The Elk-Dog Heritage by Don Coldsmith Read Free Book Online Page B

shadows and motioned impatiently. It was time to make their appearance. Uneasily, the little group moved forward, pausing to allow the medicine man to join them. Heads Off spoke to him.
    â€œThe Bloods have not come to the Council, Uncle.”
    â€œ Aiee , they will come to no good.” White Buffalo threw up his hands in despair.
    They could see old Black Beaver of the Mountain band picking his way among his seated warriors. Heads Off quickened his
step, and reached his place just as White Bear of the Red Rocks entered the circle of firelight. The chiefs exchanged nods of greeting, and Heads Off sat on the robe spread out for him. On either side and slightly to the rear were Coyote and White Buffalo. Tall One sat unobtrusively behind him, close enough to make her presence comforting. It had been painfully obvious that the ranks of warriors of the Elk-dog band were thin.
    Heads Off watched the patter of conversation around the circle. He was certain everyone was talking about the Elk-dogs, and the absence of their warriors. Damn those young idiots, he brooded. How could they shame their band and their families? The entire tribe would see their lack of respect for their chief and his council.
    Heads Off sat, furious, attempting to appear calm and unruffled. A murmur arose behind him, and people began to crane their necks to look. Finally he too turned to see the cause of the commotion.
    The Bloods were arriving. In the lead stepped Badger, tall and proud, and fully armed. He wore his ceremonial headdress as if for a warriors’ dance rather than a council. Behind him walked his followers. All were dressed like their leader, for a warriors’ dance, and across each of their foreheads was painted the broad crimson stripe.
    The young men made no special moves, but merely paraded pompously through the astonished crowd and seated themselves.
    And none too soon. From among the lodges to the north side of the circle stepped proud old Many Robes with his sub-chiefs. Heads Off breathed a sigh of relief. At least the Bloods had not made the unforgivable error of arriving after the Real-chief.
    Many Robes strode into the circle and seated himself, motioning to his pipe bearer. The ornate ceremonial pipe of the People emerged from its case, was filled, and handed to the Real-chief.
The pipe bearer brought a brand from the fire, and the old chief ceremonially lighted the leafy mixture in the bowl. Many Robes concealed well his doubts. Aiee , watching them from the darkness, he had begun to wonder if those young hotheads would ever show up. Fortunately, he had been able to postpone his entrance to allow the Elk-dog band to save face.
    There still remained grave doubts as to what was afoot. Why were the young men dressed for a ceremonial dance, and with their cursed red paint on their faces?
    Outwardly, the Real-chief was calm as he methodically puffed smoke to the four winds, to the earth and sky, and handed the pipe to Black Beaver. That chief repeated the ritual, and the pipe moved on around the circle. Many Robes, receiving it back after each had performed the ceremony, knocked the dottle from the bowl and handed it to his pipe bearer. He cleared his throat to open the Big Council.
    â€œHear me, my chiefs! The People have gathered for the Sun Dance. Let each chief speak for his band.”
    Black Beaver rose slowly and addressed the Council.
    â€œI am Black Beaver, chief of the Mountain band of the People. We have wintered well, and the hunting was good. We have seen no enemy.”
    The Mountain chiefs message was always brief and to the point, observed Heads Off. White Bear rose, made the customary speech, and noted that they had seen a traveling band of Head Splitters.
    â€œTheir families were with them, as we had ours,” he continued, “so we had no fighting.”
    This attracted very little attention. Such meetings were commonplace. Next came the Elk-dog band. Heads Off stood.
    â€œI am Heads Off, of the