Ride the Wind

  As soon as the dark swallowed them and their voices, Cub slipped inside the lodge. He squatted by the door as inconspicuously as possible. He knew better than to ask his father for information. Arrow Point firmly believed that a child's rearing should be left to grandfathers and uncles and great-uncles, as the case may be. Cub knew his father would go to bed assuming his foster son was asleep under the pile of robes. If Arrow Point knew that Cub often rolled out under the skirt of the lodge wall to go roaming with his friends at night, he never said anything about it.

  When Cub wanted information he went to the man he called Grandfather. Old Owl let him do anything he wanted. Including listen in on conversations. Old Owl was talking now with his friend, the war leader Santa Ana, and some of the older men.

  "Winter is no time for raiding," grumbled Santa Ana.

  "Tell the white men so." Sanaco was offended that the whites would so inconsiderately ignore the winter truce that the tribes had always observed.

  "They know nothing of war," rasped Many Battles. "They must be very stupid to leave their horses unguarded and raid on foot."

  "It was a profitable attack. We captured seventy horses from them, one for each man in the band," said Sanaco. "We beat them soundly and sent them crying back to their lodges."

  "And we lost a warrior and five women and two children. The horses were not worth it." Old Owl spoke softly. Then there was a silence.

  "Can you talk Arrow Point out of leading a raid, Old Owl? We need the men to hunt." Age had tempered Santa Ana. He now weighed more carefully the consequences of raids. He was still among the first to go raiding, but only when the time was right.

  "You know how young men are. I don't think I can change his mind. Arrow Point has a right to organize a war party. And there are many who will want to join it."

  "They didn't even steal our horses." Sanaco still couldn't believe the Texans' stupidity. "And they milled around in the middle of the village like buffalo in a magic circle surround. We should have killed more of them."

  "But we didn't. Even with them on foot, we couldn't kill more of them."

  "Their guns are better than ours." Many Battles was indignant that Old Owl would hint that the warriors hadn't fought correctly. Santa Ana smiled inwardly. He had seen Old Owl work a conversation this way many times, leading people to his own conclusions.

  "Yes. Their guns are better than ours," said Old Owl. "And they attacked in the winter, deep into our country. Where no white raiding party has ever come before." In the war council the talk had been about the necessity of avenging the deaths, and teaching the white man a lesson. Arrow Point and the younger men were confident to the point of arrogance. They were sure that the white men were ignorant, feeble enemies. Old Owl knew better. He went on. "Their guns are getting longer, and so is their trail. There are wooden lodges now where there were none a year ago. They do not respect the old ways, the ways we have always waged war."

  "But we beat them. They're children when it comes to war."

  Old Owl nodded in agreement. "Yes, we beat them. This time. But even children learn. Do you think their war leader will attack on foot the next time? And will he leave the horses unguarded?"

  There was no need to answer. The men stared glumly into the fire. Finally Santa Ana spoke.

  "Perhaps it's well that the men want to raid the white men's camps. But they should steal guns, as many of the new guns as they can." The others grunted in agreement, before they began talking of other things.

  Cub slipped out and ran to his lodge. He passed by the weighted hide over the door and went to where his sleeping robes lay on the other side of the wall. Lying on his stomach, he wriggled under the hem and inside. He was happy with the thought that there would be a raid, and his own father would be leading it. And he would be a part of it.

  Cub raged and paced around the confines of the lodge, kicking at robes and sending his mother's kettle clattering across the floor. He cursed his grandfather, who sat calmly by the door like a benign, vulture roosting half asleep.

  "How did you know I was planning to go with the war party?"

  "I'd have been surprised if you didn't plan on it. But you're too young."

  "That's what you always say."

  "Have I ever told you an untruth?"

  Cub sat disconsolately, his dreams of joining his father's raid destroyed. As though he could read Cub's mind. Old Owl had showed up in the lodge the night before and had not let Cub out of his sight. He even followed him outside when Cub went to relieve himself against his favorite cottonwood. He had not slept at all as he kept his vigil.

