The next morning a brave galloped through camp, shouting that a big herd of buffalo had been sighted grazing only a few miles away. Kimi looked from her fire, where she had just fed Hinzi, to the warrior himself. “Do you hear that? Are you a good hunter?”
He smiled at her, paused in repairing the bow One Eye had given him. “A very good hunter, however, I haven’t done much buffalo hunting. I don’t suppose it can be very different from fox hunting.”
Kimi blinked. “The civilized whites eat foxes as the Lakota do dogs?”
Hinzi laughed, his even white teeth gleaming in his tanned face. “No. We merely get a large group of people together on horseback, a bunch of dogs and hunt them. It’s a sport; lots of fence jumping and exciting because it’s a little dangerous.”
She tried to understand. “Then the fox fur must have great value for everyone to go on this hunt.”
Hinzi scratched his head. “No, no one really wants the fox hide; although being awarded the brush is quite an honor.”
“The ways of the white people are very mysterious,” Kimi said and shook her head, “to go on a long, dangerous ride to hunt something that no one plans to eat and no one needs the fur?”
Hinzi looked a little embarrassed. “Now that I think of it,” he drawled, “it does sound a little silly, even to me.”
“Do women go on these hunts?”
“Sometimes,” Hinzi said as he stood up, “but only the very best riders. And they ride sidesaddle.”
Kimi didn’t say anything. She was an excellent rider herself and wasn’t ever sure what a “sidesaddle” was. She was glad that she didn’t have to live among silly, wasteful whites who killed a small animal for no good reason. It didn’t even sound like it would be very exciting.
The whole camp was awake and full of excitement as the hunters made plans and the women talked of the feast they would have tonight. One Eye had given his favorite horse, Scout, to Hinzi as a gift for saving his life. There were many ceremonies to perform to insure good medicine and a rewarding hunt. Wagnuka joined Kimi as she gathered up her skinning knife and helped with a travois to carry the meat back to camp.
Hinzi looked magnificent astride his spirited horse, Kimi thought, her heart swelling with pride as she watched him join the warriors. He was dressed like any Lakota brave. Except for the moccasins and a brief loincloth, his big, muscular body was naked and tanning fast in the prairie sun. His yellow hair was getting a little shaggy, but still not long enough to braid as the other warriors wore theirs.
Her mother frowned. “Now we will see if your white warrior can provide meat for a lodge. If he is not a good hunter and unable to feed his woman, it does not matter if he was an important person in his own life.”
Kimi smiled, looking after him as he joined the men. “I do not worry. Hinzi seems to be fitting in well with the Indian life. Tonight we will all feast.”
Old Wagnuka shook her head. “There are still many among our people who are suspicious of him and trust him not. They think the first chance he gets he will run away and return to the whites.”
Deep in her heart, Kimi was afraid to admit that that suspicion had crossed her own mind, but she didn’t want to think about it. “Come,” she motioned, “we are wasting time. We will join the women who make ready to cut up the meat once the braves bring the buffalo down.”
Rand’s heart quickened as he reined the dancing buckskin stallion in and looked around at the other hunters. Maybe at heart he was just a primitive savage himself. He had not realized until the last few days what a soft, boring life he had led as a rich son of a big plantation owner. Was it this simple, primitive life that seemed so exciting or was it the girl, Kimimila?
Rand glanced back over his shoulder at her, remembering last night. He hadn’t realized living as an Indian with no clock and close to nature would appeal to him so much. He imagined Lenore Carstairs in an expensive dress with all its hoops, a whalebone corset, and her mincing, ladylike gait. She always looked as if she might trip and fall. He couldn’t even picture her naked on a buffalo robe, reacting with wild, abandoned passion the way Kimi had done last night.
Kimi. He couldn’t seem to get enough of the girl’s ripe body. Was that love or just lust? At this point he wasn’t prepared to say, and didn’t even want to think about it. Someday he must go home to the life that he had always led. It wasn’t realistic to think he could spend the rest of his life as a white warrior, and yet ...
