repeated this astounding maneuver several times before pulling up, wheeling, and sprinting back the way he had come. To the amazement of all who could see, he rose and stood on the horse's back, dropped down, swung over the speeding horse's side, passed under the animal's neck, swung up the other side, and stood once again.
Though unrivaled in its mastery Smiles A Lot's daring exhibition was part of a long tradition practiced by bold warriors of preceding generations. It was always good to do such things: it swelled the courage of brothers-in-arms while disconcerting the enemy and making him waste ammunition. But as Smiles A Lot halted to give his heaving mount a chance to catch its breath, his heart and mind fused in an indescribable entity. The blood pumping through his veins resounded like the beat of a great drum. It filled the open prairie around him with an irresistibly primal call, and the circle of wagons ahead suddenly grew as transparent as the enemies he had seen in the vision at the great Medicine Bluff.
Smiles A Lot charged the wagons again but this time he did not veer, and as he swung down along the side of the running black horse, his fellow Comanches could not believe what was happening. Smiles A Lot was going through the enemy.
The black horse took flight over one of the wagons with smiles A Lot still hanging at his side. Scattering white men as they landed, horse and rider dug across the open ground, cleared a wagon on the other side, and streaked back onto the prairie.
When Smiles A Lot pulled up again the screams of his fellow fighters overwhelmed all sound. The voices did not abate. They rushed into his ears and spread through his body like fire. The black horse pivoted on his hind legs and charged again. This time Smiles A Lot did not conceal himself but rode into the oncoming fire from the wagons straight up. Again they leapt a wagon, tore over the ground occupied by the whites, flew over a second wagon, and sped back across the prairie until they reached the ranks from which they had come. The feathers on Smiles A Lot's head had been shot to pieces. The toe of one of his moccasins was missing. Both reins had been sliced in half. But the bodies of horse and rider were untouched by white man bullets.
The power and magic of Smiles A Lot electrified the Comanches and Kiowas surrounding the wagon train. The young men could no longer be held in check, and even veteran warriors knew that something must be done. Smiles A Lot's charge had brought their pride to a boil; such that when the warriors talked excitedly about what course to take, it quickly became apparent they could not act without the one who was the soul of resistance.
Riders were dispatched to the village, and, less than an hour later, overcoming his best instincts, Wind In His Hair answered their call.
'We will ride over them,' he bellowed, riding up and down the lines of warriors. 'We will ride over them again and again until they are dead.'
Seeing that the Indians were attacking in full force, the wagon train's commander ordered everyone to take cover. Soldiers and civilians were instructed to go to small arms once the Indians penetrated the defenses, but one among them, a former buffalo-hunter named Arbuckle, had no intention of using a peashooter when he possessed the best rifle a man could own. He slid under a wagon and started firing at the oncoming horde, taking aim at the figure out in front, the one with the big, trailing bonnet of eagle feathers.
Arbuckle emptied a couple of saddles but was unable to get a clear shot at the one he wanted. As the Indian charge broke overhead, Arbuckle about-faced under the wagon to fire at those who had gotten inside the circle.
Suddenly, the mass of horses and men parted and Arbuckle sighted down his rifle at the back of his prize. He squeezed the trigger and the warrior with the bonnet jerked. A hand went to the small of his back and the Indian slumped forward. The man with the eagle feathers disappeared, and Arbuckle's disappointment at not being able to shoot him a second time was fleeting. He knew he had gotten him good with the first round.
Chapter LVII
Dances With Wolves and a man named He Who Does Not Listen To Them were the first to get to Wind In His Hair. Together they lifted him off his pony, and when they were clear of the wagons, Dances With Wolves pulled the mortally wounded warrior up behind him.
'I am fighting no more!' Dances With Wolves screamed, and as he broke off the battle to carry Wind In His Hair back to the camp, most of the holdovers from Ten Bears' village followed.
White Bear and his Kiowas wanted no more, either, and though a few pockets of young Comanche and Kiowa pestered the wagon train with sniper fire until dusk, the main force of fighters left the field without fulfilling their last, desperate hope. If the whites could kill Wind In His Hair, there was no point in fighting.
The one-eyed warrior was still alive when they reached the temporary camp, but the bullet that had lodged in the bone of his back made it impossible for him to move his legs or even feel them.
As he was carried to bed, Wind In His Hair heard Dances With Wolves calling for Owl Prophet.
'No,' he commanded, “I do not want to be doctored. I will not live like this. I am dying now. . let me die.'
Propped against a backrest, he lingered until moonrise. Then he closed his eyes and let his chin slump against his chest as the last trace of breath passed out of him.
In his last hours of life the leader had made but one demand. He wanted his body secreted from the enemy, and as soon as he was dead, his remains were carried away from camp, buried in a deep hole, covered with earth, and carefully camouflaged with brush and stones.
No ponies were killed over him and only a few personal items, hastily grabbed up by his friends, were placed in the grave with him. One Braid Trailing cut her hair and slashed herself, but she was the only one who mourned. There was no time for the others.
Word came that yet another column of soldiers was coming, this one from the east. Some families had already started for the reservation and many others were making ready. Those who felt compelled to stay had no idea what to do next. White man soldiers whom they could not hope to fight were converging on them from all directions. If they stayed where they were, they would be annihilated. But where could they go?
In the council convened shortly after the return of Wind In His Hair's burial party, it was decided that a single option was left. They must flee west before the soldiers could catch them, surmount the great caprock barrier, cross the trackless wilderness of the Staked Plains, dive into the Great Hole In The Earth, and hide.
But they would have to escape the net closing around them before they could hope to hide, and, on the night Wind In His Hair passed over the stars, his heirs started west-three hundred men, women, and children pushing almost a thousand ponies, frantic to make themselves invisible.
Chapter LVIII
When Lawrie Tatum and Kicking Bird disembarked at a large spring wagon to the terminus of the train line, they were given a large spring wagon to carry Ten Bears overland to Fort Sill.
At mid-morning of their journey's second day, Lawrie Tatum mentioned that he had been thinking of a suitable site for Ten Bears' interment and had concluded that a place of prominence at the post cemetery would be the best solution.
'Not at Fort Sill,' Kicking Bird replied flatly.
'Then where?'
'On prairie. . old way. You go Sill. Me. . Ten Bears go on prairie.”
For a time Lawrie Tatum tried to talk his friend out of it, reminding him that they had much to accomplish on the reservation. But Kicking Bird was unmoved and the two parted, Lawrie Tatum angling north on his mule as Kicking Bird swung south, then west, to Comanche country.
