Amos Getting - A Life on the American Frontier

By Will Astrike

Amos Getting

A Life on the American Frontier

Born in 1819 at Fort Union in Dakota Territory to a Cree Mother and French Trapper Father, Amos is sent to live with the Brule Sioux at his Mother's death. When he is thirteen, he leaves his Brule Family to begin a Spirit Quest journey that leads him to a life among White men. As he grows to adulthood, Amos is befriended by a White Rancher who raises the boy as his own, and he witnesses the early days on the Oregon Trail. His new father teaches him the life lessons that lead him to many adventures, first to a Colorado Outpost where he finds the woman who will become his wife and then to Fort Worth as Town Marshal.

            Next, he meets legendary Texas Ranger RIP Ford and, at his urging, joins the Rangers for years of memorable battles with the Comanche and Mexican Outlaws. He is at the Battle of Pease River, where he rescues Cynthia Ann Parker, the White captive who married Chief Peta Nocona and bore three children, one of whom became the greatest Comanche War Chief, Quanah Parker.

            Following the tragedies of the Civil War, he is recruited into the U.S. Cavalry as a Scout\Translator for both General George Crook and Colonel George A. Custer. He is present for Custer's Exploratory Expedition to the Black Hills in 1874 when Gold is found, and land once promised to the Sioux Nations is opened for Settlement and prospecting.

            Later he is called again by Crook to assist in his Spring Expedition that culminates at the Battle of Rosebud Creek, where he releases Amos to search for Custer as the 7th Cavalry marches toward the Little Bighorn River and Destiny.

The story of Amos Getting is a compelling historical account of America's growing pains through the Nineteenth Century, with accounts of battles in the Civil War and the Great Plains Indian Wars. There is the human side of life on the prairie as well, the struggles, hardships, and triumphs that laid the foundation for the land we love today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Astrike
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224541935

Book preview

One

1819 Fort Union Trading Post

Upper Missouri River

Northern Plains

Amos Getting was born in the spring of 1819, in a buffalo skin tipi near the Fort Union trading post at the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri rivers. His father, Claude D’Obtenir, was a trapper, and his mother was a Cree maid named Tohtooe Moee—Prairie Grass.

She was fifteen when Amos was born in March of that year. His father was away in the Medicine Lake area trapping along the creeks and panning the streams for gold. D’Obtenir, being French Canadian, got along best with the Northern Assiniboine People, who referred to themselves as Nakota. He became friendly with a Nakota Chief named Crazy Bear, who carried great influence with the American Fur Company, the dominant purveyor in the fur industry at the time. The Chief was instrumental in negotiating not only fur and hide prices but also in establishing trapping rights and trade routes.

D’Obtenir was only on fair terms with the local Sioux tribes, whose longtime enemies were the French, Pawnee, and the Blackfoot people. Still, he managed to secure permission to hunt and trap the Sioux land, provided he shared his profits with the tribes. For the year following the birth of Amos, he stayed closer to Fort Union, but a year later—in the spring when the rivers opened—he was away again. He spent the summer and fall months trapping and living in the Idaho Territory among the Nez Percé and the various Sioux tribes.

Following a Pawnee raid late in 1820, when D’Obtenir assisted in killin’ g nearly thirty Pawnee Warriors and protecting the Brulé Sioux pony herd, Bull Tail, a Brulé Chief, accepted Claude into the tribe, even giving him the name Passache Akdiile or Stick Walker, from D’Obtenir’s habit of using a walking stick or cane. After that, D’Obtenir began giving the Brulé scout reports on the Pawnee, and all the Sioux allowed D’Obtenir to trap and hunt Sioux land free of any interference. Though he was French Canadian, he was the only Whiteman with such privileges.

The winter of 1822-1823 was mild, but tensions built between the Pawnee People and the various Sioux tribes. In the spring of 1823, all the Pawnee tribes formed together to take revenge against the Brulé for the killin’ of their warriors and the loss of their ponies.  

The Pawnee established a camp along the Yellowstone, but as they were working, they were seen by Brulé Scouts. The Brulé, in turn, mounted a war party, including D‘Obtenir, to strike the Pawnee camp first, but as luck would have it, the two opposing forces passed each other in the night. The Brulé never found the Yellowstone River camp, but the Pawnee Warriors found the Brulé camp. Nearly one hundred Brule tipis were burned, and nearly all the old men, women, and children still in the camp were massacred.

Amos D’Obtenir’s mother was killed, and he was taken prisoner by a Pawnee Brave named Buffalo Horn. His father tracked the Pawnee to their home camp to retake his son, but in fierce hand-to-hand combat, he was wounded by Buffalo Horn’s war ax before killin’ the Pawnee with his knife. He found the tipi, where the boy was being guarded by young Pawnee squaws and stole him back.

Despite being mortally wounded, D’Obtenir managed to return to the Brulé camp with his son. He died two days later, and Amos was adopted by a childless Brulé couple, the son of Bull Tail, a young brave named Iron Shell, and his first squaw Field Mouse—Hoeo o Hohkee he. They became the guardians of four-year-old Amos. The massacre of 1823 very nearly wiped out the Northern Brulé people and erased any hope of the Sioux forming a peace with the Pawnee to unite against the Whites.

Amos grew into the Brulé way and was taught the land was sacred and was the mother of all things. Wind, water, and fire were holy gifts of the Earth and should never be abused. He was eventually given a new name by the Tribal Chief, Bull Tail. He would be called Ohvakmastsatse Naaheohe, or White Otter, a reference to his playfulness, quick-to-anger temperament, and his skin color.

He was a handsome young man though his features cast more of the Whiteman in him than Cree. He had long, light brown hair with natural curls and waves rather than the straight, dark hair typical of the Canadian Cree. His eyes were deep violet rather than brown, and his forehead and cheeks were high and straight rather than slightly round and slanted as the Cree.

