Michael Blake - Dances With Wolves

Using the same surrounding technique they had employed with the buffalo, the men were able to kill a great number of the animals, about sixty head.

Fresh meat was always welcome, but more importantly, the appearance and successful hunting of the antelope was taken as a sign that the little war against the Pawnee would have a good result. The men going out would be made securer with the knowledge that their families wouldn’t be hard-pressed for food, even if they were gone several weeks.

A dance of thanks was held the same evening, and everyone was in high spirits. Everyone but Dances With Wolves. As the night wore on he watched from a distance, growing more and more morose. He was thinking only of being left behind, and now he could not stand the thought.

He maneuvered himself close to Stands With A Fist, and when the dance broke up, he was at her side.

“I want to talk to Kicking Bird,” he said.

Something was wrong, she thought. She read his eyes for clues but could find none.

“When?”

“Now.”

For some reason he couldn’t calm himself down. He was uncharacteristically nervous and fidgety, and as they walked to the lodge, both Stands With A Fist and Kicking Bird could see this.

His anxiety was still evident when they had seated themselves in Kicking Bird’s tipi. The medicine man skated over the usual formalities and came quickly to the point.

“Make your talk,” he said, speaking through Stands With A Fist.

“I want to go.”

“Go where?” she asked.

Dances With Wolves shifted restlessly, working up his courage.

“Against the Pawnee.”

This was relayed to Kicking Bird. Except for a slight widening of his eyes, the medicine man seemed unfazed.

“Why do you want to make war on the Pawnee?” he asked logically. “They have done nothing to you.”

Dances With Wolves thought for a moment.

“They are Comanche enemies.”

Kicking Bird didn’t like it. There was something forced about the request. Dances With Wolves was rushing.

“Only Comanche warriors can go on this ride,” he said flatly.

“I have been a warrior in the white man’s army longer than some of the young men who are going have been apprentices. Some of them are making war for the first time.”

“They have been taught in the Comanche way,” the medicine man said gently. “You have not. The white man’s way is not the Comanche way.”

Dances With Wolves lost a little of his resolve then. He knew he was losing. His voice dropped.

“I cannot learn the Comanche way of war if I stay in camp,” he said lowly.

It was difficult for Kicking Bird. He wished it was not happening.

His affection for Dances With Wolves was deep. The white soldier had been his responsibility, and the white soldier had shown himself to be worthy of the risks Kicking Bird had taken. He was more than worthy.

On the other hand, the medicine man had risen to a high and revered position through the dedicated gathering of wisdom. He was wise now and was able to understand the world well enough to be of great service to his people.

It was between affection for one man and service to his community that Kicking Bird was split. He knew it was no contest. All of his wisdom said it would be wrong to take Dances With Wolves.

As he struggled with the question he heard Dances With Wolves say something to Stands With A Fist.

“He asks that you talk to Ten Bears on this,” she said.

Kicking Bird looked into the hopeful eyes of his protégé and hesitated.

“I will do that,” he said.

Dances With Wolves slept poorly that night. He cursed himself for being too excited to sleep. He knew that no decision would be rendered until the next day, and tomorrow seemed too far away. He slept for ten minutes and woke for twenty all through the night. Half an hour before dawn he finally gave it up and went down to the river to bathe.

The idea of waiting around camp for word was unbearable and he jumped at the chance when Wind In His Hair asked if he wanted to go on a buffalo scout. They ranged far to the east, and it was well into the afternoon before they were back in camp.

He let Smiles A Lot take Cisco back to the pony herd and, with his heart beating wildly, stepped into Kicking Bird’s lodge.

No one was there.

He was determined to wait until someone returned, but through the back wall he could hear women’s voices mixed with the clatter of work, and the longer he listened, the less he could imagine what was going on. Not many minutes passed before curiosity drove him outside.

Directly behind Kicking Bird’s home, a few yards from the arbor, he found Stands With A Fist and the medicine man’s wives putting the final touches on a newly erected lodge.

They were stitching the last of the seams and he watched them work for a few moments before he spoke.

“Where’s Kicking Bird?”

“With Ten Bears,” she said.

“I will wait for him,” said Dances With Wolves, turning to go.

“If you want,” she said, not bothering to look up from her work, “you can wait in here.”

She stopped to brush at the beads of sweat running along her temple and faced him.

“We make this for you.”

The talk with Ten Bears didn’t last long, at least the substance of it didn’t.

The old man was in a good mood. His long-suffering bones loved the hot weather, and though he wasn’t going, the prospects for a successful venture against the hated Pawnee delighted him. His grandchildren were round as butterballs from summer feasting, and all three of his wives had been especially cheerful of late.

Kicking Bird could not have picked a better time to see him about a delicate matter.

As the medicine man told him about Dances With Wolves’s request, Ten Bears listened impassively. He repacked his pipe before replying.

“You have told me what is in his heart,” the old man wheezed. “What is in yours?”

He offered Kicking Bird the pipe.

“My heart says he is too anxious. He wants too much, too soon. He is a warrior, but he is not a Comanche. He will not be a Comanche for a while.”

Ten Bears smiled.

“You always speak well, Kicking Bird. And you see it well.’

The old fellow lit the pipe and passed it over.

“Now tell me,” he said, “what is it that you would like my advice on?”

It was a terrible letdown at first. The only thing he could compare it to was a reduction in rank. But it was more disappointing than that. He had never been so disappointed.

And yet he was shocked at how quickly the hurt of it passed. It was gone almost as soon as Kicking Bird and Stands With A Fist left the lodge.

He lay on the new bed in his new home and wondered about this change. It had only been minutes since he got the word, but he wasn’t crushed at all now. It was a tiny disappointment now. It’s something to do with being here, he thought, being with these people. It’s something to do with being unspoiled. Kicking Bird had done everything very precisely. He came trailed by the two women carrying robes, Stands With A Fist and one of his wives.

After they’d made up the new bed the wife had departed, and the three, Kicking Bird, Stands With A Fist, and Dances With Wolves, had stood facing one another in the center of the tipi.

Kicking Bird never made mention of the raid or the decision that had gone against him. He just started talking.

“It would be good if you make talk with Stands With A Fist while I’m gone. You should do this in my lodge so that my family can see. I want them to know you while I’m gone and I want you to know them. I will feel better to know that you are looking after my family while I’m away. Come to my fire and eat if you are hungry.”