rapid movement might arouse a warrior. Bent Arrow had to hold back his
own impatience. By the time that he had worked his horse out of the
herd, he was about halfway up the hill out of the valley. Here the
shadows were dark, and there was small danger of being seen even if a
Sioux warrior chanced to waken. A few steps and he would be across the
hill and completely out of sight of the Sioux camp. The horse suddenly
swung its head, jerking the rope tight. Desperately Bent Arrow held on.
The next moment the horse stepped quietly ahead.
As Bent Arrow crossed the top of the hill, he felt moisture against his
cheek. Then he saw flakes of snow dancing in the air. If he and Flying
Arrow could move swiftly enough, the snow would hide their trail. Good
fortune was on their side this time. Then he saw the mounted rider just
ahead of him. There was no chance to escape. At that moment he realized
the rider was Flying Arrow.
“Get on your horse,” Flying Arrow whispered. “We can escape easily.”
Bent Arrow jumped on his horse’s back. Flying Arrow led the way, at
first going slowly, but soon letting his horse run. Bent Arrow stayed
close behind him. So suddenly that Bent Arrow was taken completely by
surprise, his horse stopped running and started bucking. Bent Arrow
fought to keep his seat. He stayed on for two wild pitches, but the
third one sent him flying through the air. He landed with a thud that
drove the air from his lungs.
He leaped to his feet, gasping and struggling to draw air into his
lungs. When he did manage to draw in a lungful of air, he looked up and
saw his horse racing back the way he had come. Flying Arrow had turned
and was trying to catch the horse, but it had too great a start. He soon
gave up the pursuit and rode back to Bent Arrow.
[Illustration: _Bent Arrow fought to keep his seat_]
“Get up behind me,” he ordered. “We’ll both ride this horse. That one
will undoubtedly arouse the Sioux camp.”
Bent Arrow climbed onto the horse behind his uncle. Flying Arrow turned
the animal in the direction of the place where they had left their own
horses and started it at a gallop. Snow was falling so fast that the
ground was already blanketed with it.
“I’m sorry I let the horse get away,” Bent Arrow told his uncle.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Flying Arrow assured him. “No rider would have
expected the horse to buck after running so well.”
A load seemed to lift from Bent Arrow’s shoulders. He had been blaming
himself bitterly for losing the horse. He had thought his uncle must
blame him. Instead, the warrior had seen it as an unavoidable accident.
The wind began to rise, driving the snow stinging against the riders’
faces. Bent Arrow lowered his head close to his uncle’s back to keep the
snow from his eyes. Flying Arrow sat erect, giving all of his attention
to keeping the horse running in the right direction.
As they rode on, Bent Arrow strained to catch any sounds of pursuits,
but none came. The driving snow was piling up so that the horse was
leaving a plain trail. However, if the snow continued, it would soon
cover the trail again.
It was daylight when the two Crows reached the place where they had left
their horses. Bent Arrow leaped down. Without waiting for instructions,
he gathered up their few belongings and the remainder of the deer meat.
Flying Arrow dismounted, rolled the supplies in two bundles, and tied
the bundles on one of the horses. He took the lead rope of that horse
and motioned for Bent Arrow to mount the other one.
“We’d better cross the river to find a hiding place,” Flying Arrow
decided.
Bent Arrow shivered at the thought of getting in that icy water.
However, when they came to the river, he slid from his horse and swam
beside it to the other shore.
Across the river, Flying Arrow continued riding straight into the wind.
The driving snow stung their faces and pelted their eyes, but Flying
Arrow continued to lead the way confidently. Finally he stopped in a
sheltered place.
“The horses will be able to get grass here,” he pointed out.
Bent Arrow hobbled the horses while his uncle started making camp. As
soon as he had cared for the horses, Bent Arrow helped build a shelter.
Flying Arrow showed him how to lean branches against a small tree to
form a framework. Smaller branches were woven into the framework, and
there was a wall to keep the snow from their blankets. As soon as the
shelter was completed, both of them searched for firewood until they had
a good supply piled nearby.
Flying Arrow took his and whittled away the part of a stick that had
been wet by the snow. Then he whittled dry shavings. Bent Arrow put his
robe over his head and took a corner in each hand. He leaned forward
over the pile of shavings, using his robe as a roof to protect the
kindling from the snow. As soon as he had enough shavings, Flying Arrow
struck fire with his flint and steel. In a moment the fire caught.
Flying Arrow fed fuel to it until it burned brightly.
“Now we’ll eat,” said Flying Arrow, smiling.
The food tasted so good that for a few minutes Bent Arrow almost forgot
his disappointment over losing his captured horse. The snowfall was
heavier, and the rising wind was driving it so that it was sifting
through the branches of the shelter.
“We’ll sleep now,” Flying Arrow said when they had finished eating. “As
soon as Old-Man-of-the-North stops blowing snow at us, we’ll start
toward the main camp.”
“I wish I had a captured Sioux horse to lead into camp,” Bent Arrow
said.
“There will be other raids,” Flying Arrow assured him. “Perhaps you will
find the eagle feather which Clawing Bear said you needed. With it,
you’ll be sure to capture a Sioux horse. You almost succeeded without
it.”
Bent Arrow rolled up in his robe and stretched out in the protection of
the lean-to. He lay on his side and pulled the robe high to protect his
face from the snow that sifted through. In a short time he felt warm. If
it hadn’t been that pain began to throb in his leg, he would have been
comfortable. In spite of the pain, he soon fell asleep.
When Bent Arrow awoke he found himself in complete darkness. He could
see nothing at all. He started to raise his head, but it bumped against
something soft. He had to choke back a cry of alarm. While he had been
asleep, some strange spirit must have dragged him into a deep cave or an
animal’s den. The next moment he smiled to himself as he realized that
the snow had drifted over him. Slowly he raised himself, holding his
robe in a way that kept the snow from sifting down his neck. When he was
out of the drift, Bent Arrow found that snow was still falling. He stood
up and looked at the sheltering lean-to. Snow had piled to the top of it
and was now blowing across it. It was the snow blowing over the lean-to
which had covered him.
He glanced toward the mound of snow which covered Flying Arrow. As Bent
Arrow watched, his uncle stirred and then quickly crawled out of the
drift.
“Old-Man-of-the-North is still sending snow,” Flying Arrow remarked,
glancing around.
“I hope the sun becomes angry tomorrow and melts all of his snow,” Bent
Arrow said crossly.
“It might be better for us if Old-Man-of-the-North keeps sending snow,”
Flying Arrow answered thoughtfully. “The storm will keep the Sioux in
that valley. We might have another chance to make a raid.”
“Could we try?” Bent Arrow asked eagerly.
Before he answered, Flying Arrow took a careful look around. He sniffed
the wind.
“I think the snow will continue,” he answered. “If our horses can get
through the drifts, we have a chance to succeed.”
Bent Arrow glanced about him, trying to decide how much of the day was
gone. The dark clouds and driving snow shut off most of the light, yet
Bent Arrow felt that there must be a fourth of the day left.
“Is there much daylight left?” he asked.
“If there were no snow, we could ride to the Sioux camp before dark,”
Flying Eagle answered. “We’ll start at once. It will be harder traveling
after darkness falls.”
Flying Arrow and Bent Arrow went together to get the horses. Flying
Arrow mounted his own horse, while Bent Arrow got on Rock. The horse
they had captured from the Sioux was left behind. Flying Arrow led the
way, with Bent Arrow close behind him. Traveling was difficult. The
driving snow made it hard for them to see. It was impossible to judge
the depth of the drifts. Twice Flying Arrow started through what looked
to be ordinary drifts only to find them so deep that the horse couldn’t
get through. Each time he had to back the horse out of the drift and
circle around it.
They had gone only a short distance from camp when Flying Arrow’s horse
stepped into a drift and plunged out of sight. Rock reared and jumped
back. As soon as he had his horse quieted, Bent Arrow dismounted and
hurried to the edge of the drift. He could see his uncle still on his
horse. The drift had filled and hidden a small ravine. Flying Arrow was
trying to quiet his horse so that it wouldn’t injure itself.
“Get on your horse,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Toss me your rope. If you
can pull me out, we’ll get the horse out.”
Bent Arrow hurried back to Rock. When he was mounted, he urged the horse
forward. Rock stepped carefully, and again Bent Arrow was thankful for
this dependable horse. When he was as close to the edge of the ravine as
he dared go, Bent Arrow pulled the horse to a stop and tossed one end of
the rope down to his uncle. He looped the other end of the rope across
Rock’s shoulder as he had seen squaws tie travois poles. When Bent Arrow
gave the command, Rock backed slowly away from the ravine. In a moment
Flying Arrow was safely on the bank.
The moment Flying Arrow was off its back, his horse started plunging and
struggling to get out. It worked its way forward to a place where the
banks were lower, but still it couldn’t get out.
