beasts between the
banks of the arroyo above where they fed.
The drive had been easy, like in the stories
told by hunters. They'd pushed the animals gently, the buffalo always drifting
beyond dart range until the walls of the valley rose around them.
Clear Water had looked across, excited eyes
flashing, seeing the buffalo milling before the mouth of the arroyo.
"Now!" she'd cried. "Rush them! Frighten them!"
And he'd charged the big beasts, afraid of the
lances of sunlight glinting off their long black horns. Looking placid, almost
stupid, they bawled and wheeled, those crowded against the wall of earth goring
angrily at their neighbors. Flies had risen from the curls of rust hair to
spiral in the swirling dust.
The lead cow had turned to face him, head
lowered, and he'd jumped to the side in fear. Seeing him give way, the cow
whirled with blinding speed, bolting for the hole to freedom.
He opened his eyes, looking miserably over at
Little Dancer. From the soiled Wolf Bundle on his lap, his hand lifted, as if
to reach for the boy.
His inexperience had killed the only woman
he'd ever loved.
Two Smokes remembered lying there in
soul-searing pain. He'd tried to swallow, his tongue swollen and dry. He shut
his eyes tight against the burning agony in his leg. Despite his thirst, sweat
beaded to trickle hot and salty down his face. Whimpering at the attempt, he'd
tried to move again, digging his trembling fingers into the gray silt of the
arroyo bottom. The effort sent burning spears through his mangled leg. The cry
tore from his throat like a thing alive and he collapsed limp on the arid soil,
lungs heaving as he gasped. The rich smell of the earth clung musty and rich in
his nostrils. Crumbly ground cushioned his sweat-damp cheek.
The infant. Got to get back to the infant!
Against the gritty feeling, Two Smokes stared
at the assorted gravels in the main channel—beaten and pocked now from the
milling feet of mad buffalo.
"My fault," he groaned. "What
did I know about trapping buffalo?" And without me, the child will die . .
. alone . . . hungry. Maybe a coyote will come first, poking its long nose down
into the bundle, baring teeth to . . .No, don't think it. I'll make it back.
I've got to. I’m all he has.
“ . . . All he has." He hadn't been able
to bear the thought of looking for Clear Water's body. Enough horror would
remain without that. Teeth clamped hard, he'd braced himself, pulled with his
arms, and almost vomited as he levered himself forward, the mangled leg
dragging behind.
Head spinning, lungs heaving, he sucked air to
still his racing heart.
“My fault."
In his mind he replayed the final moments—that
last desperate instant when the buffalo charged over them, eyes rolling, silver
streaks of saliva slung from the corners of their mouths. He felt rather than
heard the thick hooves clawing, pounding for traction. Sunlight gleamed from
clattering black horns as clearly as it had that long-ago day. He could smell
the dust swilling up around their curly haired brown hides.
He would die with Clear Water's shriek echoing
in his mind. He would rise to the Wise One Above, reliving her efforts to stem
the rush, waving her robe to frighten the stampeding animals, seeing her danger
too late, turning to run.
The image slowed, as if in Spirit Dream. Clear
Water's legs seemed to stiffen, reactions sluggish so soon after giving birth.
Then the buffalo calf, eyes glazed wide with fear, broke left, passing on Clear
Water's far side, bawling its terror.
The huge
banks of the arroyo above where they fed.
The drive had been easy, like in the stories
told by hunters. They'd pushed the animals gently, the buffalo always drifting
beyond dart range until the walls of the valley rose around them.
Clear Water had looked across, excited eyes
flashing, seeing the buffalo milling before the mouth of the arroyo.
"Now!" she'd cried. "Rush them! Frighten them!"
And he'd charged the big beasts, afraid of the
lances of sunlight glinting off their long black horns. Looking placid, almost
stupid, they bawled and wheeled, those crowded against the wall of earth goring
angrily at their neighbors. Flies had risen from the curls of rust hair to
spiral in the swirling dust.
The lead cow had turned to face him, head
lowered, and he'd jumped to the side in fear. Seeing him give way, the cow
whirled with blinding speed, bolting for the hole to freedom.
He opened his eyes, looking miserably over at
Little Dancer. From the soiled Wolf Bundle on his lap, his hand lifted, as if
to reach for the boy.
His inexperience had killed the only woman
he'd ever loved.
Two Smokes remembered lying there in
soul-searing pain. He'd tried to swallow, his tongue swollen and dry. He shut
his eyes tight against the burning agony in his leg. Despite his thirst, sweat
beaded to trickle hot and salty down his face. Whimpering at the attempt, he'd
tried to move again, digging his trembling fingers into the gray silt of the
arroyo bottom. The effort sent burning spears through his mangled leg. The cry
tore from his throat like a thing alive and he collapsed limp on the arid soil,
lungs heaving as he gasped. The rich smell of the earth clung musty and rich in
his nostrils. Crumbly ground cushioned his sweat-damp cheek.
The infant. Got to get back to the infant!
Against the gritty feeling, Two Smokes stared
at the assorted gravels in the main channel—beaten and pocked now from the
milling feet of mad buffalo.
"My fault," he groaned. "What
did I know about trapping buffalo?" And without me, the child will die . .
. alone . . . hungry. Maybe a coyote will come first, poking its long nose down
into the bundle, baring teeth to . . .No, don't think it. I'll make it back.
I've got to. I’m all he has.
“ . . . All he has." He hadn't been able
to bear the thought of looking for Clear Water's body. Enough horror would
remain without that. Teeth clamped hard, he'd braced himself, pulled with his
arms, and almost vomited as he levered himself forward, the mangled leg
dragging behind.
Head spinning, lungs heaving, he sucked air to
still his racing heart.
“My fault."
In his mind he replayed the final moments—that
last desperate instant when the buffalo charged over them, eyes rolling, silver
streaks of saliva slung from the corners of their mouths. He felt rather than
heard the thick hooves clawing, pounding for traction. Sunlight gleamed from
clattering black horns as clearly as it had that long-ago day. He could smell
the dust swilling up around their curly haired brown hides.
He would die with Clear Water's shriek echoing
in his mind. He would rise to the Wise One Above, reliving her efforts to stem
the rush, waving her robe to frighten the stampeding animals, seeing her danger
too late, turning to run.
The image slowed, as if in Spirit Dream. Clear
Water's legs seemed to stiffen, reactions sluggish so soon after giving birth.
Then the buffalo calf, eyes glazed wide with fear, broke left, passing on Clear
Water's far side, bawling its terror.
The huge
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