steaming on the wet ice. I went for the heart—an enormous, squishy, rubbery thing, as big as my head. I cut the great vessels with a splash of warm blood around my hands. When I squeezed the heart, blood oozed over my hands and down my arms. I tossed it back onto the ice and it rolled and wobbled to a halt leaving a trail and a bright splash of red where it came to rest. I cut the choice pieces of meat from the breast. I cut out the tongue. When I was finished the ice was scattered with red gore and all around was that vast wilderness with just that spot of blood and tossed nastiness, a tiny stain in all that white world.
Ferris had started back for a deerskin on his pony that could be used to wrap meat when there was a whooshing sound. Blood and gore rained around me. Ferris slipped on the ice, but was up in an instant, scrambling. There was a native on horseback on the crest of the riverbank, a vague gray shape in the snow, lowering his weapon. I dropped into the water up to my thighs. Something splattered overhead and I heard the delayed pop of gunfire. Ferris rushed past and slipped on the ice and clambered behind the beast.
“Wyeth!” he yelled.
“What?”
“You alive?”
“I’m half frozen in this blasted water.”
Over the edge of the ice I saw our horses fading into the snow, a caterwauling Indian driving them on. There were three more natives at the river’s edge.
“On the bank,” I yelled.
“What?”
“Three on the bank.”
“I’m going to fire,” he said. “When I do, get out of the water.”
I heard the scrape of the ramrod as Ferris loaded his rifle. I heard the metallic click as he cocked the hammer. He was aiming. Three natives slipped behind the bank. I leaped out of the water, grabbed my gun, and skittered along the ice. Ferris fired and I saw the snow explode several inches from where the natives had vanished.
I joined Ferris behind the buffalo.
“You get one?”
“I think I scared them,” he said.
We pressed ourselves to the buffalo. The ice had broken cleanly on the back end of the buffalo so we could lean against the beast and not be in the water. The ice bent as we stood on the edge but it was wedged against the buffalo’s fur and did not break. I loaded my rifle.
“You wait a moment after I fire,” I said. “Get them when they come up.”
“Good plan,” he said, not earnestly.
I pulled up to aim. Saw nothing. Just snow and the riverbank and the gore spread across the ice. Then, to my right I saw the three natives crouched in a declivity, loading their weapons. I fired and they dipped beneath the bank, and when one came upFerris fired and they slipped back down again and then they all came up at once and fired and one of the bullets grazed Ferris’s leggins. We were at a bend in the river and if the Sioux spread out far enough they would be able to get a shot from either side. Ferris reloaded. I reloaded, too. We pressed ourselves against that beast, making the most of the shelter.
“Too exposed here,” Ferris said. “If the snow dwindles we’ll be easy prey. We’ll scramble to the embankment. You ready?”
“You can go first.”
“You got the footwear for it,” he said.
My bare feet were pale and bluish and looked shrunken to me. I could not feel them. Ferris gripped his rifle, then sat up and aimed.
“Go on!” he hissed.
It was snowing heavily. The bank was only a gray shadow. I turned and ran over the ice barefoot. It was like running on wooden stilts. I made the far bank and clambered up across rough ground. I threw myself over the rocky edge and while I was doing it I heard a shot. The smoke from Ferris’s rifle drifted past me.
I positioned myself, peering over the bank. I saw nothing except the frozen river and the gray shape of Ferris huddled behind the bull.
“I’m loaded,” I yelled.
Ferris bolted and all the while I scanned the far bank. I could see some of it clearly. Other parts were simply a gray silhouette. Ferris threw his
Ferris had started back for a deerskin on his pony that could be used to wrap meat when there was a whooshing sound. Blood and gore rained around me. Ferris slipped on the ice, but was up in an instant, scrambling. There was a native on horseback on the crest of the riverbank, a vague gray shape in the snow, lowering his weapon. I dropped into the water up to my thighs. Something splattered overhead and I heard the delayed pop of gunfire. Ferris rushed past and slipped on the ice and clambered behind the beast.
“Wyeth!” he yelled.
“What?”
“You alive?”
“I’m half frozen in this blasted water.”
Over the edge of the ice I saw our horses fading into the snow, a caterwauling Indian driving them on. There were three more natives at the river’s edge.
“On the bank,” I yelled.
“What?”
“Three on the bank.”
“I’m going to fire,” he said. “When I do, get out of the water.”
I heard the scrape of the ramrod as Ferris loaded his rifle. I heard the metallic click as he cocked the hammer. He was aiming. Three natives slipped behind the bank. I leaped out of the water, grabbed my gun, and skittered along the ice. Ferris fired and I saw the snow explode several inches from where the natives had vanished.
I joined Ferris behind the buffalo.
“You get one?”
“I think I scared them,” he said.
We pressed ourselves to the buffalo. The ice had broken cleanly on the back end of the buffalo so we could lean against the beast and not be in the water. The ice bent as we stood on the edge but it was wedged against the buffalo’s fur and did not break. I loaded my rifle.
“You wait a moment after I fire,” I said. “Get them when they come up.”
“Good plan,” he said, not earnestly.
I pulled up to aim. Saw nothing. Just snow and the riverbank and the gore spread across the ice. Then, to my right I saw the three natives crouched in a declivity, loading their weapons. I fired and they dipped beneath the bank, and when one came upFerris fired and they slipped back down again and then they all came up at once and fired and one of the bullets grazed Ferris’s leggins. We were at a bend in the river and if the Sioux spread out far enough they would be able to get a shot from either side. Ferris reloaded. I reloaded, too. We pressed ourselves against that beast, making the most of the shelter.
“Too exposed here,” Ferris said. “If the snow dwindles we’ll be easy prey. We’ll scramble to the embankment. You ready?”
“You can go first.”
“You got the footwear for it,” he said.
My bare feet were pale and bluish and looked shrunken to me. I could not feel them. Ferris gripped his rifle, then sat up and aimed.
“Go on!” he hissed.
It was snowing heavily. The bank was only a gray shadow. I turned and ran over the ice barefoot. It was like running on wooden stilts. I made the far bank and clambered up across rough ground. I threw myself over the rocky edge and while I was doing it I heard a shot. The smoke from Ferris’s rifle drifted past me.
I positioned myself, peering over the bank. I saw nothing except the frozen river and the gray shape of Ferris huddled behind the bull.
“I’m loaded,” I yelled.
Ferris bolted and all the while I scanned the far bank. I could see some of it clearly. Other parts were simply a gray silhouette. Ferris threw his
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