“I’ll have to pull it out,” Flying Arrow said.
He took the rope from Bent Arrow and tossed a noose over the horse’s
head. After he had fixed the noose so it couldn’t slip and choke the
horse, he took Bent Arrow’s place on Rock.
“Make all the noise you can,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Get the horse
excited so it will try to get out.”
Bent Arrow yelled and jumped at the horse. It had been quiet. Now it
scrambled frenziedly to get out of the ravine. Rock backed away, pulling
on the rope. The hoofs of the excited horse caught on the edge of the
ravine. It gave a lunge, and at the same time Rock put all of his weight
against the rope. The horse’s hoofs slipped, but it got another footing
and scrambled out. It stood in the snow blowing and pulling.
“This is too dangerous,” Flying Arrow decided. “We almost lost one of
our horses. We’ll return to camp and make a better plan or at least wait
until we can travel.”
Bent Arrow tried to hide his disappointment. Anxious as he was to make
another attempt to capture a Sioux horse, he knew the wisdom of his
uncle’s decision. It would be foolhardy to try to travel in the storm.
“Perhaps the sun will melt most of Old-Man-of-the-North’s snow
tomorrow,” he said.
“It could be,” Flying Arrow agreed doubtfully.
Back at camp, they found that the Sioux horse had trampled a place in
the snow, but with its feet hobbled, it hadn’t been able to paw any
grass free.
“We’ll turn the horses loose tonight,” Flying Arrow said. “Even then
they’ll have trouble getting enough to eat.”
As soon as they had cared for the horses, Bent Arrow and his uncle
returned to the shelter.
_CHAPTER SEVEN_
The two Crows cleared most of the snow away that had drifted onto the
sheltered side of the lean-to. Flying Arrow managed to blow flame alive
on one of the coals still in the fire. Bent Arrow hunted for more wood,
while the warrior peeled dry shavings and built the fire up.
While Flying Arrow cooked food over the fire, Bent Arrow found a large
log and dragged it to the lean-to. As soon as the cooking was finished,
the log could be rolled onto the fire. It would hold fire all night.
“We must return to our hunting camp,” Flying Arrow said. “This storm
probably kept them from starting to the winter camp. If so, we can join
the party and ride with the others. Next spring, you and I will make
another raid against the Sioux.”
Bent Arrow thought of how easy it would be for the Sioux to follow the
trail he and his uncle would leave in the snow. Reluctant as he was to
give up the raid, he understood the wisdom of Flying Arrow’s decision.
“Perhaps we should scout the Sioux camp before we start back,” Bent
Arrow suggested. “We might be able to learn something of their plans.”
Flying Arrow considered the suggestion. Bent Arrow knew that his uncle
was thinking how valuable it would be to the Crows to know something of
the Sioux plans. And still, the warrior had to remember that scouting
the Sioux camp would leave a trail in the snow which might be found. At
last Flying Arrow nodded.
“Even a scouting trip will be dangerous,” he said, “however we may learn
enough to pay us for taking the risk. If the sun melts some of the snow
in the morning, we’ll cross the river before sunset.”
Although he was tired, Bent Arrow had trouble falling asleep after he
had crawled into his blankets. When he did fall asleep, he was bothered
by a dream. In the dream he saw an eagle feather just out of his reach.
It seemed that his uncle was trying to help him, but there was always a
Sioux warrior with an arrow aimed at him.
As he and his uncle were eating the next morning, Bent Arrow told of his
dream. Flying Arrow seemed greatly disturbed. He sat silently for a long
time after Bent Arrow had finished. Finally the warrior got slowly to
his feet.
“I must think about your dream,” he told Bent Arrow. “Take care of the
horses.”
As Flying Arrow walked away from the camp, Bent Arrow left to tend the
horses. The sun was shining brightly, and the snow was beginning to
melt. Bent Arrow found the horses near where they had left them the
night before. The animals had found a place where most of the snow had
been blown off the grass. All three of them were eating hungrily.
Since the horses were all right and he had plenty of time, Bent Arrow
decided to make a scouting trip to the river. He picked his way
carefully, avoiding the larger drifts. He found a place near the river
where he could hide in a clump of brush and watch the other side.
At first there was nothing stirring near him, but after a while two deer
came down to the other bank of the river. Bent Arrow could tell from the
actions of the deer that no Sioux were near. He thought of crossing the
river and scouting farther but decided against it. He waited until the
deer left the river before he left this hiding place to return to camp.
When he arrived, Flying Arrow was waiting.
“Did you find a meaning in my dream?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously.
“Your dream warns of danger from the Sioux,” Flying Arrow answered. “Yet
it may promise that we can find your eagle feather and escape.”
“Then we are to scout the Sioux camp,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.
“We are,” Flying Arrow agreed. “There is nothing in your dream to show
that it would cause us greater danger.”
Flying Arrow insisted that they wait until the sun was sliding down the
western sky before they started. The sun had melted the snow so rapidly
that there were many bare spots. However the ground was soft, and the
horses left a plain trail.
They crossed the river at the same place they did on their other raid.
Soon after they had crossed, they left the horses and went ahead on
foot. As Flying Arrow led the way, he kept to the bare ground as much as
possible. They came to a small stream which flowed into the river. They
walked along its bank in a direction which took them farther from the
Sioux camp. When they had gone many paces, Flying Arrow stepped into the
stream and turned back in the direction from which they had come. Bent
Arrow followed him.
The two Crows walked in the cold water until the stream made a sharp
bend. Here they stepped onto the bank, taking care to hide their tracks.
They circled to the south of the Sioux camp as they had done the other
time. The sun had sunk in the west, but there was still some light when
the two Crows crept to the top of the hill and looked down at the camp.
Bent Arrow gave a little sigh of disappointment as he saw that the
horses had been put into a pole corral. He had been hoping that he and
his uncle might have a chance to take one or two of the Sioux horses. As
he looked more closely at the camp, he noticed bundles hanging in the
trees. It was too far for him to be able to see clearly, but he guessed
the bundles must be meat.
“They must be planning to camp here for a while,” Bent Arrow whispered
to his uncle. “They have their meat hanging on tree limbs.”
“Or they are planning to make a raid before they start to winter camp,”
Flying Arrow whispered back. “The meat would be safe from wolves.”
“It would be against our Crow camp.” In his excitement Bent Arrow almost
spoke aloud.
Flying Arrow nodded grimly.
“We’ll have to learn their plans,” he said.
[Illustration: {_The two Crows crept to the top of the hill_}]
There was a wide space of open hillside between the two Crows and the
Sioux camp. Bent Arrow knew they dared not cross it until the Sioux camp
was asleep. He knew that his uncle would learn much about the Sioux
plans just from watching the camp. He settled down beside his uncle,
determined that he, too, would learn of their plans by watching.
Flying Arrow suddenly reached over and gripped Bent Arrow’s arm. At the
same moment Bent Arrow saw a Sioux warrior ride across the hill at the
far side of the valley. The warrior was leading three horses. Bent
Arrow’s heart sank. Rock was one of those horses. He and his uncle were
far from the Crow camp, and now they had no horses.
Losing their mounts was only part of the danger in which Bent Arrow and
his uncle found themselves. The Sioux warrior who had taken the horses
was sure to have studied the trail left by the Crows. He would know that
a warrior and a boy had made the trail. He wouldn’t have had to follow
the trail to know that the two Crows would be near the Sioux camp.
Unless darkness fell quickly, Sioux warriors would find the two Crows
before they had a chance to escape. For a while the danger made Bent
Arrow forget the disgrace of having lost their horses to a raider.
With a pressure on Bent Arrow’s arm, Flying Arrow warned that they must
leave at once. They crawled back until it was safe for them to stand.
Flying Arrow led the way southeast, trying to avoid stepping in snow
where their tracks would easily be seen. Bent Arrow came to a sudden
stop. He stepped aside to get a closer look at the thing which had
attracted his attention. He gave a low exclamation. He had found an
eagle feather.
He realized that this was the place where he had watched the Sioux
butchering buffaloes. This was the eagle feather which he hadn’t dared
try to pick up that afternoon.
Flying Arrow had stopped and was watching Bent Arrow.
“I have my eagle feather,” Bent Arrow exclaimed, holding the feather for
his uncle to see.
“It may be too late,” Flying Arrow answered grimly. “We must go fast if
we are to escape.”
Although the two Crows went rapidly, they did not seem to be getting any
great distance from the Sioux camp. In trying to pick his way where
there was no snow, Flying Arrow followed a zigzag course. Bent Arrow
gave his attention to planting his feet in his uncle’s tracks.
Occasionally he did stop and look back. Each time he expected to see the
Sioux riding toward them.
Darkness should have fallen quickly. Now, it seemed to be holding off.
