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The Trial Path · Native American Stories by Zitkala-Sa

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  Speaker 1: Section six of American Indian Stories. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. American
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  Speaker 1: Indian Stories by Zitkalashah The Trial Path. It was an
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  Speaker 1: autumn night on the plain. The smoke lapels of the
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  Speaker 1: cone ship tippe flattened gently in the breeze. From the
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  Speaker 1: low night sky with its myriad fire points. A large
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  Speaker 1: bright star peeped in at the smokehole of the wigwam
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  Speaker 1: between its fluttering lapels. Then upon two Dakota stalking in
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  Speaker 1: the dark the mellow stream from the star above. A
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  Speaker 1: maid of twenty summers on a bit of sweet grass,
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  Speaker 1: drank in with her wakeful eyes on the opposite side
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  Speaker 1: of the tippe, beyond the center fireplace. The grandmother spread
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  Speaker 1: her rug. Though once she had lain down, the telling
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  Speaker 1: of a story has aroused her to a sitting post.
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  Speaker 1: Her eyes are tight closed with a thin palm, she
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  Speaker 1: strokes her windshorn hair. Yes, my grandchild, the legend says,
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  Speaker 1: The large bright stars are wild warriors, and the small
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  Speaker 1: dim ones are handsome young braves. She reiterates in a high,
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  Speaker 1: tremulous voice. Then this one, peeping in at the smoke hole,
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  Speaker 1: yonder is my dear old grandfather, muses the young woman
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  Speaker 1: in long, drawn out words. Her soft, rich voice floats
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  Speaker 1: through the darkness within the tippe with the cold hashes
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  Speaker 1: heaped on the center fire, and passes into the ear
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  Speaker 1: of the toothless old woman, who sits dumb in silent reverie.
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  Speaker 1: Thence it flies on swifter wing over many winter snows,
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  Speaker 1: till at last it cleaves the warm light atmosphere of
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  Speaker 1: her grandfather's youth. From there, her grandmother made answer, Listen,
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  Speaker 1: I am young again. It is the day of your
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  Speaker 1: grandfather's death. The elder one, I mean, For there were
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  Speaker 1: two of them. They were like twins, but they were
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  Speaker 1: not brothers. They were friends, inseparable. All things good and
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  Speaker 1: mad they shared together, save one which made them mad.
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  Speaker 1: In that Edith Frenzy, the younger man slew his most
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  Speaker 1: intimate friend. He killed his elder brother. For long had
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  Speaker 1: their affection made them kin? The voice of the old
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  Speaker 1: woman broke, swaying her stooped shoulders to and fro. As
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  Speaker 1: she sat upon her feet, she muttered vain exclamations beneath
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  Speaker 1: her breath, her eyes close tight against the knight, beheld
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  Speaker 1: behind them the light of bygone days. They saw again
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  Speaker 1: a rolling black cloud spread itself over the land. Her
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  Speaker 1: ear heard the deep rumbling of a tempest in the west.
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  Speaker 1: She bent low a cowering head, while angry thunderbirds shrieked
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  Speaker 1: across the sky. Hey yah ah, hey ah no no,
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  Speaker 1: groaned the toothless grandmother at the fury she had awakened.
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  Speaker 1: But the glorious peace afterward, when yellow sunshine made the
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  Speaker 1: people glad. Now learned her memory. Onward through the storm.
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  Speaker 1: How fast, how loud my heart beats as I listened
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  Speaker 1: to the messenger's horrible tale. She ejaculates from the fresh
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  Speaker 1: grave of the murdered man. He hurried to our wigwam,
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  Speaker 1: deliberately crossing his bare shints. He sat down unbidden beside
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  Speaker 1: my father, smoking a long stemmed pipe. He had scarce
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  Speaker 1: got his breath when panting he began. He was an
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  Speaker 1: only son and a much adored brother. With wild, suspecting eyes,
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  Speaker 1: he glanced at me as if I were in league
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  Speaker 1: with the man killer. Mile lower my father, exhaling sweet
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  Speaker 1: scented smoke, assented. How then, interrupting the aea on the
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  Speaker 1: lips of the round eyed tail bearer, he asked, my friend,
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  Speaker 1: will you smoke? He took the pipe by its red
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  Speaker 1: stone bowl and pointed the long, slender stem toward the men. Yes, yes,
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  Speaker 1: my friend replied he and reached out a long brown
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  Speaker 1: arm for many heart throbs. He puffed out the blue smoke,
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  Speaker 1: which hung like a cloud between us. But even through
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  Speaker 1: the smoke mist I saw his sharp black eyes glittering
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  Speaker 1: toward me. I long to ask what doom awaited the
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  Speaker 1: young murderer, But dare not open my lips lest I
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  Speaker 1: burst forth into screams. Instead, my father plied the question.