  "I'm tired, Cub. Will you swear to me that you'll stay here? Your mother needs you."

  "Why should I swear? Why should I stay here? If I'm too young to go with father, I'm too young to be of any use to mother." His lower lip dangled low enough to trip on, and he glowered to keep from crying.

  "You are of use, and you know it. Besides, you'll slow the men down." Those were fighting words.

  "I won't!" Cub jumped up as he shouted and started pacing again. Old Owl shook his head and smiled as he watched the boy.

  "There's another reason. Cub. Can't you guess it?"

  The boy pondered as he paced.

  "I'm white. I'm not good enough because I'm white."

  "Yes., You're white. But you're one of us. You know that. Look at me. Cub. Do you know that?"

  "Yes. I know it."

  "But yes, you can't go because you're white."

  "I don't understand. If I'm one of the People, what difference does it make if I go?"

  "Think." Think, my beautiful child with hair like the sun and eyes like the sky. I can't give you all the answers. In the end you'll have only yourself to depend on. Old Owl waited patiently while Cub thought.

  "The white people will try to recapture me."

  "Yes. Do you want them to? Is that why you want to go on the raid?"

  "No! You know that isn't why I want to go. I want to take care of the ponies and help. I want to be a warrior. And count coup. Please can I go, Grandfather? I can still catch them. You taught me to track well."

  "The first answer I gave you is still true. You are too young. Your father will be distracted worrying about you. You might cause a needless death. And if the whites see you, they will try to get you back. You'll be a special target for them."

  "Arrow Point won't worry about me. He doesn't even care about me."

  "That's what you think. You should hear him bragging about you to the other men."

  "Does he really?"

  "Yes, he does. Constantly. In fact, some of them are beginning to tease him about it. He asked me to make sure you stayed here, although I would have anyway."

  "How did he know I would try to go with him?"

  "Because he did the same thing, although he was older at the time than you are. And I did it before him. And I suppose you will too. But not yet. Not on this trip. Not against the Texans. Now will you swear you'll stay here? I want to take a nap." Old Owl gave a huge yawn, threatening to swallow his own face.

  "Yes, Grandfather. I'll stay. This time."

  In the fall of 1839, high on a bluff overlooking the Colorado River, Pahayuca and Buffalo Piss and their war party sat on their ponies. They knew they were clearly silhouetted against the pale pink, postdawn sky, but it didn't matter. There would be no raid. The four cabins they remembered being in this valley were no longer alone. A small city of tents and lean-tos, wagons and shacks had sprung up around them. Even at this early hour, the valley was swarming with surveyors and engineers laying out the

  Streets of a town. The men of the war party could hear the crack of axes and falling timber, and the shouts of the wagoneers drifting faintly up from below. Sunrise rode up next to Pahayuca. "What are they doing?"

  "Stealing the land," Buffalo Piss answered. He had made the connection between the surveyors' mysterious activity and the hordes of white people that seemed to follow everywhere they dragged their strings and planted the
ir dead trees. He had declared a special war on them.

  "How can they do that? How can anyone steal land? It's our mother."

  "With them land is a thing to possess. They divide it up the way we divide loot from a raid. And they think it belongs to them alone, each man with his piece of it. They even put fences around it to keep others out."

  "They're mad," said Sunrise.

  "Yes. But that only makes them more dangerous, like rabid wolves," said Buffalo Piss. "Come. There are too many of them for us to fight today."

  The men backed their ponies away from the bluff's edge and rode off through the trees, leaving the whites to their antlike scurryings. Soon the four-cabin hamlet of Waterloo would be transformed into a city with wide streets and lots, and ground set aside for a university. President Lamar had chosen his favorite hunting spot for his new capital. And he renamed it Austin, after the founder of Texas. The site of Austin was an insult, an offense, a gauntlet thrown down to the People. Lamar had purposely placed it far from the thin fringe of the settlements, deep inside the wild, unknown country the People considered theirs to roam and hunt.

