Legend of the Shaman: Book Three of the Wyakin Trilogy

By David Rasmussen

LEGEND OF THE SHAMAN is the last book in the wyakin trilogy. LEGEND OF THE WYAKIN is the first book. It introduces the story of Cortez Modrables and his animal-spirit-guide (wyakin). LEGEND OF THE DREAMER is the second book. It follows Cortez through his new life as the adopted successor of an elderly Nez Perce healer/shaman and his wife.

Because Cortez is white and a Jewish immigrant; he faces many racial and religious issues throughout all three books. As an adult shaman, he is especially challenged when in love with a Christian Nez Perce young woman. Their racial, religious, social conflicts keep them apart until the crisis of the so called Nez Perce War wipes out the issues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543928204

Book preview

GLOSSARY

Run fast, Cortez! Run fast!

There is trouble! There is trouble!

Go to the place of the white settlers. There is trouble.

Samuel is ahead. His legs are longer. Run faster, Cortez.

There is trouble and there is not time to get a horse.

There by the river where it makes a horseshoe bend.

There by the land where the settlers made a fence.

There where the Nez Perce people have gathered.

There where the Ni-mi-pu have gathered.

There where white settlers have gathered.

There is anger in the voices. Run faster, Cortez!

There is the white settler, Larry Ott. There with a plow horse.

Larry Ott is starting to plow outside his fence.

There is loud shouting!

This place is where the Nez Perce buffalo hunter, Eagle Robe, has a garden.

This place is where the Lamtamas often camp.

Cortez, Cortez, run faster! Run faster!

The anger in the voice of Eagle Robe is like a war song.

Run faster, Cortez! You must stop the warrior. Run faster, Cortez!

Eagle Robe has found a stone, and his arm is back. Run faster, Cortez!

Eagle Robe throws the stone with much force and knocks Larry Ott into the plowed furrow.

Run faster, Cortez! Run faster! Stop the anger, Cortez!

Larry Ott is getting up from the plowed furrow. Larry Ott’s face is purple with rage, and dirt is in his beard.

Cortez, run to Larry Ott. Stop him!

Cortez, run to the settler. Larry Ott is reaching for the pistol in his belt.

Stop Larry Ott, Cortez!

Larry Ott is pointing the pistol at the belly of Eagle Robe.

Stop him, Cortez!

The noise! The noise! It is the pistol.

The pistol is making smoke. It is sending a ball into Eagle Robe.

Eagle Robe is going down, Cortez! Catch him, Cortez! He is your friend.

Your friend has been shot by Larry Ott.

All are enraged. All are saddened.

Larry Ott lowers his pistol. He fires no more.

Cortez Modrables—the young white shaman/healer given the name Simahichen Tim (Grizzly Bear Talking) by the Ni-mi-pu—caught Eagle Robe and laid him gently on a bed of new spring grass. Others gathered around the wounded warrior, including his son, Shore Crossing. As Simahichen Tim examined the warrior’s wound, Eagle Robe motioned for his son to come near. Do not avenge this shooting, Shore Crossing. Promise me that.

But Father, Larry Ott shot you. He should pay. The son objected in an anguished voice. It is my duty as your son.

No! No, Shore Crossing! I was wrong to throw the stone. It will only cause more blood if you avenge this shooting. Others will be made to suffer. Promise me that you will leave Larry Ott alone and let the white people use their laws. Eagle Robe’s voice is only a whisper. He is growing weaker.

We must take Eagle Robe to my lodge where I can care for him, Cortez commanded.

Journal of Cortez Modrables

March 15, 1877

Today’s shooting was a tragic happening. It is true that the Salmon River Valley has long been the home of the Lamtama band, but it is also true that the U.S. government has given the settlers the right to take the land in this valley. However, it is not just, so it is hardly surprising that Ott’s actions made Eagle Robe, ordinarily a mild-mannered old warrior, so angry that he threw the stone at Ott. But throwing a rock at someone does not merit shooting the rock thrower! The bullet undoubtedly damaged some organs, and I fear that that Eagle Robe may die as a result. I will use every means I have to help him heal, but I cannot remove the bullet so deeply embedded in the old warrior’s body. I also fear that, even though Shore Crossing promised his father not to avenge the shooting, if Eagle Robe dies, the young man’s anger may overwhelm him.

Samuel is carrying a message to Indian Agent Monteith at Lapwai Reservation, telling him of the shooting and asking him to come before there is more trouble between the Ni-mi-pu Lamtamas and the white farmer.

