“Tending to my leg, General.”
“You’re wounded.”
“Not rightly, I ain’t, sir,” Smith admitted. “After you let me go off to sleep, ’pears my leg never wanted to wake back up!”
“Go on down there and report in to the hospital the surgeons have established,” Mackenzie ordered. “See if they can do something for you, then report back to me when you’re in shape to sit a horse.”
By the time Smith loped down to the hospital, he had decided against reporting to the surgeons. They had their hands busy enough with bullet wounds. Pushing on past the field hospital, the orderly found some of his old company settled in on a skirmish line and taking a moment to enjoy some well-deserved victuals.
“Is that Smith I see?” hollered one of them as the orderly came up.
“It is,” he called out, grinning, happy to see his old comrades. “Is that tacks and bacon I see you wolfing down?”
“They sure as blazes are,” cried another soldier, holding up his rations. “Sit yourself and eat up with us!”
“Where’d you come on to them vittles?”
“Don’t you know? The pack train’s in,” the first soldier replied. “The general don’t know?”
“I don’t figger the general much cares to eat anyhow,” Smith replied as he snatched up an offered tack and a small slab of fatty bacon. “Knowing him—Mackenzie won’t give his belly no nevermind till he wins this fight.”
When Young Two Moon had turned from the women who moved off, cradling the body of Crow Necklace, hurrying into the mouth of the ravine, he immediately headed for the warriors who lay upon the rounded knoll, firing their rifles at groups of soldiers near the fringe of the captured lodges.
Reaching them, he said, “Come with me into the village. We must see if anyone is left alive.”
Only Brave Bear chose to leave the sniping from the hill with Young Two Moon. Together they mounted up and raced around the back of the knoll heading for the lodges, but suddenly turned away before reaching the camp circle. Already too many Wolf People were busy among the lodges—shooting, looting, slashing the hide-and-canvas covers, trampling the Cheyennes’ sacred objects hung on those tripods erected in front of most of the dwellings.
When the two warriors galloped back for the hills, fired upon by the soldiers, the pair became separated and Brave Bear’s horse was shot from under him, spilling its rider. Nevertheless, he managed to crawl unseen for some distance before he finally ran to safety behind some rocks where he carried on a long-range shooting match with the soldiers.
Under heavy fire, Young Two Moon whipped his pony to greater speed, dodging bullets and rocks, the animal slipping and nearly falling several times on the icy ground. By the time he made it to the base of the ridge where the women were singing their strong-heart songs behind the breastworks, the young warrior decided his horse was of no more use.
He let it go and chose another from among those few some of the herder boys had managed to drive into the ravines and hillsides at the moment of attack. Leaping onto its back and taking up the rein, Young Two Moon headed east along the north foot of the valley—hoping to find a good place to fight, seeking to find where the soldiers were holding more of the
Slipping around the northwest end of the canyon toward the twin red buttes just west of the deep ravine where many warriors had surprised some of the gray-horse soldiers, Young Two Moon halted, spotting a rider approaching some distance away, a horseman hugging the thick brush along the high plateau at the northern foot of the valley. As the man and horse drew closer, Young Two Moon could tell the rider was an Indian: he rode easily without a saddle, his feet and legs hanging free of stirrups. Nearer and nearer he came until Young Two Moon saw that it was the youngster called Beaver Dam, riding a cream-colored horse with a white mane and tail.
But … Beaver Dam had left the village many days before—traveling with a small band of the People who were heading north, seeking out the camp of Crazy Horse.
Could this be that he was back?
Young Two Moon grew concerned—because Beaver Dam was coming from the east, the same direction the soldiers had come. But even more damning: that cream-colored pony Beaver Dam was riding happened to be one of the ponies stolen from Sits in the Night by strangers during last night’s dance!
Oh, how could this be?
With a pounding heart Young Two Moon knew there was only one way Beaver Dam could have got his hands on that horse. He was in league with the soldiers’ Indians!
The young man had betrayed his people and their village.
As the horseman drew closer to Young Two Moon, Beaver Dam raised his arm in greeting, a smile coming to his face. Then the smile suddenly disappeared and the youngster froze at the very moment Young Two Moon heard ponies coming up behind him.
“Who is that?” a voice demanded behind Young Two Moon.
He looked over his shoulder and recognized the old warrior Gypsum and a handful more coming to a halt on the hill beside him, all of them watching the approaching rider.
Young Two Moon said, “It is Beaver Dam.”
In a flurry of hoofbeats, the half-dozen warriors kicked their ponies into motion and stopped only when they had the youngster surrounded, frightened, and at gunpoint, when Young Two Moon reached the tense scene.
“I am going to kill you myself!” Gypsum growled. “My sons were killed in the ravine by the soldiers you brought down upon our village. So now I will be the one to avenge their deaths!”
“No!” Beaver Dam shouted, his wet eyes like a frightened rabbit’s caught in a snare. “I am not a scout for the soldiers. Many days ago I left Buffalo Bull Sitting Down’s* camp to come home to my People after they had two fights with the soldiers and began marching north.”
“So you’re coming home now with the soldiers’ scouts?” Gypsum demanded. “Planning to loot and plunder like the Wolf People?”
“No, I tell you,” Beaver Dam’s voice quaked. “On my way here I saw a party of Arapaho. When I got close, they looked like friends, so I went to their fire and ate their food. After they asked me all their questions about our village, only then I found out they were wolves for the blue soldiers. They pulled their guns and pointed them at me. They captured me.”
Young Two Moon asked, “Did they take you to the big soldier camp?”
Beaver Dam nodded emphatically. “The soldiers tied me up tight, hit me, put guns to my head—here—and to my breast—here—trying to make me tell them more about our village. I saw you and Crow Necklace in the soldiers’ camp … saw you steal the scouts’ horses that night you walked through the soldier camp.”
“Why didn’t you call out to them?” Gypsum demanded. “Ask them to help you escape?”
“If I had, Young Two Moon and Crow Necklace would be dead—killed by the soldiers or their scouts. I could not betray them, so I kept my mouth closed and waited.”
“Your story is very hard to believe,” one of the others snorted.
Beaver Dam looked at the warrior. “We were a small group coming home from Buffalo Bull Sitting Down’s country, and when we spotted some people far off, they sent me to find out who those people were.”
“And they were the Arapaho who captured you?”
“Yes!” Beaver Dam replied anxiously, then wagged his head dolefully. “Now I do not know where my people are.” He looked up at Young Two Moon anxiously. “Are my relatives here?”
“No,” he told young Beaver Dam. “Your people have not come here.”
So the youngster said hopefully, “Perhaps when I did not come back, they turned around and headed back to Buffalo Bull Sitting Down’s people.”
“That is too far away,” Young Two Moon said. “Wiser to seek out the Crazy Horse people.”
“Perhaps,” the youth considered. “White Bull is still with them.”
“How is it you have this horse?” Gypsum asked angrily, his hands flexing as if he would jump the youngster at any moment. “It is not a soldier’s American horse.”
“I know this horse!” cried another of Gypsum’s warriors. “It belongs to Sits in the Night! The enemy stole his horses last night during our dance!”
