Cloud Dancing of the Southern Cheyenne was hunting wolf. He had been tracking this particular one for days and now he knew he was close.
This wolf had become separated from its pack days ago and had seemingly wandered in confusion ever since. It was very unlike a wolf, so unlike one in fact, that Cloud Dancing wondered if it had been given some power by the Spirits. He had prayed to them, asking them if it was alright that he continue hunting this creature, but there had been no response. And so CD kept on.
He saw the wolf in front of him now, standing absolutely still. The wolf seemed to stare straight at him. CD put down his bow and arrow. He could not kill this animal.
The wolf came up to him now, so close that CD could have put out his hand and pet him. But he did not. Perhaps he ought to have been afraid, but he was not. The wolf turned and walked away, and CD followed him through the trees.
For two miles they walked, the man following the wolf. He didn't know exactly why he was following, but knew that at the end he'd have his answer.
The wolf began running now, making it hard for CD to keep up. The distance between them lengthened until finally, far away from CD, the wolf came to a stop at the base of a tree and began whining. Cloud Dancing knew he had found his answer.
It had been about two months since Sully had fled the army. All alone, and with no supplies, he doggedly kept going West. He ate very little, slept even less, until by the beginning of October he was almost spent. He grew weaker and weaker, until finally one day, he just collapsed at the base of a tree. He sat there for hours, his mind wandering in continuous delirium. Visions of Abagail, whom he knew he would meet soon, flew through his head. Opening his eyes, he saw a wolf in front of him, making whining voices and watching him intently. He knew it was another mirage. He sat back and waited for the inevitable.
Cloud Dancing neared the tree, and saw the broken man propped up against it, barely breathing. In one moment, he threw himself on his knees and checked to see if the man was alive. Sully, feeling someone's touch, opened his eyes and gasped. It was only in surprise at finding someone there, not the fact that it was an Indian, but Cloud Dancing took it the wrong way, as he had seen many other whites react the same. He told him in English, "I will not hurt you."
Sully nodded weakly and pushed him away. "Leave me alone," he said.
"I cannot," CD said, haltingly.
"I want to die," Sully told him.
"I know," CD simply said.
Sully opened his eyes again and gave the Indian in front of him a good look-over. "So if you know, then leave me alone!" He pushed CD harder this time.
CD said again, "I cannot."
Sully struggled to his feet and began crying, tears running down his face. Cloud Dancing stood too, his arms outstretched, ready to support if needed.
"Please," Sully cried, "I just want to -" his hunger and sleeplessness took their toll as he fainted dead away, falling towards the ground. CD caught him and lifted him over his shoulders. He began walking West, the wolf following.
Sully awoke lying on top of a buffalo robe, next to a small stream. He looked around for some memory of how he had gotten there, and saw Cloud Dancing sitting with his eyes closed not too far away.
"Hey!" he called out. The Cheyenne Indian didn't move. "Hey you!" he called again weakly. No response.
After what seemed to be hours to Sully, but was really only a few minutes, CD got up and came over to him.
"Now that you are awake," he told Sully, "You can have some of this." He walked over to the fire and brought back a cup filled with hot liquid. He handed it to Sully.
Sully stared at it suspiciously. "What is it?" he scowled.
CD furrowed his brow and thought hard. "I do not know in your language," he admitted finally, "but in mine it is called meno'ke-vehpotse-hohpe."
Sully pushed the cup away. "I don't want it," he said stubbornly.
"You have a fever," CD told him. "This will help." Sully shook his head. "I told you to leave me alone."
"And I told you I cannot."
"Why not?!" Sully cried out, frustrated.
"Because the m'hta'sooma have brought me to you, as they have brought you to me."
"M'hta'sooma?" Sully repeated, feeling the strange word run over his tongue.
CD smiled. "In your language, it means Spirit."
"Spirit?" Sully asked. "You mean God?"
CD smiled again. "It is different for you."
Sully sighed. "There is no God," he said wearily. His eyes closed.
Over the next few weeks, Sully passed in and out of consciousness as CD tried to nurse him back to health. It was difficult for Cloud Dancing, and he spoke to the Spirits often, pleading with them to help him help this man come back from the brink of death both in body and soul. Eventually, he was able to convince Sully to drink of the Willow Bark Tea he had originally offered, and as expected his fever dropped. It finally broke on the first of November, and Sully awoke, feeling better, physically and emotionally, than he had in a long time.
He sat up on the buffalo robe, seeing CD praying and didn't disturb him this time. When he was finished Sully stood up carefully and walked over to him. "What were you praying about?"
CD smiled, as he often did. "I was asking the ma'hta'sooma for guidance." He paused and looked at Sully squarely in the eyes. "You are feeling better?"
Sully shrugged. "I guess so."
CD smiled again. "We have healed your body, now we must heal your soul."
Sully was silent for a minute. "You haven't told me your name," he said, changing the subject.
"White men know me as Cloud Dancing," the Indian told him. "And you? Who are you?"
