III

The New Medicine Power

“We have lost Tashina somewhere, Grandfather,” I said.

The remark, dropped into a long-sustained silence, fell like a pebble upon empty air. The old man’s eyes remained closed and the sharply cut features expressed nothing but age. At length his face came alive with a slowly spreading smile, and he looked at me with gentle, grandfatherly eyes.

“The pretty little girl is not lost,” he said. “There is a long road, and she is yonder. But when we get there she will not be playing with her tepee, and I shall never be her horse again.

“That time when the hundred died, the Miniconjous were camped up the creek from us, and our mothers would not let us leave our village to play. ‘If you do not stay at home, and if you are not good,’ they would tell us, ‘the bad Wasichus will get you.’ So I did not see her then; and when the big trouble was over for a little while, her band was far away.

“I think the soldiers who were left in the town they built on Piney Creek were cold and hungry all that winter. If they wanted wood, they had to fight to get it. Our warriors burned their hay, and if they wanted brush to feed the mules and horses, they had to fight and die. If they wanted water from the frozen creek, they had to give some blood for it.

“More soldiers came with oxen pulling their wagons. Then the snow was deeper and deeper on the road, and there were no more wagons. Always there were hungry wolves about the soldiers’ town. Our younger men were the wolves.

“Before the snow melted, my father was not sick any more and he could ride a horse and fight. But his hip was not good, and I can see him walking on one side with his hand on the other leg.

“The grass came back. It was summer, and the hearts of our people were strong because they knew the Wasichus could not steal the road to where the yellow metal was—the stuff that always makes them crazy. There was a big sun dance that made our people new again. Then it was the Moon When Cherries Blacken [August], and there was another big fight. We call it the Attacking of the Wagons. It was bad. I saw it from a hill, and I was only nine years old; but after that I think I was never all a boy any more. I saw, and when I sit and think, I see it all again; but I have heard much too, and part of what I see I must have heard.

“There were many camps along the valley of the Tongue, for many more of our own people had come to us, and many more of our friends, Cheyennes, Arapahoes. Everybody was talking about rubbing out the soldiers’ towns, the one on the Piney and the one on the Big Horn too; then the buffalo would not go away, and we could be happy again.

“Our band and many others moved up Peno Creek and camped not far from where some Wasichus and soldiers had a camp on the Little Piney. They were sawing trees to make the soldiers’ town stronger, and getting wood for winter too. We were going to attack this camp so that the soldiers would come out of their town. Then we would rub them out, as the hundred were rubbed out, and after that we would burn their town.

“It was in the cool dark before daybreak when our warriors began riding away from our village, and my father rode with them. I remember how big and bright the Morning Star was—big and bright and still, just waiting up there for something that it knew would happen. It was going to be a hot day. There was no wind, no cloud. I can hear men singing low as they ride away, and dogs barking. It is still again, and the star is waiting. It makes me a little afraid the way it looks and waits and is so still; but I am glad too and I want to sing.

“Then the star is gone and the sun is big and hot.

“Many of the women began going to a ridge where they could see what would happen, and where they would be close enough to take care of the horses for their men. Many of the older men went with them. Little children stayed with their grandmothers, but I was good with horses already, so I went along with my mother and grandfather. We were waiting on the north side of the ridge where the Wasichus could not see us, and there was a crowd of warriors waiting there too and in the gulches on both sides of us. They were naked and painted for battle, and they were waiting for our warriors over there on the other side of the Wasichu camp to start the attack. That is where my father was. Some of the warriors were lying on the top of the ridge looking over; and some of us little boys sneaked along in the grass on our bellies to see what they were looking at. Nobody noticed us because everybody was excited. I crawled up beside a big man lying on his belly with his chin on his arms so that he could see through the grass. He turned his head and looked hard at me, and he was a Cheyenne. I thought he was angry and was going to make me go back; but he just grinned at me and said: ‘How, cousin! Where’s your gun?’ I showed him the bow and sharp arrows my grandfather made for me, and he said: ‘Hm-m-m! Washtay!’ Then he went on looking through the grass. I felt big and brave, for it was just like being a warrior already.

