Makoons

  When the grass could no longer hide them, they slowly rose and stepped behind the red calf. He was just big enough to shield the two of them as they moved along behind the women, who were intently working on the hides, scraping off the flesh with sharpened tools. As they tiptoed along beside the buffalo, they saw the object of their stealth—the food. Near the pounding stone and bowl, at the fire, which was banked up and barely smoking, there was a small pack, the sort of pack a warrior might need on the trail. It was half filled with nice brown pemmican, a feast for two boys. They edged close without alerting suspicion, and when they were near enough Makoons reached out and grabbed the pack.

  But how to leave enemy territory?

  The little buffalo would not back up, so they had to turn him carefully and put themselves on the other side of the calf. This they did, most skillfully, tiptoeing, slinking, and at all times keeping watch on the backs of the women as they bent to their task. What they didn’t know was that the little arbor that overlooked the garden also overlooked their secret warrior raid. The entire time, Nokomis and Deydey had amused themselves by watching in silence, but now that the boys were about to make a clean getaway they couldn’t help themselves.

  Deydey suddenly gave a shrill war whoop!

  Nokomis trilled a triumphant warning!

  The calf bolted. Makoons had his hand in the rope and was carried with him. Chickadee was holding the pack, caught red-handed. There was no buffalo calf to shield him from sight. He darted off. As all three fled, Deydey and Nokomis fell back into their little arbor laughing so hard their bellies ached. When Yellow Kettle and Omakayas came over to find out what was so funny, Nokomis told them about the buffalo warriors, painted for battle. Deydey acted out the part, holding his aching sides. It would be long past dusk before the buffalo warriors dared sneak back to camp. Something worse than enemy captures awaited them, and they knew it: they would be teased without mercy.

  Uncle Quill was sitting on a stump by the fire, smoking his little pipe.

  “I sense their approach,” he said to Animikiins. “The buffalo warriors.”

  Only the return of hunger forced the boys to try to sneak back home. Having come so late, they’d hoped to slip into the cabin and curl up in their blankets. They froze just out of the firelight circle. Their father spoke.

  “My brother, it is best that we not turn around. The buffalo warriors are fearsome. We might embarrass ourselves by shrieking.”

  “Yet,” said Quill, “we, too, are warriors. To not confront our terrifying enemies will shame us.”

  “Gidebwe,” said Animikiins.

  With one movement they turned and jumped out at the boys, giving two screeching war cries. Their faces were painted into gruesome war masks! The boys’ hearts leapt with horror and they scrambled into the cabin, dived under their blankets, and were silent. The calf wandered loose and Uncle Quill caught it.

  “You do look awful,” he said to Animikiins.

  “I’m scared of you, too,” replied the boys’ father, as they rubbed the soot and ash from their faces.

  “Remember how we used to do those funny, childish things?”

  “Sneaking into camp, pretending women were our fearsome enemies, yes.”

  “Now we just paint ourselves up and scare our sons.”

  The men turned back to the fire, and sat for a while, staring into the glowing coals. A treaty with the Sioux—the Dakota, Lakota, Nakota people—had kept the peace lately. But both men remembered the years when they’d kept constant lookouts. Animikiins remembered his fear, trying to hide it when he was captured once. He’d been released and even adopted by the Dakota. Things were better, things had changed. Their enemies were different now.

  Deydey and Yellow Kettle heard the yells of Animikiins and Quill. Nokomis too. As the old do when they have fewer years left, she forsook sleep for life. She rose out of her blankets and came out to sit with her family, who were pondering this matter. It was an interesting and vital question—who the enemies were.

  “Our enemies are bad people of any sort, as ever,” said Yellow Kettle. “There are good or bad Sioux, good or bad white people, good or bad Michif people. Good or bad is what makes the enemy.”

  “But the biggest threat is the people who gobble the land. They are coming. They are white people,” said Deydey.

  “It is the treaty makers,” said Quill, “those who do not keep their promises. I hear Little Shell speaking of the Great White Father—our president. He doesn’t trust that one. We have seen what happened in Mne Sota. We have seen what happened to the Dakota.”

