Brave Buffalo

Brave Buffalo

Long ago in an ancient time there lived a strong and brave hunter known as Brave Buffalo. All of the men of his tribe could shoot well with their bows and arrows, but Brave Buffalo was by far the best. When the hunters of the tribe would go out in search of game, Brave Buffalo would always bring back the largest deer or the plumpest buffalo. He was well respected and well honored in his tribe.

One winter’s morning, Brave Buffalo and the other hunters of his tribe went into the forest to hunt. The wind howled and sent tiny frozen snowflakes hurtling through the air, stinging the faces of the brave men. Still they continued with the task before them. As they climbed the snow-covered hills in search of game, the sky grew dark and threatened to blind them with its falling and whirling snow. Brave Buffalo was compassionate and felt pity for his fellow tribesmen. “Those who feel too cold or too weak to continue should return to the shelter of their homes,” he announced. “It would be a shame to lose any strong and fearless hunters when only a portion of us need go to fulfill the task.”

Nearly half of the hunters in Brave Buffalo’s party returned to their families, who were waiting for them by warm fires in their sandstone and adobe homes nestled almost invisibly among the cliffs and crags of the vertical canyon walls.

Brave Buffalo and the remaining hunters pressed on throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Climbing the steep hills and slopes of their canyon homeland was a difficult task in good weather, so the blinding snow and icy rock ledges made it very hazardous. As the day wore on, small groups of hunters would break off from the others to return to their shelters and their fires. “Perhaps you will find food as you return,” Brave Buffalo would encourage them hopefully.

As the sky darkened into late afternoon twilight, Brave Buffalo looked around and saw that he was alone; all of the others had returned to their homes and their families. Brave Buffalo, though, had no family. His life had been spent as a busy hunter and warrior, protecting the tribe and providing for it. He had never taken a wife, but he had never regretted his choices. He was well loved and respected among his people, and he returned that love and respect. He had a happy and satisfying life in the land his ancestors had loved; a land that he loved as well.

The sky was clearing and the moon was on the rise, but the wind still howled as it briskly swept the snow from the canyon floor, depositing it in thick drifts at the bases of trees and rocks. I would give my life to save my tribe from starvation over this scarce winter Brave Buffalo thought valiantly as he leaned wearily upon the handle of his spear. The wind picked up and swirled around him, tiny shards of ice and snow sparkling with a captured glint of moonlight as the silvery ball rose over the top of the canyon. Brave Buffalo’s fur cape was white with frost and snow as he pulled it tightly around himself, trying to ward off the frigid nighttime winds. All of the other hunters had long since returned safely to their homes, though they had found no animals for food during their trek. He was the only one still out in the cold, and no one would discover that he was missing until morning once again returned to the canyon.

Planting his spear in the snow, Brave Buffalo sat down on a large rock to rest. He and the others had gone all day without sighting a single animal. Surely there must still be some creatures roaming about in the canyon Brave Buffalo thought. The tribe has never gone hungry before.

Brave Buffalo sat on the rock, rubbing his hands together and blowing his hot breath into them to keep warm. Gradually sleep overtook him and he curled up beneath his fur cape. As he slept, the cold winds blew across him, enwrapping his body with swirls of glittering ice and snow. The great spirits of the forest had heard his innermost wish and set about bringing it to completion. Throughout the night, the eddying ice crystals enveloped him, safeguarding him beneath their thin transparent arms. In his dreams, Brave Buffalo watched each sparkling swirl draw closer. In each, he recognized the face of a fellow tribe member. He saw the elderly ones, revered for the wisdom of the natural world, the creases of whose ancient faces he had memorized during the time he had spent with them. He saw the other hunters and warriors, all those he had sent back to the warmth and safety of their homes so that they would not be lost to the tribe that needed them so. He saw the faces of the women: the wizened ones whose wrinkled hands brought new life into the world with the birth of each new infant; the weatherworn faces of the mothers looking after their children as they grew; and the fresh smooth faces of the younger women, alight with new love. He remembered all of the children: the young boys practicing with their bows and arrows to become the mighty hunters of tomorrow; the little girls as they lovingly cared for their twig and cornhusk dolls, learning the skills that would be needed by the mothers of the next generation. Each beloved face floated before him briefly until the wind moved it along. In parting, each gently kissed his brow or his cheek as it passed, making room for the appearance of the next.

As the first pink ray of sunlight tinged the crisp blanket of snow on the canyon floor, Brave Buffalo sighed out his final breath and the creature he had become breathed in its first lungful of the cold winter. The large white creature lay still for a moment, gulping in the cold morning air. Then his large black satiny eyes fluttered open and he clamored to stand up upon his four massive hooves, his hot breath snorting out of his nostrils in billowing puffs of steam as it vaporized in the frosty atmosphere.

There he stood, incredibly beautiful in form, and of immense size, perched upon the gently sloping rock where Brave Buffalo had rested. His hooves clattered as he took his first step upon the rock. The creature looked about, as if trying to get his bearings. A familiar glow filled his eyes as the wind whispered in his ears and the crystalline faces from his dream floated before him. At that moment, he knew what had to be done.

In a single graceful leap, the awesome white buffalo came down from the rock and began to pick his way through the snow with its underlying confusion of boulders and fissures, heading toward the homes of his tribe hidden among the cliffs. As he neared the dwellings of those he had loved, his eyes clouded for a moment at the thought of leaving them all behind. And yet, in that same moment, a sweet calmness filled him, for he knew that in leaving them he would be preserving them alive for another season.

Brave Buffalo, in his new form, drank in the sight of his beloved homeland once more. Then, as if desiring to fulfill his purpose, he bellowed in a great and echoing voice that roused all of the hunters from their beds. Each grabbed his bow and swiftly climbed the interior ladders to the village roof. There, looking out across the canyon floor they saw him: the white buffalo! Looking round among themselves they realized that their most valiant hunter was missing, never returned from the previous day’s trek. The group stood in frigid silence, wondering if their comrade had fallen prey to the clutches of the cold winter’s night. Suddenly the silence was broken!

“Thhhwwwaaa,” the swift arrow whispered as it left the bow of one of the hunters. The arrow flew swiftly through the frozen air and hit its target. The warm crimson fluid met the cold air in a steaming stream, staining the curly white mane of the magnificent white buffalo. For a moment the creature stood, staring at the village, the hunters, and the canyon. Silence once again reigned over the winter morn. Gulping in one last breath, the huge white buffalo dropped to his knees and his great bulk fell heavily to the side with an earthshaking thud. He was dead, his life spent in the preservation of his beloved people.

Brave Buffalo was never seen again. Those who went out in search of him that day were mystified. They found his spear stuck in the snow and they saw his footprints leading to the rock. The only footprints that left the rock, however, were those of the giant white buffalo that had been felled at the village that morning.

Brave Buffalo returns to his beloved village each winter though. The crystalline faces of those he loved still float on the winter’s wind, kissing him gently and thanking him for preserving their lives with the sacrifice of his own. And, should the need ever arise again, Brave Buffalo will be there, ready to make the sacrifice once more to insure the continuance of his beloved people. They will be forever cared for with Brave Buffalo watching over them.