Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART TWO

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  PART THREE

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  PART FIVE

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  FOR THE BEST IN PAPERBACKS, LOOK FOR THE

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  FOOLS CROW

  James Welch is the author of The Heartsong of Charging Elk, The Death of Jim Loney, The Indian Lawyer, and in collaboration with documentary filmmaker Paul Stekler, Killing Custer: The Battle of the Little Bighorn and the Fate of the Plains Indians. Fools Crow received the Los Angeles Times Book Prize, an American Book Award, and the Pacific Northwest Bookseller’s Award. Mr. Welch attended schools in the Blackfeet and Fort Belknap reservations in Montana, and he graduated from the University of Montana, where he studied writing with the late Richard Hugo. Until recently, he served on the Montana State Board of Pardons. He lives in Missoula with his wife, Lois.

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by

  Viking Penguin Inc. 1986

  Published in Penguin Books 1987

  Copyright© James Welch, 1986 Illustrations and map copyright © Viking Penguin Inc., 1986

  All rights reserved

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA

  Welch, James, 1940-

  Fools crow.

  1. Siksika Indians—Fiction. 2. Indians of

  North America—Montana—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series.

  PS3573.E44F’.54 87-6968

  eISBN : 978-1-440-67118-0

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Dick and Matt,

  For Melissa,

  And especially for Ripley,

  With love

  PART ONE

  1

  NOW THAT THE WEATHER had changed, the moon of the falling leaves turned white in the blackening sky and White Man’s Dog was restless. He chewed the stick of dry meat and watched Cold Maker gather his forces. The black clouds moved in the north in circles, their dance a slow deliberate fury. It was almost night, and he looked back down into the flats along the Two Medicine River. The lodges of the Lone Eaters were illuminated by cooking fires within. It was that time of evening when even the dogs rest and the horses graze undisturbed along the grassy banks.

  White Man’s Dog raised his eyes to the west and followed the Backbone of the World from south to north until he could pick out Chief Mountain. It stood a little apart from the other mountains, not as tall as some but strong, its square granite face a landmark to all who passed. But it was more than a landmark to the Pikunis, Kainahs and Siksikas, the three tribes of the Blackfeet, for it was on top of Chief Mountain that the blackhorn skull pillows of the great warriors still lay. On those skulls Eagle Head and Iron Breast had dreamed their visions in the long-ago, and the animal helpers had made them strong in spirit and fortunate in war.

  Not so lucky was White Man’s Dog. He had little to show for his eighteen winters. His father, Rides-at-the-door, had many horses and three wives. He himself had three horses and no wives. His animals were puny, not a blackhorn runner among them. He owned a musket and no powder and his animal helper was weak. Many times he had prayed to the Above Ones for stronger medicine but he knew that wasn’t the way. It was up to him, perhaps with the help of a many-faces man, to find his own power.

  Again he looked to the north. Beneath the boiling clouds, beyond the Medicine Line, lay the country of the whiskey traders. He had not been there but he had heard of their skinned-tree houses, full of all those things a young man would need to make himself rich. There was talk that they possessed the many-shots guns which could bring down five blackhorns with five shots, which could kill an enemy from far off. Such a gun would cost many head-and-tail robes, but White Man’s Dog was determined to have one. Then he could bring about his own luck. He would have plenty of wives, children, horses, meat. He would have his own lodge, and his wives would cook boss ribs and blackhorn tongues while he smoked, told stories, recounted his war honors. The other men would be silent and respectful as he told of the day he had finished off the Parted Hairs and made their women cry. He would boast of the many horses he drove away from the Cutthroats’ camp while they slept like old women.

  White Man’s Dog smiled to himself as though he had done these things. He smiled to think of his wives as he went from robe to robe, planting the seeds of his own family. And then he thought of his father’s youngest wife, Kills-close-to-the-lake, and the way she sometimes looked at him. That morning he had helped her stretch a blackhorn robe so she could flesh it, and he felt her eyes on him and he left in haste. He had never touched the body of a woman. His friends teased him and called him dog-lover. His friends often took girls into the bushes, especially if they had plenty of the white man’s water. Under Bull had humped two girls of the Entrails People as they were camped outside Many Houses fort on the Big River. He said they were the best because they whispered to you. He offered White Man’s Dog some of his Liars’ Medicine to make himself attractive but it did no good. Even the bad girls who hung around the forts wanted nothing to do with him. Because he did not own a fine gun and a strong horse they ignored him.

