The Big Council would be held, not within the Sun Dance structure, but adjacent to it. A fire had been lighted as the shadows lengthened, and fuel stacked nearby to replenish the flames.
The fire was certainly not needed for warmth. The evening was hot and still, and the cooling breeze of the prairie had not yet begun to bring the customary chill to the lengthening shadows of evening. Yet a fire was essential to council. Somehow the mystique that surrounded the ceremonial fire was part of the ritual involved. Certainly, nothing so important as the Big Council could be held without the solemn effect of the council fire.
Some people arrived early, to be sure of a good place in the circle. Each band was limited to the traditionally assigned arc, with the Northern band occupying that segment, and the others in relation to it, exactly as in their campsites. This arrangement was never discussed, merely practiced. The origins of the custom had been lost in antiquity. It had always been so.
The chiefs of each band would sit closest to the ritual fire. Directly behind were the sub-chiefs and principal warriors of each band. An occasional woman would be found in the second rank, and it was not unusual for women to speak in council. This had been a thing of great wonder to Heads Off, as he learned the ways of his wife’s people. It had never been so in his homeland.
Farther from the fire were the younger warriors, still in concentric circles. Those of unproven status or those with less interest in the Council scattered around the perimeter. Entirely outside
the Council circle, children wandered idly, or ran in play among the lodges. Occasionally it was necessary for some adult to rise and admonish the youngsters to silence in respect for the Big Council.
The chiefs would arrive last, but lesser warriors were gathering. As the circle began to fill, it became apparent to Coyote that the ranks were thin behind the seat of the chief of the Elk-dog band. He glanced over the crowd with alarm, and quickly recognized that those not in evidence were the followers of young Badger.
Coyote’s concern mounted. What could the Bloods be planning? He idled away from the council site, then turned and hurried to the lodge of Heads Off. Tall One was just finishing the braiding of her husband’s hair.
“Come in, Father,” she called, glancing up from her task. “We are almost ready.”
She took down the shiny Spanish bit from its place, and reverently placed its thong around her husband’s neck. Originally, the glittering object had been used in the mouth of the young chief’s gray mare, the first elk-dog the People had ever seen. Now it was recognized as a most powerful talisman, the elk-dog medicine of Heads Off. It was used only as a symbolic amulet, worn around the neck of the young chief, and then only for special occasions. Coyote remained silent, gazing at the little reflections of firelight from the dangling silver ornaments. Though he himself had had a major part in the events surrounding this strongest of medicines, he was still in awe. The elk-dog medicine was far more powerful even than he had at first realized. Its profound effect on the entire tribe had caused great change in the People’s way of living. Greater, perhaps, than any other medicine since First Man and First Woman crawled from the earth through the hollow log.
Coyote returned from his reverie, aware that his son-in-law had spoken to him.
“I said, Uncle,” Heads Off was asking, “is the Council nearly ready to begin?”
It was important, Tall One had taught her husband, for him to arrive at the proper time. Not too early, before chiefs of the other bands, but at about the same time. And above all, he should arrive before the Real-chief. To come later would not show proper respect.
The predicament was solved simply, by finishing his preparations, and then waiting near the lodge until the chiefs of the other bands were seen approaching the fire.
Coyote held the skin door-flap aside and Heads Off stepped through, pausing outside to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Tall One stood beside him, holding his arm proudly.
Coyote cleared his throat uneasily. “Something is wrong,” he said softly. “The Bloods have not come to the Council.”
“Where are they?” The young chief was instantly alert. His wife’s hand at his elbow tightened, almost imperceptibly.
“I do not know, Heads Off. It is only that their places are empty.”
Tall One spoke, anxiously. “Surely they would not dishonor the Elk-dog band by staying away from the Big Council!”
Long Elk stepped from the shadows and motioned impatiently. It was time to make their appearance. Uneasily, the little group moved forward, pausing to allow the medicine man to join them. Heads Off spoke to him.
“The Bloods have not come to the Council, Uncle.”
“Aiee, they will come to no good.” White Buffalo threw up his hands in despair.
