Sun Boy’s torch rose next morning on a band of weary but enthusiastic People. Preparations for departure were already under way. The wailing lament of the Mourning Song hovered over the camp, even as preparations proceeded. This was always a tense and jarring experience for Heads Off. The People said goodbye noisily, with wives and mothers of the deceased smearing themselves with dirt and ashes, sometimes continuing the wailing for several days. One young wife gashed her forearms deeply with her flint knife. Blood mingled with dust and tears as she wrapped the body of her husband for burial.
Heads Off wandered through the camp, attempting to say a few words to each bereaved family. He felt clumsy about it, but it would be expected of him, as leader, that he acknowledge each loss in person.
He encountered Frog Woman, the mother of Badger. The Bloods had brought the young man’s body from the hill, and the old woman was engaged in the mourning ritual. She had no one else, Heads Off reminded himself. Her husband was dead, and she existed only with the help of her brother’s family. How difficult this past year must have been for her. The young chief was embarrassed that he had not realized this before. What could one say?
“I am sorry, Mother.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.
The old woman gave no sign that she was even aware of his presence. She only continued to rock back and forth, wailing the
Mourning Song. Heads Off walked slowly away, uncomfortable over the episode. But what could he have said or done?
Coyote fell in beside him, observing his discomfiture.
“It is good, Heads Off. Frog Woman only wishes to be alone.”
Yes, Heads Off finally realized. The woman has not only lost her son, but she must know that he was nearly the cause of the death of the entire band. Hers was not a happy lot. Heads Off was almost tempted to turn back, to try to let her know that he understood, but decided against it.
A large party moved out to the abandoned enemy camp for salvage, with a few mounted warriors providing security. Another group of the Elk-dog warriors scattered over the prairie, gathering all possible horses. Some animals had been abandoned, others had escaped from the Head Splitters in the confusion, and still others had become riderless when their warriors were unseated in battle. Several were found still wearing skin saddle pads and trailing broken reins. All these animals were gathered and herded into the protected meadow next to the camp, where young men maintained constant watch to prevent strays.
Shortly after the overhead portion of Sun Boy’s journey, all the captured horses were herded together, and the People assembled. Coyote had made suggestions in private to his son-in-law.
“Each family will choose an elk-dog until all are gone,” Heads Off announced. “Those who have none come first.”
One family at a time, the People moved forward, looked over the available animals, and made their choices. As soon as everyone had at least one animal, the sequence began again, until each horse was the property of someone.
The crowd scattered, some to try out their new acquisitions, some to barter, but many simply to prepare for the move. It would be difficult to assemble and pack each family’s belongings by the next sunrise, but it was absolutely necessary.
Already it was well into the Moon of Growing. The Elk-dog band would arrive late for the Sun Dance. It would, in fact, be necessary to send a messenger to announce their impending arrival, but that could come later, when the band was nearer their destination. It would take many suns to reach the Salt River, the appointed site for the Sun Dance.
Closer at hand, they must pause in travel to join the wives and families of the Blood Society, now two suns away. The Growers with whom they were camped lived almost in the line of march, and it would be little trouble to detour in that direction.
Heads Off had considered for a moment sending the Bloods to bring their families to join the band as they traveled. He rejected that plan. It was too risky to divide his force again. The Head Splitters, smarting from defeat, would be unpredictable and dangerous.
The People were moving next morning before full daylight, packing and stowing goods in their rawhide carriers. There were enough elk-dogs to carry the depleted possessions of the band, and to drag all the extra lodge poles salvaged from the enemy. Since most of the range of the People was nearly devoid of timber, good lodge poles could be prized possessions. They could be kept until enough skins for new lodge covers were available.
Heads Off rode to the rim of the hill to watch the caravan move out. In the lead were Long Elk and Red Dog, followed by the first of the family units, pulling their lodge cover on a pole-drag. It was a perfectly orderly exit, leaving behind the usual debris of a campsite. It appeared, however, that there was somewhat less remaining trash than usual. The People were in no position to throw away a pair of worn-out moccasins or a tattered garment. This year they would be worn.
He looked across the tops of the oaks in the woods below him, and at the pleasantly sparkling stream. How close this place
had come to being the final campsite for them all. He had never expected to watch again the straggling column move across the prairie to their next camp.
This would be a place important in the history of the People. Already he had heard the site called “Bloods’ River” by someone, in recognition of the amazing charge that had turned certain defeat into victory.
White Buffalo was already planning the pictograph for the Story Skins, he had told the chief. It would show horses impaling themselves on a barrier of spears, and Blood warriors charging from the hill to strike the enemy. It would be a magnificent thing to depict. This would be known in the future, the medicine man said, as “the year we ate elk-dogs.”
And that, Heads Off reminded himself, would be considerably better than “the year the Elk-dog band was wiped out.”
He lifted the reins and touched the mare gently forward to rejoin the band.