  The four were silent. Some of the Dakota, driven to despair by starving, and by watching their children starve, had attacked settlers. The U.S. Army retaliated. The spirit of cruel chaos had been loosed and in the end the women, the children, the men all suffered. The Dakota were forced from their homeland, imprisoned, executed, force-marched into forbidding lands with no way to live and very little to live for. The land and future would now belong to the settlers. For the Dakota, even those most innocent, there would be a future of exile, hunger, and longing for their beautiful land.

  The family stared into the fire. Two Strike came over and sat down and Quill added more wood.

  “We have a good life here, a good hunt; our enemies have not touched us. But we know.”

  “Yes,” said Animikiins slowly, “we know it is only time until the white people want this land, too.”

  “They sweep us before them,” said Nokomis, “like a gobbling wind.”

  “We hasten our own destruction sometimes,” said Deydey. “The traders offer their ‘milk,’ which is that crazy stuff. Alcohol. Ishkodewaaboo. The liquid that burns.”

  “I have seen men kill the ones they love,” said Quill, shaking his head. “There are some who cannot resist it. I, too, have drunk it. But now I stay clear. Too many bad things happen.”

  “That is our enemy too, that trader’s ‘milk,’” said Deydey.

  “Remember LaPautre? The drunken skwebii who stole everything from us back in Minnesota? The pitiless man! How he made us suffer.”

  “If I ever run across LaPautre . . .”

  “If I ever see LaPautre . . .”

  “If LaPautre ever dares show his face . . .”

  “You know, the way he was, somebody else probably killed him by now,” said Nokomis.

  “You are surely right,” growled Two Strike. “I only wish it had been me.”

  NINE

  TRADING FOR OTTERS

  The buffalo calf butted at the sticks that kept him away from juicy-looking plants—how unfair! He was always hungry. He wandered out to his mother and nudged her for milk, but he was able to digest grass now and she gave him a kick. It hurt. But after all, he was a buffalo and buffalo are tough. He playfully charged his mother, but she calmly sidestepped him and he ran headfirst into a tree. The buffalo calf turned in circles, confused. Then he saw his brothers, the two beings that had appeared before him after the big noise and dust. He knew that if he followed them around long enough, some morsel of strange-tasting but delicious food would come his way. So he happily trotted after them through the camp as they made their way to the trading post.

  Pembina was rutted heavily by the passage of oxcarts, and smelled of ox dung, outhouses, and a penned pig or two, as well as cooking fires, roasting meat, and burning garbage. The smells drifted around the boys and Makoons wrinkled his nose.

  “Brother, this makes me miss the woods.”

  “We used to move our camp when it got too stinky!”

  “You went to the big city, St. Paul, with our uncle. I bet that smelled worse.”

  “Gidebwe,” said Chickadee. “But oh, that candy was good!”

  The boys carried rabbit furs, slung in their belts. They hoped to trade for some sweet stuff—they hoped the trader had some peppermint sticks.

  When they reached the store, a large log cabin with tiny windows that could be easily bolted shut, there were a few people from the hunt sitt
ing around on stumps, smoking pipes or talking. One of the men lurched around in a strange way, grabbing at the others, laughing in a high-pitched voice. The boys moved away from him, but they forgot about their earnest little friend, the buffalo calf. He hung right at their heels. As soon as the lurching man saw them, he threw his hands up in the air.

  “Awee!” he cried. “There’s my little calf! I’ll roast him up just fine!”

  “Gaawiin!” The boys cried out in alarm. The man’s odd gait became a stumble and he swiped at them and tried to seize their calf with his big paws like a drunken bear. A drunken bear! That’s what he was, drunk. Both of the boys realized this at once and ran around the back of the trader’s cabin. Their calf followed so fast the man couldn’t catch them.

  “Wah,” he cried. “Lost ’em. Where’d they go? Zhooniyaa? Zhooniyaa?”

  He was asking all of the others for money, no doubt to buy some more of what their grandfather called “the enemy,” traders’ “milk.” Makoons panted hard. He still had trouble with weakness when he got excited.

  “Here, my brother, take the pelts,” he told Chickadee. “Sneak past that shkwebi man and buy our candies.”

