PROLOG

When Christopher Columbus discovered America, he thought that he had discovered India. He thusly daubed the inhabitants "Indians" Ever since, the American, non-native population, has used the term to refer to the native inhabitants of the Americas and still, in large part, it is so. It is for this reason that I use the term "Indian" to refer to Native Americans in this story.

   Slowly now the rising sun
   Shown the world as begun
   Above the flowing prairie plain
   That for miles remains the same.

   As the prairie stretched afar
   So the herd of bison are
   Flowing out beyond one's sight
   In this early morning light.

 The sun inched up into the skies
 And buffalo with frightened eyes
 Rose their nostrils to the wind
 ...... Their enemy, the Indian.

 Hooves of horses brown and paint
 Alert the herd though very faint
 And the buffalo knew them still,
 That these red men were here to kill.

 Over the rise came twenty-one
 Riding hard out of the sun,
 Riding down across a row,
 Riding all with lance and bow.

 The lead bulls gave a rousing call
 And bid the herd to follow all
 Turning to the westward plain
 And shook the ground, this endless chain.

Billowing clouds of dust arose
As mighty hooves delivered blows
That churned the prairie's grassy earth
As they ran for all they’re worth.

Indians, buffalo, horses all
In a running, surging fall
In a dance of life and death
As a running river's breadth.

Red men leaned and shot their arrows
As bison ran to shoot the narrows
Between two crests of sloping rise
Beneath these reddened western skies,

Iron Eyes had done his very best
Had rode and shot with all the rest
But he had chosen not the small
But the largest bull of all.
 
A bull with gnarled and giant horns,
Hooves of steel and heart of thorns,
A bull whose eyes blazed with death,
A bull who'd been better left.

Angered by the arrow's pain
And spurred on by a rage insane,
His bull split off from all the rest
And wildly charged out for the west.

Iron Eyes now in hot pursuit
Followed fast the brute's fresh route
And tracked for days his quarry's spoor
And valued right his hunter's chore

Into the desert he tracked the beast
And thought a while about the feast
That this monster would provide
And of the tales he would confide.

Then on a rise his horse stopped still
And in the heat he gave a chill.
Brave and hunter knew this sign
Meant the prize was now to find.

There in a gulch which held a shadow
Stood the bull of death and prattle
Standing still in desert sand,
A beast that now would make his stand.

Iron Eyes eased down from his horse
And considered well his next recourse.
He would wait upon this rise
For the giant beast's demise.

Throughout the day into the dark
And through a lonely coyote bark
Iron Eyes waited patiently
For death to visit by decree.

Finally dozing by his horse
The Brave felt some small remorse
That such a fine and noble brute
Should end his days without tribute.

On a warm and gentle wind
Came an odor once again
That Iron Eyes soon identified
As the smell of bison hide.

His eyes flew open at the thought
That he might be the one who's caught.
He peered into the darkness then
And looked and stared and peered again.

It all still looked just as before,
No less to see and nothing more
But still the scent now on the air
Bid warrior caution, have a care.

Iron Eyes calmly stood erect
And glanced just by his horse's neck.
He could see an outline there
Of horns and hide and eyes that stare.

A murderous snort escaped the beast,
Who after all had not deceased,
For this last act of inspiration
Was due, no doubt, to desperation.

Startled then, his horse reared back,
Frightened by the bull's attack
And took the brunt of his ram
Then sprawled onto the desert sand.

Flailing hooves then filled the air
As man and horse did surely share
The onslaught of this great horned spirit
And learned why all who know it, fear it.

Jerking horns up to the sky
Slashed wildly to the horse's thigh
As Iron Eyes scrambled for his lance
The horse and beast did their death dance.

Plunging deep to ribs of bone
The hunter's lance found its home
But broke upon the beast's sharp turn
And now it was the hunter's turn.

Broken lance and arrows still
Could not complete the final kill
And now a man with knife alone
Would face the beast, no mercy shown.

Staring moments passed as two
Looked on for the smallest clue
Of a weakness or a brake
That life or death the difference make.

Then in one ferocious thrust
The beast, this regent of the dust,
Cast the hunter above his head
But still the hunter, far from dead

Jumped upon the beast's broad back
For his last and best attack
And stabbing with his blade of bone
Iron Eyes rode and held his own.

Stabbing deeply through his hide
And leaning back to stab his side
The Indian gripped long shoulder fur
And rode the large marauding cur.

Across the desert beast and man
Locked in combat on the sand
Struggled in nature's greatest fight
For only one would live that night.

