blankets.”
She looked at Tal, debating, but there was no way Tal was going to let Iron Kettle get by without telling the story of Pine Leaf now. A woman warrior—no one had heard of such a thing! On the way to a hundred scalps of the fightingest Indians on the Plains. This was martial music.
Pine Leaf had a twin brother, a teen-ager, Iron Kettle told it, who was killed by the Blackfeet. She loved this brother as a sister would, and maybe even more—her medicine, she said, was to avenge his death. She began to practice with the bow and the spear with the young boys. Soon she had a strong arm, and was more accurate than any of them. When the men would not let her go with the war parties, even to hold the horses, she left camp alone and came back with Siksika ponies. This would have been the most daring deed that any boy-warrior had ever done, to steal horses for the first time alone. For a woman truly extraordinary. Some of the people began to believe that her medicine might be for war.
Tal reloaded the pipe and lit it, keeping his eyes averted from Iron Kettle, so as not to look too eager.
The leading warriors, though, said that she could not go on the warpath. How could a woman share the warpath secret? Iron Kettle, like the other women, wasn’t quite sure what this warpath secret was, but it was of high importance, essential to the success of the party, and never under any circumstances to be revealed or even referred to after it was told.
“This child,” Hairy put in, “thinks they tells how they’ve been diddling each other’s women. They ’fesses up before battle.”
Iron Kettle gave him a disgusted look.
So, Iron Kettle went on, with a smirk of satisfaction, she went out alone. (Tal was thinking how he’d write this part down: The warrior-woman, denied her destiny by the conventions of the tribe, ventured forth on faith alone, encountered the enemy by stealth at night…) She stole more ponies—and this time came back with the scalp of the pony guard.
The counselors of the tribe scarcely knew what to do about such a woman, and such deeds. How could they praise a woman who behaved as a man? How could they condemn anyone who took Blackfoot scalps? “Old Jim helped them see the light,” Hairy said, chuckling.
“It’s true,” Iron Kettle went on. Tal stuck the pipe toward her and she looked at him like he was nuts before he remembered, and handed the pipe to Hairy. “It was then that Antelope came back to the people. He had been stolen as a child but now returned to his parents as a man.”
“Leastwise that was the story he give out,” said Hairy. “Handy, it was.”
Iron Kettle glared at Hairy.
“I think Antelope had big eyes for Pine Leaf right away,” she mused. “And he was taken with the idea that a woman could be a warrior. Maybe he wanted to be her teacher. From the beginning she was more a comrade. They dared each other, spurred each other to greater deeds. In winter I will tell you some—Antelope himself will probably tell you some. They avenged the deaths of many Absarokas on the heads of the Blackfeet.”
Since Pine Leaf refused him, Iron Kettle explained, Antelope took other wives, first one, then a second, then a third. Hairy was nodding happily.
Inevitably, Pine Leaf was accepted on the warpath, admitted even to the warpath secret. She became not merely accepted but admired, then followed, at last celebrated. Warriors old and young, of no coups and many coups, took the warpath under her leadership because her bloodlust was insatiable, her courage great, her judgment keen, her medicine strong.
“Antelope Jim is our most powerful warrior,” finished Iron Kettle, “except that maybe Pine Leaf is.”
She gave Hairy a wicked smile and crawled into the lean-to. Tal could hear her snuggling into the blankets. Hairy winked broadly and followed her in. Tal went to the water and spread his blankets on the warm, sunned sand. He fell asleep to the sound of elk bugling, which at
She looked at Tal, debating, but there was no way Tal was going to let Iron Kettle get by without telling the story of Pine Leaf now. A woman warrior—no one had heard of such a thing! On the way to a hundred scalps of the fightingest Indians on the Plains. This was martial music.
Pine Leaf had a twin brother, a teen-ager, Iron Kettle told it, who was killed by the Blackfeet. She loved this brother as a sister would, and maybe even more—her medicine, she said, was to avenge his death. She began to practice with the bow and the spear with the young boys. Soon she had a strong arm, and was more accurate than any of them. When the men would not let her go with the war parties, even to hold the horses, she left camp alone and came back with Siksika ponies. This would have been the most daring deed that any boy-warrior had ever done, to steal horses for the first time alone. For a woman truly extraordinary. Some of the people began to believe that her medicine might be for war.
Tal reloaded the pipe and lit it, keeping his eyes averted from Iron Kettle, so as not to look too eager.
The leading warriors, though, said that she could not go on the warpath. How could a woman share the warpath secret? Iron Kettle, like the other women, wasn’t quite sure what this warpath secret was, but it was of high importance, essential to the success of the party, and never under any circumstances to be revealed or even referred to after it was told.
“This child,” Hairy put in, “thinks they tells how they’ve been diddling each other’s women. They ’fesses up before battle.”
Iron Kettle gave him a disgusted look.
So, Iron Kettle went on, with a smirk of satisfaction, she went out alone. (Tal was thinking how he’d write this part down: The warrior-woman, denied her destiny by the conventions of the tribe, ventured forth on faith alone, encountered the enemy by stealth at night…) She stole more ponies—and this time came back with the scalp of the pony guard.
The counselors of the tribe scarcely knew what to do about such a woman, and such deeds. How could they praise a woman who behaved as a man? How could they condemn anyone who took Blackfoot scalps? “Old Jim helped them see the light,” Hairy said, chuckling.
“It’s true,” Iron Kettle went on. Tal stuck the pipe toward her and she looked at him like he was nuts before he remembered, and handed the pipe to Hairy. “It was then that Antelope came back to the people. He had been stolen as a child but now returned to his parents as a man.”
“Leastwise that was the story he give out,” said Hairy. “Handy, it was.”
Iron Kettle glared at Hairy.
“I think Antelope had big eyes for Pine Leaf right away,” she mused. “And he was taken with the idea that a woman could be a warrior. Maybe he wanted to be her teacher. From the beginning she was more a comrade. They dared each other, spurred each other to greater deeds. In winter I will tell you some—Antelope himself will probably tell you some. They avenged the deaths of many Absarokas on the heads of the Blackfeet.”
Since Pine Leaf refused him, Iron Kettle explained, Antelope took other wives, first one, then a second, then a third. Hairy was nodding happily.
Inevitably, Pine Leaf was accepted on the warpath, admitted even to the warpath secret. She became not merely accepted but admired, then followed, at last celebrated. Warriors old and young, of no coups and many coups, took the warpath under her leadership because her bloodlust was insatiable, her courage great, her judgment keen, her medicine strong.
“Antelope Jim is our most powerful warrior,” finished Iron Kettle, “except that maybe Pine Leaf is.”
She gave Hairy a wicked smile and crawled into the lean-to. Tal could hear her snuggling into the blankets. Hairy winked broadly and followed her in. Tal went to the water and spread his blankets on the warm, sunned sand. He fell asleep to the sound of elk bugling, which at
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