brother.
The young wasicun tried to stop his tears. He managed a faint grin.
"Plllease, lllet me . . . go," he stammered. "I, uh, nnnever, uh, oh, God!"
The boy looked behind him, and Tacante glanced in time to see one of the Sahiyelas tear a yellow dress from the shoulders of a young girl, the same one who had followed the boy down the road.
"Katie!" the boy cried as he groped under his knee for something. The pistol! The gun's barrel suddenly exploded, sending a projectile slicing past Tacante's head. The boy tried to fire again, but Tacante turned the barrel, and the bullet struck instead the young wasicun low in the belly. The boy grunted as he dropped the gun and gazed at the wide hole in his abdomen.
"God, I'm kilt," he said, falling back.
Tacante angrily gripped the wasicun's forelock and cut it away. He barely heard the resulting howl.
"Hau, Tacante!" Hokala shouted as he rode by holding the scalp of a wasicun soldier. The Badger wore a blue soldier shirt loosely about his otherwise bare shoulders.
A band of Sahiyelas now hurried over the scene, gazing at the corpses.
"Ah, he'll soon die," one said as he looked upon the spectacled boy.
"Not so quickly as he'll wish," another added as he drew a knife. The other Sahiyela began stripping the bleeding wasicun's clothes. Then two knives set to work, severing fingers, opening new wounds on the trunk, slicing an ear. . . .
Tacante could stand to watch no longer. He got to his feet and hurried toward his horse. Back where the wagons stood, Cehupa Maza and Sunka Sapa kindled a fire that would soon swallow the vehicles. Waawanyanka, as was his habit, sat atop his horse and watched the distant horizon for sign of the enemy.
Tacante joined him.
"You've counted coup," the Watcher observed.
Tacante stared at the bloody thing in his hand, then glanced back to where the Sahiyelas continued to cut other pieces off its owner. The wasicuns at Sand Creek had performed terrible, sickening acts upon the Sahiyelas, Tacante had learned. Women were cut open, and men's parts were cut off to be displayed as trophies. This was not war the way the old men sang of it. Where was respect for a brave heart enemy?
"He was no older than my sister," Tacante muttered. "He fought as he could, but he was young. Now the Sahiyelas cut him apart."
"They have bad hearts from Sand Creek," Watcher said, and Tacante nodded. "We fought the bluecoats hard, but half got away. More may come soon from the fort."
"Then we must go," Tacante said, gazing at the madness all around him. "We're few now to fight many."
"So talks the Horse, but the Sahiyelas will not leave, and his medicine won't let him go if they stay."
Yes, it was a leader's way to see his warriors safely away. But to risk death for the sake of such doings was crazy! It was why so many followed Sunkawakan Witkotkoke, though, Tacante decided. For none among them would ever be left behind.
Chapter Ten
There was little time to celebrate the victory over the wagon train people and the soldiers. Even as Tacante joined in the scalp dance, dark clouds choked the heavens, and the first icy winds of winter descended upon the plains.
Ah, it's right for winter to come, Tacante told himself. For surely a season of death had come to the Big Horn country. Hardly a day passed now when the woodcutters weren't attacked or wasicuns were killed on the road. There would be no more parleys, no warnings given, either, for three Oglala boys fishing Powder River had been shot by wagon people. Now any wasicun daring to cross Lakota land was killed at the first chance.
He Hopa called it the bad heart winter and painted it so on his winter count.
"Ah, that's work for the old ones," Tacante told the medicine man when he saw He Hopa scratching pigment on the smooth side of a buffalo hide. "You have many winters yet to remember."
"Not many," the old man argued. "The cold eats at my marrow, and the power escapes my dreams. Already others make the cures. Soon I,
The young wasicun tried to stop his tears. He managed a faint grin.
"Plllease, lllet me . . . go," he stammered. "I, uh, nnnever, uh, oh, God!"
The boy looked behind him, and Tacante glanced in time to see one of the Sahiyelas tear a yellow dress from the shoulders of a young girl, the same one who had followed the boy down the road.
"Katie!" the boy cried as he groped under his knee for something. The pistol! The gun's barrel suddenly exploded, sending a projectile slicing past Tacante's head. The boy tried to fire again, but Tacante turned the barrel, and the bullet struck instead the young wasicun low in the belly. The boy grunted as he dropped the gun and gazed at the wide hole in his abdomen.
"God, I'm kilt," he said, falling back.
Tacante angrily gripped the wasicun's forelock and cut it away. He barely heard the resulting howl.
"Hau, Tacante!" Hokala shouted as he rode by holding the scalp of a wasicun soldier. The Badger wore a blue soldier shirt loosely about his otherwise bare shoulders.
A band of Sahiyelas now hurried over the scene, gazing at the corpses.
"Ah, he'll soon die," one said as he looked upon the spectacled boy.
"Not so quickly as he'll wish," another added as he drew a knife. The other Sahiyela began stripping the bleeding wasicun's clothes. Then two knives set to work, severing fingers, opening new wounds on the trunk, slicing an ear. . . .
Tacante could stand to watch no longer. He got to his feet and hurried toward his horse. Back where the wagons stood, Cehupa Maza and Sunka Sapa kindled a fire that would soon swallow the vehicles. Waawanyanka, as was his habit, sat atop his horse and watched the distant horizon for sign of the enemy.
Tacante joined him.
"You've counted coup," the Watcher observed.
Tacante stared at the bloody thing in his hand, then glanced back to where the Sahiyelas continued to cut other pieces off its owner. The wasicuns at Sand Creek had performed terrible, sickening acts upon the Sahiyelas, Tacante had learned. Women were cut open, and men's parts were cut off to be displayed as trophies. This was not war the way the old men sang of it. Where was respect for a brave heart enemy?
"He was no older than my sister," Tacante muttered. "He fought as he could, but he was young. Now the Sahiyelas cut him apart."
"They have bad hearts from Sand Creek," Watcher said, and Tacante nodded. "We fought the bluecoats hard, but half got away. More may come soon from the fort."
"Then we must go," Tacante said, gazing at the madness all around him. "We're few now to fight many."
"So talks the Horse, but the Sahiyelas will not leave, and his medicine won't let him go if they stay."
Yes, it was a leader's way to see his warriors safely away. But to risk death for the sake of such doings was crazy! It was why so many followed Sunkawakan Witkotkoke, though, Tacante decided. For none among them would ever be left behind.
Chapter Ten
There was little time to celebrate the victory over the wagon train people and the soldiers. Even as Tacante joined in the scalp dance, dark clouds choked the heavens, and the first icy winds of winter descended upon the plains.
Ah, it's right for winter to come, Tacante told himself. For surely a season of death had come to the Big Horn country. Hardly a day passed now when the woodcutters weren't attacked or wasicuns were killed on the road. There would be no more parleys, no warnings given, either, for three Oglala boys fishing Powder River had been shot by wagon people. Now any wasicun daring to cross Lakota land was killed at the first chance.
He Hopa called it the bad heart winter and painted it so on his winter count.
"Ah, that's work for the old ones," Tacante told the medicine man when he saw He Hopa scratching pigment on the smooth side of a buffalo hide. "You have many winters yet to remember."
"Not many," the old man argued. "The cold eats at my marrow, and the power escapes my dreams. Already others make the cures. Soon I,
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