Cortez Modrables, like many others in the Lamtama band, had long been a friend of Eagle Robe, who had given the young shaman the fine stallion, Silu Silu (the Sahaptin word for eyeglasses). Cortez had named the cream-colored pony after his sire because he had the same eyeglass-like markings—dark rings around both eyes.

The gift had been one of gratitude. Several years before, Shore Crossing had lost the sire in a foolish wager over a horserace with a soyapo miner at Gold Creek, in Montana Territory. Falling and injuring a leg, Silu Silu of course lost the race, thereby becoming the property of the miner. But the man had no use for a crippled horse and was going to put him down. Appalled, Cortez bought Silu Silu for six quarters. Then the apprentice shaman/healer found an ingenious way to heal the injury, using his ability to communicate with animals’ minds. Cortez gained further respect from the Lamtamas when he gave the healing pony back to Eagle Robe, thereby initiating a long-standing friendship between the young man and Eagle Robe, as well as his son, Shore Crossing.

This tragic event was especially poignant for Cortez, but he also saw it as one of many to come. Conflicts were already smoldering like coals in a campfire. A strong breath could cause another flare-up of anger. Over the nine years that Cortez had lived with the Lamtamas, he had seen dozens of soyapo families and individuals move into places where the Ni-mi-pu had camped, fished, and gathered roots for as long as they could remember.

White settlers felt that it was their legal and moral right to occupy this land, grow crops, and fence off pastures. In the white culture, good land left unused is considered a waste. White settlers needed land to feed their families, so they felt justified in taking it. The Ni-mi-pu were being pushed out because their relationship to the land was not understood, and thus was not honored.

Journal of Cortez Modrables

March 18, 1874

Today Eagle Robe died of the gunshot wound from the pistol of Larry Ott. The old warrior’s son, Shore Crossing, was with him. A charge of murder will be brought against Larry Ott. I hope that the laws of Idaho Territory will be justly applied to convict him. They have not been in the cases of other assaults and murders of Indians committed by soyapos. If this murder is not justly prosecuted, I’m afraid that revenge will smolder in the gut of Shore Crossing until someday it erupts.

Journal of Cortez Modrables

March 20, 1874

Today Agent Monteith arrived from Lapwai to investigate the killing of Eagle Robe. He is asking the people who saw the fight what happened. He will also talk with Mister Ott, if he can find him. He seems to have disappeared.

The Lamtamas buried Eagle Robe with the honor he deserved as a brave warrior and leader. Simahichen Tim performed the rituals as a full shaman, but he felt inadequate for the task. He questioned this needless death in his own mind and asked the spirit of the land, the Ni-mi-pu guardian, What is the future of the Real People? Then, as he stood by the grave where Eagle Robe’s body was being covered, he asked himself what his future as Simahichen Tim would be, and where the future of Cortez Modrables might lie.

Cortez spoke with Agent Monteith as a witness of the shooting. After he told Monteith exactly what he saw, the agent asked if he would swear to his truthfulness in a court of law. When Cortez replied that he would, Monteith sighed, saying, "That’s good. The Nez Perce witnesses have told me that they do not need to swear on a Bible to tell the truth in court, and it is an insult to be asked to do so. They don’t seem to understand that the American law courts require such an oath. The Ni-mi-pu custom of making a statement three times for it to be accepted as truth is not sufficient.

Larry Ott was not in the valley for Agent Monteith to interview. Some reported that he was sick; others said that he was mining in the gold camp at Florence, dressed as a Chinaman.

Rachel—the young, Christian, Ni-mi-pu teacher with whom Cortez was in love—was in Lapwai with her own troubled thoughts. What is the future of Simahichen Tim? Or where does the future of Cortez Modrables lie? And what is my own future to be? She pondered these things over and over as she tossed and turned in her bed.

Samuel had come by the schoolhouse earlier this evening. He carried no letter from Cortez, but he told Rachel of the note that he had just delivered to Agent Monteith about the shooting of the Lamtama warrior, Eagle Robe, by a white settler. Samuel told her that Cortez was doing everything he could to save the warrior’s life and couldn’t take time to write a note. Samuel added that, tough as the old warrior was, he would almost certainly die.

Rachel didn’t know the wounded man, but Samuel told her that he was highly respected and that his death would create dangerous tension in the Salmon River Valley. Rachel couldn’t help but worry. Each time I hear of a clash between white men and Ni-mi-pu, I feel very bad. The conflicts will continue. The tension is especially bad between the non-treaty Ni-mi-pu and the white people who are moving onto their off-reservation homelands.

