soldiers riding with the five wagons.
"Brave up!" Sunkawakan Witkotkoke called. "Who rides with me to decoy the bluecoats?"
Tacante raised his bow, as did many others. Crazy Horse chose two Sahiyelas, Tacante, and an Oglala called Maka. While the others gathered along the road ahead, the five decoys charged the soldiers.
"Hau! It's a good day to die," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke cried, as he always did. The decoys swept over a hill and were among the soldiers in an instant. The Horse fired his rifle into the face of a three-striped wasicun, then shot another bluecoat with a pistol. A wasicun rifle dropped Maka, the Skunk, but most of the soldiers were too surprised to shoot. Tacante guided his buckskin horse by pressing his knees while he notched one arrow after another and fired into the confused escort. The soldiers scattered a moment, then collected their wits and set out in pursuit of the Lakotas.
"Upelo!" Tacante yelled to the waiting ambushers. "They're coming!"
Sunkawakan Witkotkoke couldn't have planned it better. As the cavalrymen hurried toward the waiting ambush, the Horse peeled off into the pines with his companions and raced back toward the wagons. The soldiers thundered on down the road. Even as the former decoys approached the defenseless wagons, wild Lakota war shouts mixed with the cries of dying wasicun soldiers to create an unearthly sound.
The wagon people looked on anxiously as the Lakotas neared. Tacante searched the faces of the drivers, noted grimly the bundled women and children staring out from beneath the canvas covers, and grew sad. These wasicuns weren't soldiers. They'd been foolish to come, but perhaps they would turn away.
Sunkawakan Witkotkoke pulled up his horse, and Tacante halted as well. The two Lakotas seemed of one mind. These wasicuns should turn away. The Sahiyelas only wanted blood. They raised their bows and charged. One wagon driver leaped from his seat and fled. The others fought to form a square with their wagons, but the road was narrow there, and time was short. The first Sahiyela flung himself at the second wagon and drove a knife into the heart of its driver. The second cut the horses loose from the back wagon so that the trail was blocked in both directions.
"Hau, little brother!" the Horse shouted as he slid his rifle into a deer-skin sheath and drew out a buffalo-killing lance. "It's a good day to die."
For them, Tacante thought as he kicked his horse into a gallop. But this is no brave heart fight. It's only killing.
As Tacante suspected, there was little fighting to it. The drivers were all dead or dying by the time the Heart reached the wagons. Some of the women fought to protect their young ones, and a few of the older boys and girls tried to load and fire old rifles. They were accustomed to shooting deer or birds, though, not firing on a charging Sahiyela or Lakota warrior.
Tacante contented himself at first with running down the lead driver. Here, after all, was a coward that earned death. An arrow through the back felled the fugitive. Tacante refused to touch the scalp of such a weak-hearted man.
When he returned to the wagons, the Horse motioned toward a pair of fleeing figures on the far side of the road. One stumbled and fell, but the other ran on. Tacante judged the wasicun to be a boy of fourteen summers. The Heart would have let him escape had not the wasicun produced a pistol and fired.
"Ayyy!" Tacante shouted as he whipped his horse onward. The boy turned and ran, but there was no escaping. Tacante swung his bow, tripping the young man so that he fell hard against the rocky ground. The young Sicangu jumped down, drew a knife, and pounced on his victim.
"God, no," the young man pleaded as Tacante grabbed a handful of light brown hair. "Mama? Papa?"
Tacante hesitated. His heart seemed to empty as he beheld a weeping face. The boy wore spectacles. Eyeglasses!
"Istamaza?" Tacante muttered, recalling the Lakota name given to Hinkpila's younger
"Brave up!" Sunkawakan Witkotkoke called. "Who rides with me to decoy the bluecoats?"
Tacante raised his bow, as did many others. Crazy Horse chose two Sahiyelas, Tacante, and an Oglala called Maka. While the others gathered along the road ahead, the five decoys charged the soldiers.
"Hau! It's a good day to die," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke cried, as he always did. The decoys swept over a hill and were among the soldiers in an instant. The Horse fired his rifle into the face of a three-striped wasicun, then shot another bluecoat with a pistol. A wasicun rifle dropped Maka, the Skunk, but most of the soldiers were too surprised to shoot. Tacante guided his buckskin horse by pressing his knees while he notched one arrow after another and fired into the confused escort. The soldiers scattered a moment, then collected their wits and set out in pursuit of the Lakotas.
"Upelo!" Tacante yelled to the waiting ambushers. "They're coming!"
Sunkawakan Witkotkoke couldn't have planned it better. As the cavalrymen hurried toward the waiting ambush, the Horse peeled off into the pines with his companions and raced back toward the wagons. The soldiers thundered on down the road. Even as the former decoys approached the defenseless wagons, wild Lakota war shouts mixed with the cries of dying wasicun soldiers to create an unearthly sound.
The wagon people looked on anxiously as the Lakotas neared. Tacante searched the faces of the drivers, noted grimly the bundled women and children staring out from beneath the canvas covers, and grew sad. These wasicuns weren't soldiers. They'd been foolish to come, but perhaps they would turn away.
Sunkawakan Witkotkoke pulled up his horse, and Tacante halted as well. The two Lakotas seemed of one mind. These wasicuns should turn away. The Sahiyelas only wanted blood. They raised their bows and charged. One wagon driver leaped from his seat and fled. The others fought to form a square with their wagons, but the road was narrow there, and time was short. The first Sahiyela flung himself at the second wagon and drove a knife into the heart of its driver. The second cut the horses loose from the back wagon so that the trail was blocked in both directions.
"Hau, little brother!" the Horse shouted as he slid his rifle into a deer-skin sheath and drew out a buffalo-killing lance. "It's a good day to die."
For them, Tacante thought as he kicked his horse into a gallop. But this is no brave heart fight. It's only killing.
As Tacante suspected, there was little fighting to it. The drivers were all dead or dying by the time the Heart reached the wagons. Some of the women fought to protect their young ones, and a few of the older boys and girls tried to load and fire old rifles. They were accustomed to shooting deer or birds, though, not firing on a charging Sahiyela or Lakota warrior.
Tacante contented himself at first with running down the lead driver. Here, after all, was a coward that earned death. An arrow through the back felled the fugitive. Tacante refused to touch the scalp of such a weak-hearted man.
When he returned to the wagons, the Horse motioned toward a pair of fleeing figures on the far side of the road. One stumbled and fell, but the other ran on. Tacante judged the wasicun to be a boy of fourteen summers. The Heart would have let him escape had not the wasicun produced a pistol and fired.
"Ayyy!" Tacante shouted as he whipped his horse onward. The boy turned and ran, but there was no escaping. Tacante swung his bow, tripping the young man so that he fell hard against the rocky ground. The young Sicangu jumped down, drew a knife, and pounced on his victim.
"God, no," the young man pleaded as Tacante grabbed a handful of light brown hair. "Mama? Papa?"
Tacante hesitated. His heart seemed to empty as he beheld a weeping face. The boy wore spectacles. Eyeglasses!
"Istamaza?" Tacante muttered, recalling the Lakota name given to Hinkpila's younger
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