Tall One rose to one knee and fitted an arrow to her bowstring. She hoped that no one in the ragged line of women, old men, and youths would give away their positions until necessary. With luck, each of the archers could account for at least one enemy before they were located.
A squirrel began to scold in front of her position, out of sight in the woods. For an instant she wondered how the creature had survived the intense hunting pressure through the winter. A jay flared from the thicket, squawking in alarm.
It seemed an endless length of time before she could see a figure slipping quietly from tree to tree. This man would be a scout, she knew, and it would be much better not to kill him until the main body of enemy warriors were within bowshot.
She watched him carefully. He had not yet located any of the hidden defenders. His line of movement was taking him directly toward the hiding place of Big Footed Woman. Tall One knew that her mother would remain hidden until the last possible moment. She decided that if necessary she could quickly loose an arrow in that direction. She would watch the progress of the man, and let the others watch for the line of warriors that would be following him.
The enemy was carrying a bow at ready, and from his waist dangled the ever-present stone war club. He stepped quietly, eyes shifting from side to side. Once Tall One thought he had looked directly at her, but she held very still and he moved on. In a few
more paces he would step almost on top of Big Footed Woman. Tall One made ready to draw her bow.
Suddenly the warrior seemed to see the half-hidden woman. He jumped as if he had been poked with a stick, and with a muffled exclamation swung his bow into position. It was only half drawn, however, when a heavy throwing stick seemed to leap at him.
Big Footed Woman had apparently waited motionless with the weapon already drawn back to throw. When discovered, she flung the club forward with all her strength. As long and as thick as one’s arm, the heavy weapon whirled with an audible swishing sound across the few intervening paces. There was a loud crack as it struck the partly drawn bow, and the arrow was diverted harmlessly into the ground. The other end of the still whirling club struck the Head Splitter just above the left eye, and he stumbled to catch his balance. He fumbled for another arrow, then dropped his damaged bow and reached for the war club at his waist.
Before he could free it from its thong, his opponent was upon him. The man was still fumbling for his weapon when another of the woman’s sticks, wielded as a club this time, thunked solidly against his head and he collapsed to the ground.
Big Footed Woman snatched up the other throwing stick and darted back to concealment. As if this were a signal, the silence of the woods was broken by the yipping war cry of the attackers. A single arrow reached after the retreating woman, but rattled harmlessly into the bushes.
Tall One turned to see a shifting, dodging line of warriors darting among the trees before her. She drew a quick arrow at a tall warrior and felt the disappointment of failure as the man dodged and the arrow sped harmlessly on. Seeking to take advantage of her weaponless moment, he sprinted forward. In doing
so, he became careless, and probably never was aware that Antelope Woman’s was the arrow that felled him.
Tall One loosed another shaft at an advancing warrior, and saw him drop to all fours to retreat, plucking from time to time at the feathered shaft through his shoulder.
More and more of the yipping enemy surged forward. Arrows were whistling past her position, and Tall One returned the missiles as fast as she was able. There were several still figures on the ground now. One man, an arm pinned to his side by an arrow, staggered aimlessly about until he fell heavily.
There was a sudden exclamation from Antelope Woman. Tall One glanced that way to see a long gash across the girl’s arm turning rapidly scarlet. A burly warrior was rushing forward. Tall One reached for an arrow, but not before the other girl was able to seize her spear. The momentum of the attacker, rather than the skill of the thrust, impaled the surprised Head Splitter. Tall One turned again to her own defense.
In the distance, a woman screamed, and the yipping war cry of the enemy seemed everywhere. Dimly, only half-recognized in her thoughts, was the realization that behind her in the direction of the mounted attack, the din was mounting. Now she could hear and feel the earth tremble from the drumming of unseen hooves as the main charge thundered down.
Nearby, a woman raised her voice in the death song.
“The grass and the sky go on forever,
But today is a good day to die.”
Others were joining in the song. Tall One saw that she had only two arrows left, and it seemed that an endless number of the enemy were filtering through the woods. She loosed an arrow and reached for the last one, seeking a target.
Her mind was with her husband, at the other point of attack. She realized that she would be able to tell by the sounds of the battle when the enemy charge struck. She listened as the thunder increased in volume and the yipping war cry from a hundred throats grew to a climax.
She heard the steady beat of hooves falter and become ragged as the charge ended in what she knew was the clash. Mixed with the yipping of the enemy was the full-throated war cry of the People. It began in only a few throats, but swelled as other voices joined. Some distance to her left, an aging warrior sprang forward, bellowing the attack in a cracked voice.
Now the yipping falsetto of the attacking horsemen was fading. It was replaced by a rising cry that she recognized as that of the People. From the direction of movement, it seemed … but aiee, that could not be … her husband and his small handful of warriors were attacking!
The scattered enemy before the defenders in the woods had now stopped to listen, too. There were no more yipping cries, only startled questions tossed back and forth. A warrior turned to retreat, and Tall One loosed her last arrow. Others were retreating, stumbling in their haste, calling to each other.
Some miracle had occurred! What was to have been the final charge and the end of the Elk-dog band, had somehow been turned around.
White Buffalo had been right. The signs were good.