  White Man’s Dog watched Seven Persons rise into the night sky above Chief Mountain. Above, the Star-that-stands-still waited for the others to gather around him. White Man’s Dog felt Cold Maker’s breath in his face, but it looked as though he would keep the clouds in Always Winter Land tonight. He was only warning the Pikunis that his season was near. White Man’s Dog turned in the direction of the Lone Eaters’ camp. It was time to go down to his father’s lodge and listen to the stories, the scorn and laughter of the men as they ate roasted meat and smoked while the women listened and teased each other. Perhaps Kills-close-to-the-lake would look at him again. Perhaps she would save him a piece of back fat or hump meat. But even as his heart quickened, the cold thoug
ht struck him: She was his father’s wife, his own near-mother! He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and hurried toward camp. He glanced up and asked Seven Persons and all the Above Ones to take pity on him, to forgive him his bad thoughts, to light his way. But the stars were distant and pitiless and gathered their light within themselves. From somewhere far off he heard the hoot of an ears-far-apart.

  2

  “HAIYA! Dog-lover! Have you seen a ghost?”

  White Man’s Dog stopped. In the dark he saw a tall figure approach. It was Fast Horse.

  “Here, near-woman! I have some white man’s water to warm you up.” Fast Horse had his arm away from his body under his robe. As he neared, his arm snaked out and hit White Man’s Dog in the belly. “I joke!” He laughed. “I thought you needed some cheer since you don’t have a woman.”

  “I wouldn’t need you for anything—even if you were a woman.”

  “Ah, you will think twice about that. I have some news that will warm you up better than a woman.” Fast Horse showed his teeth and walked on by.

  “You have found a way to make love to skunks.”

  “Ha!”

  “What news?” White Man’s Dog called after him.

  “Come, catch up. I can’t talk so close to camp.”

  Near a thicket of silver willows Fast Horse stopped and squatted on his heels. The grass was beginning to shine from the dew. “It is this. Yellow Kidney leads a party tomorrow night against the Crow horses. He says the Crows are fat and lazy. They have meat and horses but no many-shots guns. He says they tremble like women because the Napikwans threaten to beat them up.”

  “What do I care about this?”

  “Yellow Kidney knows I bring strong medicine, the same medicine my father has attained from the wood-biter. Soon I will be a very important man. Many women already find me attractive but their fathers know I am without wealth. I shall acquire this wealth from the fat Crows.”

  “You brag yourself up,” said White Man’s Dog. “Is that why you talk to me?”

  “I told Yellow Kidney I would bring along my poor relative. I told him White Man’s Dog is good for holding horses. After a couple of smokes he agreed. He agreed that you have much heart but are unlucky. So you shall be our cook. You will run errands and wait on Yellow Kidney because he is an experienced horse-taker and has made war on our enemies many times, often against the Crows. He has made the Snakes cry, and the Cutthroats too. He leads us only because he is bored with his wives.”

  “How many horses will I get?”

  “As many as you can drive. The Crows are thick with horses. Of course, the good buffalo-runners will belong to those who sneak into camp and cut them loose. I will get one of the best.”

  White Man’s Dog grew excited, but at the same time he didn’t like the way Fast Horse talked. He had one winter on Fast Horse and in the past had beaten him up. But now Fast Horse seemed chosen beyond his accomplishments. It was because of his father’s Beaver Medicine bundle, one of the most powerful bundles among the Pikunis. Soon Fast Horse would learn the ways of this bundle and someday inherit it. He would be powerful and, like him or not, the people would come to respect this power. White Man’s Dog sighed and squatted back against a big-leaf tree. His words were not much louder than the distant mumble of the Two Medicine River. “I have been without luck for many moons, Fast Horse. More than two winters ago I went to seek my animal helper. I sweated, I prayed, I fasted, I smoked to him. And on the fourth night he did come—but he only came to look at me. He came close and I smelled his sour breath, I saw his yellow eyes, but he didn’t speak to me. He gave me no song, no vision. He just looked and then he went away before I could offer him a smoke.”

  Fast Horse sat back and folded his legs. He had heard this story before and knew there was no end to it. The story would remain incomplete. He also knew that many had failed in their first fasting and had returned successful from their second or third. “You place too much importance on this one animal. As you can see, he offers you no help. You would do well to seek another—one with real power, like mine.”

  “Yes, you speak true, Fast Horse. But I feel that one day he will come to me and offer up his strength. Perhaps he is testing me to see if I am worthy.”

  Fast Horse laughed. “I will give you strength, dog-lover. I will make you wealthy in horses, Crow horses. We will make those Crows cry. Perhaps we will make their women cry too.”

  “You do not hear me. Without my good medicine I am afraid of the Crows. They will surely kill me, and our relatives in the Sand Hills will say, Here comes the coward, he was afraid of the Crows. I am not fit for such a party.”

