dry heat. The feeling welled higher and higher and Dunbar surrendered to it.
His hand fell downward, and as it did, the lieutenant ceased to think. Nothing guided his action, no visions or words or memories. He was feeling, and nothing more.
When he was conscious again he looked to the sky and saw the earth turning in the movement of the clouds. He rolled onto his back, placed his arms straight against his sides in the manner of a corpse, and floated awhile on his bed of grass and earth.
Then he closed his eyes and napped for half an hour.
He tossed and turned that night, his mind flitting from one subject to the next as though it were checking a long succession of rooms for a place to rest. Every room was either locked or inhospitable until at last he came to the place that, in the back of his mind, he knew he was bound for all the time.
The room was filled with Indians.
The idea was so right that he considered making the trip to Ten Bears’s camp that instant. But it seemed too impetuous.
I’ll get up early, he thought. Maybe I’ll stay a couple of days this time. He woke with anticipation before dawn but steeled himself against getting up, resisting the idea of a headlong rush to the village. He wanted to go without rash expectations, and stayed in bed until it was light.
When he had everything on but his shirt, he picked it up and slid an arm through one of the sleeves. He paused then, staring through the hut’s window to assess the weather. It was already warm in the room, probably warmer outside.
It’s going to be a scorcher, he thought as he pulled the sleeve off his arm.
The breastplate was hanging on a peg now, and as he reached for it, the lieutenant realized that he’d wanted to wear it all along, regardless of the weather.
He packed the shirt away in a haversack, just in case.
Two Socks was waiting outside.
When he saw Lieutenant Dunbar come through the door he took two or three quick steps back, spun in a circle, sidestepped a few feet, and lay down, panting like a puppy.
Dunbar cocked his head quizzically.
“What’s got into you?”
The wolf lifted his head at the sound of the lieutenant’s voice. His look was so intent that it made Dunbar chuckle.
“You wanna go with me?”
Two Socks jumped to his feet and stared at the lieutenant, not moving a muscle.
“Well, c’mon then.”
Kicking Bird woke thinking of “Jun” down there at the white man’s fort.
“Jun.” What an odd name. He tried to think of what it might mean. Young Rider perhaps. Or Fast Rider. Probably something to do with riding.
It was good to have the season’s first hunt ended. With the buffalo come at last, the problem of food had been solved, and that meant he could return to his pet project with some regularity. He would resume it this very day.
The medicine man went to the lodges of two close advisers and asked if they wanted to ride down there with him. He was surprised at how eager they were to go, but took it as a good sign nonetheless. No one was afraid anymore. In fact, people seemed to be at ease with the white soldier. In the talk he’d heard the last few days there were even expressions of fondness for him.
Kicking Bird rode out of camp feeling especially good about the day to come. Everything had gone well with the early stages of his plan. The cultivation was finally complete. Now he could get down to the real business of investigating the white race.
Lieutenant Dunbar figured he’d made close to four miles. He had expected the wolf to be long gone at the two-mile mark. At three miles he’d really started to wonder. And now, at four miles, he was thoroughly stumped.
They’d entered a narrow, grassy depression wedged between two slopes, and the wolf was still with him. Never before had he followed so far.
The lieutenant scissored off Cisco’s back and stared out at Two Socks. In his customary way the wolf had stopped, too. As Cisco lowered his head to chomp at the grass Dunbar began to walk in Two Socks’s direction, thinking he would be pressured into withdrawing. But the head and ears peering above the grass didn’t move, and when the lieutenant finally came to a halt, he was no more than a yard away.
The wolf tilted his head expectantly but otherwise stayed motionless as Dunbar squatted.
“I don’t think you’re going to be welcome where I’m going,” he said out loud, as though he were chatting with a trusted neighbor.
He looked up at the sun. “It’s gonna be hot; why don’t you go on home?”
The wolf listened attentively, but still he did not move.
The lieutenant rocked to his feet.
“C’mon, Two Socks,” he said irritably, “go home.”
He made a shooing motion with his hands, and Two Socks scurried to one side.
He shooed again and the wolf hopped, but it was obvious that Two Socks had no intention of going home.
“All right then,” Dunbar said emphatically, “don’t go home. But stay. Stay right there.”
He punctuated this with a wag of his finger and made an about-face. He’d just completed his turn when he heard the howl. It wasn’t full-blown, but it was low and plaintive and definite.
A howl.
The lieutenant swung his head around and there was Two Socks, his muzzle pointed up, his eyes trained on Lieutenant Dunbar, moaning like a pouty child.
To an objective observer it would have been a remarkable display, but to the lieutenant, who knew him so well, it was simply the last straw.
“You go home!” Dunbar roared, and he charged at Two Socks. Like a son who has pushed his father too far, the wolf flattened his ears and gave ground, scooting away with his tail tucked.
At the same time Lieutenant Dunbar took off at a run in the opposite direction, thinking he would get to Cisco, gallop off at full tilt, and ditch Two Socks.
He was tearing through the grass, thinking of his plan, when the wolf came bounding happily alongside.
“You go home,” the lieutenant snarled, and veered suddenly at his pursuer. Two Socks hopped straight up like a scared rabbit, leaving his paws in the sudden panic to get away. When he came to ground the lieutenant was only a step behind. He reached out for the base of Two Socks’s tail and gave it a squeeze. The wolf shot ahead as if a firecracker had gone off under him, and Dunbar laughed so hard that he had to stop running.
Two Socks skittered to a halt twenty yards away and stared back over his shoulder with an expression of such embarrassment that the lieutenant couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
He gave him a wave of goodbye and, still chortling to himself, turned around to find that Cisco had wandered back the way they’d come, browsing at the choicest grass.
The lieutenant started into an easy trot, unable to keep from laughing at the image of Two Socks running
