Part 25

“She could see what others could not see, and what was going to happen, she could tell it. When someone was going to die, she would tell me, and it would be so. If somebody lost some horses, she could sit still with her eyes shut and dream, and in the dream she would go to where the horses were then; and when she opened her eyes, she would tell how she went there, and it would be so.

“She was a good woman, but not strong like other women, maybe because she had died once and come back for a while. No children came to us, and my mother said the women talked about this. I think they did not like her. Maybe they were afraid because of her _yuwipi_ [spiritualistic] power. But sometimes when they wanted to know something hidden, they would come to her with little gifts.

“There were grasses and snows and the land was not strange any more. When Sitting Bull went back and surrendered to the Wasichus, we did not go back, for the stories that came to us from our people on White Clay Creek where their reservation [Pine Ridge] was were not happy stories, and we were used to the new land.

“There were more grasses and snows and more grasses. Then one day when the cherries were turning black Plenty White Cows did not get up in the morning. Her mother and mine came over to help and they made some soup for her, but she did not want to eat it. She did not talk to us, but sometimes she would talk to people we could not see. Afterwhile when she was sleeping hard and there was nothing to do, our mothers went home.

“When the sun was beginning to go down, she called to me, and I leaned close to hear. Her voice was far away. I thought she was dreaming and talking in her sleep. There were tears on her face, and she said, ‘A little girl is crying. Do you not hear her crying far away?’ And I said, ‘No little girl is crying. You are dreaming.’ Then she looked at me with a soft look from far away, and said, ‘It is the little girl you think about when you are alone. I hear her crying far across snows and grasses.’

“She closed her eyes and when she looked at me again, it was a far look that did not see me, and she was talking about a great water reaching to the sunrise, and a long road across it and strange peoples yonder in a strange land. ‘It is a long road,’ she said, ‘but you will come back home. The little girl will grease your feet beside the fire, and she will not cry any more.’

“I thought she had gone to sleep and I sat there awhile listening to her breathing, and wondering. I went outside and while I stood there, the sun went under. Then I heard her call me again, and I went in and leaned close to hear what she would say. ‘Cherries are getting black,’ she said. ‘They are getting black.’ And I said, ‘It is so; they are blackening.’ At first I did not know what she meant. Then she looked at me from far away, and her voice was far away too, and she said, ‘The young moon is low yonder. It is time to go. They are coming to take me home again.’

“Then there was a sudden wide look in her eyes, and I knew it was not for me. All at once I knew it was for her foster-parents, Against the Clouds and his woman. They had come for her in the Moon of Black Cherries, the way they used to do before they died; but I could not see them. I knew this all at once, and there was a big ache in my breast; but I said, ‘Plums are beginning to ripen too. Soon they will be good to eat We will go and pick some,’ I was seeing red plums in a fold of her blanket. She closed her eyes and lay still, but I could hear her breathing deep.

“I was sitting there in the dark wondering and thinking many things with the ache in my breast. Her mother came back, but I did not tell her anything because I must not talk to her. I could see the old woman was leaning down over her daughter, and I think she was listening. Then she cried out and began mourning.

“My mother came and others too. They made a fire in front of our lodge, and there was mourning all night.”

Eagle Voice was silent for a while, looking at the ground. At length he turned a squinting gaze on me and said, “There is a strange road ahead, Grandson, a road that leads far. Let us walk on it tomorrow. I want to sleep now.”

XXVII

_The Dark Hills of Water_

The wind had sharpened, shifting eastward in the night, and now it filled the dull gray morning with the prickling smell of snow. When I arrived, Eagle Voice was up and eager to continue, beginning where he had ceased the day before, as though there had been no interruption.

“_Dho_,” he said when I had placed a cottonwood chunk in the stove, “it is a road that leads across the world.

