Buffalo Medicine by Don Coldsmith

a shrug.
    Owl was startled at the lengthy speech by his captor, and by his use of the Head Splitters’ tongue. He must have known all along that his prisoner was gaining knowledge of the language.
    Bull’s Tail tied the hands of the captive in front of him, and led him among the mud lodges. Slowly, the enormity of this turn of events sank into Owl’s mind. He was resentful and indignant, and felt betrayed by a man he had respected. Owl wondered wryly if Bull’s Tail considered that he had brought a good price.
    They reached a spot beside one of the dwellings, where two men of the Mud Lodge people waited, and they motioned him to climb. One of the men followed him up to the top of the structure, where another waited. Here they motioned to a smoke-stained hole and pushed him in that direction. Owl, remembering that cooperation had earned better treatment, moved over and started to climb down the ladder. One of the men stopped him long enough to untie his hands, and again motioned to the interior.
    Owl descended into the warm, foul-smelling structure, coughing a little from the smoke. A small fire burned in the center of the lodge, and he could see the dark shapes of several men and boys around the edge of the darkness. Someone above pulled the ladder up and out of the smoke-hole. To Owl, accustomed to the wide skies and open horizons of the prairie, this was the most fearful of all sensations, that of entrapment. Never, in all the coming moons, did he entirely overcome this panicky feeling in one of these lodges
when the pole-ladder was removed and the exit became inaccessible.
    He glanced around the lodge, at the several faces reflecting light of the tiny fire. The thing he saw in each pair of eyes was disconcerting. Each was a replica of the last, revealing one thought. Hopelessness.
    By the variety of the tattered garments that they wore, and the difference in the appearance of their hair, Owl judged that they represented several different tribes. He must attempt communication.
    â€œWho are you?” he signed to the group at large. Only stares in answer. His inquiring glance touched each of the handful of faces in the lodge.
    â€œDo you understand the signs?”
    Surely, any tribe Owl had ever heard of could communicate with the universal hand signs. There was no change in the fixed expressions of despair.
    â€œAre we all prisoners here?”
    A man coughed, behind him in the corner. Owl turned to look. The tired old man chuckled without mirth, and began to sign.
    â€œOf course we are prisoners, Stupid One!”
    Owl did not answer, but sought an unoccupied place next to the wall and sat down. He wondered if it would be possible to create enough spirit in these men to attempt escape.
    No matter, he thought. If they will not, at least I will.

9
    Once a day a container of food was lowered, and the prisoners squabbled over the best positions around the vessel. There was little variety. Stewed corn or beans or a combination of the two. Sometimes only a mushy whitish substance which Owl identified as made of ground corn. How he longed for the rich, juicy flavor of hump ribs after a successful buffalo hunt. He would dream at night of feasting on good red meat until his belly hurt. Then he would awake, his belly actually hurting, but from hunger pangs. He wondered how long a person could live without meat, the staple of the People’s diet.
    Perhaps even worse was the inactivity. The most stimulating event of the day, aside from the arrival of food, was the spot of light from Sun Boy’s torch. It started high on the wall, crawled downward and across the floor, then up the opposite wall before narrowing into nothing just before the time of darkness began.

    Owl felt himself growing weaker from inactivity, and started to pace the confines of the lodge to remain strong. He must be able to escape when the time came. The other prisoners seemed to resent these efforts on his part, grudgingly moving