“The Big Piney was there below us; then there was a prairie, and beyond that we could see the trees along the Little Piney where the Wasichu camp was; and beyond that were mountains. Down there in the middle of the prairie there was a little ring made of wagon boxes where the Wasichus kept their mules at night, so that our warriors could not drive them off. There were two tents beside the ring, and we could see two or three soldiers walking around. There were some thin smokes rising straight up off yonder where the camp was in the trees. That was all there was to see. The prairie and the hills around and the trees over there and the mountains yonder looked asleep in the bright sun.

“Then there were cries away off yonder and the sound of singing. Some of our warriors over there were galloping in single file down a hill towards the Little Piney where the Wasichu camp was, and I tried hard to see if my father was one of them, but they were too far away. Gun smoke puffed from the brush and it was a cloud before the boom came. Some Wasichus began running out of the trees towards the ring of wagon boxes in the middle of the prairie. They would stop to shoot, and run again. There were not many and they looked very small. The big Cheyenne jumped up and all the others did too, shouting to each other and running back to their horses; and I ran with them.

“The people were all mixed up, and I could not see my mother and grandfather, but I was not afraid. I felt big inside of me and all over me, with horses crowding and squealing, and men mounting and shouting to each other. Then they were swarming over the hill, all singing together, and I sang too as loud as I could sing. Everybody crowded up the hill, and I crawled through the people’s legs to see.

“It is still down there now. Some of our warriors are coming up out of the Little Piney. Our men have stopped down there by the Big Piney below us. I wonder what they are waiting for. Away off yonder some of our people are chasing mules. In the little ring of wagon boxes a few Wasichus are standing and looking around. On the hill over towards the sun there are many of our people waiting too. They say that is where Red Cloud was.

“Looking glasses are flashing over by the Little Piney. They are singing again below us. Some of the warriors break away from the crowd and gallop out on the prairie. Over by the Little Piney others are galloping. They circle around the ring of boxes, hanging on the sides of their horses, getting closer and shooting arrows from under the horses’ necks. One is very brave and he is closer than the others. There is a puff of smoke from the ring, and his horse turns into a dust cloud before the boom comes.

“Then the singing and the shouting and the sound of horses’ hoofs are like a big wind coming up all at once and thunder in the wind. They are coming from over by the sun; they are coming from the Little Piney; our men are swarming up out of the creek valley below us. There is dust, dust, and thunder in it and singing over it like a high wind blowing. The horses and men are floating in it. It is closing in over the prairie, but the ring of boxes looks empty and is still.

“No! It is not empty and still. It puffs smoke all around and goes out in a cloud and a roar. The cloud gets higher and does not go away. The roaring does not stop. It is like a great blanket ripping. There is smoke whirling all around it, and horses’ heads and men’s heads and war bonnets are flying in it.

“They are trying to ride over the boxes. The horses will not go.

“Now they are all coming out of the smoke and circling away from it towards the creek valley below us and the Little Piney yonder. Many of them are riding double.

“All at once it is still down there again. The smoke spreads and the sun shines in. Many horses are down and some are kicking and trying to get up, and some are dragging themselves along. When one of them screams, it is thin and far away, but it fills the big empty place because it is so still out there.

“Everything is holding its breath and looking.

“Now some warriors are going back with their horses on the run, and you can hear their death-songs. They are riding two and two and hanging low on their horses’ necks. They are going back for their dead and wounded brothers out there. A great high sound goes up from the women on the hills. They are making the tremolo and singing, for those are very brave men.

“There is shooting from the ring of boxes. Some horses go down and some are dragging their riders, but others go on at a run. Two and two the riders lean and lift the wounded ones, where arms are held up among the dead horses; two and two they lean and lift the dead, and gallop away. They are very brave, and the voices of the women are one great voice on the hills.

“Looking glasses are flashing over there. The warriors are singing again, and they are coming back. They are coming from the Little Piney and from over by the sun. They are galloping up out of the valley below us, whipping each other’s horses and riding fast. Hoka-hey! Hoka-hey! This time they will go over and the Wasichus will be rubbed out.

“The ring of boxes is a cloud of smoke with thunder ripping in it. It is the same as before. Dust and smoke and horses whirling in it, and a great noise floating high above it like a kind of cloud.