As he grew older, he resented the constant bullying he received because of his color. Other children taunted him with his white name, Amos D‘Obtenir, intentionally mispronouncing it to sound like an unflattering Pawnee word. Most boys were groomed and trained to become warriors, but he was not included. Only his relationship with Iron Shell kept him from being made to work the fields. On top of everything, he was a tall awkward youth, gangly and occasionally clumsy.

He became sullen and moody, likely to talk back on orders from the tribal elders. Even as he grew, he was never chosen to participate in warrior training, or even allowed to hunt for game—a skill he possessed that would have elevated his position in the tribe. He learned trackin’ g skills from his father, Iron Shell, and his grandfather Bull Tail, who was getting older and no longer included in the younger men’s activities.

Bull Tail spent many hours talking with Otter, teaching him the Brulé values and the Greater Sioux Nation’s history in general. He taught the importance of honesty and courage, and respect for elders and their wisdom. He was patient in explaining the complex differences between fear and cowardice, courage, and foolhardiness, and the importance of placing his People and family first.

Amos grew curious about why he was excluded and teased by other boys, and Bull Tail would explain by saying that small thinking was common in the world, even among the Brulé People and that his White skin made him a target.

When Bull Tail died, Amos felt a deep loss, and since his father, Iron Shell, was now chief, time with him was greatly diminished. He did not receive any new status as the Chief’s son, and ultimately, Otter grew up an outcast of the Brulé because he looked whiter than Sioux.

During his fourteenth summer, when other boys his age participated in passage rites, he was not sanctioned by the elders to earn his manhood by taking his spirit journey alone into the mountains. Iron Shell spoke on his behalf, but even the Brulé elders overruled the Chief.

Traditionally, the spirit journey was a five-day ordeal to test survival techniques but primarily to experience a solitary dream state where a spirit totem would reveal itself. Upon returning to camp after a successful passage, the young warrior would take a new name, be expected to take part in tribal meetings and rituals and would be encouraged to marry and start a family.

Midsummer of 1833, at age fourteen, when the other Brulé youths would become men, White Otter had taken all he could stand. He collected his few possessions and spoke at length with Iron Shell and his second wife, Elk Wallow, who was older and assigned to care for him while Field Mouse worked in the fields. She had also trained him in medicines, dream interpretations, and spirit worship, a very big job considering the number of spirits to learn.  At the conclusion of their talk, White Otter decided to leave Iron Shell’s lodge and strike out for the Platte River territory to the south.

The Platte River territory was Pawnee land, and White Otter’s plan was to count coup on many Pawnee warriors and tipis and lodges. Then he would return triumphantly to the Brulé during Winter Count with many notches on his coup stick and many Pawnee horses on his lead. It was a good plan and would show the Brulé the kind of Warrior he was. He would take a new name and leave again, never to return. How the elders would miss him at the circle fires. The other young braves would try to emulate his prowess, and the maidens would sing songs of his triumphs. These glories filled his heart and pushed him onward.

Otter had no idea exactly where the Platte River Mountains were. He had only heard talk at the fire circles he was allowed to attend, and then most of the discussion was among drunken old men bragging about battles of long ago. He had gathered that Platte River Territory was many days walk to the south and that one would have to cross through the Pine Ridge Sioux and Arapaho lands to get there. The great distance did not frighten him. The neighboring tribes did not frighten him. The only thing that concerned him was the weather. It was already mid-summer, and winters came quickly to the high plains. He would carry the few skins he owned and his good huupes, the ones made by Elk Wallow, and several of her remedies for pain and infection. Fox fur lined the huupes and rose above his ankles.

He took a large flint stone from Bull Tail’s bag and would strike his steel blade against it when he needed a fire. The old man had many of the special stones and would not miss one. The tribe was rich in the stones and used many for tools or weapons as they could be knapped to sharp edges and were more plentiful than the fragile black rock they preferred.

His tools were sturdy and had strong medicine. His long-handle ax was heavy, and his knife was metal, so it stayed sharp. It was a gift from Iron Shell. His bow was tall and powerful. It was so strong that he had trouble drawing it to its fullest arc. He planned to practice with it as he traveled. He had fashioned a coup stick out of a birch sapling. He curled the top of the staff by alternately soaking and drying the young wood into the traditional curl of the long staff. He worked in secret at a hidden inlet of the river. It was several miles from camp and was his favorite spot to think and dream. He also knew he would be laughed at if people saw him with a coup staff.

As to directions, he would ask along the way. The Sioux were brothers, and the Arapahoe were friendly even though they were a little stupid, he had been told. Even being stupid, they should know where something as large as a Great River would be.

On the third moon of summer, when the night shown in a small crescent, he chose to leave. He had wrapped his tools in his skins and hidden them along the western path that was to be his avenue of escape. He left Iron Shell a carving of a young man walking with a staff. He had made it at his place by the river after he made his decision. He also left a small drawing of a man walking for Elk Wallow Woman. In this drawing, there was a heart symbol in front of the young man. He knew both would understand his meaning. He had no words for the rest of his tribe except nestavahavoomaste. He was leaving them behind.

The People measured time by holding their open hand, heona, up to the sun. The time it took the sun to move from one side of the hand to the other was their measure of time. Shortly after dawn, in mid-summer of his fourteenth year, he slipped out of the old man’s tipi and was gone down the southern path.

Two

Late Afternoon

Six Days Walk South

Of the Fort Union Brulé Sioux Camp

Once Otter had crossed the Belle Fourche River, he encountered very slow going. He heard talk of the Black Hills, and his path took him through a series of coulees, ridgelines, and deep valleys that were occasionally steep and unstable.