“After Against the Clouds and his woman came and took her home to the world of spirit the land was strange again. Sometimes I rode all day, but there was nothing. Everywhere the valleys were empty, and if I stopped to listen, they would be listening too. The hills looked, and did not know me. Sometimes I thought I would go back home; but there was no home yonder. Sometimes I thought I would ride down to see the Rosebud and the Greasy Grass again, and maybe I would go over to the Little Piney country where my father’s scaffold stood. Then I would think maybe there would be many Wasichus yonder, too many to kill. Or if there were no Wasichus, the valleys would be empty and I would be a stranger and the hills would stare. The bones of my father would be scattered and the blowing of the wind would be like mourning. So I did not go.

“The snow came and fell deep.

“Dreams came to me when I slept, and when I sat alone beside my fire and the wind whipped the smoke-flap, dreams came to me awake. Sometimes I would be sitting there looking at the fire, and she would be sitting yonder across the fire, maybe sewing quills and beads on a moccasin. Then I would look, and there would be nothing I could see; but when I looked away she would be there again sewing by the fire.

“I hunted much and got fresh meat for my grandparents and other old people. Often people invited me to come and eat with them, and there would be stories, so that I would be back in the good days awhile. But I liked to be alone too. I wondered much about the great water reaching to the sunrise and the strange people in a far land and the little girl crying far away. Maybe the little girl was Tashina when I was a little boy. But I was a man, and how could she grease my feet?

“One night when the winter was old, Plenty White Cows came while I slept, and I saw her clear. She was standing by the plum brush, and she was smiling at me. Plums were red in the thicket and there were some in a fold of her blanket. She smiled at me and said, ‘_Shonka ’kan_, you made me proud.’ Then I saw that it was not Plenty White Cows standing there. It was Tashina. And just as I knew her, horses snorted and broke sharp wind. Then there was only starlight and a voice that said, ‘Hold fast, there is more.’ And I was awake in the dark and the wind was whipping the smoke-flap.”

The old man paused, fumbling in his long tobacco pouch. After a leisurely tamping of the pipe, he lit it, passed it to me and sat gazing at the ground. When it seemed that he had lost me in his meditation, I prompted him, ‘And the long road, Grandfather?’

“Ah,” he said, his gaze slowly focusing upon me; “the long road. I started south before the young grasses appeared, going to see my people, the Oglalas, again. Maybe there would be soldiers, so I rode nights, slept days. No soldiers. I saw the new iron road [Northern Pacific] that the Wasichus had made, and for a while I was afraid to cross it. My horse was afraid too; but we crossed it on the run. I was hiding when the great iron horse went by snorting smoke and pulling many big wagons. I rode down across the flat-lands, past the White Buttes and Bear Butte and Pa Sapa.

“When I came to Smoky Earth [White] River, my mind was forked. Maybe I would go over to the Miniconjous on the South Fork; maybe I would go to the Oglalas on White Earth Creek. I went to the Miniconjous, and I was a stranger. People were talking about the Wanekia [the Messiah] who was coming soon, they said. He was coming from where the sun goes down, and all the Wasichus would disappear like smoke when he came; and there would be a new heaven and a new earth for Lakotas. I did not believe it. I thought they were all _witko_.”

“And Tashina Wanblee, Grandfather,” I urged when he had been silent overlong. “Surely you went there to see her.”

“She was not there,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner, fixing his crinkled look upon me. “Too many snows and grasses. She had a Hunkpapa man. Living up on Grand River with Sitting Bull’s people; five snows ago, they told me.

“I came to the Oglalas here on White Earth Creek, and I was a stranger, at first, for I was not a young man any more, and they did not know me. It was not good. Red Cloud living in a square Wasichu tepee made of wood. _Akichita_ wearing the blue coats of the Wasichu. All the people waiting for Wasichu food, like hungry dogs, and talking about the Wanekia. Some said he was coming right away, like a whirlwind across the prairie. No more Wasichus. The good days coming back and all the buffalo. I did not believe it. I thought they were all _witko_. There was a big ache in my breast and I wanted to go back to Grandmother’s Land; but when I thought I would go, the ache got bigger. Then Pahuska came. You know Pahuska?”