  CHAPTER 29

  The hunt was plentiful in the autumn of 1839. Along the hills and in the valleys of the Penateka's hunting grounds the trees blazed red and yellow and gold against the deep gray of the sky and the glittering waters of the Lampassas River. Many bands made their winter camp together along the river. The lodges stretched for fifteen miles among the tall live oaks and hack-berries, the cottonwoods and willows. Thousands of ponies grazed, herded by small boys riding bareback.

  Naduah and Star Name, Bear Cub and Upstream roamed the length of the vast camp on their ponies. Their days were full of new people, new friends, dances and games and stories. The children of the Tekwapi, the No Meat band, taught the Wasps to play Guess Over the Hill. The game was usually organized by two older children. One would go out of sight on the other side of a rise while the other helped the players hide under blankets and robes. Then "it" came back and tried to guess who was hiding by feeling the blanket. And poking. And tickling. As usual, there was a great deal of tickling.

  Cub and Upstream were usually gone, which was the way Star Name and Naduah preferred it. When they were in camp, they were in trouble. Or they set up their archery contests in the middle of everything and got in everyone's way. But it was a good time to be young and to be one of the People.

  Naduah chose not to join the games this day. Instead she went with Medicine Woman to dig for roots and look for useful plants that might still be around this late in the year. They went on these expeditions often. At first she'd tried to lead .Medicine Woman's horse on a line, but she'd been scolded for it.

  "I can still ride, Granddaughter. My pony and I have traveled together for ten years. He won't wipe me off on a low limb. I can follow the sound of Wind's hooves."

  As they rode, Naduah described the countryside in detail. She called out what was growing, and where, what the soil and terrain were like, and what the sky was doing. She named the plants she could, and dismounted to bring her grandmother samples of what she couldn't identify. Medicine Woman would stare ahead of her with her glazed eyes as she smelled the leaves, then felt them with her long, delicate fingers. She could almost always tell what it was and if it was useful. On this trip they were looking for bear root, a plant that belonged to the carrot family.

  "How do you know which plants to use, Grandmother?"

  "Other people told me, just as I'm telling you. And I used to watch what the animals ate, especially the bears. Bears know medicine. Why do you think they call this bear root?" She held up the gnarled root she was holding.

  "I suppose because bears eat it."

  "Yes. They eat it in the wintertime and it keeps them healthy. Sometimes, if a plant is new to me, I try it on myself. Some of them are very strong. I've made myself sick from time to time, but it's worth it. Don't you do it, though, until you're much older. Are the willow trees nearby?"

  "Yes. We're coming to them."

  Medicine Woman would dry the willow bark and pound it fine. "Mix it with water then," she'd told Naduah. "It'll start things moving in the most stubborn set of bowels. Be careful not to give too much, though. Pahayuca once broke up a war council after I'd given him some. Buffalo Piss said it sounded like a tribe of mad Cheyenne trapped inside my brother's gut. And when the explosion came..." Medicine Woman laughed. "Pahahyuca's a big man, and he hadn't relieved himself in a long time. They're still laughing at him about it. He'll burst before he'll take any more dried willow bark."

  "Naduah. Naaa-duah." Star Name came pounding over the low bluff bordering the river bottomlands and slid her pony down the slope in a shower of pebbles. She pulled up out of breath, Paint in a lather and steaming in the cold air.

  "Takes Down said I'd find you here. Spirit Talker's band finally arrived. They're camping way down the river, at the end of the line."

  "So what?"

  "There's a white man with them."

  "Did you see him?"

  "No. But I heard he has red hair all over him, like a bear. Even on his chest and back. He's been with Spirit Talker's band for three moons."

  "Is he a captive?" Naduah knew that was unlikely. White men were almost always killed. Slowly.

