A Mark of Vermillion

The lean man watched the lodge with the eyes of a warrior.  His body was tense but still as he stood on the ledge above the camp.  It had been over an hour and he had not moved except for his eyes.  Dark, hard and alive with spirit, they continually scanned the camp taking in every movement.

“Crazy Horse,” the big man named He Dog standing with him said.  “Let’s go.  We’re accomplishing nothing here.”  He shifted the weight of his broad, well muscled body from one foot to the other in a slow dance of impatience.

Crazy Horse did not move, but the big man knew he’d been heard.  Lakota warriors can read each other without moving, or talking.  He Dog and Crazy Horse had gone to battle together many times.  They always seemed to know where the other was and what they were thinking.  He Dog had been sending his leader silent messages for the last half hour, and they had been ignored.  It was clear that this verbal message was going to be ignored as well.

“There are other things to do my friend,” he said as he put a hand on Crazy Horse’s shoulder.  The touch was violently rejected although the lean body did not move.

He Dog started to pull his hand back, but suddenly felt a buzz flow through Crazy Horse’s shoulder to his hand like when lighting strikes too close.  He moved his gaze back to the camp to see what had caused such a reaction.  He instinctively knew what it must be.

A tall woman emerged from the lodge and walked towards the fire carrying robes to be aired.  Her dark eyes scanned the sky and the ridges above the camp but never rested on the men on the ledge.  Laying down the robes, she reclined leisurely in the clearing in front of the lodge.  Kicking off her moccasins and curling her toes, she stretched her long legs in front of her and tipped her head to absorb the rays of the late afternoon sun.

“No, no, no,” He Dog said in a harsh but hushed voice.  His mouth was only inches from Crazy Horse’s ear.  “You know she’s married to No Water!  You know you can’t do this!  You know that…”

The lean man’s eyes, the warrior’s eyes, never left the figure of the woman lounging in the clearing below.  “A Lakota woman leaves her lodge when she wants to,” Crazy Horse said barely moving his lips.  “Black Buffalo Woman has the right to leave when…”

He Dog grabbed the front of his white buckskin shirt and pulled him until they were face to face. “I heard you say the same thing to your father,” he said meeting Crazy Horse’s eyes with his.  “And remember what he said. ‘They will not let you have Black Buffalo Woman.  She’s the niece of Red Cloud and the wife of the brother of Black Twin.  They are the Chiefs holding the Lakota together.  They – will – not – let – her – go.’”

Crazy Horse’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “My father spouts politics.  I am Crazy Horse, a shirt wearer of the Ogallala Lakota.  Who are these old men to stand in my way?”  He brushed He Dog’s hands from his shirt.

The violent flash left his eyes as quickly as it had come. “You’re like a brother to me.  You’ve been at my side in battle after battle.  We’ve fought and defeated Crows and we’ve fought and defeated Americans. Support me again.”

Crazy Horse had never directly asked him for anything. He Dog shook his head slowly.  “You know I’ll follow you into any battle, and in the end will be there for you,” the big man said his words coming slow.  “But you must think this through. This is not like fighting and enemy with guns and bows.  The Americans already divide the Lakota.  We can’t let this woman cause a fight with Red Cloud’s and Black Twin’s people.  The Ogalala Lakota must stand together.”

Crazy Horse looked back down at the woman still basking in the sun.  “If the big belly chiefs want a fight, I’ll give them a fight.”

He Dog put his hand back on his friend’s shoulder.  “Remember what your father said, ‘in a fight within a tribe it is the helpless ones that suffer.’  He’s right.  It’s the woman and children of the Ogallala Lakota that will suffer.”

Crazy Horse turned to look at him hard in the eyes.  “He Dog, you and I are warriors.  These old men love us when we fight and kill their enemies.  But when there’s not an enemy right outside their lodges they want to ignore us. They want to put us away until they need another battle won.  They don’t remember what it’s like to be a real Lakota man. They only care for politics and ceremonies and treaties and talk.”  He turned back to face the clearing.  “The Lakota are warriors,” he said.  “It’s time we act like it again.”

He Dog had seen this look from his friend before, just before entering battle.  He knew there would be no more arguments with Crazy Horse.

—-

I know he’s up on the ridge watching.  I can feel him, feel his spirit.  I know I can’t look at him. I know I can’t speak to him.  I know I can’t touch him. I know I should go back in the lodge and out of his sight, but I can’t leave.  I will sit, letting the sun kiss my body, basking in his gaze.  This much, I can give him.

Each day has become more difficult.  Each day our love grows stronger, though we have not spoken in weeks.  Three days ago when I could bear no more I went to my uncle Red Cloud.

