comfortably until it was determined the extent of participation that would be required. Through narrowed lids he evaluated the approaching warriors.
He quickly saw that his own group slightly outnumbered the newcomers. Good. They could probably bluff through the argument without bloodshed.
The older warrior near the center was probably their leader. Black Fox had seen the man before. What was his name? Walking Bird? No, Standing Bird. Yes, this was the man. A subchief of the Southern band, head of one of the warrior societies, perhaps.
Black Fox had seen him as the two tribes encountered
each other casually each season while on the move. These contacts were brief and almost cordial, though cautious. There was no conflict when both groups had women and children with them. It would be too dangerous to involve the families.
So Black Fox now identified Standing Bird as the leader. The other members of the party appeared to be younger warriors, efficient-looking, possibly with some degree of experience.
At precisely that moment Black Fox was startled to see a slim youth on a gray horse leap forward into a charge. The thing was so ridiculous that it took a moment to realize what was happening. In fact he thought at first that the young warriorâs horse had merely bolted out of control. In the space of a few heartbeats, however, it became apparent that the charge was deliberate. The slim youth was hammering heels into the gray mareâs flanks and beginning to sound the war cry of the Elk-dog People in a high-pitched falsetto.
It was wrong. This was no way to conduct a battle. It should be left to the leaders to argue, exchange insults, and, in the final decision, lead the fight or arrange the terms.
But this novice warrior apparently did not understand the ritual. He was launching a deliberate charge without waiting for the confrontation and arguments.
Black Fox glanced at the rest of his own party. Sitting Bear was staring open-mouthed, and the younger warriors sat or milled about nervously. Black Fox looked back at the charging young warrior and discovered that a tall, capable-looking warrior on a big bay stallion had joined the charge. Close behind thundered the entire party of pursuers, led by Standing Bird. Their full-throated war cry echoed across the meadow as the distance between the two groups closed.
Black Fox, sitting apart from the major thrust of the attack, saw the clash develop before his eyes. The slim youth in the lead was charging straight at Sitting Bear, who still sat dumbfounded.
Then Black Fox had a startling realization. The charging
young warrior, swiftly bearing down on the raiders, was no warrior at all, but a woman. A crazy, completely mad woman, for some obscure reason riding with a war party.
Close behind her pounded the tall warrior on the bay stallion, readying his lance. Still, it was the woman who struck the first blow of the battle, an arrow thrown with unerring accuracy at the bare midriff of Sitting Bear. The chief, just readying his war club for the clash, slid limply from his horse instead.
Black Fox urged his horse forward but could not reach the center of the action before the two groups met. A young warrior swung his club at the crazy woman, but she avoided his blow by swinging nimbly to the side of her horse. The club whistled through empty air. A moment later the warrior who wielded it fell heavily before the lance charge of the tall man on the bay.
Now he and the woman were completely circled by young Head Splitters, fighting to free themselves. The woman loosed another arrow, and yet another, then cast her bow aside to swing a light war club. The man at her side used his lance until pressed too closely for working room. Then he, too, turned to the war club.
The two had made great inroads against the Head Splitters but were now becoming hard-pressed. Then the main force, led by Standing Bird, struck the fight. The new pressure was too much for the inexperienced horse
He quickly saw that his own group slightly outnumbered the newcomers. Good. They could probably bluff through the argument without bloodshed.
The older warrior near the center was probably their leader. Black Fox had seen the man before. What was his name? Walking Bird? No, Standing Bird. Yes, this was the man. A subchief of the Southern band, head of one of the warrior societies, perhaps.
Black Fox had seen him as the two tribes encountered
each other casually each season while on the move. These contacts were brief and almost cordial, though cautious. There was no conflict when both groups had women and children with them. It would be too dangerous to involve the families.
So Black Fox now identified Standing Bird as the leader. The other members of the party appeared to be younger warriors, efficient-looking, possibly with some degree of experience.
At precisely that moment Black Fox was startled to see a slim youth on a gray horse leap forward into a charge. The thing was so ridiculous that it took a moment to realize what was happening. In fact he thought at first that the young warriorâs horse had merely bolted out of control. In the space of a few heartbeats, however, it became apparent that the charge was deliberate. The slim youth was hammering heels into the gray mareâs flanks and beginning to sound the war cry of the Elk-dog People in a high-pitched falsetto.
It was wrong. This was no way to conduct a battle. It should be left to the leaders to argue, exchange insults, and, in the final decision, lead the fight or arrange the terms.
But this novice warrior apparently did not understand the ritual. He was launching a deliberate charge without waiting for the confrontation and arguments.
Black Fox glanced at the rest of his own party. Sitting Bear was staring open-mouthed, and the younger warriors sat or milled about nervously. Black Fox looked back at the charging young warrior and discovered that a tall, capable-looking warrior on a big bay stallion had joined the charge. Close behind thundered the entire party of pursuers, led by Standing Bird. Their full-throated war cry echoed across the meadow as the distance between the two groups closed.
Black Fox, sitting apart from the major thrust of the attack, saw the clash develop before his eyes. The slim youth in the lead was charging straight at Sitting Bear, who still sat dumbfounded.
Then Black Fox had a startling realization. The charging
young warrior, swiftly bearing down on the raiders, was no warrior at all, but a woman. A crazy, completely mad woman, for some obscure reason riding with a war party.
Close behind her pounded the tall warrior on the bay stallion, readying his lance. Still, it was the woman who struck the first blow of the battle, an arrow thrown with unerring accuracy at the bare midriff of Sitting Bear. The chief, just readying his war club for the clash, slid limply from his horse instead.
Black Fox urged his horse forward but could not reach the center of the action before the two groups met. A young warrior swung his club at the crazy woman, but she avoided his blow by swinging nimbly to the side of her horse. The club whistled through empty air. A moment later the warrior who wielded it fell heavily before the lance charge of the tall man on the bay.
Now he and the woman were completely circled by young Head Splitters, fighting to free themselves. The woman loosed another arrow, and yet another, then cast her bow aside to swing a light war club. The man at her side used his lance until pressed too closely for working room. Then he, too, turned to the war club.
The two had made great inroads against the Head Splitters but were now becoming hard-pressed. Then the main force, led by Standing Bird, struck the fight. The new pressure was too much for the inexperienced horse
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