The Holy Road

Chapter XXI

The three warriors upon whose actions the fate of their people might depend did make up their minds, just as Ten Bears knew they would, and they divulged their plans to him in separate visits on the same day.

Ten Bears had actually dreamt such a scenario the night before, and so he was not surprised when Kicking Bird appeared at his door in the early morning, asking to talk.

The two men smoked a pipe in silence, and when the bowl was exhausted, Ten Bears knocked the ash deftly into his flameless fire and said in an offhand way, "You have been thinking a lot."

Kicking Bird smiled. "Yes, Grandfather. I have been thinking since I came back from Touch The Clouds' camp."

He then revealed all that had happened during his visit to the Kiowas, describing in detail his encounter with the white man Lawrie Tatum, placing particular emphasis on the Quaker's offer of protection and support for those who loved peace and would be willing to follow the white man's "holy road."

As he finished his fascinating story Kicking Bird withdrew his own pipe and tamped a few pinches of tobacco into the bowl.

"Did you smoke the pipe with this man?" Ten Bears asked.

"We smoked the pipe."

"His words were true?"

"There was nothing to show they were not. I have decided to go back up there and find Lawrie Tatum and talk to him some more.”

Ten Bears nodded, then lapsed into thought. The men smoked in silence, passing Kicking Bird's pipe back and forth.

"I am wondering," Ten Bears began at last. "This white man's holy road. . how can Comanches take a road they have never traveled. . how can they take a road where everything is new and strange and still be Comanches? How can they be happy?"

Kicking Bird listened as he sucked at the pipe and sent a long stream of smoke curling toward the hole in Ten Bears' lodge.

"I don't know, Grandfather. But I want to see this Lawrie Tatum again and talk with him. Your question is good. It says a lot. But it makes a question come into my mind, a question that might be just as good. I think of the buffalo growing more scarce each summer. I think of white soldiers coming into the country. I think of these rangers tearing at our camp like starving wolves — killing our women and children, burning down our lodges. When I think of these things, I wonder what will happen if they continue. You ask how we can walk this holy road, and I wonder. . how can we not?"

"Ahhh!" Ten Bears exclaimed as he passed back the pipe. “your question is a good one, too. It vexes me greatly. When will you see this — how do you say it? — Loree Taydum again?"

"We will leave at sunup. Perhaps you should come with us.”

“Me? No. . no. . I'm good here, but if you come back and tell me the Loree Taydum man is a good one and that all his promises are true and that an old man like me can be happy on his holy road, maybe then I will go."

Kicking Bird smiled and started to his feet.

"Who goes with you?" Ten Bears asked.

"Whoever wants to."

"Well," the old man cautioned, "don't take the whole village. Those rangers might come back again."

“No, Grandfather," Kicking Bird assured him, "I won't do that.”

The sun had passed the midway point in its daily journey and Ten Bears had just settled himself in the arbor with a bowl of Hunting For Something's pemmican when he glanced up to see the confident figure of Wind In His Hair striding toward him.

"Can I speak with you, Grandfather?" the one-eyed warrior asked respectfully.

"I always like to talk with Wind In His Hair."

"I don't have my pipe."

"Nor do I. Mine's in the lodge."

"I can bring it."

"That's not necessary," Ten Bears said, moving over to make room in the arbor. "Wind In His Hair's heart is always true. Come and sit down."

Wind In His Hair settled next to the man he had known all his life and came straight to the point.

"What has happened must be avenged, Grandfather.”

"It has always been so," Ten Bears agreed. "But I wonder," he continued, setting his food bowl to one side. "Your father fought the whites, and his father before him. You have fought white people. It seems that after all these winters, almost too many to be counted, that the only thing this fighting has brought us is more white people. After every fight there are fewer Comanches. Maybe we should start looking for ways to walk the peace road."

Wind In His Hair gazed out at the village for such a long time that Ten Bears picked up his bowl and resumed eating. When Wind In His Hair spoke again his eyes were still fixed somewhere in front of him.

"I am different from what I used to be, Grandfather. I'm getting older, and I love peace more. I like to be with One Braid Trailing and our children. But I will always be a warrior, a Hard Shield. I will be that when I die. There will never be peace if an enemy can kill us whenever he likes, can burn our homes and steal our horses without being punished. That is not peace. Peace can't be made when one is strong and the other is weak. Both must be strong. The whites will keep killing us until the Comanches are no more. . if we let them. How can I let them feast on us and toss our bones to one side? A Comanche cannot do that."

Again a silence descended in the arbor and, as if sent to fill it, a sudden gust of summer's breeze brought the dry leaves hanging on its boughs to life. Then Ten Bears spoke again.

"I am old now and people think I am wise. I am not. I do not know what road to take. All I know is that it makes my old heart glad to hear Wind In His Hair's words."

"Thank you, Grandfather.”

"When will you leave?"

“I have sent runners to tell White Bear that the Comanche are making a war on the whites. When he will come, I don't know. We will make a big party of the bravest Comanche and Kiowa. Then we will go.”

"Don't take the whole village."

"No, Grandfather, I won't do that.”

Ten Bears watched him walk away. Long after his form had blurred and disappeared, the old man was still thinking about Wind In His Hair.

He thought about him so hard that Ten Bears, eyes began to run. He bent his head and, as his tears wet the dust next to his feet, he realized that he was mourning. Wind In His Hair would be killed, and his passing would take the strongest, most beautiful bloom of Comanche warriorhood. After Wind In His Hair, there would be no more.

