for a long time. It is no use for me out there anymore. At first, it was fun, for a long time it was good to be free, to have good times, but last winter, during the Moon of Snowblind, I went out hunting and I saw one of the older ones—he was hunting beneath another ridge far off—and he was dressed in coyote skins with a wolf cap on his head and his dunka wakan was gaunt beneath him, and I thought, That will be me. My brother, Charging Elk, will be married, he will have a warm lodge and children, and I will be out here alone with others like me, starving and cold in the winter, wandering in the summer.” Strikes Plenty was now looking off toward the long-setting sun. His eyes were narrowed against the yellow glare and his lips were tight, as though he had said what he wanted to say and was waiting for a response.
But Charging Elk didn’t know how to respond. He suddenly felt unsure of himself. Strikes Plenty was right—not about Charging Elk being married and his friend wasting his life at the Stronghold, but about the past couple of years not being fun. The two kolas had become increasingly concerned with filling their bellies with meat and surviving the winters. If they went back out now, they would lose touch with their relatives for another winter. Charging Elk didn’t want that either.
“If I go with Buffalo Bill, what will you do?”
Strikes Plenty brightened, his grin returning. “Find a woman, settle down. There are plenty of women out at Whirlwind.”
“But what will you do? After you find your woman? Plant potatoes?”
Strikes Plenty laughed. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll have my woman plant potatoes. They say the wasichu makes his woman do the planting. He plants something else when he goes to town.”
Charging Elk’s horse grew restless beneath him, alternately trying to graze and hopping around, making great shuddering snorts. High Runner wanted to return to the Stronghold. There were mares out there.
“It is for the best,” said Strikes Plenty. “You will see the land where these white men come from. You will see many great things, make money, enjoy yourself. Me, I will become fat with potatoes, and maybe I will have a winy an and many children when you return.”
“I will miss you too much. I will miss our good times, brother-friend.”
“Those times are gone, Charging Elk. We must follow our eyes and see what lies ahead. Today we go our separate paths and we are not happy about this. When you come back, things will be changed. But we will not be changed. We have been brothers together for many years, we have raised ourselves from children, and we are still young. Much lies ahead for us, but we will be strong brothers always.” Strikes Plenty rode closer and leaned over and hugged his friend. “When we are old tunkadhlicu together, we will laugh at this moment.”
Charging Elk stood in the alcove and remembered how he had felt when he watched his dear friend ride away that early spring day in the direction of the Whirlwind Compound. It was the end of nine winters of brotherness and he felt a great emptiness, as though Strikes Plenty had taken away half of him.
Two days later, he had ridden High Runner in the procession of riders and wagons down to the iron road in the town of Gordon, Nebraska. His parents had ridden in a wagon, and while the young men were unloading their bundles of clothing and equipment, Charging Elk had handed the reins to his father. “He is yours.”
In return Scrub lifted a bundle out of the wagon. He unrolled the blanket and lifted up the hairpipe breastplate. Charging Elk recognized it. His father wore it when the Oglalas were free on the plains. He wore it when he took the horses of the Snakes and Crows. He wore it during ceremonies. He wore it when he fought the soldiers at the Greasy Grass. And he wore it when the Oglalas surrendered at Fort Robinson.
Charging Elk ate a last bite of bread as he remembered holding the bundle on his lap during his first train trip in America. He had had his badger medicine and his father’s protection and he had felt ready for what lay ahead. But he had been a little unnerved by the look in his mother’s eyes as she watched the iron horse and the big wooden wagons pull away from the station. He had seen that look when he was a child, twelve winters earlier, when the Oglalas came in to Fort Robinson. But the music of the peace song had made Doubles Back Woman strong then, and even as the train made the lonesome sound and picked up speed, she had been singing a strongheart song with the other mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters and old ones on the platform. Still, he could not get her frightened eyes out of his mind. He was her only remaining child. He prayed to Wakan Tanka to bring him home safely, so he could honor his mother for all the days of her life.
Later, on the train ride from Omaha to the big New York, Rocky Bear, the Indian leader who had crossed the big water once before, had come to where Charging Elk was sitting, looking out the window at the new country. He still held his father’s breastplate in his lap.
“Your kola—Strikes Plenty,” said Rocky Bear. “He should be with us, Charging Elk. He was tough—and he could ride. You and he made these reservation boys look puny. You raised yourselves in the old ways out at the Stronghold.” The leader glanced around the wagon at the young Oglalas sitting on the wooden benches. “These boys will do. But we are not taking our best.”
“Why did the white bosses leave Strikes Plenty behind?” Charging Elk leaned forward in his seat. “He was the one who wanted to go see the other side of the big water.”
Rocky Bear leaned down. “He was not Indian enough for these bosses.”
Charging Elk looked up with rounded eyes.
“These bosses think they know what an Indian should look like. He should be tall and lean. He should have nice clothes. He should look only into the distance and act as though his head is in the clouds. Your friend did not fit these white men’s vision.”
Charging Elk looked out the window and saw a big white house surrounded by trees. A herd of black-and-white cows grazed in a field beside it. He had not seen this kind of cow before.
Strikes Plenty was not tall and lean; he was short and broad and his face was as round as banhepi wi when she is full in the night sky. Charging Elk liked his brotherfriend because he didn’t act as though his head was in the clouds. He always had a grin on his face, even if they were caught out in a blizzard or had to ride two sleeps with nothing to eat. He wanted to tell Rocky Bear to tell his white bosses that Strikes Plenty was more Indian than all of them together on this iron road, that he had lived the old Lakota way until two sleeps ago, when he rode off to the Whirlwind Compound. But he didn’t. At that moment he almost envied Strikes Plenty and the new life he had envisioned. Out at the Stronghold, the idea of having a wife and a life of peace and comfort had seemed far out of reach. Charging Elk felt the bundle in his lap and looked out at the black-and-white cows. One of them was trying to mount another, even though both had bags full of milk.
Now it was full light and Charging Elk was beginning to feel vulnerable. The bread had filled him up and his thoughts of home had comforted him to some degree. He had not thought much about his plan, except to get as far away from the sickhouse as possible. Still, he was hesitant to leave the alcove. He did not know this town, this country. He was now sure there was no one who could speak Lakota here. But if he could find the right people, the brown suit and the black suit, they would send him to Buffalo Bill. Except for his ribs he was well. They would see that.
Charging Elk broke the remaining longbread into four pieces and tucked them into his coat pockets. Then he stepped out into the street.
