Medicine Hair

Chapter 3

Chapter 3After a restless night, I rose and made ready for work. As I was bound for the barn to see to the horses, my nearest neighbor, Andre Tiller, rode up. After exchanging greetings and information on the condition of our crops, Andre swung around in the saddle and looked to where Todoh watched over my cattle.

“You missing any beef?”

I stepped off the porch. “I donated two steers to some men from Pine Ridge yesterday. The agency’s slow paying their allotment, and they needed food for their families.”

“They musta figured you volunteered one of mine too. I had ten, now I got nine.”

“Sorry. Didn’t think they’d bother yours.”

“It’s not a crippling loss, but I’m gonna feel it.”

Andre was a well-formed, good-looking man who’d lost his wife and two boys to renegades years back. He’d not seen fit to find a new mother for Libby, his thirteen-year-old daughter, the only family he had left. Back before I discovered my love for Matthew, we’d given each other relief a few times, pleasant experiences I recalled fondly.

Andre didn’t have a bridge at his place and used ours to cross Turtle Crick in his buckboard, so I knew he was going to church more often now. The resurgence of his Christian conscience was likely more for his daughter than for him. Still, if he was looking to find a wife, the Main Street Methodist Church was as good a place as any to look.

“The six braves who stopped here yesterday headed for the break country up on Trickling Water in case you want to recover your steer. They’re not hostile,” I said.

“Not to you, maybe. But I think I’ll just call it a loss and be done with it.” He straightened in the saddle. “I was heading for town, but now don’t know if I should. Might not be smart to leave Libby alone with…strangers in the neighborhood.”

“Send her over here if you want. Or out with Todoh. Probably safer with him than with either of us.”

He laughed. “Happier too. No, I’ll put off the trip until tomorrow and take Libby with me.”

Andre paused a moment longer to discuss atmospheric conditions and listen to my recitation of Gideon’s explanation of the cause. Then he headed back to his place a mile west of me, passing through Todoh’s territory on the way. The dog raised his voice, but it was a friendly one. He knew this man had something to do with the girl who played with him from time to time.

* * * *

Thoughts of Raven Strongbow would not leave my mind either at the forge or in the fields the next morning. I know of only one way to handle such problems, and that is to face them. The sun was beginning its descent when I boarded Arrow and headed ten miles north for Tricking Water Crick. I paced it upstream to the stretch of badlands where Firm Foot and his companions had likely spent last night. If they had butchered the steers, they might still be in some side canyon jerking the meat. I had no firm plan in mind for confronting Raven when I entered the breaks, a poor way to tackle any enterprise.

The trail was easy to follow into the broken country people called a break. If Firm Foot and Crow Hop were as cautious as they seemed, they’d make for the shelter of one of the draws or miniature canyons that gave the place its name. Within two hundred yards, the trail I followed was laid down by only two horses. The others and the cattle had peeled off one by one. Soon the tracks halted, and then vanished. They’d obfuscated the trail after that, so it would be difficult to find them.

Unwilling to spend hours searching the coulees and small gorges littering the place, I settled for calling out to the hunters and soon heard an answering call. Even with their assistance, the group was not easy to find. Sounds echoed off the clay walls and reverberated on all sides. Eventually, I found Crow Hop at the entrance to a big gully and followed him into the deep hollow. One of the other men went out and blurred my tracks.

The gloom in the steep-sided gulch was deeper than the gathering dusk outside, but a small campfire made seeing easy enough. All six were present, once the man returned from erasing my trail. The group was enjoying a meal of one of the steers. I could see racks filled with drying meat, which made for easier transfer. I joined them in the eating of one of my steers…or perhaps Andre’s. Which provided an excuse for my presence.

“I gave you two of my steers, but I followed the tracks of three. My neighbor is missing one of his.”

“Times are hard back on the agency,” Firm Foot said. “Allotments promised by the white men are short or sometimes don’t come at all. Your neighbor is a white man and has but himself and his little girl to feed. There are many of us. It seemed fair he should share.”

They had apparently scouted out Andre’s place. I nodded. “He has accepted his loss. But another one would be a hardship for him.”

“He does not intend to raise an alarm?”

“Not since I talked to him about it.”

Crow Hop spoke up in Lakota. “More of your medicine. I do not know many white men who would not go squalling to the army over the loss of a beef.”

“He is a fair man. It would be better if you do not bother him further.”

“He has your protection?” Firm Foot asked.

“Aye. Such as it is. Some of you may remember a man called Dull Lance from your youth. He attacked the farm and killed my neighbor’s wife and two sons. Mr. Tiller has paid a blood price for occupying the land he farms.”

