No Sioux dared to be present when they arrived. The boys continued their vigil, watching as the village went into its familiar nomadic routine. Curly thought back to the morning of carefree fun. He instinctively knew his childhood had ended.
At first, the boys tried to piece together what had happened. They gathered the bits of gossip they could hear. “The soldiers were angry that a warrior killed an old cow belonging to a wagon train of settlers,” someone said.
Curly and Hump exchanged glances. Surely, this was the same party of settlers they had raided last night. Had the soldiers been looking for them? Were they to blame for Conquering Bear’s death? Guilt paralyzed them. They could do nothing but listen.
“This is Flat Forehead’s fault,” another boy added. “The soldiers were looking for him. He was hiding in a tipi and would not come out.”
Curly and Hump took their first unmeasured breath since they had heard about the cow, but they were still too frightened to add anything.
They listened as various boys added what they had been able to learn to the story.
Lone Bear nudged Curly. “They are saying it happened last night along the Holy Road. You and Hump were there, weren’t you?”
Curly said, “Quiet!” Lone Bear knew when Curly meant business and he immediately fell silent. Soon the details started to come together. Last night, Flat Forehead had fired an arrow at a weak cow belonging to a wagon train of Mormon settlers.
The settlers chased him, but when they couldn’t catch him, they rode into Fort Laramie, reported the incident, and demanded that the soldiers take action.
Curly thought that what he was hearing did not make sense. It was common for warriors to steal from settlers traveling on the army supply roads. It was fun for them, nothing more than a stunt — just like Curly and Hump’s late night raid. There was certainly no reason to visit an entire Indian village with a huge gun. If Flat Forehead had meant to seriously harm the settlers he would have aimed his arrow at a healthy working horse, not a sick cow.
Curly thought back to their raid. The horses had probably been whinnying because Flat Forehead was nearby. The shout that had awakened the camp was probably alerting them about the ambushed cow. Last night’s adventure had been more dangerous than he or Hump had imagined and just now they didn’t dare tell their story.
Curly said, “More soldiers will be coming.”
“We must prepare to fight,” the oldest boy said. His comment ended the boys’ gossiping and the boys were suddenly alert.
There was much to do and each boy thought back to his childhood dreams of manhood and chose a role to play. While the village stood watch over Conquering Bear, they would get ready. The war paint would be mixed, the ponies prepared. This was their turn to face glory for the first time.
Curly slowly retreated from his friends. His future had been much on his mind. Suddenly things were moving faster than he had ever imagined. He did not doubt himself, but he felt a yearning. He did not want his future to be decided this way. Slowly, he approached the tipi, the center of all activity. He stooped near the tipi entrance and peered inside. His father sat next to Conquering Bear. His uncle was there, too. Other warriors circled the edges of the tipi. Curly longed to talk to his father but he knew that this was not the time. Every adult in the village had Conquering Bear in mind. The children would be tended to as needed but any child able to fend for himself, at least for the moment, was on his own.
Curly watched for a while but soon backed away. He glanced across the camp to his circle of friends. Their silence had turned to healthy banter as they talked of revenge. He overheard their war plans. But Curly sensed that he was not ready. He thought back to a few months earlier of how proud his father had been that he had found the buffalo herd and had led the older men in the chase. It was his arrow that had downed the first stampeding beast. He remembered his father’s stories at campfire that night. Curly, the buffalo hunter, was his son. Now Curly remembered how few of the boys who were now so full of excitement had been part of the hunt. Those who had participated at all had steered wide of the powerful bison. “Now they are ready for war?” Curly thought skeptically.
Curly had never felt more confused. He was alarmed at the danger he and Hump had unwittingly faced. He was exhilarated at his role in the raid. He was angry that his village had been attacked and that their beloved leader lay dying.
He had never felt more in need of his father or uncle — anyone to talk to. He went to his own tipi. On a normal day, the tipi was a center of activity with women working and children playing and men sharing their stories. But now Curly sat alone in the dark. His mother would soon dismantle their tipi along with the others, but for this final moment of his childhood, Curly took comfort, sitting alone in the family tipi.
As he listened to the noises of the camp, he began to plan.
“I must seek a vision,” he concluded.
+ + +
“I must know my future. I must know this now.”
Curly’s thoughts as he sat in his family’s dark tipi spurred him to action.
He was not selfish by nature. It occurred to him that he should help the village. Nevertheless he felt compelled to claim his place in the tribe now, regardless of the precarious situation facing all of them.
Curly knew the customs. Young men should set out to seek a prophetic vision only under the guidance of the tribe’s elders.
There were rituals to be performed, preparations to be made. The vision would guide him into manhood. Curly could wait no longer.
Curly stepped out of the tipi and looked around the camp, which was beginning to disappear as poles were attached to every available horse. Family belongings were loaded onto travois. His friends had spread out across the camp. Some were with the horses. Others were running between their families’ tipis, proudly displaying their painted faces.
“They are still playing war,” Curly thought.
While the women of the tribe prepared for flight, the men were still focused on Conquering Bear’s tipi.
A horse was led to the door of the central tipi. Curly watched as his father and uncle lifted Conquering Bear, still lying on a buffalo robe, onto two poles harnessed to the horse. Curly made his way almost unnoticed to the edge of camp. His younger brother, Lone Bear, called to him. Curly did not answer. He whistled for Fleet and his horse came at once. With one motion Curly was astride Fleet and on the move. He raised a fist to Lone Bear who stood puzzled. Curly headed for the hills.
Curly and Fleet traveled hard for an hour. The team covered several miles quickly but the going was slower as the hills grew steeper. Curly wanted to be far away. He wanted no one to find him. He crossed several ridges and came at last to a lake.
He was thirsty but he would not drink. Neither would he eat. He remembered that he had yet to eat that day. The attack on the village had left no time.
Curly would not allow his pony to suffer with him. He dismounted and led his pony to the edge of the lake. He pulled Fleet’s head down and wrapped the reins around the pony’s leg. The pony could reach the water and roam toward new grass, but he would not go far.
Curly walked away from his pony along the edge of the lake. He did not want to be tempted by the water. He came to part of the lake where the land rose steeply from the edge of the water. Curly began to climb. He climbed for nearly a half hour. It had been a long day and now the light was very dim. Curly reached a sheltered area close to the summit. He paused and knelt to rest. He looked down over the hill he had just scaled. The last light sparkled on the water and he was glad that he was not near temptation. For a moment he saw Fleet’s silhouette and then it was dark. Curly sat and pulled his knees under his chin. He was tired but he could not allow himself to rest. If he was to have a vision, he must deny himself sleep and all comfort.