In the gray light before the dawn, the People made their last preparations. Older women herded small children together to retreat to the broken hillside for hiding. Tall One kissed her children and handed Owl to Crow Woman. She spoke to Eagle, old enough now to understand the gravity of the situation.
“My son, if you are captured, always remember that you are of the People, and be proud!”
She turned and picked up her bow and quiver of arrows. Taking the Spanish bit from its peg, she placed the thong around her husband’s neck.
“You must wear this, Heads Off. It is our strongest medicine.”
She kissed him softly, and looked long into his eyes.
“Go now, my husband. Remember, White Buffalo says the signs are good!”
He had almost forgotten that. Now, in light of the progress of events, he was ready to scorn the prediction.
Coyote, carrying his bow, gave his son-in-law’s hand a quick squeeze.
“We will be there to strike when you need us,” he said simply. “The signs are good!”
Heads Off could not speak. His eyes were filled with tears as he returned the little man’s grip and quickly turned to his gray mare.
The horsemen gathered in the open area before the lodges.
Even though he knew they were few in number, he was shocked. The People were able to mount fewer than a score of warriors. He could see the men of the Bowstrings slipping on foot to their respective areas of concealment in the gray light of dawn.
A figure came up beside the gray mare. It was White Buffalo.
“Heads Off,” he called. “I have cast the stones again.” The old medicine man still seemed puzzled. “It is the same! The signs are good!”
“Thank you, my friend,” Heads Off smiled.
He reined Lolita around to face the open prairie, flanked by Standing Bird and Long Elk. Every face was ceremonially painted. The small band of horsemen moved slowly forward, watching the enemy camp. Sun Boy’s torch was now peeping above earth’s rim, and visibility was improving rapidly.
In the distant camp, a flurry of activity was evident. Heavily armed, painted enemy warriors were swinging to their mounts and calling to each other as they assembled. There were too many to count.
Heads Off led his Elk-dog warriors to a spot just short of the ashes of the barricade. It would be important to plan their position correctly. They must be able to move forward at a charge to strike the oncoming enemy with some momentum. Yet the clash must occur precisely in front of the hidden bowmen, to take advantage of whatever help they could offer.
So the horsemen of the People sat, their elk-dogs fidgeting in the trampled mud. Waiting was the hardest part, Heads Off had always thought. Yet they must remain exactly here and make the enemy come to them, or lose whatever element of surprise their position might furnish when the bowmen struck.
The wait was not long. The milling horsemen out on the plain formed into a semblance of order and faced toward the besieged People. Someone gave a long yell. Heads Off thought it was the
arrogant young chief he had noticed before, but the distance was too great to be sure.
The enemy warriors kicked horses into a frantic gallop and surged forward in an awesome charge.
Good, thought Heads Off. Their horses will be tiring when we strike. They should save them for a final push. Our mounts will be fresh.
It was a vain hope, a slim grasping at straws, he saw in the next moment. The massed might of the charging horsemen was terrifying to see. The falsetto yip-yip-yip of the Head Splitters’ war cry screamed from a hundred throats.
Heads Off glanced around to see if any of his young warriors might be tempted to run. None appeared to be so inclined. They gripped weapons tightly, ready to move on signal, as the thundering horde pounded down on them.
“Aiee,” murmured Long Elk softly to himself.
It was now time to move. Heads Off gently kneed the gray mare Lolita into position and moved forward at a walk. The others fanned out to either side of him, presenting a line of warriors across the narrow neck of the meadow.
There had been a wall of brush and logs. The camp was now protected by a wall of flesh and bone, that of men and of elk-dogs. And, how very fragile that wall appeared, with the overwhelming might of the massed charge bearing down.
The timing must be precise, now. Heads Off touched the mare into a trot. Her ears were forward, eagerly anticipating the excitement of the charge. She had engaged in this sort of activity before. The animal pranced a little. Her rider had often felt that Lolita enjoyed the chase and the shock of the strike as the lance found its mark. Many buffalo had fallen before this team of man and horse, and a few men. It made little difference to the mare. She was straining at the rawhide war bridle when finally Heads
Off let her go and voiced the war cry of the People.
The two charging, screaming lines of horsemen approached each other, at almost the exact spot he desired. The Head Splitters were crowding together as they funneled into the neck of the meadow, while the People tried to spread to fill it.
It was perhaps a split second too soon that the bowmen released their first flight of arrows, but it made no difference. The front ranks of the enemy were close, close enough to see the surprise on their faces when the arrows struck among them. Several warriors in the first row were knocked from their mounts. A horse screamed in pain, and another fell heavily, the animal behind colliding with the rolling body.
Into this confusion charged the Elk-dog warriors of the People. Heads Off had a quick thought of fervent hope that the bowmen would select their targets carefully in the melee. Then he was bearing down on a burly Head Splitter and had no time for such thoughts.
The other was quick and adept. He parried the lance with his shield and swung his war club, but was knocked from his horse by the lance of Standing Bird. Heads Off wheeled and looked for another target. Long Elk had lost or broken his lance, and an enemy horseman charged down on the unprotected youth. Heads Off turned to help him, but the agile young warrior threw himself backward from his horse, somersaulting to land on his feet. He had practiced this maneuver many times, to the amusement of the older warriors. Now it was lifesaving, as the war club of his adversary whistled through the empty space above the horse’s withers.
Long Elk ran, bending and twisting, while the mounted Head Splitter pursued him. Heads Off surged forward in a charge and this time his thrust was true. The enemy fell heavily in the mud and lay still.
Heads Off glanced quickly around. A Head Splitter was helping a wounded comrade swing up behind him. Beyond that, another enemy warrior kicked his horse around to retreat. All along the line of the battle, the attackers were withdrawing. Another shower of arrows rattled among them as the bowmen found clear targets again. Several of the young Elk-dog warriors of the People seemed inclined to pursue, but Heads Off called them back.
“Fall back!” he called.
He must not allow them to divide their slim force. They would be unprotected in the open.
“We will have another chance,” he reassured the returning young men.