Troubled by her thoughts, the beautiful, young woman sat up in bed and watched the shadows made by the moonlight on the floor of her little room. I know that Cortez is in a very difficult position, and that I don’t always understand. I’m growing to love him more and more, even though we argue each time we meet. Sometimes he makes me so angry that I wish I didn’t love him. If he would just face reality and come onto the reservation, he could become a doctor to both red- and white-skinned people. I could then become the Christian wife of a white Jewish doctor.

Lying back down, Rachel whispered to herself, I could never become the squaw of a shaman/healer/Dreamer, as tears ran down her cheeks onto her pillow. Knowing that tears didn’t help; Rachel turned her thoughts back to becoming the wife of Cortez Modrables, whom she envisioned wearing a white man’s suit and having short hair. I wonder what it would be like to lie under the blankets with this handsome man and feel the heat from his body—have him kiss my mouth and hold my body close to his.

Sitting up, Rachel scolded herself. It’s that full moon filling my mind with these thoughts! The moon sends thoughts of love to all people. Then, smiling to herself, Rachel decided to pray that thoughts of lovemaking would not come to her until the day that marriage removed the sin of such thoughts.

Cortez Modrables sat on the bank of the Salmon River. He had intended to write his thoughts of the future in his journal, but instead he was listening to the river’s peaceful flow, watching the full moon pass between the high cliffs of the canyon, and drifting into thought. I should be sleeping. I spent two nights and two days caring for Eagle Robe, but then he died anyway—a sad death. Eagle Robe was a wise, courageous man, who should have had the honor of a brave warrior’s death as he protected his people. A coward’s bullet carries no honor.

The Ni-mi-pu were very sad, and Shore Crossing was very angry, but the son had vowed to his father that he would not seek revenge against Larry Ott. In frustration, Shore Crossing shifted his anger toward Cortez—telling whoever would listen that Cortez had failed to save his father’s life, and that if he were a true healer, his father would be alive. There was nothing Cortez could do about those words but let the people judge for themselves. He had questioned himself many times, and all he could say was, "I try my best to be a true tiwet, a good shaman/healer."

Another reason for Cortez’s wakefulness was his thoughts of Rachel. Is Rachel thinking about me? Could her thoughts be directed toward me? Could we be looking at the same moon right now and both thinking of our love and our future? What is our future? That last thought weighed on his heart like a bag of lead, sinking his spirits. Sometimes it was very disheartening to think of the future at all—not just his own, but that of the Nez Perce tribe, divided between those on the reservation and those who still sought to live on and defend what had always been their land.

Cortez Modrables had made many notes in his journal over the past several years about the injustices committed against the Ni-mi-pu by soyapo neighbors. None of the cases had been fairly dealt with by the available law enforcement agencies. He thought it quite likely that the Indian Agent had failed to pursue justice for the Lamtamas because they lived outside the boundaries of the Lapwai Reservation. The Lamtama and other non-treaty bands might be considered to live outside the boundary of the law—on lands not protected by the federal or state governments.

Bureau of Indian Affairs Agent Monteith had been telling the Ni-mi-pu non-treaty bands at meetings and councils for years that all Nez Perces must move onto the Lapwai Reservation and give up any claim to their homelands. Cortez had mixed emotions about leaving the Salmon River area and moving to new lands on the reservation. He had seen much of the Lapwai Reservation and found the land to be lush and productive. Rachael lived on the reservation, as did her family. But Cortez’s loyalties had always been with the Lamtamas, led by Chief White Bird. They were his family, but he was beginning to think that the future of his Ni-mi-pu might best be at Lapwai.

Journal of Cortez Modrables

Autumn 1876

The United States of America is now over one hundred years old. As I recall from my history lessons and conversations with my father, I was taught that Misters Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, and others who spoke of freedom for all the people. What would they think about how the U.S. government, which they founded, is now treating the first real Americans? Would they have directed the government to make treaties that were unfair to the Indians, and then break those only to make even worse treaties that favored only a few white men? Would they support the ignorance of the government agents? Would they have told lies to and then cheated the Indians who trusted the government?

Cortez reread this before putting the journal down and engaging in some serious thinking. The peaceful non-treaty Ni-mi-pu do not wish to harm the white people. They wish only to be left alone—to live their own lives. They have their customs. They make homes that suit their lifestyle. They know how to grow or acquire the foods they like to eat. They make and wear clothing that suits their way of life. They have their shaman/healers when they need advice and healing. And they have their religion and rituals. The most important attribute of the Constitution is the right to freedom of religious belief. What would these honored men who wrote it think about the persecution of the Dreamers by the Christian government men?