"Byron Sully," said the white man.
CD shook his head. "No, you do not know who you are. The Cheyenne would say you have lost your way."
Sully sighed. "The Cheyenne would be right." He ran his hand through his hair, which had grown a lot since May. "Is that what you are, Cheyenne?"
CD lifted his head proudly and nodded. "We call ourselves Tsis-tsis-tas, or, 'The People'."
"How do you know so much English?" Sully asked. "I've met a few Indians before, but none spoke as well as you."
CD merely shrugged. "I interpret for my people. I am not that good. Perhaps you can teach me."
"Me? Teach you?"
"We can all teach each other," CD said simply.
"What can you teach me?" Sully asked honestly.
"Only what you will let me," CD answered. "Are you willing to let me?"
Sully hesitated. "I - I don’t know," he faltered.
CD said nothing.
"I don’t know where I belong anymore," he continued. He lost himself in thought. "Where did it all go wrong?" he asked himself aloud. "Where?"
"It is very easy for a man to lose his way," CD told Sully. "It is not so easy to find himself. But you are lucky. You had help." He motioned over to Sully’s right. Sully turned his head and saw a wolf lying on the ground near him. He gasped and jumped up, backing away so fast he tripped over CD, landing in a thump.
CD permitted himself a small laugh.
"Are you crazy?" Sully asked him. "Kill him!"
CD frowned. "Kill him?
The wolf yawned and stood up, coming closer to Sully. Frantic, Sully looked around, and saw a knife sheath hanging around CD’s waist. He grabbed for the knife. CD jumped away and in one quick move flipped Sully over, his foot on Sully’s chest, holding onto Sully’s arm. "Don’t ever do that again," he hissed at Sully.
"But the wolf-" Sully began.
CD pulled him up. "The wolf, as well as all living creatures are precious to us. This ho’nehe in particular is sacred. You will not destroy any living thing without permission while you are with me." He stomped over to the wolf and mumbled something Sully could not hear.
Sully didn’t understand, he only knew he had deeply offended CD. "I’m sorry," he told CD. "I didn’t know he was so precious to you."
CD ignored him and began packing up his things. "The year is growing old," he said. "I should be getting back to my people."
He began walking West. Sully ran after him. "Your people? Where are they?"
CD’s voice softened. "They are on a reservation just north of the Arkansas."
"Wait," Sully called after him. "Can I go with you?"
CD stopped walking and looked Sully straight in the eyes. "You said you didn’t know if you would let me teach you anything. You said you didn’t know where you belonged anymore. You have a place to belong to, if you will allow yourself. But it requires you to learn over many things, to put aside old prejudices. I do not know if you can do that." He began walking again.
Sully ran after him. He placed an arm on CD’s shoulder. "Listen, Cloud Dancing, I don’t know if I can either. But everything up until now has been such a mess. I don’t know what’s right anymore. But I like what I have learned so far. I don’t understand it, but it seems *right*."
"What have you learned so far?" CD asked him.
Sully began haltingly. "I’ve been watching you for the last few weeks. I see how you give thanks for everything you are given. You seem to treasure everything. It’s not only the animals that are precious, or even just this... ho’nehe."
CD smiled. "You are learning already."
Sully continued. "But there are some things you don’t understand either. It is different for me. Will you listen?"
CD thought a minute, then dropped his belongings and sat down, motioning for Sully to join him.
After a moment, Sully began. "I came out here looking for silver. It doesn’t – didn’t," he corrected himself, "matter what I did to the land. Money was all that was important."
"That does not change all of a sudden," CD said.
"No, it doesn’t," said Sully. "And it took me nearly losing my life in a cave-in to realize that. But I do now..."
Sully began the story of his life....
On this bitterly cold December morning Mrs. Charlotte Cooper wrapped her shawl more tightly around her as she broke the ice in the bucket and set the pail near the stove to melt it.
"Ma?" she heard one of her children call out.
It was Brian. Pushing past the curtain that partitioned her children's sleeping area from the rest of the house she found him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
"It's still early," she told him. "You don't have to get up yet."
"I want to," he told her. Despite being a big boy of 4 years old, she held out her arms and he clambered into them. She sat down in the rocking chair close to the stove, and mother and son held onto each other tightly.
"Ma?" he asked.
Charlotte's eyes were closed as her chin rested lightly on the top of her son's head. "Yes?" she murmured.
"Is Christmas coming soon?"
Her eyes opened. "Yes..." she began slowly, hesitating.
"You know what I want for Christmas?"
She shut her eyes tightly, praying it wouldn't be something too elaborate. Her $300 from Sully was almost gone, despite her attempts to save as much as possible. Ethan just wasn't cooperating, always ringing up a hefty bill at the Mercantile that Charlotte was forced to pay come the following Saturday. She couldn't tell Mr. Bray to stop letting Ethan purchase things on credit. It was Ethan's "right" as the man of the house to do as he pleased. She had no say in it, no control.
