The People rested well, tired from the hard day’s activity as well as the impromptu celebration and dance. There was no danger of attack from the disorganized enemy.
Sun Boy’s first light revealed that the bodies of the enemy dead were gone. They had been carried away in the darkness. It was important to the Head Splitters to save their honor by recovering their dead. The bodies would be mourned, wrapped in robes with their most valued possessions, and placed on burial scaffolds much like those of the People.
The Elk-dog band, meanwhile, continued to exhibit a sense of triumph, almost of euphoria. The People had lost not a single life.
They had more supplies than a day ago, and had dealt the enemy a telling blow. It was easy to become overly optimistic about their situation.
Of course, tradition of the People lent itself to a sort of day-to-day existence. If there were no food today, well, maybe tomorrow. Heads Off had at times become very impatient with this cheerful optimism. In his own culture, it would have been considered childish, overly simplistic. He had once spoken to his wife about this general attitude.
“But what is there to do?” Tall One seemed puzzled. “We do what we can, and be ready for whatever happens next. Something always does.”
Yes, he had thought grimly, something always does, even if it is bad.
It was impossible today, however, to remain glum and concerned. The mood of the People was contagious, happy with the victory, and Heads Off found himself smiling, laughing. It seemed not to matter that the band still could not move from this campsite. It was enough for now that they had food, and that in the distance could be seen the furious, frustrated enemy, milling aimlessly around their camp.
The day was marked by uncommonly fine weather. It was one of the warm, earth-smelling days which occur in the Moon of Greening. Heads Off sought out his wife, and the two climbed part way up the hill behind the lodges, to sit in the warm rays of Sun Boy’s torch. Since the loss of their own lodge, privacy had been very difficult to achieve. They had missed not only the close physical intimacy, but the opportunity to share time together, to exchange thoughts. It was good, sometimes, to be in the warmth of the family in Coyote’s lodge, but it was very crowded. There were times when privacy was needed more than the companionship of the extended family.
Heads Off saw, among the curling grasses of the previous season, a scattering of tiny ivory white flowers. He stepped over and picked a few of the blossoms, bringing them to the rock where they sat. Tall One held the tiny cluster close to her face.
“The Dog Tooth,” she smiled. “Do you remember, you brought them to me in our first springtime together?”
He had hoped she would remember, and he was pleased. It had been before the birth of Eagle, before Heads Off had been burdened with the responsibility of leadership. Things had been so much simpler then.
He sat close to her and they watched the activity in the village below. The appearance was that of a peaceful, prosperous band
of the People. Children played, meat was drying on the racks, and skins were stretched to dress and tan. Women called to each other at their work, with occasional laughter.
Only if the couple on the hill lifted their gaze to the prairie beyond, could they see that all was not as well as it seemed. There they could see the milling, impatient activity of the Head Splitters.
“They will come again, with more warriors,” the young chief spoke grimly.
“Of course. But not today.” She snuggled closer against him.
Heads Off never ceased to be amazed at the manner in which this slim girl could make him completely forget all the problems of his existence. When he was in her arms, nothing else mattered. All was right with the world, and there could be no wrong.
Later, he sought out his father-in-law.
“Coyote, how long until they come again?”
Coyote shrugged. “Maybe three suns, maybe ten. It will be when the others gather. This time they will be very strong.”
And they were certainly very strong before, thought Heads Off desperately. There had been far more than enough warriors to crush the dwindling Elk-dog band. His defense had worked only because it was so unorthodox, so unexpected. It would not be successful again, and he had no more tricks in mind. At least, the threat of the sharp weapons in the brush barricade would prevent the main attack from coming that way. If only there were some way to make the woods more defensible.
They established a general line of defense in a zigzag pattern through the thickest part of the timber. At the insistence of the chief, each warrior chose his position, that to which he would hasten when the attack came. Some of the women, too, stated that they would fight beside their men. Piled brush helped to take advantage of natural variations in the terrain.
A few men would remain at the brush barrier where the horsemen had perished. There was likely to be a diversionary attack there, too.
Some families selected hiding places for their children, to which they would run when the fatal day came.
Then, there was nothing to do but wait. Time hung heavy over the People. For some it was a time of quiet, private thoughts. For others, a time of smoking and telling of tales.
There were those who passed the time in gambling. At several places around the camp area could be seen a cluster of people intent on the roll of plum stones. The painted stones skittered and bounced on spread skins, and much property changed hands in wagers. The gamblers, it seemed, were ever so much more serious in their gaming. In spite of the threat of annihilation that hovered over them, they were intent on the games. Wagers were high, at times most of a man’s possessions riding on the toss of the plum stones. There seemed to be an almost frantic preoccupation with the games of chance.
Well, why not, thought Heads Off as he walked among the lodges. It may not be that any of us have any possessions in a few suns. When life becomes cheap, property becomes even cheaper.
More depressing to him, somehow, was the sight of the women, busily engaged in preparing skins for future use. The tedious, long-drawn-out task would eventually produce usable robes, garments, and lodge covers. Despite the fact that there was little likelihood of anyone in the Elk-dog band ever enjoying the use of the end product, the work went on. Women who took great pride in their work continued to dress and scrape hides meticulously.
Other women worked to construct garments and moccasins that would never be worn. But, the young chief sighed, what else
was there to do? All activity would not stop because the future seemed unlikely. He turned back to his own family’s lodge, to encounter the most heart-rending sight of all.
Tall One sat cross-legged near the doorway of the lodge, sewing ornamental quillwork on a pair of tiny moccasins. She held them up for his inspection.
“They are for Owl’s First Dance,” she announced proudly.
A child’s First Dance, at the age of two, was an important step in his life. It was the time of the naming ceremony, when an older relative would choose the name the child would wear until grown. The finest of garments, the most careful of grooming, the most intricate of ornamentation on moccasins were a matter of great pride to the family.
Now, Tall One worked a complicated and beautiful design with dyed quills into the surface of the tiny shoes. They would truly be objects of beauty. Owl could stand proud in the dance arena in the carefully sewn garments made by his capable mother.
Except, thought Heads Off dully, except for one thing. For small Owl, chortling there on the robe in the warm spring sunshine, there will be no First Dance.
By that time, there would be no Elk-dog band.