The Bloods were disgruntled at their treatment in the Big Council. The People continued to ignore them, and the young dissidents reacted by being more active, loud, and obnoxious.
Badger presented himself at the Sun Dance lodge on the first day of the dance, in his symbolic red paint, accompanied by his followers. For a moment it appeared that the keeper of the Sun Dance would prevent their entering. Still, one’s participation in the Sun Dance was a very private and personal thing. Each performed according to the dictates of his own conscience. There were some who even danced backward, or wore some strange article of decoration, perhaps to fulfill a secret vow.
In the end, the sentry decided that there was nothing so unusual in the Bloods’ facial paint. They were allowed to enter and participate in the dance.
It seemed, however, as the days passed, that Badger became more irritable. Apparently, his militant challenge to tribal authority could stand almost anything but the good-natured tolerance of the tribe. This had always been the way of the People. If one does no harm to the group, let him do as he wishes.
So, through the entire Sun Dance, the Bloods seemed angry and frustrated that they could get no reaction of any sort from the People. They paraded pompously around the camp, noisy and insolent, attempting to create an incident, but were completely ignored.
Perhaps this was why, on the morning after the last all-night
session of the dance, Badger was looking for trouble. Irritably, he presented himself at White Buffalo’s lodge.
“Uncle!” he called out. There was no trace of respect in his voice. “We wish a vision for the hunt.”
The old man was tired. The rigors of the Sun Dance were a trying time, even for younger men. Sleepily, he rolled out of his robes, but not before Badger was calling out again and slapping the skin cover of the lodge. The medicine man held the doorflap aside and Badger stooped to enter.
“We would hunt buffalo,” he demanded. “Give us a vision!”
It was a command rather than a request.
“My son, the tribe will be moving. Today is no time to start a hunt.”
Badger’s eyes burned into the old man’s face, cruel and relentless. For the first time in many years, White Buffalo was physically afraid. And of one of his own band, he thought sadly.
Reluctantly, he turned and prepared to perform the dance. Crow Woman readied the drum and the medicine man donned his buffalo robe. Not the sacred white cape, but an ordinary robe was used for this ceremony. The muffled rhythm of the drum set the cadence, and the medicine man began his shuffling, stamping dance. He pawed the ground like a massive herd bull, and swung his head and shoulders in imitation of the great beasts.
White Buffalo was just warming to the challenge of the dance when his visitor rudely interrupted.
“Enough, old man!” Badger injected. “Throw the stones!”
Crow Woman, astonished at the effrontery of the youth, stopped the drumbeat and sat, openmouthed. No one had ever dared interrupt a ceremonial dance. The medicine man straightened slowly and stared hard at Badger.
“No good will come of this.”
“Throw the stones!” It was now a command, and the old man
moved to comply, not quite understanding why he did so.
The medicine man turned and unrolled a bundled skin to spread before them. Its smooth painted surface bore geometric designs which shone dully in the dim light of the lodge. He produced a pouch, heavily embroidered with quillwork, and shook the contents into his gnarled palm.
With a dramatic gesture, he rolled the handful of small objects onto the surface of the spread skin. They scattered and bounced, settling to rest as he squatted to interpret the cast. Painted plum stones, small bits of bone, wood, and brightly colored pebbles settled in a pattern on the skin. White Buffalo studied the objects, muttering to himself, and occasionally poked at a stone with a knobby forefinger. Finally he looked up, directly at the waiting Badger.
“My son, it is not good. I do not fully understand the cast, but danger and death are here!”
“You lie, old man! Throw again!”
White Buffalo shook his head.
“I can make but one cast. Then the medicine is gone.” An idea suddenly occurred to him. “But, I can cast the black stones.”
Seldom used, the black stones were reserved for special purposes. Five in number, they had been handed down through successions of medicine men of the People. No one, except the medicine man himself, had ever been allowed to examine the black stones closely, and for very good reason.
The black stones were completely predictable in their forecast. Five plum stones had been painted black on one side, in a manner similar to the ordinary half-red gambling stones in common use. Their difference, aside from color, was subtle. The plum stones had been selected long ago, and painted by a skilled medicine man in the distant past. White Buffalo had once examined them closely, and determined their secret.
The selected plum stones were slightly flattened on one side, a freak of growth not obvious to casual observation in the dim light of a medicine man’s lodge. The observer would be intent on looking for color, not shape. Would there be more stones showing the black-painted, or the natural yellow side when the cast was made? The medicine man already knew that the black sides would predominate. He could use the black stones to enforce any advice or vision he might wish. They were seldom used, and then very cautiously, but White Buffalo felt that this was the time.
The clutter of objects on the medicine skin was gathered and returned to the pouch. Crow Woman ceremonially smoothed the skin for the coming ritual. White Buffalo turned, rummaged in his equipment, and produced a tiny pouch lavishly decorated with quills and paint. He handled it reverently, carefully. He must be cautious, for Badger was clever and observant.
With slow and symbolic motions, he opened the sack and shook out the five small plum stones. He drew forth their cup, made from the tip of a buffalo horn, and placed the stones carefully in it. The polished horn gleamed black as he held it aloft and chanted the ritual phrases. Then, with a dramatic gesture, he swept his arm downward and over the skin, tumbling the stones across its surface.
Badger watched, fascinated, as the black stones skittered and bounced, finally coming to rest. Four of the five showed the black surface, the other the natural yellow color.
“Aiee, it is bad, as I have said,” intoned the pleased medicine man.
“It is a trick!” Badger almost shouted. He reached quickly forward and scooped the scattered stones in his hand.
White Buffalo, taken completely by surprise, could only sit numbly at the unexpected turn of events. The young man was
shaking the black stones between his palms. How had he solved the secret so quickly?
Badger cast the stones back onto the skin, and watched, fascinated, as they skittered, rolled, and came to rest. He stared at the result. This time all five showed the black surface. Anger began to mount in the young man’s face. In that moment, White Buffalo realized the truth. Badger had not solved the secret. He was only angry that the medicine of the stones had gone against him.
With a swing of his arm, the insolent young man swept the stones from the medicine skin. They bounced and jumped around the lodge, one falling almost into the fire. In the moment of silence, one stone struck the tightly drawn skin of the lodge cover beside Crow Woman with a soft thunk. She absently picked it up and stared at it.
“It is a trick of some sort! We go anyway!” Badger jumped to his feet and strode from the lodge.