“Wait,” Dorman said. He pointed to a nearby mountain. “Let’s go that way.”
“You know that way?”
“Yeah, I’ve hunted there. It will be rough for the horses, but I think we can make it. And even if the Injuns follow us, there are so many of ’em that they can’t all come through at the same time, and the ones that have to hold back are goin’ to slow the other ones down.”
“Good idea,” Falcon said.
The two men started out at a trot, taking advantage of the flat ground while they could. By the time they reached the base of the mountain, the Indians had discovered them and, though they were still some distance away, they were coming up hard and fast.
The mountain looked very close, but Falcon had spent his entire life in mountains, and he well understood the illusion of a mountain being much farther away than it appeared to be. Not wanting to overtax the horses, they trotted, galloped, and walked, reaching the actual mountain after about eight miles. But by the time they were actually at the foot of the mountain, the horses were beginning to tire from their long flight.
“If we don’t give these horses a blow, we’re going to kill them,” Falcon said.
“I think you are right,” Dorman replied. “All right, we’ll let ’em take a break.”
The two men dismounted. Falcon took off his hat, poured some water from his canteen into it, then held the hat in front of the horse. The horse began drinking thirstily.
“As I recall, we are some distance away from water right now,” Dorman said. “Could be you’re goin’ to need that water for yourself.”
“I’m going to get thirsty, that’s for sure,” Falcon replied. “But I can take it better than the horse. I can’t have him going out on me now.”
“Yeah,” Dorman said. He took off his own hat. “Yeah, I reckon you would be right about that.”
Like Falcon, Dorman gave his horse some water. Then both men unsaddled their mounts and for the next few minutes, allowed the horses to crop the nearby grass.
At the end of half an hour, they put the saddles back on, and had just finished when Falcon saw the Indians closing fast.
“There they are!” he shouted. “We have to get out of here!”
Falcon and Dorman swung into their saddles, just as a volley of shots rang out.
“Quick, into that timber!” Falcon shouted, pointing to a nearby thicket. “It’s our only chance!”
The two riders wheeled toward the timber that lay to their left. Falcon’s horse was hit by a bullet. It stumbled, and nearly went down, but recovered and continued to run, keeping pace with Dorman’s mount despite its wound. There were so many Indians that, even though they were shooting as individuals, it was almost as if they were firing in volley. Fortunately, because they were shooting from horseback, the firing, though intense, was very inaccurate.
Just as they reached the timber, Dorman’s horse was also hit, and it was limping badly as it carried Dorman into the woods. Once inside the tree line, Falcon and Dorman hastily dismounted at the edge. There, they drew their long guns and began firing back. Dorman had the Henry Falcon had given him, and so was able to maintain a high rate of fire. But the bullet that had hit Falcon’s horse had also shattered the chamber of his own Henry.
Tossing the useless Henry aside, Falcon drew his pistol and took aim at one of the Indians who had come closer. He fired, and the Indian tumbled from his saddle. Although there were only two of them against at least four score Indians and more, Falcon and Dorman’s fire was so accurate that, within a few moments, at least ten of the Indians lay dead or dying on the field. The rest of the Indians withdrew from immediate pistol range, but they didn’t leave the field of battle. Instead, they just gathered on the other side of the open area, out of range, not only of Falcon’s pistols, but of Dorman’s rifle.
“Look there, Falcon,” Dorman said, pointing. “Ain’t that Cut Nose there leadin’ ’em?”
“Yeah, that’s him all right,” Falcon said.
“Next time them heathen bastards come across, let’s make particular sure that we kill that son of a bitch,” Dorman said. “Him bein’ the leader, if we kill him, it might take some of the fight out of the rest of ’em.”
“We’ll have to get him into range,” Falcon said. “If he stays back there and directs the fight, we’ll never get a chance at him.”
“Oh, I’ll get the son of a bitch into range all right,” Dorman said.
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to use you as bait,” Dorman said.
Falcon chuckled. “I’m not sure I’m all that excited about being used as bait, but I have to admit that I’m interested in seeing how you are going to do that.”
“I’m going to speak the words in English first, so you’ll know what I’m saying,” Dorman said. “Then I’m going to shout them out in Lakota.”
“All right, go ahead,” Falcon invited.
Dorman nodded, then cupped his hands around his mouth to yell.
“Cut Nose! The white man who killed your brother is here! He is waiting for you!” Dorman shouted. Then he repeated the shout in the guttural Lakota language.
Cut Nose shouted back.
