Bloodshed of Eagles

“Well, it appears you have a name,” Dorman said. “You are Tall Warrior.”

“I guess I could have a worse name,” Falcon replied.

“They think I betrayed them,” Dorman said.

“This is just a guess, but I’d say they are pretty mad at you,” Falcon said.

Despite the tenseness of the moment, Dorman laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “But so far ole’ Cut Nose ain’t mad enough to come out on his own. I guess I’m going to have to try again.”

Again, Dorman cupped his hands around his mouth and called out loudly.

“Cut Nose, I speak for Tall Warrior who does not know our tongue! Tall Warrior says that Running Bear died a coward! Tall Warrior, believes you are a coward!”

Again, Dorman translated his challenge into Lakota, and it was answered almost immediately.

“Tall Warrior is the coward. He will not meet me in the test. I will kill Tall Warrior, then we will kill you, White Black Man. We will let the women roast you as if you are a buffalo hump.”

“Do you think he really would meet me in a fair fight?” Falcon asked.

Dorman shook his head. “Any other time he might,” Dorman said. “But I think if you showed yourself now, they would kill you.”

“Tall Warrior says he will not fight a coward,” Dorman shouted. “Tall Warrior says to send your women after us. Your women are braver than you are!”

“Ayieee! Tell Tall Warrior it is a good day for him to die. It is a good day for you to die!”

“Well, I think we did it,” Dorman said with a chuckle. “Ole’ Cut Nose is so mad now that he can barely breathe. I reckon they’ll be comin’ after us now. When he does, all we got to do is shoot the son of a bitch.”

“Good job, Dorman. But wait until he gets into pistol range,” Falcon replied. “With both of us shooting, the chances of getting him are a lot better.”

“Right,” Dorman said, cocking his rifle, then holding it barrel-up as he as waited.

They didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, cries and war whoops echoed across the field as the Indians came dashing toward them. Falcon waited, listening to the rolling thunder of the horse hooves and watching the cloud of dust billowing up behind them, as the Indians galloped across the plain, rapidly closing the distance between them.

“Let me know when you think he’s in your range,” Dorman called, having to raise his voice to be heard over the drumming hoofbeats.

“Now!” Falcon shouted.

Both Falcon and Dorman fired, and Cut Nose went down. The others, seeing that, brought their horses to an abrubt halt, then turned and galloped back to the shelter of the rocks and trees.

“By damn, I don’t reckon Cut Nose is goin’ to be leadin’ ’em on any more charges,” Dorman said as the two of them looked out at the Indian’s body, lying no more than fifty yards away. The rest of the Indians were at least fifty yards beyond Cut Nose’s body, and were still riding hard to get out of range.

“How much ammunition you got left?” Falcon asked.

“I don’t know—maybe twenty or so shells. What about you?”

“Just what’s in my pistol,” Falcon said. “You may as well take the ammunition that’s in my saddlebag. It’s for the Henry, and the one I’ve got is worthless.”

“We aren’t going to be able to hold off many more charges like that one we just faced,” Dorman said.

One of the Indians started yelling something.

“Damn, so much for the idea that killing Cut Nose would send them home,” Dorman said.

“What did he say?”

“He said they are comin’ after us. We’re goin’ to have to get out of here.”

“Yeah, well, we aren’t going to go far on these horses,” Falcon said. “Both of them are pretty badly wounded.”

“You’re right,” Dorman replied. “But we still have to get out of here. You got ’ny suggestions?”

Falcon looked at the steep mountain behind them. “Have you ever been on the other side of this mountain?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s on the other side?”

“Another mountain.”

“And then?”

“Another mountain.”

“All right, after we get over all the mountains, what is there?”

“The Little Missouri River.”

“Isn’t that where Custer is supposed to be?”