Bear Claw peered through the thick brush from his vantage point at the apex of the rise. Although the cover of vegetation was only waist-high, the warrior was well-concealed in its midst. He wasn’t alone. The rest of the war party, crouched and ready, were located in the brush several running paces toward the rear. They also kept an eager vigilance. They could see a wide section of the open prairie spread out before them, but, like Bear Claw, the Indians were not admiring the view.
A small cloud of dust on the horizon had caught Bear Claw’s attention while out on a scout for the war party. He’d recognized the floating dirt’s wispy makeup as being the type kicked up by the rolling boxes of the whites, and had wasted no time riding back to the main group led by Running Wolf to inform them of what he’d seen.
Excited at the prospect of a fight and booty, the other twenty warriors had followed the pair back to a place that offered the best opportunity to spring a successful ambush.
Now, spread out in a single line, the warriors waited for the wagons to continue their slow approach to their position. Running Wolf licked his lips in anticipation.
“See?” he whispered loud enough for all to hear.
“The whites continue this way without knowing we are here. We will not have much longer to wait.”
“But we do not want anybody to get excited and rush out, giving us away,” Bear Claw cautioned him.
The remark angered Running Wolf. “Do you think only War Heart can be a good leader? Everyone will obey me.”
“I hope this is so,” Bear Claw said, going back to his observation.
This would be the first chance of making a raid for the Kiwota men, all painted and arrayed for war, since beginning this latest excursion. Although War Heart and most of the other men refused to join them, this group of young fighters had eagerly followed Running Wolf to seek adventure.
They had ridden south off the Buffalo Steppes Reservation, ready to attack whatever targets of opportunity they could find. The prospect of a wagon train excited them all. Since Running Wolf led the war party, the others decided his war medicine was indeed strong if they could find victims this fast.
By darting their eyes about and coming back to the object of their attention for short glances, rather than staring at the line of approaching wagons, the warriors were able to clearly see their intended victims. They quickly determined that three wagons made up the train. Sometime later, when the vehicles were closer, the Kiwotas could tell that there were not many people in the party. After a few more minutes, it was easy to determine that women and children numbered among the travelers.
A bit more time passed; then Running Wolf judged the time was right. “Come!” he said.
He got to his feet and trotted back to the place where a young boy named Red Cub minded the horses. Within seconds, the warriors had leaped on the backs of their mounts and galloped up over the top of the rise and down across the descending terrain toward the wagons.
The white men did as the Kiwotas expected. They fired hastily and early in their panic. The Indians, not wishing to waste precious ammunition, didn’t bother with their own firearms. Instead, they loosed arrows, carelessly aimed because of the excitement, that arched high in the air and fell around the vehicles, sticking into the ground.
The men driving the wagons kicked the teams into a wild gallop. Running Wolf, knowing there was really no place for them to go, was glad they didn’t take up a defensive position. These were not experienced frontiersmen or Indian fighters. Now it would be easier to overwhelm them one at a time as they spread out in their frantic run for nonexistent safety.
“Get the front rolling box!” the young war chief yelled at his companions.
In a matter of minutes the war party rode on both sides of the wagon. The frightened expressions of the man and woman on the seat could easily be seen by the Indians. The woman tried to reload the man’s musket, but the jarring ride made it impossible for her to properly pour powder down the bore.
“Get the long-eared horses!” Running Bear hollered.
The range was short and the warriors skilled, so the two mules pulling the wagon were quickly assaulted by numerous arrows that pained and slowed them. The man stood up and whipped at them, yelling in frightened rage as the animals began to stop running. They struggled in their traces and kicked in an instinctive effort to fight back.
Running Wolf, Bear Claw, and another warrior called Charging Bull put their bows to work. Of the three arrows sent streaking across the short space, two found their target. One went through the man’s side, and another entered his neck, sending him falling back into the wagon. The woman began to scream hysterically as they came to a stop.
The second wagon, unscathed, came on. The two men there were full of fight and ready to take on the warriors. Although they hadn’t been able to reload their long guns, they both had revolvers. When their vehicle reached the other, they stopped and began to fire at the attackers.
Two Kiwotas, one named Waits-All-Day and the other Snake, were the closest. Bullets whistled around their heads. Snake made no attempt to defend himself. Instead, whooping in defiance, he charged forward, sweeping past the startled occupants of the wagon. He came so close that he was able to slap one of the white men.
“Look at me and what I have done!” he shouted, turning his horse. “I have counted coup this day, brothers! I would claim this as a battle honor!”
Waits-All-Day was more practical. As Running Wolf and Charging Bull joined him, he sent arrows at the men. Within moments the whites were pierced by nearly a dozen apiece, and they died almost instantly. One slumped to the wagon bed, and the other pitched over the side to land on the ground.
The people in the third wagon, a man and a woman, came to a stop. The man did not offer any resistance. Instead, with the woman clinging to him, he spoke aloud to the Indians, holding up a strange, rectangular object the Kiwotas did not recognize. His voice grew louder as he realized the Indians did not understand him.
