"So look at how I built this. A good hunter knows that the buffalo will bear away from the snags. He knows that they'll want to mill out there in the center, where they can see all around. The lead cow will take a minute to decide what to do when the way is blocked. That's why I placed the fence so. I'll want that moment of indecision to drive a dart into the lead cow."
"And you'll be up on that ledge?" Little Dancer pointed to a sandstone outcrop slightly above the kill area.
"You've got more hunter in you than I thought. That's just where I'll be. Not only does a hunter have to know his animals, he's got to know what he has to work with. That's why the shape is like it is. This trap could be worked by person. With just the two of us it will work better We'll need to start the drive and drift them down here. We don't want to panic them, just urge them down slowly. Then, when they wander into the trap, I've got to run up there to the point. Meanwhile, you're over behind that stump there. If they shy from my darts, they drift right into yours."
"Until one panics and breaks down the fence."
"But by then ... if we haven't panicked ourselves . . . we'll have killed, or seriously wounded, enough to keep us through the winter."
"But you don't make a trap like this in spring."
Hungry Bull propped his hands on his hips. "Wouldn't work. Buffalo act differently in the spring. Cows have new calves. They're more wary, nervous, because the calves are vulnerable. Old bulls are on edge and acting protective. Strategies for taking animals have to change with the season. Doesn't matter how straight or far you can cast a dart if you don't know how to work the animals. You have to know how they change and think differently with the seasons, or you're going to starve—or eat plants all your life like the Anit'ah!"
Little Dancer lifted an eyebrow. They'd eaten a lot of plants recently, at Two Smokes' urging. He'd developed a liking for sego lily and biscuit root. In the fall, chokecherries and plums made a wonderful treat. Serviceberry had become one of his favorite meals.
"Buffalo are the most important thing in the world to you, aren't they?"
"Part of my soul is buffalo." Hungry Bull stared thoughtfully into the distance as they walked toward the trees. "It hurts to think that buffalo are so scarce. I remember the stories from when I was a boy. I remember my grandfather talking about the old days when a couple hundred would be killed at a time. Then the People were so numerous we could run a big kill. Everyone had a specific duty in the kill. The circles were complete then. Buffalo and the People were one. They fed us and we prayed for their souls to the Wise One Above. Our souls mixed with buffalo as theirs mixed with ours."
"And here?"
"Here I'll manage to trap maybe ten or fifteen buffalo. More than enough to feed us, but not so many as my skill would permit if there were more buffalo up here." He hesitated. *'Maybe that's the way it should be. A wise hunter takes only what he needs and a bit more for surplus in case something spoils too soon, or wolf or coyote or a grizzly get into it."
Little Dancer grabbed the small end of a lodgepole his father indicated. He lifted and followed, staggering under the long pole. Straining, he got his end into the fence where his father indicated.
Did the past always outshine the future? Did life always have to get worse instead of better? It seemed that way. How many times had he overheard White Calf saying the world was changing? And if it kept getting worse, whatever would become of him? The images from the Dream ate at his peace. The people in his life had turned to unstable stone under his feet, seeking to drop him into the abyss. He caught himself staring uneasily at his father's broad back as they laid pole upon pole onto the fence.
Using a sharp chert flake he'd struck from a well-used core, Blood Bear absently shaved at a thumb-thick willow stalk. Under his practiced hands, the bark peeled in long curling strips to expose the white wood beneath. This piece would make a wonderful dart shaft. One end he would hollow and fletch to rest in the atlatl hook he'd laboriously carved from moose antler, traded from north of the Big River by Three Rattles. The other end would be countersunk to create a socket for a foreshaft made of hardwood like chokecherry or ash.
He walked as he whittled on the shaft, absently glancing up at the menstrual lodge. Elk Charm should have already made her way to One Cast's lodge. He'd been up since before dawn, waiting at the edge of camp. She should have come. And if he'd missed her, she should have had to excuse herself to the bushes by now. So where had she gone?
She'd always intrigued him. Despite her young age, the way she walked so straight and poised had caught his eye more than once over the last year or so. He'd watched with growing interest as her coming womanhood had become apparent. Of all the women, she and Tanager would be the most beautiful. Tanager would be the most passionate, proud, and stubborn—provided anyone could catch her long enough to bed her. Elk Charm, however, had a vulnerability that piqued his desire. She always had her chin just so, as if she were shyly aware of her beauty and charm. Her hips curved nicely over her thin, long legs. When she didn't wear her hair in a braid, it hung down below her waist in a blue-black wave that caught the sunlight and sent it gleaming into a thousand separate rays of light. Most of all, he enjoyed those dancing eyes of hers. Blood Bear, for all of his advancing age, would see those eyes shine for him.