They could see old Black Beaver of the Mountain band picking his way among his seated warriors. Heads Off quickened his
step, and reached his place just as White Bear of the Red Rocks entered the circle of firelight. The chiefs exchanged nods of greeting, and Heads Off sat on the robe spread out for him. On either side and slightly to the rear were Coyote and White Buffalo. Tall One sat unobtrusively behind him, close enough to make her presence comforting. It had been painfully obvious that the ranks of warriors of the Elk-dog band were thin.
Heads Off watched the patter of conversation around the circle. He was certain everyone was talking about the Elk-dogs, and the absence of their warriors. Damn those young idiots, he brooded. How could they shame their band and their families? The entire tribe would see their lack of respect for their chief and his council.
Heads Off sat, furious, attempting to appear calm and unruffled. A murmur arose behind him, and people began to crane their necks to look. Finally he too turned to see the cause of the commotion.
The Bloods were arriving. In the lead stepped Badger, tall and proud, and fully armed. He wore his ceremonial headdress as if for a warriors’ dance rather than a council. Behind him walked his followers. All were dressed like their leader, for a warriors’ dance, and across each of their foreheads was painted the broad crimson stripe.
The young men made no special moves, but merely paraded pompously through the astonished crowd and seated themselves.
And none too soon. From among the lodges to the north side of the circle stepped proud old Many Robes with his sub-chiefs. Heads Off breathed a sigh of relief. At least the Bloods had not made the unforgivable error of arriving after the Real-chief.
Many Robes strode into the circle and seated himself, motioning to his pipe bearer. The ornate ceremonial pipe of the People emerged from its case, was filled, and handed to the Real-chief.
The pipe bearer brought a brand from the fire, and the old chief ceremonially lighted the leafy mixture in the bowl. Many Robes concealed well his doubts. Aiee, watching them from the darkness, he had begun to wonder if those young hotheads would ever show up. Fortunately, he had been able to postpone his entrance to allow the Elk-dog band to save face.
There still remained grave doubts as to what was afoot. Why were the young men dressed for a ceremonial dance, and with their cursed red paint on their faces?
Outwardly, the Real-chief was calm as he methodically puffed smoke to the four winds, to the earth and sky, and handed the pipe to Black Beaver. That chief repeated the ritual, and the pipe moved on around the circle. Many Robes, receiving it back after each had performed the ceremony, knocked the dottle from the bowl and handed it to his pipe bearer. He cleared his throat to open the Big Council.
“Hear me, my chiefs! The People have gathered for the Sun Dance. Let each chief speak for his band.”
Black Beaver rose slowly and addressed the Council.
“I am Black Beaver, chief of the Mountain band of the People. We have wintered well, and the hunting was good. We have seen no enemy.”
The Mountain chiefs message was always brief and to the point, observed Heads Off. White Bear rose, made the customary speech, and noted that they had seen a traveling band of Head Splitters.
“Their families were with them, as we had ours,” he continued, “so we had no fighting.”
This attracted very little attention. Such meetings were commonplace. Next came the Elk-dog band. Heads Off stood.
“I am Heads Off, of the Elk-dog band,” he began. “We wintered well, but game was scarce this greening time.” There was
a mutter of discontent behind him. Perhaps, he thought, our plan was more obvious than we thought.
“Some of our warriors have had skirmishes with the Head Splitters. We lost one young man.”
He sat down again. Be damned, he thought at the rising mutter behind him, if I give you the satisfaction of telling about your kills. The commotion continued, and people began to turn to look. Heads Off turned also. Badger was rising to his feet.
“My chief!” he practically shouted. “That is not all! We have struck the enemy. We have …”
“Silence!” Few people present had ever heard Many Robes raise his voice in Council before. “Take your seat! When you are a chief you may speak in Council. Until that time you will be silent!”
The stern visage and flinty stare of the Real-chief was not to be denied. By sheer force of will he took control of the situation as Badger faltered, became confused, and humbly sank to his seat.
Heads Off was embarrassed for the young man, but exhilarated by the manner in which the Real-chief had handled the matter. His respect for old Many Robes continued to increase.
The expression on the face of the Real-chief was now reverting to normal, stern but tolerant and benign. He turned expectantly to the Eastern band. Their chief rose quickly.
“Yes, my chief. I am Small Ears of the Eastern Band.”
Small Ears’ message continued, but the rest of the Council was anticlimax. The Bloods sat quietly, chastised by the strength of the Real-chief. The Council adjourned, and the People began to scatter to their lodges for the night.