There was little water until he reached an unnamed creek he assumed was a part of the North Platte watershed. He drank deeply as he had been taught and then turned his attention to his stomach. There were very little game on his trek so far, though there were buffalo signs everywhere.

He grew concerned for his strength. Where there should be fish in the stream, there were only crickets and minnows. Yesterday, he had disturbed a rattlesnake that was warming itself on hardscrabble near the path. He deferred to the iaxassee (snake) as he had been taught, but today he recalled his teachings did not include deference when one had run out of food three days earlier. The dried venison and turkey he’d brought were finished over two days ago. There were few trees or cover to harbor small game, and though the wild Nootka rose fruit and chokecherries could stretch his stomach, they contained no meat strength.

As he cleared a steep rise, he saw in the far distance a small green strip of trees and low cover at the far end of a small valley or basin. He stared at the green color of the copse against the red-brown of the land and the pale blue of the late-day sun and decided he would camp among those cottonwoods and willows. Hopefully, he would find squirrel, rabbit, or perhaps sage hens as he approached. When he was within a short run, he notched one of his turkey-feathered arrows and moved only on the wind, hoping that any watchful game animal would see him only as land cover blown by the breeze. He carefully stayed downwind, though he noticed the breeze that afternoon was not steady, and he feared his scent would telltale on him.

As he walked, the unmistakable sound of hares purred and clucked nearby. After several hands in time, he was within a short walk of the small oasis but could not make out any viable targets. He remained still for some minutes until a large jack hare hopped once toward the stream. Otter raised his bow, judging the distance to be easily thirty steps, and drew the gut string slowly back. He aimed the obsidian point and let fly. The arrow missed his target and landed in a reed clutch just passed where the hare had been standing. Otter spotted the arrow, remembering where it landed. He could not afford to lose arrows and notched a second arrow. Again he remained motionless, his eyes focused on the stream where the hare had been standing.

Soon at a different spot, sage hen strutted in a clearing, pecking at the soil. He let fly, and again, he missed. This time the arrow flew over the clearing and into the tall grass along the water. He notched one more arrow—he carried seven—and this time rather than take time to draw and aim, he sent his arrow as soon at first sight of movement in the grass. This time, his arrow struck home and knocked the bird down. It kicked and fluttered its wings in a vain attempt to gain the wind and become airborne, but his arrow was true and split the hen at the breast. 

Darkness had fallen by the time he completed his meal, so he laid out his skins at the base of a cottonwood and slept contentedly on a full stomach. The next morning he awoke with renewed vigor and confidence in his abilities and continued his trek. The sun was clear of the eastern horizon and was already warming his path. He resumed his trek, stopping only twice for water. When the sun was overhead, he stopped and finished the last of his hen.

Otter had no idea how far he had come, but he recalled Bull Tail, claiming as a young man, that he could cover the river path in four hands without much difficulty. The river path was a very long distance between the trading post at Fort Union and the Brulé camp. Otter believed he was at least equal to that speed but had to figure in the time he lost in traversing the ridges and hollows in his path. The river path was long, too many steps to count, and a hand was the time it took for the sun to move from one side of an extended hand to the other. And there were twelve hands in a day. This manner of measuring was not universal, but it was accepted among most tribes.

He decided that his forward progress should be diminished to an average of one river path in five hands. He allowed walking for seven hands of the day, making sure to factor in rest spells, water breaks, and now hunting time. He made marks in the dirt to keep track, and he gave himself four hands of walking time for yesterday and a full seven hands for the previous three days. That put him at twenty-five hands total walking time, and allowing five hands per river path distance, he had covered a distance equal to five river paths. He impressed himself.

The River Path was very long. He was not sure how far the Platte River Territory was, but he knew he was certainly closer than farther away. The land had also changed to prairies and wider valleys, and fewer ridgelines. Where he stood now was in a broad basin with small mountains to the north and prairie to the south. He saw a tree line in the mountains to the west, but no such line in the smaller mountains to the south.

He was not sure to which tribe this land belonged, but he was certain it was not Pawnee land. It might be Arapahoe. He hoped so because that tribe was close to the Brulé in language, customs, and rites. Another tribe similar to his own would certainly recognize a young man’s Spirit Quest and would not interfere. He decided he would not seek out other people, but neither would he run from contact either. Having finished his count of hands traveled, he roused himself and resumed his hike.

He had walked for nearly a full hand when he noticed a dust cloud ahead. It did not move as dust storms do, the weather was clear and calm, and the dust cloud did not seem very tall. Otter concluded this was an animal or human sign, perhaps buffalo or antelope. Seeing no immediate high ground or cover, he began moving sideways to the apparition, providing it ample room to pass. As it approached closer, Otter saw that it was a pony herd and counted nearly twenty animals in all. He could not see the reason they were running. Most often, a herd will bolt at loud noises, people, or other animals chasing them. He saw nothing giving chase, and there were no clouds to ʼcause thunder or lightning. The pony herd settled not far from his position, and he decided to take a closer look at them.

The stallion was quite obvious by his appearance and behavior. He would routinely circle his herd, reassuring them of their safety in his presence. He was a magnificent-looking beast. A gray color with a dark, almost blue-black mane and tail. His confirmation was excellent, and he looked to be near Otter’s height at his shoulders. He held his head high, and his ears stood erect, turning to the direction of the sounds made by the herd. Otter had no amonean rope to throw at him, so he watched the ponies move about, slowly grazing on the patches of new summer grass.

Before too long, another Stallion appeared, and Otter supposed he was the reason for the herd’s flight. This new horse seemed older. He was a thinner, more washed-out-looking version of the young gray horse that now trotted out to meet him. Ears back and hackles up, they went at each other biting and kicking at every opening, running side by side, taking bloody nips at each other, and screaming in their anger and ferocity. After a long fight, the thinner, older-looking stallion retreated. Otter thought he might find another herd. 

