for the night at the end of the second day’s ride, Slow tended the horses then moved to the campfire to sit next to Sitting Bull.
His father was a great warrior, and it made Slow proud to sit beside him and the other warriors, men whose names were known not just among the Hunkpapa, but among all the Lakota—the Oglala and the Miniconjou, the Sans Arcs and the Brule, the Two Kettles and the Blackfeet Sioux—all knew of Sitting Bull, celebrated not just for his bravery, but for his accomplishments as a holy man and a healer, as well. And now, sitting by his side, the black night pressing in from every direction, the sounds of the vast, empty plains drifting toward them on the night breeze, father and son each realized that their relationship was changing, changing in some profound way that each intuitively understood, changing in a way that could never be reversed.
Slow was truly growing up. He was no longer a boy, and not quite yet a man, but that wouldchange tomorrow, or the day after, and both of them knew it. Slow was eager, but Sitting Bull felt resigned, almost sad. He had spent his life trying to keep Slow safe, but soon—sooner than he wanted to admit—it would no longer be up to him. Slow would have to fend for himself, and that would be even more difficult than it had been twenty winters before, when Sitting Bull had himself been just a boy.
Sitting Bull draped an arm around Slow’s shoulders. “So, what do you think?” he asked.
“About what?”
Sitting Bull shrugged his shoulders. “This. Being on the warpath …”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is it what you thought it would be?”
Slow paused a moment to think, then shook his head. “No. It’s boring. I thought it would be different. I thought it would be exciting.”
Sitting Bull laughed. “If we find the Crows we are looking for, it will not be boring. That much I can tell you.”
“When will we find them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if we
will
find them. Sometimes we ride for days, and if it weren’t for our own reflections in the water, we would see no one at all. Sometimes we find more than we were looking for. Those are the worst times, the times when we lose a friend or a relative.”
“The Crows are nothing to be afraid of.”
“Yes, they are. All enemies are to be feared. A man who does not fear his enemy is a fool. Thewarrior does what he has to do even though he is afraid.”
“Still, I am not afraid.”
“That is good. Right now, there is nothing to be afraid of. Perhaps tomorrow it will be different.”
“Do you think we will find the Crows tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Then we will find them the next day … or the day after that.”
“I hope so.”
“The horses are all taken care of?” Sitting Bull asked.
Slow nodded. “Yes. But tonight I don’t have to stand guard. It is Small Eagle’s turn.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep, son. Tomorrow will be a long day, just like today and yesterday. Every day is the same on the warpath. And if we do find the Crows, you will need your rest.”
Slow was reluctant. He wanted to stay by Sitting Bull’s side, but he knew his father was right. He was not used to the rigors of the warpath. He was accustomed to sleeping when he was tired and rising when he felt like it. The warpath was a special place, and one had to think of others. If he was tired, he might be careless, and if he was careless, he might get someone hurt, maybe even killed, and he did not want that on his conscience.
He walked away from the fire and lay down on the ground. He had his brand-new coup stick by his side, and he curled his fingers around theleather grip. It was beginning to look like the only Crows he would see would be in his dreams, and he might as well go armed.
He woke up later, the fire long since out. He thought he had heard a noise, but as he lay there, straining his ears, he began to think he had dreamed it. Trying to keep
His father was a great warrior, and it made Slow proud to sit beside him and the other warriors, men whose names were known not just among the Hunkpapa, but among all the Lakota—the Oglala and the Miniconjou, the Sans Arcs and the Brule, the Two Kettles and the Blackfeet Sioux—all knew of Sitting Bull, celebrated not just for his bravery, but for his accomplishments as a holy man and a healer, as well. And now, sitting by his side, the black night pressing in from every direction, the sounds of the vast, empty plains drifting toward them on the night breeze, father and son each realized that their relationship was changing, changing in some profound way that each intuitively understood, changing in a way that could never be reversed.
Slow was truly growing up. He was no longer a boy, and not quite yet a man, but that wouldchange tomorrow, or the day after, and both of them knew it. Slow was eager, but Sitting Bull felt resigned, almost sad. He had spent his life trying to keep Slow safe, but soon—sooner than he wanted to admit—it would no longer be up to him. Slow would have to fend for himself, and that would be even more difficult than it had been twenty winters before, when Sitting Bull had himself been just a boy.
Sitting Bull draped an arm around Slow’s shoulders. “So, what do you think?” he asked.
“About what?”
Sitting Bull shrugged his shoulders. “This. Being on the warpath …”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is it what you thought it would be?”
Slow paused a moment to think, then shook his head. “No. It’s boring. I thought it would be different. I thought it would be exciting.”
Sitting Bull laughed. “If we find the Crows we are looking for, it will not be boring. That much I can tell you.”
“When will we find them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if we
will
find them. Sometimes we ride for days, and if it weren’t for our own reflections in the water, we would see no one at all. Sometimes we find more than we were looking for. Those are the worst times, the times when we lose a friend or a relative.”
“The Crows are nothing to be afraid of.”
“Yes, they are. All enemies are to be feared. A man who does not fear his enemy is a fool. Thewarrior does what he has to do even though he is afraid.”
“Still, I am not afraid.”
“That is good. Right now, there is nothing to be afraid of. Perhaps tomorrow it will be different.”
“Do you think we will find the Crows tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Then we will find them the next day … or the day after that.”
“I hope so.”
“The horses are all taken care of?” Sitting Bull asked.
Slow nodded. “Yes. But tonight I don’t have to stand guard. It is Small Eagle’s turn.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep, son. Tomorrow will be a long day, just like today and yesterday. Every day is the same on the warpath. And if we do find the Crows, you will need your rest.”
Slow was reluctant. He wanted to stay by Sitting Bull’s side, but he knew his father was right. He was not used to the rigors of the warpath. He was accustomed to sleeping when he was tired and rising when he felt like it. The warpath was a special place, and one had to think of others. If he was tired, he might be careless, and if he was careless, he might get someone hurt, maybe even killed, and he did not want that on his conscience.
He walked away from the fire and lay down on the ground. He had his brand-new coup stick by his side, and he curled his fingers around theleather grip. It was beginning to look like the only Crows he would see would be in his dreams, and he might as well go armed.
He woke up later, the fire long since out. He thought he had heard a noise, but as he lay there, straining his ears, he began to think he had dreamed it. Trying to keep
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