“Come, my friend,” Coyote was speaking. “Let us go and speak to White Buffalo.”
The two men threaded through the camp toward the lodge of the medicine man. It was now the most pretentious lodge remaining, the only one of the big lodges constructed in recent years. Heads Off wondered what would happen in the final debacle. Would the lodge of the medicine man fall and be destroyed with the rest, or would the enemy’s strange fear of his medicine spare it again?
It was entirely possible, he decided, that the enemy would leave the medicine lodge as the only thing standing, and its occupants the only living things on the scene when they departed.
“Uncle!” Coyote was tapping on the taut lodge skin. “We would speak with you!”
Crow Woman held aside the door skin and the two stooped to enter. The delicate scent of dried herbs assailed their nostrils as they stepped into the dusky interior and greeted the medicine man. He was seated in the host’s place directly across from the doorway, solemnly smoking. He nodded and motioned them to sit.
“Uncle,” Coyote began, “we wish to speak of the Head Splitters.”
White Buffalo nodded again and sat, still not speaking.
“Could you,” Heads Off spoke at last, “tell us of the coming fight?”
The old man turned and stared wearily at him for a long moment. Then he sighed, and rose to collect the various accoutrements of the dance that would help his vision. Crow Woman warmed the drum over the fire to tune it, and started the rhythmic beat. The fixed expression on her lined face left no doubt that she considered the situation hopeless.
Heads Off had always been impressed with the ritualistic dances and visions of the medicine man. To be sure, White Buffalo was an opportunist. The old man was a shrewd observer, watching the actions of animals, birds, and insects, as well as the patterns of the weather. He was acutely aware of human behavior as well. By the use of all the information available to him, White Buffalo’s vision predictions were remarkably accurate.
Heads Off had sometimes been amused by the way in which the medicine man took credit for fortunate happenings. White Buffalo’s shrewd powers of observation allowed him occasionally to guess the outcome of the course of events, slightly before they were seen by the others. Thus he could foretell or warn and seem to predict correctly things yet to happen.
These were the thoughts that drifted through the mind of the young chief as they watched the dance. The intricate preparation, the face-painting, the costuming and manipulation of the scep-terlike gourd rattles. But Heads Off, watching the old man, had the feeling that his heart was heavy. White Buffalo, more than anyone, had the insight to see the ultimate outcome of the events in progress.
Heads Off began to feel sorry for the medicine man. The band had long looked to him for advice. His visions were usually optimistic, sometimes with a warning if necessary. But now, when the conclusion of this siege was clearly to be tragic, what could the medicine man say? There was no way the old man could give
an encouraging forecast. Heads Off wondered if it were possible for him to present a bleak vision.
Possibly White Buffalo was thinking of the same dilemma. There was something of depression and despair in the shuffle of his feet, the slope of the shoulders and swing of the head.
At last he finished the dance and Crow Woman spread the painted skin on the floor of the lodge. Perhaps it was only in the imagination of the onlookers that the incantation was a little longer and more fervent. White Buffalo made his cast, and bits of bone and wood and pebble skittered and skipped over the surface. As they came to rest, the medicine man began his interpretation.
“Aiee!” he muttered to himself. He glanced quickly at the others, something akin to excitement and genuine surprise in his face.
“What is it, Uncle?”
The medicine man seemed puzzled. He poked the bright pebbles gently with a gnarled forefinger, muttering to himself. The suspense was growing intolerable.
“It is good!” he finally exclaimed, the expression of surprise and bewilderment still on his face as he rocked back in a squatting position on his heels.
“But, Uncle,” Heads Off interjected, “how can this be?”
The medicine man shrugged, as if such things were beyond his powers to interpret.
“I only know that the signs are good!”
The uncomfortable thought struck Heads Off that perhaps the old man’s mind had snapped from the stress. How could any sign be good? Still, the confident expression on the medicine man’s face, his calm demeanor, and the alert look in his eye were not those of a lunatic.
It was difficult not to become caught up in the obvious mood of White Buffalo. No further information was forthcoming, however. He had said all he would. That was the message that his prediction had to tell.
“The signs are good.”
It was obvious, as Crow Woman placed the equipment of the dance back in its place, that the interview was over. White Buffalo resumed his seat, and relighted his pipe. Coyote and Heads Off thanked him and Crow Woman held the door skin aside for them to leave. Already there was a change in her face, optimism beginning to shine through.
Possibly it was Crow Woman who spread the word. At any rate, it traveled like a prairie fire. By the time they reached their own lodge, people were calling to each other the cheerful message.
They encountered Big Footed Woman at the door.
“What is it, my husband?”
“White Buffalo says the signs are good!” Coyote sounded puzzled.
His wife lifted her glance to the gathering of the enemy camp beyond the brush barrier.
“But how can this be?”
Both men shrugged again, still bewildered. A long shout reached their ears from down by the stream as someone called to a friend.
“The signs are good.”
It was impossible not to become caught up in the optimism of the thing. Even Heads Off began to believe, against what he knew to be true. By dark he, too, was completely convinced that by some miracle they would be successful. Though outnumbered three to one, the People would turn the enemy back at the barricade and emerge victorious.
Just what would happen next was unclear. How they could
escape from the siege remained a mystery. Yet the new optimism was contagious. Everyone had a new strength and determination, despite the fact that nothing had changed. The mere message “the signs are good” had transformed the spirit of the band.
The People retired that night with more hope than they had had for many suns.
And it was that night that the enemy burned the barricade.