excavated earth over the withers of their ponies before engaging the enemy. Then he had them wait outside his lodge while he consulted with the Mystery.
Silhouettes of owl and man glowed behind the skin of the medicine man's tent and a long, indecipherable conversation commenced. Though they understood nothing, the warriors hung on every word until at last, in a cacophony of unearthly screeching, the outlines of man and bird fell out of view.
A few moments later, Owl Prophet emerged to give a short, exhausted account that told the warriors what had transpired.
'You will meet two forces of white men. The first you must let pass. Attack only the second. Attack the first and disaster will befall you. Attack the second and you will kill many whites. Attack the second and you shall have victory.'
A chorus of unruly cheers erupted and, as Owl Prophet stumbled back into his lodge, the excited leaders hurried back to their homes to prepare for the great dance of bravado that was to begin shortly.
As darkness fell, the populace watched Ten Bears pause in silent prayer before applying a glowing faggot to the tinder at the edge of the great fire. At the same moment, as flames licked upward and sparks spewed into the blackness of the night sky, four Kiowa musicians sitting cross-legged around a drum began to beat out an ominous cadence that reverberated through the village like approaching thunder. The deliberate cadence grew stronger and stronger, its insistent pulse gradually insinuating itself into the bloodstreams of the waiting warriors.
Hears The Sunrise and a young Kiowa named Trotting Wolf, unable to resist the power of the drum, entered the empty circle first. The men alternated from one leg to another, lifting and dropping their feet in perfect unison with each ringing vibration of the echoing drum.
Many other warriors stepped methodically into the circle and it was soon crowded with dancers moving as one body to the irresistible, repetitive beat.
Imperceptibly, the rhythm picked up speed, gradually animating the dancers and driving some of them to utter spontaneous cries which seemed to spill not from their mouths but from hidden recesses of their viscera.
At a signal not so much seen as felt, the Kiowa drummers suddenly ceased and a waiting Comanche cadre took over, the new arms and hands and hearts seamlessly lifting the concussive rhapsody to new heights. Several drum groups had assembled and as one flowed into another, the furious climax of the last was carried to new heights by the next.
The dancers followed as the drummers led them unerringly toward a sublime oblivion where no pretense is brooked in the abandonment of self. Warriors transformed themselves into namesake animals. They unsheathed their knives and raised their lances and strung their bows and stalked the enemy. Always in time to the drum, they lifted war clubs and smote the enemy. They slashed and scalped and pierced him over and over and over with the points of their spears. All the while their battle cries grew louder and sharper as each warrior played out his destiny in what was more a dress rehearsal for war than a dance.
At unscripted intervals the drums would suddenly fall back to the single grave beat that had marked the beginning. Then the cycle was repeated, again and again.
After several hours, a few warriors began to withdraw. Others collapsed and were dragged, senseless, from the circle by their relatives. The majority danced on, stretching the limits of their stamina to unknown realms, surrendering every measure of energy they possessed in hope of achieving an unconquerable purity of purpose.
The stars were beginning to fade when the outpouring reached its climax. Comanche and Kiowa drummers, ignorant of fatigue, had mingled, feeding off the competitive power in limbs whose muscles were driven by indomitable will. Guided by like forces, the dancers had become a turbulent sea of gyrating bodies whose voices ruled the night with a tumult of howls and moans and cries and shrieks flying heavenward in a single, thunderous, rolling roar.
High-pitched trills of encouragement from the swaying women massed in a huge circle around the warriors joined the gigantic eruption of sound and motion that fused each heart and mind, creating a force free of earthbound constraints, a force straining with all its spiritual might to coalesce with the supreme power of creation.
Chapter XXIII
Smiles A Lot was a member of the great congregation dancing around the fire that night.
No one had questioned his joining the warrior ranks, an action that, considering his lack of standing, would have been unthinkable in the past. But times were different now. Very young boys like Snake In Hands had gone among the warriors. Every soul was more precious than ever and every soul was welcome.
It had taken courage for Smiles A Lot to move his feet forward to the call of the drums, but once he was in the circle his steps grew stronger with each one taken, and by the time the first round of dancing reached its climax, his body, fixed in the grip of music and fire and the blackness of night, was moving without thought.
Smiles A Lot had been one of the exhilarated warriors left inside the circle when the drums finally ceased. He had danced for hours, but his body had crossed the narrow threshold that normally separates exhaustion from renewal. Far from being tired, Smiles A Lot felt positively airy. His feet were light, his blood flowed unimpeded, and his head was clear as a cloudless day. It was natural that such rapture would guide his gaze to the face in the surrounding circle which brought him incalculable joy, and a few moments after the drums ceased he looked in that direction.
She had been watching all night and when she saw him look her way she flashed the shy, closemouthed smile that had marked the start of his lovesickness. Yet in a subtle way the smile was different. Its shyness was newly tinged with a familiarity that made it knowing, and the effect on him was more entrancing than ever.
Smiles A Lot and Hunting For Something had touched but only in the accidental way people living under the same roof often do. They had not slept together or embraced or nuzzled, or even held each other's hands. They had talked of many things, but only obliquely about their feelings for one another. To surmise, however, that theirs was a union of convenience would have been wrong. No young couple was ever happier than Smiles A Lot and Hunting For Something. That they had not touched was of no importance, for reality had supplanted their mutual, despairing dreams of being together with a magnificent new dream, a dream that floated them through each day and laid them down each night in an inconceivably effortless way. Night was the most difficult part of existence because thoughts of each other circled so furiously in their heads that both shuddered at the thought of making a physical overture.
But while she watched him dance, a curious feeling crept over Hunting For Something. She wasn't sure what it might mean, but the sensation was intoxicating. All she knew for sure was that she had never imagined that such a feeling of pride could exist within her for a man. He had danced until the end, but long before that he had begun to attract attention for the compelling way in which he moved. He was so committed and animated in his actions that he had danced all night on the narrow edge of disaster. But he had never gone over, and to Hunting For Something he distinguished himself as one of the few who abandoned themselves to the dance with the relentless, unstoppable bravery a true warrior exhibits in battle.
Her observation that experienced warriors noted his commitment reinforced the honors he had received for killing two of the enemy, erasing all traces of doubt she might have had in his ability to provide the security every Comanche woman expected from a man.
And to see him boldly take his place in a pair of moccasins, a set of leggings, and a battle shirt fringed with the scalps of slain foes she had fashioned with her own hands swelled her heart to bursting. She even had an intimate connection with the bow and arrows he carried on his back all night. The first time Smiles A Lot hunted for her he had killed a large panther and carried it all the way back to camp. She had skinned it and cleverly constructed a bow case and quiver from its hide. There was nothing like it in camp and it had drawn many comments for its beauty and uniqueness.
Hunting For Something's happiness was so complete that she could not bear to look his way for long, and, leaving him to converse with the other warriors, she hurried back to their lodge to recheck the items she had
