Cries from the Earth by Terry C. Johnston Page B

terrified cries of the women, the bawling of the cattle and the screeching horses.
    By the time Ollokot’s warriors had the last of the great Wallowa herd on the north side of the Snake, the most liberal accounting confirmed they had lost nearly a third of those ponies they had forced into the river earlier that morning. No more than half their cattle had survived the deadly crossing.
    â€œBut we have the rest.” Joseph did his best to cheer the people. “And we have our families!”
    â€œJoseph is right!” Ollokot had rejoiced as many grumbled sourly. “Look around you and see—not one of us is lost!”
    Cold and soaked, their souls troubled by the terrible losses they had just suffered, dogged for years by the insatiable greed of the white man, and constantly reminded of the impatience of Cut-Off Arm’s soldiers, the Wallowa people limped up the steep, ages-old trail that took them to the plateau. Despite how the Snake had swallowed up all those horses and cattle, the Wallowa band pushed on, descending to the rain-swollen Salmon, where they made a second, less-costly crossing near the mouth of Rock Creek. Not far beyond, just beyond the cleft of Rocky Canyon, lay the small lake at Tepahlewam, meaning “Deep Cuts” or “Split Rocks,” 6 a sacred, traditional gathering site where the chiefs had agreed to rendezvous for their last few days of freedom. White Bird was already there. Huishuish Kute and some other minor chiefs too. Toohoolhoolzote’s people came in about the time Joseph’s band arrived. 7
    Of these Non-Treaty peoples, only Looking Glass’s band of forty warriors did not come to enjoy this last celebration of freedom, for they were already camped at Kamiah, well within the southern reservation boundary.
    Here at Tepahlewam, Joseph’s people and the rest would celebrate life as they had known it for generations beyond count, far back to that long-ago time before the first white faces came among them—a small band of Shadows on their way to the western ocean and back again. It was here near the lake 8 at the southern edge of those rich camas meadows where the women gathered the kouse and camas roots that—when steamed, mashed, and dried—would provide much of their food through the coming winter. As far as the eye could see, the meadows extended toward the far buttes and mountains in all directions, a veritable ocean of blue flowers waving beneath the warm summer breeze.
    Even some members of the Treaty bands showed up to spend these last few days, too, eager to listen in on the Dreamers’ creation tales, as well as some war stories from the buffalo country. Perhaps even to travel over the White Bird Divide to visit those traditional burial grounds near White Bird Hill where they could pay their respects. So beloved was this ancient gathering ground, that for generations the Nee-Me-Poo had reminisced during this time of melting snows:
    â€œMy son was born here.”
    â€œOur daughter was married beside these waters.”
    â€œMy brother’s son killed his first deer in that patch of timber over there.”
    Bone dice rattled in horn cups and wagers were placed on who might have the fastest horse. Yes, here at Tepahlewam the young people courted and coupled, old men recounted their war exploits against the Lakota and the Blackfoot, and women gave birth to children who would soon be living in a new world.
    Women like his wife, Driven Before a Cold Storm—the one called Ta-ma-al-we-non-my —so heavy with child and ready to deliver any day now as their people rested here among the hills and meadows around the lake. As she grew more and more uncomfortable, exclaiming that her time was near, Joseph set up a small lodge for her away from the circle, by tradition raising it in a secluded spot.
    That night after they returned from their deer hunt, Joseph and Ollokot found the chiefs and headmen of the various bands