  As soon as he and Bent Arrow had returned to their tepee, Flying Arrow began to make preparations for his raid against the Sioux. While Bent Arrow helped his uncle, his mind was busy. “Chief Barking Wolf thinks that you should not go alone,” Bent Arrow suggested. “It would be much better if two of us could go together,” Flying Arrow agreed. “However, Barking Wolf is right in saying that he can’t spare another warrior from the hunting party.” “I could go with you,” Bent Arrow pointed out. Flying Arrow looked at him with surprise. For a moment Bent Arrow thought that his suggestion was going to rouse his uncle’s anger. Then the warrior smiled. “I should have known that you don’t make words just to hear the sound of them,” he said. “I am proud that you offered to go, but this raid is too dangerous.” “I would get the exercise which Clawing Bear says I need,” Bent Arrow urged. “I might find an eagle feather, and I can help you by tending the horses.” Flying Arrow made no answer. Instead, he gave all of his attention to arranging the things he was to take with him. Bent Arrow began to fear that he had talked too much. Evidently he had made his uncle angry. Flying Arrow emptied the arrows from his quiver. Two of them he tossed into the fire. He selected three of the best and handed them to Bent Arrow. “You may need these,” he said. “There will be hunting to do and perhaps even a fight with the Sioux.” “Then I am to go with you?” Bent Arrow exclaimed. “Yes,” Flying Arrow answered, nodding. “I’ll need help, and you need the training. I know you’ll obey orders. When I tell you to stay back from danger, you will do so.” When everything else was prepared, Flying Arrow filled two small bags with dried buffalo meat. “There may be times when we don’t dare build a fire,” he explained, handing one of the bags to Bent Arrow. The next morning, just as the eastern sky was lighting up, Flying Arrow led the way out of camp. He was mounted on his best horse. When he had given Bent Arrow his choice of the horses, Bent Arrow had selected Rock. Although the ground was white with frost, when they came to the river, Bent Arrow jumped from his horse and swam across. On the other side of the river, he trotted beside his horse until he was thoroughly warmed. Flying Arrow led the way out of camp Instead of continuing north to find the Sioux trail, Flying Arrow turned east and selected the easiest route along the riverbank. “I’m sure the Sioux circled north and later returned to the river,” he explained. “We’ll find their trail before the day is over.” Several times during the day, Bent Arrow dismounted and trotted along beside his horse. Clawing Bear had said he needed exercise. Bent Arrow was determined to leave nothing undone that would help cure his leg. The sun was still hanging in the western sky when Flying Arrow stopped. Bent Arrow was worried because they had not found the Sioux trail. Flying Arrow seemed to read his mind. “The Sioux traveled farther before returning to the river than I expected them to,” he explained. “We’ll camp here. We’ll find their trail soon when we start on tomorrow.” Bent Arrow tended the horses while Flying Arrow built a fire and cooked the meat they had brought with them. When Bent Arrow returned to the camping spot, he could see his uncle before he could see the tiny campfire. Flying Arrow was taking no chances of a fire or its smoke attracting the Sioux. It was scarcely daylight the next morning when the two Crows started. Flying Arrow watched the ground closely as he rode along. They had not gone far when he dismounted. When Bent Arrow dismounted to join his uncle, he saw the hoofmarks of several horses. “The Sioux went to the river to water their horses,” Flying Arrow explained, pointing to the tracks. “Did they cross the river?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously, thinking that the Sioux might have circled back and attacked the Crow hunting camp. “Probably not,” Flying Arrow answered. “I’m sure we’ll find their trail a little farther on.” Flying Arrow started ahead, leading his horse. Bent Arrow followed him. They had gone only a short distance when they came upon the Sioux trail leading from the river. “It is as I expected,” Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux camped by the river. It looks as though they have given up their plan to raid our camp.” “Are they on their way to the Sioux winter camp?” Bent Arrow asked. “I think they are going farther toward the land of the rising sun,” Flying Arrow answered. “Probably they want to hunt