Cortez had been thinking these thoughts and writing some in his journal as he waited for leaders of the various Ni-mi-pu bands to arrive for the council. White Bird had asked him to help find a place free of bad spirits for this council. This campsite, over which the young shaman had shaken his rattle, was in the Salmon River Canyon, upriver from Lamtama Creek about ten miles. No soyapo settlements were nearby, so the Lamtama had erected a large lodge—room enough for the four chiefs and their leading warriors to sit and speak their hearts.

These chiefs knew that Indian Agent Monteith had been saying that all the non-treaty bands must be on Lapwai Reservation by the following spring. The chiefs and warriors wished to talk about whether they should join together to speak as one band, or whether each band should make its own decision. Cortez was asked to sit in the council to help White Bird and the others understand the ways of soyapo thinking. This could be a difficult task, because the shaman/healer hadn’t lived among white people for eleven years—since he was thirteen—not old enough to understand the ways of adult Americans.

Cortez could see White Bird arriving on his fine buffalo pony. He wore his eagle headdress and a fine buckskin shirt with bead designs portraying events and battles from his long life. The dignified chief hadn’t painted his face.

White Bird stayed mounted, but nodded to Cortez and signed that the preparations were good. Cortez saw that most of the principal warriors had followed their respected chief, but Spotted Horse was not among them. He and Samuel were in Montana Territory hunting buffalo, and Cortez knew that this might be the last time that Ni-mi-pu warriors would be going to the Musselshell Valley for the hunt.

As Cortez stood by the council lodge feeling melancholy about the end of these hunting treks east of the mountains, he saw another chief and his warriors riding slowly up the trail from the north. Even before he heard the announcement that Looking Glass was arriving, Cortez recognized this wise chief of the Alpowai band, for he always wore his high-crowned felt hat with eagle feathers in the brim. He was fond of Looking Glass, recognizing that a part of that respect was because his chieftainship was the home band of Rachel’s family. While Cortez looked for Rachel’s father among the warriors, he was not surprised that John Sam was not there. John Sam and Rachel’s mother, Ruth, were Christians and seemed content with their reservation home in the Clearwater Valley. Looking Glass straddled the line between being a reservation Ni-mi-pu and also a buffalo-hunting warrior. The Alpowai band didn’t need to move its chosen home, since it was already contained within the reservation boundary of the 1863 treaty, the boundary that the Indian Agent was trying to enforce. Looking Glass didn’t need to be at this council, but the other chiefs honored him as a wise friend whose spirit was with the non-treaty bands.

White Bird trotted his pony down the trail to welcome Looking Glass. Normally when distant bands visit there is much celebration, but on this occasion, the greetings were subdued, though warm. The serious nature of the council overshadowed the usual exuberance.

Joseph (Young Joseph [Miats Taweet Tuekakas in Sahaptin] son of Old Joseph) and his band, called the Wallowa Wallamwatkin, had the most to lose by moving onto the reservation. Their traditional home was in the Wallowa and Imnaha valleys on the Oregon side of the Snake River. Not only did they have an immense area for hunting and fishing and root gathering, but they had developed great wealth in horses and cattle. A small tract of reservation land would not accommodate their present lifestyle. Joseph’s father, Old Joseph (Tuekakas in Sahaptin), had signed the 1855 Treaty, which recognized this huge area as being within its reservation boundary. But he refused to recognize or sign the 1863 Treaty, which created the current reservation boundary. It took away all the Wallowa and Imnaha lands from Joseph’s band and opened those lands to white settlement, as it had the lands of all the non-treaty bands. Old Joseph had become a Christian, but it is said that he became so angry with the 1863 Thief Treaty, as it was called by the non-treaty bands, that he tore up his Sahaptin New Testament and renounced Christianity as the religion of liars. Cortez expected that Joseph and his brother, Ollokot, would be the last to arrive with their lead warriors. They had the farthest to travel.

Cortez then saw a line of warriors descending the steep trail from the rugged country to the west of the Salmon River Canyon. Cortez realized that this must be the Pikunans, led by Chief Toohoolhoolzote. Cortez saw Looking Glass and White Bird nearing the council lodge, so he trotted over to tell them of Toohoolhoolzote’s arrival. The two chiefs’ jovial conversation was brought to an end by that news. With Toohoolhoolzote arriving, the gravity of the coming council returned to mind.

Cortez remembered when Culculshensah took him to meet Toohoolhoolzote soon after he had arrived in the Salmon River Valley as a thirteen-year-old. The powerful Dreamer/chief had frightened him. Toohoolhoolzote didn’t like his white skin and blue eyes and had disagreed with Culculshensah that the boy should become his apprentice shaman. Over the years, Toohoolhoolzote had visited the Lamtamas, but Cortez had always avoided him.