Raven moved closer. “And this is why you ride to the breaks? To speak to us on behalf of a white farmer?”

“That…and to tell you to stay away from me, Raven.”

“Pho!” Firm Foot exclaimed. “Do we have bad blood here?”

I turned to Crow Hop. “This is the man who betrayed Matthew…Shambling Bear…to the army. He is the reason Bear was hauled in a jail wagon to Fort Robinson four winters back and thrown into their prison. He is the reason both of us were put behind bars and beaten. And he ran away after he spoke his betrayal rather than face us like a man.”

By the light of the fire, Raven’s complexion looked like last night’s moon…moldy. “This winkte threw himself at me. And when I took him, he pretended to be offended.”

I stood, fists clenched. “It was no pretense. You took me while I slept! When I woke, I put an end to it.”

“Yes, but not before you snuggled your hind side against me for some more of what I was giving you.”

I wasn’t sure who was on the defensive now. “I thought it was my betrothed. I belonged to another, Raven. And you knew it.”

My face flamed. In Otter’s time, such an admission would have caused little concern. But these were young men a generation or so removed from the time when deviants were accepted and sometimes honored. Crow Hop and Firm Foot were Lakota, but one or two of the other men had spoken Dakota. And that fire held no truck with two-spirits.

“Oh ho,” Firm Foot said. “There’s a tale to be told here.”

“It is already told. That is the total of it.”

Crow Hop sat on the ground beside me. “Nay, the best part is yet to come.” The others took seats around the fire before he continued. “When this man came to my father’s tipi after following Bear to Nebraska, Buffalo Leg took one look at his hair and knew he was someone. And that speckled head freed Shambling Bear from the army’s jail.” He laughed. “But first it got this one thrown in the jailhouse along with the other one.”

The group was quiet as Crow Hop told of my hair bewitching—his word—the two Indians with no-good reputations who were the army’s witnesses against Bear. When the camp commandant brought the prisoner outside the guardhouse so everyone could witness the identification, Touch the Clouds snatched off my hat and shoved me forward so the two malcontents could see me. Crow Hop claimed they were instantly befuddled. They named me as the fugitive, Red Star. Enraged, the commandant threw both of us into jail while he sorted things out.

What Crow Hop undoubtedly knew but wasn’t saying, was that Buffalo Leg and Touch the Clouds had spent the previous night drinking with the two witnesses, one a drunkard and the other as avaricious as a white man. My two friends spoke repeatedly of Red Star’s hair—black as night with stars sprinkled in it. After seeking to beat admissions out of both of us, the guardhouse sergeant went too far and tried to kill us. After that, the army released Matthew and me.

“But Medicine Hair is a warrior as well as a shaman,” Crow Hop finished his tale. “Even though wounded through the side, he killed the renegade sergeant who ambushed them on the road home and saved himself and his lover.” Crow Hop nodded into the night. “And what he claims is true. He and Shambling Bear declared their intentions before Touch the Clouds and my father. He is Bear’s win-tay wife.”

A round of exclamations and whispers swept the group. The Cheyenne sat still and erect, as though he were not a part of it.

“What say you, Raven?” Firm Foot asked.

“He admitted me to his bed and then thought better of it. Perhaps he lured me there with his medicine to trap me.” He shrugged, as if tired of it all. “Whatever the cause, I am freed of his magic now. He has nothing to fear from me.”

“I do not fear you for myself, but for Bear. You tried to shoot him from ambush before you betrayed him to the army.”

The camp was silent but for the crackling of the fire and the snort of horses grazing in the distance. Firm Foot stroked his chin and studied the flames. Finally, he roused and spoke in Lakota.

“This man has provided sustenance for our families. He has demonstrated the power of his magic. Crow Hop gives the witness of his own eyes to its strength in thwarting the army’s aim. Not many of us have walked away from the white man’s justice when they are bent on doing something. I see no dishonor in what he has said or done.”

Raven jerked ramrod straight and rose to his knees. “Are you saying I am not honorable?”

Firm Foot stared across the flames. “I see truth in Medicine Hair’s words. You will stay away from this man and his home. So long as you ride with us, no harm will come to him or his.”

Raven scrambled to his feet. “I will not suffer this treatment from you. I will leave.”

“Why?” Crow Hop asked. “So you can do him harm or because you are offended?”

“For my own reasons.”

Firm Foot spoke up and delivered his judgment. “Raven, we broke out of the agency to find food for our families. Take your share of the meat, and then go. We’ll not set eyes on you again until we return to our families.”

