14 Tateyanpa Guides

Will saw Wi, the grand, the magnificent, the burning Wi, make his last efforts to escape the great gray, and, at last, black net that was thrown about him. Beams bright and then pale shot through the heavy veil, but became fewer and fewer and then there was none, and the heavy, rolling clouds of immeasurable depth covered all the heavens from the zenith to the horizon.

Still there was no wind, while the thunder never ceased to mutter on the whole circle, and Will felt an uncontrollable sense of awe that there should be so much darkness and sound without a single visible flash of lightning, or any movement of air beneath the mists and clouds. He believed as fully as the Dakota that the wind was going to direct them, and his hair lifted a little, as he waited in the intense silence for Mahpiya to speak.

All the warriors were taut both of mind and body, ready to go at the first call, and, as they sat close together, they could see one another, despite the deepening dark. They felt that for the present they could do nothing, they were helpless in the hands of the spirits of earth and air, but they waited in supreme confidence. It might be that the wind would blow back toward the point from which they had come, and, if so, they must return at least part of the way, until they had a new sign. But they hoped that Tateyanpa would speak with another voice.

It became pitchy black on the hill. Keen as were the eyes of the Dakota, and used as they were to the darkness, they could scarcely see one another now, but such darkness impressed them far less than the uncanny stillness. Will wondered at first if the Ikcewicaxta would take advantage of the impenetrable gloom to attack them, but second thought told him they would not. Almost wholly invisible to one another, they could not carry out any plan, and, perhaps while the Dakota were merely awed by the singular night, the Ikcewicaxta were terrified.

The passage of time was so slow that Will had no measure of calculation, but after a space that seemed interminable he gave a violent start. An electric thrill shot through his whole body, and yet the cause of it was faint. Something as light as the brush of a feather touched his left cheek which was turned toward the southwest.

“Tateyanpa!” he exclaimed.

“Aye,” said Roka, in a deep voice, “it is the first breath of the wind. It comes from the southwest and our way lies toward the northeast. Mahpiya, speaking through one of his children, Tateyanpa, is about to show us the way.”

The faint wind that was no more than a breath grew stronger, but it did not blow away the darkness. Instead the night lowered thicker and heavier than ever, but the hearts of the young warriors beat with a great exultation. The whisper of Mahpiya to Waditaka had come true. They waited eagerly for Roka to say the word. The leader delayed a quarter of an hour longer, and the wind was then coming with a mighty rush. Off in the forest they heard boughs crackling and snapping beneath its sweep. It would soon be blowing a hurricane, and Roka said in a voice that he was now compelled to raise:

“Come, O sons of the Dakota! Mahpiya shows us the way and if we are men we follow it.”

They fell into their usual formation, Roka leading and Pehansan bringing up the rear, their packs on their backs, their bows and quivers over their shoulders. But they were in such close order that every man could touch the back of the one in front of him, and there was no danger of any straying from the line. Roka, in front, followed the wind as truly as the needle turns to the pole.

In a minute or two they crossed the opening and entered the forest, no sign coming from the Ikcewicaxta. The wind had become a mighty roaring and it was crashing its way through the trees, strewing wreckage as it passed. But Roka was confident they would be spared by Tateiyumni (Hurricane). Mahpiya would not bring them so far to let them be crushed by the last obstacle. So he led on in the utmost confidence through the impenetrable blackness, and his warriors, in a close rank, followed him.

The thunder, which had been rumbling all about the circle, now crashed directly overhead with such tremendous force that the warriors were often dazed by it a moment or two, though they were not afraid, their confidence in Mahpiya not wavering a particle. The lightning came at last, and it blazed with a fiery brilliancy that made Will shut his eyes instinctively.

But through roar and blaze alike Roka led on, stumbling sometimes over the timber that the hurricane scattered about, but never failing to keep his course toward the northeast, exactly as the wind blew. The miracle was still working. Although he heard the crash of falling timber on every side, and the air was full of flying boughs, nothing touched him. Nor did he hear any groan or other complaint from the warriors behind him, and he knew that they, too, were unharmed.

Will, like his leader, felt the working of the miracle. It was a marvel that none of them should be struck by the flying timber. Mahpiya had spread his shield about them, and it must be because their hearts were pure. The ten had merely come to find a new home for their village, and they had intended harm to no one.

