Dances With Wolves

CHAPTER XXVII

If the party had any misgivings about returning empty-handed, they were washed away with the incredible news of the Pawnee rout.

One immediate side effect of the homecoming was that it reduced the heat of celebrity that Dances With Wolves had been subjected to. He was no less revered, but because of their traditional high standing, much attention was shifted back to Kicking Bird and Wind In His Hair, and something approximating the old routine was reestablished.

Though he made no public demonstration, Kicking Bird was astounded by Dances With Wolves’s progress. His bravery and ability in repelling the Pawnee attack could not be overlooked, but it was his progress as a Comanche, particularly his mastery of the language, that moved the medicine man.

He had sought only to learn something of the white race, and it was hard, even for a man of Kicking Bird’s experience, to accept the fact that this lone white soldier, who months ago had never seen an Indian, was now a Comanche.

Harder to believe was that he had become a leader of other Comanches. But the evidence was there for all to see: in the young men who sought him out and in the way all the people talked.

Kicking Bird could not figure out why all this had happened. He finally came to the conclusion that it was just another part of the Great Mystery that surrounded the Great Spirit.

It was fortunate that he was able to accept these rapid developments. It helped pave the way for yet another surprise. His wife told him about it as they lay in bed on his first night back.

“Are you certain of this?” he asked, thoroughly confounded. “This is hard for me to believe.”

“When you see them together, you will know,” she whispered confidentially. “It is there for all to see.”

“Does it seem a good thing?”

His wife answered this question with a giggle.

“Isn’t it always a good thing?” she teased, squeezing a little closer to him.

First thing next morning Kicking Bird appeared at the celebrity’s lodge flap, his face so clouded that Dances With Wolves was taken aback.

They exchanged greetings and sat down.

Dances With Wolves had just begun to pack his new pipe when Kicking Bird, in an unusual display of bad manners, interrupted his host.

“You are speaking well,” he said.

Dances With Wolves stopped working the tobacco into the bowl.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I like to speak Comanche.”

“Then tell me . . . what is this between you and Stands With A Fist?”

Dances With Wolves nearly dropped his pipe. He stammered a few unintelligible sounds before he finally got something coherent out.

“What do you mean?’”

Kicking Bird’s face flushed angrily as he repeated himself.

“Is there something between you and her?”

Dances With Wolves didn’t like this tone. His answer was framed like a challenge.

“I love her.”

“You want to marry her?”

“Yes.”

Kicking Bird thought on this. He would have objected to love for its own sake, but he could find nothing to disapprove of so long as it was housed in matrimony.

He got to his feet.

“Wait here in the lodge,” he said sternly. Before Dances With Wolves could reply, the medicine man was gone.

He would have said yes at any rate. Kicking Bird’s brusque manner had put the fear of God into him. He sat where he was.

Kicking Bird made stops at Wind In His Hair’s and Stone Calf’s lodges, staying about five minutes in each tipi.

As he walked back to his own lodge, he found himself shaking his head again. Somehow he had expected this. But it was still baffling.

Ah, the Great Mystery, he sighed to himself. I always try to see it coming, but I never do.

She was sitting in the lodge when he came in.

“Stands With A Fist,” he snapped, bringing her to attention. “You are no longer a widow.”

With that, he retreated back through the lodge flap and went to find his favorite pony. He needed a long, solitary ride.

Dances With Wolves hadn’t been waiting long when Wind In His Hair and Stone Calf appeared outside his door. He could see them peeking inside.

“What are you doing in there?” Wind In His Hair asked.

“Kicking Bird told me to wait.”

Stone Calf smiled knowingly.

“You might have to wait awhile.” He chuckled. “Kicking Bird rode out onto the prairie a few minutes ago. It looked like he was taking his time.”

Dances With Wolves didn’t know what to do or say. He noticed a smirk on Wind In His Hair’s face.

“Can we come in?” the big warrior asked slyly.

“Yes, please . . . please, sit down.”

The two visitors took seats in front of Dances With Wolves. They were smug as schoolboys.

“I’m waiting for Kicking Bird,” he said curtly. “What do you want?”

Wind In His Hair leaned forward a little. He was still smirking.

“There is talk that you want to get married.”

Dances With Wolves’s face began to change color. In the span of a few seconds, it went from a light rosy hue to the deepest, richest red.

Both his guests laughed out loud.

“To whom?” he croaked feebly.

The warriors shared expressions of doubt.

