Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine
The air hung crisp and still as the final tipi was erected in the Blackfeet winter camp, its canvas stretched taut against the coming cold. A sense of weary relief settled over the tribe; their long journey was complete, at least for a season. The sun, a fiery orb, dipped below the horizon, painting the western sky in hues of orange and deep violet, signaling the end of the day’s arduous travel. From the river that bordered the camp’s edge, women, their movements rhythmic and practiced, hauled water in skin bags, the lifeblood of the community. The men, their faces etched with the day’s efforts, gathered in small, quiet groups, exchanging stories and sharing the camaraderie of shared hardship. The sounds of children, their voices tinged with sleepiness, drifted through the air, mingling with the contented snuffles of well-fed dogs, their bellies full after the day’s hunt. The camp, a carefully constructed circle of lodges, represented not only shelter but also unity and protection against the harsh winter to come.
Lone Feather, a man known for his pensive nature, felt the weight of many thoughts pressing upon him. He drew his buffalo robe tighter around his shoulders, a shield against the evening chill, and walked away from the warmth and activity of the camp, heading northward into the gathering dusk. He was lost in contemplation, barely registering the ground beneath his feet, his mind a swirling vortex of memories and concerns. The welfare of his family, the success of the hunt, the health of the tribe – all these weighed heavily on his heart. As he continued his solitary journey, a faint murmur reached his ears, the unmistakable sound of human voices. He paused, his senses alert, and listened intently. The voices seemed to emanate from a stone lodge nestled close to the riverbank, an anomaly in the landscape of skin tipis. Curiosity piqued, he moved cautiously toward the sound, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth. A thin, blue wisp of smoke curled lazily from the top of the strange dwelling, betraying its occupancy.
Approaching the stone structure, Lone Feather was met by an unsettling sight. An old woman, her back bent double with age and her limbs twisted by some unknown affliction, emerged from the lodge’s entrance and fixed him with a piercing gaze. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line telling a silent story of hardship and survival. In a voice raspy with age, she addressed him, "Will you come into my lodge?" Her words were a greeting, but her eyes held a depth that made Lone Feather uneasy. He studied her for a moment, his silence a palpable thing. She repeated her invitation, her tone imploring. He realized that her speech was unfamiliar, belonging to a tribe he did not recognize. Through a series of gestures, she communicated her desire to offer him rest and shelter. Intrigued and perhaps a little wary, Lone Feather accepted her invitation and stepped inside the stone lodge. This marked the beginning of a fateful encounter, a central episode in the Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine.
The interior of the lodge was dimly lit by the flickering flames of a small fire. As Lone Feather’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed two massive grizzly bears crouched in the shadows at the back of the dwelling. Their presence was both intimidating and unsettling. The old woman, sensing his apprehension, made a series of gestures to assure him that the bears were docile and friendly. Lone Feather, trusting in her assurances, sat down near the entrance, his senses still on high alert. The old woman tended the fire, adding fresh wood to the flames, sending sparks dancing upwards toward the smoke hole in the ceiling, which was only partially open. The lodge was a stark contrast to the familiar tipis of his tribe, constructed of stone and earth, a permanent structure that spoke of a different way of life.
Through a series of signs, the old woman indicated that she would go outside to widen the smoke hole, allowing the fire to burn more freely. She exited the lodge, pulling the door covering closed behind her. Lone Feather sat in silence, his thoughts returning to the issues that plagued his mind, the firelight casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Time seemed to stretch and distort. Suddenly, the air within the lodge grew thick and acrid, the smoke stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. He looked up in alarm and saw that the smoke hole had been deliberately closed. Panic surged through him. He sprang to his feet and rushed toward the door, but found the covering firmly in place. Desperation fueling his actions, he ripped the covering aside and thrust his head outside, gasping for fresh air. In that instant, the old woman struck him with a heavy stone club, the blow landing with sickening force. His world dissolved into darkness. His tragic fate became a part of Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine.
Before his spirit began its journey to the Sand Hills, the land of the dead, Lone Feather witnessed the gruesome reality of his demise. He saw the old woman, her movements surprisingly swift and strong for her age, dismember his body with a large, sharp knife. The pieces were then placed into a large pot suspended over the fire. Soon, the contents were cooked, and the old woman and the two grizzly bears feasted on his flesh, their savage appetites sated. The bones, stripped clean, were tossed unceremoniously out of the lodge door, joining a macabre collection of similar remains scattered across the ground. The area surrounding the stone lodge was a graveyard of victims, a testament to the old woman’s cruelty and cunning. The Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine holds a cautionary tale.
Days turned into weeks, and one by one, members of the Blackfeet winter camp began to disappear without a trace. Fear and suspicion grew within the tribe, their sense of security shattered. As each person vanished, more bones joined the ghastly collection outside the stone lodge on the riverbank, stark white against the winter landscape. The old woman continued her reign of terror, preying on unsuspecting travelers and adding to her grisly collection of trophies. The tribe was gripped by fear, their traditional ways disrupted by the unseen threat that lurked in their midst. The disappearances remained a mystery, fueling speculation and anxiety within the camp.
