It seemed for some time that the fears of Heads Off had been groundless. There was no sign of the enemy. Buffalo were plentiful, and the racks of drying meat were full. Rawhide bags of winter provisions began to bulge behind the lodge linings. Soon it would be time to move to better winter quarters.
Heads Off continued to defer the move. Tall One’s time for birthing was at hand, and he wished that event to be completed before the strenuous journey began. The Moon of Thunder and the Red Moon gave way to the Moon of Ripening before there was any change in the routine of preparing for winter. When it came, the change was in completely unexpected form.
It was near dawn and Heads Off was curled comfortably against the warmth of his wife’s body. He had just wakened to change his position and Tall One murmured softly in her sleep and cuddled closer. Suddenly there was the sound of running hoofbeats, a shout, and more horses running. He sprang up and leaped toward the door skin.
“Yip-yip yip …” came the long falsetto yell that was the war cry of the dreaded Head Splitters. He stepped back and seized his buffalo lance, darting back out into the gray of the false dawn. A frightened horse thundered past him, striking him a glancing blow with a shoulder. Heads Off threw himself sideways and stumbled against the lodge. He saw that the horse had no rider.
Quickly he stepped around the lodge to make sure his gray mare Lolita was tied securely. She snorted, excited, and rolled
white-ringed eyes at him, but quieted to his touch. While he stood a moment and sleepily tried to decide whether to mount or remain on foot, more horses stampeded past, urged on by the yells of mounted enemy warriors behind. He dodged around, trying to keep from being trampled and at the same time find a target for his lance. A nearby lodge shuddered and jerked as a horse ran full against it. Other stampeding animals buffeted the structure as they forced past, and it slowly toppled. A woman screamed, and a child cried out in pain.
Then it was over. Thick dust choked his lungs and he coughed heavily, peering into the dusk after the fleeing horses. He had not seen even one of the enemy.
Through the camp people called out, trying to locate family members. There were cries of pain. A lodge cover, collapsed onto the coals of its cooking fire, began to smoke heavily. People ran to drag it free and stamp out the smoldering portion.
Heads Off satisfied himself of the safety of his family, then swung to Lolita’s back.
“Over here!” he shouted from an open area. “All who have elk-dogs!”
A scattering of men began to converge in the growing light. Most men, like Heads Off, kept one of their best horses tied at the lodge. It had been the loose herd that the enemy had stampeded and driven off.
“Who was with the elk-dogs?” he asked as Standing Bird rode up.
“Small Bear. He is dead.”
The chief had assumed so. He had no need to ask further. He knew that, no matter how the manner of the young man’s death, the head would bear the Head Splitters’ identifying mark of the war club, the skull crushed by a blow. But, there was no help for Small Bear now. He turned to more urgent things.
“How many elk-dogs are here?”
A quick glance around the camp revealed that all had arrived. His heart sank. There were hardly more than twenty. The band, he knew, could not move camp without more horses. Especially since the remaining animals were buffalo runners, not packhorses. They must recover enough animals to transport the big lodge covers, or the Elk-dog band would be forced to spend the winter here, in a poor winter location. He gave the arm signal to move out.
To chase the enemy with a small force was not as foolhardy as it might have seemed. Seldom would an enemy war party number more than twenty. They had not sought a fight, but only to steal horses. A stronger party of Head Splitters would have made an attack, enabling them to count honors.
Therefore Heads Off was confident as they pushed forward. It was probably a small party of the enemy, a horse-stealing raid. The People, twenty of the best warriors, on the best horses, could easily catch and engage a fight with the fleeing Head Splitters, encumbered by loose animals, and recover at least part of the herd.
The trail was plain in the morning dew, and they passed an exhausted foal with its dam standing by, head down and flanks heaving. His guess had been correct, then. The raiding party would push ahead to escape, leaving slower animals behind. He touched a heel to the gray mare’s ribs, and urged her into a canter again.
Occasionally they could catch a glimpse of their quarry, far ahead in the distance. Suddenly Long Elk reined in beside the chief.
“Heads Off, something is wrong! There are only two or three riders with the elk-dogs!”
Heads Off shaded his eyes and peered ahead, but could distinguish
nothing in the blur of distance. He would take Long Elk’s word for it. The young man’s vision was among the best in the band, especially since the death of Sees Far. Long Elk could easily see the eighth star in the constellation of the Seven Hunters.
The Seven Hunters, Coyote had explained to his son-in-law, make a wide circle each night around the Real-star, where their lodge is located. One with good eyes can see that the next to the last hunter is accompanied by his dog. On a clear night, Heads Off could dimly see the Dog-star.
But now, with wind and dust making his eyes water, there was only a moving blur in the distance.
“Aiee, look!” There was a cry behind him.
All the warriors turned to look in the direction someone was pointing. A dirty gray smudge on the horizon marked the site of the camp. As they looked, the smudge became broader, blacker, and a column of smoke rose in the still morning air.
Mother of God, we’ve been duped, Heads off fumed as he jerked the mare around and slammed heels into her ribs. The other riders wheeled and followed. How could he have been so stupid, to fall for such a ruse? His instructor in tactics at the academy, half a world away, would have had cadets walking parade all day for such a blunder. To split one’s forces against an enemy of unknown strength was unforgivable. Aiee, as stupid as the owl who catches a skunk and does not know that it stinks. He reverted to thinking like one of the People.
There was no doubt that the camp had been attacked. The spreading smoke attested to that. But how bad was it? His heart ached with thoughts of his vulnerable wife and son. It was all he could do to restrain the impulse to push the mare till she dropped. But then, he realized, he would be on foot.
Carefully he paced the animals, walking while they caught their wind, then pushing on.
Sun Boy was nearly straight up when they arrived back at the burning village. A handful of enemy riders, who had apparently been watching all along, rode over the ridge and out of sight, signing obscene gestures before they disappeared.
Fully half the lodges were in flames. Thick, greasy smoke stank of burning leather and meat. Anxiously, Heads Off reined among ruined lodges toward his own. The lathered mare stepped skittishly around a body with the head grotesquely distorted, and they looked around the last lodge.
The lodge of Heads Off and Tall One was in complete ruin, all their winter supplies greasy ashes. Almost frantic, he leaped from the mare and rushed forward. Were there bodies in the ashes? He could not tell. He saw the badly burned remains of his chain-mail armor, probably damaged beyond use. No matter, he never wore it anyway. But where was Tall One?
“Heads Off!” Coyote shouted. “Come! It is Tall One’s time for birthing!”
The little man was picking his way among the debris.
“She and Eagle are with us in the woods. She says to tell you that your elk-dog medicine is safe!”
The wonderful girl, Heads Off thought, tears of relief in his eyes. The enemy attacking, she in labor, and taking time to save Lolita’s Spanish bridle bit because it was her husband’s most important symbol of strength, the elk-dog medicine.