CHAPTER 6
It had taken three and a half days to make the journey to Red Shirt’s camp. On foot, it would take the three of them a day longer to make the return trip. It seemed even longer to Little Wolf. As each mountain crossed produced yet another one before them, he began to worry more and more about what might be happening to his village. The raid on Red Shirt’s camp was, more than likely, an isolated raid by a random army patrol. Still, until he saw Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman safe, he could not help but speculate about the possibility of a concerted effort by the army to force the tribe to move on to the reservation. There was no need to press his feelings of urgency upon his friends. They sensed it and wasted no time on the journey, never stopping to rest until it became too dark to sensibly find their way through the pitch black valleys and ravines. At night Morning Sky slept between Little Wolf and her brother to stay warm. The nights were cold and Little Wolf had lost his warm bearskin robe along with the pinto. Sleep, when it came, was fitful and shallow. Little Wolf would finally doze off from sheer exhaustion, only to awaken a short time after, shivering from the cold. The sequence would be repeated several times during the night until morning light when they would again start out.
Finally they reached the last ridge that stood between them and the village. Little Wolf climbed a huge boulder at the highest point in an effort to spot the little village although he knew the tipis would not be visible even from this vantage point. Spotted Pony had taken care to locate the camp on the far side of a large stand of trees so it would not be easily seen by an enemy. Still, Little Wolf thought he might be able to catch sight of a trace of smoke from a cook fire if he scanned the treetops carefully. What he saw sent a feeling of cold dread through his spine. Black Feather, climbing up behind him, sensed his friend’s concern.
“What is it?” he asked, searching in the direction of Little Wolf’s gaze.
Little Wolf did not answer. He didn’t have to. Black Feather saw at once what had momentarily captured his friend’s gaze. Far below them he could see the river as it wound its way around the base of the mountain and down through the valley. On the far side of the river the land began a gentle slope, covered by thick forests, a peaceful vista marred only by a thin gray cloud of smoke floating just above the treetops, too much smoke to have been caused by cook fires.
There was no need for comment. Little Wolf turned and scrambled down from the boulder. Without pausing to explain, he started down the mountain, going as fast as he could without losing his balance and taking a tumble. Black Feather followed, motioning to Morning Sky. It was fortunate for them that there was no need for caution for the three of them made their way straight down the mountainside as fast as they could, taking no pains to conceal their movements. Little Wolf had thoughts only of reaching his father’s side as soon as possible. Black Feather would have exercised more caution had he and his sister been alone but he was caught up in his friend’s panic to reach the camp and followed without hesitation, looking back only occasionally to make sure Morning Sky was keeping up.
When at last he reached the base of the mountain, Little Wolf dropped down behind a large tree on the bank of the river. While he caught his breath, he allowed some sense of reasoning to reenter his brain before crashing headlong into the river. The feeling of panic gave way to a sense of dread. As he knelt there, straining to see through the trees on the far riverbank that shielded the camp from sight, he knew what he would find in the village. Death seemed to hang in the air in the form of the thin cloud of smoke. In a matter of moments, Black Feather dropped down beside him. A few seconds more and Morning Sky joined them, gasping for air.
Little Wolf remained motionless for a while after he had calmed his breathing, scanning the trees on the other side of the river, listening. There was no sound other than the distant cry of a hawk and the worried murmur of the water as it fretted its course around the boulders in the riverbed. Minutes earlier, he could not wait to make his way down the mountainside in his haste to come to the aid of his family. Now he was reluctant to travel the few hundred yards left, dreading what he knew he would find. The picture of the carnage in Red Shirt’s camp returned to his mind. Finally he rose to his feet and turned to his friends.
“Come. I hear no sounds of life. I fear the enemy has already been here. We are too late.” With that he started across the river.
For the second time within a week’s span, Little Wolf witnessed man’s capability for wanton, senseless slaughter. The scene he and his two friends walked into left him sick inside, a sickness that would live within his heart for the rest of his life. At that moment his soul was snatched from the white man’s world and he became Arapaho completely. He could not align himself with men who would commit such atrocities as this. The carnage was much the same as he had just left in Red Shirt’s village. Lumps that were once human beings lay everywhere amid the charred remains of the tipis.
“The son of a bitches didn’t even bother to bury anybody. Just left ’em for the damn buzzards.”
Black Feather looked at him, astonished, for he had blurted it in English. Realizing his friend couldn’t understand what he said, he simply shook his head. Saying nothing, he continued to search through the ruined village for the two bodies he dreaded to find. He searched the whole village but could not find Spotted Pony or Buffalo Woman. When they were certain the bodies were not there, Little Wolf’s hopes lifted, if only slightly. Maybe they survived the attack. They must have escaped. Or were their bodies lying somewhere in the forest where they finally fell from their wounds? Little Wolf had to know. He would search the woods until he found them or found nothing. He could not leave without knowing for sure. His search was in vain. There was no sign of his parents so he clung to the hope that they had indeed escaped.
