Chapter One
Singing Cricket was growing weak. He was on his vision quest to earn a warrior's name. He could feel strength in the rocks he perched on. He was at the edge of the Black Hills. The rocks would later be called Mt. Rushmore by the white man. He could sense both wisdom and strength from his current location (Jefferson's brow) but he could not absorb any of this power.
His father Big Cricket had told him to seek out the advice of his grandfather Little Cricket for his warrior name quest. Little Cricket who had given him his name, Singing Cricket, told him to listen to the singing of the mountain crickets. This was the same song that Big Cricket always sang to him. The singing mountain would give him his new warrior name. Singing Cricket had been all over the mountains listening for the singing of the mountain crickets.
Big Cricket had warned his son, "The mountain cricket will be found in caves or in recessed ledge areas. They are meat eaters. They are not like other carnivorous scavenger species, which always eat the eyes first. The cave crickets eat the liver first, to gain strength." (The livers strength comes from body fluid debris it collects as it does its filtering job.)
The full moon was close. Singing Cricket was a friend of the moon, and could feel its power increasing. Singing Cricket had been on his name quest since the start of the last full moon. He had crawled all over the edge and face of the Rushmore Mountain and other mountains in the Black Hills. The bad part about his quest was that the crickets didn't sing until after dark. He had been spending lonely nights on high isolated mountain ledges. He decided to break his quest for the singing crickets. He would seek out the singing mountain in the commons meadow. He wanted a name that would strike fear into his enemy. The name "Cricket" was secure within his tribe as great warriors but it did not instill fear in the warriors of other tribes.
Singing Cricket egressed, guided by moon beam lit paths. He noticed a small glen that was lined with mountain flowers starting their nocturnal retreat. Singing Cricket was drawn to the flowers. He selected a handful. He didn't feel comfortable with flowers in his large hands; he tucked them within his medicine pouch. He tweaked the nipple end and it snapped shut.
It was a rough path. It was not used by humans, mountain goat droppings proven it was a high and treacherous path. Singing Cricket moved with the motion of a strong man. He was known for his large and strong hands, which he was using as much as his legs on this path.
Big Cricket had warned him of his inherited strength. He also told him of the strength of the legendary "Crow Killer" a towering white man who killed Crow Indians with his bare hands. He favored snapping their necks, by flat handing them in the forehead. The added attraction of this technique it tenderized the skin. He then scalped them with a technique that only he could do. He made a single cut across their brow with his knife then ripped their scalp off with a single jerk of his hand. This would tear a pennant shaped scalp from the skull. The Crow or anyone else always knew it was the Crow killer. (White people knew him as Liver Eating Johnson, or Jeremiah Johnson) His other kill feature was he rolled the body for a side slash and cut out the liver. He took one bite and threw the liver on the warrior he had killed.
Big Cricket was wise in the ways of the white man. Singing Cricket had asked him how the Crow Killer got his strength.
Big Cricket said, "I met the Crow Killer in the Black Hills. I was on my vision quest. He did not try to kill me because I'm not a Crow. He knew I was on a vision quest. We shared smoke and food. He told me his quest was to kill every Crow that he met. They had killed his wife and infant son. It was my suggestion that he eat the liver of each warrior. The liver is the strongest organ in the body. He would gain their strength."
Big Cricket said, "Crow killer told me that the warrior's in his family were all liver eaters. They came from the mountains surrounded by the far away North Sea of the Norsemen. They were called Scots or Highlanders and ate haggis. He told me that they mix food for a horse; (oats) add blood and liver for warrior food. They call this battle food, chuckies."
Singing Cricket had asked Big Cricket, "Was Crow Killer stronger then you?"
"Take your warrior quest to the mountain meadow that faces the falling Sun and greets the moon to answer this question. You will be following the path of the Crow Killer."
Singing Cricket had recently tested his strength against the Crow warriors. The first Crow that had crept up on him, he had stabbed through the stomach and up into the diaphragm and tickled his heart. His knife was obsidian secured with the sinew of a bull elk while still moist from the kill. The handle was Osage Orange.
Big Cricket had cautioned him, "If you hit the ribs, it will break the knife. Kill like the cricket; go through the stomach, it has no bones. Pierce the diaphragm, your enemy will not be able to move or yell. You can carry on a victory chant as they kill themselves."
Singing Cricket had asked the impaled Crow what his name has. The Crow answered in sigh language. He raised two fingers for, "Two words" then one finger for the, "first word" then two fingers again.
Singing Cricket had played this game before. He said, "Two."
The dying Crow with the first name of, "Two" made the symbol for, "sounds like" and started a rowing motion.
Signing Cricket said, "Crow" you are called, "Two Crow."
The rowing motion worked well, the knife moved into, "Two Crows" heart.
"Two Crow, good name. I'm Singing Cricket the liver eater. I will let you keep the scalps you earned. You will enter the hunting grounds with out your scalp and liver." The knife did not have a hilt; it stopped at the gripped handle. Two Crow lost the energy to fuel his eyes.
Singing Cricket sang a song to his manhood as he swiped the knife across Two Crows brow. He wiped off the slime blood in his hair. He forced several fingers under the brow skin and tried to do a lift and jerk as Two Crow faded to the ground. The blood flow made everything too slick. As Singing Cricket took his first bite of Two Crow's liver the other Crow attacked him with a lance.