Otter then watched the herd from a distance, transfixed and motionless. He thought if he could capture the herd, he would have immediate recognition and a valuable commodity to trade. He had seen warriors of his tribe trap an entire pony herd by building a large enclosure and driving the herd into it. Otter had no way to accomplish that. But, he thought, if I can trick the stallion into following me, the rest of the herd might follow. It would be worth a try. Most tribes ascribed a high value to horses, and if Otter could produce a string of ponies, even half as many in the herd, he would be considered a very rich young man. He decided to stay in the small valley long enough to pursue the pony herd and the gray stallion.

As he sat watching, it crossed his mind that these horses might belong to another tribe. If so, the animals would have markings on them. He would have to get much closer to them to make sure, but there was no cover to conceal his approach. He would have to walk slowly and assume a non-threatening posture whenever the stallion looked his way.

He proceeded very carefully, crossing the first hundred paces in a steady but slow walk. Occasionally, the stallion would circle his way, and at those times, he would stop, drop his head to his chest and hold his arms out wide, simulating a dead Bur oak tree common on the grasslands.

Finally, he had gotten within a stone’s throw of the herd. The herd were mostly mares of breeding age with several yearlings and colts among them. None of the animals showed any kind of markings, neither on their hips nor their shoulders. He assumed then, these must be some of the wild ponies the people talked of now and then.

Now when the stallion came his way, Otter held out his hand the way he had seen the other boys retrieving their horses from the Brulé herd. Bull Tail had said that horses were curious creatures, and their curiosity would usually get them caught. Otter had nothing to put in his hand, but he thought if he could get the stallion to come close enough to see there was no threat, then Otter might later be able to catch the beast in a trap of some kind. He was willing to suspend his journey long enough to try.

The stallion noticed the open hand and turned his head to face Otter. The horse’s nostrils flared several times, and then he snorted and tossed his head violently, a sign he was ready to charge. Otter assumed his dead oak pose, slowing his breathing as he had been taught and remaining very still for several moments until the stallion had gone to the other side of the herd. Otter then decided he would withdraw and find something he could offer the stallion, something he could at least smell in Otter’s hand. 

That night Otter spread his skins among the rocks near the pony herd and began thinking of ways he might be able to catch one. A horse to ride would shorten his journey and give him more status when he raided into the Pawnee lands. As he lay on his skins looking up at the night sky, he saw, in the stars, a man on foot holding an amonean (rope) over a horse’s head while his hand fed the animal something at its mouth. This seemed the simplest way to capture and tame a wild stallion, but first, he would need the amonean of five or six paces in length. And something irresistible to tempt the horse close in. He decided to work on it in the morning, as he was much too tired now to think clearly. 

Three

Sunrise

A Small Valley

Six Days Walk South of the

Fort Union Brulé Sioux Camp

The morning was cool, cooler than normal for this time of year. Otter could almost hear Iron Shell predict an afternoon storm. The mountains to the west looked clear in the morning light. White clouds moved lazily across the sky, forming first one shape and then another. In one, he saw Bull Tail’s face looking eastward into the sun, and as it continued to drift, he saw the side of Elk Wallow Woman’s face. He felt sadness at seeing their faces so far away from their encampment, but he would see them again soon when he returned in triumph over the Pawnee.

The horses had moved sometime during the night, but their tracks and scatlings were easily followed over the hardscrabble surface of the small valley. He had determined that he would need some kind of rope or tether to use in laisse (leash) the stallion, for the stallion was the only horse he wanted. The mares and yearlings would most likely follow the stallion anyway. He planned to unwind the thongs of his leggings, and if more was needed, he would cut his leggings into thong strips. It was summer, and once he had the horse, his breechcloth would be enough to cover him. He found only chokecherries in shrubs along a small creek to lure the animal, but they were fragrant and sweet and should work as well as anything else.

He spent the morning working on his amonean; tying and retying the leather strips into a section that was five paces long and knotted for strength. He drank from the stream, and as he did, it occurred to him that since the horses certainly used the same creek, the heat of the day might be the time to watch for them. He had his chokecherries and his amonean. Now, he would wait to see if his notion of the horses coming to drink beneath the high sun was correct. By his reckoning, it was nearing midday, and the sun overhead created wriggling waves on the distant prairie.

He lay silently next to a lone cottonwood, listening to every sound, every ripple, and murmur of the stream and every puff of the western breeze that might bring a scent. For a full hand and then two, he lay still until, finally, he heard hooves on gravel. Soon, the swishing of tails at the flies that tormented them came into view. He saw the quick spasms of their long muscles in their necks and legs. He turned his body quietly in their direction just as the large gray stallion approach the stream,  standing off many paces and refusing to drink though he must be thirsty. After a few moments, he shied and pawed the ground as a signal to the others in his herd that the stream was safe. Only after the herd members had finished did the stallion allow himself to drink.

The gray stallion stood separate from the herd, his senses alert to any danger that may present itself. Otter decided to take this time to try leashing the horse now that he had drunk, and all seemed quiet. The pony herd cropped new grass in the shade along the creek as Otter stood up very slowly next to the tree where he had hidden. Even that small motion caused the stallion to look in his direction. Again Otter held his arms out like the dead tree and advanced in small steps keeping his head low, instinctively avoiding any kind of eye contact. Twice, the stallion left his position to keep members of his herd in check, but he always returned to the same spot where Otter stood. It took a long time to advance to a position where Otter felt he could present his chokecherries. With his head down, he saw the shadows of clouds as they moved across the sky and heard the movement of the horses as they grazed. Even the flies that tormented them were loud enough for Otter to hear.