When it did come, it wasn’t deep; the sky was clear, and the snowdrifts
reflected the starlight. Bent Arrow glanced back. A Sioux warrior was
coming across the hill behind them.
“The Sioux are coming,” Bent Arrow warned.
Without wasting time to look back, Flying Arrow threw himself on the
ground. Bent Arrow stretched out beside him. There was a ditch to the
left. Flying Arrow crawled toward it, with Bent Arrow close behind him.
Both of them rolled over the edge and to the bottom of the ditch.
Bent Arrow scarcely noticed the trickle of cold water which thoroughly
wet his clothing. When Flying Arrow got to his feet, bent double so that
his head was below the edge of the ditch, Bent Arrow followed. They
walked carefully until they came to a place where a clump of brush grew
at the edge of the bank. Flying Arrow cupped his hands, making a
stirrup. Bent Arrow understood what he was to do. He stepped beside his
uncle, placed a foot in the cupped hands, and was lifted up until his
head was just above the edge of the draw.
When Bent Arrow tried to look around for a sight of the enemy, he found
that the brush shut off his view. He moved one foot gently as a warning
to his uncle. Then stepped up on Flying Arrow’s shoulder. From there he
crawled out onto the bank, keeping hidden under the branches of the
shrubs. He wormed himself forward until he could see out over the
valley. The Sioux warrior was riding along the bank of the ditch only a
few paces away. Bent Arrow tossed a tiny stick into the ditch as a
warning to his uncle. Then he crept under the brush and waited.
With one ear pressed against the ground, Bent Arrow could follow the
approach of the Sioux warrior almost as well as he could have had he
dared watch. Once the warrior stopped his horse, and Bent Arrow’s heart
stopped beating. Before Bent Arrow could decide whether or not he should
jump to his feet and run, the Sioux moved on. Bent Arrow’s heart began
to beat again.
After the warrior had gone on, Bent Arrow lay still, waiting for a
signal from his uncle. At last Flying Arrow tapped the wall of the ditch
lightly. Bent Arrow crawled to the edge.
“The Sioux will come back on the other side,” Flying Arrow whispered in
Bent Arrow’s ear. “We’ll have to stay here until he returns.”
Bent Arrow crawled back to his hiding place. He took another look up the
valley. He thought he saw a Sioux warrior far to the other side, but in
the darkness he couldn’t be sure. He caught the sound of the first Sioux
warrior returning on the other side of the ditch. Bent Arrow crawled
under the brush and lay motionless. As soon as the warrior was safely
out of sight, Flying Arrow crawled up onto the bank.
“When daylight comes, the Sioux will find our trail,” he explained.
“We’ll travel as fast as we can go now. Later we’ll try to hide our
trail.”
Flying Arrow led the way. He tried to find the easiest route, but he
made little effort to hide their trail. He led the way out of the valley
that they were in, across some low hills and into another valley. He
continued on until they came to a small, tree-lined stream. He stepped
into the stream, and Bent Arrow followed him.
Although the stream was small, it flowed swiftly, making it difficult to
walk against the current. In spite of Bent Arrow’s care, he was soon
drenched with the water he splashed. Flying Arrow continued to stay in
the stream until he came to a large tree with branches spreading across
the water.
Flying Arrow leaped up and caught hold of a stout limb. He swung himself
up and crawled onto the limb. Bent Arrow had to jump a second time
before he managed to grab the limb. When he did get hold of it, he swung
himself behind his uncle. Flying Arrow crawled along the limb to the
trunk of the tree. He found a large limb extending on the other side of
the tree. He crawled as near the end of it as he could and then dropped
to the ground. Bent Arrow dropped down beside him.
There was only a little snow under the tree, but it was enough to leave
plain footprints. Flying Arrow found a small branch. Using it as a
broom, he swept away the tracks which they had made. There was another
tree a few paces from the one the Crows were under. Flying Arrow pointed
to it.
“We’ll jump from here to the next tree,” Flying Arrow told Bent Arrow.
“You go first. I’ll brush out any tracks you make in the snow.”
Bent Arrow stepped back to the trunk of the tree. From there he ran
forward and jumped as far as he could. He landed among the low branches
of the next tree. A moment later his uncle landed beside him. There were
no other trees near, and all around was snow which would plainly show
any tracks that were made.
“You ride on my back,” Flying Arrow ordered. “You can carry a branch and
brush away my tracks.”
Bent Arrow picked up a small branch. Holding it in one hand, he got on
his uncle’s back. Each time that Flying Arrow took a step, Bent Arrow
leaned down and brushed the footprints away. This left odd markings in
the snow. If the sun shone even a short time before the Sioux found the
trail, there would be little they could read in it.
It was slow progress across the valley and to the top of the hill. Here
the ground was bare. Bent Arrow jumped from his uncle’s back. Now they
were able to go rapidly. As they went on, they did find patches of snow,
but they jumped across these.
As he and his uncle hurried along, Bent Arrow noticed that the darkness
was deepening. He glanced toward the sky. Clouds were blotting out the
stars. A short time later, he felt snowflakes hitting against his face.
Flying Arrow turned from the chain of hills and led the way into a
valley where there were a few trees.
“We can camp now,” he said. “Old-Man-of-the-North is sending more snow.
It will cover our trail. The Sioux won’t be able to find us.”
“If he had sent it earlier, we wouldn’t have had to run from the Sioux,”
Bent Arrow exclaimed bitterly.
Flying Arrow laughed.
“Spoken like a good Crow,” he praised. “No Crow likes to run from the
Sioux. Some day we shall repay them for this.”
In the darkness Bent Arrow and his uncle groped under a tree until they
found a pile of leaves. Carefully they raked the wet leaves from the
pile. They bunched the dry leaves together and burrowed into the pile.
Although they had no blankets, they soon were dry and comfortable. Bent
Arrow had scarcely crawled into the leaves before he fell into a sound
sleep.
_CHAPTER EIGHT_
When Bent Arrow awakened, he brushed the leaves from his face and lifted
his head. It was bright daylight. The ground had been covered with a
light blanket of snow, but it was no longer storming. The clouds
overhead were beginning to break up. At any moment the sun might shine
through.
Flying Arrow stirred and sat up beside Bent Arrow.
“I’ll try to find food for us while you start a fire,” Flying Arrow
directed.
Bent Arrow searched in piles of leaves until he had gathered an armload
of dry sticks. He laid these on the ground. Next he raked together a
small pile of dry leaves. He struck a spark on the pile of leaves and
blew the sparks to a flame. He added small sticks of dry wood until the
fire burned brightly. By the time Flying Arrow returned with a deer
which he had killed and dressed, the fire was a mass of glowing coals.
While the food was cooking, Bent Arrow’s mind was puzzling with the
question of what plan he and his uncle could follow. Probably Flying
Arrow would announce that they would start at once to try to rejoin
their own hunting party. Bent Arrow thought it likely that the hunters
had already started toward the Crow winter camp. Unless he and his uncle
could overtake the party, they would have to travel all the distance on
foot.
“I’m afraid that we will have to walk to the winter camp,” Flying Arrow
said, as though he were guessing Bent Arrow’s thoughts.
“Everyone will laugh at us,” Bent Arrow replied thoughtfully. “Not only
have we failed to capture Sioux horses, but we have lost our own.”
“No one will laugh at us,” Flying Arrow assured him. “Many raids are
unsuccessful. It will be an almost-victory if the two of us escape so
large a Sioux hunting party.”
Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in surprise.
“The Sioux won’t look for us since the storm, will they?” he asked.
“They’re not likely to hunt for us unless”—, Flying Arrow let his voice
fall.
“You were thinking that we might follow them,” Bent Arrow guessed. “You
would like to try one more raid.”
A smile briefly touched the corners of Flying Arrow’s mouth. It was
quickly replaced by a thoughtful frown.
“Our raids have been unsuccessful,” he said gloomily. “The Sioux have
strong medicine. Our medicine is weak.”
Bent Arrow had forgotten the eagle feather inside his shirt. As he
shifted to a more comfortable position, the feather rubbed lightly
against his skin. He reached his hand inside his shirt and drew out the
feather.
“Our medicine was weak,” he agreed, “but it’s strong now. I have the
eagle feather.”
Flying Arrow started to shake his head. He stopped abruptly.
“I noticed yesterday that you did not limp even though we walked and ran
a great distance,” he admitted. “The eagle feather may be helping us.”
“And Old-Man-of-the-North sent snow to hide our tracks,” Bent Arrow went
on. “Our medicine is stronger than the Sioux’s.”
“It does seem to be,” Flying Arrow acknowledged. “I must think more
about this.”
Bent Arrow quickly got to his feet and walked away. He must say no more.
Already he had spoken more than a boy should. He noticed that the sun
had not kept its promise to break through the clouds. The north wind was
damp and chilly; every gust seemed sure to bring more snow.