As Cold Maker, the spirit of winter, brought the first snows to the Blackfeet winter camp, he passed by the Sand Hills, the final resting place of the departed. There, he encountered the spirits of Lone Feather and other Blackfeet, who recounted the horrifying details of their deaths at the hands of the old woman. Cold Maker listened intently, his anger growing with each gruesome detail. He learned how she lured them with false promises of hospitality, only to betray and devour them. The collective suffering of the spirits resonated within him, fueling a desire for justice and retribution. The story is a central theme in the Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine.
Upon reaching the Blackfeet camp, Cold Maker sought out Broken Bow, a young man known for his bravery and integrity, but burdened by poverty. Broken Bow lived a humble life, his days filled with the struggle for survival. He was a skilled hunter and a loyal member of the tribe, but lacked the resources to improve his circumstances. Cold Maker entered Broken Bow’s humble lodge, his presence causing a sudden drop in temperature. Broken Bow shivered, pulling his threadbare robe tighter around him. Despite his discomfort, he welcomed Cold Maker with respect and warmth, recognizing him as a powerful spirit. The two were close friends, bound by a mutual respect and understanding.
"Would you like to have a new robe?" Cold Maker asked, his voice a low rumble. Broken Bow’s eyes lit up at the prospect. "Yes," he replied, his voice filled with longing. A warm robe would provide much-needed protection against the harsh winter elements, improving his comfort and chances of survival. "Come with me," Cold Maker said. "You may kill two grizzly bears." Broken Bow’s heart sank. "My bow is broken," he said sadly. "I cannot." Without a functional bow, he had no means of hunting the powerful and dangerous grizzly bears. The prospect of acquiring new robes seemed to slip away.
"I will help you," Cold Maker assured him. "Bring only a knife." With renewed hope, Broken Bow agreed to accompany Cold Maker. Together, they left the lodges and headed north, toward the setting sun. The Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine narrates the story of their heroic deed. The sun, already hidden behind the nearby hills, cast long shadows across the snow-covered landscape. The air was crisp and still, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, but Broken Bow trusted in Cold Maker’s guidance and his own courage.
After traveling some distance, they heard the familiar sound of voices. They stopped and listened intently. Two bears were complaining that they were hungry and wanted meat. A woman’s voice, raspy and impatient, told them they must wait. The men recognized the voice as belonging to the old woman from the stone lodge. They saw the telltale wisp of blue smoke rising from the top of the dwelling and the scattering of whitening bones covering the ground. They knew they had found their quarry. They moved closer, their hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and determination.
Soon, the old woman emerged from the door, her face creased into a smile as she saw the two figures approaching. "Come in and rest," she said, her voice deceptively welcoming. Broken Bow did not understand her language, but Cold Maker, who possessed the ability to understand all tongues, translated. "We are cold," he said. "Will you let us sit by your fire?" The old woman’s smile widened. "You are welcome," she said. "Come in. Do not fear my bears. They are friendly. They will not harm you." The two friends entered the lodge, where a smoldering fire sent a feeble stream of smoke up to the partially open smoke hole. The Blackfeet Legends – Cold Maker’s Medicine highlights the cunning nature of the old woman. She put fresh wood on the fire and said, "I will open the smoke hole wider," and went out, dropping the door covering as she went.
The old woman then closed the smoke hole. The smoke began to fill the top of the lodge and settle lower and lower. Broken Bow was afraid, remembering the stories of those who had disappeared. "Give me your pipe," said Cold Maker. Broken Bow filled his pipe and handed it to him. He lighted it by a brand from the fire and sent great puffs of smoke curling upward. This smoke met the other smoke and stopped it. It could not descend any lower. Broken Bow saw the wonderful medicine of his friend. He was no longer afraid but wondered what Cold Maker would do next. The grizzly bears growled low, sensing the tension in the air.
The old woman outside called to them, "Friends, is it smoking in there now?" "Not a bit," replied Cold Maker. "We are very comfortable." She waited, growing impatient. They did not come out. She stood near the door, her stone club ready. She wondered what had gone wrong with her plans. The two friends were silent. She looked at the smoke hole, but it was closed securely. She lifted the door covering to see if the friends within had died. They sat perfectly still. She entered to look more closely, and as soon as she was fairly inside, Cold Maker and Broken Bow rushed out and dropped the door covering. Before she could move, they piled great heaps of stone in the doorway, trapping her inside. The bears growled, and she called for help, but her cries were in vain. Cold Maker and Broken Bow went on down the river, preparing for the next stage of their plan.
Then Cold Maker took from a little sack a few white eagle-down feathers. He blew them from him. At once, a fierce storm blew across the valley. The bitter cold froze the water, but only in this one place. It dammed the stream with fast-forming ice. The water rose higher and higher. It spread out over the banks. Cold Maker and Broken Bow watched it far off on the hills. Little by little, it rose. It reached the stone lodge. The bears roared. The woman screamed. The water reached the top and covered the lodge from sight. All sound ceased. A moment more, and the water was quiet. Once more, Cold Maker blew from him a few white eagle-down feathers. The storm subsided. It became warm again. The ice melted. The water retreated to its channel.
Cold Maker and Broken Bow went to the stone lodge. The woman was lying beside the pot. The grizzly bears were close to the stones which blocked the doorway. Cold Maker said, "Here is your new robe," and Broken Bow took their thick, warm skins from the bears. On his way home, Cold Maker again passed the Sand Hills. Entering the country was an old woman bent with age and crippled. He hurried on.