XXI XXI “I have been thinking of Last Dog, the big-mouthed one,” Eagle Voice began. Having attended to the fire, I had waited over long, while the old man sat with closed eyes and drooping head, blowing softly now and then upon his thumb-polished eagle-bone whisde. “Also I have been thinking of He Crow and his brothers—of Running Wolf, the youngest, most of all.
“Running Wolf was sick that winter and people said that he would die. There was mourning for his brothers in his old father’s tepee where he lay. He was hot all over with a fire that burned inside, and he would cry out to his brothers in the battle. He would cry out, ‘Wait for me! I am coming! Look back, for I am coming!’ and try to get up. No wichasha wakon could help him. The bad spirit would not go away, and people said that soon he would go to his brothers.
“But he did not die. When the young grasses were appearing [April], he got up and walked again. His face was sharp, and he was thin and feeble, like an old man who has come at last to where the cane is. Also he was like a ghost that comes and goes and will not talk to anybody. People said he was witko, and tried not to notice him.
“I think the moon when ponies shed [May] was young when he disappeared. His father’s best horse was gone too, and people talked and talked. Maybe he was going forth to find an enemy and die. Maybe it was like dreaming, the way he was, and some witkokaga [crazy-making spirit] told him he could find his brothers. The moon grew big, and withered, and was dead in the dark. Then Running Wolf came riding back. He was coming over the ridge, and the sun was going down behind him. His horse was walking slow, and he was singing. All around the village people watched him from their tepees to see what he would do, for when a man is witko he is wakon [mysterious, sacred], and whatever he will do they let him do it When he came to the opening in the village hoop, he stopped his horse, and we could see that his face was blackened and his hair was cut off. He sat upon his horse and sang a song that he had made, and the people, looking from their tepees, listened. The song was like this, but I cannot remember to sing it right.
“In a far country I have seen.
Their bones I have seen.
The wings of the air have feasted
And the wolves are fed.
On a lonely hill I have seen,
In the country of the stranger;
And my heart is cut into strings.
“Four times he sang it, sitting there on his horse; and while he sang, he wept. Then he started his horse and began riding at a walk about the hoop to the left, in the sacred manner. When he had ridden a little way, he began singing again, and it was a death-song. He looked straight ahead and sang, and the people watched him.
“When he came to Last Dog’s tepee, he stopped his horse and cried, ‘Last Dog, come out and look at me! You are a brave man, Last Dog! Come out and make my heart glad!’
“Then Last Dog came out, and after him his woman, who was He Crow’s sister, and Running Wolf’s, and she was holding her man back by his arm. When Last Dog straightened up from stooping through the flap and looked at Running Wolf, they say he tried to smile, but only looked sick all at once. He was saying, ‘Kola, kola [friend],’ and was holding out his hand. And Running Wolf looked hard at Last Dog for a while, and said, ‘I have seen where Last Dog butchered.’ Then he leaped from his horse upon Last Dog and bore the man to the ground. His knife was out, and the people near by saw it slash the throat, and stab and stab into Last Dog’s breast, and with each stab, he grunted, ‘hawnh!’ It was still around the village where the people were looking; still between one breathing and the next. Then the woman screamed and seized her brother. But he threw her off and leaped upon his horse, and cried, ‘Let my brothers come and see where Running Wolf has butchered!’ And then he put his horse into a run and fled, not through the opening into the village but through the hoop of tepees; and the people watched him over the ridge.
“That night the sister mourned in Last Dog’s tepee; and there was mourning in the tepee of the dead man’s father, Standing Hawk. Some of us who had fought Shoshoni horsebacks in the snow listened that night and talked. A young woman could find another man, and maybe a better one, when her hair grew long again. But Standing Hawk was old, and Last Dog was the only son he had left. We did not say evil things of Last Dog, for his spirit would be hearing; and we did not call him Big Mouth; but we did not like him, and Running Wolf we liked, for we knew how it was in his heart. We talked of Standing Hawk and of his sorrow. He was a good old man. Everybody liked him, and he was one of the wichasha yatapika, men of whom no evil could be said. For he was a great warrior when he was younger, and he had always given to the needy; and often when men spoke of wachin tanka [magnanimity], they remembered stories about him.