“I hope Old-Man-of-the-North doesn’t send more snow,” Bent Arrow thought
to himself.
When Bent Arrow left the camp, he crossed the small valley and climbed
to the highest point on the hills that divided the valley from the next
one. He saw a few buffaloes grazing there. That was proof enough that
the Sioux were not near.
When Bent Arrow returned to camp, he found Flying Arrow busily dividing
the best parts of the deer meat into two packs.
“We’ll follow the Sioux two days,” Flying Arrow announced. “If, by that
time, we haven’t been able to make a raid, we must turn toward our
winter camp.”
Bent Arrow wanted to shout his joy at his uncle’s decision. He could
feel the Crow war cry climbing up his throat, and he had to clamp his
mouth shut to make sure that he didn’t shout. If Flying Arrow noticed
Bent Arrow’s excitement, he gave no sign.
In a very short time they were on their way, each of them carrying a
small pack of meat. When he and his uncle had fled from the Sioux, they
had gone southeast and then circled west. Now Flying Arrow was swinging
toward the north.
Flying Arrow set a fast pace. Several times he cast an anxious look back
at Bent Arrow, but the boy was following easily. The weather had changed
again. Evidently the sun had remembered its promise. It had chased the
clouds away and was busily melting the snow. At midday, when Flying
Arrow called a halt, the blanket of snow was gone, with only scattered
drifts left.
“We’ll cook all of our meat,” Flying Arrow announced. “This will be the
last fire we can have until we complete our raid.”
As the afternoon wore on, Bent Arrow became more and more uneasy. One of
the two promised days was rapidly being spent, and still there had been
no trace of the Sioux trail. If Flying Arrow had misjudged the route the
Sioux would take, the last chance to make a raid would be gone. To add
to Bent Arrow’s troubles, his leg began to ache. The ache increased
rapidly until the pain was so great that he could hardly walk without
limping. It was the first time the leg had pained him since he had found
the eagle feather. Perhaps Clawing Bear had been wrong. Perhaps the
eagle feather wasn’t the medicine which would bring victory. Resolutely
he put the thought away.
Bent Arrow kept his head down and put every effort into walking without
a limp. He promised himself that he wouldn’t let Flying Arrow know that
his leg was hurting. The warrior would insist on stopping, and that
would mean the chance to make the raid was gone. However, Flying Arrow
was too intent on finding the best route to glance back. In spite of the
pain, Bent Arrow managed to keep going until Flying Arrow stopped beside
a small stream.
Both Crows drank their fill of the cold water. They made a meal of the
cold meat and prepared for the night.
The eastern sky was just beginning to light up when Flying Arrow touched
Bent Arrow on the shoulder. Hesitantly Bent Arrow got to his feet and
took a few careful steps. He was elated to find that there was no pain
in his leg.
“What has pleased you so much?” Flying Arrow asked, glancing at Bent
Arrow’s face.
“My leg was hurting me yesterday when we stopped,” Bent Arrow explained.
“I was afraid it wasn’t cured. It’s all right now.”
He danced a few steps of the Crow war dance to show how completely his
leg was healed.
“Perhaps we should give up this raid and go directly to the winter
camp,” Flying Arrow said thoughtfully. “We could travel slowly. Your leg
must not be completely healed or it would not have hurt you yesterday.”
“I’m all right,” Bent Arrow insisted. “We don’t want to return to winter
camp empty-handed.”
Flying Arrow smiled.
“You have the determination of a good Crow warrior,” he praised.
They made a quick meal of cold meat and set off again. They had gone
only a short distance when they came upon the Sioux trail. The trail was
plainly marked, although most of the snow had melted since the Sioux had
passed.
“I think they are going directly to their winter camp,” Flying Arrow
said. “They are farther ahead than I had expected.”
The Sioux trail led almost due north. For a time it lay in the level
valley of the stream. When it left the valley, it followed much rougher
ground. There were steep hills surrounding narrow valleys which were
little more than canyons. Some of the valleys had wooded streams; others
were only a dip in the prairie. In spite of the rough ground, Flying
Arrow kept at his swift pace.
It wasn’t until the sun was directly overhead that Flying Arrow halted
beside a small stream. Both he and Bent Arrow drank.
“Does your leg hurt?” Flying Arrow asked, as he got to his feet.
“Not at all,” Bent Arrow assured him.
“Then we’ll go on at once,” Flying Arrow decided. “We must lose no time
if we are to overtake the Sioux.”
Now the trail led away from the hills and out onto the open prairie. In
every direction the dried grass looked like a great brown sea. The low
hills were like rolling waves. Occasionally the two Crows came to a
valley where a few trees grew beside a stream. The sun was about halfway
down the western sky when they came into a valley which had a larger
grove of trees than the others. The nearer they came to the trees, the
faster Flying Arrow went, so that he was running at full speed when he
reached the trees.
“It is as I had hoped,” he called, pointing to the signs of a recent
camp. “The Sioux camped here last night.”
Bent Arrow felt a wave of triumph. He and his uncle were getting closer
to the Sioux. He was to have another chance to take part in a raid
against their enemies.
“If you can keep traveling, we’ll overtake them tonight,” Flying Arrow
assured him.
“I can keep traveling,” Bent Arrow answered confidently.
Flying Arrow led on at a rapid pace. There was no need to take time to
study the trail. The Sioux had been so sure that no one would follow
them that they hadn’t tried to hide their trail. It was not quite dark
when Flying Arrow stopped and studied the signs with a puzzled frown.
“The Sioux stopped here,” he pointed out. “I wonder why?”
Bent Arrow crossed to the other side of the trail, carefully studying
the marks.
“Look, Uncle,” he exclaimed. “Another Sioux joined them here.”
Flying Arrow came quickly to Bent Arrow’s side. He studied the
hoofprints left by one horse.
“It must have been a scout,” Flying Arrow said after he had examined the
trail carefully. “He must have been sent out the night before. If we had
studied the camping place carefully, we would have seen his trail.”
“He came from the direction where our hunting party was camped,” Bent
Arrow answered worriedly.
Flying Arrow studied the trail left by the one rider. Then he turned his
attention to the trail left by the Sioux party as they rode on. He
pointed out to Bent Arrow that the scout had stayed with the main party.
“He may have brought back news that our hunting party had moved on,”
Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux didn’t turn aside. Let’s hurry. We want to
follow as far as possible before dark.”
Flying Arrow motioned for Bent Arrow to travel at his side. They had
gone only a short distance when both of them stopped as though halted by
an invisible fence. The Sioux trail turned sharply to the west.
“They went that way because it’s easier traveling,” Flying Arrow said.
“I think I know where they are camped. We’ll take a shorter route.”
Bent Arrow wanted to protest. Perhaps Flying Arrow’s reading of the
trail had been wrong. Yet Flying Arrow was following so confidently the
diagonal course he had set that Bent Arrow’s doubts began to fade.
The light dimmed rapidly. Even after darkness had blanketed the prairie,
Flying Arrow kept up his rapid, sure pace. Several times Bent Arrow
reached inside his shirt and felt of the eagle feather. Each time he
did, his confidence mounted. In the last two days he had traveled as far
as a warrior could have gone, and his leg wasn’t hurting at all. Clawing
Bear’s prophecy that an eagle feather would complete the cure had come
true. His prophecy that it would protect Bent Arrow from the Sioux would
surely be equally true.
At last Flying Arrow called a halt.
“The Sioux were not traveling fast,” he said. “We are near their camp.
We’ll rest a while before we try to make a raid.”
Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in surprised wonder. Flying Arrow seemed
as sure of the Sioux camping place as if he had seen them there.
“How can you be sure?” Bent Arrow asked.
“I read the signs of the Sioux trail,” Flying Arrow explained. “I know
much about the Sioux, and I know the only good camping place for a large
party.”
Flying Arrow had already fixed a comfortable place to rest. Bent Arrow
found a clump of tall, dry grass. He curled up in that to sleep.
“I’ll waken you when it’s time to start,” Flying Arrow promised.
It seemed to Bent Arrow that he had hardly fallen asleep when he was
roused by his uncle.
“We’ll make our plans before we start,” Flying Arrow said.
Flying Arrow carefully described the place where the Sioux were camped.
It was a rather small valley. There was a narrow entrance at the south
end, but the rest of the valley was ringed in with steep hills. It
wasn’t impossible for horses to get up the hills, but it was difficult
and dangerous. There were a spring and a few trees near the north side.
That was where the Sioux would be camped. Since the Sioux had no idea
anyone was pursuing them, they would leave the horses loose to graze
over the valley.
“We can slip into the valley, get two horses apiece, and be far from
here before the Sioux learn of their loss,” Flying Arrow concluded.
“That is small punishment for the trouble they have caused us,” Bent
Arrow pointed out. “We should take all of their horses.”
