  When Bent Arrow opened his eyes, he was lying on a buffalo robe in a tepee. He sat up uncertainly and gave a little gasp when he saw Clawing Bear sitting beside him. “How did I get here?” Bent Arrow demanded. “You ran here,” Clawing Bear answered with a smile. “As great a run as a Crow ever made.” “Flying Arrow?” Bent Arrow asked in a whisper. “He’s outside, boasting that his nephew is the greatest runner in the Crow Nation,” Clawing Bear replied. Before Clawing Bear had finished speaking, Flying Arrow entered the tepee. “How are you, Brother?” Flying Arrow asked. Bent Arrow stared at his uncle. Brother? That was the formal word of address Flying Arrow would have used if he had been speaking to a warrior. Why should he use that word? “Can he come to the corral to see our horses?” Flying Arrow asked, turning to Clawing Bear. “It will do him good,” Clawing Bear agreed. As he walked along beside his uncle, Bent Arrow asked about the rescue. Flying Arrow told as much of the story as he knew. He told how he had watched from the rim. The Sioux on foot had arrived before daylight. There had been a short powwow and then all of the Sioux had rolled up in their blankets to sleep. Knowing that he would need the rest, and that any small noise would waken him, Flying Arrow had fallen asleep too. He had wakened at the first hint of daylight. The Sioux had attacked a few moments later. Flying Arrow’s two shots knocked two Sioux warriors from their horses. The Sioux only took time to pick up their wounded and then retreated out of bowshot to hold another conference. From their motioning to one another, Flying Arrow was able to guess their next move. They would stay out of bowshot and sneak up to the canyon wall at some distance from the entrance. One party would approach from one side and one from the other. Flying Arrow might be able to stop one party, but he couldn’t stop both of them. “But you did stop them,” Bent Arrow interrupted excitedly. “By an accident,” Flying Arrow explained. “Two of the horses we had taken wandered near the opening. I threw stones behind them and drove them on out. They kept right on running after they were out of the canyon. The Sioux postponed their attack while they caught the horses.” “How did you keep the other horses from following the ones which you drove out of the canyon?” Bent Arrow wanted to know. “I threw stones at them to drive them back,” Flying Arrow answered. “But Rock did most. He soon understood that I didn’t want the others to get out. He stayed near the entrance and kept the other horses back.” Flying Arrow went on with his story. He told how after the Sioux had captured the two horses they held another council. The warriors had delayed until the sun had passed overhead. At last they had prepared to move to the canyon walls. Before they started, two mounted warriors were sent around the canyon walls to scout. One of them came dashing back, shouting and waving his arms. In a short time the Sioux had mounted, two to a horse, and ridden off. Later, the party of Crows came in sight. “There were only seven or eight men in the Crow party!” Bent Arrow exclaimed. “Why did the Sioux run?” “Probably they thought more Crows were coming,” Flying Arrow answered. By that time Bent Arrow and his uncle had reached the corral. Flying Arrow pointed out the horses which now belonged to Bent Arrow. There were twelve of them. He was a rich boy. “One horse is enough for me,” Bent Arrow protested. “You were the warrior in charge. You deserve all of the horses.” “You did a warrior’s work and you deserve a warrior’s share,” Flying Arrow insisted. “I’ll trade all of them for Rock,” Bent Arrow offered. The moment he had spoken, Bent Arrow wished that he could recall the words. His uncle had been generous in giving him half of the horses, far more generous than anyone would expect him to be. Bent Arrow knew how ungrateful he must appear. Yet his uncle didn’t seem displeased. “Come. We must go to our tepee and get ready to go to the Council Fire,” was all that he said. As soon as he was in the tepee, Bent Arrow went to his pile of halters. He selected eight of the halters and laid them aside. There was still one question bothering him, and while he and his uncle were eating, he asked it. “I don’t remember reaching the camp,” he said. “How did I find Clawing Bear and his men?” “Clawing Bear had a dream that you and I needed help,” Flying Arrow explained. “When the hunting party started back to the winter camp, he got permission to come to our aid. The other seven men received permission to go with him.” When they had finished eating, Bent Arrow added another halter to those he had set aside. He noticed that Flying Arrow, too, was carrying halters when they left the tepee. Clawing Bear and the seven warriors were seated around the fire. Flying Arrow took his place in the circle next to Clawing Bear. Bent Arrow sat behind him. Clawing Bear took the pipe and lighted it with a brand from the fire. He blew smoke to the north, the east, the south, and the west. Then he passed the pipe to Flying Arrow. Flying Arrow blew smoke in each of the four directions and passed the pipe on. In turn, each of the warriors blew smoke in the four directions. When the pipe came back to Clawing Bear, he carefully wrapped it in its cover. The medicine man got to his feet. “Seldom do we have the youngest speak first,” he said, “but the youth who made that great run is entitled to be heard.” As the medicine man sat down, all eyes turned toward Bent Arrow. Slowly he stood up. “My uncle has taught me that good Crows help each other,” he managed to say. “You proved yourselves good Crows by helping us. I want to give each of you a gift.” He went around the circle giving each warrior a halter in sign that the warrior now owned one of Bent Arrow’s horses. There were two halters left in Bent Arrow’s hand when he stopped in front of Clawing Bear. “Two horses to you, Clawing Bear,” he said, “to show you that I am grateful to you for healing my leg and telling me to get an eagle feather.” There was a murmur of approval as Bent Arrow sat down. Flying Arrow got to his feet. He, too, went around the circle, giving each man a halter. When he had finished, he still had one halter in his hand. He turned to Bent Arrow. “As a raider,” he smiled, “you have proved yourself a good Crow. You have proved yourself worthy of a good horse. This halter is Rocks’. The horse is yours.” Bent Arrow tried to thank his uncle, but there was something wrong with his throat, and no words would come out. Flying Arrow turned quickly back to the warriors. “Clawing Bear will tell you why I made presents of horses to you,” he said. Clawing Bear stood. “When a youth does a great deed,” Clawing Bear spoke solemnly, “his nearest relative is entitled to give gifts and to give the youth a new name. Twelve summers ago a party of Sioux injured a Crow boy—injured him so badly that the boy could not walk erect and so was given the name Bent Arrow. Now that boy has been cured. He has raided a Sioux camp. He has run a great distance in as short a time as any Crow has ever run it. When he reached us, he was ready to drop, but he was running erectly. I say that the boy, Bent Arrow, has become the warrior, True Arrow, a true Crow.” A warrior jumped up and ran around the circle three times, shouting, “Welcome, True Arrow. Welcome, True Arrow. Welcome, True Arrow.” Bent Arrow, now True Arrow, sat still with his head down. He was too happy to speak. |
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