The Warriors by Bill Pronzini & martin H. Greenberg (eds.)

Author:Bill Pronzini & martin H. Greenberg (eds.) [Pronzini, Bill & Greenberg, martin H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western Fiction
Publisher: Fawcett Gold Medal
Published: 1985-09-02T23:00:00+00:00

The fire in the chiefs lodge burned low. There was silence when Longbow finished his tale and the urging of his plea. Here and there an old head nodded. The chiefs son sang a tale so that it lived before one’s eyes. He pleaded a counsel with the tongue of the wise. But the thing he urged. Ai! It was against the old laws. It stung the old pride. Was that the road to wisdom?

The young men held their tongues, but their eyes were hot. The old men had fought in their time. Were they children—women, even—that they could not fight now in their own time? The low embers of the fire snapped to themselves, and all heads turned toward the thin, straight-backed figure of the old chief. Each man believed himself wise, but the old man was the wisest of them all.

Longbow watched his father’s face with the others. At length the chief spoke.

“We have heard,” he said to Longbow. “You tell what you have seen and heard in a straight way. You were brave in injury, cautious in danger. You risked your life for your people and dealt honorably with the foreign woman. These are the marks of a man. But they do not make you wise. Only the years do that.”

The old man paused and looked about the council.

“I have seen many years, many times. I have seen great days, listened long to wise men. But after all this, I know but little. We have lived long here. We have fought enemies and endured hardships and fathered children and hunted beyond any memory. But we have not grown fat, nor are there as many lodges among us as there were in the old times. Not as many children. Not as many warriors. Our pony herds grow smaller, and there is one buffalo where once there were ten.

“I think then that the old ways are not the best. I think the bravest man is not always the first in battle. I think there is courage in galling honor with the sting of running when the enemy cries fight. I think there is strength in the patience to wait when the blood is hot for revenge. It is easy to ciy war. Only the strong can cry peace.”

The old man rose stiffly to his feet. He faced Longbow and placed his hands upon his shoulders.

“My son, I cannot weigh your counsel, but we have taken mine long enough. I only know one thing. We win no victory if we grow less every season. Speak. Your words are mine.”

In his turn, Longbow looked about the council. He saw some who would stand against him, now and at later times. He saw some who believed him a fool. But they were his own kind. They were not the enemy he feared. He could deal with them. And time would make even that easier. More wagon men would come. He understood that. But in time they also would grow wiser. In time there would be more among them like the woman whose eyes had told him so much and so little.

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