  The two Crows cleared most of the snow away that had drifted onto the sheltered side of the lean-to. Flying Arrow managed to blow flame alive on one of the coals still in the fire. Bent Arrow hunted for more wood, while the warrior peeled dry shavings and built the fire up. While Flying Arrow cooked food over the fire, Bent Arrow found a large log and dragged it to the lean-to. As soon as the cooking was finished, the log could be rolled onto the fire. It would hold fire all night. “We must return to our hunting camp,” Flying Arrow said. “This storm probably kept them from starting to the winter camp. If so, we can join the party and ride with the others. Next spring, you and I will make another raid against the Sioux.” Bent Arrow thought of how easy it would be for the Sioux to follow the trail he and his uncle would leave in the snow. Reluctant as he was to give up the raid, he understood the wisdom of Flying Arrow’s decision. “Perhaps we should scout the Sioux camp before we start back,” Bent Arrow suggested. “We might be able to learn something of their plans.” Flying Arrow considered the suggestion. Bent Arrow knew that his uncle was thinking how valuable it would be to the Crows to know something of the Sioux plans. And still, the warrior had to remember that scouting the Sioux camp would leave a trail in the snow which might be found. At last Flying Arrow nodded. “Even a scouting trip will be dangerous,” he said, “however we may learn enough to pay us for taking the risk. If the sun melts some of the snow in the morning, we’ll cross the river before sunset.” Although he was tired, Bent Arrow had trouble falling asleep after he had crawled into his blankets. When he did fall asleep, he was bothered by a dream. In the dream he saw an eagle feather just out of his reach. It seemed that his uncle was trying to help him, but there was always a Sioux warrior with an arrow aimed at him. As he and his uncle were eating the next morning, Bent Arrow told of his dream. Flying Arrow seemed greatly disturbed. He sat silently for a long time after Bent Arrow had finished. Finally the warrior got slowly to his feet. “I must think about your dream,” he told Bent Arrow. “Take care of the horses.” As Flying Arrow walked away from the camp, Bent Arrow left to tend the horses. The sun was shining brightly, and the snow was beginning to melt. Bent Arrow found the horses near where they had left them the night before. The animals had found a place where most of the snow had been blown off the grass. All three of them were eating hungrily. Since the horses were all right and he had plenty of time, Bent Arrow decided to make a scouting trip to the river. He picked his way carefully, avoiding the larger drifts. He found a place near the river where he could hide in a clump of brush and watch the other side. At first there was nothing stirring near him, but after a while two deer came down to the other bank of the river. Bent Arrow could tell from the actions of the deer that no Sioux were near. He thought of crossing the river and scouting farther but decided against it. He waited until the deer left the river before he left this hiding place to return to camp. When he arrived, Flying Arrow was waiting. “Did you find a meaning in my dream?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously. “Your dream warns of danger from the Sioux,” Flying Arrow answered. “Yet it may promise that we can find your eagle feather and escape.” “Then we are to scout the Sioux camp,” Bent Arrow exclaimed. “We are,” Flying Arrow agreed. “There is nothing in your dream to show that it would cause us greater danger.” Flying Arrow insisted that they wait until the sun was sliding down the western sky before they started. The sun had melted the snow so rapidly that there were many bare spots. However the ground was soft, and the horses left a plain trail. They crossed the river at the same place they did on their other raid. Soon after they had crossed, they left the horses and went ahead on foot. As Flying Arrow led the way, he kept to the bare ground as much as possible. They came to a small stream which flowed into the river. They walked along its bank in a direction which took them farther from the Sioux camp. When they had gone many paces, Flying Arrow stepped into the stream and turned back in the direction from which they had come. Bent Arrow followed him. The two Crows walked in the cold water until the stream made a sharp bend. Here they stepped onto the bank, taking care to hide their tracks. They circled to the south of the Sioux camp as they had done the other time. The sun had sunk in the west, but there was still some light when the two Crows crept to the top of the hill and looked down at the camp. Bent Arrow gave a little sigh of disappointment as he saw that the horses had been put into a