As the medicine man told him about Dances With Wolves’s request, Ten Bears listened impassively. He repacked his pipe before replying.
“You have told me what is in his heart,” the old man wheezed. “What is in yours?”
He offered Kicking Bird the pipe.
“My heart says he is too anxious. He wants too much, too soon. He is a warrior, but he is not a Comanche. He will not be a Comanche for a while.”
Ten Bears smiled.
“You always speak well, Kicking Bird. And you see it well.’
The old fellow lit the pipe and passed it over.
“Now tell me,” he said, “what is it that you would like my advice on?”
It was a terrible letdown at first. The only thing he could compare it to was a reduction in rank. But it was more disappointing than that. He had never been so disappointed.
And yet he was shocked at how quickly the hurt of it passed. It was gone almost as soon as Kicking Bird and Stands With A Fist left the lodge.
He lay on the new bed in his new home and wondered about this change. It had only been minutes since he got the word, but he wasn’t crushed at all now. It was a tiny disappointment now. It’s something to do with being here, he thought, being with these people. It’s something to do with being unspoiled. Kicking Bird had done everything very precisely. He came trailed by the two women carrying robes, Stands With A Fist and one of his wives.
After they’d made up the new bed the wife had departed, and the three, Kicking Bird, Stands With A Fist, and Dances With Wolves, had stood facing one another in the center of the tipi.
Kicking Bird never made mention of the raid or the decision that had gone against him. He just started talking.
“It would be good if you make talk with Stands With A Fist while I’m gone. You should do this in my lodge so that my family can see. I want them to know you while I’m gone and I want you to know them. I will feel better to know that you are looking after my family while I’m away. Come to my fire and eat if you are hungry.”
Once the invitation to dinner was made, the medicine man turned abruptly and left, Stands With A Fist following him.
As he watched them go, Dances With Wolves was surprised to feel his depression evaporating. In its place was a feeling of elation. He didn’t feel small at all. He felt bigger.
Kicking Bird’s family would be under his protection, and the idea of serving them in that role was one he looked forward to instantly. He would be with Stands With A Fist again and that, too, gave him heart.
The war party would be gone for some time, thus giving him the opportunity to learn a lot of Comanche. And in learning he knew he would be picking up more than language. If he worked very hard he would be on a whole new level by the time his mentors returned. He liked that idea.
Drums had started up in the village. The big send-off dance was beginning and he wanted to go. He loved the dancing.
Dances With Wolves rolled off the bed and looked around his lodge. It was empty, but before long it would hold the slim trappings of his life, and it was pleasant to think about having something to call his own again.
He stepped through the lodge flap and paused in the twilight outside. He had daydreamed his way past dinner, but the woodsmoke from the cooking fires was still thick in the air and the smell of it satisfied him.
A thought came to Dances With Wolves then.
I should be staying here, he said to himself, it’s much the better idea.
He started off toward the sound of the drums.
When he reached the main avenue he fell in with a pair of warriors he knew. In signs they asked him if he would dance tonight. Dances With Wolves’s reply was so positive that it made the men laugh.
CHAPTER XXV
Once the party was away, the village settled into a life of pastoral routine, a timeless rotation of dawn to day to dusk to night that made the prairie seem the only place on earth.
Dances With Wolves fell quickly into step with the cycle, moving through it in a pleasant, dreamlike way. A life of riding and hunting and scouting was physically taxing, but his body had adapted well, and once the rhythm of his days was established he found most activities effortless.
Kicking Bird’s family required much of his time. The women did virtually all of the work around camp, but he felt obliged to monitor their day-to-day lives and those of the children, the result being that somehow his hands were always full.
Wind In His Hair had presented him with a good bow and a quiver of arrows at the farewell dance. He was thrilled with the gift and sought out an older warrior named Stone Calf, who taught him the finer points of its use. In the space of a week the two became fast friends, and Dances With Wolves showed up regularly at Stone Calf’s lodge.
He learned how to care for and make quick repairs on weapons. He learned the words to several important songs and how to sing them. He watched Stone Calf make fire from a little wooden kit and saw him make his own personal medicine.
He was a willing pupil for these lessons and quick to learn, so quick that Stone Calf gave him the nickname Fast. He scouted a few hours each day, as did most of the other men. They went out in groups of three or four, and in a short time Dances With Wolves had a rudimentary knowledge of necessary things, like how to read the age of tracks and determine weather patterns.
The buffalo came and went in their mysterious way. Some days they would see none at all, and some days they would see so many that it became a joke.
On the two points that counted, the scouting was a success. There was fresh meat for the taking and the countryside was devoid of enemies.
After only a few days he was wondering why everyone didn’t live in a lodge. When he thought of the places he had lived before, he could envision nothing but a collection of sterile rooms.
To him the lodge was a true home. It was cool on the hottest days, and no matter what sort of fuss was going on in camp, the circle of space inside seemed filled with peace.
He came to love the time he passed there by himself.
His favorite part of the day was late afternoon, and more often than not, he could be found close to the lodge flap, performing some little job like cleaning his boots while he watched the clouds change formation or listened to the light whistle of wind.
Without really trying, these late afternoons by himself shut down the machinery of his mind, letting his mind rest in a refreshing way.
It didn’t take long, however, for one facet of his life to dominate all the others.
That was Stands With A Fist.
Their talks began again, this time under the casual but always present eyes of Kicking Bird’s family.
The medicine man had left instructions to keep meeting, but without Kicking Bird to guide them, there was no clear-cut direction for the lessons to take.
The first few days consisted mainly of mechanical, unexciting reviews.