One Eye interrupted his thoughts. “Come, brother, hunt beside me. The two of us and Gopher and his young son ride together. Here’s a rifle for you, since you are new to the bow.”
Rand took the old gun from One Eye, thinking about the many fine rifles he owned back at Randolph Hall. However this wasn’t hunting some silly fox for thrills, this was the greatest excitement of all–survival. If a man wasn’t a good hunter, his family might go hungry this winter when the snow was deep. Rand had never been hungry except the time he’d spent at Point Lookout prison.
The war. He had lost track of time and all that turmoil seemed so distant and unimportant. Was it over? It didn’t even matter any more who had won. What was important was to bring in more than his share of meat, and gain status in the eyes of the Lakota people. This was something he could not buy with family money. Gaining the respect of these primitive people was abruptly more important than any honor he had ever wanted as a Confederate lieutenant or as a wealthy Southern landowner.
The Lakota men rode out to look over the herd, the women with their travois and small children following along. Rand and One Eye joined up with Gopher, and his son, a sturdy, handsome boy who looked about eleven or twelve years old.
The riders scattered out cautiously, watching the huge herd from a distance, careful not to spook them. One Eye explained softly to Rand that buffalo were stupid animals, but they could be dangerous and unpredictable. He frowned. “I hope Gopher’s son doesn’t do anything foolish. This is his first big hunt and he will be eager to prove himself.”
“No more than I,” Rand said, looking at his friend.
One Eye smiled. “You have already proven yourself, my friend. I think maybe someday you will be invited to share many of our most secret rites as the others gain confidence in you; maybe even the sun dance.”
Rand suddenly realized what those scars on One Eye’s bronzed chest were. He imagined himself hanging from rawhide strips strung through his chest muscles to prove his bravery as One Eye had done sometime in the past. Once Rand would have thought that ceremony savage and ridiculous; now it occurred to him that the scars denoted a very brave man with status in the tribe. For a long moment, he imagined himself striding into the camp circle with sun dance scars visible on his brawny chest. Even old Wagnuka would be impressed and Kimi would be proud to belong to such a warrior.
Rand blinked in disbelief. Was he losing his mind? Of course he couldn’t go through such a barbaric ceremony. What would his parents say when he returned? Worse yet, what would the very civilized Lenore say when they were married and she saw the scars? Somehow she didn’t seem as pretty or as desirable any more. In fact, she would look silly and ridiculous with her elaborate clothes and mincing walk out here. On the other hand, how would Kimi fit in back in a white civilization? Rand didn’t want to think about that. For the time being, the little white savage was his to enjoy. He would live for the moment and not face the future until he was actually on his way back South.
He and One Eye joined Gopher and his son on a low rise overlooking the great herd. Rand had never seen anything so impressive as the sight of that moving brown ocean of fur. The beasts grazed or rolled in the dust. Here and there a pair of bulls fought, churning up big swirls of dust with their pawing feet.
The stink of the giant herd of beasts, the sound of their hooves as they drifted and grazed almost overwhelmed his senses. Here and there a lost calf bawled for its dam.
One Eye said softly, “Your horse has been in these hunts before, Hinzi, so he will know what
to do. Just be careful about riding too close. If you get surrounded and your horse should stumble, you’ll never have a chance. The only way we’ll recognize what’s left of you is the yellow hair.”
“I’ll remember.” Rand wiped the sweat from his forehead, touched his beaded headband, looked down at himself, and realized he was all but naked. Mother and sister Vanessa would be shocked. Lenore would probably faint if she could see him out like this. It seemed as if he had been away from white civilization a long, long time. Did he miss it? He wasn’t sure.
The morning had turned hot. Summer was coming on, Rand realized, thinking calendars and clocks were becoming less and less important to him. He was beginning to think like the Indians already.
Yes, he would rely on the experience of his horse. Rand wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but Scout seemed to sense the excitement. It was difficult to keep the spirited horse in check while he waited. Some of the braves were creeping closer and closer, picking off an animal here and there.