  Fast Horse smiled as he looked toward the dark clouds in the Always Winter Land. Night Red Light had risen above the bluffs downriver. She showed only a sliver of her face. “I have already thought of a way to make your medicine good again, my friend. Before I came out here I spoke with Mik-api, and he asks us to build a sweat lodge first thing when Sun Chief lightens the sky. He will perform a ceremony, and he says he has some strong medicine to make you brave. He wishes us to bring our weapons.”

  White Man’s Dog felt his blood move faster in his heart. Mik-api was a great and powerful many-faces man. He had often made men of puny heart strong again. For the first time in many moons White Man’s Dog felt a surge of hope quicken his blood.

  “Fast Horse, I don’t know how you did this, but you have lifted my spirit. Surely Mik-api will work his magic on us and make us successful.”

  “I promised him we would each bring him four of the Crow horses. It will go hard on us if we don’t.” Fast Horse stood quickly and pushed White Man’s Dog over. “Now go to your father’s lodge and dream of all those women you desire. With the Crow horses they will be yours and you won’t have to mount the dogs.”

  The wind had picked up and suddenly gusted around them, rattling the bare limbs of the big-leaf trees. White Man’s Dog looked up and the stars were brighter.

  “One more thing. No words to anyone about tomorrow night. Our women will try to talk us out of it. They will say we are needed to hunt. Youngsters will try to join us to gain glory for themselves. Old ones will say we are foolish, with Cold Maker putting on his hunting clothes.” Fast Horse looked off to the north, considering the churning clouds. Then he grinned and shouted above a wind gust, “Yellow Kidney says we can reach Crow country in fifteen sleeps. Haiya, we shall make them cry!”

  That night Rides-at-the-door sat in his accustomed place opposite the lodge entrance. Amid the confusion of the feasting, the story-telling and banter, he had been silently watching his elder son. He had not seen him so lively in a long time. White Man’s Dog engaged in the teasing and mocking and gave as good as he got. At first, Rides-at-the-door thought his son had gotten into some white man’s water, the Napikwans’ whiskey that made men foolish. But he knew that none among the Lone Eaters band of the Pikunis had traded recently with the Napikwans. And, too, White Man’s Dog did not act foolish, just different. Rides-at-the-door knocked the ashes from his short-pipe. For so many sleeps, moons, his elder son had been morose, even timid, and there was talk around that he might choose the coward’s way, that he would never strike the enemies. No one said this directly to Rides-at-the-door, but he knew; one always knows these things. As he refilled his pipe, he glanced over at his younger son, Running Fisher. He was the one they talked about. At sixteen winters he had already taken two horses from the Cutthroats, including one heavy spotted horse that he was training to be a buffalo-runner. He was tall and wiry and the girls pointed him out. Men teased him but not too far, while the women made sure their daughters crossed his path as often as possible. Only the young men were wary of him.

  Rides-at-the-door pulled a burning stick from the fire and lit his pipe, his eyes shifting back to White Man’s Dog, who was telling a story about Napi, Old Man. As he watched his son act out the story, he felt a small seed of optimism grow in his chest. Kills-close-to-the-lake was bending over White Man’s
Dog now, placing a bowl of meat before him. As he leaned back against the willow backrest, Rides-at-the-door allowed himself to hope that the change he was seeing tonight was a real beginning.

  3

  YELLOW KIDNEY SQUATTED beneath a cutbank out of the wind and watched Seven Persons turn in the northern sky. He smoked his short-pipe and listened to the mutterings of the four other men. They waited a short distance from camp for Fast Horse and White Man’s Dog. Of them all, only Eagle Ribs was an experienced horse-taker. He was a young man of twenty-four winters and had accompanied Yellow Kidney on a raid against the Parted Hairs two summers ago. He was shorter than most Pikuni men but he was thick in the legs and waist. His strength and balance made him the best wrestler in camp. As a youth he had thrown twelve young men, one after another, on their backs during a Sun Dance contest. He had won many possessions, including the long brass-handled knife he now wore in his belt. But Yellow Kidney had chosen him not for his strength but for his scouting ability. He could see without being seen and he knew what he saw. He would give an accurate accounting of the enemy.

  Yellow Kidney ran his fingers over the butt stock of his many-shots gun. It would be the only gun among the horse-takers. Although a couple of the young men had muskets and Eagle Ribs had a single-shot, they were too cumbersome and inefficient for a quick strike against the Crows. So the rest of the men carried bows and knives. They also carried several pairs of extra moccasins, awl and rawhide, and enough pemmican to last them a few days should game be scarce or they need to eat on the run. Yellow Kidney opened his parfleche. The skin pouch inside contained forty greased shooters. He liked its heavy feel. He had not had the many-shots gun long enough to see what it would do to an enemy, but it shot true and it had brought down many blackhorns. He dropped the cartridge pouch back into the parfleche and one last time felt for his paints and small medicine bundle. They were there.