A few hours later Ten Bears was lying on his side, watching the afternoon shadows begin their long crawl through his open door when a pair of legs came into view at the lodge entrance and Dances With Wolves' voice floated inside.

"Grandfather? Are you in there?"

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Ten Bears answered, “Yes, yes. Come in, Dances With Wolves.”

The tall warrior ducked through the flap, followed by his two children, and for a moment they all stood awkwardly.

"Sit down in my home," Ten Bears urged. Dances With Wolves said nothing to his boy and girl but indicated the ground with the flat of his hand and the three sat, the children just behind their father.

"Do you have any tobacco?" Ten Bears asked. “Mine is almost gone. It seems everyone is coming to see me today.”

"Of course, Grandfather, we can smoke my pipe.” Dances With Wolves slipped his pipe out of its beaded case and went about the business of loading it. In those few moments, Ten Bears had an opportunity to study his face and felt profound concern at what it told him.

The whites of his eyes were stained red. The face was creased with lines and the lips gave the impression that they might be permanently pursed. His hair was unkempt, his face unwashed, and his fingers quivered as if seized with palsy as he pushed tobacco into the pipe's bowl.

When it was filled, he passed it respectfully to Ten Bears, who lit it with a brand from the small fire he had built.

“You've got two good children there," Ten Bears remarked, passing the pipe back across the fire.

“Yes," Dances With Wolves agreed, "I'm lucky to have them'"

The children stared mutely at their crossed legs. Dances With Wolves did not speak anymore and Ten Bears felt an unexpected shudder of pity for the sad trio.

"Do you sleep?" he asked Dances With Wolves.

The question seemed to stir the warrior's lethargy. He stared across the fire as if he had never heard such a question.

"I don't know," he replied. "Awake, asleep. . it's hard to know the difference."

He gazed, trancelike, at Ten Bears and for a moment the headman thought Dances With Wolves' face was going to break apart.

“'Oh, Grandfather. ." he gasped, closing his eyes and letting his head fall until his chin touched his chest.

“Snake In Hands. . Always Walking," Ten Bears called in little more than a whisper. The children looked up. "You know that boy Rabbit, Smiles A Lot's little brother?"

Snake In Hands nodded and his sister followed suit.

"He's lonely for friends these days. He lives just across there. Why don't you go over and see if he's home?"

Both children looked to their father. He hadn't moved.

"Go ahead," Ten Bears prodded gently, "have some fun."

Hesitantly the children began to rise.

"Go ahead," Ten Bears encouraged. "Go."

They turned and went out and Ten Bears looked once again at the downcast warrior with the closed eyes sitting across from him.

Dances With Wolves still had not moved and it occurred to Ten Bears that the way he held himself, so still and defeated, told the full story of his suffering. He reached across the fire and laid a leathery hand on the pair hanging limply in his visitor's lap.

"Dances With Wolves," he whispered.

Dances With Wolves slowly lifted his head and stared dully at Ten Bears.

"I'm glad you came to see me," the old man smiled. “What is in your heart?"

"I am only waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"I am waiting for Wind In His Hair to make his war on the whites. I will ride with him."

"Hmmm," the old man grunted.

"Then I will keep riding," Dances With Wolves intoned.

"What do you mean?" Ten Bears was suddenly puzzled.

"I mean to get my family back."

"But that is not possible."

The simple act of talking seemed to refresh Dances With Wolves. Color was returning to his face and little explosions of light shone in his eyes as he spoke.

"I alone can move among the whites and not be seen.”

"But you are a Comanche."

A small, sly smile spread across Dances With Wolves' lips.

"That is true," he said, "but the color of my skin has not changed.”

Ten Bears' face tightened in concentration. He had never heard such a wild idea.

"But how will you talk? How will you eat?" He looked Dances With Wolves up and down. "You cannot look as you do now.”

"I won't look like this."

Ten Bears dropped his gaze to the flickering fire. That men could turn into animals or animals to men was not unheard of, but such a thing as Dances With Wolves spoke of now — this he could not imagine. To think that a Comanche could turn into a white person was beyond him.

The children suddenly burst through the door. Rabbit was with them.

"Father," Snake In Hands started breathlessly, “Rabbit knows where to find snakes near the stream — lots of snakes. He wants to show me.”

"Go then," Dances With Wolves said. "Take your sister.”

Snake In Hands pushed Rabbit and Always Walking through the door and they hurried off to the stream, shouts of excitement fading in their wake.

“Have you spoken to your children of this? " Ten Bears asked.

“No."

"What will you do with them?"

"They will stay in camp."

Ten Bears shook his head.

"I always thought that one parent is better than none," he said.

"There will be two when I return. That is the best."

"I cannot see how that can happen," Ten Bears said stubbornly. “All I can see is two Comanche children with neither mother nor father.”

“But, Grandfather. ." Dances With Wolves leaned forward a little, with more life in his voice and eyes than Ten Bears had seen since the ranger attack. “They are alive. If they were dead we would continue. They are not dead, but speaking their names only brings sorrow. No one can live like that. I know the whites. I can do this thing. I can get her back. I can get Stays Quiet back. Maybe I will die, but we cannot live as we are living now."

Again the sly smile flitted across Dances With Wolves' face. "Maybe I will succeed, Grandfather. . maybe we will all be together again.”

For a moment Dances With Wolves looked like a mischievous boy and Ten Bears chuckled at his audacity.

"Maybe you will,” the old man said, "maybe you will. Who am I to say you won't? I am not the Mystery."