by Judd Cole
Jennings shrugged. “I’ll be earmarked and hog-tied if I can tell! Seems like them red sumbitches is everywhere, but you never see ’em. The men are gittin’ spooked. A bunch of ’em are ready to rabbit plumb out of Injun country. Can’t make no money when you’re busy hunkerin’ down.”
Lagace frowned again, but said nothing. He glanced back over his shoulder and made sure the guards were keeping a good eye on the Cheyenne girl. He was beginning to understand that he had made a mistake in abducting her. Those Cheyenne hidden outside of camp had not come to parley.
On the other hand, if there were enough to attack, why hadn’t they done so? It was about time to bring things to a head. He was already losing control of the men at the other camps, and soon there’d be a mutiny here. It was time to fight it out with the hidden war party, then take the fight right to Yellow Bear’s camp.
“Go tell the cook to feed you,” he told Jennings, dismissing him. He called Stone McMasters over from a group of men gathered behind the breastworks. “You still got that Sioux arrow you been hauling around?”
“Damn straight,” McMasters said. “That’s my lucky arrow. Went plumb through my hat ’n’ parted my dander for me.”
He lifted his floppy plainsman’s hat to show the white crease on his pate. Lagace ignored it. “Bring me the arrow,” he said.
He called one of the guards over and instructed him to bring the girl over to where the Cheyenne prisoner was tied spread-eagle. Then he walked over to the unconscious Indian and emptied a canteen of water in his face.
Touch the Sky started awake, then immediately winced at the fiery pain wracking the middle of his body. The scar-face named Lagace was staring down at him, his face grim with determination. A moment later Touch the Sky’s eyes widened, for Honey Eater was standing beside him, each arm pinned by a white sentry.
McMasters joined the group and handed the arrow to Lagace. It was fletched with white feathers, the shaft painted blue in honor of the Sioux’s sacred lake in the Paha-sapa or Black Hills. The tip was a wide, sharp piece of flint.
“All you men!” Lagace shouted to the camp at large. “Keep your eyes skinned good now! Might be an attack coming!”
He turned to Touch the Sky again. “You’re a strong Indian,” Lagace said. “Got a real set of oysters on you, just like the Cheyenne buck that opened my face up. Now we’re going to see just how tough you really are.”
He seized Honey Eater from the sentries and held her by a handful of her thick black hair. With his other hand he removed his knife from the sheath at his waist. He ordered McMasters to cover Touch the Sky with his rifle while one of the guards untied the prisoner’s bonds.
“All right, then,” Lagace said. “Let’s see what kind of leather you got in you. Apache warriors kill themselves by ramming an arrow down their own throat. Let’s see if you’re as tough as an Apache. I’m giving you a choice. Either you shove that arrow down your gullet, or I scalp the girl right here in front of you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Despite the horrible pain wracking his body, Touch the Sky felt even worse in his heart. His eyes drank in what was probably his last view of Honey Eater. Though she did not speak one word of English, she clearly understood the dilemma they were in. She realized that Touch the Sky was about to die and that she would probably die soon after. She tried to be brave like him. But tears streamed from her eyes.
Touch the Sky knew it was useless to pretend he didn’t understand what Lagace had said to him. The white men knew full well that he spoke English. Besides, something was dangerously different in Lagace’s manner. He was not bluffing. If Touch the Sky tried to play the fox, the white devil would scalp Honey Eater before his eyes.
“Last night,” Honey Eater said, her eyes filled with pity as she looked at his horrible burns, “even in the midst of your pain, you swore your love to me. And do you know that I love you, brave Cheyenne warrior? There is room in my heart for no one but you. If you must die, then I will die too. We will meet in the Land of Ghosts, where no white men can separate us.”
She crossed her wrists over her breast—Indian sign talk for love.
“I must die,” Touch the Sky conceded. “But you must not give up on life just yet. Even now Black Elk is watching you. It is only fear for your safety which has kept him from acting. But he will act when he sees that your death is at hand. And when he does, you must be prepared to seize the moment. It is your only chance.”