“You cannot leave No Water to go to the lodge of that Crazy Horse,” he had said with an air of finality that only a chief can emit.  “You will be a good Lakota wife.”  More lines had formed around his eyes either from age or the stress of leadership.  It was a chaotic time to lead the Ogallala Lakota.

I said, “it is my right as a Lakota Woman to…”

Red Cloud stood and slapped his arms against his side.  For the first time in my life I thought my uncle might hit me.  My aunt stood quickly next to him and put a hand on his arm.  “Black Buffalo Woman, you are not just any Lakota woman,” he said biting off each word.  “You are the niece of Red Cloud.”  He pulled his hair back with one hand and sat back down.  I noted the strands of gray for the first time.  “Crazy Horse is reckless.  He’s young and doesn’t understand what is best for the Lakota.  He only wants to fight. The people fawn over a warrior in the summer battles, but they don’t think of how they will eat in the winter.”

He tipped his head back and looked at the smoke escaping top of the lodge.  “Can’t you see Black Buffalo Woman?  No Water is the brother of Black Twin,” he said in a kinder voice.  “If we are to present a common front to the Americans we need your brother-in-law’s band to stand with the rest of the Lakota.”

My aunt spoke for the first time.  “Every time Crazy Horse rides in or out of any camp another rumor starts.  He draws trouble to him.”  She reached out her weather worn hand and grabbed at the sleeve of my dress.  “Do not let there be any more rumors about you.”

I heard the words of my aunt and uncle, but they didn’t register.  The talk of rumors and politics made no sense to me.  I knew only that I was not to speak to the man I love and I was to stay married to No Water.  I lowered my head and left the lodge of Red Cloud.

My husband knew what I had gone to talk to my uncle about.  The entire camp knew.  He also knew what the answer would be.  If there was ever any tenderness in his touch it had left us years ago.  When I returned to his lodge he didn’t speak to me.  He simply laid me down on the robes at the back of the lodge and took me.  I closed my eyes and complied with the wishes of my husband.  I knew he would never strike the niece of Red Cloud, but he struck me with what he could.  When he was spent, he rose without a word and left.  He left me there to cry alone.

Yesterday when he packed his bag to go to Rattlesnake Buttes to trade with the Americans he smiled confidently but still did not speak to me.  I helped put the robes on the back of his horse and watched him leave camp.  Then I went into the lodge and cried where no prying eyes could see me.

I have cried long enough.  I am a Lakota woman.  Now I will sit in the late afternoon sun with my eyes closed.  I will enjoy the rays of the sun and enjoy Crazy Horse’s gaze.

I felt movement just outside of the lodge ring.   When I opened my eyes, he was there ten feet way from me, light skinned, tall and lean and strong.  I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand, his dark eyes blazing.  “You will come to my lodge tonight and we will ride out tomorrow morning.  We’ll leave side by side in the light of day.”  I watched his lips form the words as if in a dream.  The last rays of the sun shone brightly on his face.  I blinked my eyes and he was gone.

There was no longer a question as to what I would do or not do.  Crazy Horse had asked and I would go to him.   The months of torture, confusion and sorrow were over.  I would go to him.

Careful to let my face show no emotion, I stood and went back into my lodge.  I would not need to take much; I was leaving with a shirt wearer of the Lakota.  Only the most honored warriors were declared shirt wearers.  But they were not chiefs.

I stayed in the lodge for the rest of the afternoon, too afraid that my face would reveal what I was going to do.  When the camp was quiet, I left the lodge of my husband and circled around the back of the camp so I would not be seen.  Crazy Horse and his people were camped downstream.  Everyone knew which lodge belonged Crazy Horse.  He had defeated the Crows and defeated the Americans. Everyone knew everything about him.

I didn’t hesitate at his lodge.  I simply pulled the door flap back and entered.  He sat cross-legged in front of the coals of a small fire.  He was bare chested and sat with his back very straight, making him look even leaner than usual.

His light skinned body did not move.  He turned his head and whispered, “I knew you’d come.”

“How could I not?” I sat my bag down and sank to my knees next to him.  “What have we done?”

He smiled and held out a hand.  I reached to take it but before I knew it, I fell into his embrace and we rolled on to the robes.  He held my face between his strong thin fingers, his nose only an inch from mine.  “We have done nothing but act as a Lakota man and a Lakota woman in love.”

We made love for the first time on the robe behind the fire, with most of our clothing still on.  I held him desperately and felt his arms, his hands, his mouth explore me.  The physical strength of his body possessed me and his warrior’s spirit ravaged me.  His touch flowed through my body like a stream of fire.  He became a part of me and I of him.  I was now Crazy Horse’s woman and no matter what the future brought, would be forever.