  "No. He's a messenger from the Texans. They want to have honey talk and give everyone presents. Maybe I'll get a new mirror to replace the one I broke. Let's go see him."

  "Granddaughter, it would be better if you didn't see the white man."

  "It's all right, Kaku," broke in Star Name. "Cub saw him already. He counted coup on him and got away without the white man even recognizing that he was white."

  "Don't worry. Grandmother. I won't let him steal me. I'll pull my robe over my hair and stay far away." Naduah reached out and held her grandmother's fragile wrist briefly as they rode knee to knee.

  "Just be careful, little one. Those eyes of yours flash like the white patch on your doe's rump. Your antelope was a nuisance, but I miss her."

  "So do I, Kaku. Maybe I'll find another one someday."

  The three of them headed toward the Wasps' campsite. As usual, Pahayuca had deliberately arrived early and picked the best place. On the other side of the river a waterfall slithered down the dark gray cliff face and splintered on the boulders in its path. It sent a fine spray into the creek that cascaded to the river. In summer it was a cool green glade. In winter it was a lacy sculpture of ice patterns. Naduah could see the sun glinting on it from her lodge door.

  When they left Medicine Woman, the two girls rode slowly toward the place where Spirit Talker's people had set up their lodges.

  "There's something else I wanted to tell you when we were alone."

  "What?"

  "There are two captive white girls with Spirit Talker's band. I wondered if you would want to talk to them." Star Name looked over at her sister and friend, and there was worry in her eyes.

  "I don't know. I'll think about it while we ride."

  "They haven't been adopted, those two girls. I don't know why. The older one is too old, but the young one isn't." Naduah knew that if she had been two or three years older she probably wouldn't have been adopted either. The People would have considered it too late to train her properly. The thought frightened her.

  "Have you seen them, Star Name?"

  "No. They just arrived. This is only what I heard. Naduah, they're slaves, those girls. They're not of the People like you are."

  "What are you trying to tell me, Star Name? Does that mean they have to work harder?"

  "It means they might not have been treated well. I wanted to warn you before you see them or talk to them. In case you decide to talk to them."

  "I don't know if I can remember my old tongue. It's been so long."

  "They speak our language. They've been with the band a year and a half. Some white men attacked Spirit Talker's camp last winter, like they did Old Owl's. The girls' owner hid them and threatened to kill them if they cried out.
I hear that their father was with the white soldiers, and they had to lie silent. He walked through the gunfire and arrows and flames, just calling them. It must have been terrible for them. It must be sad to be a slave."

  "Why are they treated so badly?"

  "They're slaves, Naduah. Do white people have slaves?"

  "Yes."

  "And how are they treated?"

  "It depends on their owners. Sometimes badly. Sometimes well. Sometimes they pay men just to whip them and make them work."

  "It's the same with us. Not everyone is like Takes Down and Sunrise."

  As they rode into the outskirts of Spirit Talker's camp, Naduah noticed slight differences from Pahayuca's or Old Owl's. When they had all camped together two winters ago she had been too new to notice, but now she did. It was hard to say why she felt a little out of place there. True, more of the women chose to raise the hides they were tanning on frames rather than stake them on the ground. And there seemed to be more shouting and less laughter than she was used to. But outwardly the camp seemed very much like her own.

  She sniffed, tasting the air with her nose. What was it? Bread! Wheat-flour bread. And more coffee than she ever smelled in her own camp, although there was usually some brewing somewhere. Where did they get the flour? The white man must have brought it. For some reason she felt uneasy. This looked like a village of the People, but with differences so subtle they only teased her senses. Once she'd recognized the smell of baking bread, she noticed more women in cloth blouses, and more ribbons.

  "Pull it up farther. Shade your face more." Star Name reached out and adjusted Naduah's buffalo robe, forming a deep hood around her face and head. They left their ponies tied to a tree and walked through the bustle.

  "Where are the white girls?"

  "I don't know."