Westward Wings The Hawk

Another period of waiting passed before Buck became aware of further activity. He bellied out a few feet to a spot where he could look directly down into the camp. The band, with their prisoner in tow, was moving slowly up the hill where he lay but nearly a hundred yards to the west. He waited until they crested the hill and then returned to his pony. Following discreetly, he trailed the band over the next row of hills and down the slope to the flood plain of the Missouri. Here he had better cover and could follow the tracks with less caution. The band turned north and appeared to be headed toward the same area where they had crossed the river two days before.

Suddenly, a shot rang out, its echo bounding down the broad valley. Buck reined in and listened intently. There was no further sound. Perhaps they had flushed a deer or some other game? He proceeded slowly, watching and listening for additional signs. Then, voices up ahead. He slipped from his pony, secured the animal and, rifle in hand, moved carefully through the heavy underbrush that covered most of the valley. The voices grew louder and he circled slightly away from the trail, keeping carefully concealed.

He dropped silently to his knees. He was close enough now to pick up a few words. The language was Sioux. Another voice spoke, but this time it was pure Ponca and the words were clear.

"We do not give ground to women."

The first voice apparently did not understand because the speaker, still conversing in Sioux said, "Give me the Washichun and I will leave you in peace."

The second voice now responded in Sioux. "I have many friends among the Dakotas. Two of my party here are Mdewkanton braves. I am Nen-nemki-pasquake, a war chief of the Ponca. The unpashota, white soldier, is part of a large number of Washichun held in my village. Wickaka, this is true."

The first voice again, his words demanding. "And I am Sidominadota, two fingers, a great warrior of the Sisseton."

"I need the unpashota to trade for guns and powder and lead. Ida-than, I boast. I have killed whites and will kill more."

A third voice broke in. "I have heard of you, Sidominadota. The Sisseton have thrown you away. Do not bother us or we will do the same."

The first voice grew even louder. "Ho-kee, come, do not make trouble. Give us the unpashota and we will depart. Otherwise we will take him from you."

Thunder Cloud’s name sent a chill through Buck’s body. He edged closer and through a screen of brush found himself looking at a large open space occupied by two groups of Indians. He sucked in his breath as he recognized the man he had seen the previous day. It was indeed Thunder Cloud. His friend of yester-year had grown since they were last together but there was no mistaking the hump on his nose, the result of a stickball game. He seemed to be in command of the situation although the renegade Sisseton to whom he was talking appeared to have a larger number of men.

Thunder Cloud’s band stood slightly behind him, their rifles and bows half raised. The white prisoner was some distance back, still mounted on a pony. The other horses belonging to Thunder Cloud’s group grazed on nearby vegetation. It appeared that Sidominadota’s band was on foot. This was confirmed after a long moment of silence. "We need ponies, too," the Sisseton said. "Give us the unpashota and three of your horses and we will go far away."

Thunder Cloud responded without mirth but there was a suggestion of humor in his words.

"Your number does not concern me, two fingers. The women always outnumber the men in the harvest dance."

Buck could not see Sidominadota who was hidden by Thunder Cloud’s body. But he did see another brave who moved forward from the cluster of men. He was tall and muscular with a scarred and blemished face; the telltale marks of small pox tattooing his forehead and chin. It was an evil face crowned by ragged and greasy hair. As he stepped forward he raised a rifle to his shoulder, aiming it at Thunder Cloud.

But, in a flash, before anything could happen, Sidominadota reached out and pushed the rifle down and away.

"We wait for more talk, Ink-pa-du-ta." Reluctantly, the brave lowered his weapon glaring at Thunder Cloud. Two fingers and Thunder Cloud, with the eyes of both bands fixed intently upon them, spoke at some length. Their attention thus diverted allowed Buck to back track and slowly work his way around to the prisoner using the latter’s horse and nearby willows as a screen. He moved so silently that neither the animal nor the dragoon was aware of his presence. While he could no longer see the Indians, their words were quite clear. Thunder Cloud, stretching the truth, announced that his group was but an advance guard of a large war party that at this moment was riding up the valley.

Sidominadota fell into a rage at this and called for his men to follow him. He moved into the brush, not far from Buck’s position, and after a few steps raised his rifle and fired into Thunder Cloud’s group. Buck responded to the crack of the gun by slipping out his knife and moving quickly to the side of the prisoner. Even before the dragoon was aware of what was taking place, Buck had cut the rawhide thong that bound his hands and whacked the horse on its side before leaping back in the brush and quickly crawling toward the river.

But the ensuing battle pressed in his direction. Suddenly the form of two fingers loomed close by. Buck slipped up behind him. Grasping his hair he laid his knife across the Sisseton’s throat. Sidominadota, taken by surprise, stopped in his tracks. There was no way he could escape the knife and he allowed Buck to march him toward the clearing.

"Tell your warriors to end the battle by dropping their weapons," he commanded in Sioux.

Sidominadota did not immediately answer so Buck drew the blade lightly across the exposed skin, causing a thin line of blood to flow down his neck. The Sisseton leader screamed the order but he had to repeat it twice before his men responded. Dropping their weapons in disbelief they moved back into the clearing where they were covered by the rifles and bows of the equally amazed and puzzled braves of Thunder Cloud’s band.