“Let us kill him,” Running Wolf said.
“I will help you,” Bear Claw said.
They both shot arrows at the man, but one missed and hit the woman in the chest, causing her to sink to her knees. The man died, falling on top of her. When the two Indians leaped onto the wagon and pulled the corpse away, they found the woman had also been killed.
“Your arrow hit her!” Running Wolf exclaimed in anger.
“There are two more women,” Bear Claw reminded him. “That is plenty. Let us go back to the other rolling boxes.”
Running Wolf leaped back aboard his horse and rode up to the vehicle and jumped onto the driver’s box. He pulled the dead man up and threw him down to land on the other. Stepping inside, under the canvas cover, he found a wide-eyed, hysterical woman and two children huddled in the corner. Whooping, he grabbed each and pushed them out the back, where the other Kiwotas quickly surrounded them.
Two more Kiwotas dragged a struggling, screaming woman from the front wagon. Within moments, the warriors stripped them and pushed them to the ground. The raping was done in turns as the men who had finished with the women began to loot the wagons. They were enraged when the one thing they sought was not among the white people’s possessions.
“No whiskey!” Charging Bull bellowed in anger.
“Look, brothers,” Bear Claw said. He had opened a box that was full of sheets of paper bound by black leather.
“What are those?” Waits-All-Day asked.
“Nothing!” Bear Claw said, tossing them aside. “The man in the other rolling box held one up and shook it at Running Wolf and me like it was strong medicine. There are the marks white men use to make words all over these things.”
“Then, search for other things we can use,” Running Wolf said. Though it was unusual in a case like this, he was glad they hadn’t found any whiskey. He didn’t like to see what the fiery liquor did to Indians.
The looting went on. Most of the items they found would have been useful if the village were closer. Barrels of flour, beans, and other staples were in abundance for a long stay in the wilderness. But the containers were too bulky and heavy for transport other than by travois. These were broken open and scattered by kicking them around until they were well-mixed with the prairie dirt on which they’d been thrown.
Personal clothing of the whites was examined as it was pulled from the containers in the wagons. The Indians had no interest in any of this except the men’s hats. Waits-All-Day caused a stir when he put on a woman’s bonnet and leaped around, yelping in a falsetto voice while the others laughed at his antics. Running Wolf made sure all the guns, powder, ball and other accoutrements of the weaponry were collected. He also gathered up mirrors, combs, brushes, and other things the wives of the raiders might like to have.
Bear Claw climbed up into the back of the second wagon to join the war chief. “We have finished with the women. Nobody wants to do it again. What about you?”
“Once is enough for me,” Running Wolf said. “Now the children have yet to be dealt with.”
The war chief leaped out of the vehicle and walked over to where a boy and girl huddled together. Running Wolf was fascinated by the blond color of their hair and especially the clear blue of the little girl’s eyes. He guessed her to be five summers of age and the boy, obviously her brother, about six or seven. He reached out and touched the girl.
The boy yelled and charged the warrior, pummeling him with his small fists. Running Wolf laughed and pushed him away numerous times as the boy continued to charge.
“That one has heart,” Waits-All-Day remarked. “He protects his sister.”
Running Wolf nodded his agreement. “He is too brave to kill. We will let the children live. If their luck or medicine is strong, they will be found. If not, these little ones will perish on the prairie like orphaned coyote pups.”
“What about the women?” Waits-All-Day said. “Since everyone took their turn, nobody wants them anymore. Even Red Cub took his pleasure. I think it is his first time with a woman.”
“My first was a Cheyenne captive,” Running Wolf said. He thought a moment. “If we do not want the women, kill them. Then set the following boxes on fire and throw the dead whites on it.”
The naked, violated women were clubbed to death with musket butts. After the mules were cut loose, the wagons were pushed together and put ablaze. After the flames were going well, the dead were picked up and thrown in the fire. The two children, now huddled together, were silent through the ordeal. The mules, unconcerned and glad to be rid of the routine of pulling the wagons, began to peacefully graze off to one side of the scene of horror.
“What about the long-eared horses?” Red Cub asked. As the group’s horse handler, they would be his responsibility.
“Never mind them,” Charging Bull said. “They are no good for war.”
“Let us go!” Running Wolf announced.
The warriors leaped aboard their horses and rode off, leaving the attack site behind as they continued their southward trek, going farther and farther from the Buffalo Steppes.
Running Wolf had no particular destination in mind. He simply wanted to put distance between the scene of the attack and his war party in case a dragoon patrol might come into the area. In spite of his bravado in speaking to War Heart about Looks Ahead’s medicine fading away, he didn’t want to take any chances. Better to be out of reach if the army officer suddenly experienced a return of all his powers.
