The day came, as the People knew it must. The lookout on the hill first spotted the approach of the enemy. He raised a long cry and lighted the signal fire as a warning to all, before he retreated to the village.
The Head Splitters were in force, more in number than three men have fingers and toes. They paraded arrogantly, circling and wheeling their elk-dogs in mock combat on the open prairie beyond the brush barricade.
But there was no attack. All maneuvers stopped well beyond range of a long bowshot. They spent most of the day showing themselves and their strength, and then calmly made camp a few hundred paces down the stream. Heads Off rankled in sheer frustration. Briefly, he considered a sortie after dark, but quickly abandoned the idea. It would never do to risk even a few warriors. All would be needed in the final attack.
The People carefully posted sentries in the woods to prevent a sneak attack by infiltrators on foot, and retired for the night. Heads Off slept little. He could think of no other course of action that they might take now. There was nothing but to wait. Still, how hopeless the plight of the Elk-dog band seemed. Again and again, he blamed himself for poor leadership. Why had he ever consented to act as chief?
It was shortly after full daylight that the charge came. The enemy had been charging and wheeling in insolent display when suddenly a semblance of order emerged out of the milling mass.
Apparently at a shouted signal, every Head Splitter reined his horse around. The ground shook with the thunder of hundreds of pounding hooves as they swept down on the ill-equipped People.
Elk-dog men seized weapons and sprinted toward the flimsy brush barricade.
“Watch the woods!” Heads Off shouted. This might be a diversionary attack.
The mass of yelling enemy continued to thunder down on the village, their falsetto “yip-yip-yip” swelling in the morning stillness. Now they were almost within bow-shot. A few nervous defenders loosed arrow shafts, only to see them fall short.
Suddenly the charging mass wheeled, turned, and came to a stop, laughing, pointing, and joking among themselves. They rode slowly back toward their camp, leaving the defenders limp and frustrated. Heads Off quickly looked for another point of attack, but there was none.
The enemy had simply withdrawn. Then the young chief began to see. It had been merely a feint, a bluff, to place the People under further stress. The Head Splitters were playing with the doomed village, twisting their fears and doubts. He remembered a cat that he had watched toying with a mouse, long ago in his childhood so far away. The enemy were merely enjoying the opportunity to wreak slow vengeance on the People. Again, he despaired that any would survive to leave this campsite.
For the rest of the day, the People remained on the alert. Everyone carried weapons, and the Head Splitters were constantly watched.
No remarkable events occurred. Several times, a handful of the enemy would ride close to the brush barricade, but stop just short of bowshot. They appeared to be mostly eager young men, who contented themselves with shouting challenges and obscenities.
They were obviously under instructions not to engage in actual contact.
The young warriors of the People could not refrain from answering the taunts, but managed to restrain themselves from any overt action.
A young man of the enemy rode near and shouted at the defenders, punctuating his words with sign talk.
“We will kill you, and then your women will learn how to bed with real men!”
A single arrow arched from the camp of the defenders, hung high for a moment before falling short. The Head Splitter laughed.
Long Elk answered for the People. “I see no real men. I see only cowards who are afraid to come within bowshot!”
The exchange of insults continued through the day at intervals, but both sides knew that it was just talk. The situation remained unchanged. There was little sleep that night, but no attack came.
Next morning, the Head Splitters carried out another mock charge. The terrifying rush again terminated just short of bowshot, and ended in laughter, jokes, and obscenities toward the defenders. The ritual was repeated the following morning, and the People began to relax over the lack of any follow-through. Coyote, White Buffalo, and others cautioned not to become careless.
The following day the enemy changed tactics somewhat. Daylight showed no massing of armed horsemen. The People, alert for trouble, nevertheless started about their morning routine. Women took waterskins to the stream, and cooking fires produced their hanging layers of white smoke above the lodges.
Suddenly a woman’s voice rose in indignation.
“Aiee!” she shouted. “The water is fouled!”
It was true. Others tasted their waterskins or cupped a hand to the stream. Once clear and sparkling, the creek was a murky, muddy gray-brown in color.
It was easy to see the situation. The Head Splitters had simply taken their horse herd upstream and held them for the night in or near the water. Heads Off could recall the flat grassy meadow which they had probably utilized. Now the water was fouled with particles of mud and bits of manure. The situation was becoming more desperate.
The People were experienced in scarcity of water from past dry seasons on the plains. They methodically scooped shallow basins in the sandy streambed, and allowed seeping water to fill them. At least it was wet, and the taste was better than that from the stream itself.
Heads Off, chewing on a tough stringy strip of horse meat that evening, was afraid that the solution to the water problem had been too easy. The enemy would continue to herd their elk-dogs upstream, and the water would become worse. He could imagine how the constant flow from above would pollute every back-eddy. The stench, in a few days, would become unbearable, and even the seep water undrinkable. If, indeed, any of the People were still alive in a few days.
The daily massed charge still occurred, but the time now varied. Sometimes it was shortly after first light, sometimes when Sun Boy stood high overhead. Once it was when the last fading rays from Sun Boy’s torch threw long shadows across the plain. It appeared that the enemy realized the effectiveness of unpredictability.
To add to the stress, a sentry was killed in the woods one night. The young man was struck down so quietly by the telltale war club that it was not until morning that his body was discovered.
The event produced more sleepless nights. It was easy to imagine that everyone was individually under the observation of the Head Splitters. In the mind’s eye, it was easy to see an enemy face peering from every shadow. The People became more depressed, and a feeling of helplessness settled over the camp.