And Sleeping Bear entered into his wife with a gentleness of the earth and a touch that was soft and pleasurable. And never again did Mother compare Tall Tree with her husband nor wish for another life. Life had been good with this man whom she loved deeply.
After a day of traveling, Flying Bird was oblivious to the movement around her. Thoughts invaded her mind like bolts of flashing lightning that she could not control. Shining Moon’s face would appear before her, smiling and laughing and then in the next flash his face would be contorted in pain and blood would be running from a large gash in his side. But there was one vision that kept returning to her tired mind. Shining Moon was sitting by a small fire. All around him was black, but in his hands was a large glistening spear point. It was a spear point like none Flying Bird had ever seen. It shone like the stars and seemed to pulse with life and being. She could see the concentration as Shining Moon struck the chips from the living stone and feel the beat of her love’s heart and the sound of his breathing as he worked.
When the tribe reached the box canyon, Flying Bird was not conscious of thought or movement around her. Her body was racked by unfelt pain and her heart was only a dry stone in her chest. There was nothing, no air filtering into the lungs, no fleeting creatures before them, only darkness. She did not remember gathering wood or helping Mother and Grandmother build a small shelter. She did not remember the cool air of night nor laying down on the ground outside the shelter. She did not remember anything until the dawn when she awoke at first not knowing where she was or who she was with. Looking at the rising sun, the memories slowly came to her and with the memories the deep feelings of longing were released by the sun’s rays on the rocks of the canyon and by the small darting birds that greeted the day.
And with this she realized Shining Moon was in all things. He was in the earth and the trees. The sky and the heavens. He was within her, held tight by her spirit and her caring. He was in Mother and Grandmother and Sleeping Bear. There was nothing in the world he was not a part of and she knew he would always be a part of her in all things she did during her life. And in that moment, that small period of time, Flying Bird was no longer a child, but a woman.
Grandmother was the first to notice the change. It was deep in Flying Bird’s eyes. A depth of vision that youth does not have, a vision of time and death. A battle fought in the mind that settles deep within the eyes of men and women. Seeing this, Grandmother walked over to Flying Bird and took her in her arms and held her close to her large sagging bosom. “My child, my child,” she spoke deeply, “now there is only the future.”
During the day while the scouts went out looking for the invaders, the women escorted by braves went out and brought in more wood. They gathered the green pinon nuts and setting snares caught as many chipmunks, rock squirrels and rabbits as they could. Although the canyon was hard to attack, it was also impossible to escape from. There was only one way out and that was the way they had entered. They must have wood and food. Black Bison set up cooking stations and split the food into rations. There would be no full stomachs now, there would only be enough to keep one alive. The warriors would receive the larger rations. Already the older horses had been killed. Their flesh cut from their bodies in long strips drying on the rocks in the sun. Burros and young horses would be next.
Late in the afternoon the scouts returned. One thousand yards to the front the invaders had stopped. The standoff would begin. That night the tribe heard the songs and drums of the invaders. All night the chants went on until with the dawn the warriors, guarding the front of the canyon, looked out and saw the invaders on their horses. A man with nothing but a loin cloth and a lance kicked his horse forward and rode, his back straight and true, towards the canyon. Stopping only feet from the first warriors, he threw the lance into the ground and with motions of his arms and hands, told how his chief, Blue Sky, wished to speak with their chief. The message delivered, Black Bison several minutes later rode out of the canyon. Not a sound emerged from the lips of the people as he rode past. Not a look of fear crossed his face, not a sign of sadness. He was like a stone, untouchable, brave, true and hard.
Blue Sky watched the chief ride out of the canyon and dismount and sit on a large boulder. Blue Sky felt a deep respect for the man. His fifteen warriors had indeed been brave men. Surely now their spirits were in the heavens. They were true men, true fighters, and to Blue Sky there was nothing but war and death, strength and boldness. His people were far different than the people of the north. He had been told by his scouts that these people were mere farmers. That they would surrender like women. He had been told that their braves were weak like dogs. But he knew this now not to be true. His own people were hunters and invaders. They took from the weak of the earth. They were the chosen ones. Made and created to trample other people of the land. Blue Sky was not an evil man but he was like all men of conquest obsessed with their dominance, feeling they were the only people of the light. Not wishing or caring to feel the kinship of mankind. There was nothing but kill or be killed, conquer or forever live in shame. And this small tribe of women and children and old men with its small band of warriors would die as sure as their chief sat on the boulder waiting for him.
Blue Sky dropped his lance to the ground and rode out away from his braves. It was a beautiful day. One could feel the touch of the cool season and he felt invigorated and brave. He knew that the eyes of his warriors rode with him. He knew all of them wished to be like him. And in this feeling of power he found great strength. Approaching Black Bison he slid easily from his horse and walked up to the man. Black Bison stood and Blue Sky immediately saw a man of stature and strength. This chief was obviously not a mere grower of corn. Blue Sky made the motion of friendship and Black Bison responded. Dropping to the ground and sitting, Blue Sky took from his belt a long pipe and lit the tobacco with a coal wrapped in a reed-lined leather pouch. Puffing deeply on the pipe he passed it to Black Bison who in turn breathed deeply the strong white smoke.
“Destiny has brought us to this place,” Blue Sky spoke in sign language. “It would be far easier to surrender your people to me. So many of our people will die.”
Black Bison sat and did not reply, but looked directly into the chiefs eyes. After several moments, Blue Sky stood. “There is no reason to talk. Go back to your people and prepare to die.”
Black Bison was no sooner back into the mouth of the canyon when over one hundred warriors of Blue Sky’s yelled and charged their ponies into the rocks. But as they entered the mouth of the canyon, sheets of arrows fell upon them from the sides of the canyon and as soon as it started the first battle was over. Twenty-five of Blue Sky’s braves lay dead or wounded and not one of Black Bison’s. The wounded were soon dead, as warriors stole out from the rocks swiftly cutting their throats and taking from their bodies weapons and other useful items; also gathering the spent arrows.
Blue Sky, watching the quick skirmish, felt a deep anger spreading through his body. He had fallen into a trap. The fifteen braves were left behind to do exactly what they had done. Slow him and his braves up. He should have just trampled them into the ground with his entire force of men. But he had not, and now this battle would not be easy. His men were not prepared for a long battle. They did not have great stores of food, but were prepared for quick moving attacks, depending on their wins to gather food and restock arrows and weapons. He had made a mistake and now he must sit with his under-chiefs to decide on a course of action. When the survivors of the attack returned, he had the men all dismount and set a more permanent camp. In the morning they would resume the fight.
The people of the tribe were overjoyed with the first battle. They had not lost one man and maybe the gods were with them. Maybe the invaders would see the difficulty of the situation and go as they came. Disappearing forever into the land. But when Black Bison consulted with Man of Darkness, the old medicine man was still without dreams or visions, and Black Bison knew there would be much suffering and death before the ordeal was over.
CHAPTER 7
SHINING MOON RETURNS
Shining Moon lay the drill down on the ground and picked up the spear point. The hole was clean and exactly where he wanted it. Forever men would know he, Shining Moon, had created this point as