“It might be possible,” Flying Arrow agreed excitedly. “If you can catch
Rock, this is the plan we’ll use. Truly the Sioux will be punished.”
Quickly Flying Arrow outlined his new plan. Bent Arrow nodded from time
to time. He could see no flaw. If it worked, the Sioux would be well
punished. If it didn’t work, Bent Arrow and his uncle would still get
some Sioux horses. He reached inside his shirt and felt of the eagle
feather.
“Let’s start,” Flying Arrow said.
_CHAPTER NINE_
Although there was no moon, the stars in the clear sky gave enough light
so that Bent Arrow and his uncle could see well enough to travel
swiftly. When they reached the rim of the valley where they could look
down into the Sioux camp, they saw a grove at the far end. The glowing
embers of the campfire marked the place where the Sioux were sleeping.
The horses were scattered about the valley.
While Flying Arrow was watching the camp to make sure no Sioux warrior
was moving about, Bent Arrow was looking over the horses. Much of the
chance of success of their plan depended upon Bent Arrow recapturing
Rock. Had it been daylight, the boy would have had no trouble picking
Rock out in the herd. In the darkness it was much more difficult. The
horses were dark shadows, too faint to be told apart. At last Bent Arrow
spotted a horse which was grazing apart from the others. Gently he
touched Flying Arrow’s arm.
“I believe that is Rock alone on the far side of the herd,” he
whispered.
Flying Arrow turned his head to look in that direction. He watched the
horse carefully.
“I believe you’re right,” he agreed. “You crawl to him. By the time you
get to him, I will have a horse. We must work swiftly. Everything
depends upon being able to surprise the Sioux.”
Bent Arrow reached inside his shirt and touched the eagle feather. He
felt a great wave of confidence. This time there would be no failure.
His medicine was more powerful than any the Sioux could have.
He crawled down the hill a short distance toward the Sioux camp. It
would have been easier to go along the rim to a point directly above
Rock, but he would have been shadowed against the sky line. He would
have been visible to any Sioux warrior who might have chanced to look
up.
While Bent Arrow was still some distance away, Rock raised his head and
sniffed suspiciously. For a terrible moment Bent Arrow was sure the
horse was going to run. Rock sniffed again and then took a hesitant step
toward Bent Arrow. Now was the time. Slowly Bent Arrow got to his feet.
Rock stood quietly as Bent Arrow approached. A moment later Bent Arrow
was on the horse’s back.
Bent Arrow looked around. He saw his uncle mounting a horse. A moment
later the wild Crow battle cry rang out. Bent Arrow sent Rock charging
at the nearest horse. When that horse turned and raced toward the
campfire, Rock charged another one. It was a wild, blurred time as Bent
Arrow kept his horse circling the herd and stampeding it toward the
campfire. From the noise at the other side of the herd, he could tell
that Flying Arrow was being equally successful. It took only a very few
minutes completely to stampede the herd and send it charging straight at
the Sioux camp.
The Sioux warriors had been aroused. They had sprung up and were waving
their arms and shouting, trying to stop the horses, but they were too
late. The wild stampede could not be stopped. For a few moments the
Sioux bravely held their ground, but at the last moment they turned and
dashed into the grove of trees for protection. The horses swerved around
the grove and raced on across the valley.
Bent Arrow kept Rock close on the heels of the last horse on one side of
the herd. Flying Arrow was riding close to the last horse on the other
side.
The moment the horses veered to go around the trees, the Sioux warriors
sprang into action. Arrows whistled around Bent Arrow’s head as he
crouched low over Rock’s neck. It took only a moment for the horses to
get out of bowshot.
[Illustration: _Arrows whistled around his head_]
The horses continued their wild stampede across the valley and started
up the hill at the other side. Here they were slowed. The hill was so
steep that the horses plunged and struggled to move forward at all.
Again arrows whistled around Bent Arrow’s head. The Sioux had raced
across the level valley to the foot of the hills. The slower speed of
the horses had given the warriors a chance to get within range again. A
horse, a little to the left and just ahead of Bent Arrow, crumpled to
the ground. Bent Arrow felt a searing pain along his left shoulder.
The volley of arrows broke off suddenly. At first, Bent Arrow thought
they had again got out of range. A quick look over his shoulder showed
him this wasn’t true. The Sioux were dangerously close. Then he realized
that the warriors were so sure they would recapture their horses that
they were taking no chances of arrows hitting any more of them. And
then, unexpectedly, Bent Arrow found himself at the top of the hill. The
herd of horses was again running at a wild speed. Bent Arrow raised his
voice in the triumphant Crow victory cry.
While Bent Arrow’s yell was still ringing out, one of the Sioux horses
suddenly swerved and tried to escape. Rock wheeled and headed it off.
Another one tried to turn back. Rock got it back into the herd, only to
have to chase two others. The herd was scarcely moving forward at all.
It was plain to see why the Sioux had quit shooting. They had known that
the horses would be hard to drive. As the horses became more and more
difficult to manage, Bent Arrow’s heart sank. The Sioux wouldn’t even
have to hurry to catch them.
A horse broke out of the herd and was racing back before Rock could
swerve to cut it off.
“Let him go,” Flying Arrow shouted.
As though understanding the warrior’s order, Rock swung back behind the
herd. Bent Arrow saw two horses escape near his uncle. Another one broke
away in front of Rock, but at last the rest of the herd was beginning to
run again.
The herd of horses strung out ahead of the two Crows. The speed was
slower than it had been in that wild stampede at the Sioux camp, but it
was fast enough to run away from warriors on foot. The Sioux would have
to recapture the escaped horses in order to have a chance to overtake
the herd. At the top of the next hill Flying Arrow stopped his horse to
look back, while Bent Arrow kept the herd moving ahead.
“If the Sioux are following, they aren’t close,” Flying Arrow said as he
rejoined Bent Arrow.
He noticed the blood on Bent Arrow’s shoulder.
“Let me have a look at that wound,” he ordered.
“It’s nothing. We shouldn’t lose any time,” Bent Arrow protested.
Nevertheless, Flying Arrow cut away the sleeve and examined the wound.
“If it doesn’t stop bleeding soon, we’ll stop and apply a poultice,” he
said.
“It’s nothing,” Bent Arrow insisted.
“If it doesn’t stop bleeding soon, you are to tell me,” Flying Arrow
ordered.
“The Sioux will lose time trying to catch those horses that got away
from us, won’t they?” Bent Arrow asked.
“They will,” Flying Arrow agreed. “But, when they do catch them, they’ll
go faster than we can. Driving this herd will slow us.”
It wasn’t long before Flying Arrow’s words were proved true. The herd,
which hadn’t been running very fast, slowed to an easy trot. In spite of
the efforts of the two Crows, the horses would not increase their speed.
“We must find some way to slow the Sioux,” Flying Arrow said
thoughtfully.
Bent Arrow didn’t have an opportunity to answer. Two horses at the head
of the herd had slowed to a walk; others were reluctant to pass the
leaders, and the whole herd was going at a dangerously slow pace. Bent
Arrow crowded his horse against the nearest one in the herd, trying to
get it past the leaders. It was while he was failing that he thought of
his plan. He reined his horse beside Flying Arrow’s.
“The Sioux will stop to catch every horse we leave, won’t they?” Bent
Arrow asked.
“They’re sure to do that,” Flying Arrow agreed. “They’ve probably
delayed to catch the horses that escaped from our herd.”
“With Rock I can cut out one of those lead horses,” Bent Arrow pointed
out. “Later we can cut out another one and cause another delay.”
“I believe your plan will work,” Flying Arrow exclaimed. “The mounted
riders will stop and catch each horse. Very likely they’ll wait while
one warrior takes the captured horse back to those on foot so that
there’ll be another warrior to join the chase.”
Bent Arrow pulled Rock to one side so that he wouldn’t cause the herd to
turn. He urged the horse forward until he was just behind the two
leaders. Rock seemed to understand what was wanted. He dashed between
the two lead horses and crowded one of them to the side. He kept that
horse away from the others, while the herd moved on. As soon as he had
the horse far enough away, Bent Arrow turned Rock to rejoin the herd.
The horse that had been driven out of the herd followed for a
considerable distance. Bent Arrow was about to give up hope that the
plan would work, when the horse stopped to graze. In his mind Bent Arrow
could see the four mounted Sioux riding into sight of the horse. The
warriors would expect an ambush. They would wait and watch carefully
before trying to catch the horse. If the horse ran away, there would be
more delay.
Bent Arrow had been so busy that he had scarcely noticed when darkness
had given way to daylight. As the sun climbed steadily into the eastern
sky, he became more and more confident that he and his uncle would
escape. But as Bent Arrow’s confidence grew, Flying Arrow appeared to
become more worried. Several times he anxiously examined Bent Arrow’s
shoulder. Each time they crossed a small stream, he dismounted and dug
in the mud beside the water. About the middle of the morning, he ordered
Bent Arrow to cut out another horse.
