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  Chapter 10

  Howling Wolf

  Howling Wolf lightly blew on what was left of the fire, lighting up some of the dying embers. He could feel the warmth against his face and reached over and grabbed some splinters he had sliced off of a log with his hatchet. If he was lucky, he could get the fire going again without having to waste a match. Lighters and matches were so precious in this world. You never knew if you had enough to last until the next 360. He tried his best to stockpile but some of his followers were not too bright. Just last week a group of his men had fallen through the ice while fooling around on a frozen pond, acting like children and forgetting they were grown men. Each carried their own supply of matches, water and dried meat and now it was all ruined; only the water could be saved. For this act of stupidity, Howling Wolf had banished them from enjoying the fire and now they were all running fevers, growing weaker and weaker. Serves them right if they die. Besides, it would only help him keep his numbers under control.

  Ever since the blonde boy had been sacrificed to the gods a few months ago, it had grown unbearably cold. Too cold to move further north into the richness of the northern Rockies where the water was pure and there were plenty of animals to butcher and eat, at least, that’s what he had heard. No, they couldn't risk travelling with their horses and supplies through the deep snow, in sub-zero temperatures and freezing dry winds. They had to retreat to milder conditions and wait out the winter.

  They had just managed to store their food, make warmer clothes and set up their winter huts when the first snows fell. But it was cold and he knew their food would not last. With over a hundred men in camp, it wouldn't be long before they ran out of supplies. So, he had to cut his numbers down, get rid of some of the men, but make it look like accidents. If they knew he was willing to kill them rather than save them, they may rise against him and he didn't want that; not when he held so much power down here.

  So, he had sent them out on "missions", missions he knew they would never come back from. One group was sent after a small herd of deer, chasing them with so much speed, wanting to please their leader, that they never saw the cliff at the end of the small forest the deer ran through. All the men were killed instantly when they fell the sixty feet to the rocks below reducing the camps numbers by ten that day. All was not lost, though, the deer had jumped the cliff too and were scraped off the rock, butchered, smoked and stored in barrels. Another group of four were sent into a makeshift house made of leftover lumber and freshly sawed logs, a common sight down here. They were meant to gather clothes and anything else that would be useful. The house was occupied, however, by a woman and two men who hid behind furniture with rifles and killed Howling Wolf's men as soon as they entered. It was an admirable thing to do, trying to save their belongings, but Howling Wolf sent more men who killed the trio easily. Now, his camp was down another four and they had new supplies. Everything always worked this way if you paid the gods properly. At least that's what he told his men.

  Howling Wolf was one hundred percent Lakota Sioux which meant absolutely nothing to him. Born in the Black Hills of the Dakota territory in 1870, he was dragged away from his family when he was only ten years old. The American government was trying to "assimilate" the natives into the white man culture and thought the best way to do that was to strip the Indian youth of their identity and bring them up in special white man schools. Howling Wolf was told he had a new name, Frank, and was forbidden to use his Indian name again. His father had named him Yelping Pup when he was born because of the way he cried. It was a name he never liked, in fact the other children often teased him about it, but it was his name and still better than Frank. His hair, which was so important to the Lakota people, was cut short and he was forced to wear some kind of white man uniform, making him hate himself even more. These were the people that were moving into his family's land and killing his sisters and brothers and now he was forced to look like them. The shame he felt was almost unbearable.

  He was also told he could never use his native language again and he had to relinquish the old stories and traditions of his people. At first this made him angry and he refused to do as they asked but as his days in the Pennsylvania school continued, his anger turned to his own Lakota people. They had given him willingly to this school. They had wanted him to get educated in this new world. They had agreed to this, waving goodbye to him with smiles on their faces. He decided that any group of people that could give in so easily to such a corrupt band of people was not worth learning about. He began to learn English quickly and studied hard but, despite all of his hard work, the men that ran the school still found reason to punish him. He was whipped and beaten almost daily. He was deprived of food and sleep and he watched the children around him grow sick and die. Despite all of this, his determination remained steadfast. If he wanted to beat these people, he would have to learn their ways and study their weaknesses.

  Then a new man came to the school and changed Howling Wolf's life forever. His name was Mr. Santini and he was fat and greasy and smelled like sour milk. He had dark hair and a thick moustache and seemed to hold great authority. He had been sent to teach the boys physical fitness, work their "laziness" out of them. He was a vile man, trying to do things with boys that boys should never be made to do with each other.

  He remembered the day Mr. Santini had come to him. It was forever etched in his memory. He was fourteen and had just finished a class of Bible study, something he hated but found fascinating. Religion was something that always intrigued Howling Wolf. How could people believe such crazy stories? To think that there was some kind of god-man out there, ruling over everything, making such bad things happen as floods and fires. It seemed like some kind of magical tale taught around fire circles to scare the children not something to obey as law and, yet, still people prayed and paid tribute to their gods. His head was full of these thoughts when Mr. Santini caught up to him after class. He was on his way to the mess hall for lunch. Mr. Santini had been sent down from New York and had only been there for a little over three months. He was a strict man in the gym but seemed friendly when not throwing balls and forcing the boys to do push ups. The boy didn't like him but he was part of the authority here and that meant punishment if his requests were denied so he reluctantly followed the man to his office on the main floor.