As our heavy rasping breaths slowly subsided, I rested in his arms. We removed the rest of our clothing and entwined our naked bodies to feel our hearts beating as one.  His embrace felt strong and warm as he held me to his chest.  It seemed like only minutes before we made love again, slower, gentler this time pausing to look into each other’s eyes as we glided together.

A little while later he rose to put more wood on the fire to warm us.  I watched as the firelight flickered over the light sheen of sweat covering the body of the man I loved.  His muscles were long and smooth, marked by the scars of battle.   He returned to settle on the robe and moved me to sit in front of him.  The warmth of the fire heated my naked body from the front and the skin of Crazy Horse warmed my back.  His long fingers gently rubbed my shoulders and then pulled my hair back behind me.  I could feel his wet breath against my shoulder and then his lips found my neck making me shiver. He raised his head and his fingers slowly, tenderly pulled at my hair, placing each strand carefully into a braid hanging straight down my back.  The rough fingers of a warrior then tied the end with a small piece of leather and smoothed my hair, lightly tickling me.

He move to my side and lifted a small bowl. His hand touched my cheek bringing my face to his and he kissed me softly on the lips.  With a smile he dipped a finger in the bowl.  Slowly, carefully he painted a vermillion mark on my cheek.  I watched how intently his eyes were on his work.  The tips of his fingers moved slowly over my face and I closed my eyes to feel the spirit of Crazy Horse fill me.

For the first time in my life, I wore the vermillion mark, the Lakota sign of one who is beloved.

—-

He Dog noted the sun as it peeked over the top of the mountains to the east as his party rode slowly through the camp.  It was an event anytime Crazy Horse led a party out to war.  Today however, the entire camp turned out to see the beautiful woman ride at his left hand. He Dog wondered, and feared, what the consequences would be. Nonetheless, he would follow Crazy Horse as he always had.

Black Buffalo Woman rode straight and tall.  She wore a simple buckskin dress, customary for a woman going on a war party.  She looked neither right nor left as they passed through the lodges but held her head high showing the vermillion mark on her cheek.  She was one beloved.

Crazy Horse wore his customary white buckskin shirt and blue leggings with a single feather in his long brown streaming hair.   Today his lean unpainted face was much calmer than normal.  He kept his gaze to the horizon ahead and the corner of his mouth rose almost in a smile, as if he saw something very pleasing far off in the distance that no one else could see.

He did not acknowledge the looks from the men and women standing in front of their lodges but he also did not avoid them.  It would not be said that Crazy Horse snuck out of the camp with the wife of No Water.  He rode proud and defiant with the woman he loved.

He Dog led the twenty warriors in the party.  They kept glancing at Black Buffalo Woman out of the corner of their eyes.  They made their choice just as Crazy Horse had made his.  A true Lakota warrior does not follow politics.  A warrior follows a leader who has earned the honor to lead through bravery.  Each of the riders in the party had seen the ferocity of Crazy Horse in battle and almost all of them owed their lives to him.  The cloud of whispered rumors that had enveloped the camp had cleared.  They would support their leader in fighting the Crows to the north and would deal with their own people when they needed to.  They were warriors and warriors fight for their leader.

As always, He Dog rode at Crazy Horse’s right hand.  He did not like what they were doing and did not like what would have to be done, but his place was with Crazy Horse.  They rode quietly, watchful for enemies before them.  It was not stated, but they were also watchful for enemies behind them.

On the second day they came upon a small camp of several lodges including He Dog’s brother Little Shield.  They had not seen any sign of Crow raiders and invited the party to stay the night at their lodge circle.

He Dog wondered how Black Buffalo Woman and Crazy Horse would be treated.   Ever since he had become a Shirt Wearer, all eyes followed Crazy Horse in every camp.  He was known by all and every battle further enhanced his reputation.  They know him as a warrior, but not as a man, thought He Dog.  They could never understand the conflict between the warrior and the man.

He Dog’s brother had a double lodge situated at the head of the camp.  Crazy Horse, Black Buffalo Woman and He Dog joined him to feast in the lodge away from prying eyes.  In front of the glowing embers of the fire next to the beautiful smiling woman, Crazy Horse looked as relaxed and happy as He Dog had ever seen him.  Here was a man and woman in love.  Her laughter filled the lodge basking them in the warmth of the fire and the glow of happiness.

Without warning the flap of the lodge opened.  Her husband, No Water entered his eyes red with rage.  He carried a large pistol in his right hand and took a step towards the fire.

Crazy Horse dropped the cup in his hand and swept his right arm back pushing Black Buffalo Woman behind him.  He Dog lifted the back of the lodge and pushed her under the wall so she could escape.  When he turned back he heard No Water say in a tight voice, “My friend, I have come.”