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  Speaker 1: Returning the pipe, the man replied, Oh, the chieftain and
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  Speaker 1: his chosen men have had counsel together. They have agreed
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  Speaker 1: it is not safe to allow men killer blues in
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  Speaker 1: our midst. He who kills one of our tribe is
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  Speaker 1: an enemy and must suffer the fate of a foe.
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  Speaker 1: My temples like a pair of hearts. While I listened,
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  Speaker 1: a crier passed by my father's step, mounted and swaying
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  Speaker 1: with his pony's steps. He proclaimed, in a loud voice,
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  Speaker 1: these words, ha, I hear them now ho po give
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  Speaker 1: year all your people. A terrible deed is done. Two friends,
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  Speaker 1: ay brothers in art, have quarreled together. Now one lies
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  Speaker 1: buried on the hill, while the other sits a dreaded
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  Speaker 1: man killer within his dwelling, says our chieftain. He who
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  Speaker 1: kills one of our tribe commits the offense of an enemy.
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  Speaker 1: As such, he must be tried. Let the father of
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  Speaker 1: the dead man choose the mode of torture or taking
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  Speaker 1: of life. He has suffered livid pain, and he alone
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  Speaker 1: can judge how great the punishment must be to avenge
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  Speaker 1: his wrong. It is done. Come every one to witness
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  Speaker 1: the judgment of a father upon him was wants his
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  Speaker 1: son's best friend. A wild pony is now lassoed. The
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  Speaker 1: man killer must mount and ride the rantin beast. Stand
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  Speaker 1: you all into parallel lines, from the center tip of
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  Speaker 1: the bereaved family to the wigwam opposite in the great
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  Speaker 1: tabler ring between you in the white space is the
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  Speaker 1: given trial way from the ager circle. The rider must
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  Speaker 1: mount and guide his pony towards the center tipp. If
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  Speaker 1: having gone the entire distance, the man killer gains the
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  Speaker 1: center tipper, still sitting on the pony's back. His life
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  Speaker 1: is spared and pardon given. But should he fall, then
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  Speaker 1: he himself has chosen death. The crier's words now sees
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  Speaker 1: a lull holds the village breathless. Then hurrying feet stare along,
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  Speaker 1: swish swish through the tall grass. Sobbing women hasten towards
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  Speaker 1: the trialway. The muffle grown over the round campground is unmarrable.
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  Speaker 1: With my face hid in the folds of my blanket,
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  Speaker 1: I run with the crowd toward the open place in
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  Speaker 1: the other circle of our village. In a moment, the
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  Speaker 1: too long files of some faced people mark the path
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  Speaker 1: of the public trial. Ah. I see strong men trying
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  Speaker 1: to lead the last ot pony, pitching and reading with
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  Speaker 1: white foam flying from his mouth. I chok with pain
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  Speaker 1: as I recognize my handsome lover, desolately alone, striding with
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  Speaker 1: set face toward the last ot pony. Do not fall,
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  Speaker 1: choose life and me. I cry in my breast, but
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  Speaker 1: over my lips I hold my thick blanket. In an instant,
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  Speaker 1: he has sleepless stride the frightened beast, and the men
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  Speaker 1: have let go their hold Like an arrow sprung from
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  Speaker 1: a strong bow. The pony with extended nostrils, plunges half
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  Speaker 1: way to the center tippe with all his might. The
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  Speaker 1: rider draws the strong rinds in. The pony halts with
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  Speaker 1: wooden legs. The rider is thrown forward by force, but
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  Speaker 1: does not fall. Now the madden creature pitches with flying heels.