“Quit the palavering,” Lagace said. “I’ve given you your choice, buck. Now make it, and make it quick. Elsewise, I’ll make it for you.”
He tightened his grip on Honey Eater’s long hair to make his point. She winced at the pain. Touch the Sky had to force himself not to leap at the scar-faced dog. This was no time to force Lagace’s hand. He needed to buy all the time that he could in hopes that Black Elk and the others were even at this moment moving into position or formulating a desperate plan.
“Eat that arrow, Injun” McMasters said, grinning so wide that his broken yellow teeth showed through his beard. “If you can’t get it all the way down, I’ll shove it the rest of the way for you.”
Touch the Sky gripped the shaft in both hands. He was on his knees now, the rest facing him. He stared for a moment at the flint arrowhead, noticing how wide, yet sharp, it was. The thought of ramming it into his throat made an involuntary spasm start in his stomach. He looked away.
“Make up your mind,” Lagace said. He expected any attack to come from the only approach, in the direction of the breastworks. So he held Honey Eater in front of him as a human shield against bullets.
“Gonna taste damn good,” McMasters said. “Even better’n that whiskey we poured into you at the tradin’ post.” He laughed and added, “You wait too long, red Arab, and you’re gonna see a white man ruttin’ on your squaw.”
Despite this taunting, Touch the Sky held his face emotionless in the Indian way under pressure. Bravery now was important, not only for his own pride as a warrior, but as an example to Honey Eater.
“Last time I’m telling you,” Lagace said. “Make your choice, or I raise the girl’s hair.”
Tears were streaming from Honey Eater’s eyes, and she could not control the sobs that shook her body. Touch the Sky knew this was the moment of his death. He also knew that he would not pray to the white man’s God, but die an Indian.
He gripped the arrow even tighter and began reciting the Cheyenne Death Chant.
“Nothing lives long
Only the earth and the mountains.”
Even as he sang the sad words, a voice at the back of his mind told Touch the Sky the bitter truth: his medicine vision at the lake had been a false vision after all, evil medicine placed over his eyes by his enemy.
For a moment one hand left the shaft of the arrow and moved down to touch his medicine bundle for the last time.
When he heard Touch the Sky singing the death song, Black Elk’s face twisted in an agony of indecision. His rifle was aimed at Lagace. At the first sign that the white dog was going to harm Honey Eater, he would kill him.
But he must wait. So long as Honey Eater had breath in her, he could not risk her life. Though his anger at Touch the Sky was immense, here was yet one more sign of his bravery. Black Elk understood the choice Touch the Sky had been given and recognized the horrible death he had bravely chosen to inflict upon himself.
Black Elk would cut off his own hand if he could do something to save Touch the Sky! The war chief was a man of action, not accustomed to this infernal sitting and waiting and watching. And no doubt action would come soon enough. As soon as Honey Eater was clearly in danger of immediate harm, he and Wolf Who Hunts Smiling, the only ones with rifles, would fire on the camp. Then all five Cheyenne would leap from their trees and charge down onto the whites, even if it meant all of them would die.
Black Elk imitated the owl hoot to warn the others to prepare themselves. Immediately, Wolf Who Hunts Smiling and Swift Canoe responded. Black Elk frowned when Little Horse
and High Forehead failed to hoot back from the last two trees. He repeated the sound, a bit louder. Still no response came.
What did this mean? Had they shown the white feather and sneaked off to safety? Black Elk doubted this cowardice, especially of Little Horse. The small Cheyenne was large in courage and one of Black Elk’s favorites in the tribe. And High Forehead, though still unskilled in some things, was brave beyond his years.
But surely they too had not willfully disobeyed their war chief’s orders as Touch the Sky had done? Even amidst all the danger he faced, the certain hopelessness ahead, Black Elk felt wrath burning inside him. If, by some miracle of Maiyun, they survived this ordeal, those who had disobeyed Black Elk would face serious consequences.
This thought, however, was brief and fleeting. Black Elk concentrated on the scene below. He held his rifle sights trained an Lagace’s chest, exposed at this angle despite his cowardly use of Honey Eater as his shield.
