Free Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 03 by Sitting Bull Page B

beamed with pleasure.
    He was no longer her little boy, but had become what she had always known he could be, and hoped he would be—a proud Lakota warrior. And there was no point in trying to pretend that it could be otherwise. She lay her head on his shoulder and stroked his back, her sturdy fingers digging into the flesh along his spine. Her breath was hot and came in short gasps then she backed away to hold him at arms length, tears streaking her dark skin. She sniffed once, chewed her lower lip, then slowly shook her head up and down.
    She approved, he knew that. But it seemed that she had not until that very moment. “There is a lot to do,” she said. “There will be a victory celebration, and you will be at its center, son. I’d better get ready.” She nodded once, as if the suggestion had come from him, then turned away. Only then did she reach up to wipe away the dampness from hercheeks. A moment later, she vanished into the milling throng, and Sitting Bull turned once more to the admiring well-wishers.
    His first victory dance, he thought—that was something to look forward to. He had seen them before, of course, but since he had never struck an enemy in battle, he had not been allowed to participate with the warriors. Tonight, for the first time, he would join them as they danced and told the whole village of his accomplishment. His legs felt like jelly, and he wondered whether they would hold him.
    But the warriors swept him away, and he forgot about his concern in the frenzy of the moment.

Chapter 9
    Musselshell River
1846
    S LOW HAD NO TROUBLE getting used to his new name. Being called Sitting Bull, the name of his father, was a great honor. This was not just because his father was a great warrior and a holy man, but because the buffalo itself was so important to the Lakota, and it meant that he would one day be important, too, if he was true to the spirit of the buffalo and of the Lakota traditions.
    The upright eagle feather he wore in his hair each day reminded him that he had garnered his first coup. The feather’s upright position reminded him, and everyone who saw him, that not only had he struck the enemy, he had struck the enemy first.
    Only the first four strikes earned a warrior a coup, and each was symbolized by the angle of the feather. Upright meant first coup, while the other three were represented by the feather’s direction and deviation from the vertical. He knew that therewould be more coups and more eagle feathers to come, but the first one is always special. It was a watershed in a warrior’s life, a kind of transition from boy to man that every Lakota male dreamed of from the moment he was old enough to understand the way his people lived.
    The newly named Sitting Bull saw his coup feather every time he bent over a stream to drink, every time he rode along the edge of the river and saw his reflection in the shimmering surface of the current. It was a constant reminder, not just of what he had done, but of what was expected of him. He was a warrior now, and that meant that great responsibilities lay squarely on his shoulders.
    It was all well and good to play a boy’s game of hoop and javelin, shoot blunt arrows at birds, run footraces with the other boys—those had only been preparation, games intended to teach him what he needed to know to be a warrior. Now that it had come to pass, he was able to look back at those things of his youth and see how much more they meant than he had realized. Now his life, and the lives of his family and friends, might be at stake every time he drew a bow. His skill with the lance might bring down a buffalo when his family was hungry, or save the life of a friend on the warpath against the Crows or the Hohe. And his great speed might save his own skin one day if his horse were killed or wounded in battle. Or it might enable him to come to the aid of a beleaguered or wounded friend.
    Jumping Bull had tried to explain these things to him ever since