Chapter two
Singing Cricket took his time with the second Crow. He broke his lance then started to choke him. The Crow tried with all his power to break Singing Crickets grip on his throat. Singing Cricket lowered the Crow warrior, to stop the jerking of his feet. "What is your name, Crow warrior? Speak to me with sign language before you die. You can keep your scalps and die as a warrior." Singing Cricket had noticed the many scalps lining his lance.
The Crow Warrior raised three fingers.
Singing Cricket said, "Three words."
The Crow shook his head, "No"
The Crow slowly moved the fingers on each side of his index finger to make little knees. He smiled as Singing Cricket recognized this symbol.
"'Fuck You,' "I thought that your name contained three words, not two. I will add the, 'two.' Your name must be, 'Fuck You Two.'"
Singing Cricket hands shifted, he heard a bone pop sound. "Fuck You Two" eyes rolled up and dimmed. Singing Cricket made a clean cut across his upper brow with his knife hand. He grabbed a hand full of hair and pulled hard. Nothing.
Singing Cricket finished chewing the liver of the first warrior. He grabbed the second warrior's hair, howled for strength, ripped and shaped the perfect pennant scalp.
"Fuck You Two" eyes were looking at his scalp in Singing Crickets hand. Singing Cricket did a fold and tuck securing the scalps. The fresh flesh would seal together as it dried. He wore both scalps from his waist line just below his liver.
The other distinctive apparel, from his Kickapoo tribesmen, was his elk skin moccasins. His father and grandfather would not wear deer skin moccasins. They had extra large feet. The first time deer skin gets wet it stretches and becomes useless. The technique to correct this is to get it wet and stretch it by pulling it over rounded posts. This produces a soft, supple but thin moccasin.
His were made of elk hide. His mother had selected the hide from around the legs of an elk. It is calloused and tough. It would not shrink when wet. She also promised it would make him fleet of foot to get to his enemies first. There were Indians taller then him, some Cheyenne and Lakota, but there were few that were stronger. Singing Cricket now knew how to focus his strength, none were stronger.
Singing Cricket began his search for the mountain meadow. It was not far. He spent the rest of the day resting, fortifying his strength with food prepared by his mother. It tasted awful, smelled awful. He could feel his strength starting to peek out. She packed him the haggis recipe that the Crow Killer had shared with his father. She formed it into balls and stuffed it into a bag made from the first stomach of an elk. (The first elk stomach sporran) He waited at the near side of the meadow for the moon to appear.
He knew this was the correct meadow. Big Cricket had described it perfectly from twenty years ago. He could sense that other great warriors had been here. This could be where the Crows were heading. He knew that Indian woman were on the other side preparing themselves for gene pool enrichment moon dances.
This meadow had been used by the Plains Indian tribes as a common meadow. The average warriors did not know of it. The women of the tribes passed this information down to the daughters of the strongest warriors. Legendary warriors of skill, wisdom and strength had all been conceived by tribal woman hand picked and sent here by the wise woman of their tribes.
The moon appeared. Singing Cricket smiled to the moon. He turned and showed his fresh Crow scalps to the moon. He detected a slight shift in the opposite edge of the meadows. He needed big medicine. He called to the moon with his best imitation of a mountain cricket. The moon did not answer. He tucked mountain flowers all over the front of his deerskin loins. He remembered the haggis he had eaten and added several flowers to his mouth. He worked the dry flowers around inside his mouth, spit out some liver filtered flower juice. He watched three Indian women move into the meadow.
He leaped toward the moon.
"I am Singing Cricket."
"I ask for a warrior's name."
"See me leap with the feet of an elk."
"See my hands that can pull a scalp."
Singing Cricket went into his version of a meadow moon dance. He leaped, he pranced. He charged the moon like a full antlered bull elk. He reared up like a mountain bear. Each movement took him closer to the three females. His path was littered with mountain flowers.
One of the females stepped toward him. "Do you bring us gifts great warrior Singing Cricket."
Singing Cricket did not know much about females. He had tried to poke a few captured women. They were tied over a log next to the river. He got in line, shook his manhood around imitating the other males. He couldn't see the wrap around woman's backside because of his youth. Then he was in front, he wished he had watched closer. He ran at her following his erect manhood, he grabbed himself, fired a greeting that made his knees weak. The other Indians laughed as he ran to the river. The small fish cleaned him and tended to his excretions. (This action created a variation of trout called the sperm trout) Every time he saw or smelled small fish he would feel a surge of excitement. He did not want to be called, Little Fish.
Big Cricket had told him the secret to "Cricket men's" success with the ladies.
"Singing Cricket, what I share with you is a family secret. My grandfather Two Cricket shared the secrets of women with me. Always agree with them, and then go hunting. Women think men are stupid, if things get tough, tell them you are stupid and go hunting. Don't screw their sister, she will tell everyone, and then you got to go hunting. Always remember they are controlled by the moon, that's when they do their hunting."
"I am Singing Cricket; I have shown my gifts to the moon."
"You must now show your gifts to Singing Mountain. Follow us to the mountain that sings."
