Not a sound emerged from the lips of the people as he rode past. Not a look of fear crossed his face, not a sign of sadness. He was like a stone, untouchable, brave, true and hard.
Blue Sky watched the chief ride out of the canyon and dismount and sit on a large boulder. Blue Sky felt a deep respect for the man. His fifteen warriors had indeed been brave men. Surely now their spirits were in the heavens. They were true men, true fighters, and to Blue Sky there was nothing but war and death, strength and boldness. His people were far different than the people of the north. He had been told by his scouts that these people were mere farmers. That they would surrender like women. He had been told that their braves were weak like dogs. But he knew this now not to be true. His own people were hunters and invaders. They took from the weak of the earth. They were the chosen ones. Made and created to trample other people of the land. Blue Sky was not an evil man but he was like all men of conquest obsessed with their dominance, feeling they were the only people of the light. Not wishing or caring to feel the kinship of mankind. There was nothing but kill or be killed, conquer or forever live in shame. And this small tribe of women and children and old men with its small band of warriors would die as sure as their chief sat on the boulder waiting for him.
Blue Sky dropped his lance to the ground and rode out away from his braves. It was a beautiful day. One could feel the touch of the cool season and he felt invigorated and brave. He knew that the eyes of his warriors rode with him. He knew all of them wished to be like him. And in this feeling of power he found great strength. Approaching Black Bison he slid easily from his horse and walked up to the man. Black Bison stood and Blue Sky immediately saw a man of stature and strength. This chief was obviously not a mere grower of corn. Blue Sky made the motion of friendship and Black Bison responded. Dropping to the ground and sitting, Blue Sky took from his belt a long pipe and lit the tobacco with a coal wrapped in a reed-lined leather pouch. Puffing deeply on the pipe he passed it to Black Bison who in turn breathed deeply the strong white smoke.
“Destiny has brought us to this place,” Blue Sky spoke in sign language. “It would be far easier to surrender your people to me. So many of our people will die.”
Black Bison sat and did not reply, but looked directly into the chiefs eyes. After several moments, Blue Sky stood. “There is no reason to talk. Go back to your people and prepare to die.”
Black Bison was no sooner back into the mouth of the canyon when over one hundred warriors of Blue Sky’s yelled and charged their ponies into the rocks. But as they entered the mouth of the canyon, sheets of arrows fell upon them from the sides of the canyon and as soon as it started the first battle was over. Twenty-five of Blue Sky’s braves lay dead or wounded and not one of Black Bison’s. The wounded were soon dead, as warriors stole out from the rocks swiftly cutting their throats and taking from their bodies weapons and other useful items; also gathering the spent arrows.
Blue Sky, watching the quick skirmish, felt a deep anger spreading through his body. He had fallen into a trap. The fifteen braves were left behind to do exactly what they had done. Slow him and his braves up. He should have just trampled them into the ground with his entire force of men. But he had not, and now this battle would not be easy. His men were not prepared for a long battle. They did not have great stores of food, but were prepared for quick moving attacks, depending on their wins to gather food and restock arrows and weapons. He had made a mistake and now he must sit with his under-chiefs to decide on a course of action. When the survivors of the attack returned, he had the men all dismount and set a more permanent camp. In the morning they would resume the fight.
The people of the tribe were overjoyed with the first battle. They had not lost one man and maybe the gods were with them. Maybe the invaders would see the difficulty of the situation and go as they came. Disappearing forever into the land. But when Black Bison consulted with Man of Darkness, the old medicine man was still without dreams or visions, and Black Bison knew there would be much suffering and death before the ordeal was over.
CHAPTER 7
SHINING MOON RETURNS
Shining Moon lay the drill down on the ground and picked up the spear point. The hole was clean and exactly where he wanted it. Forever men would know he, Shining Moon, had created this point as they marveled at it hanging from the waist of his wife. With the completion of the point, Shining Moon felt a peace settle over him. He took the point and held it in both hands and raised it towards the sun. Blues and greens, reds and purples escaped from its black insides. It captured the golden ray of the sun and transformed them into all colors of the earth. It was like sunset and sundown. Placing the point on the deer hide cloth, he took the chipper and hammer and the drill and dug out a small hole in the ground. These would return to the earth. Never again could he use them. Their magic and power had been extinguished in his work. Shining Moon stood and gathered his horses. He would ride to the tribe now. He had found no danger. His duty was completed and he could return to his love and his marriage.
Riding he thought of his wedding day. Flying Bird would be dressed in her finest dress. Beads of red and blue, green and white would flow over the soft deer skin. From her hair would be small feathers from song birds and around her ankles delicate bells that would ring when she walked. Shining Moon would wear long elk hide britches with bead work down each side of the leg. His shirt would be laced with hawk feathers and his hair would be greased and parted in the middle. Around his waist he would wear a beaded belt. The beads depicted strength and love.
Fore the entire day before the ceremony he would be segregated from the tribe as Flying Bird would be segregated. The women would build a tent for them out past the others, and in this tent they would place many elk and buffalo hides, making a soft and deep cushion for the lovers. Inside there would be food for several days. Dried venison, dried fish, corn and beans and several gourds of water. Riding, Shining Moon could hear the women singing and see the sly glances of the older men, remembering their wedding night and the soft curves of their young wives. Of course there would be pranksters. Young boys sneaking up to the tent late at night. Pelting the tent with stones to disturb the lovers. And of course Shining Moon would have to run outside, feigning anger, yelling threats to the retreating boys.
After the lovers were married, Flying Bird would be stolen by his friends, and only after much bickering and bartering would he be be able to buy back his bride. Shining Moon rode and his heart was as the light spring breeze, as happy as a song bird greeting the day. There was no danger, there was nothing but his thoughts and his love.
Late in the afternoon, Shining Moon rode up to the edge of the sloping ridge that overlooked the pueblo. But when he stopped and looked down, his heart was seized by a terrible empty feeling. Below was nothing but signs of havoc. Scattered everywhere, pots and other articles of the tribe. He kicked his horse and rode recklessly down the face of the bluff, riding into the desolate village. He jumped from his horse, his heart racing, and ran around, looking at the desolation. There was no sign of battle, no blood, no dead animals. But he knew one of the braves must have discovered the danger, and the tribe moved quickly towards the box canyon.
Shining Moon walked quickly to Flying Bird’s hogan. Sitting outside, a great anger arose in his chest, and he turned his face towards the sky and a deep grief-filled yell came from his throat. “Those who have caused this will die. I will tear their hearts from their bodies and lay them out for the buzzards to eat.” Shining Moon walked back to his horses and mounted one. Following the tracks of his people, he began to follow the fleeting.
As night approached he came across the hoof prints of many horses, and he knew now what had been the danger. By the tracks he figured the tribe had been gone almost ten suns and the invaders were no more than one sun behind them. Shining Moon did not stop but continued to ride and change ponies randomly. By dawn he was tired, but he would not halt. Burning deep within him was the sight of his people and the sight of his love forced to leave their homes and run and hide like some mad and wild beast. By nightfall he stopped and rested, but again