before they go to winter camp.” He studied the trail carefully. Bent Arrow, too, looked at the many tracks. He tried to judge how many warriors were in the hunting party. From the tracks, he decided there had been about as many Sioux as he and Flying Arrow together had fingers. “There were about this many warriors,” Flying Arrow said, holding up both hands with his fingers spread. “I thought there were more,” Bent Arrow admitted. “Some of the hoofprints were made by horses without riders,” Flying Arrow explained. “See, there is a difference in the prints.” He tried to gauge how many warriors were in the party Bent Arrow looked where his uncle pointed. Some of the hoofmarks were deeper and clearer than others. “I thought that the deeper prints were made by horses that came at the end of the herd,” Bent Arrow told his uncle. “That is good trailing,” Flying Arrow praised. “Even some warriors wouldn’t have noticed that there was a difference in the tracks. However, the deeper marks are made by horses carrying riders.” “Will we catch up with the Sioux today?” Bent Arrow asked. “Not unless they stop to hunt,” Flying Arrow answered. “They are too far ahead of us.” When Flying Arrow remounted, he did not follow the Sioux trail. Instead, he stayed on the level ground a short distance from the riverbank. He kept his horse going faster than he had the day before. Several times Bent Arrow dismounted and ran beside his horse. He found that he was able to run farther before his leg began to hurt. The sun had sunk to the top of the western hills when the two Crows again crossed the Sioux trail. Flying Arrow dismounted to study it briefly. “We are getting close to them,” he gloated. “In a day or two we may be able to make a raid.” They traveled until dark. Again Bent Arrow cared for the horses while his uncle made camp. This time, when Bent Arrow returned to camp, there was no fire. “We’ll eat some of the dried meat we brought,” Flying Arrow told him. “The Sioux have sharp noses. Even the smallest fire might give off enough smoke to warn them.” Bent Arrow glanced around quickly as though expecting to find a Sioux watching from the brush near by. “They aren’t that close,” Flying Arrow said with a smile. “Probably they are half a sun’s ride ahead of us.” Bent Arrow knew that the Sioux would have little chance to surprise them. Flying Eagle heard every noise, no matter how slight, and he always knew the meaning of the noise. Nevertheless, he had a feeling of uneasiness as he crawled into his blankets to sleep. The moment that he fell asleep, he dreamed that he saw an eagle soaring overhead. In his dream he followed the eagle, hoping it would drop a feather. He followed the eagle over hills and across a small stream. At last a feather fell from the eagle and floated down. As Bent Arrow was running to get the feather, some sound awakened him. Although it was still dark, Bent Arrow could see his uncle moving about. Silently Bent Arrow crawled out of his blankets. “I’m going to scout ahead on foot,” Flying Arrow explained. “It may be that I can reach the Sioux camp.” “Let me go with you,” Bent Arrow urged. Flying Arrow shook his head. “As soon as it is light, you water the horses,” he ordered. “If I’m not back by then, you might hunt near the river for game. We’ll need food.” After Flying Arrow slipped away into the darkness, Bent Arrow sat on his robe and waited until the eastern sky gave enough light so he could see. He took the horses to the river and let them drink. He found a hidden place where there was plenty of grass for the horses. He returned to the camping place, rolled up the blankets, and hid them. He took a small branch from a tree. With this he brushed the ground until there were no signs of the camp left. Bent Arrow arranged two sticks to tell his uncle where the horses were in case the warrior was the first to get back to the camping place. He went back on the trail he and his uncle had followed the day before. When he thought that he was far enough from the camping place, he went toward the river. He hunted along the river until he found the place he wanted. It was a clump of willows near the river and along a well-worn trail leading to it. Bent Arrow had been hidden in the clump of willows only a short time when he caught the faint sound of something coming down the trail. He kneeled, waiting tensely as the sound came nearer. His heart was pounding wildly when a fine buck stepped into view. The deer stopped, lifted its head, and sniffed suspiciously. Evidently it failed to catch Bent