Read The Canadian Civil War: Volume 3 - West to the Wall Page 14

  Chapter 14

  Planning

  The next several days were odd ones for me. I wandered around the village, sat in the gym to watch the dancing or to eat or talk with people, and then wandered back to Marc’s house to sleep, although that was getting more complicated as the number of people staying with him continued to grow. The new arrivals didn’t get furniture, but slept right on the floor.

  What was happening? We were waiting. Once a day a large group of Sioux would take snowmobiles down to the other village, but they would stop a couple hundred yards from the village, rifles ready. They would wait until Foster sent out one of his angry men to talk. But the dialogue was always the same – will the Sioux chiefs meet with Foster? No. Will you leave Sioux lands and go back to your homes? No.

  Meanwhile, a couple men had circled around to an area where they could view the village through field glasses. Each day they counted the snowmobiles outside the gym. For three days the number was the same. On the fourth day they saw a man load up his machine and go west. They did not see him come back. Maybe the rabble was breaking up.

  It was pretty clear the strategy chosen by the Sioux was to wait Foster out. It was a sound strategy, and one I endorsed given what I had seen of the thugs with Foster. But there was a distinct downside. Foster could not hole up in his gym forever, but the tribe could not wait forever either. People in that village wanted to get back to their homes. Kids wanted to be back in school; well, at least a few of the kids wanted to be back in school. Local food supplies were being stretched.

  But the biggest problem was the young men. Their blood was hot. Each night the dances got more aggressive, and now there were occasional fights as men bumped into each other, or “accidentally” knocked a spear or bow from someone’s hand. Each day when they loaded up their guns and took their snowmobiles to the other village they thought they might have a fight on their hands. They were prepared for the fight. They wanted the fight. Instead, they had talk. It would not be too long before one of them started the fight.

  The elders found distractions. One afternoon they had a shooting contest. A chicken was posted out at one hundred yards. With five feet of string to run with, and plenty of motivation to avoid the noise, the chicken eluded nearly twenty shooters before it went down in an explosion of feathers. There was lots of laughter at the misses, but also a lesson in hitting a moving target. Some of the loudest mouths came back quieter.

  Another afternoon was spent in an attack strategy session. The whole gym got to talk about how best to remove the angry men. Needless to say, the elders had long since determined a strategy, but they wanted the younger men to have their say and to feel they had participated in the decision. The real benefit of the session was to get agreement on first principles. It was quickly decided no attack would be made on the gym. That was community property and should not be damaged. Nor would firing take place from homes – the same reasoning applied. No one wanted to return to a home that had been shot up. So the outline of the plan became clear to all and accepted by all – get the angry men out into the open.

  Meanwhile, scouts reported two more angry men had left headed west. That took the number down to twenty, and more importantly, indicated a disintegrating morale. Life in the gym seemed disagreeable to these guys. Maybe, if just a little more time passed…

  But it was not to be. The next day one of the village houses went up in flames. It seemed to be timed so that when the Sioux arrived on their snowmobiles for their daily parley, they would see the smoke. They saw, and all hell nearly broke loose. What stopped a blood bath was half a dozen elders who sped ahead of the others and drew up in a line blocking the track into the town.

  “Stop.” They jumped off their machines and waved their arms at the charging men. “It’s a trap. It’s a trap.” I don’t know what was more impressive, the courage of the elders to get between the younger men and the burning house, or the discipline of the younger men. They stopped and they listened. No wonder the Sioux were so successful in battle. There was plenty of shouting, and all the rifles came out as if they would open fire, but they held fire and held the line.

  Time passed and then a snowmobile approached from the village. It was Henri, the local man. He was greeted by angry shouts in Sioux, none of which I needed to translate. It was clear from the sheer volume, this man had dropped to some deeper level of separation from the tribe. How he wasn’t shot on the spot was a miracle.

  What did he say? It was all in Sioux, but Marc gave me the gist of it – the fire was an accident. If you leave a house empty, accidents happen. Who knew how such a thing could happen, but then it might happen to another house tomorrow. Foster would like to meet with the elders. He was personally sorry that the house had burned, and while he had nothing to do with it, he would give the family lots of money to build a new home. When could Foster meet with the elders?

  The answer? It was roughly, we will speak of this tomorrow, but if another house has an accident tomorrow, no one will leave the gym alive. And that ended it. The elders directed the young men back up the river, following slowly to ensure that none of them doubled back to start a fight. It must have taken incredible will power for all of them – young and old – but they managed.

  Once back in the village, some of the discipline broke down, and I saw two of the younger men yelling at an elder. Others seemed upset as well. There were random shouts, insults hurled toward the other village, men raising their rifles as if ready to shoot into the air. You hear a situation called a “powder keg.” Well, I was seeing one for real.

  And then it was over. What happened? I am not sure. Mr. DeMille walked to the top of the school entrance stairs, said two words, and suddenly the street was silent. A minute later they were all following him into the school, not one person saying a word. I followed along, not knowing what was going on.

  What I saw in the gym was all the men lining up on one side. A dozen or so elders stood opposite them. Each of the elders did some talking, and one of the elders walked down the row of men and touched each head with a group of feathers. Then DeMille spoke for a few minutes and the ceremony seemed to be over. Or at least I thought it was, but then the drumming began and the men started dancing. Somehow the dancing seemed different than it had in past nights. They still had weapons with them, but they gestured less I think. Somehow it was different. The one obvious change was the women. They stood and sang while the men danced.

  I stood and watched and eventually Marc found me.

  “You can stay and watch, but keep your distance. Many of these men will go into a kind of trance.”

  “Why are they doing this?”

  “The chiefs told them many things. The enemy has no honor, but our men showed honor and discipline today. Each praised the warriors from his village. And then DeMille said the words of the warrior. ‘Dance tonight, fast tonight, tomorrow you will kill your enemy.’ That is the plan.” With that he left me and joined the dance. I watched for a while, and then I went back to his house. I did not eat that night either.