Stone Song by Win Blevins Read Free Book Online

chiefs, thought not of the glory of the individual warrior, but of how that spirit could be used to benefit the band. When a young man had finished his years as a warrior, he might become a Big Belly and be obliged to think of these larger issues.
    “I don’t think I will ever see the end of my warrior days.” He looked at his friend with mixed feelings. He didn’t want to tell even Hump about Rider and his seeing beyond. Yet … Curly said, “All my life I have known in my heart that my destiny is war.”
    Hump nodded, waited, nodded again. Curly could see that he was wondering whether Curly had a spirit guide that instructed him, or had seen beyond. But Hump gave his hunka the respect of not asking questions.
    Curly thought of all the maneuvering Bear-Scattering had done, consulting with his own people and with the wasicu agent and the soldier chiefs, persuading people, getting people to agree, planning—conniving, as it seemed to Curly. He thought, worse, of the maneuvering done by those who wanted to replace Bear-Scattering as leader when he died. “I don’t want ever to be a headman,” he said.
    Hump just nodded again. “Some men are born for the rapture of the fight itself,” he said.
    When Curly and Hump were riding back from a long day’s hunt with no meat, several Bad Face youths fell in with them.
    “The deer are gone,” Pretty Fellow complained. He didn’t like to hunt anyway. At the fort he hung around the soldiers and their wives a lot. He was learning English. He was the son of the leader of the band, Bad Face. He said the new leaders of the band would need to know English.
    “The deer are around,” said No Water. “Just spooky.”
    Black Twin and White Twin nodded. The twins had a rivalry to see who was the best hunter. Those two had a rivalry for everything.
    Curly didn’t like the way Pretty Fellow was looking at him. He was deliberately wearing poor clothing again and had rubbed dust on himself in the manner of a wakinyan dreamer. Pretty Fellow seemed to think Curly was comical.
    Curly wished he and Hump could stay clear of these Bad Faces in general. He kept thinking of the hands of his own people in the dream, somehow bringing him harm. But he couldn’t tell Hump that.
    The Bad Faces asked Buffalo Hump if things had really changed, and Hump said they had, for sure. The last five winters, since all the wasicu started charging through the country like madmen, headed for the country by the western water, everywhere to get the yellow metal, the game had been scarce and elusive. Without game, people were going to gohungry this winter. Not only the Lakota, but their friends and allies the Sahiyela and Mahpiyato—whom the wasicu called Cheyenne and Arapaho—too.
    “ A-i-i-i , Curly,” said No Water, “can you put your ear to the ground and hear the buffalo?” The people had run off from Laramie without their rations of food, and they needed a good fall hunt. “ A-i-i-i , Curly,” the big fellow repeated, grinning at his comrades, “can you? Can your father, the wicasa wakan ?”
    Curly had nothing to say. He didn’t have the medicine of seeing things far away, and No Water knew it. Neither did Curly’s father. Tasunke Witko was not that kind of wicasa wakan .
    “When we find the buffalo,” No Water went on, “I’ll get one my size, and Curly will get one his size.” No Water thumped his big chest, and all the youths but Hump and Curly laughed.
    Pretty Fellow was making mocking eyes at Curly now. Then he tossed his head around in the air with a grin and began to hum. Everyone wondered what he was doing. Finally he crooned a teasing song:
    “ Our cousin has hair the color of dust .
    His fathers ,
    Were they shaggy, hairy, dirty wasicu?”
    All the Bad Face boys grinned and looked sideways at Curly. The boy felt his face flush. He gripped the reins until his knuckles turned white. They were almost into camp, and Curly thought someone might have overheard the song. Tomorrow it