Rand looked over his shoulder, searching for Kimi’s face in the distance. He saw her now with the other women, awaiting the time to come out on the field and cut up the meat. She gave him a nod of recognition. His woman. He would make her proud of him, bring in more meat than she or the old lady could dry for their needs. There would be plenty left over for the elderly and sick who could not hunt. For the first time in a long time, Rand felt that his life counted for something.
Abruptly the wind shifted and the big brown beasts seemed to scent the men for the first time. They began to bellow and move uneasily, some of the bulls pawing the ground in challenge. Most of them seemed oblivious to the dead animals lying on the ground around them–until they smelled the blood.
With snorts and bellowing, the herd began to move; slowly at first, a softly undulating wave of brown fur as far as the eye could see.
Now the braves urged their swift ponies forward, racing along both sides of the dark river of beasts, shooting arrows faster than most whites could handle a rifle.
His heart pounding hard with danger and excitement, Rand galloped along beside the herd. Dust swirled in choking clouds and clung to his sweating, naked skin. Pounding hooves vibrated the prairie under his running pony until the sound seemed to boom like thunder.
He looked around for One Eye and saw him far ahead, thrusting a lance into a big bull that stumbled and went down. Here and there, barely visible in the swirling dust, Rand could make out yelping warriors riding along the edges of the herd, firing arrows as rapidly as mighty arms could pull a bow. Rand brought his old rifle up, aimed, fired. A fat cow went down. Reloading as he galloped along, he brought down another prime buffalo.
Without even realizing he did so, Rand threw back his head and yelled to the heavens, glorying in the thrill of the hunt and just being alive. Around him, gunshots echoed and bowstrings sang as warriors picked their animals.
Ahead of him suddenly, he saw Gopher’s young son, riding a little too close to the herd, determined to make his own kill. Rand started to shout a warning, but just then the boy pulled his bow and a half-grown, prime animal took the shaft deep in the shoulder, stumbled and crashed down. Too late, the youth seemed to realize he had ridden too close to the herd that now parted to surround him.
In a heartbeat, Rand took in the scene, the boy’s tense, brown face as his pony galloped, swept along by the crazed buffalo. For only an instant, Rand hesitated, knowing the dangers that he faced if he made any attempt to ride closer himself. As aristocrat Randolph Erikson, his first priority had always been himself. However even as he hesitated, he saw the boy’s frightened face, saw he was prepared to die bravely under the thundering hooves if he couldn’t maneuver his paint pony to the edge of the stampede.
Lenore would think him three kinds of a fool, Rand thought, urging Scout closer. Even his horse seemed to question Rand’s judgement. The big buckskin stallion seemed to hesitate an instant as Rand urged him forward, pressing into the tightly knit pack of brown, furry bodies.
He heard a shout, saw the boy’s father trying to move closer to save his son, but he was too far away to help, and his horrified expression revealed that he, too, realized that.
Instinctively, Rand pushed closer. Around him, big brown bodies pressed and jostled as the beasts ran. Scout threw his head up, struggling to keep his balance. Just ahead of them, the small boy’s pony was tiring, that was plain to see. Despite the boy’s skill, he couldn’t seem to work his way to the outside of the deadly torrent of brown bodies. Rand didn’t want to think about what he was doing or why or what would happen if his horse stepped in a hole. He had to clear a path for the boy’s horse.
But even as Rand reached the boy’s side, the paint pony stumbled and went down. Could Scout do it? He’d have to or they were all going to die. Even as the boy fell, Rand reached for him. His arm seemed to be almost pulled from its socket, but he had the boy in his grasp. Rand felt determined not to turn loose even if he were pulled off balance and they both perished. No matter what color his skin, this was a child and any man worthy of the name must try to save him.
Sweat seemed to bead on Rand’s forehead as he lifted the boy clear of the falling pony. For a heartbeat, he was not sure he was strong enough. It seemed Rand would lose him to the pounding hooves or be pulled off balance and they would both die.