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  Speaker 1: The line of men and women sways upward. Now it
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  Speaker 1: is back in place, safe from the kicking's nooridden thing
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  Speaker 1: the ponies fierce with its large black eyes bulging out
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  Speaker 1: of their sockets. With humped back and nose to the ground,
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  Speaker 1: it leaps into the air. I shut my eyes, I
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  Speaker 1: cannot see him fall. A loud shout goes up from
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  Speaker 1: the hoarse throats of men and women. I look so
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  Speaker 1: the wild horse is conquered. My lover dismounts at the
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  Speaker 1: doorway of the center Wigwam. The pony, wet with sweat
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  Speaker 1: and shaking with exhaustion, stands like a guilty dog at
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  Speaker 1: its master's side. Here at the entrance way of the
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  Speaker 1: tippe sit the bereaved father, mother, and sister. The old
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  Speaker 1: warrior father rises, stepping forward two long strides. He grasps
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  Speaker 1: the hand of the murder of his only son, holding
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  Speaker 1: it so the people can see. He cries with compassionate voice,
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  Speaker 1: my son. A murmur of surprise sweeps like a puff
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  Speaker 1: of sullen wind along the lines. The mother, with swollen eyes,
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  Speaker 1: with her hair cut square with her shoulders, now rises
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  Speaker 1: hurrying to the young man. She takes his right hand,
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  Speaker 1: my son. She greets him, but on the second word,
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  Speaker 1: her voice shook, and she turns away in sobs. The
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  Speaker 1: young people rivet their eyes upon the young woman. She
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  Speaker 1: does not stir with a bowed head. She sits motionless.
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  Speaker 1: The old warrior speaks to her, shake hands with the
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  Speaker 1: young brave, My little daughter, he was your brother's friend
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  Speaker 1: for many years. Now he must be both friend and
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  Speaker 1: brother to you. Hereupon, the girl rises, slowly, reaching out
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  Speaker 1: her slender hand, she cries, with which lips my brother.
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  Speaker 1: The trial ends, grandmother exploded the girl on the bed
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  Speaker 1: of sweet grass. Is this true, Tush answered the grandmother
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  Speaker 1: with a warm, thinner voice. It is all true. During
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  Speaker 1: the fifteen winners of our wedded life, many ponies passed
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  Speaker 1: from our hands, but this little winner, o Hieza, was
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  Speaker 1: a constant member of our family. At length, on that
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  Speaker 1: sad day, your grandfather died. Oh Hieza was killed at
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  Speaker 1: the grave. Though the various groups of stars which move
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  Speaker 1: across the sky marking the passing of time, told how
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  Speaker 1: the night was in its zenith. The old Dakota woman
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  Speaker 1: ventured an explanation of the burial ceremony. My grandchild, I
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  Speaker 1: have scarce ever breathed the sacred knowledge in my heart
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  Speaker 1: to night I must tell you one of them. Surely
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  Speaker 1: you are old enough to understand our wise man is
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  Speaker 1: and men said that it dwell to hasten Hoyeza after
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  Speaker 1: his master. Perchance on the journey along the ghost path,
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  Speaker 1: your grandfather will weary and in his heart wish for
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  Speaker 1: his pony. The creature, already bound on a spirit rail,
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  Speaker 1: will be drawn by the soul. Wish together Master and
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  Speaker 1: beast will enter the next campground. The woman seized her talking,
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  Speaker 1: but only the deep breathing of the girl broke the quiet.
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  Speaker 1: For now the night wind hallull itself to sleep. Hinna,
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  Speaker 1: hinna asleep. I have been talking in the dark and hurt.
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  Speaker 1: I did wish the girl would plant in her heart
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  Speaker 1: to this secret tale, muttered she in a querulous voice,
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  Speaker 1: nestling into her bed of sweet sand of grass, she
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  Speaker 1: dozed the way into another dream. Still, the Guardian star
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  Speaker 1: in the night sky beams compassionately down upon the little
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  Speaker 1: Tepe on the plain end of section six,