The war party traversed the empty prairie until the sun began to prepare itself for evening. They found a secure place where a small creek flowed through a long stand of trees, and the Kiwotas decided to spend the night there. Red Cub and a couple of the younger warriors went out to find some game. It didn’t take long before they returned to camp with some fat rabbits. There was plenty to give everyone more than enough to eat.
The evening passed pleasantly for the warriors. Snake recounted his glory in counting coup on the white man shooting from the wagon. All agreed that what he had done was a brave deed and he had a right to make up a song about it. Red Cub took some good-natured teasing about having his first woman. He smiled shyly and said it hadn’t been such a wonderful thing as he had imagined.
“Wait until you get under robes with a beautiful girl who wants you,” Running Wolf said. “She will not be like the whining, wiggling white women.”
“Ha!” Charging Bull laughed. “She will make you a prisoner by clamping her legs around you and tell you to thrust faster and deeper.”
Red Cub, who felt an attraction to a certain girl in the tribe, smiled to himself as he imagined himself wrapped up with her on a cold winter’s night in a warm lodge.
The Kiwotas, as was their custom, did not bother to organize a guard when darkness settled in. If someone was concerned enough, he would sit up and keep an eye on things. If not, then all would peacefully snooze the night away. In the case of that particular war party, all were tired after the day’s excitement, and all rolled up in their blankets to go to sleep after making sure the horses were secure.
The next day began in the same informal, relaxed manner. The first men awake stirred up the coals and reheated the meat left over from the previous evening’s meal. Then, by twos and threes, the others joined them for a leisurely breakfast and preparation for the day. The sun was a quarter of the way off the eastern horizon when they finally broke camp and once again headed south behind Running Wolf.
It seemed the remainder of the morning was going to be without incident. Then, just before the sun was at its zenith in the sky, careless whites once again gave themselves away to the alertness of the Indians.
This time it was noise. The loud voices of boisterous men could be faintly heard from the southwest. Slowing down in order to be able to hear better, Running Wolf led the war party toward the source of the sounds. The search led them back toward the same creek where they’d spent the night, a long body of water that meandered for miles through the prairie. At that point, it began to widen until it was almost the size of a small river.
Running Wolf, once again with Bear Claw as a partner, left the others and went forward to see what the situation offered them. The Kiwota scouts were able to find some trees along the river that offered them plenty of cover when they finally found the exact spot where the whites were located.
This time there were no rolling boxes. Five riders with packhorses had stopped to make a camp and cook food for a midday meal. They were all in a good mood, laughing and talking. One of them took a drink from a bottle and passed it to the others.
“Whiskey!” Bear Claw happily exclaimed.
“The whites are drunk,” Running Wolf said. “Bah!” He spat and stood up. Slowly and deliberately he set an arrow in place on his bow. Drawing back the string, he took aim and let the missile fly. It went completely through the neck of the nearest man, continuing on across the creek to land in the prairie grass.
The victim’s sudden, gurgling scream shocked his companions. He staggered around holding his neck, and blood gushed from the wound like water from an underground spring. His shirt quickly took on a wet, scarlet color as he weakened and fell awkwardly to the ground.
Now Bear Claw shot another. This time the arrow went through an arm, pinning the limb to the target’s body. Bellowing in pain and rage, the man pulled his holster and began to fire in the wrong direction.
The noise brought the other Kiwotas. They quickly caught on to the game. While the drunken whites staggered around their camp in sodden bewilderment, the Indians meticulously picked them off one by one. The last fellow, quite portly, looked like a porcupine from the eight arrows that had entered his fat body. He finally became so weak that he sat down. Unable to raise his pistol, he watched the approaching Indians through half-closed eyes.
Running Wolf walked up to the corpulent individual. He removed the man’s hat and set it on his own head. Then, pulling his tomahawk from the belt around his waist, the Indian raised it high and lowered it with full force on top of the wounded fellow’s head. The skull split open in a spray of blood and brains.
They found another who was still alive. He was dragged over to the campfire and thrown on. The sudden pain and shock sobered him up, and he screamed in a loud, shrill voice as he was repeatedly kicked and pushed back into the flames. Finally, in utter desperation, he picked out one of his tormentors and charged. It was Snake, and the victim grasped him tightly around the neck and pushed him toward the flames.
Laughing, the other Kiwotas stepped back and watched. The white man was large and muscular, much heavier than Snake, and he managed to throw the Indian onto the blaze several times.
Snake was angry, embarrassed, and in pain. He pulled his knife and, wildly yelling, sliced the man until the badly bleeding sufferer finally keeled over and quickly died.
Now all the whites lay dead and immobile. Running Wolf suddenly remembered White Elk, Lone Cougar and Spotted Calf. Their mutilated bodies guaranteed an eternity of suffering in the Spirit World. Snarling, he set about working on the fresh corpses to make sure all would be crippled and blind when their spirits left the earth. When he finished, he raised his bloody knife and tomahawk to the sky and yelled out his battle cry.
It was good to be at war.