Arrow’s scent, because it came on toward the river. Bent Arrow waited until the buck was a step past him before he fired. The arrow struck the deer just back of the foreleg. The animal crumpled beside the path. There was a scurrying farther back. Bent Arrow knew that the sound was made by other deer which had been following the buck. Their sharp ears had caught the sound, warning them of danger. They were fleeing back up the trail. Although he wanted to jump up and run over to look at the first deer he had ever shot, Bent Arrow remained hidden in the clump of willows. It was possible that a Sioux warrior would be hunting along the river. As Bent Arrow waited patiently, he felt more and more uneasy. There was an unnatural stillness around him. It wasn’t only that there was no movement along the path, but there was nothing stirring on either side of the river. As he waited, still crouched on one knee, the awkward position began to make his leg hurt. The pain increased rapidly. It hurt below his knee, where the old injury was, and all the way up his leg. Little beads of sweat moistened his brow. He had to move. As he tensed himself to shift his position without touching a twig or making any other sign of movement, he saw a branch move on the other side of the river. Bent Arrow almost forgot his pain as his eyes searched the other bank. Another branch moved slightly. A Sioux warrior crawled out to the river bank and leaned down to drink. In his excitement, Bent Arrow had forgotten the pain in his leg. Now it swept over him, and he remembered that it was Sioux warriors who had injured him and made him different from other Crow boys. He took careful aim at the unsuspecting warrior across the stream. Before he let the arrow fly, Bent Arrow knew it would be a mistake to shoot. If he missed, or if he injured the warrior, or even if his shot was successful, the Sioux would be warned. There would be no chance of Flying Arrow’s plan succeeding. Silently Bent Arrow lowered his bow. When the Sioux warrior had drunk his fill, he raised his head and listened. Slowly he got to his feet, and his sharp glance swept up and down the river. Bent Arrow was thankful that the deer had fallen to one side of the path where it was hidden from the Sioux’s sight. At last the Sioux slipped back from the river. For a few paces Bent Arrow could follow the warrior’s progress by the slight movement of the underbrush. Soon he could no longer see any sign of movement. He had no way of knowing whether the Sioux had stopped or whether he was moving more carefully. There was nothing to do except wait. The sun had risen and, to Bent Arrow’s anxious eyes, seemed to be racing up the sky. By this time Flying Arrow would have returned to camp. He would wait for a time, but when Bent Arrow failed to return, Flying Arrow would come to look for him. Finally Bent Arrow decided that he must take the risk. He crept out of his hiding place and slipped away from the river, keeping near the trail. When he was far enough back from the stream so that no watcher on the other side could see him, he crossed the trail and started back toward the river. He moved carefully. Before he took a step, he glanced ahead to make sure he could avoid touching any branches. When he came near the deer, he dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled the remaining distance. The deer had fallen in such a way that a clump of brush hid it from the other side of the river. However, it was so close to the brush that it seemed impossible for Bent Arrow to move it without stirring the branches. Carefully he inched the deer away from the brush. He got it away from the brush without causing the branches to move noticeably. It was a long, tedious task, dragging the deer and avoiding the brush and shrubs, but at last Bent Arrow got it to a place well enough hidden that he could lift it to his shoulders. Instead of going straight toward the camping place, Bent Arrow went due north. When he was at a point directly west of the camp, he hung the deer on a low tree branch. Then he went toward camp. He had covered about half the distance to the camp, when he caught a slight movement directly ahead of him. He stopped and slowly brought his bow into position. “It’s all right, Bent Arrow,” Flying Arrow called softly, stepping into view. Bent Arrow quickly ran to his uncle. “I have a deer,” he said, “and I saw a Sioux warrior.” “We’ll get our horses and move farther away before we talk more,” Flying Arrow decided. |
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