Toohoolhoolzote was a stocky man of legendary strength. That strength and his chafing character were undoubtedly forged by the rugged land of the Pikunans. Cortez had no doubts that the campfire stories telling of his great strength and courage were true. Like his body, his voice and words resonated with power. Toohoolhoolzote was not a man to be intimidated by anyone—especially a soyapo government man.

Toohoolhoolzote trotted his line of mounted warriors across the Salmon River, the prancing ponies creating much spray. Looking Glass and White Bird watched the arrival, still mounted on their ponies near the council lodge. Cortez stayed in the background as a good shaman. Also, he was in no hurry to have Toohoolhoolzote recognize him. Although now a man, and shaman to the Lamtama band, he was still not comfortable about facing the Pikunan chief’s smoldering glare.

The warriors and chiefs all greeted each other with dignity, though the formality would eventually give way to good natured storytelling and joshing.

Cooking fires lit up the late afternoon shadows created by the western canyon cliffs. A feast was being prepared to welcome the chiefs and warriors. Boys led the visitors’ ponies into a side canyon, where they would be well guarded. The theft or loss of a guest’s pony would be very humiliating to White Bird.

One of the young men who had been watching the trail northward galloped up and told Cortez that Joseph’s band was arriving. Cortez signed that he must immediately go tell Chief White Bird.

Cortez then went to his lodge to see if Welweyas, his helper, had done his part. He had. The shaman ceremonial objects were in order. He then opened his parfleche and got out the cape made from the pelt of his wyakin, El Oso. But he reconsidered and put it back, saying to Welweyas, I’ll take the El Oso cape to the council only if things go wrong.

Hearing the pounding of hooves, Cortez stepped out of the teepee to see the three chiefs gallop down the river trail to greet Young Joseph and his warriors from the Wallowa country. With the four bands gathered, they were ready to begin the council talks early in the morning. An invitation had been sent to Husishusis Kute, chief of the small Palouse band, but he wasn’t expected to come.

By good council etiquette, all the guests must be well fed and rested before any mention was made of the council’s agenda. So, the warriors and chiefs visited with each other, talked of inconsequential matters, and told stories as they ate around the campfire, laughing as if there were nothing to concern them. There was no need for Cortez to join the chiefs and warriors, so he had his evening meal in his lodge and then walked around the council area, looking for bad spirits in the form of spies.

The November morning sunlight felt good on the young shaman’s back as it lit up the western canyon wall. A mist hung low along the river channel. After completing his morning wash, Cortez stood on a sandbar, from where he could see warriors and chiefs up and down the river performing similar rituals. Bathing in the cold water of the mountain streams was considered healthy by the Ni-mi-pu. It was especially important before council talks, since the cold water helped clear the participants’ thoughts before they spoke at council.

The council lodge was as large as long teepee poles would allow, but many more Ni-mi-pu wished to hear the words of the chiefs. White Bird directed that the buffalo robes be rolled up and tied so that those outside the ring could see and hear. It was Joseph who had requested this council of chiefs, but as the host, White Bird chose who would be seated and where they would sit in the traditional circle. White Bird would occupy a place to the left of the entry. Cortez was to sit behind him and to his right. Five selected warriors would sit behind their respective chiefs. Looking Glass would sit to the left of White Bird, with his warriors forming a wedge behind him. Next would be Toohoolhoolzote and his warriors. Both Joseph and his brother Ollokot would sit together in the circle of chiefs. Joseph was the head chief of the Wallowa band, but Ollokot was the recognized leader of the warriors and young men. Also, Ollokot had sat at councils and meetings with the government officers and was considered to be a wise leader, as well as a war chief, should that be necessary. In the council circle, no person held a greater position than another.

When all had been seated, cross-legged, White Bird stood and introduced each chief as an honored guest. White Bird then presented his long, decorated pipe, which he had asked Simahichen Tim to fill it with the best tobacco. Taking a coal from the small central fire pit, the chief ceremoniously lit the pipe and drew deeply on the smoke to ensure that the tobacco was burning well. With smoke now curling from the bowl, the chief presented the pipe to all four directions and then to Nami Piep. White Bird again drew deeply on the pipe and then stepped across the circle to hand it to Joseph, saying, All must smoke of this pipe to bring wisdom to the council. The pipe completed the circle of chiefs and was handed back to White Bird, who then announced, All in this lodge shall smoke. He handed the pipe to Cortez, much to the young shaman’s surprise. He took only a