They came to a small stream at midday. The horses drank and then were
allowed to graze. Flying Arrow again dug into the mud along the bank.
This time he stood up, holding a handful of odd-colored mud.
“This will help heal your wound,” he told Bent Arrow.
Flying Arrow watched as Bent Arrow washed the blood and dirt away from
the wound. As soon as it was clean, he applied the mud over it.
“You have lost much blood,” he said.
“I’ll be all right,” Bent Arrow insisted.
Nevertheless, he was glad to stretch out on the grass. He fell asleep
almost at once. It seemed he had scarcely closed his eyes when Flying
Arrow called that it was time to start.
All morning the herd had been kept going northwest. When it was started
after the midday rest, Flying Arrow turned it directly west. The horses
had become much more manageable. They quickly fell into a steady trot.
Whenever they crossed high hills, Flying Arrow stopped to see if
pursuers came into sight, while Bent Arrow kept the herd moving. Each
time Flying Arrow reported that he had seen no sign of the Sioux.
“They may have given up the chase,” Flying Arrow said doubtfully after
the third such scouting trip.
While he may have hoped that the Sioux had given up, Flying Arrow did
not change his plans. The horses were kept moving steadily forward.
While the sun was still high in the western sky, he had Bent Arrow turn
another horse away from the herd.
As he and his uncle kept the horses moving, Bent Arrow found himself
getting more and more tired. His eyes grew heavy, too, so that it was a
struggle to keep them open. To add to his discomfort, the horses began
to give trouble again. They no longer tried to turn back, but they
continually stopped to graze. Bent Arrow was thankful that he had
dependable Rock to do the work.
“Can you keep going?” Flying Arrow asked anxiously. “There is a good
place for us to camp not far ahead.”
“I’ll keep going,” Bent Arrow promised.
Keeping the promise proved harder than making it. It took all of Bent
Arrow’s determination to keep his eyes open. The sun had dropped behind
the western hills, and darkness was closing in. Still Flying Arrow urged
them on.
To Bent Arrow it seemed that they kept moving forever. In spite of his
best efforts, his eyes would close. Once he caught himself slipping from
Rock’s back. He got off and walked, hoping that the exercise would waken
him. It did rouse him, but he was too tired to walk far. When he did
remount, he had to struggle to get back on his horse.
“Only a little farther,” Flying Arrow encouraged. “We’ll be at Bear Trap
Canyon. There I can watch while you rest.”
Bent Arrow had been dimly aware of a darker shadow looming ahead of
them. He realized that this was Bear Trap Canyon. Actually the canyon
was only a narrow cup, circled by hills which rose up out of the
prairie. On both sides the hills rose so steeply that it was almost
impossible for a man to get up the sides. Bent Arrow remembered having
heard warriors talk about the hills. He knew the only opening into the
canyon was a narrow slit which they were approaching.
At the opening the herd of horses balked. Bent Arrow had awakened enough
so that he was able to do his share, but all their efforts were not
enough to force the horses to enter the opening.
“Ride Rock through,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Maybe the other horses will
follow him.”
Bent Arrow guided Rock to the entrance. Rock snorted uneasily but, under
Bent Arrow’s urging, carefully picked his way between the steep walls.
The passage was narrow and covered with stones. However, in a few paces
it widened. Flying Arrow had been able to get the other horses to follow
Rock. At last the entire herd was safely in the canyon.
“I’ll watch while you sleep,” Flying Arrow said. “Later, you will watch
while I sleep.”
Bent Arrow knew that he should protest. Since sundown his uncle had done
most of the work of keeping the herd moving. He should have the first
rest. But the words wouldn’t come. Bent Arrow stretched out on the
ground and immediately fell asleep.
When Bent Arrow awoke, daylight was beginning to light up the eastern
sky. He looked reproachfully at his uncle.
“You were to awaken me,” he protested.
“You were wounded and needed the rest more than I,” Flying Arrow
answered. “Let’s take a look at your shoulder.”
He led the way to the spring in the middle of the canyon. Bent Arrow
crouched down while his uncle washed away the dried mud. Flying Arrow
gave a low grunt of satisfaction.
“It is doing well,” he said.
“I hardly know that the sore is there,” Bent Arrow assured him. “Now you
must rest while I watch.”
“First I’ll ride back a way to see if there is any sign of the Sioux,”
Flying Arrow replied.
Bent Arrow wanted to protest, but he knew that it would do no good.
Flying Arrow would think it his duty to see that every possible
precaution was taken. Very likely, when he returned, he would order Bent
Arrow to waken him soon so that they could start on. Fortunately they
still had small packets of dried meat, and as soon as they had eaten,
Flying Arrow mounted one of the horses and rode out of the canyon.
Bent Arrow felt entirely rested. The wound in his shoulder was hardly
noticeable. Since the horses were grazing quietly, he decided to explore
the canyon while he waited for his uncle to return. The teacher had told
the boys much about this canyon. It was a place of good omen for the
Crows. Sometimes, when a warrior had been unsuccessful in raids, he
would come here. He would climb the wall and lie on the rim. While he
slept, he was sure to have a dream that would lead him to better raids.
Bent Arrow started walking around the canyon, looking at the walls in
the hope of finding the place where the warriors climbed to the top. He
made a complete round of the walls without finding a place. He started
around again. At the far side, he noticed a place where the wall
appeared rough enough so that he might be able to climb it. He glanced
back at the horses. They were grazing quietly. He decided to see how far
he could climb.
For several feet, he was able to go easily by stepping from one small
ledge to another. Then he came to a place where the wall was smooth.
There was a ledge above the one he was on, but it was out of his reach.
Determined not to give up, he took his knife and gouged out a place
above his head so that he could get a grip with his hands. He made
another place just above his knees. He reached up and dug his hands into
the place he had made above his head. He put his toes in the other
place. Slowly he pulled himself up. He reached one hand up and managed
to grasp the rim of the ledge. Carefully he put his weight on that hand.
The ledge was solid. He gripped it with the other hand and pulled
himself up. Above the ledge the wall was not so steep. Bent Arrow easily
made his way to the top. From his vantage point, he could look far out
over the prairie. He saw nothing moving until he looked in the direction
Flying Arrow had taken. There he saw Flying Arrow racing back toward the
canyon. Flying Arrow’s speed meant danger.
Bent Arrow turned back and went down the way he had come up. Getting
down was easy, and he was waiting at the entrance when Flying Arrow
dashed up.
“The Sioux are less than half a sun’s march from us!” Flying Arrow
cried.
_CHAPTER TEN_
Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in dismay. It seemed unbelievable that
they had traveled all of that distance the day before without seeing a
sign of pursuit and now the Sioux were almost upon them.
“The Sioux are smart,” Flying Arrow said bitterly. “They knew we must
stop sometime to rest. This place is on the way to our camping grounds.
It is a place where we can leave our horses unwatched. The Sioux thought
of those things and the mounted warriors took a short cut to get here.”
“How many Sioux are there?” Bent Arrow asked.
Flying Arrow held up one hand with the thumb doubled under.
“They will come so close that we don’t dare leave,” he explained.
“They’ll wait for the others before they attack.”
“We can hold them off,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.
He told his uncle of how he had climbed to the top of the wall. He
described the top and how it would be possible to stay up there and fire
down on the Sioux. If the Sioux tried to rush the entrance, there were
loose rocks which could be rolled down on them.
“We might be able to hold them off,” Flying Arrow agreed, “but we have
little food. Soon we shall starve.”
“The Sioux won’t stay long,” Bent Arrow insisted. “Old-Man-of-the-North
will send more snow. They will leave for their winter camp.”
“The Sioux will not want to stay,” Flying Arrow admitted, “but the
disgrace of losing so fine a herd of horses to one warrior and one boy
will shame them into staying.”
“We’ll find a way,” Bent Arrow insisted.
“We will,” Flying Arrow agreed, but there was little hope in his voice.
“You should rest before the Sioux get here,” Bent Arrow urged. “I’ll
climb up onto the ridge and watch.”
“Drop a small stone to waken me when the Sioux get near,” Flying Arrow
ordered.
As he walked to the place where he could climb the wall, Bent Arrow
noticed how small an area of grass there was in the canyon. Not only
would he and his uncle be short of food if the Sioux besieged them, but
the horses, too, would soon be starving.
When he reached the top of the wall, Bent Arrow looked around. The Sioux
were not yet in sight. He made his way along the rim toward the
entrance. In most places the rim was wide enough to easily walk on.
There were a few narrow places where he had to walk carefully. One short
stretch was so narrow that he had to get to his hands and knees and
crawl.
Near the break which formed the entrance, the rim was wide. A few shrubs
were growing there. These would give him concealment. He found a few
large stones and rolled them near the edge so they could be dropped on
attackers.
