With fast, sure strokes, she drew a single horizontal bar across his forehead and two vertical ones along each cheek. Using a dot pattern, she superimposed a wolf’s paw print over one of the cheek bars and stepped back to look at her work.
She nodded approval as Dances With Wolves slung the bow and quiver over his shoulder.
“You can shoot?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Take this then.”
He handed her the rifle.
There were no hugs or words of goodbye.
He stepped outside, jumped up on Cisco, and was gone.
They rode away from the river, taking the straightest line possible across the grasslands.
The sky was terrifying. It seemed as though four storms were converging at once. Lightning was flashing all around them like artillery fire.
They had to stop when one of the travois came loose from its rigging, and as it was being repaired, Dances With Wolves had a chilling thought. What if he couldn’t find the guns? He hadn’t seen the buffalo rib marker for a long time. Even if it was still standing where he’d driven it into the ground, it would be difficult to find. He groaned inwardly at his prospects.
Rain was beginning to fall in big, heavy drops when they reached the fort. He led them to what he thought was the spot but could see nothing in the dark. He told them what to look for, and the quartet fanned out on their ponies, searching the tall grass for a long, white piece of bone.
Rain was coming harder now, and ten minutes passed with no sign of the rib. The wind was up and lightning was flashing every few seconds. The light it threw across the ground was countered by the blinding effect it had on the searchers.
After twenty dismal minutes Dances With Wolves’s heart had hit bottom. They were covering the same ground now and still there was nothing.
Then, over the wind and rain and thunder, he thought he heard a cracking sound under one of Cisco’s hooves. Dances With Wolves called to the others and leaped down. Soon all four were on their hands and knees feeling blindly through the grass. Stone Calf suddenly jumped to his feet. He was waving a long, white piece of the rib.
Dances With Wolves stood in the spot where it was found and waited for the next bolt of lightning. When the sky flashed again, he glanced quickly at the old buildings of Fort Sedgewick and, using them as a landmark, began moving in a northerly direction, going step by step,
A few paces later the prairie went spongy under one of his boots, and he cried out to the others. The men dropped down to help him dig. The earth gave easily as they scooped and minutes later two long wooden cases of rifles were being hauled out of their muddy tomb.
They’d been under way only half an hour when the storm hit with full power, sending rain down in great, running sheets. It was impossible to see, and the four men shepherding the two travois across the plains had to grope their way back.
But with the importance of their mission uppermost in each man’s mind, they never paused, and made the return trip in amazing time. When at last they were in sight of the village, the storm had died down. Above it, a few long streaks of gray had appeared in the turbulent sky, and through this first feeble light of day they could see that the village was still safe.
They had just started down the depression leading to camp when a spectacular barrage of lightning struck upriver. For two or three seconds the bolts lit the landscape with the clarity of daylight.
Dances With Wolves saw it, and so did the others.
A long line of horsemen was crossing the river no more than half a mile above the village. The lightning struck again and they could see the enemy disappearing into the breaks. The plan was obvious. They would come from the north, using the foliage along the river to move within a hundred yards of the village. Then they would attack.
In perhaps twenty minutes the Pawnee would be in position.
There were twenty-four rifles in each crate. Dances With Wolves personally passed them out to the fighting men clustered around Ten Bears’s lodge while the old man gave last-minute instructions.
Though he knew that the main assault would be coming from the river, it was probable that they would send a diversionary force from the open prairie, thus giving the real attackers a chance to overrun the village from behind. He designated two influential warriors and a handful of followers to fight off the suspected charge from the prairie.
Then he tapped Dances With Wolves on the shoulder, and the warriors listened as he spoke.
“If you were a white soldier,” the old man said wryly, “and you had all these men with guns, what would you do?”
Dances With Wolves quickly thought this over.
“I would hide in the village . . .”
Cries of derision flew from the mouths of the warriors who had been within earshot. Ten Bears quieted them with a raising of his hand and an admonishment.
“Dances With Wolves has not finished his answer,” he said sternly.
“I would hide in the village, behind the lodges. I would watch only the breaks and not those coming from the prairie. I would let the enemy show himself first. I would let the enemy think we are fighting on the other side and that taking the camp will be easy. Then I would have these men hiding behind the lodges jump out and shoot. Then I would have these men charge the enemy with knives and skull crackers. I would drive the enemy into the river and kill so many that they would never come this way again.”
The old man had been listening carefully. He looked out over his warriors and lifted his voice.
“Dances With Wolves and I are of the same mind. We should kill so many that they will never come this way again. Let us go quietly.”
The men moved stealthily through the village with their new rifles and took up positions behind lodges that faced the river.
Before he took his place beside them, Dances With Wolves slipped into Kicking Bird’s lodge. The children had been herded under robes. Sitting in silence beside them were the women. Kicking Bird’s wives were holding clubs in their laps. Stands With A Fist had his rifle. They said nothing, and neither did Dances With Wolves. He’d only wanted to see that they were ready.
He stole past the arbor and stopped behind his own lodge. It was one of the closest to the river. Stone Calf was on the other side. They nodded at each other and turned their attention to the open ground in front of them. It sloped for about a hundred yards before it met the breaks.
The rain was much lighter, but it still served to obscure their view. Clouds hung thickly overhead, and the halflight of dawn was almost no light at all. They could see little, but he felt sure they were there.
Dances With Wolves glanced up and down the line of tipis to his left and right. Comanche warriors were packed in behind each one, waiting with their rifles. Even Ten Bears was there.
The light was stronger now. The storm clouds were lifting and the rain was going with them. Suddenly the sun broke through, and a minute later steam was rising off the ground like fog.
Dances With Wolves squinted through the fog at the breaks and saw the dark shapes of men, sifting like spirits through the willows and cottonwoods.
He was starting to feel something he had not felt in a long time. It was that intangible thing that turned his eyes black, that turned on the machine that could not be shut down.