Finally, so close that Otter could smell the great horse, he held out his right hand within inches of the stallion’s nose. The animal’s chest and leg muscles twitched as he sniffed the offering, ready to bolt or charge if Otter made a wrong move. At the very last moment, before extending his muzzle, a small songbird flitted from the trees and startled the big horse enough that he bolted and took his herd with him. They ran for quite a while before stopping and were nearly out of sight.

Frustrated but undaunted, Otter decided the prize was worth the effort and decided to remain near the stream. It was the most likely spot for hunting in the small valley, and the trees and low cover provided shade and fuel for the fire he would build that night. He also reasoned that staying in the area would give the horses a chance to get used to his scent and recognize he was not a danger.

According to his sun observation, it was midafternoon, and the prairie was began warming up. The heat would not be oppressive, but it would likely create a thirst for the horses being exposed to the summer sun and drying breeze. It might even ʼcause them to return for the shade of the trees, there were no others Otter saw in the valley, but he knew that a herd of horses ranged far and wide and might possibly know of a small oasis elsewhere.

His stomach grumbled, and he decided to walk the length of the stream in hopes of flushing small game or possibly seeing fish in the cold, shallow water. He picked up his bow and the arrows he’d retrieved yesterday and began walking.

The stream was not wide, but it was fast-moving and, therefore, fairly deep in the areas where the water slowed. Since it appeared to be the only source of fresh water around, Otter knew to be watchful of shadows and rocks large enough to conceal coyotes or wolves. He did not think bears would inhabit the area. There was not enough forage as the high prairie surrounded his valley. He had seen some signs of predators, mostly scat, but it was fairly old and deteriorated. There were few tracks to be found. No fur tufts on the low cover, and the birds seemed comfortable in the trees, singing, and flitting from branch to branch.

As he stepped up to stand on a large boulder, he froze. Not more than ten or twelve steps away, a small group of pronghorn antelope grazed and ate the foliage of the horsemint and orange agoserus that grew along the muddy banks of the stream. Arrow already notched, he slowly drew the bow to its fullest extension. Sighting down the shaft of the arrow, he let fly and struck a small doe in the ribs behind the shoulder. Her adrenaline caused her to leap in the opposite direction of the impact, and she was able to bound nearly sixty steps before she fell, kicking several times into death.

Otter leaped to the ground and covered the distance in only seconds. He immediately removed his knife and began the process of gutting the carcass on the spot. When the last of the entrails were removed and the blood drained, he dug a hole in the sandy gravel as deep as he could make it without damaging his blade. Normally, he would preserve several of the organs, but as he was occupied with the stallion, he thought it best to bury the offal to minimize the blood scent. Horses had keen senses like most herd animals and were particularly sensitive to the smell of blood.

He lifted the small doe over his shoulders, knowing her scent would transfer to him, and went back to his tree at the stream. There, keeping watch always for the horse herd, he skinned the animal and carved and tugged off the various pieces to be saved. The backstrap, rib, flank, shoulder, leg, and breast cuts were hung as far up into a tree as he could get. He chose a tree that was distant but still observable, downstream from his Cottonwood. It was taller and easier to climb. If the scent attracted wolves, he might have more time to escape if they went first to the hanging meat. He also decided to leave the skin drying a good distance in the other direction from his camp. He scraped the hide clean of as much suet and sinew as he could and stretched it out in the sun to dry. If he had been in the Brulé camp, the women would have done this work. They were more experienced and proficient. For now, he was happy to have several meals ready for the fire.

By the time he was finished with the skin, the sun was getting low and would swallow the western peaks in less than one hand. He was gathering deadfall for his fire when he heard the low rumble of the horses returning for an evening drink. Quickly, he got his Chokecherries from his pouch and the makeshift leash. He positioned himself approximately where he was when the stallion was so near this morning. Though he was tired, he held his arms out as still as he could hold them.

The gray stallion was the first to approach, as usual, but this time, he went directly to Otter and stopped only a few feet away. Perhaps he scented the doe because Otter heard him breathing. Slowly, Otter opened his hand to allow the big horse to smell the sweetness of the berries. Closer and closer, he came to Otter’s hand. The animal’s lips twitched as he moved in. It was then Otter noticed a small patch of dried blood on his arm. He knew the horse would notice the smell but hoped his curiosity would overcome his caution. Otter moved his leash loop slowly; almost certain the horse did not see. But just as suddenly as earlier in the morning, the gray stallion bolted and trotted off to a safe distance.

This time, however, the herd did not leave the spring. They continued drinking. The stallion allowed his mares to drink even in the presence of the strange human with the sweet-smelling hand. When they left the stream, they did not run, but rather they drifted away, their great heads bobbing as they walked, tails switching back and forth at flies. The stallion was the last to leave, and he stood motionless, watching Otter for a few moments before turning and walking away himself.

Otter was frustrated and joyful all at once. He believed the next time the pony herd came to drink, he would be able to slip his leash over the stallion’s head and make the animal his own. For now, it was getting dark, and his belly made noise.

Otter had eaten well of the small doe. Most of the backstrap was gone, but there was less fat on the animal than he expected, and the normally tender cut was chewy and was proving hard to digest.

His stomach kept him awake much of the night, so when dawn came, he was still weary. He recalled hearing strange noises during the night, but he dismissed them as being dreams from the short periods he slept. He was very thirsty and needed to fill his water bag, so he rose and walked to the stream. On the way, he noticed several large paw prints. Perhaps the noises weren’t dreams after all. His senses immediately became acute, and the small hairs on the back of his neck bristled. These were the tracks of nanose’hame, the cougar. He looked closer to be sure. They were the clean, well-defined prints of an unhurried cat walking about the area.    This was a dangerous situation for any human being to be in. Otter knew that lions were unbelievably strong, and unless the warrior had a weapon, a sturdy standoff weapon, the cat would win any confrontation. A knife would help, but Otter was not stupid enough to believe he would be a match for an adult lion. His best weapon would be a long spear with a sharp point to keep the animal at a distance if he should encounter one during the day. He’d heard stories of lions being scared off by loud noises, yelling, and screaming insults. Still, he was careful returning to his small campsite. He decided to take a large amount of the antelope meat out a long distance from the stream. Perhaps the cat would investigate the prize farther away from the human smell when he returned that night, as he surely would.

