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  "She watches you whenever you pass," Tacante said, laughing. "As you watch her. Besides, the Pipe has no more daughters."

  "It could have been someone else," Hokala said, glancing at the other lodges.

  "Who? Only Iesni, the Silent One, is old enough, and she barely. Blue Creek emptied many Sicangu lodges."

  "Yes," Hokala admitted. "So now we four will truly be brothers. Hau! And you soon will be a father, Tacante."

  "You, too, in time, brother."

  "Hau!" Hokala shouted. "It's enough to fill my heart with song!"

  And so the three young Sicangus shared a wedding feast. Fewer presents were given away, for Wanbli Cannunpa had little to spare. The new lodges were sewn slowly, and only then because Tatanka answered Tacante's prayers and led him to a large herd of grazing buffalo. In the end, the tipis were finished before the snows grew too deep, and as winter settled in on Fort Laramie, nights were often greeted with the shy laughter of the newlyweds or the knowing whispers of their elders.

  "Who would have thought it possible?" Tacante asked Louis as they stood together on the narrow porch of the trading post. "Not so long ago I thought surely I'd greet winter fighting bluecoats on some death-covered hill. Now I wait to bring a son into the world. Surely Wakan Tanka is a mystery."

  "Truly," Louis agreed. "I never question things, though."

  "No?"

  "It's best. This is a good time, and I'm thankful. If tomorrow bad news arrives, well, I'll worry about it then. Just now I have a pretty wife to keep me happy, a family close by, and the best man I've every known to take me hunting."

  "Ah, soon the snows will be too deep," Tacante muttered.

  "Snows melt, Tacante. Summer will come."

  "Yes, Hinkpila, it will."

  Chapter Fifteen

  As Hehaka's belly swelled with the growing child, Tacante felt strangely different. Always before, his eyes had looked to the buffalo hunt and the warrior trail. Now more and more he recalled the words of old He Hopa. He pounded the curing herbs to quiet a sick child's cough, and he drove fevers from the brows of Hinkpila's spectacled brother Philip.

  For most, that time after the warring was good. For once there was enough to eat. The wounds of the young men healed, and even in the north, where the Crows now resumed their horse raids, few lodges filled with the mourning cries of the women.

  It was not so everywhere, though. Louis brought word of the bluecoat batties in Kansas and the treaty lands beyond. It was there that the long-haired soldier chief Custer had struck the winter camp of old Black Ketde's Sahiyelas. The chief and his wife were dead. Many others, too. The soldiers had taken many captives to their forts, so the suffering was certain to continue.

  "Ayyy! It's Blue Creek again" Hokala cried when Tacante shared the news. "These were the people attacked at Sand Creek. Wakan Tanka makes their road hard."

  "And short," Tacante added. "The Sahiyelas touched the pen so that their people might live. Ayyy! The wasicun words mean nothing."

  But while the soldiers now battled hostile bands of Sahiyelas on the Platte, in Kansas, and in northern Colorado Territory, the Lakotas remained at peace. The wasicun chiefs wished no more fights with Mahpiya Luta!

  Tacante turned his attentions to the approaching birth. Many times he walked alone in the cold, snow-covered hills, searching for a dreaming. He smoked the pipe and made prayers that Wakan Tanka might send a strong son to the lodge of Buffalo Heart. Finally, when Hehaka went to the women's lodge, Tacante rode high into the hills and began his starving. Even as he cut his flesh and pleaded for a dream, he searched the wind for some trace of a child's first cry.

  The dream was a long time coming. Tacante sat beside a small fire and shivered as the wind slashed at his face with its icy claws. Even breathing was difficult, and his feet and legs grew numb. Then, at last, he closed his eyes, and Tatanka spoke to his spirit.

  "Hear me, Heart of the People," the vision beast said as it thundered across the plains. "Once I was many. Now my sons are struck down in great numbers. Tonska, I and you will live only so long as we are strong."

  Tacante felt a great sadness as the vision filled with slaughtered animals.

  "Yours must be a son to learn the old ways," Tatanka called. "Teach him to hold the ash bow and to smoke the pipe, offering tobacco in the sacred way. Give him tall horses to ride, for his road will be a hard one."

  I know, Tatanka, Tacante silently answered. And I will do as you say.

