Free Skull Moon by Tim Curran Page A

now, wondering what his business could possibly be. Children gawked at him, but were silent as only tribal children could be.
    There were long racks of buffalo meat drying and hides staked out to cure and bleach in the sun. A few of the women were eating, chewing bits of pemmican mixed with sarvis berries. The men sat smoking from gray shale tobacco pipes, clenching ash pipestems in their fists. Horses were corralled out near the treeline, pawing away at the snow to reach the grasses below. A few dogs lapped from rawhide troughs.
    Laughing Moonwind finally returned. "My father will see you. Come."
    He followed her to the lodge just as three other women departed it. Longtree assumed they were Crazytail's wives.
    Inside the cavernous lodge, a smallfire burned in a pit. It cast crazy, dancing shadows everywhere. The air smelled of smoke, tobacco, and dried meat. Moonwind by his side, Longtree sat across from an old man wearing a buffalo fur headpiece with horns intact. He was wrapped in a blanket, his left shoulder covered, his right arm and shoulder uncovered. His face was shadowy, the skin a leathery seamed brown, the eyes dark and unreadable. He smoked a long pipe ornamented with beads and eagle feathers.
    Longtree knew it to be a medicine pipe, a sacred object.
    Moonwind chatted in low tones with her father, then turned to Longtree. "My father wishes you to know that Chief Ironbrow is ill. He will speak in his place. What is it you wish here?"
    "I need help. There have been killings in Wolf Creek. Brutal slayings that seem the work of an animal."
    Moonwind relayed this. Crazytail blinked, nothing more. Then he spoke.
    "My father is aware of the killings. He can tell you only that they will continue."
    Longtree expected as much.
    Long experience with Indians had taught him that you couldn't take what many of them said at face value. Crazytail saying the killings would continue meant nothing. It wasn't an admission of guilt; merely something the man had probably seen in his visions or dreams.
    "Does Crazytail know what this beast is?" Longtree asked of her.
    She relayed the information. "Skullhead," she said.
    Longtree shifted uneasily on the buffalo hide bedding beneath him. "Ask him who or what this Skullhead is."
    Moonwind did.
    The old man talked at some length, finishing with a shake of his head.
    "Many, many years ago, long before the dog days, Crazytail's great ancestor, Medicine Claw, a member of the Skull Society, spent twelve days on a mountain plateau," Moonwind said, "calling up the spirits of sky, earth, and water. He fasted for ten days and drank water but once. His guide spirit, the Wolf-Skull spirit, came down to him and taught him many things. He taught Medicine Claw the ways of the Skullhead, his sacred ways and rituals. The enigma of the Blood-Medicine. It has been passed down through a hundred generations of the Skull Society."
    Longtree stared at her, hoping there was more. Crazytail had said before the "dog days." The dog days, Longtree knew, was the period before the Blackfeet were using horses, when they had only dogs to move camp with. This was before white men had come into contact with them. And Crazytail had said it was before this time, a "hundred generations" ago. This would mean that Longtree was hearing a tribal memory, something handed down for hundreds of years if not more.
    "When Crazytail was a young man," Moonwind went on, "he, too, spent many days fasting on a mountainside as all men of the Skull Society must do. The Wolf-Skull spirit came to him saying the Skullhead was always near, close enough to touch. But that Crazytail must be cautious, for the Skullhead was fierce and voracious, a force of nature like thunder and wind. To contact Skullhead he must use the sacred Blood-Medicine, but this medicine was holy and not to be used foolishly. For the Skullhead, once summoned, could not be sent away until its appetite was satisfied with the blood of enemies. Two months ago, in the sweat lodge,