As Otter walked back to camp after moving the meat, he noticed more fresh signs of nanose’hame. Bits of fur on the low brush and scratch piles with scat and urine scent near the tree where Otter had hung his antelope meat.

The first thing Otter did was to select a straight, sturdy sapling to use as a spear. He chose a hickory sapling about two paces tall. Using his ax, he felled the young tree and stripped it of its leaves and sucker growth. He whittled a point at one end—he had hoped to find a sharp-sided piece of obsidian or knapping stone he could fix into the business end of the spear, but there was nothing around the stream that would suffice—and removed the bark from the center and the opposite end to make it easier to grip. He had been using his coup stick for hiking. Now he would use his spear and strap the coup stick to his back.

It was midday by the time he had finished moving the meat and creating a spear. The weather had turned colder, and dark clouds moved from the distant mountains toward the small valley. He was surprised that the pony herd had not come in for a morning drink, but he realized that the horses probably had gone to other water sources he knew nothing about. He also thought it possible the stallion sensed the presence of nanose’hame and was keeping his herd away.

Even though his stomach was not happy last night, Otter decided to make a fire and skewer several slices from the rib section for a midday meal. He made a fire using embers from his morning fire and held the antelope meat on the point of a green stick over the flame. The meat seared and smelled wonderful as it cooked. He leaned back against his cottonwood and gazed out over the valley for some time, absently watching for his pony herd.

He smelled the beast marking trees before he heard its growl. Somewhere nearby, the nanose’hame watched him. Sweat poured from his forehead and neck, and his eyes widened in fear. He moved slowly so as not to startle the cat into charging. When he saw the intense yellow eyes through a thicket on the other side of the stream, his breathing stopped.

Now was the time for action, he knew, so he summoned all his nerve, lifted his spear, and jumped to his feet, screaming at the beast, and making threatening gestures. The cat shied at first but stopped in the clearing and crouched low, snarling, with his ears laid back and white fangs dripping. From somewhere deep inside, Otter found his warrior’s courage and began walking deliberately through the stream and out into the open expanse of the valley.

He squared himself to do battle and stood as tall as he could, roaring and shaking his spear at the cat. The lion gave no space and paced from side to side, looking for a weakness to exploit. Finally, he charged, sharp claws digging into the dirt and powerful legs propelling the big cat into the air.

At that moment, something happened that amazed Otter so that his mouth fell open. In years to come, he would tell the story at councils and campfires wherever he went.

Just as the lion was about to fall on him, the gray stallion appeared and charged, driving through the snarling beast. He struck the lion into mid-air and it fell on its side, stunned by the horse’s blow. It clawed, screaming as it tried to stand.

Otter quickly saw his opening and drove his spear through the lion’s ribcage, impaling the cat on the long, sharpened sapling. The lion, in its death throes, howled at the pain and hissed at the human who’d caused it while Otter leaned all his weight on the spear to keep the cat impaled. Finally, it lay still, its eyes open but seeing nothing.

Otter held the spear in place until he was sure nanose’hame had died. When he looked up, the gray stallion stood several paces away, watching the young man and the dead lion at his feet.

The stallion had been wounded too. Claw marks on the horse’s left side were deep and bleeding. Otter saw the stallion’s fear as he stood in pain, panting quickly and pawing the earth nervously. The horse’s great eyes were wide with both excitement and fright. Otter approached the horse slowly, and when close enough, he took the horse’s muzzle in both hands and breathed his own breath into the nostrils of the horse. The stallion calmed very quickly and stood quietly as Otter examined him. The pony herd gathered as Otter worked.

Otter cut a piece of soft leather from his vest and soaked it with fresh cool water from the stream. Next, he reached into his pouch and withdrew a fistful of chokecherries and held them to the horse’s muzzle. To Otter’s great joy and relief, the horse took the berries from Otter’s hand and then allowed him to cleanse the wound. Otter washed the claw wound until the bleeding slowed. Carefully, Otter slipped the leash loop over the horse’s head and led him to the stream, so the animal could drink. The other members of the herd soon joined the stallion at the stream while Otter continued cleansing the wound.

He had seen older members of his tribe use mud as a bandage on horses that had been injured in buffalo hunts or misused. Otter had seen wild feverfew flowers growing near the banks of the stream, and he knew that they could ease the pain. He crushed the feverfew flowers and leaves into the mud and gently applied the mash to the horse’s wounds. Then, he covered it with more mud from the creek to keep the makeshift poultice in place. The pony herd stood silently watching, and when Otter had finished, he dropped the leash on the ground and walked away. He was thirsty as well, exhausted now, and in need of rest. He refilled his bota and returned to his cottonwood tree to sit at its base. The gray stallion remained with the herd on the other side of the creek, perhaps sensing he should remain quiet while the medicine worked.

The fire Otter made when he first saw the cat had gone out. He would build another. The pony herd did not leave. They were no longer fearful of the young man and stayed with the stallion, lazily cropping the sturdy green grass that grew along the stream in the shade.

Otter closed his eyes, and after some time, he was vaguely aware that the pony herd had left.

