The two men found that their chief was not completely unaware of the undercurrents in the band. Though he might be a newcomer to the ageless customs of the People, Heads Off was a shrewd observer. He had sensed the tension behind the defiant attitude of the Blood Society. He had, in fact, discussed the matter at length with Tall One as they lay close in the warmth of their sleeping robes.
Coyote was much relieved to be able to share the burden of his knowledge, and the three men talked at great length. White Buffalo was convinced that a warning to Badger and his friends would be in order. Still, they had broken no rules. There was nothing to criticize. It was a matter of attitude. And, if one says his attitude is good, and he has broken no rules, who is to call him liar?
After discussion at great length, it was agreed that there was nothing to be done. In fact, the less talk the better. However, it would be important to watch carefully for any infractions or open defiance of the laws of the People.
The summer moved on, through the Moon of Thunder and the Red Moon. It was nearly the Moon of Hunting before the next incident occurred.
Badger and a handful of the young Bloods were on one of their frequent hunts. These expeditions were not productive of much in the way of game. The young men did continue to ask the visions of White Buffalo before the hunt, but they were apparently
ranging far and ignoring good hunting nearby. If they were hunting, Coyote thought grimly, it was not buffalo that they sought.
Thus, it was no great surprise when the small group of Bloods returned to the band after a three-day absence, without meat, but minus one horse. A severely wounded youth slumped behind one of the other riders, and still another showed minor injuries. One of the other horses limped from an arrow wound in the fleshy part of the hip.
Excitement rippled through the camp, and word of a council passed immediately. It was a foregone conclusion that the main purpose of the council would be to discipline the miscreants. Yet, despite this common knowledge, the Bloods continued to behave as if they were heroes.
From the standpoint of the chief, the council that evening was completely unsatisfactory. Neither Heads Off nor even the wily Coyote was able to entrap the young warriors into an admission that they had done anything wrong. They had merely been on a buffalo hunt, with approval of the medicine man. White Buffalo grudgingly acknowledged that this was true.
It was no fault of the innocent hunters, Badger insisted, that they had encountered a superior force of the enemy. They were lucky to escape with their lives. Still, Badger seemed to take far too much glory in the details of the fight. They had killed one of the Head Splitters and severely wounded another in the skirmish.
The council adjourned without action on the incident. There was none to take. The Bloods had still broken no rules of the council, and their account of the circumstances of the fight must be respected.
The Bloods immediately began a victory dance in celebration, much to the disgust of Heads Off.
Coyote was preoccupied with observing the ceremony. Someone had brought a drum and people began to gather as one of the girls tapped a rhythmic beat with the dogwood beater. The warriors of the Blood Society began the dance, stepping, singing, reenacting not only this but previous skirmishes with the enemy. Each had painted the now familiar broad band of crimson across his forehead.
The ceremony lasted nearly till dawn, and for Heads Off there was little sleep. He, as well as Coyote, had seen the looks of admiration on the faces of the younger boys. The children growing up must not be allowed to idolize these deviant young rebels. And, Heads Off thought in despair, there was so little that could be done about it. Even Coyote, who usually had suggestions, seemed at a loss. The thing was tearing the People apart. It was alienating father from son. Heads Off, as well as Coyote, had noticed as the council broke up, that the young son of Sees Far again followed the Bloods with an almost worshiping gaze. That honored warrior, in turn, seemed so filled with pent-up rage that it appeared for a moment that he would physically attack Badger. How can a man react when he sees his son following the wrong path?
At least, Heads Off thought to himself as he turned restlessly on his robes, the boy is not quite old enough to ride with the Bloods. Maybe something will happen for the best. He did not actually believe it.
Toward morning, the distant thump of the drum was becoming tired and slow. The diminishing vigor of the song was replaced by another sound from a distant part of the camp.
It started as a low wail, rising in volume and pitch, moaning and grating on the ear of the listener as it grew. Heads Off recognized the sound, although he would have preferred to ignore
it. The unnerving wail was the Mourning Song of the People. It came from the far side of the encampment, and the chief knew without investigating from whose lodge it came.
Bird Woman had been widowed in the Great Battle. With the help of her brother, Sees Far, she had maintained her lodge as Fox Walking, her oldest son, came of age. She had staked her entire future on the young man, and many had been distressed when he had followed Badger and the Bloods. Now he had been severely wounded in the skirmish of the day. The wail from the distant lodge could mean only one thing. Fox Walking was dead.
Heads Off turned miserably, frustrated at his inability to take any action. Tall One placed a comforting arm across his chest and snuggled close, wanting to help, but equally frustrated. The girl did not fully realize how very important her mere presence was to the troubled young chief.