Banishment, the ultimate sentence, unless some member of an aggrieved family saw fit to extract vengeance. I had no interest in that. If he left, that was all I wanted.

* * * *

Darkness fell as I returned to the cabin. Edgy, I took a good look around by the feeble light of a blue jay moon but found no trace of Raven. I took care of Arrow and cleaned up before turning into my blankets.

Was it too much to hope the Cheyenne was humiliated and had returned to the agency to lick his wounds? It was more likely he would nurse his mortification closer to Turtle Crick Farm. Would he seek to harm Andre and his daughter since I had put them under my protection? I came near to rising from my bed and riding over to give caution, but decided it would take Raven time to nurse his hurt into action.

It was past the point of midnight when Todoh set up a racket. Raven was proving me both right and wrong. He was still around, but it was not the Tillers he had in his sights. It was my cattle and my dog.

Dressed only in the short cotton breechclout I slept in, I stepped into moccasins and swept up my Henry before bursting through the door. The near-to-full moon was blue again, casting little discernible light. I peered west, but saw nothing as Todoh continued to yammer away. I rushed to the barn and twisted my fingers into Arrow’s mane to swing aboard his back without pausing for saddle or halter. He responded to the pressure of my knees and made his way west past the plowed fields. On the other side of where I judged the worm fence ended, a flash of light preceded the boom of a gun.

I slowed to a walk and listened. I could see little beyond Arrow’s nose. I had never lived through so dark a night before. Lack of sight heightened my other senses. Oleander and manure scented the night air. A breeze raised a chill on my naked flesh. After a pause Todoh started barking again. At least, the Cheyenne hadn’t hit my dog. Realizing Raven could see no better than I could, I halted and took up my rifle to be ready if he tried for the dog again. He did. I aimed a little lower than the flash of light and sent three quick shots in his direction. Then I dug in my heels and sent Arrow forward so he couldn’t advantage my muzzle flashes, as I had done his.

I rode blind. The night was quiet now. Todoh had stopped barking. The only sound came from water in the crick, which told me I had arrived at the spot where the waterway widened and rushed down a shelf of rock. That was beyond the end of my penned pasture, so I turned my pony north, hoping the dark, amorphous shapes that stirred in the gloom were steers. Soon I heard a growl to my right. The dog. The animal was a herder, so he could likely track.

“Easy, boy,” I whispered. “Find him. Sic!”

I sensed rather than saw him move past me in the darkness. Arrow apparently saw better in faint light than I did and followed the dog. When he halted. I slipped from his back and examined the small patch of ground I could see. The dog panted somewhere ahead of me. My rifle at the ready, I crept forward. Within a few steps, I made out a form on the ground. Not a man, too large. It was the long-maned pinto that Raven rode. I’d shot his horse from under him. Had I hit the Cheyenne too?

Todoh appeared and sat at my side. I patted his head.

“Good boy. Now find him for me.”

Without a sound the dog rose and headed east. East toward the farmhouse. That made sense. Raven was without a mount, and the nearest horse was the black trace mare in my barn. I scrambled aboard Arrow and headed straight for the cabin as fast as the lightless night allowed. It took longer to get back to the barn than I had hoped. I desperately tried to calculate if he’d had time to walk or run to the barn. The darkness would hamper him, as well, but I’d spent time locating his downed pony. It would be a close thing.

As I rode into the yard, a glow came through the barn door I’d left ajar. But I hadn’t lit candle or lantern. He was here. Just as I reached the outhouse, the mare tore out of the barn, Raven astride her back. I startled him as much as he surprised me. I started to take after him until I caught a glimpse of burning hay in the horse crib. Forced to abandon the chase, I ran inside and grabbed a rake. The flames, still confined to the stall, were reaching for the rafters. I used the tines to pull the burning hay into the center of the earthen floor where it quickly burned itself out.

I splashed water from the ponies’ trough on the smoldering wall, but the fire hadn’t had time to ignite the timbers. After everything was under control, I scaled the ladder to the loft. There was no evidence of burning rafters, but I struck a Lucifer and lit a lantern for a better look around. If any spark or flame remained, it could ignite the hay and render the building into ashes.

By the time I was satisfied the fire was truly snuffed, it was pointless to give chase. So, I went inside the cabin, pulled on some clothes, and had a light meal of jerky and sweet milk. Then I clamped my hat on my head and climbed the hill behind the cabin to sit with my Henry and await the dawn. As the slow hours passed, I fought an urge to go check the cabin or the barn or the cattle. A man with assets to guard was disadvantaged against someone bent on mischief who had none. My home, my fields, my cattle were all vulnerable to a renegade who valued none of them.

