To My Feet Give Wings by riddleofsteel

To My Feet Give Wings
by
� riddleofsteel

DAY ONE

In the frosty morning air Runs Poorly poked at remains of his small fire. He was hoping for a little extra heat from the embers. All the small sticks and dung chips he had gathered during the night were gone and the morning, just after dawn, was always the coldest part of the day. He had been standing watch on this hill all night. His tribe had many enemies and sneaking up on a village in the darkness to make war was an old trick. In the valley below him the sounds of barking dogs were the first signs of the village waking up. He stood and stretched then shook the frost off of his buffalo robe. The first bit of the sun was peeking up over the low hills in the distance. Runs Poorly raised his arms toward the rising sun. Its rays gently warmed his face as he recited his daily prayer. "Grandfather, I am but a boy. See me standing before you. I am weak and one of my feet does not want to run. Give me strength to hunt this day. Bring me game close enough to kill with my bow. To my spirit give strength, to my heart give courage and to my feet give wings."

In the front of his family's lodge his mother, Elk Woman was cooking. She winched as smoke, blown by a prairie wind, encircled her. Runs Poorly approached and she handed him a small piece of meat. He sat down to eat alone with his thoughts. In his minds eye he could see rabbits, deer and buffalo all within easy reach of his bow. He envisioned running as swiftly as a hawk flies. The ground was skimming below his feet as he raced the wind. He was chasing a bull buffalo. The bull ran as fast as he could but Runs Poorly caught up to him and drew his bow. He was just about to lose an arrow when he heard his mother say. "You rest now. We are moving the village tomorrow." Runs Poorly finished the meat and went to lay down in the lodge. The hide cover flapped a steady rhythm in the breeze. He watched a fly buzz around the lodge poles until he drifted off to sleep.

DAY TWO

Elk Woman and sister, Blue Flower pulled back the cover of the lodge suddenly. Runs Poorly sat up with a start as the bright sunlight poured into the circle where he was sleeping. "Get up sleepy bones." she said "We are packing to move." The fall sun was already well above the horizon. Runs Poorly hurried to untie the dogs. As his mother and sister broke down the lodge he tied travois poles to the dogs backs and started loading their few belongings. The lodge cover was the largest thing they owned and it had to be taken apart to make it light enough for the dogs to manage it. He looked at the dogs and the packs and was satisfied all was secured for the trip. When the entire village had packed up and was ready to leave they started out across the prairie. Runs Poorly strained under the burden of his pack. Every dog and person carried or dragged their share. Only the warriors were exempt. They carried their weapons and few personal belongings. Of the volume of goods they carried only a small amount was food. Dried fish for the dogs, dried meat and dried roots and berries were the main supplies. The pemmican, a pounded mixture of meat, fat and dried berries, that they needed to get through the winter was not made yet. Their custom was to make winter camp and hunt buffalo. The winter stores of dried meat and pemmican were too heavy to drag around the plains as they traveled in search of game. His mouth watered as he thought of fresh buffalo meat and the wonderful fat and marrow. Lately, their diet of rabbits and dried meat was lacking in fat. It had kept them alive but they had to have fat and plenty of it to survive and keep warm in winter.
Warmth was not a problem now. The hard work of moving the village had him sweating. Perhaps his father, Shadow, would be back soon. Shadow was off with a scouting party looking for one of the many buffalo herds that criss crossed the vast ocean of grass. Which herd they hunted and where they camped for the winter was a critical decision for the tribe. They were restricted to how far they could walk dragging everything they owned. He knew that they would camp near a river and a source of dead wood for fuel. Looking out over the vast expanse of grass all he could think of was how far they would have to walk and how heavy the pack was. As night fell they camped in near a dry wash. Their buffalo bladders canteens were almost full but they only drank a little. It might be several days until they reached reached the river. Runs Poorly watered the dogs and gave some of the dried fish. He looked into the half empty bag and knew he would need fish soon.

