Lucia was grateful to William Buckhorn. He had spoken in English, undoubtedly for her benefit, not for that of his companion.
She had heard of the Ghost Shirts, whose wearers could not be slain, of the Ghost Dancing, where men and women danced with Crazy Horse and Red Cloud, but they had been dead for many years.
“I’m glad you’ve come to school,” said Lucia. “I have heard much about you, and your very brave father, of course.”
Winona translated this quickly for Drum.
The smallest sign of displeasure passed over Drum’s young, handsome, very cruel face.
Then, looking past Lucia, to the board, Drum saw Running Horse’s circle, that line of chalk that had enclosed his name with that of Winona.
Drum looked at Winona sharply, but she shook her head in denial, her eyes wide, and then he looked at Running Horse, who dropped his head and stared at the planks of the floor.
Drum’s hand slipped the long-handled hatchet from his belt and swung it far behind his shoulder and with a swift, free overhand motion, hurled the hatchet toward the board.
Lucia screamed as the steelish blue blur and the whirling white handle flew past her, striking the board, shattering it and sinking deep into the wall behind it.
It had split apart the name signs of Running Horse and Winona.
In an instant Drum had retrieved the hatchet.
He seized terrified Lucia by the arm and threw her violently to the side of the room.
Lucia struck the wall with considerable force, and before, stunned, she could turn, she became aware that Drum, hatchet in hand, had followed her, and was standing behind her. Not turning, terrified, unaccountably she felt her knees giving way and she half knelt, half crouched against the wall, shrinking against it, and when she turned her head she saw Drum’s hatchet lifted. Whimpering, Lucia fell to her knees and covered her head with her hands. She suddenly felt as though the top of her head were torn away as Drum’s hand reached into her long blond hair and yanked her head savagely up and twisted it so that the pupils might see fear on her face.
“Teacher,” said Drum, using the English word. “Teacher!”
Drum released her, and Lucia, unable to move, knelt against the wall, leaning against it, shrinking against it, her hands before her mouth.
Drum looked down on her and she shivered.
Drum laughed and turned away.
Lucia did not try to rise. She did not know if the young Indian would have permitted it. She did not feel that she could stand if she had wanted. She knew only that she was afraid, terribly afraid.
Drum was speaking to the class, swiftly, harshly in the Hunkpapa Sioux that sounded so guttural to her ears. His eyes shone and his hands moved rapidly. He had forgotten her.
As Drum spoke, the eyes of the pupils became wide and his words were greeted with grunts of astonishment, gasps. And as he spoke, one after another of the boys left the schoolroom. Lucia could see them through the open door, running across the prairie toward various settlement districts and camps.
When Drum had finished speaking only Lucia, Winona and Joseph Running Horse were left in the room.
Drum now turned and looked again at Lucia.
Lucia’s eyes met his, briefly, before she dropped her head, unable to meet his gaze, daring only to stare at the boards on which she knelt.
Never before had a man so looked upon her.
She shuddered, involuntarily, her entire body trembling under the cotton dress.
This pleased Drum.
He had looked upon her as he might have looked on a horse he might someday own, looked upon her as though he might remember her at some more auspicious hour.
Then Drum strode to the door. He paused in the threshold for an instant and wheeled to face Joseph Running Horse. “Short Hair,” he said in Sioux. Joseph Running Horse did not look up, but the muscles of his face tightened like twisted cable about the bone of his jaws.
Winona pattered after Drum in her bare feet, to hold the nose rope of his pony.
Lucia numbly heard the sudden sound of pony hoofs, rapid, diminishing.
Joseph Running Horse went to the door and looked out, after Drum.
Then he turned and slowly, his leather work-shoes heavy on the planks went to Lucia’s side, and extended his hand, helping her to her feet.
Lucia arose and smoothed her dress, and with her two hands thrust the hair that had fallen across her face behind her head.
“Thank you, Joseph,” she ‘said.
“You are welcome,” said Joseph Running Horse.
Lucia went to the open door of the empty school and looked out across the prairie, the brown prairie.
There was no sign of Drum, nor of Winona.
“What did he say to them?” asked Lucia.
“Much,” said Joseph Running Horse, “and many things not good for you to hear-but most he came to tell us that the dancing will begin at dusk, on the banks of the river, in the camp of Sitting Bull.”
“The Ghost Dance,” said Lucia.
“Yes,” said Joseph Running Horse.
Lucia looked out again across the prairie. “What else did he say?” she asked.
But Joseph Running Horse did not answer her.
Lucia turned to him. “Please, Joseph,” she begged.
Joseph Running Horse suddenly looked at her. “You do not like Standing Rock,” he said. “You do not like us.”
Lucia was startled.
“You go away,” he said. “You come from Saint Louis-you go back.”
“I-I do like you,” Lucia faltered.
Running Horse looked at her for a long time. Then he said, “It is better you go away-there is going to be trouble-much trouble here.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lucia. She shook her head. The Indians were tamed now, broken, civilized. She had seen them, the old men in their cotton shirts, the squaws in calico. The wooden cabins, the chickens, the cattle. The Indians had been educated to the plow, taught to drive mules, just like white farmers. Keep the Sioux off horseback, she had heard, keep the devils off horseback.
“They say,” said Joseph Running Horse, not looking at her, “that the buffalo are coming back.”
“You surely don’t believe that?” said Lucia.
“I do not know,” said Joseph Running Horse. “I do not know what to believe.”
“When do they say the buffalo are coming back?” asked Lucia.
“In the spring,” said Joseph Running Horse, turning to face her, “-when the white people are dead.”
Lucia said nothing. She felt empty and sick.
Joseph Running Horse stepped outside the school building, but he did not put on his hat.
He dropped it into the dust, and turned to leave.
“Joseph,” called Lucia, “where are you going?”
The young Indian turned to face her. “To grow my hair,” said Joseph Running Horse.
“No,” said Lucia. “Tell me!”
“I am going to seek a vision,” he said. “I must dance.”
“Not you,” said Lucia, “not the Ghost Dance.”
“No,” said Running Horse, “not the Ghost Dance.”
Lucia looked puzzled.
“An old dance,” said Joseph Running Horse, “a dance they do not dance any longer.”
Lucia stood in the doorway of the school, not understanding Joseph Running Horse, who no longer seemed a boy to her.
“I must learn the truth,” said Joseph Running Horse.
“What truth?” asked Lucia.
“About the buffalo, about the Hunkpapa-about Joseph Running Horse,” he said.
Lucia said nothing.
“I will dance,” said Joseph Running Horse, “until I know the truth.”
Then he was gone.
Lucia stepped from the school, and called after him, but only the wind answered her.