into another dimension, but the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had the ability to shift between dimensions. They were messengers from the Great Mystery. The man beasts had only one foe and that was the grizzly bear. The great bears kept their distance from these huge denizens of the two worlds. The Čhiyé Tȟáŋka stood over seven feet and when provoked were powerful beyond compare, enough to gain the respect of a grizzly.
My father once told me a story of watching a Čhiyé Tȟáŋka and a grizzly fighting over an antelope carcass. He was amazed as the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka picked up and threw the grizzly over twenty feet in the air. When the bear hit the ground, he gasped, roared deafeningly, and charged right back at his foe, only to be met by a huge hand catching him flush in the face and sending him tumbling backward head over heels another ten or fifteen feet. My father said the bear sat up, shook his head as if to clear it, and took one more look at the hairy beast that had twice sent him hurtling through the air. He then turned and sauntered away, glancing over his shoulder once or twice as if to see whether what had just happened was real. There was nothing in the Lakȟóta lands that could fling a grizzly around like that, and my father was certain the bear had been as shocked as he was at the power of this being.
As I gazed past the three smelly creatures toward the prairie, I spied a grizzly in the prairie grass waiting for his chance at the buffalo carcass. Very wisely, he had chosen to keep his distance for the time being.
When a Čhiyé Tȟáŋka wanted to talk with us, he used sign language, and today the oldest of the three, one of the males, beckoned me to come and sit. After I did so, the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka came to my side and handed me a chunk of bloody meat. His smell was stifling, but he had a kind face completely covered with hair, with a smile peeking through. The bodies of Čhiyé Tȟáŋka were hairy except for the palms of their hands and bottoms of their feet. When this one grinned, I saw that his teeth were yellow and his breath outdid his body odour for rankness. His fur was the colour of my hair, black with grey streaks. Peering closely, I noticed twigs and grass caught in the matting of his fur.
We sat there for quite a while signing back and forth. My family waited with the other two Čhiyé Tȟáŋka, who continued their eating. The dogs kept their distance, lying on the ground, not knowing what to think about these huge beasts. As long as we accepted our newfound friends, the dogs remained relaxed.
Finally, the one I was talking to stood and motioned to the others, and then all three left. The older one made a running motion toward the watchful grizzly, sending the bear on a gallop away from his hopeful meal. I then watched as the trio of Čhiyé Tȟáŋka lumbered in the direction of the horizon and disappeared.
We took what meat we could load on each dog’s travois and left. My wife’s sister, Pȟáŋžela Napé, came up to me and asked, “Chaŋku Wašte, why do the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka smell so bad?”
“Well,” I answered, “it’s probably because they would rather drink their water than wash in it.”
She stared at me in shock. Then, when I began to laugh, she joined me in the joke. My other three family members looked at us and asked what was so funny. Pȟáŋžela Napé told them, and soon everyone was laughing.
As we headed back to the encampment, Óta Heȟáka asked me, “What did Elder Čhiyé Tȟáŋka tell you?”
“It wasn’t good news, my son. You’ve knocked down a hornets’ nest in the land of the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, and trouble is coming to our lands. He said we have to be prepared and that the outcome of this threat would be decided in a dark and bloody battle. That’s all he could tell me. The rest is controlled by the Great Mystery.
“When we settle in our winter camp, I’ll take out the čhaŋnúŋpa wakȟán (chah-nuen-pah wah-kahn: sacred pipe) that the Mother of Life, Ptesáŋ Wí (tay-san wee: White Buffalo Calf Woman), gave us during the year of starvation, and we’ll light it and pray for guidance. Other than that, everything else rests in fate and the chosen path for us. Even though you were given a dream to attack the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, it might not have been the right decision.”
After we arrived back at the camp, I approached SápA Ziŋtkála and told him the story the Čhiyé Tȟáŋka had relayed to me. We decided to approach Nážiŋ Išnála, leader of the akíčita, and have him send the Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá (kohn-gay yue-hah: Crow Owners’ Society) to find us a winter camp along the Kȟaŋǧí Ȟupáhu Wakpá, near where that stream connected with the Wakpá Atkúku, the big river. Even though that put us closer to the Ȟaȟátȟuŋwaŋ, it would help us react to their movements better.
We found Nážiŋ Išnála, and he quickly dispatched the Tȟáŋka Yuhá members to locate a winter camp for the community. SápA Ziŋtkála and I, realizing there was protection in numbers, decided to keep our two villages together during the winter. With the successful buffalo hunt, we now had enough food to get us to spring and sufficient hunters to add to the fresh meat during the winter months. Since we had arrived sooner at this camp than in previous years, we had more time to fish the two rivers to increase our supplies.
The Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá was a group of warriors that emulated the crow. Its members always endeavoured to be the first to strike in battle and wore stuffed crows around their necks. They were also responsible for searching out our winter camps. The akíčita had several warrior societies, which made it even more respected as a strong group of guardians.
It would take ten to twelve suns before all the buffalo meat was dried and processed. Once that was done, the women would tan the hides and make robes and clothing. The men would still follow the buffalo herd and try to pick off any stragglers the wolves and grizzlies failed to kill. Anything they could slay during their hunt, they cut up on the prairie and brought back with dogs and travois. It was then given to the women to dry on the racks.
The women cut the meat into long strips and hung them to dry in the sun. Once the strips were ready, they pounded them into flakes and mixed that in a hide bag with dried berries. Then melted fat was added. The meat would keep for a very long time and would be eaten out of the bag or cooked in water with wild onions and turnips.
Seventeen suns after the Kȟaŋǧí Yuhá men departed, there appeared on the horizon from the northeast three figures.