When he opened them again, it was dark. Clouds obscured his vision of the stars, and the moon was hazy as it shown through the clouds. Before long, a light rain fell, and the wind changed directions. It had become noticeably cooler, so Otter wrapped his skins around him. He had brought his elk skin for warmth, and a half buffalo skin that had been cured with goose fat for the weather. He tried listening for the pony herd, but the rain was too loud. He knew he would have to replace the poultice in the morning. Slowly, he began singing of the events of the day. Though no one was nearby to hear him, he sang anyway. As he sang, the rain lightened and the wind blew stronger. Otter took that as a sign to stop.

His fire was wet, and he’d need more dry wood in the morning. He would be wise to collect it now before the possibility of heavier rain, but he was still tired, and the night was too dark to see. He threw the small rabbit skins over the pile of dry sticks and small limbs he had already collected before remembering that there were two dead buckeye trees further down the creek that would probably burn whether or not they had been rained on. He had hoped to find nuts from the tree which could ease the pain, but there were none left on the ground. His cottonwood tree was in full color and would shield him from most of the weather. His elk skin would keep him warm, and the small buffalo skin would keep him dry.

Four

Sunrise of the Ninth Day

A Small Valley

Six Days Walk South of the

Fort Union Brulé Sioux Camp

This morning was cool, but the sky was clear, and the air smelled fresh as it should after a storm. The sun was warm, and Otter saw vapor rising from the rocks as they were warmed.  Otter remembered that so many amazing things had happened in just a few hours yesterday that he only wanted to sit and consider them all. Great magic had happened, certainly. He had created a very potent medicine in defeating the lion with the help of the horse. More magic still in being allowed to care for and treat the animal’s wounds.

His rabbit skins had worked well at keeping his starter fuel dry, so he decided to look for larger pieces of firewood further down the creek at the two dead trees. Now he wished he still had his leggings. The wet surroundings made the air seem colder. As he walked, he passed by the tree where he’d hung his antelope meat. Some had fallen to the ground, and all of it was wet. He picked up the meat on the ground, planning to wash it later. It seemed all right, but he remembered his stomach from the previous night and decided not to take a chance on it. He threw it into the creek to keep the scent from calling more predators. He looked at the meat again and selected several rib pieces, planning to put them on the fire after visiting the deadfall.

The dead buckeyes were wet from the rain, but they would still burn if he got his fire hot enough. He found one large limb as thick as his arm and longer than he was tall that he decided to drag back to his camp. There he would use his ax to cut the branch into usable pieces. He also wanted to return to the dead Nanose’hame to collect its teeth and claws. During the night, he had dreamed again about his battle with the cat and came to believe that the whole encounter was a sign from his Totem. He needed the contribution of the lion for his totem pouch.

It took a long time to get the dry grass, twigs, and moss ignited. And an even longer time for his dead fall logs to catch. However, by mid-morning, he had a warm enough blaze to consider cooking the antelope meat. He sniffed the breast meat to check that it had not become rancid. It still smelled clean, so he began cooking it. As he did, he watched across the stream for the pony herd to appear. Even if only to check the stallion’s wounds, he hoped to make contact again. The rocks he had placed in a ring about his fire were hot enough now that he could lay the meat strips on them, and they would continue to cook. He decided at some point during the day he would add more stones to bank the fire pit at the rear and focus more warmth on the front.

Otter took the opportunity to cross the stream to check on the dead lion. It was still where it fell, and the spear had not moved. Slowly he removed the spear and examined the carcass. The rain had soaked the hide, but Otter still wanted to use it. He took hold of one of the cat’s legs and tried to drag it to the stream. The animal’s dead weight was more than he had imagined. He didn’t want to take too long to harvest the cat’s hide, claws, and teeth because the smell of decaying flesh was unbearable. It took all his strength, but at last, the lion was across the stream. The sun was high now, and the day had become warm. Otter was able to rest comfortably while eating his meal.

The meat was cooked through, and his stomach seemed fine. Elk Woman had taught him about boiling meat to make it more digestible but to boil, he needed a metal or special clay pot, so his only safeguard was to cook meat thoroughly to render the fat. As he ate, he studied the lion carcass carefully. It was a male, very long and heavy, with scars on its flanks and neck, probably from fighting with other cats. His coat was a tan color with a white under-belly to blend with his surroundings and conceal him when stalking prey. He’d lost the heavier winter coat, and what was left on the cat had sheen to it. If it had been female, Otter would wonder about cubs, but male cats, unlike wolves, were loners, so he felt no guilt or remorse about disturbing a family unit. He used his blade and ax to remove the claws and the two-inch canine teeth. After washing them, he removed the sinew and bone so that the claws and teeth were as beautiful as he could make them.

Next, he set about skinning the animal. It took a long time to do since his blade had dulled, and he had not thought to bring the sharpening stone. He’d look for one tomorrow.

He kept the lion’s heart and the flesh he considered most edible. Eating of his Totem’s heart was necessary for the ritual. Since he was alone on his spirit quest, the ritual would be small but still important. He would do it at the evening fire giving him time to search for suitable’ paint.’ He would look for plants that produced dyes when mashed and mixed with his urine. The charcoal from his fire would work well for black, the chokecherries for red, and the flower from the annatto bush he’d seen down along the stream for yellow. These were the colors Otter wanted to use for his Totem Ritual.

He was busy collecting his dyes and searching for a slightly concave stone he could use for mixing when he saw dust rising from the eastern side of the small valley. The pony herd was returning for an afternoon drink, he reasoned, and saw their presence as a good omen. He watched them as they closed the distance, and he was surprised to see his leash was still around the stallion’s neck.

He stopped his search and watched as they drew closer to the stream. He approached the herd at an unhurried, normal walking pace. None of the ponies shied, and the gray stallion, who still kept himself separate from the herd, approached him and tossed his head in recognition. Otter took chokecherries from his bag and held them to the stallion’s mouth. The horse ate them quickly without scenting them first. Otter picked up his leash, and the horse followed willingly as Otter led him to the stream. The horse drank slowly, allowing Otter to keep watch, and Otter took the opportunity to check the stallion’s wound as he drank.