  Chickadee took the pelts, slipping around the other side of the building. He watched his chance, then swung in the doorway when the shkwebi man had his back turned. It was dark inside, but his eyes adjusted quickly. The piles of cloth, the bins of cracker-bread, the bags of flour, and the traps and guns fixed to the wall made his head spin.

  He walked up to the counter, where the trader’s assistant was helping a woman choose some cloth. She was a young Michif woman with a merry face and warm brown eyes. Her black braids were tucked up around her head with flashing-white bone combs. She was taking her time making a decision about the next dress she would sew. There were five bolts of calico spread out before her and she kept touching one, then the other, and tapping her mouth with her pretty finger. Luckily, she noticed Chickadee.

  “Oh what a nice boy, waiting his turn,” she said. “Please take care of him while I decide.”

  The assistant turned to Chickadee, who held out the rabbit furs. He had learned how to trade from his uncle the time they went to St. Paul. The assistant, who had flaming red hair and golden eyelashes, was so interesting to Chickadee that he could hardly stop looking at him. He was particularly amazed by the fluffy red curls of his beard, which was the same color as the buffalo calf’s hair. Chickadee ducked his head. It was rude to stare. After the young man wrote one set of numbers on a sheet of paper, Chickadee took the paper and studied it. His uncle had taught him the numbers in English—how to say them and how to write them. He wrote down a much higher number on the paper and handed it back to the assistant.

  The assistant laughed and said to the Michif lady, “Here is a shrewd one!” He wrote another number down on the paper, between the two numbers.

  Chickadee took the paper and frowned at it. He shook his head and wrote a number down between the second and third numbers. The assistant grasped the paper and studied it. He wrote down one more number. Chickadee took the paper and wrote down a different number. The numbers were very close now. The assistant looked over at the young woman and winked.

  “All right,” he said. “You got the best of me.”

  Chickadee didn’t understand the English, but the Michif lady did and she translated it for him. He burst into a proud smile, and the assistant paid him in chits that could be exchanged for goods in the store. Chickadee looked into the case—oh the wonderful objects! Knives, sashes, metal clips and harness bits, combs, pins, and jars filled with colored sweets. He handed a chit with a small number to the assistant and pointed at the red and white sticks. The assistant handed him four sticks. A small silver pin caught his eye—the shape of an otter. It would look so beautiful on his mother’s dress—would Makoons approve? Shyly, he gestured at the pin.

  “Oh my,” said the young woman, “do you have a sweetheart?”

  “My horse is my sweetheart,” he said in an embarrassed voice. “The pin is for my mother.”

  The Michif lady’s hand flew to her breast. “Ah,” she cried out. “What a bon fee!” (good son).

  The assistant looked at the pretty young woman, and slowly drew out not one, but two silver otter pins. They were for either side of a collar or the straps of a dress. He pushed them across the counter to Chickadee, who thanked him while the Michif lady clapped her hands and praised the redheaded, now blushing and happy, assistant. Chickadee put everything inside his carrying pouch. On his way out, he checked on the shkwebi man, who was now stretched out in the shadow of the cabin snoring. Chickadee hopped out the door and rounded the corner to find his brother. Excitedly, they looked at the things their rabbit pelts had bought. Each took a stick of peppermint and began to lick it as they slowly walked back home. Halfway there, Makoons turned around and broke off a bit of candy, giving it to their buffalo calf. The calf’s big eyes went liquid with joy. He followed them even closer, pressing his head between them, their best friend in the world.

  The two put their candy carefully away as they came back to the cabin—they would savor it as long as they could. Chickadee took out the otter pins. His mother was stirring a buffalo stew over the cooking fire. She was alone. Her sons came up to her and Makoons pulled her skirt.

  “What do my sons want?” she asked.

  “Turn around, nimaamaa,” said Makoons.

  She turned around, smiling, and saw that each of her sons held out a shiny pin.

  “Onizhishinoon,” she said softly.

  “They’re for you,” said Chickadee.

  “For me?” She dropped her spoon in the pot. After a moment, tears came into her eyes.

  “They are very beautiful,” she whispered. “I will keep them all my life.”

  And she did.