He looked to the east again. He could see four horsemen approaching. He
reached over to drop a stone to warn Flying Arrow, but changed his mind.
The Sioux were still too far from the canyon to be a danger and Flying
Arrow needed all the rest he could get. Bent Arrow stretched out behind
a shrub and watched the Sioux. The riders came on until they were almost
within bowshot. There they pulled their horses to a stop.
For some reason the Sioux seemed to be puzzled and uncertain. They drew
together in a group. Evidently they were debating something concerning
the canyon. Several times one of them waved his arm toward the entrance.
Suddenly, the one who had been doing most of the talking sent his horse
dashing toward the entrance to the canyon. It was too late for Bent
Arrow to warn his uncle. Whatever was to be done to stop that Sioux,
Bent Arrow had to do it.
Bent Arrow raised his bow and took careful aim. The rider, stretched low
over his horse’s neck, was not a good target, but Bent Arrow was
confident that he would not miss. He drew the bow taut, but he lowered
it without letting the arrow go. It had come to him why the Sioux were
acting so strangely. They weren’t sure their quarry was still in the
canyon, or if they were in the canyon, whether or not they were alert.
The rider was hardly within good bowshot when he wheeled his horse and
dashed back to the others.
The Sioux talked together again, often glancing toward the narrow
opening. After a time, they divided into two pairs, one pair riding to
the left and one to the right. From the way the warriors watched the
ground, Bent Arrow knew that they were looking for a trail leading from
the canyon.
While the Sioux were searching for a sign that he and his uncle had
escaped, Bent Arrow dropped a stone to arouse Flying Arrow. It didn’t
take the Sioux long to make sure that the raiders were still in the
canyon. The four warriors returned to a place in front of the entrance,
making sure they were out of range. They gave the Sioux war cry, but
neither Bent Arrow nor his uncle gave any sign that they heard it.
The four warriors talked together again. Two of them left the group, one
going to the right and the other to the left. As though at a signal,
both turned their horses and dashed toward the entrance. Bent Arrow drew
a bead on the warrior nearest to him, but waited for Flying Arrow to
take the first shot. The warriors drew together and seemed about to try
to dash through the entrance side by side, and still Flying Arrow didn’t
shoot. At the last moment the two Sioux wheeled their horses and
galloped back to their companions.
All four Sioux dismounted. They turned their horses loose to graze.
Evidently they had decided to wait until the other warriors joined them
before making an attack on the canyon. Bent Arrow saw that this would be
his chance to go down and get instructions from his uncle. He carefully
worked his way back to the place where he had come up the wall.
“There’ll be no attack until the other Sioux get here,” Flying Arrow
said when Bent Arrow joined him. “I’ll sleep now and you can sleep
tonight.”
“Shall I go back up onto the wall?” Bent Arrow asked.
“It is a better place from which to watch,” Flying Arrow agreed.
As soon as Bent Arrow had returned to his post, he dropped a stone as a
signal. He settled himself as comfortable as possible. The day dragged
slowly by. As the sun was dropping down the western sky, two of the
Sioux caught horses and rode away. They soon returned, dragging large
bundles of sticks. Before sunset they built a fire and hung meat to
roast over it. Occasionally the wind veered and brought the tantalizing
odor of cooking meat to Bent Arrow.
There was still some daylight when a stone dropped beside Bent Arrow,
signaling that Flying Arrow wanted him to come down.
As Bent Arrow made his way along the rim toward the place where he could
go down, he watched the outer wall. He saw one place where rain water
had washed out a small rough groove. It would be a dangerous way, but it
might be possible to descend there.
Flying Arrow had put out a small piece of meat for each of them when
Bent Arrow got there. The warrior appeared very discouraged. He sat with
a worried frown creasing his brow and had little to say. The only time
he acted more cheerful was when he examined the wound in Bent Arrow’s
shoulder.
“A night rest and you will forget you had a wound,” he said.
Bent Arrow told of the place he had found where it might be possible to
go down the outer wall.
“We might slip down there and escape before they missed us,” he said.
Flying Arrow shook his head.
“The horses are getting restless,” he explained. “If they aren’t
watched, they’ll get out of the canyon. The Sioux would guess at once
that we were trying to escape. We’d be caught before we were well
started.”
“How soon do you think the other warriors will get here?” Bent Arrow
asked.
Flying Arrow didn’t answer. He got to his feet and went to the narrow
passage opening out of the canyon. Pressing himself against one wall, he
moved ahead and was soon out of sight. A few moments later he came back.
“I wanted to make sure that the Sioux weren’t trying to sneak in here,”
he explained. “They’re around their campfire. They won’t attack before
the other warriors get here.”
Again Flying Arrow sat with his head bowed. Bent Arrow had felt
encouraged by his uncle’s belief that the Sioux would not attack for a
while. To him, every moment of delay brought hope that something might
happen to prevent any attack. Yet Flying Arrow’s gloom was beginning to
affect him too.
“I didn’t answer your question,” Flying Arrow said, looking up. “I
believe the other warriors will be here before daylight, although I
doubt if much of an attack is made. They’ll wait to starve us out.”
“If we could think of some way to get help,” Bent Arrow thought aloud.
Flying Arrow looked up. He started to speak but changed his mind and
shook his head.
“You thought of a plan,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.
“It was too dangerous,” Flying Arrow answered.
“You said we can’t escape from here,” Bent Arrow urged. “Your plan can’t
be more dangerous than staying here.”
“I had thought of letting you climb down the wall after dark,” Flying
Arrow explained. “It is possible that you could find our hunting party
and bring help in time.”
“Let me try it,” Bent Arrow urged.
Flying Arrow remained silent for a long time. When he did speak, it was
with reluctance.
“It is a desperate plan and there are many chances that it won’t work,”
he said. “Yet there is no chance if we just stay here. After dark you
will climb down the wall and go to the hunting party’s camping place. If
they have started back to winter camp, you are to follow them until you
overtake them.”
Flying Arrow gave Bent Arrow careful instructions as to how he was to
get to the camp. He described the landmark which Bent Arrow would reach
which marked the place where he would turn toward the river. Flying
Arrow ended his instructions by reminding Bent Arrow that he should
travel at the warrior’s pace.
“I’ll climb to your lookout place while there is still some light,”
Flying Arrow concluded his instructions. “You can watch the entrance
until I signal that I am ready for you to leave.”
“How will you keep our horses from getting out of the canyon when you
are up there on the rim?” Bent Arrow asked.
“I’ll throw stones to turn them back whenever they get near the
passage,” Flying Arrow explained.
Bent Arrow crept into the passage as he had seen his uncle do. He found
the niche from which Flying Arrow had watched the Sioux. The warriors
were seated around the glowing campfire. Apparently they were waiting
for the rest of their party to arrive before they made any move against
the canyon. Bent Arrow stayed in his watching place until the signal
stone dropped near him.
[Illustration: _Bent Arrow edged into the passage_]
Although he had little difficulty climbing the wall, Bent Arrow lost
some time finding the place where he could go down. When he did find it,
he went carefully, feeling and testing with each foot before he put any
weight on it. When he was about halfway down, one foot slipped and he
went plunging down the steep slope. Somehow he managed to get one foot
braced and catch hold with his hands. He came to a stop.
For a long time he lay there, afraid to shift his weight lest he go
sliding again. At last he moved one foot and slowly put his weight on
it. Step by step he inched his way down the slope. At a height greater
than a tall man could reach, he came to a ledge. Below the ledge the
cliff dropped straight down. Bent Arrow grasped the edge of the ledge,
let himself down to arm’s length, and dropped. He landed easily on his
feet.
Without losing time to look around, Bent Arrow started walking rapidly.
He counted his steps by opening and closing his fingers. When he had
gone a hundred paces, he began to run. At the end of a hundred running
paces, he felt so fresh and strong that he was tempted to run another
hundred paces, but Flying Arrow’s orders had been definite. He slowed to
a walk for a hundred paces. He continued the alternate running and
walking until he reached the lone tree of which Flying Arrow had told
him. Here he turned east.
With every step Bent Arrow’s confidence rose. He had escaped the Sioux.
He had traveled at least half of the night, and he felt as strong as
when he had started. He could hold this pace all the way to the Crow
winter camp if he had to. The thought of having to travel all the way to
the Crow winter camp brought the first lessening of his confidence. He
had been thinking of the hunting party as still in the camp where he and
Flying Arrow had left them. But they might not be there. They might have
started to the winter camp. The thought of Flying Arrow trying to hold
that canyon alone all of the time it would take to reach the winter camp
drained away all of Bent Arrow’s recent confidence.
For the first time since he had left the canyon, Bent Arrow felt fear.
He began to increase his speed, and as the fear mounted he ran faster
until he was running as hard as he could. It wasn’t until he was gasping
for air that he realized his foolishness. He was exhausting himself.