“Everybody knew him, Grandfather,” I said. “We called him Buffalo Bill. He was a great Wasichu chief, great hunter, great warrior. And you went with his big show to Paris.”

“Ah,” the old man agreed. “It is so. Pars, Pars; it is what they called that country. It is so. He wanted Lakota warriors to ride and play war and dance, so that the strange people across the great water could see. He would give us _maza ska_ [white metal, money] to do this. When I heard about the great water and the strange peoples yonder at the sunrise, I knew I must go, for it was what she told me before she went home.

“The Wasichus had made another iron road along the Minitonka [Niobrara]. It was the way Wooden Cup said before my grandfather was born. A strange people would come from the sunrise, too many to be counted. They would kill all the bison and take the land and bind it with iron bands. I was going to see where all the Wasichus came from. We started for the sunrise on this iron road, and went faster than our horses could run. I was afraid, but I held on tight and looked at the land I knew since I was a boy. It was running away, and the hills looked scared. After a while it was dark, and I slept. Then I awoke and there was a big moon outside. The land was still running away. The wagon under me was jumping fast and crying, ‘_yea-hay, yea-hay, yea-hay_,’ like warriors fleeing from too many enemies; and I could hear the iron horse running and snorting and puffing all out of breath. Sometimes he screamed like a war-pony shot in the guts. I held on tight, and the morning came.

“Then I saw the Mini Shoshay [Missouri River], and there was a big Wasichu village [Omaha], bigger than all the Lakotas camped in one hoop. Then there were more iron roads in a land I never saw before, and Wasichu villages--many, many. And the iron horse went on running as fast as before, snorting and puffing all out of breath and screaming.

“I wanted to go back, but I could not. Afterwhile I got used to it, but my heart was not strong in me. When I was a boy we used to say that some time we would kill all the Wasichus; but now I knew there were more of them than grasshoppers. When Red Cloud went to see the Great Father, and we heard the big stories he told about the Wasichus and their villages yonder where the sun rises, we did not believe. We said he turned into a Wasichu when he put on their clothing, and his tongue was forked like theirs. But I could see his words were straight. And when we came to the biggest village of all where the great water begins [New York], I knew his stories were not big enough. Wasichus! Wasichus! They came crowding like a bison herd to look and look at us when we got on the big _peyta watah_ [fire-boat] that was there.

“I cannot tell how big this _watah_ was. They put all the horses and tepees and wagons in its belly; and the fire that made it go was in there too. When it started for the sunrise with us, it bellowed like bison bulls sending forth voices together when they paw the young grass and tear it with their horns. I saw the land begin to move. It did not run away fast. It floated away, and afterwhile it was all gone, and there was the great water to the sky. It was sleeping and breathing, up and down, up and down. I got sick, and I was afraid. Maybe I would die. I remembered what old men said, ‘It is not good to grow old.’ But I wore the quirt down my back, and you see I am alive yet.

“Twelve sleeps--water, water, water! Twelve sleeps! When the winds were asleep and the sun was showing, it was a flat blue prairie with no grass. Maybe it was like the prairie where the star nations live, and the sister in the story I told you fell through it! But no turnips on this prairie! The _peyta watah_ shook itself and breathed hard, and smoke came out of its belly; but it did not move. The sun moved and the stars, and the sunrise was no nearer.

“The Thunder Beings came with lightning and a great wind that howled, and the flat blue prairie changed into dark hills that grew tall and fell, grew tall and fell. I was more afraid than I ever was before. All of us were afraid and the horses too. Sometimes I could hear them scream in the _watah’s_ belly. I was not afraid to die in a battle with enemies I could kill. But there was no enemy to fight. Maybe the quirt could not help me. If I died there in the great water, maybe I could not find the way to the spirit land, and I would be lost always in the dark hills. That is what made me afraid. If I died in the hills of water, maybe I could never find my relatives again. But I had my pipe with me, and I remembered what my father said with the voice of the eagle in my vision, ‘Hold fast to your pipe, for there is more.’ So I held fast to my pipe. Also, Pahuska was like a father to us. He laughed and told us to be brave. He had a strong heart.