pole corral. He had been hoping that he and his uncle might have a chance to take one or two of the Sioux horses. As he looked more closely at the camp, he noticed bundles hanging in the trees. It was too far for him to be able to see clearly, but he guessed the bundles must be meat. “They must be planning to camp here for a while,” Bent Arrow whispered to his uncle. “They have their meat hanging on tree limbs.” “Or they are planning to make a raid before they start to winter camp,” Flying Arrow whispered back. “The meat would be safe from wolves.” “It would be against our Crow camp.” In his excitement Bent Arrow almost spoke aloud. Flying Arrow nodded grimly. “We’ll have to learn their plans,” he said. {The two Crows crept to the top of the hill} There was a wide space of open hillside between the two Crows and the Sioux camp. Bent Arrow knew they dared not cross it until the Sioux camp was asleep. He knew that his uncle would learn much about the Sioux plans just from watching the camp. He settled down beside his uncle, determined that he, too, would learn of their plans by watching. Flying Arrow suddenly reached over and gripped Bent Arrow’s arm. At the same moment Bent Arrow saw a Sioux warrior ride across the hill at the far side of the valley. The warrior was leading three horses. Bent Arrow’s heart sank. Rock was one of those horses. He and his uncle were far from the Crow camp, and now they had no horses. Losing their mounts was only part of the danger in which Bent Arrow and his uncle found themselves. The Sioux warrior who had taken the horses was sure to have studied the trail left by the Crows. He would know that a warrior and a boy had made the trail. He wouldn’t have had to follow the trail to know that the two Crows would be near the Sioux camp. Unless darkness fell quickly, Sioux warriors would find the two Crows before they had a chance to escape. For a while the danger made Bent Arrow forget the disgrace of having lost their horses to a raider. With a pressure on Bent Arrow’s arm, Flying Arrow warned that they must leave at once. They crawled back until it was safe for them to stand. Flying Arrow led the way southeast, trying to avoid stepping in snow where their tracks would easily be seen. Bent Arrow came to a sudden stop. He stepped aside to get a closer look at the thing which had attracted his attention. He gave a low exclamation. He had found an eagle feather. He realized that this was the place where he had watched the Sioux butchering buffaloes. This was the eagle feather which he hadn’t dared try to pick up that afternoon. Flying Arrow had stopped and was watching Bent Arrow. “I have my eagle feather,” Bent Arrow exclaimed, holding the feather for his uncle to see. “It may be too late,” Flying Arrow answered grimly. “We must go fast if we are to escape.” Although the two Crows went rapidly, they did not seem to be getting any great distance from the Sioux camp. In trying to pick his way where there was no snow, Flying Arrow followed a zigzag course. Bent Arrow gave his attention to planting his feet in his uncle’s tracks. Occasionally he did stop and look back. Each time he expected to see the Sioux riding toward them. Darkness should have fallen quickly. Now, it seemed to be holding off. When it did come, it wasn’t deep; the sky was clear, and the snowdrifts reflected the starlight. Bent Arrow glanced back. A Sioux warrior was coming across the hill behind them. “The Sioux are coming,” Bent Arrow warned. Without wasting time to look back, Flying Arrow threw himself on the ground. Bent Arrow stretched out beside him. There was a ditch to the left. Flying Arrow crawled toward it, with Bent Arrow close behind him. Both of them rolled over the edge and to the bottom of the ditch. Bent Arrow scarcely noticed the trickle of cold water which thoroughly wet his clothing. When Flying Arrow got to his feet, bent double so that his head was below the edge of the ditch, Bent Arrow followed. They walked carefully until they came to a place where a clump of brush grew at the edge of the bank. Flying Arrow cupped his hands, making a stirrup. Bent Arrow understood what he was to do. He stepped beside his uncle, placed a foot in the cupped hands, and was lifted up until his head was just above the edge of the draw. When Bent Arrow tried to look around for a sight of the enemy, he found that the brush shut off his view. He moved one foot gently as a warning to his uncle. Then stepped up on Flying Arrow’s shoulder. From there he crawled out onto the bank, keeping hidden under the branches of the shrubs. He wormed himself forward until he could see out over the valley. The Sioux warrior was riding along the bank of the ditch only a few paces away. Bent Arrow tossed a tiny stick into the ditch as a warning to his uncle. Then he crept under the brush and waited. With