Texans. Once the season advanced, once spring gave way to summer, the sun would burn even hatred out of him. He knew it. The old dark man sitting a few feet away would become meaningless. The sun would cook away even hatred--and when hatred was gone there would be nothing left.
While he could, though, he lined up straws in the corner of his cage and imagined revenge. One morning it rained, a blessed rain that continued to fall for eight hours or more. They did not bother tying him to the skinning post that day--there was no sun to afflict him. Scull scraped at the puddles in his cage and made a paste of mud, which he plastered over his sore eyes. The relief was so great that he wept, beneath his mud poultices.
All day he kept on, putting the mud poultices over his eyes. No one came near him. Ahumado, who hated rain, stayed in his cave. Later, when the rain had subsided to a cool drizzle, Scull heard two vaqueros talking. The vaqueros wanted to kill him--they were convinced he was a witch. What he did with the mud was a thing a witch would do. The vaqueros had long believed that Scull was a witch and were annoyed at Ahumado for allowing a witch to live in their midst; he might cause someone to be struck by lightning; he might even cause the cliff to fall and bury them all alive. They wanted to take out their guns and shoot many bullets into Scull, the witch in the cage. But they could not because Scull belonged to Ahumado, and only Ahumado could order his death.
When Scull overheard the conversation, he felt his strength revive a little. Because of the rain and the mud, he was saved for a little time. Perhaps he .was a witch--at least, perhaps, he could play on the vaqueros' superstition. At once, in his croak of a voice, he began to sing in Gaelic, a sea ditty a sailor had once taught him in Boston. He couldn't sing loud and had forgotten most of the Gaelic song, but he sang anyway, with mud plastered over his eyes.
When he took the plasters off Scull saw that the vaqueros and everyone else in the camp had moved as far away from him as they could get. He had witched them back, and if the mud puddles would just last a few days he might keep witching them until the Texans came with the cattle--at least it was something to try.
Ahumado even came out of his cave for a moment, although he disliked rain. He wanted to watch the strange white man who put mud on his eyes.
When Buffalo Hump and Worm were only two days from the canyon, they met up with Fat Knee and two other boys. One of the boys, White Crow, was so good with snares that he had caught several wild turkeys. Of course they were glad to share the turkey meat with their chief.
Buffalo Hump ate the turkey happily but Worm refused it, believing that turkey meat might affect his brain; turkeys were easily confused, and so might be the people who ate them, Worm reasoned. Buffalo Hump thought the notion was ridiculous and tried to joke Worm out of his silly belief.
'ally are confused,' he told Worm, 'but if I ate you I would still be smart.' Fat Knee had always been afraid of Buffalo Hump--the sight of the great hump made him fearful. While Buffalo Hump was eating a wild turkey hen, Fat Knee blurted out the business about Blue Duck and Famous Shoes.
He was afraid that if he waited Blue Duck might try to put the blame for the whole episode on him. Blue Duck was a good liar; he was always managing to get other people blamed for his mistakes. Also, of course, he was Buffalo Hump's son. Fat Knee assumed that Buffalo Hump would more likely believe his own son than an insignificant young warrior named Fat Knee.
But when he blurted out the admission that he and Blue Duck had tried to trade Famous Shoes to Slow Tree, Buffalo Hump didn't seem particularly interested.
'You should change your name,' the chief suggested.
'Your parents gave you that name because when you were young a snake bit you on the knee and made your knee fat. Now you are grown and your knee isn't fat. If I were you I would change my name.' Fat Knee was relieved that Buffalo Hump wasn't angry about the business with Famous Shoes. He had been worrying about Buffalo Hump's reaction to that business for many days. In fact, though, Buffalo Hump seemed more annoyed with Worm for his reluctance to eat turkey meat than he was about the matter of Famous Shoes and Slow Tree.
As they were riding north, Buffalo Hump brought up the matter of his name again.
'People who are named for parts of the body can only be jokesters and clowns,' Buffalo Hump told him. 'Look at Straight Elbow--his name ruined him. If you were named for your scrotum it would be the same. No matter how hard you fought in battle, people would get tickled when they said your name. Soon you would forget about being brave. It would be enough that you were funny. You would only be a clown.' Fat Knee recognized that what Buffalo Hump said might be true, but he had no idea what he should change his name to. His father had named him Fat Knee, and his father, Elk Shoulders, was an irascible man. If he went to his father and announced that he wanted to change his name, his father might hit him so hard with a club that his brains would spill out like clotted milk.
Still, Buffalo Hump was the chief. It would not do to ignore his suggestion completely. Buffalo Hump was known to hold grudges, too. He had been known to kill people over incidents or embarrassments that had occurred so long ago that most people had forgotten them. Often the warrior who suddenly found himself being killed would be dispatched so quickly that he could not even remember what he had done to deserve the knife or the lance.
As they were riding north Fat Knee rode up beside Buffalo Hump and put a question to him.
'If I change my name from Fat Knee, what will I change it to?' he asked.
Buffalo Hump gave the matter only a moment's thought.
'Change it to Many Dreams,' Buffalo Hump suggested. 'The name will make you dream more.
If you can learn to dream enough we might make you into a medicine man.' While Fat Knee was thinking about the name 'Many Dreams,' which pleased him, they saw an Indian sitting on the edge of a low butte not far to the west. The butte was not high--it was no more, really, than a pile of rocks. Buffalo Hump immediately recognized the warrior's horse, a small gray gelding.
'That is Red Hand's horse,' he said. 'Why is Red Hand sitting on that pile of rocks?' No one had any idea--Red Hand was a gregarious man who usually stayed in camp so that he could couple frequently with his wives. He liked to lie on soft elk skins and have his wives rub his body with buffalo tallow. He also liked to wrestle but was hard to throw because his wives had made him slippery with the tallow. He had never been known to sit on a pile of rocks far from camp.
When they came to where the gray horse stood, Red Hand was staring up into the sky. His body was shaking. He did not look at them. He kept his face turned up to the sky.
'He is praying--we had better just leave him to his prayers,' Worm said. Worm wanted very much to be back in camp; too many things that he had seen on this trip did not seem right to him. The sight of the Old One had unnerved him badly.
