aching, that his tongue was swollen and dry as cloth, that he was faint with hunger.
He wriggled a few feet back from the cliff face and tried to stand but was barely up before his legs collapsed. Again and again he tried before he finally gained his feet. He wobbled a few steps and collapsed again, pitching forward on his face. Too weak to walk, he straightened his legs, tucked his arms against his sides, and rolled slowly down the slope, finally bouncing to a stop against the willows that flanked the creek at the base of the bluff. He crawled into the cool water and immersed himself there for almost an hour rolling onto his face, then onto his back, repeating the action over and over. He wet his swollen lips and dabbed drops of water on his parched tongue. Before he got up he allowed himself a few sips from the stream.
Barely able to stand, he staggered through the undergrowth and finally found his hobbled horses, standing together on the open grassland. Fumbling weakly at the flap of his traveling pouch, he at last succeeded in retrieving a stick of jerked meat, which he ate in tiny bites, sucking all the juice out before he swallowed.
Repeatedly he tried to pull himself onto one of the ponies but when he finally gained its back he fell off the other side and had to rest another hour before trying again.
When he was finally able to climb up and sit, the sun was dipping toward the horizon and he rode south, clinging feebly to his horse's mane. Several hours after sunset he came across a spring at the mouth of a ravine. He tumbled down, turned on his back, and slept as if he would never wake.
When he opened his eyes again it was at the behest of one of the horses, which had been nudging him in the ribs with its soft muzzle.
Smiles A Lot drank as much as he could hold, chewed up half a dozen strips of jerked meat, and continued south. He was feeling much better now and was anxious to get home. He wanted to tell Owl Prophet about what he had experienced on Medicine Bluff. Surely the prophet would have something to say when he told him about the crows and the horse and the enemies falling before him and the white men in the stream.
It was possible of course that the prophet would recoil, thinking that Smiles A Lot had lost his mind.
It was true that the young man who wanted to die a warrior had undergone a fragmentation of the mind. Yet as he rode home with the breeze in his face one thought stood out in the jumble that was floating freely in his head. Whenever danger found him, he had better make sure he was on the back of an all-black horse. If he couldn't find one, he would do well to steal one from an enemy. No prophet needed to tell him that from here on out, a black horse was essential to a long and happy life.
Chapter XIV
Kicking Bird was the first to strike camp. His wives packed up the household and struck their lodges as Kicking Bird counciled with a number of middle-aged warriors, all men of solid standing. Gap In The Woods and Big Bow; Gray Leggings and Island, Bird Chief and Powder Face all came to the special meeting lodge because, like Kicking Bird, none was sure that war was the answer. Each of them had fought the white man, as had their fathers and grandfathers. None was afraid of war but in the back of each man's mind lurked the same seed of doubt that had taken root in Kicking Bird's. Perhaps the persistent white tide could not be turned, and if that was so, it might serve the survival of all to at least make contact. Neither Kicking Bird nor anyone else could say to themselves what contact might yield. But how could the depth of a stream or the strength of its current or the shape of stones beneath the surface be known without walking across? It was this understanding that brought Kicking Bird and other middle-aged warriors together.
Each man that came that morning backed the statesman's position. They, too, packed up possessions and families and, not long after the sun had burned off the morning haze, Kicking Bird led his column of men, women, children, dogs, and ponies out of the village for what was expected to be a protracted stay in the country of the Kiowa.
In the Hard Shield lodge across the village Wind In His Hair was also having a busy morning. His loyal core of Hard Shields had been augmented by the arrival of many others, promising young men like Iron Jacket and Left Hand and Hears The Sunrise, all of them vowing to lend the limit of their skill and bravery to his enterprise. It warmed Wind In His Hair's heart to see so many clamoring for action. The power that beat beneath the breast of every Comanche warrior was coming, as it always had, to the fore. Each warrior retreated to his home that afternoon to settle family affairs, inventory horses and weapons, and perform the rituals essential to safety and victory.
The following morning, a line of Comanche men forty strong filed east with Wind In His Hair at its head. It was the largest party in years and its sullen nature, bereft of the customary excitement that marked such departures, reflected the seriousness with which they regarded the enemy. It was hoped that an encounter with white soldiers would take place, giving them an opportunity to “chop at the enemy's head,” as Wind In His Hair put it.
Accompanied by renowned buffalo-killers Lone young Man, Red Moon, and Feathered Lance, Dances With Wolves also left camp that morning, eager to strike a herd of substance in the west.
He should have been feeling just right. The sun was at his back, his two eldest children were at his side again, and his skillful counterparts and their families were in high spirits.
But he and Stands With A Fist had argued the previous day, creating a tension between them that carried to the moment he had swung onto his pony and ridden off, the sour feeling of estrangement sticking in his craw.
The argument had begun over the children, Snake In Hands and Always Walking wanted to go out again with their father. He and his wife had both been reluctant to grant permission, but the brother and sister were adamant, finally challenging their parents to cite a good reason for them to stay home.
Dances With Wolves had responded to the challenge with silence. In his heart there was no good reason, but he hadn't wanted to undercut his wife and remained quiet.
Stands With A Fist had understood his silence as a betrayal. If he had wanted to support her he would have spoken up. At the least he could have asserted his authority as a father and told them both that the decision to keep them in camp was final. Instead, he had shifted the weight of deciding to her, a weight that, when added to all the recent talk of white soldiers and war and reservations, she was incapable of shouldering.
She barked rather icily at the children, 'Go with your father if that's what you want to do!” and busied herself stoking the fire. Snake In Hands and Always Walking ran happily out of the lodge, leaving Dances With Wolves to confront his unhappy wife.
“Come with us,' he said.
She flicked a cold glance in his direction but said nothing.
'Come with us,' he repeated. “I'm tired of being away from my wife.” He thought this last remark might make amends, but it didn't.
'I can't do that,' she said, as if a gauntlet had struck her face. 'Every man in camp is gone. There's more work when men are gone. Children need to be watched, people need to be helped. Women have to double their work. It's not easy.'
'No. . women's work is not easy. Come with us,' he asked again.
'I can't. I won't. Stays Quiet and I will stay at home. Go out as long as you want.'
They took little bites at each other all that evening, and the division between them was still there the following morning. The tug-of-war left no space for affection or understanding and each performed the preparations for his leaving in the edgy atmosphere that drives men and women away from one another. They avoided touching and shared only a few curt words when speech could not be avoided.
When the horses were loaded with provisions and the children were on the backs of their ponies, Stands With A Fist hugged each of them and wished her husband good hunting with the briefest of looks. Then she took Stays Quiet by the hand and disappeared into the lodge.
Dances With Wolves rode onto the plain with a heart so unsettled that even the comical sight of Owl Prophet did little to relieve it. The prophet's family was marching into the prairie on foot, the women and children carrying
