“It isn’t broken—if that’s what you’re asking,” the surgeon replied and turned away.
Grouard quickly stepped in front of the retreating doctor. “But don’t you think he should do something about it?”
“If he wants, he can tie it down. Wrap a bandage around his chest like this,” and he pantomimed the arm being splinted against the left side of his rib cage.
Seamus said, “I’ll be all right, Frank. Leave the man go to see to them others.”
“You’re about as mule-headed as a Lakota woman I once knowed,” Grouard grumbled.
Donegan grinned as he took up his rifle and started back for their horses. “Bet I’m prettier’n she was too.”
Frank stopped, cupping a hand underneath Donegan’s bearded chin, turning the Irishman’s face this way, then that before he replied, “You just might be at that, you ugly son of a bitch.”
Seamus knocked the half-breed’s hand away from his chin. “The hell you say. I’m just as pretty as the next man. C’mon, you horse-faced renegade—let’s go see if Mackenzie’s got something for us to do.”
Chapter 30
Big Freezing Moon 1876
“Feather!”
Box Elder turned slightly at the sound of Medicine Top’s voice. He must be coming up the side of the slope, drawing closer. “I am asking for a blessing, my son!”
Then Medicine Top halted close to the summit of the hill, where the bullets still hit but with nowhere the frequency as they had. He reached out and touched his father. “I see a warrior along the ridgetop to your left.”
Box Elder turned his face in that direction, as if he could himself see. “Who is it?”
“I think it is Long Jaw.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
“He is drawing the soldier fire from you!”
“The soldiers are firing at him now?”
“Yes,” Medicine Top explained. “Once he appeared, the soldiers stopped shooting at you, and now they are trying to kill Long Jaw.”
“What is he doing?”
For a moment Medicine Top chuckled. “He is jumping around, back and forth on that ridge—making the soldiers look like fools for trying to hit him with all their bullets!”
From the hillside below him and from nearby where the women had gathered at the breastworks, into the sky now went the cheers and strong-heart songs of those who watched Long Jaw’s bravery. And then a quick ripple of laughter.
“What does everyone find so amusing?” Box Elder asked, wanting to see the event through his son’s eyes.
“A dog has joined Long Jaw now on the edge of the ridge—and they are both running back and forth. He yells down at the soldiers and then the dog barks at the white men. But as much as the
Then there was an audible gasp from the spectators. Box Elder grew worried immediately. “Did the soldiers hit him?” he asked his son.
“No, father,” Medicine Top replied after a long moment. “He just dropped out of sight behind a big rock.”
As Long Jaw stood there behind the boulder, facing northwest to wave at them, the women renewed their buoyant strong-heart songs. Then he jumped back into the open, the dog at his heels once more, barking all the louder now as the man jogged back and forth, taunting the soldiers and their scouts.
“Long Jaw is back!”
“It is good,” Box Elder said as he brought the pipe stem to his lips. “I must finish my prayer now.”
As soon as Young Two Moon saw his family on their way into the narrow mouth of the deep canyon where they would climb to the rim to build breastworks, the warrior clamped his arms around his father and said farewell as they both leaped upon the bare backs of their ponies and rode off in different directions. Beaver Claws went to the south side of camp, where the Shoshone were firing down from a high ridge and the Wolf People were pushing in among the lodges in a fierce struggle. Young Two Moon urged his pony into a lope, guiding it right down through the middle of the village.
His long elk-hide shirt, his carbine and pistol, plus his two cartridge belts were all he wore over his breechclout and leggings. And before he left the family’s lodge, he had taken a moment to open the rawhide container where he kept the warbonnet, its feathers protected. Smoothing each one with a deft motion of his hand, Young Two Moon had tied the bonnet onto his head before stepping into the bitter cold of that morning, the double trailer long enough to reach the ground.
At the east side of the village the firing became general, growing heavy. Up ahead through the mist dinging in among the lodges he spotted his good friend.
“Crow Necklace!” he called out to the horseman whose pinto darted back and forth as he fired at the advancing enemy pushing into the village. “Crow Necklace!” he cried again as he kicked his own horse into a faster lope.
But Crow Necklace did not seem to hear, for he suddenly reined about and galloped toward the south side of the village.
Just then Young Two Moon had heard the staccato call of the soldier bugle—cold and brassy on the dawn air. He wheeled about and headed north—toward the bugle call, knowing there would be soldiers where he heard such a brassy horn play its fighting song. He leaped his horse down the bank into the creek, then up and onto the rolling plain just in time to see the gray horse troop charging forward across the flat ground. Another group of soldiers rode off to their right toward the head of a faraway ravine. And an even larger bunch of the pony soldiers spread out and came galloping toward him, toward the creek and the village standing on the far side of the narrow stream.
Skidding to a halt, Young Two Moon yanked savagely on the single buffalo-hair rein, spinning the horse around and turning his back to the oncoming enemy. He could hear the bullets pass him more than he could actually feel the air they split in their passing. Back across the stream he raced the pony, into the heart of the village, heading for the south side of camp—where the fighting had already grown intense.
“Young Two Moon!” Crow Necklace hollered, still atop his pinto, as he saw his friend emerge out of the rolling, frosty mist hugging the frozen ground.
Then, as Young Two Moon watched, his friend was slung sideways off his pony, blood smearing his belly.
Racing to Crow Necklace’s side, Young Two Moon leaped to the ground, grabbing the young warrior’s arm to wrap around his neck. Bullets sang around them like angry hornets. Young Two Moon struggled to rise with Crow Necklace, murmuring all the time to calm his friend and the pony until he succeeded in hoisting Crow Necklace over the back of the pinto. Then, scooping up the pinto’s rein, Young Two Moon climbed atop his own horse and kicked it into motion—fleeing that furious close-quarters fighting with the Wolf People.
He sped with the body of his friend into the mouth of the narrow canyon where the women and children had gone, hoping to find someone to help him. Ahead of him a short distance ran five barefoot women, both young and old. He called out to them.
“Come back!”
After they stopped and finally seemed resigned to return to the young warrior, he told them, “My friend is hurt. Will you help him?”
“Is he a relative?” a woman asked, her eyes as frightened as the others.
“No. He is my friend.”
A second woman spoke up as she looked into Crow Necklace’s face. “This man is one of the scouts who