  Tacante was then roused from his trance by the strong arms of Hokala. The Badger helped the Heart rise.

  "Brother, you have a son," Hokala announced. "Strong like his father, Wanbli Cannunpa says."

  Tacante grinned, then followed Badger to where their horses waited. Together they rode back to the fort.

  Already a crowd had collected outside the women's lodge. Tacante greeted friends and relatives and spoke with Hokala before joining Louis.

  "So now you're a father, Brother," Louis said, gripping Tacante's hands. "Maybe I'll one day have a child. Then we'll take them hunting and speak of the old days when we, too, were small."

  "Yes," Tacante agreed. "That will be a fine time."

  Pehan, the Crane, then beckoned Tacante. She held in her arms a bundle of cloth that covered the Heart's tiny son. He held the infant but a moment. It was long enough to know the greatest sensation of pride felt in his young life.

  "I would ask that you call him Tahca Wanbli," Eagle Pipe said as he motioned for Pehan to return the baby to the safety of the warm tipi. "That was my father's name."

  Eagle Deer? His would be the quick feet of the deer and the far-seeing eyes of the eagle.

  "A good name," Tacante agreed. "It honors my son."

  "Now we must celebrate!" the chief declared. "I have given my grandson a name. Choose two of our best horses for the giveaway and find meat for the feast."

  "Hau, Tunkasi," Tacante replied to his father-in-law. "It will be done."

  Indeed, even as little Tahca Wanbli nestled at his mother's breast, the Oglala band of his grandfather celebrated with platters of fresh meat and the dancing and singing which properly followed the birth of a brave heart son.

  "Never have I known such a happy time," Tacante told Hehaka when he held their son the first time. "Here is my heart come to life."

  "And mine," Hehaka said, resting her head on Tacante's shoulder. "Surely we'll have a good life, Husband."

  It certainly seemed so. Spring brought relief from the ice and snow, and Wanbli Cannunpa announced it was time to strike out for the buffalo valleys.

  "Tatanka, our uncle, will give his brothers to our rifles," Eagle Pipe declared. "Tacante will make the strong prayers, and the scouts will seek the buffalo."

  The young men howled their approval, for all knew Tacante spoke with Tatanka in his dreams, and Bull Buffalo was sure to guide his Lakota brother to where the hunting was best.

  Tacante struck his lodge and prepared to leave the hillside overlooking Fort Laramie and the North Platte. He now was nearing the beginning of his twenty-first year. A man who had counted many coups, who had a wife and son, and who wore the horned bonnet of old He Hopa carried the obligations of leadership. Even so, he found it hard to bid farewell to his brother, Hinkpila, to his only sister, and to the place where peace had been brought to the people after so many had died.

  "My road is before me," Tacante explained when Louis suggested there was much a Lakota might do near the fort.

  "And mine is here," Louis explained, pointing to the shelves of goods in the trading post. "Take this to help remember me," Louis added, presenting a fine new Winchester rifle and two boxes of shells. "I'd hoped to give it to you when we rode together into the hills to hunt elk. Buffalo will be a truer test for a gun, though."

  "Hau, Hinkpila," Tacante responded. "I'll bring you the first hide."

  Tacante now began the great cycle of Lakota life. Following the winter rest, the people set out after the buffalo. This spring, hunting renewed the stock
s of food and provided hides for new lodges and clothes. The young men sometimes gathered wild ponies to enrich their herds. Sometimes, too, the Crows came down, and there was a lively bit of horse raiding or even a good fight.

  Tacante bore great responsibilities during the buffalo hunt, for it was his duty to oversee the pipe ceremonies and make the prayers to Tatanka. He Hopa had always urged the hunters to undergo Inipi, the rite of rebirth, whenever the people began any great task, and Tacante deemed it important before the vital life-giving buffalo hunt.

  "Many of us have forgotten to follow the sacred path of our grandfathers," he told the men. "We have fought and killed in anger. We've taken up the iron guns and lead bullets of our enemies. Wakan Tanka must think that we have forgotten that all we are comes from the Great Mystery."

  "No," Hokala insisted.

  "It's not true," others argued.

  "Then it's time we cleanse ourselves," Tacante declared.