Without even realizing he did so, Rand breathed a prayer to Wakan Tanka and put almost superhuman strength into his effort. He had him! The grateful look on the boy’s face as he clung to Rand was reward enough. His arm still ached as he pulled the child up onto his horse and now Scout was fighting to reach the outside of the thundering herd. Rand hung onto the trembling boy and didn’t look back. If he saw what the stampede had done to the boy’s pony, he was afraid his nerve would give out, and Rand didn’t intend to die here. More than that, he didn’t intend to let the boy die.
Valiantly, the stallion struggled toward the outside of the running herd, lathered and blowing, fighting to stay on his feet as the great beasts bellowed and pushed in around him. Out of the corner of his eye, Rand saw One Eye and Gopher helping clear a path for him, shouting and firing at the buffalo.
Abruptly Scout was clear of the herd, and it thundered on past while the horse stumbled to a halt, lathered and blowing.
Rand’s arm was aching as it had never ached before. Very slowly, he set the boy safely on the ground even as One Eye and Gopher galloped up, full of praise for Rand’s bravery.
As befitted any great warrior, he accepted the thanks modestly, knowing that Kimi must be watching from the rise.
The buffalo herd galloped over the horizon, but there were many fat beasts lying dead on the prairie.
One Eye looked at Rand. “Hinzi, are you all right?”
Rand nodded, too shaken to speak.
“That was a very brave thing you did.”
The stout Gopher said gravely. “My family is forever in your debt.”
Rand shrugged and dismounted, reached for his skinning knife. “It was nothing any man wouldn’t have done.”
“Lakota warrior, yes.” One Eye grinned, dismounting. “I didn’t think a white soldier could be so brave.”
“I am not a white soldier,” Rand reminded him, and he swaggered a little as they strode toward the fallen buffalo, “I am Hinzi, Yellow Hair.” He knelt and began to skin the fat cow he had killed.
“Then here, white warrior.” One Eye cut into the carcass, handed Rand a piece of warm, raw liver. “This is a treat we all savor.”
Rand hesitated only an instant, and then he took a big bite, was surprised to find he liked it. Maybe he was no longer Rand Erikson, the civilized Southerner. He looked at the blood on his hand, the raw meat in his fist. Maybe he really was becoming a primitive savage. Kimi came up about them with her travois and the proud look on her face made it all worthwhile.
Later that night there was great feasting in the camp. Big fires were built and meat roasted. Rand washed in the creek and put on th
e fine buckskin and beadwork the grateful boy’s family had given him. He ate more meat than he had ever eaten in his life. Kimi, busy with women’s chores kept sneaking glances at him, smiling, promising with her eyes. Rand watched her, more than aware what her emerald glance promised later tonight after the camp was quiet. But for now, it was pleasant to sit in the camp circle, listening to the drums, watching the dancing. He ducked his head modestly as Gopher told of the white warrior’s brave deed and promised that they would always be friends.
The child’s mother said, “What is the white warrior’s name?”
“Randolph,” Rand said, “it means protected and advised by the wolf.”
A murmur of approval with much head nodding went around the camp circle. “It is a good name,” the boy’s old grandfather said. “In your honor, we are giving our boy a new name, a man’s name to wear the rest of his life.”
Everyone waited quietly as he paused for emphasis and the boy smiled proudly. “Henceforth, he shall be called ‘Saved By The Wolf.’ ”
Rand nodded, equally stoic. “That is a good name. I am much honored. I think Wakan Tanka had me there for a reason. I think someday Saved By The Wolf will do some great, brave deed that will bring honor to his family.”
One Eye, sitting next to him, leaned close. “Well spoken,” he whispered. “You are beginning to think like the Teton Sioux.”
Rand could not remember when he had felt such contentment, such a feeling of being in charge of his own destiny, his life reduced to the most basic of needs and wants. He suddenly felt like Adam in a primitive Eden.
Rand should have known there was always a snake or maybe more than one ready to invade Eden. Late in the evening, there was a sudden hush as three men leading pack horses rode into the camp; white men. And they were accompanied by an Indian girl.
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