On they went in the dark, climbing low hills, crossing ravines, pushing their way through bushes, leaping over fallen trees, but always keeping their line. Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the thunder ceased and the lightning flashed no more. The wind died as if Mahpiya had willed it to cease at once, and Roka and the whole line with him paused. Then, after a short silence, Will heard another rush, but not that of the wind.

“Magaju!” (The Rain) he exclaimed.

“Yes, it is Magaju,” said Roka. “Now we will be wet and cold, but we are delivered.”

The rain poured upon them in a deluge all night long, but the warriors were happy. They knew that Mahpiya, with his children who were also his servants, the wind, the thunder, the lightning, and the rain, had scattered the Ikcewicaxta and had opened a way of safety to them. When dawn came and the rain stopped they were many miles into the northeast.

They had protected their weapons under their thick robes, but all the rest of their clothing was soaked, their bodies dripped with water and their packs were wet, but these were minor ills to such as they. Fearless now of the Ikcewicaxta, they coaxed a fire with infinite patience, watched it grow into a great, glowing circle of light and heat, and then stayed a long time beside it until they and their clothing were dried out thoroughly. Then everyone, in his own way and in silence, gave thanks to the good spirits who had saved them. When the tension was released they talked freely.

“I suppose,” said Inmu, “that the Ikcewicaxta were scattered and perhaps so badly hurt by the hurricane that their only thought was to save themselves; they had neither power nor wish to follow us.”

“I fancy,” said Hoton, “that they may have caught a glimpse or two of us by the lightning’s flash.”

“Then, why did they not attack?”

“Because about the middle of our line they saw me, me, Hoton, the great warrior. They knew I was under the protection of Mahpiya, and they feared me as well as the wrath of the mighty spirit that watches over us. It was a good thing for you, my friends, that I was chosen a member of this band.”

“We know it, Hoton,” said the pious Tarinca, “because none can talk so fiercely to the enemy as you, though I will add that you bear yourself as bravely in battle as you talk.”

“That is true,” said Inmu. “We could not spare Hoton, who both talks and fights.”

“And I could not spare any of you,” said Roka in his deep voice. “You are gallant lads, all of you, and my heart is full of pride because of you. Never shall we forget the great journey that we have made together through mighty perils.”

“A journey that is not yet finished,” said Pehansan.

“But which we will finish,” said Roka firmly. “Now I think we will shoot game and stay here all day. The Ikcewicaxta may pick up our trail and follow, most likely they will, but it will take them a long time to do so, and meanwhile we shall rest ourselves.”

Game was not hard to find. Before dusk it was the good fortune of Wanmdi to shoot a deer, and, as they had been without food, they broiled the flesh and ate luxuriously. Then, warm and well fed, they felt equal to any task or danger. But the wise leader gave them a word or two of warning.

“Listen, my warriors,” he said. “The good spirits have helped us. Without Peta and Mini, Waditaka could never have escaped from the great chasm, and without Mahpiya and his children, who are also his servants, the Ikcewicaxta would have slain us. But we must not rely always upon the good spirits. It may be that, having helped us so much, they will now wish to see what we can do when left to ourselves. So, I bid you, and I give myself the same command, to be more watchful, more enduring and more courageous than ever.”

“We will do all you ask,” said Inmu, who acted as spokesman, “and we see your wisdom in demanding it of us. We would be lower than the wild people if we asked the gods to do everything for us.”

The eyes of Roka kindled as he looked over his young heroes, and he knew that he need say no more. Daring the danger of Ikcewicaxta pursuit, he allowed them to remain the whole night by the fire, although a most vigilant watch was kept, and the following morning they proceeded through a wilderness that was warm and dry once more.

Joy reigned in the ranks of the ten. They had triumphed over so much now that they believed they could triumph over whatever was left. They were quite sure that the range of mountains just ahead was the last separating them from the great plains of the far north, where the buffalo grew to the greatest size, and Indian hunters were few. Will understood now, in a few words from Roka, that the desire of Xingudan that they should find these vast, half-mythical regions was due to the old chief’s refusal to put him to death in accordance with the command brought by Heraka from Mahpeyalute, the famous Sioux chief, known to the white people as Red Cloud. The hand of Mahpeyalute was heavy, and it might be better for the little village to hide itself in the remote north for a while.