Finally weak from flowing blood,
His hooves with last resounding thud
Shook the earth with stark despair
And rose no more to meet the air.

Standing now with labored breath,
This king of bulls awaiting death
Dropped down onto bended knees
And bid farewell to prairie seas.

Iron Eyes slipped then to the ground
And cautiously moved around
To look into his eyes and see
The soul of such a beast as he.

There within his glassy eyes
The Indian could see the skies
That centuries before that night
Had shown that most eternal light.

Now reduced by mortal man
To kneeling in the desert sand,
Straining the last few breaths of life,
The victim of a hunter's knife.

Slowly though his eyes did close
And breath did cease through Roman nose.
Now the sleep that lasts forever
Crossed his brow to leave him never.

Bruised and injured from his fight
With the buffalo that night
Iron Eyes now lay beside his foe
And whispered "How was I to know."

Awakened by some tiny creatures
That the desert often features
Iron Eyes rose to morning light
And reflected now upon his plight.

His horse, now dead, upon the dune
Would draw the buzzards very soon
And the buffalo, his noble prize,
Would be seen by just his eyes.

The huge block horns he would take
And carry back for spirit's sake
And cut some steak and heavy hide
To keep his stomach satisfied.

His water skin now gone from sight
Was lightly lost in the fight.
His lance broken and arrows gone,
His trusty knife would carry on.

In the bison's shade that day
He waited dusk in tones of gray.
Then with a bundle on his back
He followed stars to lead his track.

From the east a bright star shown
And so began his journey home
Across the dusty desert plain
To carry home his bison's mane.

Mile on mile same as before,
Mile on mile with feet so sore
The Indian, weary, made his way
On that first and tortured day.

Morning crept above the dunes
And still a white and mournful moon
In the clear and warming sky
Attest as fact, "God's not a lie."

The sliver of a shadowed dune
Had disappeared from sight by noon
And Iron Eyes draped his bison skin
Across his head and slept again.

Evening of the second day
Found our hunter bound to pray
To the spirits of this land
To help him through this cursed sand.

"Oh Great Spirit help me now,
Help me find my way somehow.
Guide my steps across this land
Help me now to understand.

Help me know your true desire
In this ·cursed land of fire.
Help me just a mortal man
In this God forsaken land."

Iron Eyes staggered blindly on.
His lips were burned and food now gone
But still he staggered through the night
And into dawn, into daylight.

Iron Eyes stood to see the morn,
His vision blurred and features worn
And stared across the desert heat
And through his tears, he saw defeat.

"Oh, my God, what have I done
For torture in this desert sun.
Great Spirit please, hear my prayer,
Help this soul now in your care."

Through the wetness of his eyes
He saw what first he took for lies.
A great white form on brandished sand
That seemed to watch the gaunt Red Man.

Toward the form he walked and waved
With the thought he had been saved
But each time the form withdrew
And Iron Eyes would start anew.

Once when Iron Eyes nearly fell
The ghost came close and he could tell
It was the same great buffalo
That he had killed and come to know

Now had come to haunt these days,
To cook his brain in desert rays
And taunt him now on desert sand,
Who now seemed surely in command.

Iron Eyes drew his knife again
And vowed this time would be the end.
That this great ghost and apparition
Would end this day in stark submission.

Then on a final sand dune rise
The bison ghost, to his surprise
Stopped and stood and waited there
With shaggy mane of pure white hair.

Standing on the dune's blown sand
He seemed a spirit pure and grand
And surveyed well his hunter's route
And remained still, tall and mute.

Iron Eyes ever closer, nearer
Sure that he could end this game.
He stumbled, fell and rose again
And swore, "This is that devil's end."

As he climbed the dune of sand
On which the bison chose to stand
The spirit turned and walked away
Down the other side that day.

Iron Eyes screamed defiantly,
"By the Gods, you'll not leave me.
Stop and stand and do your best,
My life is spent," the brave confessed.

On the top at last he rose
And searched for his ghost's repose
But no white buffalo was there
And all that he could do is stare

For there before him locked in sand
Was the place his trek began.
His dead paint horse and buffalo
Lay as before, far down below.

And here he knelt with head in hands
And finally came to understand
The spirit of this great beast
Could not be killed or served at feast.

That no man can master all,
That God takes care of those who fall,
That foolish men who act in haste
May perish in some barren waste.

Now the wind and sand that blows
Covers all the bones of those
Who acted in this western scene
And now remain as just a dream.

~Robert E Browne~

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