Day Three

The frosty grass crunched under Runs Poorly's feet as he made his way along the wash. On the ground were signs of where prairie chickens had made a dust bath. The boy hoped they would still be nearby. In the distance he heard the drumming of the cock chicken as it called to his harem. He covered the distance as quickly as he could. It was difficult for him to move quickly, quietly and stay in the wash. The prairie chickens were out on the open ground feeding on seeds and scrapping over pecking order in their group. Nocking an arrow Runs Poorly raised up suddenly and put his arrow thru the closest bird. The cock flew up for a short distance and fell as the other birds scattered. When he returned to his family they were ready to move. His father and the scouting party had returned. As Shadow walked by he looked at his son's bird. "Nice bird. You should save those feathers." That was all there was time for. The village had to move and move quickly. A large herd had been sighted near the river and it was in the perfect place for an early winter hunt. The village was set up at the foot of a series of high bluffs between the water and a good size patch of cottonwoods that grew in a river bottom. Here between the bluffs and the river the village would spend the winter. There were large amounts of dead wood in the cottonwood groves along the river and just down stream was a massive log pileup on a sand bar that would supply firewood for months. The river was also filled with fish. The women and children would soon be setting traps woven of willow sticks to catch a supply for eating and to dry as dog food. But most important, on the prairie above the village thousands of buffalo were grazing and milling about. Their herd was like a living mass of hide, muscle, horn and hooves flowing across the low hills. That night the men danced and prayed for help in the coming hunt.

DAY FOUR

Runs Poorly woke up suddenly. He heard the dogs barking as the warriors were leaving the village. He got to the lodge door just in time to see them make their way to the top of the bluff. He knew they were going to hunt that morning. They were dressed in skins and each man carried his weapons, torches and a small hide drum. Runs Poorly had heard many stories of these hunts before. He knew they would rub themselves in buffalo dung and try to crawl into the herd on all fours covered in skins. Then when they were in position they would leap up and bang their drums and wave their skin cloaks to stampede a portion of the herd. If all went well a large number of animals would plunge over the steep bluffs near the river and be killed or wounded. With luck they might get all the meat and hides they needed without a single bow shot or man injured by a charging wounded animal. If not they would have to try the same type of sneak up maneuver and shoot as many animals as possible from close range on open ground. "Buffalo have powerful medicine" he thought. If it comes to that many warriors could be injured or killed. The harder he tugged on the dead limb the more stuck it seemed to be. Dead wood on the bottom of a jam was like that. Runs Poorly climbed up on the pile and started pulling out the lose limbs and throwing them down to the sand below. He stopped every so often to watch the river. Even as dry as it was this fall the river was full. It swirled and poured over the landscape like a huge snake. Runs Poorly grabbed a limb and pulled as hard as he could. Suddenly the limb snapped and he fell off of the log jam and plunged into the river. He came up sputtering and gasping for air. His skin pants and long overshirt were too well oiled to absorb much but they drug him down as they filled with water. He felt himself bounce on the river bottom adding a coating of sand to and small gravel to his misery. He fought to get to the surface. Then as quickly as he fell in, the river spit him up to the surface. One more lung full of air and he was under again. this happened over and over until exhausted, he was washed up on a sand bar.
The boy's first memory of waking up was that he was cold. He struggled to pull himself up out of the water. The numbness in his hands and feet was stinging like the snow sickness. As tired as he was, the boy tired to trot around the sandbar to get his circulation back. Slowly he began to feel his hands and feet a little. His clothes were soaking wet but the layer of water next to his skin was warming up a little. Even wet they were warmer than the frigid air around him He still had his flint knife and some sinew twine he was saving for a new bow string, but not much else. He cut a small branch and quickly made a fire bow and drill. Small flat stones were not common in this country but a river bottom was probably the best place to find one. The stone he selected was palm size, flat and had a small chip out of the middle.

Once up the river bank Runs Poorly found some dried grass and a dry piece of dead wood for his drill base. After gathering some fuel he set about to make a fire. By this time the boy was shaking so violently that he could hardly weld the bow. Still he knew that he one chance to survive. He would either light a fire or die here alone. The activity of pushing and pulling the bow to spin the drill stick warmed him some and he stopped shaking so much. Holding the stone in the palm of his left hand he spun the drill stick between the stone and the deadwood base. Around the drill stick was a small pile of tinder. Soon a wisp of smoke appeared. Doubling his efforts Runs Poorly was elated when a tiny flame popped up in the tinder. He picked up the base and blew carefully. slowly the precious fire cracked and popped into life. Soon he was adding small sticks and twigs and before long a warm fire was bringing life back into his body. Runs Poorly took off his clothes and dried them in the heat of the fire. He worked slowly flexing the leather and turning it often to dry it well without burning it. He flexed it often to keep it supple. Just as the fire had saved his life he knew that this suit of clothes would be essential to ever getting back to the village. When the clothes dried the boy built a small shelter of tree limbs to reflect the warmth of the fire and covered himself with a hastily made bundle of dried grass and reeds. He slept very little. Every noise woke him. Visions of prowling wolves and bears kept him alert most of the night but toward morning his body surrendered to sleep.