  Inipi was a ritual of purification, of ridding the body and the soul of all that offended the spirits. It was an old rite, and Tacante himself had undergone it often. Even the wasicun doctors at Fort Laramie praised the great curing powers of the sweat lodge, even if they failed to understand the many prayers or the importance of doing all that was required.

  Tacante himself oversaw the construction of the lodge. To begin with, a round framework was built of twelve to sixteen young willows. The trees reminded the Lakotas that leaves might die in the winter, but they were reborn in spring, even as a man might be reborn through casting off his old self. The willows were staked into the ground in a circle, then bent over to make an inverted bowl. They formed quadrants, one each for the four directions—north, south, east, and west—and the four divisions of the universe—the two-legged, four-legged, and winged creatures, plus all the things of the earth. An opening was made in the east, for the light of all knowledge came from that direction.

  Ten paces from the entrance of the sweat lodge, Tacante built a sacred fireplace. He laid four sticks running east and west, then added four more running north and south. Next he built a tipi of sticks over them and kindled a flame. Afterward he put rocks out to mark each of the directions, and stacked other rocks on top.

  Tacante dug a hole in the center of the sweat lodge. He then used the dirt to form a sacred path leading east. At the end of this path, he formed an earth mound. Meanwhile others covered the willow framework with buffalo hides, leaving a single hide over the entrance like a door.

  As each pole or rock or stick was placed, sacred prayers were made to Wakan Tanka. But it was only when those undergoing Inipi arrived that the ceremony began in earnest.

  Like all the Lakota sacred ceremonies, Inipi began with the smoking of the pipe. Tacante entered the lodge alone with the pipe. He passed around to the west and sat down. He then placed pinches of tobacco in the four sides of the central hole, honoring the directions. A sacred coal was passed inside, and Tacante saw it placed in the center. He then placed sweet grass on the coal, allowing die sacred smoke to rise so that he could rub it over his body and the pipe. Everything was now wakan, and any bad medicine in the lodge was driven out.

  Tacante invoked the help of the winged creatures of the west, for it was they who brought the purifying waters. Afterward he offered tobacco to the four directions, to the heavens, and to Mother Earth. Outside, the others howled their approval, knowing it was the pipe ceremony that brought power into the sweat lodge.

  Satisfied, Tacante returned outside, following the sacred path until he reached the mound. He then placed the pipe on the mound and instructed those wishing purification to enter the lodge.

  The first men came forward singly. Each wore only a modest breech-clout, for ornaments of the past didn't belong. Hair was left loose and unbraided. One by one they entered, bowed low in the doorway, and recited the prayer of the humble. It was right that a man understand he was nothing compared to Wakan Tanka, the Great Mystery.

  Inside, the men moved sun-wise around the central altar and sat on the floor. Sage had been strewn around, giving a pleasant odor to the place. Tacante followed last, taking his place on the east beside the door. For a time they remained silent, thinking of the goodness that surrounded them and the great power of Wakan Tanka, the maker of all things. Then Hehaka, as was proper for a medicine woman, handed in the pipe, and Hokala, who was seated on the western side, placed it in front of him.

  Now Hehaka used a forked stick to bring in the heated rocks. As each in turn was laid upon the altar, Hokala touched the pipe to the rock, and the men made thanks. The first rock symbolized Wakan Tanka, and each of the others represented heaven or Mother Earth or a direction. Finally all the rocks were stacked in the center, and all things in the universe were thanked for making up the Lakotas' world.

  Hokala then took up the pipe and spoke the sacred prayers to Wakan Tanka, heaven, Mother Earth, and the four directions. He then puffed, allowing the smoke to cover his body before passing the pipe along to the next person in line. Often father and son, brothers and cousins would undergo Inipi together, for it was a shared spiritual rebirth, and many felt bonded to those around them. After the pipe was passed around the circle, Hokala purified it again with the seven prayers and emptied the ashes at the edge of the circle. Badger then passed the pipe sun-wise to Tacante, who turned it to the east and passed it to Hehaka outside the door.

  Hehaka refilled the pipe and placed it on the sacred mound with the stem pointing west, symbolically invoking the powers of that direction. She then closed the hide door, leaving the lodge in total darkness.

  Now Hokala, being on the west side, began the prayers for help. Wakan Tanka's help was sought first. Then all the other spirits and elements of the world, even down to the rocks and the trees, were respectfully thanked for their many good deeds and great help.