“We talked of Running Wolf too, hardly more than a boy, and of what he had done. Hardly more than a boy, and a te-wichakte [kills-home, murderer], and all the people against him. We spoke low when we spoke of him, for he had done the worst thing a man can do; and we liked him. Maybe we would have done it, too, with five brothers feeding the crows and wolves yonder. But we spoke low when we said it, for it was the worst thing that he had done. Kill a stranger, many strangers, and the people cried, ‘hiyay,’ and sang the victory song, and danced the victory dance. Kill a Lakota and you killed a home, you broke the sacred hoop of the people a little. Maka [the Mother Earth] herself you struck when you killed. It was the worst thing a man could do.
“When the day came, the council got together; and when they had talked, they sent for two akichitas, and to them the head chief said, ‘Find Running Wolf and bring him here. If he will not come, then leave him for the crows to eat where you find him.’ And the two akichitas rode away.
“They did not have very far to go, for the day was still young when we saw three horsebacks coming over the ridge; and Running Wolf rode in the middle with his chin upon his breast. Afterwards I heard how they found him sitting on a hill and weeping, with his horse grazing near. I think he had been crying there all night, and his anger was washed out of his heart. When the two rode up and stopped their horses, he stood, and looked at them; and if he had been witko, he was not so any more. He just said, ‘I am ready.’
“While the three came riding, the people were out in front of their tepees, watching all around the hoop. Old Standing Hawk was sitting in front of his tepee, with his dead son, Last Dog, lying beside him, washed and dressed, ready for the world of spirit. They had not wrapped the dead man yet, so that the kills-home might look upon his face again. In the center of the hoop the council and the chiefs and the wichasha yatapika were sitting, watching too. And there was nothing to hear but the voices of the mourning ones.
“The three rode in through the opening and around the hoop, to the left, with their horses walking slow, until they came to where the old man sat beside his dead son. There they stopped and waited, facing the mourner, and in the middle Running Wolf sat upon his horse with his head hung low. When they had waited so for a while, old Standing Hawk lifted his face to Running Wolf and said, ‘Come here and sit with me, young man.’ Running Wolf got down and came. Then the old man pointed to the body on the ground and said, ‘Sit there upon him while I speak to you’ And Running Wolf sat down upon the man he killed, with his face in his hands. Then Standing Hawk raised a mourning voice, like singing, and said, ‘I had a son, and he was all I had. One son I had, and now my son is dead, and I am old, and there is none to look to in my need. One son I had and Running Wolf has killed him. My days are made empty now, and I am old.’
“People near by saw Running Wolf’s shoulders shaking and tears running through his fingers.
“Then Standing Hawk took his pipe and filled and lit it, and to the four quarters of the earth he offered it and to Wakon Tonka and to Maka, the mother of all. And when this was done, he held the mouthpiece of the pipe towards Running Wolf, and said, ‘Look up and do not fear.’ And Running Wolf looked up with tears upon his face, and took the pipe and touched it with his mouth. And when the people saw this done, they knew that he was sorry and would do whatever he was told; and with one voice they cried, ‘Hiyee! Thanks! Hiyee!’
“When the voice of the people was still, Standing Hawk spoke to Running Wolf again, ‘My son, you have done the worst thing a man can do, but I have seen your tears and looked into your heart. Do not be afraid of anything, my son, for when you come again to me and are cleansed with lamenting, you shall be my son until I die.’ Then he asked that a cup of water be brought to him; and when it was brought, he gave Running Wolf to drink, and tears fell into the cup. Then Standing Hawk said, ‘Bring food that my son may eat.’ And when meat was brought to him, he cut it up himself and gave it to the killer of his son, and Running Wolf ate a little of the meat with his tears upon it.