  He should have known something was not right when Mr. Santini locked the door. There was no reason to do this, everyone was down in the hall eating lunch. Besides, a closed door meant do not disturb and everyone obeyed this rule. The boy sat down in the chair offered to him by Santini and faced the huge walnut polished desk thinking the man would go to his own leather chair behind the desk. That was not the case however. Instead, Santini sat on the edge of the desk directly in front of the boy, his right leg to the side and his left leg hanging down.

  "Frank," he said and smiled an oddly disturbing smile. "I wanted to tell you that I've been watching you and I find your devotion to your studies admirable."

  "Thank you." The boy didn't know what to say. No white man had ever complimented him before.

  "I wanted you to know that. Not many of the children seem to be doing as well as you in their transitions," Santini began shaking his head. "It makes me wonder if this little experiment of bringing the Injuns into our world is even going to work. What do you think?"

  "I?" The boy looked at the man. Could this be a trick to get him to say something mean about the school and then punish him for it. "What do I think?"

  "Yes," smiled Santini, "I respect what you have to say. It would be nice to know how the students feel about this whole assimilation process. Surely you have an opinion."

  "Well," started the boy. He had to be careful what he said. "I think it will take time to adjust to all the changes for most of the students. A lot of them are missing their families. They are so young, some of them."

  "Right you are," and he reached down and placed his hand on the boy's knee. Something done so quickly and easily that a le
ss suspicious boy would have just let it pass but he jumped and swatted the hand off without thinking. This was the wrong thing to do. Santini rose, showing no emotion, and looked down at the boy. "I do believe you may have interpreted my intentions wrongly, young Frank. I was only showing you a friendly gesture. I apologize if I scared you."

  "I-I’m sorry for my uneasiness," said the boy, looking down at the floor. If he showed submissiveness, Santini would be reassured that he still held the upper hand. "I’m not used to kindness."

  "No? I find that hard to believe," Santini walked behind his desk and sat down. "You’re such a good student. I can't see why anyone would have a problem with you. Are you combative?"

  "Combative?" The boy raised his eyes to the fat man across from him.

  "Do you fight with the teachers here?"

  "Not anymore," the boy said, he bit his lip before he said the next bit. "I realize that my education here is important if I want to live with the white man. I want to become a good citizen."

  "That is commendable," said Santini as he crossed his hands in front of him on the desk. "I wish others would be as agreeable. We've had some problems as I'm sure you know." The boy did not respond to this. He knew about the problems. Many of his fellow students had refused to eat and had fallen sick, others had tried to run away only to be brought back and severely punished for their actions. The school was a jail to the native children and they were treated as if they were convicted felons. He, too, felt the atrocities here but had learned to hide his feelings. He had been beaten too many times for his smart quips so, he knew when to keep quiet. Santini took the boy's silence as compliance to his authority. The young boy seemed defeated, a wild horse that had been broken.

  "I'm glad to see you have fit in so nicely," he said and rose from his chair one more time. "You are a strong young man and your people will be proud of you."

  "My people have left me to your care," said the boy. "They have little to do with my future now."

  "You can’t possibly know how happy I am to hear this, Frank," he made his way around the office and stood behind the boy now. "You are a handsome young man and will be very successful in our world."

  "Th-thank you." For the first time he was unsure of what was going to happen. This man was big and could probably hurt him badly but somehow he didn't see him as someone who would beat him. But something was not right. Something felt wrong about Santini and he could feel a chill run through him.

  "Yes, I would say your future looks very bright," Santini clapped him on the shoulder. The boy could feel the warmth from the other man's hands as he started to massage his neck. It seemed so innocent and yet he felt his stomach squirm. "My, you are a fit young man aren't you?"

  "Sir?" The boy tried to pull away but Santini held firm, sliding his hands down his chest and towards the front of his trousers. Terror gripped the boy's insides as he realized the sick intention of Santini's touch. The other boys had whispered rumours about the new teacher but he didn’t believe them. How could a man do such things with another man? It seemed impossible to him but, he realized now, that the rumours were true.

  "Don't try to fight it," the words came out as warm breath on the back of his neck. "If you do as you're told and relax we can make your stay here something to remember forever. I can teach you so much more than throwing a ball around."

  "Sir," the boy tried once again to pull away but the big man was strong. "I do not wish to do this."

  "Of course not," he said. "I'm sure your people have kept many things from you. It's why you can't trust them. Why you can never tell them what we can do with each other."

  "No!" The boy was desperate now. He needed to get away from this man.

