If was five suns before the first of the newly arriving Head Splitters came. There were six or seven of them, and they lost no time in circling the camp of the People.
An arrogant young chief, resplendent in his war paint, charged alone to within a bowshot of the barrier. He pulled his big horse to an openmouthed, sliding stop, while several young warriors of the People hooted in derision.
Heads Off, however, did not like the serious, businesslike way in which the other looked over the situation. Here was a man who was accustomed to having things go his own way. He apparently intended to see that they did.
More enemy warriors arrived next day, and still more the next. For several suns, small groups of Head Splitters trickled into the area, to mingle with those already there. They seemed in no hurry, were willing to wait for the proper moment.
Each morning a handful of enemy warriors, always the same individuals, would ride out and exchange taunts and derision with the young warriors of the People. It seemed a half-hearted, boasting attempt to goad each other into an indiscretion, and was completely unsuccessful.
Still, the strength and number of the enemy increased. It became evident that there were warriors arriving from several different bands of the Head Splitters. This seemed to indicate that word had spread among that tribe. All who wished vengeance for the defeat in the Great Battle a few seasons back could now
gather. It was a deliberate, almost ceremonial preparation that the enemy was now making, for the extermination of the Elk-dog band of the People.
The Moon of Greening was now nearly past, and the Growing Moon beginning. It was time to start the journey to the Big Council, but no one mentioned that fact. It would have taken most of the Growing Moon to make the move. The tribe would gather at a prearranged site on the Salt River, starting the Sun Dance and Big Council in the Moon of Roses.
Again, Heads Off thought of the circle of chiefs at the Big Council. There would be an empty space this year, and for all the years to come. It would be pointed out to future generations that the empty place in the circle had been that of the Southern, or Elk-dog band, exterminated long ago by the Head Splitters. There would be a record of the event painted on the Story Skins and preserved in the history of the tribe. It would be remembered for all time as the year the Elk-dog band was killed. Oddly, he wondered how the painters of the skins would depict the scene. Even at such a time, the hope crossed his mind that the Elk-dog people would be portrayed as dying bravely and fittingly. Then he shrugged. What did it matter?
Heads Off watched the enemy as they moved around their camp from day to day, hunting and practicing with their weapons. Once a party of Head Splitters made a buffalo kill within sight of the People. They made a great exaggerated show of butchering and preparing the succulent hump ribs, knowing that the captive band was near starvation, and subsisting on the tough, stringy meat of the elk-dogs.
One of the recently arriving groups of Head Splitters had actually brought their lodges and families with them. Such confidence was beyond belief. It was unheard of to take women and children on a war party. The only explanation, of course, was
obvious. The conclusion of the events now approaching was foregone. There was no danger involved, the enemy was saying, in merely exterminating this helpless, starving band of the People. The arrival of the families of Head Splitter warriors meant simply contempt for the beleaguered People.
There was one slim hope that kept occurring to the young chief. With all the warriors of different bands now gathering, there seemed to be a lack of organization. With his previous military training, this was more obvious to Heads Off than to the others.
When they had been confronted by only the one enemy band, there had been a semblance of order. The mock charges, the attack that was to have been final, had all been organized and well-disciplined. Now there seemed, at least from this distance, to be mere milling confusion. There appeared to be no directed effort to organization on the part of the enemy.
Heads Off discussed this with Coyote and a few of the others.
“I think you are right, Heads Off,” Coyote nodded thoughtfully. “They have lost some strong chiefs in the attack. No one is their main chief now.”
“How can we use this?”
There was a long silence, then Long Elk spoke.
“We could have attacked while they were weak,” he said wistfully.
“No, they were not that weak. It was too dangerous.” Heads Off was firm.
They continued to discuss the situation, but could arrive at no conclusion. It would require a major surprise to take advantage of the enemy’s disorganization. Something like an unexpected attack, and the People had simply not enough strength for such a move. They had only a few elk-dogs and a handful of young warriors trained to use the lance on horseback. The only way such
a group could be used was in a suicide charge. Then there would be even fewer warriors to withstand the final onslaught. Heads Off refused to consider such a plan.
In the final event, the enemy was so overwhelmingly superior in numbers and equipment that it would matter little how disorganized they were. What matter if the defenders were sliced efficiently to pieces, or merely crushed in a disorganized trample?