  Tacante then sprinkled water on the glowing rocks, once for Wakan Tanka, again for the heavens, a third time for Mother Earth, and a fourth for the sacred pipe. Steam began to fdl the lodge. Tacante added sprigs of sage and handfuls of sweet grass so that a pleasant odor passed among them.

  It didn't take long for the small lodge to grow very hot. Sweat beaded on chests and brows, driving out all the misdeeds and bad thoughts. Tacante felt oddly light-headed, and he saw the new life coming to the shadowy faces of his companions.

  Now Hehaka opened the door of the lodge, allowing blinding light to flood the interior. In this way, Tacante was reminded of the knowledge given man in the first of the four great ages. Helpers brought water, and Tacante took a small drink, then splashed some over his forehead and chest before passing it along to the next man. Each did much the same. Then the pipe was brought back, and Hokala took it up and made the purifying prayers once more.

  Four times the pipe was passed, and four times prayers were made. After the pipe was returned to the sacred mound, Tacante added water to the rocks, and the steam drove out the bad thoughts from the people.

  During Inipi, Tacante was careful to remind his companions of the sacred power of the fire, the purifying powers of the smoke, the great energy of Thunderbird, and the reverence Lakotas have for all things. He then began the final prayers of thanks, knowing that through this understanding of all the elements of life, a man might return to the sacred path and be reborn as a purified soul.

  For three days the Lakotas underwent Inipi. Tacante smiled as he observed small children peering under the buffalo hides in search of the great mystery of rebirth. When they were older, they, too, would enter the sweat lodge. No effort was made to drive them away from that sacred place, for there was nothing they might hear which they shouldn't know. To see fathers or older brothers suffering and yet shouting thanks was puzzling, but a child was never too young to begin wondering about the mysteries of the sacred path.

  Perhaps it was Inipi that brought success to the Oglala hunters that spring. Or maybe in the wasicun-fighting days, the buffalo had grown less suspicious of the sight of Lakota hunters. Tacante dreamed
often of Tatanka, and he told the people Bull Buffalo wished his nephews to grow strong and tall to face the hard times ahead.

  "Hard times?" many asked. "They are over."

  So it seemed for a time. Wanbli Cannunpa's band grew as the power of Tacante's medicine drew other small bands of Oglala and Sicangu hunters. Under the waning chokecherry moon of summer, a great gathering of the Lakotas took place in Paha Sapa, the Black Hills. There, at Bear Lodge, a great flat-topped mountain with high, steep sides, the sun dance was held.

  Many people danced around the sacred circle, but only a few were called to undertake the sun dance itself. It involved great pain and much suffering, and it wasn't for the young or the weak to try. It was also a renewing rite, but while some danced to bring good things to the people, others danced to drive sickness from a friend or relative. It was a great thing to participate in the sun dance, and many of the young men offered themselves this time. Tacante and Hokala were among them.

  Wanbli Cannunpa himself led them to the sacred cottonwood. Each sun dancer was instructed in the sacred medicine rites before undergoing Inipi. Next he made many prayers. Finally his friends and relatives offered presents and painted his body. Dancers usually blackened their arms, for here was the bad heart to be driven out. Faces and trunks were stained red. Small slits were then made in the flesh of the chest, through which small flat pegs were run. Each end of the peg was attached to one end of a buffalo-hide thong. The two thongs joined to form a strip that was attached to the sacred cottonwood in the center of the dance circle.

  Tacante endured all this without complaint, for the Heart of the People should be willing to undergo suffering. Now, as he stood beside Hokala, watching blood from his chest trickle down across his belly, he was called upon to follow the other dancers in this sacred undertaking. The first dancers bore heavy burdens or buffalo skulls or heavy rocks. They whirled about madly, screaming their pain through eagle-bone whistles so that the eerie noise flooded the scene.

  When Tacante was called to dance, he did so readily. At the end of the dance, though, he stretched back so that the thongs pulled at the pegs and opened the flesh of his chest. So long as a man could, he danced in this manner, giving up his blood and enduring the pain so that the people might be purified. Only when a man grew weak was he to stretch the thongs to where flesh could no longer resist the force placed on the pegs. Then the dancer painfully ripped himself loose.