* * * *

I started awake with my head resting on the arm that held my rifle upright. I’d dozed. Had the rising dawn roused me, or was it something else? Able to see a bit now, I silently rose and scouted out the area. Nothing was out of place. Todoh was silent, so the cattle must be all right, unless Raven had managed to get to the animal. Not likely. The dog would hear the Cheyenne long before he got close enough to use his knife. And no booming gun had wakened me.

Even so, I saddled Arrow and rode out to check on things when I recalled seeing a bow and quiver hanging from the Cheyenne’s gear. Of course, the weapon was on the saddle of his slain mount unless he’d recovered it during the night.

In the distance, Todoh rose and went on alert, but he soon recognized me and ducked his head, his tail wagging feebly. Something was wrong. The big carcass he’d been guarding told me what that was. Raven had managed to slit the throat of a half-grown side of beef before Todoh took him on last night. Now the dog acted as if it were his fault. I spent extra time playing with him to restore his pride before salvaging what beef I could. The morning was half done and I was covered in blood by the time the steer was butchered and stored safely in my cellar cool room. I decided to offer Andre some of the fresh meat in partial p*****t for the loss of his steer.

Andre and Libby. Were they safe? Had the snake harmed either of them? I cleaned up as best I could in the crick and rode in sopping clothing to Tiller farm, bearing some of the green beef with me. Andre was already in his fields, and I caught sight of Libby working nearby. They were safe.

Alarm painted Andre’s features as I explained what had happened. He knew of Raven’s perfidy in denouncing Matthew. We argued a few minutes over whether to report the presence of the deserter. In the end, he insisted on riding to the fort, leaving unsaid the fact a white man’s alarm would carry more weight than mine. Libby came with me back to the farm until her father returned.

We rode the range checking for other steers Raven might have killed or injured but found nothing. Todoh jumped up into the saddle with Libby, who was riding Otter’s war horse, White Patch. Matthew and I had gifted her with the pinto after Otter’s death. She had suffered a loss the night of the murders too. James had all but adopted the girl. He’d left me the farm but bequeathed Liberty Belle Tiller all the funds from the sale of his Virginia plantation after the southern rebellion, so she’d be wealthy when she came of age.

After we returned to the farmhouse, Libby went into the fields and worked right alongside me. Strong and industrious for one of her years, Libby seldom frolicked like a child. Todoh was her only playmate.

When Andre returned midday with Gideon at the head of a squad of troops, I wondered if I had thought this thing through properly. If there was a single tracker with Gideon, he would know immediately there had been a number of riders in the yard yesterday. While I wanted help in hunting Raven, I had no wish to call down trouble on the other five Indians. And reporting their presence might just do that. Sometimes the army sounded an alarm when braves left the reservation; at other times, no one in the military seemed to care.

I reported coming face to face with Raven Strongbow while out checking on my cows. I reported a modified version of our verbal exchange, and spent most of the time on what happened later that night and this morning. Gideon took a description of my black mare since that was what Raven now rode. I directed them to the tracks that went up the east side of the hill before heading northwest for the breaks up on Trickling Water. As I watched Gideon lead his troopers north, I prayed Crow Hop and the others had moved on by now.

I weeded and watered and rode out to check my cattle. Todoh abandoned his task of chasing away persistent buzzards flocking both Raven’s dead horse—stripped of both saddle and weapons sometime during the night—and the butchered remains of the dead steer to walk along beside Arrow as I made the rounds. Nothing seemed amiss, so I returned to the house. As I dismounted and led Arrow into the barn, I came to a halt. The black mare stood in her stall looking as if she’d never left. I pulled my Henry from its saddle scabbard and searched every inch of the farm, even the necessary.

Then I smartened up and read the tracks. No one had dismounted from the horse, so I traced her hoof prints backward. Half a mile to the northeast of the farmhouse, I found the tracks of two ponies. Raven had obtained another mount somewhere and released the mare so she would make her way home. Why? It made no sense. Ponies represented wealth. Some tribesmen still pursued the age old and honorable practice of stealing them. So why return her to me? A peace offering?

I went back to the barn and started wiping down the two horses before feeding them. That’s when I saw what I had missed before, a small, undecorated wooden flute tied to her mane. Raven was sending a message all right, but it wasn’t one of peace. A flute represented love to most braves. But in this case, it was twisted into something else.