one ear pressed against the ground, Bent Arrow could follow the approach of the Sioux warrior almost as well as he could have had he dared watch. Once the warrior stopped his horse, and Bent Arrow’s heart stopped beating. Before Bent Arrow could decide whether or not he should jump to his feet and run, the Sioux moved on. Bent Arrow’s heart began to beat again. After the warrior had gone on, Bent Arrow lay still, waiting for a signal from his uncle. At last Flying Arrow tapped the wall of the ditch lightly. Bent Arrow crawled to the edge. “The Sioux will come back on the other side,” Flying Arrow whispered in Bent Arrow’s ear. “We’ll have to stay here until he returns.” Bent Arrow crawled back to his hiding place. He took another look up the valley. He thought he saw a Sioux warrior far to the other side, but in the darkness he couldn’t be sure. He caught the sound of the first Sioux warrior returning on the other side of the ditch. Bent Arrow crawled under the brush and lay motionless. As soon as the warrior was safely out of sight, Flying Arrow crawled up onto the bank. “When daylight comes, the Sioux will find our trail,” he explained. “We’ll travel as fast as we can go now. Later we’ll try to hide our trail.” Flying Arrow led the way. He tried to find the easiest route, but he made little effort to hide their trail. He led the way out of the valley that they were in, across some low hills and into another valley. He continued on until they came to a small, tree-lined stream. He stepped into the stream, and Bent Arrow followed him. Although the stream was small, it flowed swiftly, making it difficult to walk against the current. In spite of Bent Arrow’s care, he was soon drenched with the water he splashed. Flying Arrow continued to stay in the stream until he came to a large tree with branches spreading across the water. Flying Arrow leaped up and caught hold of a stout limb. He swung himself up and crawled onto the limb. Bent Arrow had to jump a second time before he managed to grab the limb. When he did get hold of it, he swung himself behind his uncle. Flying Arrow crawled along the limb to the trunk of the tree. He found a large limb extending on the other side of the tree. He crawled as near the end of it as he could and then dropped to the ground. Bent Arrow dropped down beside him. There was only a little snow under the tree, but it was enough to leave plain footprints. Flying Arrow found a small branch. Using it as a broom, he swept away the tracks which they had made. There was another tree a few paces from the one the Crows were under. Flying Arrow pointed to it. “We’ll jump from here to the next tree,” Flying Arrow told Bent Arrow. “You go first. I’ll brush out any tracks you make in the snow.” Bent Arrow stepped back to the trunk of the tree. From there he ran forward and jumped as far as he could. He landed among the low branches of the next tree. A moment later his uncle landed beside him. There were no other trees near, and all around was snow which would plainly show any tracks that were made. “You ride on my back,” Flying Arrow ordered. “You can carry a branch and brush away my tracks.” Bent Arrow picked up a small branch. Holding it in one hand, he got on his uncle’s back. Each time that Flying Arrow took a step, Bent Arrow leaned down and brushed the footprints away. This left odd markings in the snow. If the sun shone even a short time before the Sioux found the trail, there would be little they could read in it. It was slow progress across the valley and to the top of the hill. Here the ground was bare. Bent Arrow jumped from his uncle’s back. Now they were able to go rapidly. As they went on, they did find patches of snow, but they jumped across these. As he and his uncle hurried along, Bent Arrow noticed that the darkness was deepening. He glanced toward the sky. Clouds were blotting out the stars. A short time later, he felt snowflakes hitting against his face. Flying Arrow turned from the chain of hills and led the way into a valley where there were a few trees. “We can camp now,” he said. “Old-Man-of-the-North is sending more snow. It will cover our trail. The Sioux won’t be able to find us.” “If he had sent it earlier, we wouldn’t have had to run from the Sioux,” Bent Arrow exclaimed bitterly. Flying Arrow laughed. “Spoken like a good Crow,” he praised. “No Crow likes to run from the Sioux. Some day we shall repay them for this.” In the darkness Bent Arrow and his uncle groped under a tree until they found a pile of leaves. Carefully they raked the wet leaves from the pile. They bunched the dry leaves together and burrowed into the pile. Although they had no blankets, they soon were dry and comfortable. Bent Arrow had scarcely crawled into the leaves before he fell into a sound sleep. |
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