made a face from pain as I boosted her into the
saddle. Early in the fighting, a bullet struck her in the shoulder. It knocked her to the ground and made her dizzy. She grabbed at something to pull herself up. It was the boot of a Blue Coat. He smashed his rifle butt into her face. The blow split her lip and broke one of her front teeth. Her lip was swollen and she was no longer pretty, but she would live.
Before we started off, we buried many of our dead. As we wrapped them in soft buffalo robes, we wailed songs of mourning. The sounds pierced the air as our loss pierced our hearts. With each one, we buried some of that person's prized possessionsâa flute, a necklace, bracelets of copper wire, an embroidered headband. When I helped bury my beautiful mother, my tears fell hot on her wrappings. With knives we dug shallow graves in little ravines along the riverbank. There we placed our dead and pulled earth over them.
Chief Joseph led the women, children, old men, and the rest of our warriors away from Big Hole. White Bird, who was too old to fight, rode with us. The other chiefs stayed to fight. We left many buffalo robes and much food. Our things were scattered on the ground.
We traveled toward the low, rolling hills, then swung south toward the mountains. As we moved away, the sounds of battle grew faint. In the gray dawn, a broad path stretched behind us where our
ponies' feet trampled the grass. The travois poles made furrows in the ground. Our warriors would find it easy to follow.
The morning mists cleared and the summer sun beat down upon us. Clouds of dust rose around the travois. We stopped often to shade the eyes of our wounded and to wet their parched lips. After a long half-sun, we halted at a little stream shaded by willows. The sun was still in the sky, but our wounded could travel no farther.
That night Fair Land died. My father held her hand as she died and he grieved with me. We grieved for my mother, too. As the spirit of Ollokot's wife entered the afterworld, we saw my mother die again.
My father sighed deeply. "We never make war on women and children," he said. "But the Blue Coats kill our women and children first. That is a shameful way to fight."
The war no longer stirred me. Before this we had beaten the Blue Coats with little trouble. Few of our people had been killed. But now we lost many. My heart was wrenched out of me. I feared for Swan Necklace and I feared for my people.
But I could not think about my fears. Bending Willow cried for my mother and for my mother's milk. I fed her soft mush but she spat it out and cried harder. Then Deer Woman knelt by my side. Her baby had been killed by the Blue Coats. She picked
up Bending Willow and held her close, letting her drink the milk that her own baby no longer needed.
We slept little that night. There were many wounded to care for. I carried water, changed bandages, and fed camas mush to those who could eat. I comforted those who cried out in pain.
In the morning, as we were packing the horses, the warriors rode into camp. Swan Necklace was safe.
"Do not fear for me," he said. "Bullets cannot kill me as long as I have my war whistle."
When he went into battle, he sounded his war whistle. It was made from the wing bone of a crane and its piercing cry called Swan Necklace's guardian spirit to protect him.
"Red Moccasin Tops lies dead," I answered.
"His guardian spirit protected him only from wounds on his body," said Swan Necklace. "He was shot in the throat."
"And Wah-lit-its? And Rainbow? And all our other brave warriors who lie dead?"
"Perhaps Wah-lit-its was shot before he could pick up his charm of weasel skin and raven feathers," said Swan Necklace. "Rainbow's guardian spirit protected him in battle only after sunrise. Then he could walk among his enemies. He was struck while the sky was dark."
I wondered at his words and prayed to the Great Spirit Chief to protect him.
We buried Fair Land with her elk-hide dress that she
Learning to Kill: Stories