Washing off the old mud, he saw that the wound still looked angry and red, but the bleeding had stopped. The horse otherwise seemed fine and did not complain at Otter’s touch. Otter replaced the crushed Feverfew and mud as the other ponies, one by one, left the stream to crop the grass that had been refreshed by the rain. When Otter had finished, the stallion remained with him, following him as he picked the annatto flower and searched for the curved stone. Eventually, the pony herd turned and walked away from the stream, but the stallion stayed with Otter. The horse watched as Otter prepared and applied his paint, red for the blood and aggressiveness of the lion and for the battle that Otter and the cat had fought. Black was a life color. It signified the new life Otter would start with his Totem. Yellow represented death, the death of the cougar. It also signified the heroism Otter had shown in being willing to fight to the death.

Otter was unsure if he should use the whole hand-painted across his mouth. The painted hand represented that the Warrior had succeeded at hand-to-hand combat. Since the cougar had no hands, Otter decided not to use his painted hand outline on his face. He drew straight lines in red across his forehead, black lines lengthwise on his cheek and across his eyes, and finally, the yellow on his mouth and chin. All the while Otter was painting himself, the stallion stood in his camp.

Otter sat at his fire and burned his sage and sweet grass incense and smudged himself as he had been taught, waving the smoke over his head. This would purify himself and the area around the camp. He had found Prairie Salvia growing opposite the Feverfew and picked several flowers to use in his ritual. They would provide a short-lived dream state, a kind of out-of-body experience that allowed him to see himself in the future after accepting the Totem. Otter chewed the blossoms as he sat at the fire. Next, he ate several bites of the lion’s heart raw and sang his song when he finished eating. The lion’s claws and teeth were positioned on a stone at the fire, and the last thing he did was to put them into the talisman bag that hung around his neck. He closed his eyes and began his song again.

Soon the prairie salvia began working, and he saw himself running naked on a prairie he did not recognize. White men all around him smiled and shouted his White name. Soon the White men became the cougar, and together they began to run, chasing foxes, coyotes, and wolves until they all disappeared from his land, floating into the sky to be blown away by the wind. He saw all men, Whites and Sioux and Arapaho and Pawnee, cheering him; even Bull Tail embraced him and elevated him to a place at the council. There were White men in camp, too, all sitting at the Circle Fire. He could not find himself, but he knew he must be there. There was dancing and a great feast, with singing and drinking heesevetanahpe. But soon, it ended, and he watched as he rode away on his gray stallion.

The sun had set when Otter returned from his spirit dream. He had completed his Totem ritual and sat trying to understand the meaning of his dream. He also

began to consider all that had happened in the days since he had arrived in the valley. He was very thirsty, so he drank from his bota, and when he sat back, he realized how weary he’d become. He went to the horse and checked the poultice one more time before lying down on his skins. He began talking to the horse about his spirit quest, his dream, and all that he’d seen and done, but before he was finished, he fell into a deep sleep. The stallion stayed at his side all night and was there when Otter woke the next day.

Five

Sunrise of the Eleventh Day

A Small Valley

Six Days Walk South of the

Fort Union Brulé Sioux Camp

Otter’s eyes opened to bright sunshine. The gray stallion still stood beside the cottonwood tree that had served as the marker for Otter’s camp. Otter felt around his neck first for his totem and said the New Day chant while holding it. It was the first time the chant had meant anything to him. He had never had the totem relics in his talisman bag before. He walked over to the horse.

You are an amazing creature, my friend. You have helped me to conquer my spirit beast and accompanied me in my totem dream. I have seen great courage in your actions, stallion. But I also see great wisdom in your eyes. I must ask you, your pony herd relies on your instinct and knowledge, also your courage. What in me do you see that you would leave these ponies to another stallion to travel with me?

The horse remained still; not a muscle moved. His eyes focused on the young man before him. Otter also looked deeply into the large soft eye of the horse. Suddenly it struck him. Otter had a revelation.

"I see it now! You will be my teacher, yes? My vovestomosane going forward in life as you were my companion in my spirit dream. This is perfect! And I have much to learn. Believe me."

At this, the horse became animated. He threw his fine head and pawed the ground. He nickered and whinnied and rose up on his hind legs.

"That will be your name then. Teacher. Vovestomosane. Eh? Well, like it or not, that will be your name. You are a brave and intelligent horse, but you are still a horse, and I am a human being. Don’t feel bad. You could not help it. It is how you were born." Otter turned away to pick up firewood, and the stallion nipped his leg.

Otter continued making his fire, and the stallion left to find his herd. After he had eaten the last small pieces of the antelope, he went to the cougar skin and continued scraping down the fat and muscle that still clung to the hide. The sun was high, and the valley was heating up. Otter decided to cool off in the stream. He waded in and sat in the shallows between several rocks and let the cool water wash over him. As he sat in the stream, the stallion returned and walked to the edge of the water where Otter was seated. Otter looked up at the horse and said,

Are you ready to take me on your back, Teacher? The horse just stood motionless, waiting for Otter to climb on. Alright, let me fix the leash first.

Otter looped the leash over the horse’s bottom jaw and laid the other end across its back. He then made a loop in that end and, like the first, slipped the loop over the lower jaw.  He then stood on a low rock and climbed on. Otter was more nervous than the horse. The two just stood in place for a minute or two, the horse waiting for a command and Otter expecting to be thrown.

Finally, Otter pulled the leash on Teacher’s right side, indicating a right-ward direction. The stallion broke into a steady lope and responded to Otter’s request. He heard Iron Shell reminding him to be gentle