Soon he would drop, and there would be no one to try to bring help for
Flying Arrow. He slowed to a trot and then to a walk.
He walked twice the usual distance before he tried to run again. When he
did run, he found that the hard running he had done had tired him badly.
It took all of his will power to keep himself running the full hundred
paces. And now he had a new fear. He might not be able to keep on even
to the river. Yet, somehow he was still going when dawn broke in the
east.
As the prairie became lighter, Bent Arrow kept on the watch for familiar
signs. He had been across the river several times with warriors. If he
were near it, he should see signs. Nothing looked familiar. Anxiously he
checked his route with the rising sun. He was going in the right
direction.
He was tiring badly. At the end of each hundred running paces, he was
gasping for breath. He would have to stop and rest, but he knew he
didn’t dare. If he stopped, he would fall asleep. He kept himself going
by thinking of Flying Arrow standing alone against those Sioux. That
helped for a few paces, but at last he knew he had done his best and had
failed. He was at the foot of some low hills.
“I’ll reach the top before I stop to rest,” he vowed.
He started up the hill. Halfway up he stumbled and fell. He stretched
out and his eyes closed. A feeling of peace enveloped him like a warm
blanket, but before he fell asleep, he thought of Flying Arrow. He
struggled to his feet and reeled toward the top.
He fell again. He stayed on his hands and knees and crawled onward.
Just getting to the top seemed to give him strength. He stood up. He
tried to look ahead, but weariness had dimmed his eyes so that he could
see only a few paces. He started down the hill.
The horsemen were upon him before he saw or heard them. He attempted to
dodge aside, but strong arms caught him. Dimly he realized that one of
the men was Clawing Bear.
“Flying Arrow’s at Bear Trap Canyon,” Bent Arrow gasped, and collapsed.
_CHAPTER ELEVEN_
When Bent Arrow opened his eyes, he was lying on a buffalo robe in a
tepee. He sat up uncertainly and gave a little gasp when he saw Clawing
Bear sitting beside him.
“How did I get here?” Bent Arrow demanded.
“You ran here,” Clawing Bear answered with a smile. “As great a run as a
Crow ever made.”
“Flying Arrow?” Bent Arrow asked in a whisper.
“He’s outside, boasting that his nephew is the greatest runner in the
Crow Nation,” Clawing Bear replied.
Before Clawing Bear had finished speaking, Flying Arrow entered the
tepee.
“How are you, Brother?” Flying Arrow asked.
Bent Arrow stared at his uncle. _Brother?_ That was the formal word of
address Flying Arrow would have used if he had been speaking to a
warrior. Why should he use that word?
“Can he come to the corral to see our horses?” Flying Arrow asked,
turning to Clawing Bear.
“It will do him good,” Clawing Bear agreed.
As he walked along beside his uncle, Bent Arrow asked about the rescue.
Flying Arrow told as much of the story as he knew.
He told how he had watched from the rim. The Sioux on foot had arrived
before daylight. There had been a short powwow and then all of the Sioux
had rolled up in their blankets to sleep. Knowing that he would need the
rest, and that any small noise would waken him, Flying Arrow had fallen
asleep too. He had wakened at the first hint of daylight.
The Sioux had attacked a few moments later. Flying Arrow’s two shots
knocked two Sioux warriors from their horses. The Sioux only took time
to pick up their wounded and then retreated out of bowshot to hold
another conference. From their motioning to one another, Flying Arrow
was able to guess their next move. They would stay out of bowshot and
sneak up to the canyon wall at some distance from the entrance. One
party would approach from one side and one from the other. Flying Arrow
might be able to stop one party, but he couldn’t stop both of them.
“But you did stop them,” Bent Arrow interrupted excitedly.
“By an accident,” Flying Arrow explained. “Two of the horses we had
taken wandered near the opening. I threw stones behind them and drove
them on out. They kept right on running after they were out of the
canyon. The Sioux postponed their attack while they caught the horses.”
“How did you keep the other horses from following the ones which you
drove out of the canyon?” Bent Arrow wanted to know.
“I threw stones at them to drive them back,” Flying Arrow answered. “But
Rock did most. He soon understood that I didn’t want the others to get
out. He stayed near the entrance and kept the other horses back.”
Flying Arrow went on with his story. He told how after the Sioux had
captured the two horses they held another council. The warriors had
delayed until the sun had passed overhead. At last they had prepared to
move to the canyon walls. Before they started, two mounted warriors were
sent around the canyon walls to scout. One of them came dashing back,
shouting and waving his arms. In a short time the Sioux had mounted, two
to a horse, and ridden off. Later, the party of Crows came in sight.
“There were only seven or eight men in the Crow party!” Bent Arrow
exclaimed. “Why did the Sioux run?”
“Probably they thought more Crows were coming,” Flying Arrow answered.
By that time Bent Arrow and his uncle had reached the corral. Flying
Arrow pointed out the horses which now belonged to Bent Arrow. There
were twelve of them. He was a rich boy.
“One horse is enough for me,” Bent Arrow protested. “You were the
warrior in charge. You deserve all of the horses.”
“You did a warrior’s work and you deserve a warrior’s share,” Flying
Arrow insisted.
“I’ll trade all of them for Rock,” Bent Arrow offered.
The moment he had spoken, Bent Arrow wished that he could recall the
words. His uncle had been generous in giving him half of the horses, far
more generous than anyone would expect him to be. Bent Arrow knew how
ungrateful he must appear. Yet his uncle didn’t seem displeased.
“Come. We must go to our tepee and get ready to go to the Council Fire,”
was all that he said.
As soon as he was in the tepee, Bent Arrow went to his pile of halters.
He selected eight of the halters and laid them aside. There was still
one question bothering him, and while he and his uncle were eating, he
asked it.
“I don’t remember reaching the camp,” he said. “How did I find Clawing
Bear and his men?”
“Clawing Bear had a dream that you and I needed help,” Flying Arrow
explained. “When the hunting party started back to the winter camp, he
got permission to come to our aid. The other seven men received
permission to go with him.”
When they had finished eating, Bent Arrow added another halter to those
he had set aside. He noticed that Flying Arrow, too, was carrying
halters when they left the tepee.
Clawing Bear and the seven warriors were seated around the fire. Flying
Arrow took his place in the circle next to Clawing Bear. Bent Arrow sat
behind him. Clawing Bear took the pipe and lighted it with a brand from
the fire. He blew smoke to the north, the east, the south, and the west.
Then he passed the pipe to Flying Arrow. Flying Arrow blew smoke in each
of the four directions and passed the pipe on. In turn, each of the
warriors blew smoke in the four directions. When the pipe came back to
Clawing Bear, he carefully wrapped it in its cover. The medicine man got
to his feet.
“Seldom do we have the youngest speak first,” he said, “but the youth
who made that great run is entitled to be heard.”
As the medicine man sat down, all eyes turned toward Bent Arrow. Slowly
he stood up.
“My uncle has taught me that good Crows help each other,” he managed to
say. “You proved yourselves good Crows by helping us. I want to give
each of you a gift.”
He went around the circle giving each warrior a halter in sign that the
warrior now owned one of Bent Arrow’s horses. There were two halters
left in Bent Arrow’s hand when he stopped in front of Clawing Bear.
“Two horses to you, Clawing Bear,” he said, “to show you that I am
grateful to you for healing my leg and telling me to get an eagle
feather.”
There was a murmur of approval as Bent Arrow sat down. Flying Arrow got
to his feet. He, too, went around the circle, giving each man a halter.
When he had finished, he still had one halter in his hand. He turned to
Bent Arrow.
“As a raider,” he smiled, “you have proved yourself a good Crow. You
have proved yourself worthy of a good horse. This halter is Rocks’. The
horse is yours.”
Bent Arrow tried to thank his uncle, but there was something wrong with
his throat, and no words would come out. Flying Arrow turned quickly
back to the warriors.
“Clawing Bear will tell you why I made presents of horses to you,” he
said.
Clawing Bear stood.
“When a youth does a great deed,” Clawing Bear spoke solemnly, “his
nearest relative is entitled to give gifts and to give the youth a new
name. Twelve summers ago a party of Sioux injured a Crow boy—injured him
so badly that the boy could not walk erect and so was given the name
Bent Arrow. Now that boy has been cured. He has raided a Sioux camp. He
has run a great distance in as short a time as any Crow has ever run it.
When he reached us, he was ready to drop, but he was running erectly. I
say that the boy, Bent Arrow, has become the warrior, True Arrow, a true
Crow.”
A warrior jumped up and ran around the circle three times, shouting,
“Welcome, True Arrow. Welcome, True Arrow. Welcome, True Arrow.”
Bent Arrow, now True Arrow, sat still with his head down. He was too
happy to speak.
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