Touch the Sky threw his head back and raised the arrow over his face. Never had he needed courage as he did at this moment. His arms trembled in rebellion at the thought of doing this thing to himself.
He took one final breath to fortify himself.
Now.
“Hiya, hi-i-i-ya!”
Shouting their fierce battle cry, Little Horse and High Forehead burst on horseback from the surrounding trees and bore straight down on the fortified breastworks. Little Horse led Touch the Sky’s dun pony by a strip of rawhide tied to its hackamore.
The whites were momentarily caught off guard. They had all turned from their posts to watch the young Indian swallow the arrow. By the time they raised their weapons and started firing, the intruders were almost on them.
Lagace had leaped for cover at the first cry, deserting Honey Eater in his panic. At this point no one could gauge the size of the attacking party.
The redheaded messenger named Jennings raised his rifle to draw a bead on Little Horse. There was a muzzle flash from Black Elk’s tree, and the back of Jennings’ skull exploded.
“They’re attackin’ from two directions!” somebody shouted. “They got us surrounded!”
Touch the Sky scrambled to his feet, his burned flesh screaming in pain, and ran to Honey Eater’s side. Before they could run for cover, the Cheyenne battle cry sounded again. They both looked toward the breastworks just in time to see the strong Indian ponies clear them in magnificent leaps!
But now Little Horse and High Forehead rode into a hail of bullets. Touch the Sky saw Little Horse wince and tilt to one side as a lead ball caught him in the calf. The next volley of fire dropped High Forehead from his pony like a dead weight, blood spuming from a fatal hit in the middle of his chest.
Now Black Elk and the others were charging the camp from the west flank, down the steep, forested slope. They added their war cries to the clamor and confusion, rifles spitting fire.
“They got us boxed in!” someone else shouted. His words triggered panic among the men along the perimeter. Some scrambled on foot into the trees, others raced toward the rope corral for their horses.
“Stand and hold, you white-livered bastards!” Lagace screamed. “We got the numbers on ’em!” But his orders went unheeded.
Little Horse rapidly closed the gap between himself and Touch the Sky and Honey Eater. Expertly, he gripped his pony around the neck with one arm and his one good leg. Touch the Sky watched him slide low on the pony’s flank and knew what he had in mind.
“Be ready to ride!” he said to Honey Eater. He gripped her around the waist with one muscular arm and lifted her as easily as if she were a delicate reed.
Barely slowing, Little Horse swooped down and grabbed the maiden when Touch the Sky handed her up behind him. He turned his pony toward the breastworks again. Suddenly Lagace fired his pistol at Little Horse, but his shot went wide.
Little Horse had turned Touch the Sky’s dun loose. He had also thrown his battle lance point first into the dirt before he raced out of camp again, spiriting Honey Eater to safety. Touch the Sky tugged the lance out of the ground and called to the dun. Obediently, she raced to his side.
By now Black Elk and the others had created the illusion of a large attack. Most of the whites had deserted the camp. But as Touch the Sky raced toward the breastworks, Stone McMasters stepped out from behind a tree and aimed his long Henry at him.
Touch the Sky was weak and wracked with pain. But Little Horse’s courage and skill and High Forehead’s sacrifice filled Touch the Sky with the spirit of the warrior. He raised his right arm high, cocking it to unleash the stone-tipped lance.
His aim was true. The lance punched into McMaster’s barrel chest so hard that it drove the tip out through his back. The big man stood for a long moment with a surprised look on his face, blood spurting across his lips. When he fell, he landed on the lance and hung in the air at a crazy angle like a half-felled tree.
Despite his desperate desire to get clear of the pit of white devils, Touch the Sky knew he could not leave High Forehead’s body among his enemies. High Forehead’s pony had already bolted in panic. Touch the Sky pulled his dun up and leaped to the ground, lifting High Forehead and throwing him across the pony’s rump.
He looked back once to make sure that Black Elk and the other Cheyenne were escaping too. All of them had grabbed horses from the rope corral. There was almost no fire now from the scattered defenders, and the Indians were racing toward the breastworks shouting their triumphant battle cries.