“They are closer than before. They are going over now and it will be finished.

“No! They cannot go over. They cannot make the horses go, and they are coming out of the smoke, circling back towards the creeks. Many, many are riding double.

“It is still again out there, and the smoke begins to get thin. The women on the hill over by the sun have seen, and you can hear them mourning. It is like a little wind high up in pine trees. Now our own women have seen, and they are crying and mourning. I am crying too—because I want to kill Wasichus and I cannot.

“There are many more horses down now, scattered around the ring of boxes. Some of our men are lying at the top of the creek bank below us, shooting with guns and bows at the Wasichus. Fire arrows are falling in the ring, and the mule dung there begins to burn and smoke.

“There is not much shooting from the boxes when the brave ones ride back to save the wounded that are left out there and to pick up the dead. Maybe the Wasichus are getting tired; maybe they are blinded by the mule dung smoking, I do not know. The women are not making the tremolo now. The hills are sending forth a great voice, but it is a voice of sorrow for their men and boys down there.

“We waited. What could we do if the horses would not go over? The ring was little, the Wasichus were few, we were many; but we could not go over. Our people had never seen anything like it before. The Wasichus did not shoot and then wait to load their guns. They kept on shooting—br–r–r–r—just like tearing a big blanket all around the ring. It was some new medicine power they had, and it made their few like many. Afterwards we learned about the new guns that were loaded from behind, and that is why they could shoot so fast. It was the first time they had such guns, and we could not understand.

“The sun was high and hot, and we were waiting. The prairie was asleep. The dung smoke rising from the ring of boxes looked sleepy too, and that was all that moved down there. The dead horses scattered around looked lazy, all stretched out and resting in the hot sun.

“Afterwhile we could see some horsebacks galloping both ways from the hill over towards where the sun comes up. Maybe, Red Cloud was telling the warriors what to do. Then, as far as we could see, everything was waiting and sleeping under the high sun.”

For some time Eagle Voice waited too, his eyes closed, his chin on his chest. I put a chunk of cottonwood in the sheet-iron stove, and still he sat motionless. It seemed that he had lost interest in his story, or had fallen asleep.

“And then what happened?” I asked at length.

“I was thinking about my father,” he said, looking through me and far away. “I was thinking how young he was then. If he could come back now, he would be like my grandson.” Then he fell to brooding again with his chin on his chest.

“And did the horses go over at last?” I urged.

He came slowly out of his daydream, as though reluctant to continue.

“It was the new medicine power,” he said, “and they were afraid; but our warriors were very brave. They had gone away from the creek valley below us, and only a few were lying along the top of the creek bank, waiting for something.

“Then there was a great wind of singing all at once over to the right towards where the sun goes down. They were coming out of a draw there, all afoot and packed together like a wedge pointed at the ring of boxes; and it was a death-song they were singing all together! I have seen a mountain meadow full of flowers high up in the Pa Sapa [the Black Hills], and their war bonnets were like that meadow walking in a wind, and the wind was a death-song. It was long ago and I am old, but I see it and hear it yet. The high sun stared; the hills listened, the ring of boxes slept in the drowsy dung smoke.

“They did not hurry; but they came and came, swaying together in the wind of singing that they made—a loud wind dying, a low wind rising—loud and low, loud and low.

“Some horsebacks charged from over by the Little Piney, and a great cry went up from the women on the hills. And then—the ring of boxes was a whirling cloud again with that ripping thunder in it.

“They were coming faster now and we could hear their singing high above the thunder. We could see the point go dull and sharpen again, go dull and sharpen, until it was hidden in the whirling smoke. Then there was nothing to hear but the voices of the women like one great voice.

“Now our warriors would go over, and it would be finished. They had given themselves to death, and what could stop them? They would go over now, and it would be finished at last.”

The old man sat tense and breathless for a moment, peering narrow-eyed through and beyond the tent wall. Then the look of battle left his face and his eyes returned to mine. “It was the new medicine power,” he said wearily, “and it was stronger than ours. When they came out of the smoke, fleeing back towards the draw, they were like that blooming meadow in a hailstorm. Many, many were carrying their comrades on their backs, the wounded and the dead.”