Michael Blake: The Holy Road

Anyone who treated with the whites would have to be prepared. Kicking Bird was the best prepared of them all, yet he knew almost nothing of white ways. And what if he did? Would it really matter if he were smarter than all the whites put together?

Kicking Bird concluded, wistfully, that it would not matter. The Comanche could not agree on the significance of a single dead rat lying with a hole in its stomach in the middle of camp. How could they agree on a course of action for dealing with a nation of strange people whose numbers were staggering, whose clothes and customs and armaments and food and machines might have come from a world beyond the sun and the moon? Kicking Bird saw no way for the Comanche to remain as they were. He could not imagine the Comanche, or any other tribe, meeting the white threat as one people, and without unity all would surely be lost.

He resolved that night, standing alone behind his lodge, that he would never allow himself to feel this queasiness again. He could no more change the condition of the Comanches than he could reach into heaven and shuffle the stars. But he could still do all in his power to serve his people, his wives, his children, and himself. He could not allow himself to be crippled with doubt. Then he would serve no one.

He did not sleep in the family lodge that night, retiring instead to the tent next door, the place reserved especially for him, the place where the peace medal from the whites hung. His stomach trouble had disappeared completely and he quickly fell into a deep sleep, dreaming a terrible dream that the buffalo had vanished, returning to the earth from whence they had sprung, brothers no more to the Comanches or anyone else. The Indian people were left to wander in starvation, crying ceaselessly for their relatives the buffalo who had deserted them.

Late the next morning, his children, unable to wait any longer, flooded into the lodge of their father and, as they rolled over him in a happy pile, Kicking Bird knew more than ever that no power on earth could sway him from his course, He would do his best to handle what was coming. He would offer all of his experience and wisdom to the cause of leadership. He knew that whatever happened he would not disappoint the tangle of arms and legs in which he was now entwined, and that was good enough for Kicking Bird.

Smiles A Lot had no bad dreams. In fact, he slept soundly and deeply for the first time in weeks.

He was up long before Kicking Bird began wrestling with his children and spent most of the early morning with his horses, trying to figure out how best to exploit his wealth. So beautiful, he thought as he meandered back and forth among them. They all knew and trusted him, and as he passed by, dragging a gentle hand over their slick coats, the ponies would nicker to him or lazily blow the dust from their nostrils in a sign of contentment. He, in turn, felt unbounded affection for them. But he was not thinking how much he loved them this morning, he was trying to decide which ones he could do without.

In the past he'd sought peace in the company of his horses, a living shield against the doubts he had about himself. But now there was no vestige of doubt. Smiles A Lot looked upon his many horses as weapons, and before the sun was at midpoint he was back in camp fully armed.

Smiles A Lot had no capacity for guile, and as a trader he had never displayed the adroitness at bartering that came easily to others. He had never sought anything more than a fair return on the value he offered and that spirit had guided his selection of the half-dozen sturdy ponies he brought into camp that morning.

Three of the ponies he left picketed in front of his father's home. With the other three in tow, he crossed the village to the lodge of Horned Antelope's sister, the newly widowed Magpie Woman. She had lost her husband in the raid into Mexico and her sudden dependence on the charity of others made her a good candidate to provide what Smiles A Lot needed.

She was at home with her two children and seemed happy to see Smiles A Lot. Her chopped hair and the unhealed cuts on her arms made it plain that she was still in mourning, and when Magpie Woman warmed to the offer he made, Smiles A Lot knew he was doing the right thing.

It was common knowledge that his horses were the finest. Any one of them was a prize and he was offering three to the impoverished widow, two for materials and one for labor. Magpie Woman seemed delighted and assured him that the lodge he wanted her to make could be completed before the next full moon. She had enough hides already on hand, and though she might be short a few poles, she assured him she could find more without any trouble.

Returning home, he found his father and mother outside, curiously inspecting the three horses he had left staked to the ground.

"Are these your ponies?" his father asked as Smiles A Lot came up.

"No, Father, they are yours."

"Mine? What do you mean?"

"I want to trade them for a bow and set of arrows."

"A bow. . and arrows. . for you?" his father asked.

"I want a long-shooting bow of ash, and maybe twenty arrows."

Smiles A Lot's father scratched the side of his head. "Twenty arrows. . that's a lot, son. There is no ash here. I would have to travel one or two sleeps to find it."

"That is why I'm offering three good ponies instead of one."

The older man cocked his head quizzically at his boy.

"Why do you want a bow and arrows?"

"Any man has to have such things in his lodge'"

"What lodge?" his mother suddenly spoke up.

"Magpie Woman is making me a lodge of my own."

Smiles A Lot's mother stepped in front of her husband. "How can you have a lodge of your own? Who will keep it? Who will make your food. . your clothes?"

"Maybe I will," Smiles A Lot replied stoutly.

"This is backwards," his father started, "what will you do —"

"How can you have a lodge without a woman?" his mother interrupted.

"I will have a woman."

"Who?"

"I don't know. . someone good."

"People will laugh," his mother cautioned, "a grown man with a lodge and no family."

“Let them laugh," said Smiles A Lot. "I am a Comanche man. I can do what I want. I want a lodge and I'm going to have one. Father, will you take the ponies I'm offering or should I walk them over to Powder Face?"

"Powder Face!" his father exclaimed. "His arrows can't hit anything."

"Is it a bargain?" Smiles A Lot asked.

"You will have to be patient. . an ash bow takes time."

"I'll be patient."

Leaving his stunned parents, Smiles A Lot set off once more and a few minutes later was standing at Owl Prophet's lodge flap. He announced himself and waited.

After what seemed a long time the flap opened and the slit-eyed prophet stooped through the opening. He said nothing but stood staring down at Smiles A Lot, waiting for the boy who was good with horses to state his business.

"I am taking the warrior's path," the young man said evenly. "I want you to guide me."

Owl Prophet continued to stare at his caller. He looked at the sun. "Come back when there is shade on the other side of my lodge," he said. Then he ducked back through the flap.

When Smiles A Lot returned early in the afternoon he was leading another of his ponies. Again he announced himself and again Owl Prophet emerged. He glanced expressionless at the young roan stallion Smiles A Lot had brought and told the boy to come inside his family's lodge.

No one was at home and Smiles A Lot sat in the spot Owl Prophet indicated, on the other side of the small fire burning in the center of the floor. The prophet did not offer his visitor a pipe. He sat still, his long unbraided hair spilling down his shoulders, his eyes so narrow that it looked as if he might drift off to sleep at any moment.