“Then the oldest man among the wichasha yatapika stood up among his brothers where they sat. He leaned upon his cane and looked around the hoop where the people waited for his words, and his head shook. They listened hard, for he was feeble and his voice came thin. ‘My people, this day we have seen something that was given to the wichasha yatapika when they were chosen. It is a hard thing to do that we have seen, but a man whom all praise must hold fast to his pipe and do what he was taught when he was asked to sit among us. He was told that a wounded dog with an arrow in his body would be brought to him, but he would not be angry. He would hold fast to his pipe. This is what was meant. This is what we have seen; and Standing Hawk has not forgotten. His son has been murdered and brought back to him. You have seen him hold fast to his pipe and remember what he was taught. It is wachin tanka, [magnanimity] you have seen, and it is good to see.’ Then the old, old man looked at Running Wolf sitting there upon the dead man, with his tears upon his face, and said, ‘Young warrior, my grandson, you have taken the place of him you killed. But first you must be cleansed by praying and lamenting. To the four quarters you shall go forth, and there shall be only strangers everywhere. The faces of your own you shall not look upon. Three moons you shall wander and lament and pray, thinking of this worst thing that you have done. For you have killed a home. Maka, the mother of all, you have wounded, and the sacred hoop of the people you have broken a little. Have a strong heart, and come back cleansed, my grandson.’
“When the old, old man had spoken, the people did not cry out; they only murmured all around the hoop, for they had seen and heard a great thing.
“The two akichitas had prepared a sweat-lodge, using only four sticks to hold the hide. It was made to cleanse a te-wichakte, and he must wander to the four quarters; so that is why they used four sticks. And when the rocks were heated in a fire and placed inside the lodge with forked poles, the unclean one went in there naked, and water was thrown upon the stones. Then the two akichitas dug a shallow hole in front of the sweat-lodge, as deep as the thickness of a man and shaped like him. And when the lodge was opened and Running Wolf came out, they placed him in the hole, face down, and left him there a little while. Thus they gave him back to the mother of all, who has shown mercy to her children; and even this they could not do until his body was cleansed in the sweat-lodge. But his heart was not yet clean, and he was dead to his people. Those near could hear him weeping there and see his shoulders shaking. And in a little while, they lifted him and led him to where Standing Hawk was sitting. There he stood, naked and weeping. And the old man said to those about him, ‘Bring clothing for my son who is going on a long journey and may never come back. Also bring to him my best horse and my bow and arrows and all that he shall need, for I think his journey will be long and hard where there are only strangers.’
“And when this was done, and Running Wolf was clothed, Standing Hawk stood up and, for a little, held the young man’s head upon his shoulder, then pushed him off and turned away. Then the akichitas lifted the kills-home to the saddle, and with whips they struck him and the horse, and drove him forth alone into the world of strangers. And the people watched him going towards where you are always facing [the south], until they could not see him any more.”
Eagle Voice ceased, and when he had sat motionless for some time with closed eyes, I prompted, “And did Running Wolf come back?” Ignoring the question that had brought him out of his reverie, he continued: “It was good to die on the prairie for the people and to make a story for men to hear. But if the kills-home died out there, no story would be told and no song sung about him. A dead dog makes no story. The crows and wolves are glad, and the voice of mourning is not heard. His very name is evil in the mouth.
“Kicking Bear and High Horse had gone back home, and Charging Cat was in the world of spirit; but some of us who fought Shoshoni horsebacks in the snow would get together where we knew that no one heard, and talk about him; but we could not take his name into our mouths. He would be lamenting and praying at night on a lonely hill in the country of the strangers until he slept. And when the day came, even Maka would be staring at him with all her hills—like a stranger. When he sought for food, there would be enemies watching him and lying in wait to kill him. And if maybe a wandering band of Lakotas came in sight, he must flee from them that they might not see his face. We liked him, and when we talked of him our hearts were sad. We might have done it too if we had seen the bones of our brothers scattered yonder.
“They did not put Last Dog upon a scaffold. Because he did not die as men should die, they buried him face down upon a hill. His relatives could not follow him to that place, to mourn beside him through the night. But some people said they saw his woman, the sister of the kills-home, sneaking back to her tepee when the day was just beginning.
“When this was done, the village had to move, for there was an evil spirit in that place. The game all went away to where Maka, the mother of all, had not been wounded. And so the village moved over to the valley of the Rosebud, where grass was good and there was wood in plenty, and the game was not afraid.
“My heart was sick, and I wanted to see High Horse and Kicking Bear. Also I thought much about my father lying yonder on his scaffold. Sometimes I thought I would go and see him again. Then I would think how still it was on that hill. Yonder I would listen, and maybe there would be only the wind blowing. Then I would remember the voice of the eagle on my hill of vision, ‘Hold fast; there is more.’