But Black Elk was searching the entire camp for the same person Touch the Sky wanted to sight: the scar-faced leader named Lagace who had caused all of this death and suffering.
And now Touch the Sky did spot him, only he was already clear of the camp. In the first confusion of battle he had untethered his magnificent sorrel gelding, the animal that he boasted had never lost a race. Touch the Sky paid close attention to the direction in which he was fleeing, marking the course in his mind.
“Fly like the wind!” Black Elk shouted at him as he raced by on his stolen horse. “When the others realize how few we are, they will look for us with blood in their eyes!”
Touch the Sky swung up onto his pony, his burned chest aching like a thousand knife points stuck into him. Then, one hand securing his dead red brother behind him, he fell in behind Black Elk and Wolf Who Hunts Smiling and raced into the safety of the trees. But he was careful to remember the route Lagace had taken. And he vowed that one more white dog would die before his sister the sun had set in the west.
Chapter Seventeen
Black Elk’s band rode swiftly down out of the Bighorn Mountains, stopping only long enough to bind Little Horse’s wound with strips of soft tree bark.
Pain throbbed in Touch the Sky’s burns with each step the dun took. When they finally reached the safety of the foothills, Black Elk ordered a brief halt. They cut two long trailing poles and made a netting of vines and rawhide strips, fashioning a travois on which to haul High Forehead’s body.
Black Elk had stolen an extra horse for Honey Eater. She was near exhaustion from the ordeal of her captivity, still in shock from the battle and Touch the Sky’s near death. She had ridden in silence, only occasionally glancing toward Touch the Sky as if to reassure herself that he had survived.
Black Elk surprised Touch the Sky by disappearing for a brief time, then returning with a handful of yarrow leaves. “Pound these into a paste with water,” he said, handing them to Touch the Sky, “and rub it on your burns.”
He turned away before Touch the Sky could thank him. The young Cheyenne found two heavy rocks and did as he was instructed. Almost immediately the cool paste soothed his burns.
The band reached the broad open flats of the plains just as the sun melted into a glowing red blush on the western horizon. There was no sign they were being followed. By now Honey Eater was falling asleep on horseback, so Black Elk ordered them to make a cold camp for the night.
“I killed one enemy for every bullet I fired,” Wolf Who Hunt
s Smiling boasted after they had all rolled into their robes for the night. “And if the paleface dogs had not scattered like frightened crows, I would have killed more with my knife.”
“And I sent two whites under with my arrows,” Swift Canoe said.
“You fought well,” Black Elk’s voice said in the darkness under a sky spangled with glowing stars. “And you obeyed the orders your war chief gave you.”
This was his first reference to Touch the Sky and Little Horse’s disobedience. Touch the Sky longed to explain that he had not willfully disobeyed—that he had instead followed a medicine vision. But he remembered Arrow Keeper’s warning that some Indians used visions as an excuse to avoid punishment for wrongdoing. He remained silent.
“Those who did disobey,” Black Elk said, still avoiding names, “fought bravely. Honey Eater has been saved, thanks in part to their courage. But what of the scar-face? Is he not free to continue his treachery against the red man?”
Touch the Sky knew that his enemy Wolf Who Hunts Smiling was gloating at these words. And Black Elk was right—part of their mission had been to kill Lagace.
Touch the Sky had determined to do just that. He was already in serious trouble for disobeying Black Elk. It hardly mattered if he did it once more. He must kill Lagace. Not only was his hatred for the paleface devil intense, but his medicine vision had told him he alone must kill the scar-faced leader. And now Touch the Sky understood that it was indeed a true vision, a higher power that must be obeyed. Those who sought visions but did not fulfill their commands, Arrow Keeper had warned him, were doomed to death or insanity.
Touch the Sky had lost his weapons in the white camp. But he had already removed from its sheath High Forehead’s, a small but sharp obsidian blade attached to a wooden handle. He could feel its weight in his legging sash.
Touch the Sky drank much water that night so that his aching bladder would wake him well before the others. In the soft half-light of dawn he paused for a long moment beside Honey Eater’s robe, watching her in sleep. The delicate sculpting of her high cheekbones and her full, heart-shaped lips filled him with love.