“To Stands With A Fist,” Wind In His Hair said. “That’s what we heard. Isn’t that the one?”

“She is in mourning,” he blubbered. “She is a—”

“Not today,” Stone Calf interrupted. “Today she has been released. Kicking Bird did it.”

Dances With Wolves swallowed the frog in his throat.

“He did?”

Both men nodded, more serious now, and Dances With Wolves realized that there was a legitimate move afoot to go forward with this marriage. His marriage.

“What must I do?”

His visitors glanced around the nearly empty lodge with dour expressions. They ended their brief inspection with a pair of sad head shakes.

“You are pretty poor, my friend,” said Wind In His Hair. “I don’t know if you can get married. You must give some things up, and I don’t see much in here.”

Dances With Wolves looked around, too, his expression growing sadder by the second.

“No, I don’t have much,” he admitted.

There was a brief silence

“Can you help me?” he asked.

The two men played out the scene for all it was worth. Stone Calf’s mouth twitched noncommittally. Wind In His Hair dropped his head and stroked his brow.

After a silence that was long and agonizing for Dances With Wolves, Stone Calf sighed deeply and looked him square in the eye.

“It might be possible,” he said.

Wind In His Hair and Stone Calf had a good day. They joked a lot about Dances With Wolves, especially the funny expressions on his face, as they walked through the village making deals for horses.

Weddings were normally quiet occasions, but the uniqueness of the bride and groom, uniting so close to the great victory over the Pawnee, had everyone bubbling over with goodwill and anticipation.

The people were eager to participate in the novelty of taking up a collection for Dances With Wolves. In fact, the whole village wanted to be part of it.

Those with plenty of horses were happy to make a contribution. Even the poorer families wanted to give up animals they could not afford. It was hard to turn these people down, but they did.

As part of a prearranged plan, contributors from all over camp began bringing horses at twilight, and by the time the evening star had appeared, more than twenty good ponies were standing in front of Dances With Wolves’s lodge.

With Stone Calf and Wind In His Hair acting as tutors, the groom-to-be took the string of ponies to Kicking Bird’s lodge and tied them outside.

The outpouring from his fellow villagers was deeply flattering. But wanting to give something dear of his own, he unstrapped the big Navy revolver and left it outside the door.

Then he returned to his own home, sent his tutors on their way, and passed a fitful night of waiting.

At dawn, he slipped outside for a look at Kicking Bird’s lodge. Wind In His Hair had said that if the proposal had been accepted, the horses would be gone. If not, they would still be standing outside the lodge.

The horses were gone.

For the next hour, he made himself presentable. He shaved carefully, polished his boots, cleaned the breastplate, and oiled his hair.

He had just finished these preparations when he heard Kicking Bird’s voice call from outside.

“Dances With Wolves.”

Wishing he were not quite so alone, the groom bent through the doorway of his home and stepped out.

Kicking Bird was waiting there, looking extraordinarily handsome in his finery. A few paces behind him was Stands With A Fist. Behind them the whole village had assembled and was watching solemnly.

He exchanged formal greetings with the medicine man and listened attentively as Kicking Bird launched into a speech about what was expected of a Comanche husband.

Dances With Wolves could not take his eyes off the tiny figure of his bride. She stood unmoving, her head bowed slightly. She was wearing the good doeskin dress with the elk teeth on the bodice. The special moccasins were on her feet again, and around her neck was the little pipe-bone choker.

Once, as Kicking Bird spoke, she looked up, and when he saw the whole of her striking face, Dances With Wolves was reassured. He would never tire of looking at her.

It seemed that Kicking Bird would never stop talking, but at last he did.

“Have you heard all that I have said?” questioned the medicine man.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Kicking Bird mumbled. He turned to Stands With A Fist and called her forward.

She came with her head still bowed, and Kicking Bird took her hand. He passed it to Dances With Wolves and told him to take her inside.

The marriage was made as they passed through the doorway. After it was done the villagers broke up quietly and drifted back to their homes.

All afternoon, the people of Ten Bears’s camp came in little groups to lay presents on the newlyweds’ doorstep, staying only long enough to drop off the gifts. By sunset, an impressive array of offerings was piled outside the lodge.

It was like a white man’s Christmas.

For the time being, this beautiful community gesture went unnoticed by the new couple. On the day of their wedding, they saw neither people nor their offerings. On the day of their wedding, they stayed home. And the lodge flap stayed closed.