  TEN

  DIAMOND WILLOW

  That evening, when the family had gathered, the twins gave Zozie and Opichi each a peppermint stick. Happily, the four youngest sat around the fire, each licking the end of the candy stick into a point, then biting off the point with a nibble, then licking carefully again. Animikiins admired the beautiful otter pins that decorated the straps of Omakayas’s dress. He pretended to be jealous and said sternly, “Someone else admires you! Point him out, and I’ll chase him down!”

  “No, ninaabem, these gifts are from your sons here,” said Omakayas.

  The boys shifted bashfully, scraping their feet, and the rest of the family laughed.

  “We bought them with our rabbit skins,” said Chickadee.

  “Rabbit skins?” said Quill. “You must have had a hundred to buy these!”

  “No,” said Makoons, “we just had twenty.”

  “Twenty!”

  “The Michif lady said that Chickadee drove a hard bargain,” said Makoons, proud of his brother.

  “The Michif lady?” Zozie laughed. “Did she have a cute face? Did the assistant have red hair?”

  “Oh yes!” said Chickadee.

  “My brother, you did drive a clever bargain! Your timing was perfect. That assistant is in love with Mariette, the woman you saw. He was trying to impress her, I bet.”

  “She’ll throw him away once everybody gets a good deal out of him,” said Yellow Kettle. “She’s unscrupulous! Those good-looking ones are very hard!”

  “Not all good-looking ones,” said Quill. “Zozie is very kind. She caught the eye of Gichi Noodin. She saw the fire in his gaze. She hasn’t yet doused the flame!”

  Omakayas and Two Strike looked at their daughter in alarm.

  “Don’t worry.” Zozie laughed. “His gorgeous clothes and hair don’t impress me. I want a man who rides his horse frontways. But I’ll tell you Mariette isn’t like that, grandma. She might be in love with that red hair man too, you never know!”

  “Doubtful, where that piece of work’s involved,” snorted Yellow Kettle. “But at least those boys got something very nice for their mother. Next time you boys go in, get me a nice hair comb,
will you?”

  “You need one,” said Fishtail, shaking his head.

  “Are you saying my hair is messy?”

  “Would I ever call the one like my mother a messy head?”

  “Of course you would, no-good son! You’re saying it now!” Then suddenly, she began to laugh, stroking at her hair. “Perhaps my husband will beat you to the gift I deserve.”

  Deydey stood and puffed his chest out like Gichi Noodin. “This old man is still good for something,” he said. “When I take in my rabbit furs, I will be sure to go with Chickadee. The hard bargainer.”

  “No, my father! I will get a fancy hair comb for my mother first!” Fishtail and Deydey squinted and pretended to size each other up with their fists raised. Soon they dropped their hands, laughing.

  “He’s too tough for me,” said Fishtail. “We will get the best comb for Yellow Kettle when the buffalo hides are done, plus other things. We’ll have plenty of pails and kettles, maybe a gun, calico, wool trade-cloth, blankets, and ribbons for us all. Even Deydey can tie up his hair in a bow!”

  Deydey laughed at that, flipping his hair from side to side like Gichi Noodin.

  “Does that please you?” he said in a low voice to Yellow Kettle. The rest of the family expected her to bat him away, but instead she made them laugh even harder by saying yes!

  Just after sunrise the next morning, when the world was very still, the buffalo calf rose sleepily and tottered in a circle. The vague memory of the peppermint stick still haunted him, and he was hungry. He remembered that a perfect breakfast could be had in that place surrounded by sticks, which contained the most luscious leaves and goodies for miles around. The cabin and the tents around it were quiet, so he tiptoed, if a calf can tiptoe, up to the edge of Nokomis’s garden. He had no idea that the promise in those plants contained the family’s winter stores. He couldn’t know how much hope and love went into the making of this garden by an old woman who had longed to plant seeds for many years. All he knew was he had four empty rooms in his stomach, each chamber pinching to be filled. When he got to the fence he tried to reach over, but his neck wasn’t that long. He put his head down and butted the fence. The wood didn’t give. He stepped back, took a little run, and butted again. This time the wood creaked. Next time he’d get through! Again he stepped back and took a run at the fence, but something came down on his head, something hard! The calf stood still, dizzy. A great force surrounded his breakfast! He didn’t know what it was. He only knew what he felt. He staggered off to munch tough grass.