Free Child of the Dead by Don Coldsmith Page A

column. As wolf, you know. I was tired of the dust and sweat … maybe I closed my eyes for a heartbeat or two. But then I heard the horse call out. And there he stood before me. It is a good sign, no?” he asked eagerly.
    “Of course. He is well trained?”
    It was obvious that this was no wild horse. It stood calmly, allowing itself to be handled.
    “Yes, Uncle. I think so. I have ridden him a little, and his gaits are good.
Aiee
, he can run. I think he runs to the right.”
    “And you use the bow?” Singing Wolf inquired.
    “Of course. If I did not, it would be worthwhile to change, no?”
    There was a ripple of laughter. Usually, one would learn the use of bow and lance, and decide on the basis of preference. Then, choose a horse that would fit the hunter’s style … one that pursues a running buffalo from the right for a bowman, a left approach for use with the lance. Yet, as No Tail Squirrel said, for a horse as good as this, one would be tempted to change. But looks and gaits are not everything.
    “Well, see how he works at the hunt,” Singing Wolf advised as he moved on.
    It was nice to have a pleasant diversion, and his heart was good for the young man. His heart had been unbearably heavy for some time … through the prescribed three days of mourning for his mother, but still to this day. He could hardly force himself to go aboutdaily tasks, knowing what Running Deer might be experiencing. It was hard, to know that although mourning was over, she was probably still alive. It was only her stubborn demand that prevented him even now from returning to see about her welfare. That and common sense. If he did go back, there was nothing he could do, whether she was alive or dead.
    Maybe this puzzle of No Tail Squirrel and his wonderful horse was good. It would distract him. There were some strange things about the event. He was certain that Squirrel was telling the truth. There was no reason
not
to do so. But someone had trained and used such a horse. It had not simply materialized. At least, he did not think so. True, there are always strange events where the spirits are involved, but this? No, in all his experience as a holy man, and even the experience of his father, nothing like this. There was something here that did not ring true, but he could not quite identify what it was.
    Several other things, insignificant things of routine nature, distracted him for a few days before his mind turned again to Squirrel’s mystery horse. One of the children had blundered into a lodge of bumblebees and suffered many stings. A lame pack horse … that had required repacking and the use of a different animal. It was that event that finally called his attention to horses again. What about the horse that Squirrel had found? He had heard nothing more of it.
    Singing Wolf went out to where the horses of the People were herded to graze for the night. It was nearly dark. The animals were greedily cropping the lush grass of the meadow. They must spend half their time eating to build strength for the other half, such as travel.
    He saw the stallion of No Tail Squirrel. It was unmistakable, even in the fading light.
    One of the young herders approached him.
    “
Ah-koh
, Uncle. How is it with you?”
    “It is good.”
    “Did you want one of your horses?”
    “No. I was looking for No Tail Squirrel. He is not herding?”
    “No, Uncle. Squirrel does not herd much any more. He rides as wolf now.”
    “Of course. I should have known. Well, you too will ride as wolf someday, no?”
    “Yes. Soon, I hope.”
    “May it be so! Does Squirrel ride the big horse?” Wolf gestured toward the stallion.
    “Sometimes. Not today, I think. His brother, there, says he is sick.” The herder gestured toward the other young man on night-herd duty.
    “Ah! His brother?”
    “Yes, Uncle. Over there by that tree.”
    “Good. I will talk to him.”
    He made his way around the herd, trying to remember … what was the name of Squirrel’s younger