  "No?" Anger filled Santini's voice and the boy could feel his hands ball into fists. "You will not deny me Injun. You have no rights here. Your obedience is commanded." And then several things seemed to happen at once. Santini reached, once again, for his trousers; this time with a strength that was not there before. The boy, who was now more desperate than ever, turned his head and bit down on the big man's arm as hard as he could until he could taste blood in his mouth. Santini howled with shock and pain and pulled his arms away. This gave the boy time to stand and whirl around, facing his attacker.

  "You will pay for this," screamed Santini. He looked to the corner of the office where a filing cabinet stood. He walked over to it and yanked open the top drawer from which he brought out a thick leather strap about a foot long. The boy had seen this before. He had been whipped with it for punishment on several other occasions and he knew that a man as big as Santini could do a lot of damage to his slight fourteen-year-old frame. He leaned against the desk and fumbled his hands behind him, searching for something that would help him. His hand fell upon something long and thin. It was cool to the touch, metal, pointed at the end. He knew this tool. It opened letters; he had seen the secretary using one while sitting outside the principal's office. His hands tightened around it. He could feel his heart race and the sweat start to form on his face.

  "I will show you who is in charge," Santini came towards him brandishing the strap. "Pull out your arm." The boy just stood there. "Pull out your arm boy! Or, by God, I will strike your face!"

  "No, I don't think I will." The boy felt his heart slow and a calmness seemed to flow over him.

  "You dare to defy me..." Santini reached for his arm and as he did this the boy saw his opportunity to strike. With the speed of a snake, he swept his arm out, letter opener gripped tightly in his hand and plunged it into the side of Santini's neck. He watched as the man's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. He made no sound, the boy must have pierced his larynx, there was only a groan that caused the blood gushing from his neck to sputter. The boy watched with a look of triumph on his face as Santini slowly dropped to his knees, dodging out of the way as the big man reached up for help.

  "You picked the wrong boy to play your tricks on. I will never be any man's slave." He bent down and wiped his bloodied hands on Santini's shirt. The big man's breathing was becoming more desperate and the boy knew he was dying. He had killed a man and felt nothing, well, maybe a slight feeling of delight crept through his insides. Now, he knew, he must leave. He had to get to his room and take whatever he could and flee the school. There was no way they'd ever believe that this was self defence. They would put him in jail and who knew what else. He had to get out of there fast before anyone discovered Santini's body.

  Yelping Pup lived on his own, travelling through cities and making his way back to the Black Hills where his people lived. He didn't know what he'd do when he got there but it was home and the only place he knew to go to. A destination that he could strive for. It took him months to find his way back home. Having no money and being a fugitive made his travels almost impossible. His picture had been posted everywhere and there were several people out searching for him. He lived on the edge of different towns, only venturing among the houses when his search for food in the forests left him empty handed. He would go in at night and rob the root cellars of canned goods and root vegetables. He lived on old potatoes and dirty beets but he lived.

  He learned how to survive in the woods, remembering everything his grandfather had taught him when he was a young boy. He made himself a bow and sharpened rocks to make the arrows. He had makeshift weapons and tools that he carried in a satchel he stole from the school when he left. He began to flourish in the wilds and in the spring he finally reached his people. He was looking forward to seeing his mother again and couldn’t wait to see the pride in his father's eyes when he told them what he had done to the white teacher.

  It was a warm day and Yelping Pup approached the settlement with caution. He noticed that the white man had left his mark on his home and it made him angry. He could see one trolling around right now. They came disguised as god men but he knew they were lying. He knew that this was how they made their way in and he knew that, once they were in, they would bring his people down. Soon there would be
no more Lakota. He saw how his people were changing already; slowly turning into a white man settlement. Sure there were tipis but there were also houses built with wood and nails. He watched as his mother came out of one of these houses and he silently cursed as he realised they, too, were falling into the white man ways. He watched his family from a distance knowing it would be unwise to make himself known in the light. Surely, the god man knew of his crime at the school and would try to capture him. So, he waited until dark.

  At midnight Yelping Pup snuck down to his family's house and looked through the window. He saw his grandmother asleep in a bed small enough to fit a baby and he felt his heart ache. There's no way his grandmother's old bones would be comfortable in a bed like that. If only his grandfather was still alive, he would have never allowed his wife to be treated like this. He moved around to the back of the house and came to a window that looked into his parent's bedroom. His father and mother were wrapped together in a bed not much bigger than the one his grandmother was in. He could see that they were asleep.

  He reached up and lightly tapped on the window. There was no need to scare them. His father was a light sleeper and heard the sound right away. He rose out of bed and searched the window for the source of the noise. His movement woke his mother and she, too, stood up to peer out the window. Yelping Pup stood to his full height and his parents saw him clearly through the glass. It was not the reunion he had hoped for. With anger on his face, his father opened the window and stared down at his son.

  "What are you doing here Yelping Pup?" There was no welcome in his voice.