Before leaving, they felt they had to do something for the dead. They could not simply leave them sprawled around the clearing. Little Wolf’s inclination was to bury them but he had no implement for digging. Besides, it would have been impossible to convince Black Feather that the dead souls could soar into the heavens if they were buried under the ground. As a compromise, they laid out some charred lodge poles in a makeshift platform and laid the dead in rows. This pacified Black Feather’s sensibilities somewhat. Before they left, Little Wolf took a buckskin shirt from a man he had known as One Who Hears The Wind. He encouraged Black Feather to find something to keep him warm but his friend was appalled by the suggestion, thinking it almost sacrilegious. Little Wolf shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”
Little Wolf felt alone in the world for the first time since he had fled Johnson’s Crossing when Lige Talbot had gone down with a Pawnee axe in his neck. In truth he was not actually alone, for he had Black Feather and Morning Sky, but the loss of his adoptive parents scarred him deeply. The time he had spent with them had been the best time of his young life and now he had no idea where they were, or even if they were still alive. He was at a loss as to what he should do. Black Feather and his sister looked to him for guidance and he didn’t feel he could provide it.
“What are we going to do?” Black Feather finally asked, prompting Little Wolf to make some decision.
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to think about it. There must be some survivors somewhere. We’ll have to find them.” He thought for a moment longer. “For now, we’ll scout the area for any of our people who might be hiding.”
As they were leaving the village, Little Wolf spotted a half burned buffalo robe near the ashes of what was once a tipi. There was still a good portion of it that had not caught fire, enough to cover Morning Sky. “Here, put this around you,” he said, wrapping it around her slender shoulders. She smiled graciously and pulled the hide up close around her neck. Black Feather frowned but said nothing.
Together they traversed the forest around the clearing. There was plenty of sign that some had escaped but there was no one to be found anywhere, no horses or dogs even. It was as if the soldiers had left nothing alive. After an hour
or so, they abandoned their search. Little Wolf, encouraged now that his parents might still be safe, decided to head south in hopes of finding Black Kettle’s camp, thinking that possibly Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman had fled to join up with their chief. That was as good a plan as any as far as Black Feather was concerned, so the three of them set out across the river and turned south.
They had barely crossed the shallow water when Little Wolf thought of one place he had not searched. He was amazed that he had not thought to look there before, so he led his friends downstream for a couple hundred yards to a place where the river forked and passed on both sides of a tiny island of boulders. The young boys of the village had found the little island a favorite place to play their imaginary war games against each other. It was a favorite place because of the concealment the boulders offered and the challenge to “assault” the fortress without being seen by the defenders.
Stepping from stone to stone, they made their way across the water to the little island and Little Wolf led the way through an opening in the boulders to a fortlike enclosure. Once inside, he stopped so abruptly that Black Feather, who was walking right behind him, stumbled into him.
“What is it?” he whispered and then he saw what had stopped Little Wolf so suddenly. Two burial platforms had been constructed in the center of the rocks, one a few feet higher than the other.
In reverence to the dead, they began to back slowly from the clearing when Black Feather noticed that one of the bodies was not completely sewn up in its buckskin covering. Whoever had prepared them for burial had evidently been interrupted before he finished. He quietly pointed this out to Little Wolf and they stopped to speculate on what had happened.
“Little Wolf!” The voice came from behind them.
Startled, Little Wolf whirled toward the source of the voice, his hand on the rifle, ready to fire. It was Sleeps Standing, the friend with whom he had so often hunted.
“Sleeps Standing!” he exclaimed, overjoyed at the sight of a friendly face. The two friends locked arms in greeting. Little Wolf’s broad smile faded as he remembered the graves. “Your parents?” He nodded toward the bodies.
“Yes,” Sleeps Standing said softly.
“Are you the only one left? Where are the others? Where are Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman? Are they alive?”
Sleeps Standing told them that a few of the camp escaped the pony soldiers. Little Wolf’s parents were among them. There had been no chance to defend the camp. He had been away on an overnight hunting trip with three other warriors. They had heard the gunfire and the screams from a distance when they were returning to the village but were unable to get there until it was all over. A few of the tribe had made it to safety in the forest but most of the people were killed. Some of those who had survived had fled to warn Black Kettle. Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman were among these. The three young warriors who had been hunting with him were against going to Black Kettle’s village. The soldiers were bound to attack the village, they said. They thought it best to go off alone to fight the white man wherever and whenever possible. He had stayed to take care of his parents’ bodies and then he planned to join the other three in the high mountains to the north.
Sleeps Standing offered to share a deer he had killed if Little Wolf and his friends would wait until morning to start out for Black Kettle’s camp. Since they had eaten very little during the past few days—berries, a couple of rabbits and some pemmican Morning Sky had managed to save from their village—they eagerly accepted the invitation. He had made a camp near a fork in the river where a stand of tall pines offered protection from the cold. Morning Sky cooked the meat and they ate their fill for the first time in days. Afterward, they lay before the fire and talked. Sleeps Standing spoke with great emotion of his need to avenge his parents and encouraged his guests to join him and the others in the high mountains. Little Wolf declined. He knew what he had to do but he could see that the idea appealed to Black Feather and, before it was time to sleep, his friend had caught the fire of revenge in his own eyes. So it was no surprise to Little Wolf the next morning when Black Feather told him of his intention to accompany Sleeps Standing and make war on the white soldiers. He made a brief argument to persuade Little Wolf to come along also but did not persist when Little Wolf again declined.
