Daughter of the Eagle by Don Coldsmith Page B

made a mistake in her lone charge. It must be that there were rules, like those of the hunt, that the leader of the war party must say when to begin. Aiee , how stupid of her! She glanced around, embarrassed, to see the reaction of the other warriors. Most were riding back and forth in wild celebration. A few looted the weapons from enemy dead, some raced after loose horses.
    Standing Bird rode up, seemed about to speak, then
changed his mind. He nodded in recognition, expression unchanging. The girl was keenly aware that he might have severely criticized her. He had apparently chosen not to do so at this time. She wondered whether she would still be called before the warrior society for punishment. Perhaps she could speak to Walker about it.
    Three young riders trotted past, singing triumphantly.
    â€œâ€”and she has killed the enemy, and stolen back the horses—”
    Embarrassed, Running Eagle realized that she was the object of their song. Close on the heels of this thought came another. Her companions were regarding her lone charge as an act of bravery, not one of insubordination. This, in all probability, was the reason for Standing Bird’s indecisiveness. She turned to him.
    â€œMy chief, I did not understand—”
    Standing Bird shook his head gently. “It is nothing. It has turned out well. But, next time …”
    Running Eagle nodded, ashamed. “Yes, my chief.”
    Standing Bird ended the matter with a wave of his hand and rode away. Nothing more was said.
    A young man rode up, leading a riderless horse. He handed the rein to the girl.
    â€œYour brother’s horse, Running Eagle.”
    She nodded her thanks. Only now was coming the full impact of their mission’s purpose, and her voice was choked into silence by this reminder of her loss.
    The riders were surrounding the horse herd now, skillfully keeping the excited animals milling in a circle while they began to calm. When they appeared under control, the horsemen began to urge the herd back toward the village.
    It had been a highly successful mission. They had punished the Head Splitters severely, killing several and counting many honors. The People had lost only one warrior, and two were slightly wounded. Because of the mounts of the dead raiders, they had recovered more horses than were originally stolen. This would be regarded as a great joke for many seasons, as long as the story was resung.

    Except, brooded Running Eagle, it does not bring back Bobcat. How unfair that her brother should be struck down in his prime. It did not seem to be a part of the scheme of things. It would have been easier, perhaps, to give him up if the cause had been more sensible—an accident in the hunt, or even a loss in battle on a war party.
    But a meaningless thing such as this she could not accept. Bobcat had done nothing except to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She tried to console herself with the thought that her brother had died bravely. She was unsuccessful. Her thoughts kept coming back to two ideas. One, that the death of Bobcat was somehow not intended to be. It was a flaw, an error in the world’s pattern.
    The other thought was that the interruption, the flaw, had been caused by a deliberate action on the part of the Head Splitters. For this, for the death of her brother, the enemy must be punished.
    She rode in silence, in deep thought. She must wrestle with this problem. Long Walker rode at her side, also in silence. He had noted and was respecting her need to think.
    The young man had no way of knowing how much those thoughts concerned him. Running Eagle had planned to have a serious conversation with Long Walker to plan their future together. Now everything had changed. First her brother must be avenged.
    And, she realized, there was no one else to exact this vengeance. Her grandfather, Heads Off, was old. Her own father was handicapped by his crippled leg, and her uncle, in his capacity as medicine