"I…not," First Rider answered. Still holding her hand, he said, "Here, come. I…take you…good…sitting…place."
She nodded.
At last, gaining her agreement, First Rider helped her up onto the edge of the springs and, patting her hand, again grinned at her. He said, "No…talk…no…come…between. Watch…only."
Again she nodded.
And, seeing it, First Rider turned back toward the girl's father.
First Rider had already been praying to Sun, the Creator, to heal the man, having taken on the duty as a medicine man because the white man's daughter had begged him to save her father's life. But, now he needed to pray again and ask for the Creator's help.
And so, coming up to stand on a slight ledge at the shoreline of the springs, he took a puff of smoke from his pipe, then blew it up to the Creator, then down to the ground,and lastly, to the four directions of the world, asking for the Creator's help, begging Sun, the Creator, to have pity upon him, as well as upon the man, Henrik. Once First Rider's prayers were finished, he left his best eagle's feather there on the ledge as a sacrifice to the Creator.
Though he had only attained the age of twenty-and-three snows, First Rider had long been known to be a healer to his people. Even as a child he had possessed the "power."
It was said he had attained this healing touch from the Big People. He had been told by his mother and his almost-father, Chief Chases-the-enemy, about how, when only three winters in age, he had been taken by his Big-Person mother and had been in company with her for many moons before his almost-father and his birth mother had been able to rescue him.
Because the Big People—in particular, the women of this tribe—were sacred to the Creator, He had passed along the healing touch to the women of the Big People tribe. Long had the medicine men in First Rider's tribe recognized the Big People's power to heal. So, all the chiefs of his tribe, as well as the older medicine men, had assumed the Big Person, a female, had somehow bestowed some of her power upon First Rider, though he had been little more than a baby of three snows.
Although First Rider often spoke to his Big-Person mother in the mind-speak, he didn't recall how he had obtained the power of healing. He only knew it was he who, even as a child, had often been called upon by the medicine men to heal others when all else had failed. He had so far in his young life been successful, and thus had garnered him a good reputation as a medicine man. And, although he had the "gift" of being able to take objects from within a person's body, he rarely used the skill. It wasn't usually required of him to call it into practice. And, indeed, he wasn't certain exactly how he wasable to do it, except for the song…he knew the song given to him by his Big-Person mother was important.
But, now the man Henrik required First Rider to use this faculty tonight because the bullet was lodged into the man's breastbone, thus it was situated too close to his heart, and if not removed, the man would likely die.
Although First Rider made it a practice to not attend to an injured person while another looked on, this one time he would allow the girl to remain. Upon touching the white girl's hand, he had become convinced she not only would not interfere, but she would aid him in some way, though he was uncertain how she might bring this about.
And so he began. Beating his sacred drum, he sang the medicine song given to him in his long-ago past. He didn't remember too much more than the song which had come to him naturally upon his first attempt to heal another.
The song's rhythm was somewhat similar to the regular beat of other medicine men's songs, but the chant was particularly different and strange. The notes, though in rhythm, were misaligned, were high and then low, and even the words First Rider used he didn't understand, they being grunts and groans. He only knew that whatever they meant, they were sacred.
And so, he sang and he sang, always beating his drum. The song went on and on until, at last, he felt ready to try to remove the bullet, and he stopped his song. But, upon ceasing his singing, he heard the song still, and it was then when he realized someone else had been singing along with him, only at a higher pitch.
It was the girl.
Glancing up at her, he smiled, then waded to the shoreline where she sat. Facing her, he took up the rhythm again and beat his drum as his voice joined hers, amazed to hear the girlreciting the strange words, as well as the grunts and strange sounds of the song.
His attention was so caught up in the need to heal this man, he didn't stop to wonder how this young white girl knew these strange words well enough to sing them with him. He only considered how her voice, added to his, aided him in healing the man.
Then, without fanfare nor any warning at all, he felt his shadow, his very being, touch hers. There it was. For a moment set out of time, he understood her, and he knew she understood him. Indeed, he could see clearly how alike they were to each other.
He wondered if she knew she could be a healer.
At last, they both stopped their chanting, and they gazed at one another, neither acknowledging nor saying any words at all. And, had he the means to speak her language, he would have told her how precious her help was this night.
In her honor, he gave his drum and mallet to her, saying only, "Safe…keep…them…for me."
It was, indeed, an honor he was bestowing upon her, but he didn't know how to convey the meaning of what he'd said, and so he merely smiled at her.
When she nodded, he gave her another grin, then turned around and waded through the water back to the white man. He began his song once again, hearing her sacred echo of it, and then he placed his hand palm down over the injury but not touching it, and, using a circular and pulling motion, he sang and he sang to Sun, the Creator.
Because his eyes were closed, he didn't see how it happened; he only knew what had taken place because the object jumped suddenly up into his palm as though it were attracted there. Quickly, he placed his fingers around thebullet, and, in relief, he sighed. Then, bringing up his hand, he spread his palm open.
There it sat: the bullet. It was bloody and black, as would be expected, but it was now in his palm, not within the white man's body.
But, the wound was now openly bleeding, and, taking handfuls of the healing water, First Rider let the water take away the "evil spirit" of the bullet, as well as the "bad wishes" of the one who had shot the man, Henrik.
Turning slightly around, First Rider motioned to the girl to come forward. She did so, and as soon as she had come in close to him, he asked, "Strip…of…skin…deer. Need…now. You…can get?"
"I will try."