“You understand,” Little Wolf explained, “I have to make sure Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman are safe.”
“I understand.”
The two friends stood looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Little Wolf spoke again. “I would join you if I knew them to be dead. It’s not the color of my skin that keeps me from warring on the whites. I am Arapaho.” He searched Black Feather’s face for understanding. “I must go to them.”
Black Feather smiled at his friend. “I know. It’s all right. I’ll kill some for you and I’ll sing of your kill of the army scout.”
Little Wolf smiled. He had not thought of the man he had killed in Red Shirt’s camp. A kill was big medicine, especially when it was accomplished at close range with a knife or club. The Cheyenne and Arapaho found it more honorable to count coup than to actually kill an enemy at long range. But when a warrior is close enough to kill an enemy hand to hand, that is indeed a great honor. He thanked Black Feather and wished him and Sleeps Standing a safe journey. Black Feather had one request before they parted.
“We must travel fast and it will be a hard winter in the mountains, too hard for a young girl. Will you take Morning Sky with you to Black Kettle’s camp?”
Little Wolf had anticipated his request. It would indeed be a hard winter for one so young. He knew also that Black Feather preferred not to have his sister spend the winter with a band of young men. She would be married before the spring came.
“Yes,” he answered, “I’ll watch over her as I would my own sister.”
* * *
When morning came, the young friends parted. Little Wolf and Morning Sky said their good-byes and watched Black Feather and Sleeps Standing until they disappeared around the bend in the river.
“Come, little sister, let’s go find Black Kettle.” Little Wolf smiled down at Morning Sky. The girl had made no protest when told that she was not to go with her brother. Had he any knowledge of girls, he might have been able to see that she preferred to go with him, no matter what the destination. So they began their search for Black Kettle.
As a gesture of his friendship and to show support for their quest, Little Wolf had made a gift of the rifle and ammunition to Black Feather. They would have need of the weapon if they were to make war on the soldiers. Little Wolf was not reluctant to part with it anyway. He had his bow, his knife and his war club. These were all he would need to kill game on their journey. Even if he had kept the rifle, he would have been reluctant to use it for fear the shots might be heard. He was quite confident in his skill with his bow. If there was game to be found, he would find it. Of that, he was also confident. Morning Sky proved to be quite resourceful in finding berries and wild turnips, which she would bake in the hot ashes of their campfire at night. When it was time to sleep, she would wrap herself in her charred buffalo robe and press her young body up tight against his.
As they made their way south, leaving the cover of the hills and tall trees and on to the rolling grassy plains, she never complained and always managed to keep up with his pace. After five days’ traveling, they came upon the basin Sleeps Standing had told them to look for. Here, where the two rivers joined, Sleeps Standing said Black Kettle had made his winter camp. There had been a camp there all right, but it had been abandoned. For what reason they could only guess for there was no sign of violence. It appeared that the entire village had simply packed up and left. As they stood in the middle of the deserted campsite, Little Wolf was careful to hide his disappointment. When he looked down into Morning Sky’s face, she only smiled and awaited his instructions. She felt safe with him and was content to go wherever he went. He could not help but be lifted by the girl’s spun
k.
“It seems our journey’s not over,” he said cheerfully. She nodded agreement and they set out again in the direction that Black Kettle’s tribe had taken. The trail was not hard to follow. It appeared Black Kettle had taken no pains to conceal his direction of travel. Little Wolf and Morning Sky walked for two more days before sighting another human being.
* * *
He saw them when they were maybe two or three miles away. It was a small party, maybe six or seven riders. He couldn’t be sure but he didn’t think they had spotted the two of them as yet so he motioned for Morning Sky to stay low and follow him to a group of cottonwoods by a dry streambed. There they could stay out of sight until the party passed. Judging by their direction of travel, the party would pass within a few hundred yards of their hiding place. Little Wolf crawled up close to the top of a slope that fronted the trees to keep a close watch on the riders. It would be impossible to tell if they were friendly until they came quite a bit closer. Still he strained his eyes in an attempt to identify the travelers as soon as possible. Every few minutes he would glance back at the cottonwoods to make sure Morning Sky was all right. He need not have worried. Quite secure in the knowledge that Little Wolf would take care of her, she was content to rest quietly in the shade of the small grove.
Now they were close enough to see that there were six of them, all men and, to his relief, they were Arapaho. Still, before he left the cover of the ridge, he waited until they were close enough for him to hear an occasional word as they carried on their casual conversation. He wanted to be certain they were friendly. They looked to be Arapaho but they could also be a band of Commanches who had wandered this far north to hunt. There could be no doubt, however, that their speech was Arapaho. When they were at the closest point in passing, he stood up and called out to them.
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