Later on the wrath of Mahpeyalute would pass and the wily Xingudan could return. It might be, too, that Xingudan was not wholly averse to the flight of his own village. He was old, he had seen much, he knew much and his mind projected far. He understood the numbers and might of the white race, and great and valiant as was the Sioux nation, it must lose in the long and bitter war that had begun already. But Xingudan, in the exile that was, in a way, forced upon him, would save his own people.

Will, as he understood, felt more than ever attached to the ten and to the village. Xingudan’s wary thought of saving his band from the great war had no place in his own mind. He only saw that this little Dakota group had made a sacrifice to save him from death, and he was full of gratitude. If he could, he would repay in full.

The second day after their escape they were once more high among the hills, where, as usual, everything was on a gigantic scale, vast forests, composed of trees almost incredible in height and girth, clear, rushing streams, and an abundance of game, the moose and bear tremendous in proportions. They were not attacked, however, by any of the bears, and Will was glad to notice the absence of huge timber wolves, which he really dreaded more than any of the other animals.

Pehansan shot a mountain sheep on one of the lower slopes, and they varied their diet with mutton, which the Dakota knew how to cook in such a manner that it became very juicy. Ripe berries were plentiful, and they ate them in great quantities, making them take the place of bread.

The slight wounds sustained in battle were now healed, and the ten, uplifted by victory, felt more fit than ever for any trial. Yet Roka and Pehansan never relaxed the watch for an instant, and their caution served them well, because on the third night the vanguard of the Ikcewicaxta, more persistent than the Dakota had believed, overtook them, and, thinking the Dakota neglectful, attacked. Yet it was they who walked into a trap. The great bows of the Dakota sang and sang again, and their whistling shafts rarely missed. In a quarter of an hour half of the wild people were slain. The rest fled to the main body with word that the game they were hunting was far too dangerous to the hunters, and it would be better to hunt it no more.

Roka divined that they would not be pursued any farther by the wild people, and he and his men, feeling little wrath against the Ikcewicaxta, but pitying them for their ignorance, gave decent burial to the fallen. The Dakota themselves had escaped with a few scratches.

“I think we may now go on in peace,” said the wise leader; and, for days, they ascended the heights through a wild and magnificent region. When they reached the crest of the range they saw into a vast, dim region beyond, broken nowhere by any line of mountains, nor even hills.

“The plains!” all exclaimed together.

But there was still a long journey down the slopes and the foothills, although they took it at ease. The second morning after they left the crest Will went out to seek game. His course led him through rough country about a mile from the camp, where he found deer sign, evidently not more than an hour old.

He followed the trail swiftly, thinking he would soon overtake his game, which was evidently moving at leisure, browsing here and there.

His attention was wholly on the pursuit, but he noticed presently that the wind, which was scarcely stirring at all when he started, was now blowing swiftly. It seemed an odd circumstance to him, and he stopped and listened. At first he heard only the rush of air, and the rustling of the foliage before it, but gradually something detached itself from the general sound and then, as he believed, he heard the voice of Tateyanpa:

“Beware! Beware! Beware!”

It was a note of warning, clear and imperative. He looked all about him, seeing nothing alive but himself, but the voice of the wind never ceased to come, singing: “Beware! Beware! Beware!”

Will would not turn back. Waditaka, the young Dakota, who had not flinched in the presence of immeasurable dangers, could not do such a thing, but when he resumed the trail he watched not alone for the deer, he had a wary eye for every thicket on either side of him. Before he had gone far he was sure he was being stalked, not through anything he saw or heard, but by his consciousness of an imminent presence, something powerful, menacing and deadly. The knowledge seemed to come to him on a wave of air, and his hair lifted a little.

But he would not yet go back. He refused to pause in the presence of an unknown danger, though Tateyanpa continually sang, “Beware! Beware! Beware!” and he hurried himself a little on the trail. It led across a gully between two thickets, and, as he stepped down into it, he threw himself with a sudden convulsive impulse upon its very bottom. He had been conscious of a stir in the thicket on his right, and, from the corner of his eye, he had caught a glimpse of a dark form. But he always believed it was more the action of a good spirit than any power of his own mind and body that saved him from the spring of the mighty king wolf.