“We came to where the hills were smaller and the winds were asleep. Then we saw the sun again and the blue prairie; and the strange land came floating to us out of the sunrise.”

XXVIII

_In the Village Called Pars_

“There was another iron road,” the old man continued after a period of silence, “and we came to the village they called Pars. This village was so big that we could never see how big it was, and the tepees were made of stone. The Wasichus there could not be counted. They piled tepees on top of tepees and climbed up there so that they could have places to live. These places were full of people, all looking out like prairie dogs from their holes. There were big roads and little roads going everywhere in this village, and the people and the horses and wagons were always going everywhere with much noise and many cries. I do not know what they were doing.

“Pahuska wanted the people to see us, so he led us all on a big road made of stone where there were tall trees and green grass; and there the people came crowding like a bison herd to look at us. Pahuska went first, and he was riding a big white horse. He did not look like other Wasichus. His hair was long like a Lakota’s, but it was not braided and it was yellow. Also his clothing was made of buckskin. We followed him on our ponies, riding two together, and we were painted and dressed as for victory and our ponies were painted too. And after us were _iglakas_ with their pony-drags. And after them there were Wasichu horsebacks with lariats on their saddles, riding two together. Then there were Wasichu wagons with tepee tops on them, and other wagons with four horses pulling them and people riding on top and inside. And there were horseback soldiers, and they were riding two and two.

“I think the people liked the Lakotas best of all. When we knew they were not enemies and were glad to see us, we were glad too, and we began singing a riding song all together. It was the way young warriors would do when they were going somewhere and there were no enemies around. When we stopped singing, the herd of people roared and crowded in to us, shouting and reaching up to touch us. A young woman took hold of my arm, but some horsebacks came and pushed the people back. These horsebacks looked like soldiers, but I think they were _akichitas_.

“When we started riding through this green place with the tall trees, I could see where water was coming up out of the ground, many streams of water rising and falling. I do not know what it was. I have heard there is shooting water like that over in Shoshoni country, but I never saw it.

“Afterwhile we came to a great high stone with a big hole in it, and we all rode through this hole. From that place I could see roads that led to the four quarters of the world. The stone was standing where the Sacred Tree should grow and bloom, the way Blue Spotted Horse told me when I was a boy. I wondered much about this. Maybe these Wasichus had the sacred hoop too; and maybe the Wasichus back home across the great water had forgotten about the hoop and so were not good any more. Maybe that was why Grandmother England’s soldiers did not chase us when we fled to Grandmother’s Land. Maybe they had the hoop too. That is what I thought then, but now I do not believe it.

“There was a place where all these people came in a herd to see us twice nearly every day. It was a little round flat valley with a steep hill all around it, and on this hill the people sat to see, and roared when they saw.

“Pahuska would ride into the middle of the round flat valley and make his tall white horse stand on its hind legs. Then he would take his big hat off and wave it at the people on the hill all around him; and the hill would roar. Sometimes he would throw shining balls into the air, and he would shoot at them, and always they would break. The people liked him, but I think they liked us more. We did many things the way we used to do at home. Sometimes we would dance and sing. Sometimes we would attack Wasichu wagons, going up Shell River [Platte], maybe, or maybe up the road to Pa Sapa. Or we would chase the other kind of wagon with people sitting on top and inside and four running horses pulling it [stage coach]. There would be shouting and war-cries and a great dust of hoofs, and many guns going off; but there were no bullets in the guns. Some of us would get killed and roll in the dust, and our brothers would ride by and lean to pick us up and take us out of the fight. We did many things, and always a roaring wind blew across the hill of people when they saw. It was fun; and sometimes when we were alone together and the dead ones were alive again, we would laugh about it.

