By full darkness, the appointed time for the council, the village was buzzing with excitement. Many of the younger of the People were elated, singing and dancing over the success of the young warriors. Actually, some of them appeared to feel that this council was to be held in honor of the incident. They certainly appeared to expect no reprimand.
The older, more mature members of the band were reserved and quiet, understanding the gravity of the situation.
In between were the young men of the Elk-dog Society. They appeared confused. They were young and exuberant, could easily understand the sentiments of the miscreants, perhaps even admire them. Still, their rigid training into the first disciplined mounted unit on the Plains made them resent this affront to authority.
Heads Off himself was not without mixed feelings. A few years earlier, he had been one of the miscreants in a faraway military academy. He could identify with the exuberant young hotheads. Perhaps this was the very reason he was determined to stop this rebellion against authority at the outset.
The council fire had been lighted and people were filing into the area to find good seats. There was still a happy, holiday atmosphere on the part of some of the exuberant young.
Coyote knew there were problems ahead, possibly worse than they had realized, when the young warriors arrived. The three in question were accompanied by several more budding warriors, and the entire group wore facial paint. The symbolism of the
blooding ceremony was being extended. On the forehead of each member of the entire group was a broad slash of red paint.
Not that facial painting was uncommon. At the ceremonial dances the use of paint was sometimes quite ornate and spectacular. This was a different matter. This was not a ceremonial occasion. Here were young men, banding together as a group, and painted with the stark stripe of red. Unmistakably, this was intended to represent the drawing of blood. Coyote was afraid that it was also intended to represent a challenge to authority.
These things he communicated to his son-in-law as the People gathered for the council. Heads Off nodded, understanding the tension of the occasion. The ritual of council, however, was a pretty formalized thing.
The ceremonial pipe passed around the circle, each warrior blowing puffs of smoke to the four winds, to the earth and the sky. Finally, the pipe returned to the chief, and Coyote, acting as pipe bearer, restored it to its case.
Heads Off opened the council, asking for a report from the red-painted young warriors in the second row of the circle. Badger swaggered to his feet, while his followers gazed admiringly.
“My chief,” he began, “we three were hunting.” He indicated his two companions. “We came upon three Head Splitters. They were skinning an antelope, and did not even see us at first. I killed one with an arrow, one rode away, and one could not catch his horse. On that one we all counted several honors, before we finally killed. Then we blooded ourselves to honor the victory.”
Heads Off nodded. The custom of counting honors had become familiar to him. To touch a live enemy was a great show of bravery, because of the danger involved. He had reservations as to the value of honors inflicted on a helpless enemy prisoner,
but said nothing. One of the other warriors was asking permission to speak. Heads Off nodded.
“My chief,” began the man, “I would ask these young men, had you thought what the one who ran away will tell? The Head Splitters may send a war party against us!”
“Let them!” sneered the Badger. “We will show them the worth of the People!”
The older warrior looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Another man spoke.
“My chief, this is a dangerous thing. The People cannot go about in small groups looking for Head Splitters to kill.”
Badger spoke, without permission.
“Those can who are not cowards!”
A murmur of shocked surprise at such a statement ran round the circle, followed by a smaller murmur of agreement with the speaker from his companions.
“Stop!” commanded Heads Off firmly. Why, he wondered momentarily, had he ever consented to this office? “There will be no such talk! There is no question of courage. Sees Far,” he indicated the other warrior, “was with the bowmen at the Great Battle.”
“Where were you, Badger?” the soft chuckling voice of Coyote interrupted.
Badger, of course, had not yet come of manhood two seasons ago at the time of the battle. Coyote knew this full well, but used the ruse to discredit the young warrior before the council. There was a general chuckle around the circle, and Badger shot a furious look at the speaker. Coyote shrugged innocently and said nothing.
Another of the Bowstrings spoke, after receiving the chief’s nod.
“My chief, it seems the council should make some laws about
this, as we do about hunting when the season is poor.”
There were many nods of agreement, and a discussion followed. At length, the matter was resolved, though not to the satisfaction of the young dissenters.
Though not actually taboo, the undertaking of a war party was to be only with the knowledge of the chief and his advisers. To ensure this, they must have the vision of the medicine man, and his assurance of success. A war party of any size without this implied consent was to be considered in violation of the law.
The voting members of the council were in unanimous agreement on the new rules. There were those, however, who did not fail to note the sneers on the faces of some of the red-painted youths. They were sullen and silent, and Coyote doubted their cooperation.
One further matter was discussed, that of enforcement. It had always been the responsibility of the Warrior Society to enforce the law. Now, with more than one society, who would be the internal police force?
After much discussion, it was decided that the Bowstrings were to assume the function. They were the older, more stable group. Offenders were more likely to respect the age and experience of an older warrior than one of the young Elk-dog warriors.
It could easily be argued the other way, Heads Off thought uneasily. There was much to be said for social pressure from one’s peers. Still, the problem seemed settled for now. He devoutly hoped that the sullen, withdrawn looks of anger on the red-smeared faces were temporary. He would not have wagered on it.
Coyote noticed with some apprehension another fact, as the council broke up. Several younger boys, not yet warriors, were hanging admiringly around those with the painted faces. To his
great disappointment, he saw that one of these starry-eyed admirers was the son of Sees Far, one of those who had been called cowards.
No good could come of this.