The huge body passed over him and struck beyond on the narrow floor of the ravine, where the raging brute could not turn instantly. It was well for Will now that he had been trained so thoroughly in agility and promptness. Springing to his feet and no longer depending on his bow, he snatched from his belt the loaded revolver that always hung there, firing bullet after bullet into the body of the wolf.

At the fourth bullet the wolf, although terribly stricken, managed to turn about, and dragged himself forward for a charge. He was in a terrible plight, blood pouring from him, and mad with rage and pain.

Will fired his fifth bullet into the open mouth, directly into the red throat, and then sent the sixth and last crashing into his brain. Xunktokeca quivered, fell over on his side and was dead. Will sprang upon the bank and sank down there, too weak and nerveless to move for a little while.

When his strength was restored, he went back to camp, and brought the others to look upon the greatest wolf that any of them had ever seen, or ever would see.

“It was Tateyanpa that saved you,” said Roka. “If he had not sent the warning Xunktokeca would have picked your bones, and he sent it, because your heart is clean and you wish harm to no one, Waditaka. He has followed us, and you in particular, across all the mountains. Only a king wolf could have been capable of so much ferocity and tenacity. But we are freed from him forever.”

They descended the last slopes of the mountains, then the foothills, and came upon green plains dappled with flowers stretching away to infinity. Toward the north was a myriad of slowly moving forms, and they cried joyfully together:

“The buffalo! The buffalo!”

Then Roka added, gravely:

“This is the country for us. Here we can hunt forever, safe from the march of the white man.”

They camped a few days on the flank of the herd, killing only what they needed for food. But the period was one of wonderful elation. Warriors of the Dakota—and they were the greatest warriors of all—had never before made such a tremendous journey, one that had been crowned with complete success. The glory of it would be sung by the nation as long as the nation lasted, and the names of all the ten would be honored forever. But in their pride they did not forget the sources of their strength and fortune.

They reverently gave thanks in the Dakota fashion to all the good spirits that had watched over them, and without whose aid they would have fallen long ago by the way. They spoke their gratitude in fervent words to sky, thunder, lightning, wind, fire, water and all the powerful elements that had been on their side.

Then they rejoiced every hour over the limitless plains. For all they knew, the glorious green expanse stretched all the way to the Arctic Ocean, and, where the buffalo ended, the caribou would carry on the tale in countless millions. It was truly a splendid sight for primordial men, and they were content for long periods merely to watch the game drifting in vast quantities over the waving earth in the fresh colors of spring. Here could be no exhaustion.

“The buffalo, like all other animals, is larger here than anywhere else,” said Roka.

“But, large as he is, he cannot escape us when we want him,” said Hoton. “We have defeated the great bear and’ the great panther, we have fought off the monstrous birds, and Waditaka with his own hand slew the largest and fiercest wolf that ever lived. There is nothing we cannot overcome, because we have already proved it by overcoming everything.”

Then Hoton chanted:

They felt that Hoton truly expressed their triumph and they joined in his chant with zeal and power. Then they prepared for their return. Roka believed that by curving to the south they could cross the mountains where they were low, and then turn northward to the village of Xingudan. His theory proved to be correct, and, in the early autumn, the ten stood on a hill, overlooking their own village. They saw the smoke curling from the tepees, and they knew that all there was as it should be. Roka, his heart swelling with just pride, turned to his men and called in a clear voice:

“Pehansan!”

“Den!” replied the tall warrior, which in the Dakota language means “Here!”

“Inmu!”

“Den!”

“Waditaka!”

“Den!”

“Hoton!”

“Den!”

“Capa!”

“Den!”

“Tarinca!”

“Den!”

“Tatokadan!”

“Den!”

“Hinyankaga!”

“Den!”

“Wanmdi!”

“Den!”

“All unharmed, and everyone stronger and better than he was when he went away!” said Roka exultantly. “Now we will report to Xingudan.”

As they marched down the slope the old chief, his face breaking into a smile of glad welcome through the mask of years, came forward to meet them.

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