Free Stone Song by Win Blevins Page A

his comrades.”
    Curly hesitated. He felt a little foolish doing all this talking. “Then,” he went on, “Spotted Tail felt the spirit rise up in his heart once more, and he rode down the mountain at the enemies again, like a storm. They were afraid of his medicine, and he returned to us untouched.”
    When Curly finished, the young men gave Spotted Tail the respect of silence.
    The camp of the Sicangu was half a sleep away, the visitors said. Tonight they would ride into camp ceremonially, in the manner of victory. They would tell what had happened. Curly’s first coup, Spotted Tail’s great rides, and the other deeds would be told formally to the people. Everyone would dance.
    “ Co ho! Co ho! ”
    Curly and Hump rolled wearily out of their blankets and stood in front of the wickiup. The dance had lasted until nearly dawn.
    “ Co ho! Co ho! ” came the chant again.
    Young Man-Whose-Enemies and the others crawled out of their brush huts and looked around warily, eyes blinking at the rising sun.
    None of the young Lakota men was early up from his blankets, and maybe the smiles on the faces of the young Sahiyela men were partly because of that. But not entirely, Curly knew.
    “ Co ho! Co ho! ” came the chant over and over. It was the young Sahiyela visitors, singing an incantation in their language.
    “They want to fight,” said Hump, grinning.
    Curly wasn’t good at the words of any language but his own, and not much good with those.
    “The kicking game,” Hump said.
    “ Co ho! Co ho! ” came the chant, low, insistent. There were half a dozen Sahiyela youths and three times as many young Lakota, plus adults. Curly smiled to himself. Probably enough to make a Lakota winner likely. The guests, the Sahiyela, got to pick the game.
    Hump slipped sideways to Young Man-Whose-Enemies and murmured softly, “Yes, the kicking game.”
    Young Man-Whose-Enemies nodded happily. Though it was mainly aSahiyela game, all the Lakota knew it. The Sahiyela liked to pit one warrior club against another, with wild enthusiasm and violence, but all in good sport. It was a fine way for the Lakota to have fun with their Sahiyela guests.
    The game was tricky. You couldn’t use your hands at all, not even to fend off the other fellow’s feet. You had to learn to dodge kicks, knock them aside with your arms, or slip them with your torso. And the maneuver the Sahiyela were best at, leaping into the air and kicking with both feet together, was very difficult.
    All the young Lakota grinned at each other. “ Hokahe! ” said someone. It was a joke, a call for violent war against friends.
    “ Hokahe! ” cried Buffalo Hump. He was always ready for a war, play or real, and always a wild man. He was the most experienced Lakota and so might do well.
    He jerked his head at Curly, meaning, “Let’s go.”
    Curly felt it. Hawk in his chest was uneasy. Not lunging at her perch straps, but restless.
    He would have to think later about what it meant. Later.
    Now he eyed Pretty Fellow. The Bad Face was stronger than Curly would have thought, and smart. He looked slighter than he was. Somehow he’d taken Young Man-Whose-Enemies out of the competition, which got a reaction from the crowd. Two old enmities met, one chief’s son faced the other, and the Bad Face won.
    Pretty Fellow was smiling crookedly. It was one of those smiles that said, “This had to come sooner or later, and I welcome the opportunity.”
    Curly was surprised. He didn’t care about a killing that had happened when he was one winter old. He didn’t like the way resentments still festered. And he didn’t feel that he represented the Hunkpatila.
    Hunh-hunh-he!
    Curly jerked away from three right-foot kicks from Pretty Fellow, head high. They were feints, but Curly flinched backward. Pretty Fellow smiled more crookedly, and the crowd chuckled. Then the silence of high anticipation. This Pretty Fellow wasn’t just playing.
    All right, Curly wouldn’t play either. He