“When the first moon was getting old, I rode alone towards where the sun comes up. The Hunkpapas and Miniconjous would be camping near Pa Sapa [the Black Hills], and I would see High Horse and Kicking Bear. We would make plans for some great deed as we had done before; and if we came back with scalps and horses, people would praise us again. If we did not make a kill-come-back, we could die on the prairie. Then Charging Cat would ride with us again, and I would see my father.
“While I was riding alone, I would be thinking these things. I would be thinking more and more about High Horse, because we were brother-friends. But when I would be thinking about him, I would be seeing Tashina, maybe because she was a Miniconjou too and she would be in the village. As I rode, I would be thinking of her standing by the brush with her blanket about her face and looking at the ground. I would hear her saying she was proud of me. Then I would hear the horses squeal and break wind as they ran away. I was going to see High Horse, but it would be good to see Tashina too. Maybe I would talk to her, and we could laugh about when I used to be her horse.
“I came to Pa Sapa and saw the ashes of camping places. There were some roving hunters of the Brûlés, and they said the villages had moved beyond Pa Sapa, maybe beyond the Mini Shoshay. So I thought I would ride yonder and look for High Horse and Kicking Bear. Maybe while I was seeing my brother-friend, I would talk to Tashina alone, and we would remember and laugh. It made me want to sing when I thought that. But while I thought, I began to feel ashamed because she would not be proud of me any more. The story of our fight with the Shoshonis would have the wings of an eagle, and she would know. So I turned at last and rode back towards the sunset and the Rosebud, for my power had left me and my heart was sick.
“When I got back, the people were getting ready for the sun dance. No one spoke of the kills-home or of Last Dog. They were gone where the smoke goes when the fire is dead and there is only air. Their names were gone where a cry goes when the echoes stop.
“My heart was sick, but I remembered how the power came to me in the sun dance. So I danced again, and the hurt of the thong in my chest was good. I saw again. I did not faint, for the power came strong upon me, and the voice of the eagle was greater than the pain, ‘Hold fast; there is more.’”
The old man ceased and sat meditating with closed eyes. After a decent interval I urged, ‘And Running Wolf?’ He regarded me with an absent gaze that slowly focused upon my face.
“The Moon of Blackened Cherries [July] was gone,” he said, “and a new moon had grown big. The day was young. There were some loose horses coming over the ridge towards where the sun goes down. Some people saw and pointed, and many were looking. We had no horses yonder, for ours were all grazing in the valley. Then there was one horseback coming behind the three loose horses. They were coming at a trot. It was Running Wolf come back from being dead, and when the people knew, a cry went up around the village, and the chiefs and councilors went forth to welcome him. I think the people liked him and were happy, for he was hardly more than a boy.
“When he drove his horses through the opening of the hoop, and rode around the village, left to right, the song of welcome was so loud that no one heard the song that he was singing; and he was holding up a coup-stick with a scalp upon it. He had made a kill-come-back with horses. There were tears upon his face—and it was thin, but it was shining while he rode and sang.
“In front of Standing Hawk’s tepee he stopped his horses, and they stood, with hanging heads, for they were very tired; and Standing Hawk was waiting there. The song of the people was still, and everybody listened. Then Running Wolf said, ‘My father, I have come back with a clean heart to be your son until I die, and I have brought you horses. They are few, but they are Shoshoni horses, and it is far to that country. I was all alone and could not hold the others.’ Then Standing Hawk raised his arms for his son to come to him, and Running Wolf got down and put his head upon his new father’s shoulder. And all the people cried, ‘Hiyee! Thanks! Hiyee!’
“There was a victory dance for Running Wolf. When he made his kill-talk, he was bashful and the words came broken. And when the people praised him and the drums beat and the women’s tremolo was loud, he stood like one ashamed, looking at the ground. And when the voices and the drums were still, he said, ‘I prayed and prayed and Wakon Tonka heard me.’
“Standing Hawk made a feast for the people and gave away all that he had, because his son who was dead had come back home to him. But when his hands were empty, the people began giving to him and his son, until they had even more than before.
“And after that there was no Running Wolf. They called him Many Horses.”