One evening, returning from the town, he had come almost to the door of the house when an obscure, sleepy night noise of a bird drifted to him from the nearest tree. He whirled and crouched to see more clearly. Then he stole through the darkness toward the tree, gasping: “Brother, is it you?”
A shadow stepped out from behind the tree trunk. “It is I,” said the soft voice of Standing Bull.
Under the double darkness of the tree, Red Hawk gripped the two hands of his friend. “Brother,” was all he could say. “Brother, brother . . . is it well with you?”
“It is well with me,” said Standing Bull. “And it is well with you? Red Hawk is so happy among his people that he forgets the Cheyennes.”
“There is no happiness except seeing you again,” said Red Hawk. “But why should I speak of myself? I want to know about the Cheyennes. Tell me about my people. Tell me of Spotted Antelope and Bitter Root.”
“Spotted Antelope found twenty buffalo in a gully. One end of it was backed against a bank they could not climb. The other end he blocked with fire. He killed them all. His teepee is filled with robes and meat, and there is pemmican for years in their lodge. The weak and the sick are fed by your father’s hand . . . your mother keeps a strong fire burning all day long, and the meat pot is always full for the hungry.”
“I am glad,” said Red Hawk.
“They send messages to you, brother,” said the Cheyenne. “Return to them. Their spirits are empty. The days are like the quick steps of a young horse that hardly mark the grass . . . their days go by like swift, muddy waters. They wait in the lodge for you.”
“And Lazy Wolf? Is he fortunate?” asked Red Hawk, after a silence.
Standing Bull laughed a little, saying: “He has a new lodge. He has more horses. He has a strong wagon that carries his lodge and all that he possesses. The wheels are wide. They walk over the ground like a boat over water. Blue Bird drives the horses, and laughs.”
“And all the tribe?” asked Red Hawk.
“They are sad, a little,” said Standing Bull. “Wind Walker comes behind us as the shadow comes behind a cloud. He has killed four more of our young men.”
“And the braves? And Dull Hatchet?” cried Red Hawk anxiously.
“They have ridden by day and night. The horses are lean. A man can put his fist in the hollow between the hip bone and the small ribs. But still they cannot take Wind Walker. He blows away from them. If they come too close, his rifle kills the best man in the hunt, and then he rides on again.”
Red Hawk groaned. “And now, for yourself?” he demanded.
“I saw a Pawnee in a hollow draw, by a water hole,” said Standing Bull. “He was a Pawnee wolf. I called, and, as he turned, he died. I took his scalp. I saw two Blackfeet on the head of a mountain. As they rode down the mountainside, they came into an alley among the tall trees, and there they died. On one of them I counted the grand coup.”
“Ah, friend,” cried Red Hawk enthusiastically, “there is no other like you in the tribe! Every year you are richer in coups . . . you are greater in honor. But what were you doing so near the setting sun? Why were you in the land of the Blackfeet, among the mountains? Were you taken there by some great vow?”
“White Horse,” said the Cheyenne with a sigh. “I have followed him for nine months. Five horses died under me . . . and he is still free.”
Red Hawk’s mind saw again the swift-driven herd of horses, like a flying lance, with the white stallion as the gleaming point of the spear. “I have dreamed of him, also,” he said.
“Except in a dream, no man will ride him,” said the Cheyenne. “Brother, I drove him down a narrow gorge, and my heart was dying with joy because at the end of the gorge the ground fell away at a waterfall. He turned to charge back past me, but the swinging of my rawhide rope turned him again. He went galloping swiftly, and, when he came to the edge of the waterfall, he was neighing . . . he was calling death . . . he was leaping through the empty air into freedom.
“I rode to the edge of the falls and looked down. I saw the great white horse spinning in the current below. He fought to climb the bank. The slippery mud threw him back. The water tore at him. I began to shout and sing for him. I offered a sacrifice of a good buffalo robe if the Underwater People would spare him . . . and a moment later he was galloping away across the grass of the lower valley. I saw that he was not for me, and I came back to my people. Except for that long hunt, I should have come to find you long before this. Now talk of yourself. Who are your friends?”
“There is none,” said Red Hawk. “One man befriended me. I paid him with a gift of the gray horse. Then in a few days I went to work as white men do, in the shop of the blacksmith . . . the shaper of iron . . . the worker in metal . . . a medicine man who makes shoes for horses. He clipped off my hair and made me like a woman who mourns. I threw a knife and missed him. I went to fight him, and another man tripped me. I was beaten. I vowed to the spirits that I would live twelve moons in suffering, so that they would no longer be angry with me. I have been as silent as a beast, but perhaps the Listeners Above and Underground are pleased with me. Now the twelve moons of my vow have passed. If my prayer has been heard, tomorrow I shall kill the man who calls himself my master. Then I shall be free.” Red Hawk breathed fiercely.
To this crowded recital, Standing Bull listened without a word, keeping silence for a long time after. At last he simply said: “And then?”
“Then, if I go free, I shall not return to the Cheyennes until I have done some great deed.”
“What deed, brother?”
“Something that will make me appear as a man among the Cheyennes. When I can think what to do, I shall make a vow.” “Great vows make weary hearts,” said Standing Bull. “But you fight a man tomorrow. Shall I help you to kill him? The honor and the first coup shall be yours, but I shall help.”
“No,” said Red Hawk. “Because I have marked him every day since the first day. Like a hungry wolf, with my eyes I have eaten his body little by little, while he is still alive. Tomorrow I shall kill him or he will kill me. As for you, go over the hills. Ride up the length of Witherell Creek until you come to the fallen house and the white stone on the ground. Wait for me there for three days. If I have not come, I am dead or worse than dead . . . therefore go away and forget me.”
He waited a long time before he had the answer. He waited so long that he asked: “How did you find me?”
“I hunted the white camp with my eyes for three days before I found your place,” said Standing Bull. “Farewell, brother.”
The eyes of Red Hawk had grown dim and the beat of his pulse filled his ears, so that he neither heard nor saw the going of his friend. He merely knew that he was alone. Afterward, he went to the bank of the creek, and for a long time watched the stars appear and disappear in the still water near the bank.
He could not go back into Sam Calkins’s house because already he was killing that man in his mind. Therefore he sat down with his back to a tree, his face toward the east, and went to sleep with his chin on his breast.