The Trial Path

[Robert Spiritwalker Murchison]

It was an autumn night on the plain. The smoke-lapels of the cone shaped
tepee flapped gently in the breeze. From the low night sky, with its myriad
fire points, a large bright star peeped in at the smoke-hole of the wigwam
between its fluttering lapels, down upon two Dakotas talking in the dark. The
mellow stream from the star above, a maid of twenty summers, on a bed of
sweet-grass, drank in with her wakeful eyes. On the opposite side of the
tepee, beyond the center fireplace, the grandmother spread her rug. Though
once she had lain down, the telling of a story has aroused her to a sitting
posture.


Her eyes are tight closed. With a thin palm she strokes her wind-shorn hair.


"Yes, my grandchild, the legend says the large bright stars are wise old
warriors, and the small dim ones are handsome young braves," she reiterates,
in a high, tremulous voice.


"Then this one peeping in at the smoke-hole yonder is my dear old
grandfather," muses the young woman, in long-drawn-out words.


Her soft rich voice floats through the darkness within the tepee, over the
cold ashes heaped on the center fire, and passes into the ear of the
toothless old woman, who sits dumb in silent reverie. Thence it flies on
swifter wing over many winter snows, till at last it cleaves the warm light
atmosphere of her grandfather's youth. From there her grandmother made answer:


"Listen! I am young again. It is the day of your grandfather's death. The
elder one, I mean, for there were two of them. They were like twins, though
they were not brothers. They were friends, inseparable! All things, good and
bad, they shared together, save one, which made them mad. In that heated
frenzy the younger man slew his most intimate friend. He killed his elder
brother, for long had their affection made them kin."


The voice of the old woman broke. Swaying her stooped shoulders to and fro as
she sat upon her feet, she muttered vain exclamations beneath her breath. Her
eyes, closed tight against the night, beheld behind them the light of bygone
days. They saw again a rolling black cloud spread itself over the land. Her
ear heard the deep rumbling of a tempest in the West. She bent low a cowering
head, while angry thunderbirds shrieked across the sky.


"Heya! heya!" (No! no!)


Groaned the toothless grandmother at the fury she had awakened. But the
glorious peace afterward, when yellow sunshine made the people glad, now
lured her memory onward through the storm.


"How fast, how loud my heart beats as I listen to the messenger's horrible
tale!" she ejaculates. "From the fresh grave of the murdered man he hurried
to our wigwam. Deliberately crossing his bare shins, he sat down unbidden
beside my father, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He had scarce caught his
breath when, panting, he began:


"'He was an only son, and a much-adored brother.'


"With wild, suspecting eyes he glanced at me as if I were in league with the
man-killer, my lover. My father, exhaling sweet-scented smoke, assented --
'How.' Then interrupting the 'Eya' on the lips of the round-eyed tale-bearer,
he asked, 'My friend, will you smoke?' He took the pipe by its red-stone
bowl, and pointed the long slender stem toward the man. 'Yes, yes, my
friend,' replied he, and reached out a long brown arm.



"For many heart-throbs he puffed out the blue smoke, which hung like a cloud
between us. But even through the smoke-mist I saw his sharp black eyes
glittering toward me. I longed to ask what doom awaited the young murderer,
but dared not open my lips, lest I burst forth into screams instead. My
father plied the question. Returning the pipe, the man replied: 'Oh, the
chieftain and his chosen men have had counsel together. They have agreed it
is not safe to allow a man-killer in our midst. He who kills one of our tribe
is an enemy, and must suffer the fate of a foe.'


"My temples throbbed like a pair of hearts!


"While I listened, a crier passed by my father's tepee. Mounted, and swaying
with his pony's steps, he proclaimed in a loud voice these words (hark! I
hear them now!): 'Ho-po! Give ear, all you people. A terrible deed is done.
Two friends -- ay, brothers in heart -- have quarreled together. Now one
lies buried on the hill, while the other sits, a dreaded man-killer, within
his dwelling. Says our chieftain: "He who kills one of our tribe commits the
offense of an enemy. As such he must be tried. Let the father of the dead man
choose the mode of torture or taking of life. He has suffered livid pain, and
he alone can judge how great the punishment must be to avenge his wrong." It
is done.