“We stayed there while moons came and went, and always the hill of people was there to see us and roar.

“_Washtay!_ It was good! Pahuska had a strong heart and he was like a father. He gave us plenty of fat _papa_, all we could eat; and there was plenty of _paezhuta sapa_ [black medicine, coffee] with plenty of _chun humpi_ [tree juice, sugar] to put in it.”

The old man ceased and fell to brooding. “_Dho!_” he said at long last, slowly fixing his crinkled look upon me. “It was the same young Wasichu woman. When Pahuska led us through the place of grass and trees to show us to the people, it was the same young woman who came crowding with the other Wasichus and took hold of my arm. She looked up at me then and I saw her face, but the horseback _akichitas_ came and pushed the people back. I wondered about this, and sometimes I would think about her face and the way she looked up at me. Then I wanted to see her again. I am wearing the white war bonnet now, and it is thin. My teeth are uprooted and I am bent so that I am not even as tall as you, my grandson. But then I was straight and tall and strong, and maybe I was good-looking. Also I was a good dancer.

“It was the time when leaves would be falling in my country; and when I thought about this I would feel sad, because it was far across the dark hills of water. It was in the night when she came back. Some of us Lakotas were standing outside, for it was not our time to play war in there. Sometimes we heard the hill of people roar. There was a light that flickered in a cage where we were, and Wasichus came close to look at us. They would look and look, and we were making jokes about them, but they did not know it because we made our faces stone. Sometimes we would growl and the people near us would push back, and we would look angry, but we were laughing inside. They were funny, the way they looked and looked and peeked around each other to see us.

“She came out of the shadow. One of her hands was on my naked arm and one upon my naked breast--thin white hands--and she was looking up at me.”

The old man ceased again and gazed awhile upon the ground with half-closed eyes. “Leaves were falling at home,” he said in a low voice, still looking at the ground. Then, raising his eyes and fixing upon me a squinting gaze that had a question in it, he continued. “She had much hair. Sometimes I think about it yet, and I see a bright cloud when the sky is white in the morning and the sun is just beginning to come. Her look was soft and kind. There was a power that went through me from her hands. Sometimes when I think about this, I remember when I was a boy and Blue Spotted Horse gave me the sacred pipe to touch, and the power went through me.”

Again the old man paused, and the focus of his gaze fell beyond me. “If it was good or bad,” he continued, “I do not know. It is far away and I am old; but sometimes when I think about it, I am a boy in the night and the moon makes him want to sing, but something is afraid in the shadows. She pulled me with her look and with her white hands. I went into the dark with her. There was laughing and there were voices back there, but they were far away, far as across the hills of water.

“Out in the dark was a little wagon with two wheels, and one horse pulled it. These were always going up and down the many roads in that village, and a man sat high on top to make the horse go. We got in there and the whip popped and we went fast. Her mouth was on my face; her hair was on my eyes; her hands were about my neck. I did not know what she was saying again and again, but it was like singing; and I could smell young grass when rain has fallen and the sun comes out.

“There was a place where two dark roads crossed, but some little fires burned in cages on poles and made shadows. That is where we got out of the wagon, and the man on top laughed and popped his whip and went away. We climbed twice to where she lived and we were alone in that high place.”

The old man ceased and began fumbling in his long tobacco sack. When he had prepared the pipe with more than necessary attention to detail, he lit it and blew a cloud.

“Three suns, three sleeps my heart sang there,” he continued, handing me the pipe. “My heart sang and I thought she would go back with me and be my woman always. We would go to Grandmother’s Land where I could kill plenty of good meat for her, and she would learn to tan buckskin very soft, and make clothing and moccasins beautiful with beads and porcupine quills. Also, there would be children and grandchildren. This is what I thought when my heart was singing, but I could not tell her, for my tongue was strange to her and hers was strange to me.

“It was in the fourth sleep that she came back to me, all the way across the dark hills of water.”

“Who came?” I asked.