At that juncture a new element was added to the fray, a flash of fur and teeth that clamped onto Walking Bear’s right leg, razor teeth buried to the bone.
Agony coursed up Walking Bear’s thigh and he looked down, dumfounded to discover a feral wolf pup trying to chew his limb completely through. Instinctively he snapped his leg, yet the wolf proved persistent, clinging to him like glue. Infuriated, he flung the boy to the earth and grabbed for the wolf, never seeing the weaving specter that drove the glittering point of a lance clean through his skull.
Zach shoved to his feet as his father fell. “Pa!” he exclaimed, at Nate’s side in two bounds. “Pa?”
The effort had nearly depleted Nate’s meager reservoir of strength. He smiled wanly and rose onto his elbows. “I can make it to the mare,” he said. “But I’ll need a hand.”
“Anything.”
Nate bunched his shoulders, started to rise. A bundle of sinew and hair materialized under his face and commenced licking him energetically. “Call this brute off,” he joked. “I don’t care to be eaten alive.”
Clasping the pup under one arm, his other about his father, Zach steered them toward Mary. Repeatedly he scanned the hill and glanced over his shoulder. There was still the fifth warrior to deal with, the one who had been missing earlier. The man was bound to have heard the noise. So where was he?
The mare shied as they approached, frightened by the tangy scent of moist blood. She bobbed her head, the reins flying, and pranced a dozen yards from the hill.
“Remind me to shoot her when we get back,” Nate muttered, slumping to his knees. “You fetch her, son. I couldn’t catch a turtle.”
Zach dutifully complied, setting Blaze down so he could grab the reins when Mary let him get close enough.
Anxious minutes were spent chasing her before she finally did, and he was tempted to cuff her until he recalled his father saying that any man who mistreated an animal was an animal himself. Yanking hard to let her know who was boss, he led her back.
If ever a man appeared to have a foot at death’s door, it was Nate. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving. Blanching, he fanned his stamina, and managed to stand and grip the saddle. Without his son’s assistance he wouldn’t have been able to mount, and once astride Mary he had to hold on with both hands for fear of falling.
Zach climbed up in front of his father, adjusted the rifle on his hips, and remarked, “Hold on to me, Pa. I’ll get you home. I promise.”
Blaze yipped, Mary snorted, and they were off, heading south, making for the mountains. Zach constantly shifted to check to their rear.
“What’s wrong?” Nate asked.
“The fifth warrior, Pa. Where did he go?”
“Hunting, I think.”
“He must have gone far.”
“Far enough. Be thankful he didn’t make it back. We never would have gotten out of there.”
~*~
A solitary figure standing on the south slope of the hill amidst a cluster of trees slowly lowered the bow he had taken from Bobcat’s corpse and relaxed his fingers. The arrow he had ready to fly slipped from the string. He stared at Loud Talker, then at Walking Bear, and out at the retreating riders and their frisky friend. “I knew,” he said softly.
Turning, the figure wended his lonely way up and over the hill, and paused to somberly regard the pile of branches between the cottonwoods. “I knew,” he repeated. “Why wouldn’t he listen?”
Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he hiked to the bottom of the hill and made one more pertinent comment: “It is for the best. White Buffalo will make a better chief than he ever could have been.”
Epilogue
The women were out gathering roots to the northwest of the village when one of them saw the horse and called out. Since they never knew when enemies might conduct a raid, they were tensed to flee until Winona recognized the two people on the weary mare. Throwing her basket aside, she sped to meet them with joy on her face.
“Grizzly Killer! Stalking Coyote!” she cried, tears filling her eyes. So happy was she to see them safe and alive that she gave no thought to them both being on Mary. They alighted and came to her, arms flung wide.
Winona was nearly bowled over. Elated, she hugged them and smothered their cheeks with wet kisses. “I missed you!” she declared. “What took you so long?”
Neither of them uttered a word.
Drawing back, Winona noted their moist eyes. She got a good look at her husband’s face and recoiled, aghast. “What happened to you? Who did this?” Her gaze strayed to Mary. “And where is Pegasus?”
“Dead,” Nate said simply.
“Gros Ventres,” Zach added.
Intuition told Winona the extent of their ordeal, and she wisely refrained from badgering them with questions. They would, she knew, tell her later, when they were comfortably settled in the lodge. “Come. You must be hungry. I have rabbit stew simmering.”
“Can Blaze have some too?” Zach asked, reverting to English since there was no word in Shoshone that corresponded to the name he had bestowed on the pup.
“Who?”
Zachary pointed toward the mare. The wolf lay close to Mary’s front hoofs, chin on its paws, its tongue lolling. “Pa said it’s all right for me to keep him.”
“He did?” Winona said, recalling how Nate had vowed to never have another such pet after the death of their devoted dog. “Then I guess I have no objections so long as it stays outside as the rest of the dogs in the village do.”
Nate coughed and said rather sheepishly, “It can sleep inside if it wants.”
“Oh.”
Keenly aware of her penetrating stare, Nate changed the subject by pointing at a tall tree to the west in which a large platform had been constructed high in the branches. “Did someone die while we were gone?”
“Yes,” Winona said, walking to the horse and taking the reins. “I will bring Mary. You two can go on ahead and help yourself to the stew.”
“Who was it, Ma?” Zach inquired. “Anyone we were close to?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
The answer was a full five seconds in coming, and when it did her voice was level, composed. The faintest of smiles touched the corners of her mouth as she responded, “Jumping Bull.”
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