DAY FIVE

There was little use in rebuilding the fire. Most of the wood in the area was gone and he had no food to cook. The thought of fishing came to mind but somehow finding out where he was and getting back to the village seemed more important. Gathering his few remaining possessions he took a bearing on the rising sun and the direction of the river's flow. He figured he had been washed south of the village. Away from the foothills where his people were hunting and out onto the open plains. The solution seemed simple. He would just follow the river until he came back to where he had fallen in. The only problem with that was the river wandered quite a bit. He might have been swept down the river many miles but the village could very well be just a days walk to the north. At this point he made a critical decision. He would strike out to the north to find the village. If he did not find it he could just circle back to the river.

By midday he knew he had made a mistake. Out on the open grassland he had no idea of how far he had traveled or how far he had to go. The early winter sun was low on the horizon but was still a good reference point. The club foot that had given him his name was becoming a real hinderance. It was difficult for him to cover much distance quickly. A warrior could have run ten miles that morning, he had covered less than five. Runs Poorly sat down by small tree that grew in a shallow wash. He was starting to become afraid he become lost out here and freeze to death when night fell. What he saw then made him gasp in amazement. In the distance was a man. But this man was not walking! He was seated on what appeared to be a large cow elk. At second thought the animal's head was to long and large for an elk, its body to massive. The man on the animal's back was a handsome warrior. To Runs Poorly he looked like one of the visions his father had told him about. The man was wearing clothing that shone like a mussel shell. On his head was a hat that was made of the same material. It caught and reflected the sun like flint. on the man's face was a shaggy mane of hair. Runs Poorly chuckled the thought crossed his mind that this man had a beard like a buffalo. In the warrior's hand was a stick. To the boy's practiced eye it resembled a weapon. The only strange thing was it had no point on the end. "It must be a war club" he thought.

Just as suddenly as he had appeared the man and his strange animal was gone. They disappeared to the east. Runs Poorly followed the trail left by the animal. It had an weird track, each foot had only one hoof. Every hoofed animal he knew had two hooves on each foot. Luck was with him, the trail only lasted for a few miles. There, next to a small creek, he found a war party of these shining warriors. They were sitting around a fire watching what appeared to be half of an antelope cook. The smell of meat on the fire made the boy's stomach churn. But what really held his interest was the group of animals all tied in a row. They were just like the one the man had been sitting on. Runs Poorly had not forgotten how fast the warrior had left him behind on the prairie. These animals were bigger than a bull elk yet the man had sat on him. Now here was a dozen of these animals all tied with ropes on their heads and feet. In the failing light Runs Poorly watched the men gorge themselves on antelope meat. Then they passed around a shinney gourd and all drank from it. Soon they were all singing and staggering around. In a few hours they were all asleep.

DAY SIX

The horse's back felt strange under his legs. He had watched the warrior ride and he knew it did not look that hard. All of the shinning warriors had slept so soundly that Runs Poorly had taken some of their food, a wonderful knife, and all their horses. He wondered what kind of people had no dogs to give warning or even posted a guard. There was no honor in raiding them. It was only then that he realized what he had done. He had raided the camp of a war party. The treasures he had taken were beyond anything a warrior of his tribe had taken before him. He now had food, a weapon and horses. On the horse's back he covered the distance to his village before midday. As he rode into the village all the people came out to see what was going on. They marveled at the spectacle of the boy on horse back. Runs Poorly rode up to his father and handed him the rope holding ten fine horses. The story of his raid on the Spanish camp amazed them almost as much as the string of animals. Shadow was in awe of the strange beasts but he immediately saw the great potential of such rapid transportation in their world of such long distances.

Runs Poorly leapt upon his horse's back and thundered off. He rode to the river bank and turned the horse sharply. Back he rode to the village, crouching low to the horse's back. when he went by the assembled villagers he was just a blur. When he returned Shadow asked him to get down. Shadow turned to the village and said "This day Runs Poorly is a man. No more will his name be Runs Poorly. After today he is His Feet Have Wings." The boy, now a man, stood and listened to his private prayer come to reality. Somewhere in the village a drum started.

FINIS

In the decades that followed the various tribes of Native Americans all obtained horses. Some came by trade, some by raiding between tribes and some from white men. Whatever their source the horse was the deciding factor in the social evolution of the plains Indians. Not since the invention of the bow had so sweeping a change affected Native American in such a positive manner. The horse allowed the Indian unknown freedom to wander the vast ocean of grasslands in central North America following the herds of their beloved buffalo. They went from scattered villages of hunter-gathers to the great nations. When the white men finally came to the prairie in force what they found was the finest light calvary the world had ever known. A people totally reliant on and respectful of the land they lived upon. A people who's feet now had wings. All from the dream of a boy who ran poorly.