Meweemor

The day came with a drizzling rain that left his spirit empty. It had been 24 moonrises since leaving the village to prove he was still vital to the people, not just another meweemor, eating, sleeping, and for little else than sitting around.

Nighttime could not come soon enough as he found a spot off the deer path next to a giant tree. Here Elk Heart built a small fire and wrapped himself in the deerskin that kept him warm and dry.

In the 24 days, he had hoped to rediscover his connection with the Great One. He had dreamed that this was what he was supposed to do, leave his people with nothing more than the deerskin and seek out that place where the Ancient Spirit led him and would speak into his heart.

So far, he had not found the spot, and nearing exhaustion and desiring to surrender himself to nature, he lay beside the small blaze, thinking of the Great One, before falling into a deep sleep.

That night and morning, his sleep became plagued by dreams of war and famine. The scenes left him turning and twisting until he was no longer near the fire, not glowing embers, but on the deer’s path.

Still asleep and terrorized by his dreams, Elk Heart failed to awaken when the first footfall of another man came to his ear. It was not until the man tripped over him, kicking him in the lower back before falling on his knees.

At first, Elk Heart arose angry, ready to fight his supposed attacker. But his mind soon changed when he finally focused on the man who had tripped over his sleeping body.

Astonished, Elk Heart could only speak one word, “Muencherh.” He repeated himself as he listened to the voice and unfamiliar words the man was saying.

The man was young, with brown hair and green eyes. His pale skin had a light fur covering, but his face was a thick hairy pile.

The man, wearing dirty and stained blue cloth britches, suddenly turned and walked down the path from where Elk Heart had traveled the night before. The man faded into the dark undergrowth and shadows of the forest.

Realizing his vision had arrived, Elk Heart restoked his fire, wrapped himself in this deerskin, and sat down to wait for the man to return. The sun was beginning to show between the trees by the time he decided he should be following the young man.

Rolling up the deerskin as he raced down the trail, Elk Heart hoped to find the man near the creek. But after searching up one side of the stream and the other, he could find no sign of his trail.

Disappointed but still excited, he wasted no time heading south to his village, where he could not wait to tell the people that he had seen a vision of a fabled “Muencherh.” A man whiter than the Lo’ogenew who had arrived years before in large dugout canoes set in motion by clouds, men Elk Heart had once seen as a child.

It would be another 53 full seasons before Elk Heart’s vision would come to pass, and he would long be dead by the time Jedediah Smith and party walked through the region in 1828.