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
meh 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.”
XXII
_Why the Island Hill Was Sacred_
“I did not know it then, for I was young,” the old man began after
a prolonged meditative silence. “All that time the sacred hoop was
breaking, but I did not know. Red Cloud’s people were calling us the
wild Lakota, because we would not eat Wasichu food and went on living
in the sacred manner. The hoop was smaller, but our country looked the
same. Only what we heard was different, but the words had traveled far;
and when we looked around us, the prairie and the hills were there and
the round sky above them. The morning star did not forget to come. The
sun measured the days and the moon the seasons. The creeks and rivers
ran, the wind blew, the snow came, the rain brought forth the young
grass for the bison and the elk and the deer. And Wakon Tonka heard on
any hill.
“But we were living on a big island, and the Wasichus were like great
waters washing all around it, nibbling off the edges, and it was
getting smaller, smaller, smaller. It is very small now. The people
have lost the sacred hoop, the good red road, the flowering tree. We
young men heard the others talk about Wasichus killing bison along
Shell River where the iron road had cut the herd in two; and beyond
that, farther towards where you are always facing [south], the land
stank with bison rotting. I heard them say Wasichus killed the bison
for their tongues, so many that no man could ever count them. Our
old men remembered Wooden Cup and what he saw and said before our
grandfathers were born. But I was young. Sometime we would get together
and kill all the Wasichus. We were young and we would do great deeds
and make a story for our grandchildren, and for theirs, and theirs.
“I think I was maybe seventeen winters old when I heard about horseback
soldiers with their wagons in Pa Sapa [the Black Hills], and Long Hair
[Custer] was their chief. That was the first time I heard his name.
Maybe I helped to kill him two grasses after that, for I was fighting
on the hill where he died; but I never saw him. I think if our people
had been living in one hoop, he and all his soldiers would have died in
Pa Sapa that time. Maybe that would have been better. I do not know.
“It was our land and it was _wakon_; for it was promised to us in a
vision so long ago that the fire and the bow were new to our fathers
then, and the sacred pipe had not yet been given to us.
“I will tell you what I heard the old men tell about Pa Sapa, and they
heard it from old men, and they from others; and no one knows how
long ago it was. The people were living then in a land that is many,
many sleeps yonder [pointing southeast]. Towards where you are always
facing [south], there was a great water [Gulf of Mexico]. Towards where
the sun comes up, there was a great water [the Atlantic]. The people
had become many, and I think they were not a nation yet. All were
relatives, but sons did not know their fathers, nor fathers their sons,
nor brothers their sisters. These people ate small animals and birds
that they could kill with rocks or maybe slingshots, and also roots and
berries that they could find. Their knives were only sharp pieces of
rock or shells; and all they ate was raw, because they had no fire.
“But there was a man among the people, and his name, they say, was
Moves Walking, the same as with our friend who ate with us. I think
he must have been the first _wichasha wakon_, for one day he had a
vision of the sun, and what the vision taught him, he showed to all the
people. He could bring fire down from the sun, and this he did with the
soap-weed as he had seen it in the vision. The root of this plant was
like hair, and when it was rotten and dry it was very soft. So he put
some of this on some hard dry wood. Then he took a dry stem of this
weed and made it square. The end he made pointed and round, and this he
pressed down through the soft stuff against the wood. When he had made
it whirl between his hands awhile, the sun gave him fire, as he had
seen it in his vision. This was a wonderful thing, and after that the
people could begin to be a nation.