“You must ambush the enemy on their way to your village,” he said, his black eyes blinking. “You must catch them by surprise.” “Where shall we wait to ambush them?” asked the chief, thankful for Raven’s help. THE GREAT DEATH BEGAN on a cloudless fall day. Geese flying overhead on their long journey south called down to the People, telling them farewell. Others, resting on a far shoreline, turned into the wind, clambered into the sky, and joined their cousins. Several days after the strange men left the village, the chief awoke with small red spots all over his body. Since there was no shaman in the village, some of the old women rubbed bear grease and ash on his skin and gave him weak tea made from the leaf of a local plant to drink. The men readied a steam bath hot enough to drive out the sickness. One of his sons even made him a pot of bear-heart soup, a traditional remedy to bolster courage and vigor. Two days later, some of the other men had the spots, then their children and their wives.
