Buckskin Brigades

Chapter 3-2

“You are full of words,” said Yellow Hair. “You care nothing for the truth. If I am a Kitchi-Mokan—”

“You cannot deny that!”

“I can deny it!”

“Hyai, but you are brave when it comes to shouting down a weak woman! Go into that Council and shout them down if you have the courage. You are crawling with fear. You were afraid to come to me and ask for your pardon. You cannot have it now. You think you can coax me to become your sits-beside-him woman! I would rather marry a mountain goat and spend my life on the crags eating grass.”

“No man in this town would dare say those things.”

“I am not a man and I thank the Above Ones for it. If you do not like what I say, strike me. You are not afraid to do that.”

“You cannot bait me!” cried Yellow Hair, his voice rising with fury, shaking until his fringe quivered. “I do not have to stand here and stomach your lies!”

“No! But you would rather stand here than go inside and face the Council. Shout at them. Ah, but you shake with terror at the thought of it.”

He stabbed out and hurled her away from the lodge flap. He ducked and went in. His mouth was compressed with rage as he skirted the inner-lining and sank into the seat left for him.

Ordinarily, one so young and so lacking in trophies of prowess would not have been admitted to the lordly and select group. But as he had been with the war party and as he would be called upon, he was needed.

The pipe was on his right, coming toward him. Bear Claws beside him took the redstone bowl and puffed ceremonially upon it. Across the circle sat White Fox, a fleecy buffalo cap upon his handsome head. The black horns which jutted out made him look satanic. He was watching the pipe, afraid that Bear Claws would not pass it to Yellow Hair.

But Bear Claws, after only an instant’s hesitation, followed through. White Fox relaxed as Yellow Hair took his drag at the long stem. They still accepted Yellow Hair as a Pikuni. And though there had been no real danger that they would not, the situation and the state of their nerves were extreme.

Presently Low Horns arose and told his story exactly as he had told it on the scene. When he had finished and had said so, White Fox stood up and added his own whereabouts to it. When he had told them he had finished, Lost-in-Mountains rose and gave them a few things the Kitchi-Mokan leader had told the party on the night before the murder.

“He was full of words,” said Lost-in-Mountains, making a fork out of his two fingers and stabbing away from his mouth. “He told us that our land belonged to someone he called a Great White Father, who had bought it from another Great White Father of whom we had never heard either.

“It was very puzzling. We had not been to war. No Kitchi-Mokans had come to attack us and drive us away. And yet he said this Great White Father owned our land.

“He said, this Fork-Tongue, evidently thinking we were little children—an attitude no grown man ever liked—that we should come down to the long river and trade with his posts down there. He said we were to bring our beaver pelts toward the rising Sun, not into the north as we have been doing because, he said, that north people were not Kitchi-Mokans and that north country belonged to another Great White Father.

“We were amazed that these Great White Fathers should be so numerous and it was very confusing. But this is probably because a man who lies with little skill forgets his stories almost before they are told.

“Low Horns and I have been talking about this and we have asked White Fox who has been to many far lands and we at last remembered some of the things the white and honored Many-Guns told us long ago.

“There are at least two of these Great White Fathers and they send out their white and very lawless sons to tell monstrous lies to the rightful owners of this country. There is possibly another one who spoke a very queer language and who deserted some of his people in our country to the north after a fight with the Great White Father of the people who now trade with us on the big river in the north.

“Of course, this Fork-Tongue told some small things which were true. We all know, by report from other nations near us, that he went all the way to the Lake-in-which-the-Sun-Sets, evidently spying out the numbers of warriors of each nation preparatory to a general attack by the sons of his own particular Great White Father. Men, as we know, who cry the loudest for peace are those who are only trying to cover up their own wishes for war.

“This, then, have I to offer to this Grand Council. I do so with all respect.

“The Kitchi-Mokan Great White Father already covets our country. The Great White Father of the people in the north only covets our trade—as they have done for twenty double hands of winters according to legend.

“We can safely pursue our trade for the weapons and metal we need with the Great White Father in the north. We must resist the treacherous advance of the Great White Father in the east, as he clearly cares for nothing but our lands and has already shown us the blackness of his mouth through his scout.

“I therefore recommend to this Grand Council that we resist all Kitchi-Mokans coming from the south and east and continue our trade in the north for guns and ammunition with which to do the resisting. This is our only course if we wish to save our country.

“I have spoken.”

Lost-in-Mountains sat down. Bear Claws rose and asked some questions and then sat down. White Fox was asked to rise and tell what the late Many-Guns had said about the Great White Father in the east.

“Under the law of the Kitchi-Mokans,” said White Fox, “Many-Guns had done much wrong. Many-Guns had been high in the government of the Kitchi-Mokans, but because another man thought he knew more about government than Many-Guns, our white and honored friend was challenged to a contest with pistols.

“Although everything was legally correct under white law, with witnesses and such, when Many-Guns shot and killed his enemy, he found himself in grave trouble at the hands of the friends of this enemy. Through trickery—evidently afraid to step into the open with their fight although they outnumbered our friend—they took from him his lodge, his horses and a thing they call ‘money.’

“Many-Guns suffered, then, the death of his sits-beside-him woman and, in search of peace and forgetfulness, he journeyed far with his very small white son until he was taken in and cared for by our people.

“You know the exploits of Many-Guns. You know his honesty and his bravery. You know that his standards and codes were almost as high as our own. I give you this as a sample of the justice in the country of the whites.

“I have finished.”

