BUFFALO GIRL

She's doomed to wander the prairie forever.

     She wore a long woolen grey dress and black leather ankle boots. Her long hair was loose and the wind whipped it about her face. The moon was round and full overhead casting its shadowed light down upon the prairie. She had been walking this walk for so long she'd sometimes forget how it had ever started. The moon was always full and overhead. The stars were so bright and intense they filled up every inch of the dark canopy above. It was always slightly chilly and the long prairie grass always swayed in the breeze, the rustling sound very gentle and peaceful. Nothing ever changed except her memory which came and went on a whim.

     Prairie chickens called loudly as did the coyotes with their yapping. Sometimes the mournful cries of wolves filled the night. But what always caught her attention was the thundering of endless hooves pounding the earth. And it wasn't the sound of the pronghorn antelopes that raced about on the prairie. No, it was the monstrous buffalo whose numbers were endless. They stretched way beyond what the eyes could see.

     The night didn't keep the vast herd still. They stampeded night or day, it didn't matter to the buffalo. If anything set them off they were only too willing to stampede across the vast prairie.

And it was the plains Indians that always set them off. They'd gather for their buffalo hunts, several tribes at one time, sometimes enemy tribes would even make temporary peace to join together to hunt the buffalo. Certain marks and feathers on the arrows told whose buffalo it was that was lying dead in the long prairie grass after a hunt as the vultures, foxes and prairie wolves moved in on the carcasses littering the prairie to feast. Some Indians used rifles and it wasn't so clear cut then who had made which kill.

     All this her parents had explained to her as they crossed the prairie in their ox pulled covered wagon. The names of the territories they passed through didn't matter much to her. Kansas, Oklahoma, Montana, the Dakotas. None of it mattered. They were headed for the Oregon Territory. Getting there was all that mattered to her. Some in their group were headed for California where gold was to be had by anyone willing to do the hard work for it.
     Her family was interested in farming in the rich Willamette Valley. It was said that the soil was perfect for any sort of farming one wanted to do. The soil was richer than all the gold in California. She thought about this on the rare occasions that she remembered before as she walked on her unending walk on the prairie. It seemed so long ago and it seemed like just seconds ago all this had happened. The Oregon Territory, her soon to be home with the Pacific Ocean just a few miles beyond. Lewis and Clark had discovered the mighty Pacific Ocean when they'd come this way years ago.

     The buffalo were stampeding. Some screamed it was the Indians. They were using the buffalo to kill them. No oxen drawn covered wagons could stop them. Some claimed it was Indian sympathizers, like mountain men who had gone to live with the Indians and took squaws for their wives.

    She didn't really care. The sound of millions and millions of buffalo hooves pounding toward them where they were camped on the prairie for the night made her want to scream in unimaginable terror.

    Others were screaming. The men jumped to their feet, grabbed their rifles and stood just inside the ring of covered wagons waiting for the first buffalo to reach them. Dogs who were brought along on the trip were barking loudly and wouldn't stop. Could the men with their rifles kill all those buffalo heading toward them? She feared not. The horses were rearing and screaming in terror, fighting to break loose from their tethers. The oxen were straining to escape the onslaught of buffalo as well.

     She joined the screaming with the other children as they all came to realize what was happening. The men and women were shouting. She thought she could hear the terrifying whooping of Indians. The ground shook. It was all chaos now, screaming people and animals, dogs barking, whooping of Indians and the pounding and shaking of the earth as the buffalo drew ever closer to their camp.

     The horses broke loose and raced off into the dark. The oxen were breaking loose and soon broke free as well and joined the horses in the race into the dark night and away from the onslaught of the massive stampeding buffalo herd barreling down on the camp. The dogs stood their ground, barking and growling.

     Sobbing in terror she scrambled beneath one of the covered wagons. Several other children joined her there. Shouts, screams, rifle shots, the whoops of Indians and the sounds of the approaching buffalo stampede was all that she could hear now.

     Then the buffalo were there, crashing into the circle of covered wagons that was their nighttime camp on the prairie. Nothing stopped them. The men fired their rifles at the buffalo but there were just too many to do any good. There was no stopping them, their numbers were just too overwhelming. She could see their big curly haired heads swaying back and forth. Their broad shaggy haired shoulders filled her vision. Their snorts were loud, their tiny eyes seemed pure white and their pinkish noses dripped mucus.

     They crashed into the wagon she was hiding under. They stomped the child next to her, cutting his body into bleeding pieces. Sobbing she covered her head with her arms. The stink of buffalo filled the air. All the chaos became a dull roar in her ears. Then she felt the buffalo hoof cut into her back and she screamed in pain, another hoof then another cut her body into pieces. Her blood spilled. She screamed then her screams abruptly stopped. Everything stopped for her.

     She rose effortlessly up from her body. Indians were picking through the remains of the camp. It was a bright moonlit night. The Indians were laughing as they went from dead body to dead body shuffling through their clothes looking for trophies. These were people now dead who she knew. She saw one Indian scalping a man. She didn't want to see who he was and looked away. The bodies of the people she knew, these were the people she had been traveling to the Oregon Territory with. All dead now. She watched as one of the Indians peed on the body of one of the dead men that she knew. A kind man who had a wife and children he had been taking very good care of on this trip. She saw other Indians peeing on other dead bodies of people she knew. Even in the darkness she saw vultures and other predators circling, waiting for their chance to get to the feast. She hated the Indians.

     She started walking away from the carnage that once upon a time had been her life. She really hated the Indians. They had done all this, had killed all the people who had been in the same wagon train going west that she and her family had been on. Her father and mother had taught her not to hate anyone, not even the red man or the slave. She hated the red man now. One of the men the Indians had peed on had been her father's dead body. She really really hated the red man now. They killed, stole and desecrated the dead and walked away, laughing and happy, all of them in a really good mood after causing so much death. She hated the Indians, yes she did.

     She hated the Indians, she feared the buffalo and she walked the prairie, endlessly walking across the prairie on a never ending journey. Often times she would forget why and later she'd once again remember. The moon overhead was always full and round, the dark canopy was always filled with silver stars, the prairie grass was always swaying and rustling in a gentle peaceful way, the coyotes always yipped and often times the wolves would sing their mournful sounding songs. And she kept walking the prairie.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A sad and painful story. In war and violence. People do terrible things. I tell people. Hate and violence don't create peace. Just children with the same desire to revenge. No weakness in this powerful tale. A excellent story.
Coyote

[Black Cat Fever]

Hate has been with humankind since its beginning. Humans always find reasons to hate and there are always innocent victims as your very well written and engaging story points out. The child becomes a ghost because of the hate between two different peoples.

[Star Wolf]

A very tragic and chilling tale from the old west. Awesome job on this ghostly tale.

[Wolf's Dark Song]

Wow, impressive write. A very haunting and ghostly tale. I really ENJOYED your story!!!