"What would you like from St. Nick?" she asked Brian, already mentally calculating the amount of money she had left.
Brian looked intently at the stove. "I want Sully to come back."
A cry escaped from her throat and Brian looked up at her in alarm. "Ma! What's the matter?!"
She calmed herself. "Nothing, sweetie, it's nothing. That's a very nice Christmas wish," she said.
Brian nodded. "I think if I keep prayin' and asking God everyday until Christmas, he'll *have* to listen send Sully home, dontcha think?"
"Oh Brian," Charlotte breathed. "My Brian, Bryon, Byron..."
"Ma," he interrupted her thoughts. "You just called me Byron."
"Oh!" she snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry sweetie."
"Do you think it'll work? Think he'll come back?"
She solemnly turned him around on her lap to face her.
"Sweetie," she began, "We don't know where he is."
"We don't need to know where he is," Brian said earnestly. "God does."
"Maybe he likes it there and wants to stay," she told him, thoughts flying through her head. One of them was the nagging feeling that he was dead. She pushed it out of her mind.
"But Ma, how can that be?" Brian persisted. "Hannah and Abagail are here. *You're* here."
She hugged him tightly. "Oh, Brian. Don't get your hopes up. I don't think it's gonna happen."
Brian cupped her face in his small hands. "We gotta pray, Ma. You'll see. It'll happen."
Christmas 1863 came and went, with no evidence of Byron Sully. Brian was crushed.
"I don't understand it, Ma," he told Charlotte tearfully. "I prayed so hard. Why didn't he come?"
Matthew looked sideways at his mother before going to Brian and placing his hand on his head. He could see how much his mother was hurting. "Maybe he couldn't come, little brother," he told him gently. "For all we know, he just...he might be..."
"No! He's not!" Brian burst into tears. "Don't even say it! He's not dead! I know he's not!" He looked wildly around the room for someone to agree with him. "He's not!" He ran to his bed, flinging himself on it. Colleen followed him, sighing loudly. Matthew looked over at his mother, who nodded sadly.
"No, you were right to say that Matthew," she told him. "I couldn't, but I'm afraid it's true just the same."
The winter progressed at the Cheyenne encampment. Upon reaching the camp just north of the Arkansas river, CD had announced that Sully was being adopted by him - that from then on he would be considered his brother. The rest of the camp had accepted this unquestioningly, Sully saw, and almost right away Cloud Dancing's wife, Snowbird, had welcomed him into their teepee.
"You will stay with us," she assured him, and when he began to protest CD held up his hand. Sully said no more. He looked around his new home almost in disbelief. It was so different from his previous homes. Warm and comfortable during this cold winter, hide bedding lay on the floor. A fire burned in the center of the teepee, its smoke dissipating through the flaps at the top. This being winter he noticed a second lining added to the teepee covering, and on it were hung many objects, among them CD's wooden bow and quiver of arrows he had given to Snowbird shortly after arriving.
Willow rod backrests lay against the sides, and a buffalo-paunch cooking pot, held over the fire by four poles, bubbled with something that smelled delicious.
Snowbird went to a rawhide parfleche that lay beside some bedding and opened it. Drawing out some articles of clothing, she handed them to Sully. "These belonged to Cloud Dancing," she told him. "They are now yours. I think they will fit."
All of a sudden, Sully became aware of how he must look...and smell. It had been...practically 6 months since his last full-fledged washing. Self-consciously he ran his hands through his matted hair.
Snowbird smiled. "Do not worry," she said. "The river is not frozen."
Cloud Dancing entered the tent. "I would wash before nightfall," he told Sully. The river becomes much colder then."
Sully's eyes opened wide. "It's January," he protested dumbly.
CD nodded, a smile almost coming to his lips, but not quite. "Yes, it is. But the water still becomes cold at night." He wheeled and walked out of the teepee.
With his new frocks in hand, Sully made his way towards the river. He shed the tattered remnants of his army uniform on its banks, and gulped as he stuck one filthy foot in the water. Then, holding his breath, he plunged in.
"Ahhhhhh!!!!" he jumped up, his body shocked into numbness by the cold. Determined, he ducked his head back under, then came back up again very quickly, shaking his head, sending water spraying everywhere.
He heard people laughing gently. Looking up he saw a good many Cheyenne, both men and women as well as children, standing on the bank of the Arkansas. Their laugh became louder and it became evident to Sully that he was the butt of some joke.
"Is the water good?" Cloud Dancing wanted to know, smiling broadly. Sully smacked the water with his hand and acknowledged the joke. "It's wonderful," he said. "Very refreshing."
Chief Black Kettle held out his hand and helped Sully out of the water. "Someone will bring you some warm water," he told Sully in Cheyenne.
CD translated, but Sully shook his head. "Tell the Chief I don't need it. Good for the soul." He smacked his bare chest with his fist, genuinely smiling for the first time since his wife had died.
CD translated for Black Kettle, and the Chief's eyes lit with comprehension. He nodded his approval. He liked this white man already.