Bear Claws rose and asked a few questions and then said, “If this is the way these Kitchi-Mokans govern their country, we want nothing of it. I vote to accept the reasoning of Lost-in-Mountains and his outlined policy.”

The votes were cast and the judgment was accepted as a law of policy to be strictly followed for the benefit of the tribe.

Bear Claws then brought forth another point.

“Members of the Council, it is now in order to call for a trial.”

Yellow Hair glanced up. White Fox held his breath.

“Low Horns has told us that this Fork-Tongue has some queer, meaningless name which makes no sense. It is therefore difficult to remember. But we know how this man looks.”

White Fox relaxed.

“This man,” said Bear Claws, “is not quite so tall as we are, nor so well built. He has a long neck. His hair is fuzzy and short, coming down in front of his ears in a peculiar fashion and hanging over his collar behind, but only a very little way. He has a big nose which, though narrow, is long and oddly straight. He has flat cheeks and a little, thin mouth. His brows are black while his hair is light and his eyes are set close together. He is very nervous and fidgety and he talks disconnectedly. His ears are floppy.

“This man’s description should be kept with us. This must be because he has violated our code of war by talking peace and then killing with trickery, which is not war, but murder.

“As a murderer he should be treated like any other murderer and I vote that he be executed on sight when met again by any or all of the Pikunis under any conditions whatever, therefore passing upon him the sentence which would be passed upon us by any of us for a similar deed.”

The vote was taken.

In accordance with the judiciary’s ruling, all warriors everywhere would be so informed.

So far Yellow Hair had not said a word. He had barely listened, so deep was he in thought about the rift between Bright Star and himself.

But he caught this last and he jerked at Bear Claws’ sleeve for permission. Receiving it, he bounced to his feet as though shot from a bow.

“Members of the Council. You have passed the death sentence upon this Kitchi-Mokan, which is fitting and well deserved. I revere your learned judgment and your authority.

“But to state a policy of action and then pass a sentence upon a man who is not even in our possession is not enough. If these Kitchi-Mokans intend to snatch our lands away from us and drive us into the barren and foodless mountains, something besides talk is in order.

“I know that I overreach myself by talking this way. But has it occurred to any member of this Council that not one of us can understand a word of the Kitchi-Mokan tongue? Will it not be necessary to understand the queer customs of this undisciplined tribe in order to meet success in repelling them?

“This Fork-Tongue, according to word received from the Beside-the-Big-River people, this Fork-Tongue has effected juncture with his larger war party and the whole has withdrawn far to the east. I understand from White Fox that there are many, many Kitchi-Mokan warriors. Perhaps hundreds. Their country is hard to reach.

“But instead of letting them come to us, why is it not possible for one or two of us to go to them? Let us tell this Great White Father of all Great White Fathers that we do not intend to sit like little children and old women and let him snatch up this country. And while on that same mission, we could demand and receive custody of this Fork-Tongue for his crime. Low as Kitchi-Mokans might be, they certainly could not refuse the common courtesy shown by even the strongest tribes.

“I suggest that I leave immediately for this country. Through a queer trick of Old Man I have a white face and light hair. I can get through to this Great White Father and tell him that if he does not behave, the Pikunis will assemble their three strong arms and wipe him from the Earth.

“I have finished.”

He sat down abruptly.

The pipe passed in a complete circle while the group deliberated.

Then White Fox, with his face narrow and slightly annoyed, stood up.

“Members of the Council. You will forgive Yellow Hair. We all know that he cannot wait for man or buffalo and that his dreams are bigger than his head. For all that, he is brave and handsome and strong. A young woman of our acquaintance rowed with him just now outside this Council lodge and she is probably listening this very minute. Let her know that we honor her young man too much to allow him to commit suicide by approaching the treacherous whites. We forbade him to follow this Kitchi-Mokan killer and robbed him of his fancied glory in that quarter, but neither can we allow him to hurl his strong young body into the claws of the white wolves.

“I have spoken.”

But it was not as easily passed over as that. Low Horns and Bear Claws favored the move. So did Singing Bear and Hundred-Horses and Lost-in-Mountains and Double-Coup. So did the leader of the White-Breasts Clan. So did the head of the Lone-Fighters.

They discussed it singly at great length and then they reached a verdict.

Bear Claws rose.

“Members of the Grand Council. A youth of great promise has offered his services. They were refused before and we cannot refuse them now lest we bring dishonor to his name and to the name of Many-Guns, his father, much revered.

“I vote that we pursue a course of quiet preparation and constant alertness. I vote that we prepare ourselves in every way to meet these people who now say they own this nation on the plains.

“And to further these ends, I vote that this youth, Yellow Hair, be allowed to follow his own suggestion and only obey our methods of following it.

“I vote, as we have agreed, that Yellow Hair approach the fort on the river in the north. There he will pretend willingness to help the whites who are slaves of the Great White Father in the north. As both these Great White Fathers, I am told, speak the same tongue, it will be necessary for Yellow Hair to learn it and to school himself in the customs of the Kitchi-Mokans. By pretending friendship for these slaves of the north, Yellow Hair can help us trade for guns and he can help us later when it comes to a fight with the Kitchi-Mokans.

“I have spoken.”

The vote was taken and it was so agreed and it was in this manner that Yellow Hair was thrown, as White Fox said, to the white wolves.

But any warrior there would have dared more and so it was not asking too much of the youth.

Yellow Hair gave the despairing White Fox a jubilant grin and stalked out of the tent.

Bright Star was waiting in the shadow of a lodge. She did not speak. She stood with wide, dark eyes, very afraid for him.

Yellow Hair passed her grandly with a smile.