Crazy Horse struggled to get to his feet.  Before he could rise, No Water lifted the pistol and shot him in the face point blank.  The sound of the blast filled the lodge and stunned the men around the fire.  Crazy Horse fell face first into the coals.  Little Shield and He Dog scrambled to pull his body from the flames.  The smell of burnt flesh and gun powder filled the lodge.  He Dog looked through the smoke across the fire and saw that No Water had vanished.

He cradled his wounded leader’s head and held a piece of cloth to his face to try to stop the bleeding.  Crazy Horse’s eyes were dull and his body limp.  He Dog saw that the bullet had entered just below his left nostril and come out from his cheek leaving ragged edges of skin in its wake.

The wounded man reached a hand up to He Dog’s shirt and struggled to remain conscious.  He tried to talk but the bullet had shattered his upper jaw.  He Dog put his mouth to his ear and whispered.  “Don’t worry.  As soon as we get you help I’ll check on Black Buffalo Woman and make sure she is safe.  Then I’ll look for No Water.”  The wounded man pulled at his shirt again and tried to speak.  He Dog lowered his ear to the wounded man and then said,  “I know Crazy Horse; we’ll let you be the one to kill him.  First, you just get well.”

They moved him to the medicine man’s lodge where he waivered between life and death for three long days.

As Crazy Horse fought for his life, the world of the Lakota swirled in chaos.  He Dog fought his urge for vengeance and tried to keep the peace, tried to avoid a civil war.  No Water had run to his brother Black Twin for protection.  Word was sent that if Crazy Horse’s followers wanted to fight, they would fight.  He Dog was left to speak for the friends of Crazy Horse.   He would determine if there would be a war within the Lakota.

On the fourth day, word reached He Dog that Crazy Horse could sit up.  It appeared that he would live but he was very weak.

He Dog took a deep breath as he stood outside the medicine lodge and looked at the women and children moving about the camp.  He thought he would rather fight a hundred battles than do what he had to do next.

He pulled back the flap to the lodge and ducked to enter.   The heat was stifling.  His leader was propped up against a buffalo robe with a poultice covering half of his face.  Crazy Horse’s dark eyes lit up to see his friend enter and with considerable effort, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile.

He Dog knelt down beside the wounded man.   He just needed to get it over with. “I have made peace,” he said in a quiet voice.  “Your father accepted three horses in compensation for the attack. Our people have been told that we are not going to fight Black Twin.”

The smile drained from Crazy Horse’s face and he struggled to speak.  The broken jaw would not permit it.  He grunted and tried sit up, but was too weak to support his weight.  He fell back against the robes wincing in pain.  He Dog put his hand on his arm.  “I’ve made it clear that you will not permit harm or retribution to come to Black Buffalo Woman if she returns to No Water.”  He squeezed the arm.  “They agreed and she’ll return to her husband.”

He Dog watched as the eyes of his leader hardened into a blaze and then faded and then glazed over.  He turned his face to the wall of the lodge.

He Dog leaned across his body and said, “It was the only way.  I am sorry.  We could not have a war within the Lakota. Too many would die, women and children would die. Your father and I agreed.”  His leader lay motionless against the robes, face still turned to the wall.  He Dog shook his head and whispered, “I’m sorry. You are a warrior and the Lakota people come first. We can’t let you choose between being a warrior and a man.” He rose to his feet slowly.  At the entrance of the lodge he turned back to look at the wounded man staring at the wall and opened his mouth to speak once more.  With a sigh he closed his mouth and left to rejoin the bustle of camp.

Authors Note:

Crazy Horse recovered from the wound, but bore a scar on his cheek for the rest of his life.  His family selected a wife for him in the months after he was shot.  He learned to love her and she bore him a daughter.

He went on to lead the Lakota in a number of battles including a victory over General Custer at the Little Big Horn.

Crazy Horse was one of last of the great Lakota Chiefs to bring his people in to the reservation.  He was killed in the guardhouse at Fort Robinson in a bungled attempt to take him into custody.

There was a rumor that Black Buffalo Woman bore a light skinned child the spring after she returned to No Water’s lodge. Many thought the child looked like Crazy Horse.  He made no claims to the child.

It was said Black Buffalo Woman never wore the vermillion mark on her cheek again.

About the author

name: Steve Linstrom

Steve Linstrom received his masters degree in Literature from Minnesota State Mankato and had two novels and several short stories published in 2013-14.  He taught writing at Southwest Minnesota State University for several years before retiring to St. Paul.  He’s active in the Westside St Paul Writers Group and has reestablished his writing efforts, recently publishing a new story in the Talking Stick Literary Journal and self-publishing a book of short stories and poetry. stevelinstromwriter.com