The three hunters gingerly led their skittish horses across the warm and still-smoking ground. After a few hundred paces, Long Elk stopped, and they turned to watch the wall of fire as it raced up behind them. Darkness was falling, and the eerie yellow light of the flickering flames made Heads Off think of stories of Hell from his childhood.
The racing fire swept closer, and its noise became a roaring, increasing in intensity as it descended. A pair of rabbits, crazed with fear, darted past them and into the hazy dusk. Even at this distance they could feel the heat of the flames. To Heads Off, in his first encounter with the awesome might of prairie fire, the thing seemed alive. It was an evil, malevolent monster, intent on their complete destruction.
The fiery wall seemed to concentrate on the huddled figures, rising in intensity as it neared the point they had recently abandoned. The awesome blaze seemed to tower over them for a moment as its full force crashed against the edge of Long Elk’s backfire. Then, falling back in frustrated fury, the wall of flame split in two, sweeping around them to the right and left.
Heat and roaring sound faded in the distance as the fugitives stood coughing and wiping their eyes in the dense smoke. The frantic horses began to quiet somewhat. The air was clearing, and occasionally a scrap of sky shone through a rift in the curtain of smoke above them.
“We should wait,” suggested Long Elk, “for enough stars to find our way.”
Calmly, he squatted in a position of rest, and relaxed.
It was full dark before the drifting smoke had cleared. The wind had died. The three men could see, in the far distance, the long line of fire snaking across the rolling prairie.
They had said little during the time of waiting. To open one’s throat produced a spasm of coughing. Each, however, had done much thinking, along the same general lines. Each was thinking of the village, and how their families had fared.
There was little concern for their escape from the fire. The butchering party was near enough to the campsite to retreat there. The camp itself was protected by the circle of trampled and close-grazed grass around it. What small fires might approach could be easily stamped or beaten out, and if necessary, backfires would have been lighted.
The one gnawing concern in the mind of each was the same: had the village been attacked? It had become apparent that someone had fired the dry prairie. It was sometimes known for prairie fire to start from lightning, but there had been no storm. Therefore, human hands must have applied the torch.
And, who would benefit from the burning of the prairie? In the Moon of Greening, the People often set fire to last year’s grass to hurry the growth of new grass and attract the buffalo to the lush green. The medicine man observed and carefully supervised the timing of the ceremony. But this was entirely the wrong time of the season. No one of the People could possibly benefit from the blackened and scorched landscape.
Therefore, the conclusion was inescapable. The fire had been set by the Head Splitters. Was it for the purpose of a diversion so that an attack could be launched?
As their lungs cleared, the three began to discuss the question, and found that all had the same fears. They must return quickly.
The stars were now visible in the still smoky sky, and they oriented themselves by the Seven Hunters and the Real-star. Long Elk pointed a general direction and started ahead, leading his elk-dog. The others followed.
The blackened world around them presented a strange and eerie landscape. Here and there a flicker of flame still sparkled. An occasional buffalo chip smoldered, producing a ghostly white wisp of smoke against the charred black background.
The time seemed endless until they finally reached a hilltop which enabled them to see the campsite. To their great relief, everything seemed calm. The dull red glow from cooking fires inside the lodges was a reassuring and comforting sight. The camp had not been attacked.
They hurried forward, raising a long shout as they came near, to be sure they were not mistaken for enemies.
The People, they found, had managed to divert the fire. They had chosen a place several hundred paces from the camp, where natural features would assist them. A small rocky creek bed, though dry, had provided a place to set backfires. A fortunate shift in the wind at the proper moment had helped. With only a little effort at beating out stray tongues of flame, the main force of the fire had roared past to the west.
Everyone was jubilant at the successful maneuver. White Buffalo, of course, was modestly taking some credit for the shift of the wind. The grass near the camp, needed for the elk-dogs during the coming moons, had been saved.
There had been concern, of course, for the three missing hunters. Again, however, the concern was not only for their ability to escape the fire, but the enemy.
Heads Off embraced his wife, who laughed at his smudged and blackened face. Her concern was apparent, however, as she brushed at his cheek.
“Did you see any Head Splitters, my husband?”
He shook his head.
“No. None came here?”
He handed her the rein and lifted the grimy bundles of meat from the mare’s back. Big Footed Woman cuffed the dogs away and started to work with the bundles, and Tall One joined her.
Heads Off led the mare around the lodge and to water at the stream. Coyote fell in beside him and walked in silence for a time. Finally the young chief spoke.
“What does it mean, Coyote? Why did they fire the grass?”
Coyote shrugged. “Who knows why Head Splitters do as they do?”
“But this would have been the time for them to attack!”
Coyote nodded. “They would fail to attack only if they had not enough men.”
Slowly, the thing began to make sense. It was apparent that the Head Splitters had known all along where the band had camped for the winter. They had so far avoided an open attack. Not since their defeat in the Great Battle had the enemy dared that.
But now, they had an opportunity. A weakened band of the People, isolated and low on provisions, could be observed for the proper moment to attack. It would be impossible to maintain a large force nearby to observe, but a scout or two might easily watch and report the actions of the People.
The enemy scouts, seeing the People scattered over the prairie for the elk hunt, had been unable to resist the opportunity to harass them with fire. Lacking the strength to attack, they could still make much trouble.
With this new understanding came a feeling of dread. Heads Off could see no way that the band could move. They would be under constant observation. Under threat of attack at any moment, they would dare not leave the protection of their present camp. Even hunting parties would be vulnerable to raids by the superior forces of the enemy.
The noose was tightening slowly but surely around the Elk-dog band. They had been lucky today. At the next encounter, they might lose a warrior or two. A sentry might become careless and fall to an arrow out of the darkness.
Heads Off could almost follow the thoughts of the enemy now. Not wanting to risk a frontal attack, they would harass, weaken, and starve the People until the proper time.
He thought of a scene he had once witnessed on the prairie. A group of wolves had encircled an aged buffalo bull. Once the sheer strength of the animal would have prevented their considering an attack. Now, old and weak, his reflexes slowing, he was making his stand. One wolf, then another, dashed in to harry and snap at the old monarch’s heaving flanks. He whirled to meet each rush, only to be attacked again from another quarter. It was only a matter of time until the bull would go down for the last time.
Heads Off had, in a sentimental gesture, chased the wolves off with his lance. But, he knew they would return.
Now, he felt a close kinship to the old bull. The Elk-dog band of the People were in a very similar situation. They might fend off the minor attacks, might escape the prairie fire, possibly even avoid starvation through the winter. Eventually, though, would come the final rush.
Heads off could see no other ultimate outcome. Sooner or later, they would be overrun. It seemed highly unlikely that the Elk-dog band would ever move from the spot where they now wintered.