Michael Blake - The Holy Road

A small voice, made tinier by the stillness, spoke up.

“I'm here, brother.”

The voice belonged to Rabbit, the youngest of his brothers and sisters. Smiles A Lot bent at the waist and peered forward.

“Rabbit. . where are you?”

A little hand reached out of the darkness and Smiles A Lot took it. He dropped to one knee and placed a hand on each of Rabbit's this shoulders.

“How did you get away?”

“I hid in the grass like a coyote,” Rabbit said proudly. “The took Stands With A Fist. I saw the, They took that little girl, Stays Quiet, too.”

“But they didn't take you.”

“No, they couldn't see me. I disappeared.”

Smiles A Lot cupped a hand behind the boy's head and pulled his brother's cheek to his own.

“You did well, little brother.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Yes,” Smiles A Lot answered, “you stay with me.”

Settling his other knee on the ground, he turned his attention back to Ten Bears.

“We should get away from here, Grandfather.”

“Yes,” the old man agreed, “everyone will be safe in the west. The canyons will hide us. But you will have to be the leader, Smiles A Lot. We have only you to help us.”

The boy who was good with horses spent the rest of a long night walking the killing ground, making a head count of the survivors, and found that remnants of almost every family survived.

Three women and two children had serious wounds, but Owl Prophet was still prone and likely would have remained there had Smiles A Lot not resorted to dousing him with a pot of cold water. The medicine man did what he could for the wounded but one of the women and one of the children passed into the shadow world before dawn.

When the sun finally came up Smiles A Lot forged what was left of the village into a force for action. Rabbit and the other boys were split into two groups: one to catch the remaining horses, the other to scour the surrounding prairie for small game. Rabbit's group succeeded in gathering seventeen horses and the other boys returned with six guinea fowl and almost a dozen wild hares, enough to give everyone in camp a few mouthfuls of food.

At the same time, Smiles A Lot put Hunting For Something in charge of her surviving peers and the girls scavenged the ruined camp for anything that could be salvaged to use on the trek west. The girls were successful, retrieving much useful material for the trip.

The rangers had not been as thorough as first appeared, and by noon Hunting For Something and her friends had collected almost twenty good lodge poles, a large pile of cooking utensils, enough buffalo hide to stitch together two lodges, and even a few weapons, including two working rifles that had somehow escaped attention.

By mid-afternoon the horses were loaded with what had been gleaned from the camp's ashes, several travois had been constructed for Ten Bears and the wounded, and they were ready to march out. Everyone was relieved to get away from the scene of so much pain.

Ten Bears lay on one side, rocking atop his movable bed, his gray head propped on an elbow. His chance escape from the hands of the rangers had already ceased to prey on his mind, and the ugliness of butchery and burning which resulted in the destruction of his community was beginning to recede. What would be referred to in the future as The Place Where The Rangers Burned Hearts was no longer a part of the present. Distance had diminished its impact enough to be guided toward memory as the long dark line on the horizon which marked the beginning of the canyonlands was sighted.

The simple act of moving had given purpose to people who had lost everything. Curiously, Ten Bears himself felt a welcome surge of renewal as he sat up on the travois to greet the coming twilight.

A beautiful day, this day, he thought to himself. How could it be so ugly? Nothing can be explained, old, worn-out man.

Better stop thinking like that, he admonished. Listen to your lungs. Hear them? What if your eyes are filling with night? What if your ears are getting smaller? Listen to those lungs! No rasping, no wheezing. They are working. Old or not, the Mystery wants you to live. Rejoice in that.

Deciding to give thanks for the good coming out of the bad, Ten Bears drew out his pipe and packed it before he realized that he had no way to light it on the bumpy travois. He held the pipe anyway, thinking, What does it matter whether or not my words travel to the Mystery on smoke? This is a special time. My heart is true. The things I'm thinking will get where they need to go.

He craned his head for a look at the women and children spread around him.

These are all good people, he thought. They know how to live when life is hard. They don't give up. Hunting For Something is up ahead somewhere, trying to find Dances With Wolves' trail. I'm glad that boy went with her, that Rabbit. He's tough like sinew. A very useful boy.

For a moment he thought he saw movement up ahead and hoped it was Hunting For Something coming back. But his old eyes were betraying him again. No one nearby showed any sign they had seen anything and Ten Bears reclined to face the sky, resolved that his granddaughter would come back when she would come back. No one could manipulate fate.

The clouds were laid out like bands of smoke against the deepening purple of nightfall and Ten Bears briefly wondered if he might be looking at the residue of the boiling pillars of black he and Hunting For Something had watched the day before from their hiding place in a stand of willows. Weary of heartache, he consciously turned his thoughts to the more pleasant subject of his only surviving grandchild's attributes. He was the only family she had now but it made him glad to think of her determination and bravery in the face of having lost her father, mother, brothers, and sisters.

She doesn't complain, he thought, she doesn't think of herself. She insisted on scouting the trail ahead. I don't doubt she'll pick up Dances With Wolves' tracks. She can do all of a woman's work and sit tall on her pony, too. The girl looks to be a warrior, she carries herself straight up and down. Now she's doing a warrior's work. She's just what a Comanche woman should be. She can do anything. And she's a good-looking girl, too. Any young man who puts his eye on her bad better be a good one.

Ten Bears looked over his nose at the last light in the east and thought of Smiles A Lot. Here, too, was something to make his heart glad in the midst of dejection.

A young man all by himself, thought Ten Bears, traveling into hostile country on an urgent mission. That boy has changed overnight. No one thought he could do anything. I didn't think so. But here we are, getting safer every mile because a boy who couldn't do anything stood up and took charge. How could I have been so wrong about him? I didn't give him credit because I couldn't see. I didn't hear his blood because I didn't bother to listen.

"Nobody knows anything,” the old man muttered out loud. He allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle and gazed back down the trail again.

Why am I surprised at the strength of these two? he thought, shaking his head. Comanches are strong. Comanches can get through anything. The proof is in our children. That Smiles A Lot — he's proof. He'll find Wind In His Hair and the other men and bring them back to us. The boy has everything. All he really needs is a wife. Hunting For Something. . Hunting For Something and Smiles A Lot. Could there be a more perfect match? Oh, what do you know anyway, old man? You don't know if they like each other. Stay out of it. Why are you dreaming like this? Well, anyway, I hope he doesn't get killed. I don't care what anyone thinks or says. I don't care if it's not my business. I can think what I want to think, and I think they would be a couple to make people proud!