"'Come, every one, to witness the judgment of a father upon him who was once
his son's best friend. A wild pony is now lassoed. The man-killer must mount
and ride the ranting beast. Stand you all in two parallel lines from the
center tepee of the bereaved family to the wigwam opposite in the great outer
ring. Between you, in the wide space, is the given trial way. From the outer
circle the rider must mount and guide his pony toward the center tepee. If,
having gone the entire distance, the man-killer gains the center tepee, still
sitting on the pony's back, his life is spared and pardon given. But should
he fall, then he himself has chosen death.'


"The crier's words now cease. A lull holds the village breathless. Then
hurrying feet tear along, swish, swish, through the tall grass. Sobbing women
hasten toward the trial way. The muffled groan of the round campground is
unbearable. With my face hid in the folds of my blanket, I run with the crowd
toward the open place in the outer circle of our village. In a moment the two
long files of solemn-faced people mark the path of the public trial. Ah! I
see strong men trying to hold the lassoed pony, pitching and rearing, with
white foam flying from his mouth. I choke with pain as I recognize my
handsome lover desolately alone, striding with set face toward the lassoed
pony. 'Do not fall! Choose life and me!' I cry in my breast, but over my lips
I hold my thick blanket.


"In an instant he has leaped astride the frightened beast, and the men have
let go their hold. Like an arrow sprung from a strong bow, the pony, with
extended nostrils, plunges halfway to the center tepee. With all his might
the rider draws the strong reins in. The pony halts with wooden legs.The
rider is thrown forward by force, but does not fall. Now the maddened
creature pitches, with flying heels. The line of men and women sways outward.
Now it is back in place, safe from the kicking, snorting thing.


"The pony is fierce, with its large black eyes bulging out of their sockets.
With humped back and nose to the ground, it leaps into the air. I shut my
eyes. I cannot see him fall.


"A loud shout goes up from the hoarse throats of men and women. I look. So!
The wild horse is conquered. My lover dismounts at the doorway of the center
wigwam. The pony, wet with sweat and shaking with exhaustion, stands like a
guilty dog at his master's side. Here at the entranceway of the tepee sit the
bereaved father, mother, and sister. The old warrior father rises. Stepping
forward two long strides, he grasps the hand of the murderer of his only son.
Holding it so the people can see, he cries, with compassionate voice, 'My
son!' A murmur of surprise sweeps like a puff of sudden wind along the lines.


"The mother, with swollen eyes, with her hair cut square with her shoulders,
now rises. Hurrying to the young man, she takes his right hand. 'My son!' she
greets him. But on the second word her voice shook, and she turned away in
sobs.


"The young people rivet their eyes upon the young woman. She does not stir.
With bowed head, she sits motionless. The old warrior speaks to her. 'Shake
hands with the young brave, my little daughter. He was your brother's friend
for many years. Now he must be both friend and brother to you.'


"Hereupon the girl rises. Slowly reaching out her slender hand, she cries,
with twitching lips, 'My brother!' The trial ends."


"Grandmother!" exploded the girl on the bed of sweet-grass. "Is this true?"


"Tosh!" answered the grandmother, with a warmth in her voice. "It is all
true. During the fifteen winters of our wedded life many ponies passed from
our hands, but this little winner, Ohiyesa, was a constant member of our
family. At length, on that sad day your grandfather died, Ohiyesa was killed
at the grave."


Though the various groups of stars which move across the sky, marking the
passing of time, told how the night was in its zenith, the old Dakota woman
ventured an explanation of the burial ceremony.


"My grandchild, I have scarce ever breathed the sacred knowledge in my heart.
Tonight I must tell you one of them. Surely you are old enough to understand.


"Our wise medicine-man said I did well to hasten Ohiyesa after his master.
Perchance on the journey along the ghost-path your grandfather will weary,
and in his heart wish for his pony. The creature, already bound on the
spirit-trail, will be drawn by that subtle wish. Together master and beast
will enter the next campground."


The woman ceased her talking. But only the deep breathing of the girl broke
the quiet, for now the night wind had lulled itself to sleep.


"Hinnu! hinnu! Asleep! I have been talking in the dark, unheard. I did wish
the girl would plant in her heart this sacred tale," muttered she, in a
querulous voice.


Nestling into her bed of sweet-scented grass, she dozed away into another
dream. Still the guardian star in the night sky beamed compassionately down
upon the little tepee on the plain.