the leather thongs bound around the horse’s neck and led Grass Child to the group milling around at the bottom of the bluff. The man grinned from ear to ear as he lifted his hand in pretense of slapping her if she cried out. He had a puckered white scar across his forehead. The four naked boys had been tied on horses. Grass Child recognized the horses as coming from the People’s herd.
She moved her head to the other side, then let it drop to ease the pain, then opened her eyes. In front of her were some Agaidüka women tied to scrawny beasts, the mistreated horses of their captors. She was about to shout to them when a quirt across her back stopped her. It felt like fire. Gradually the pain subsided. Someone tied her feet around the horse’s belly with a long piece of rawhide. It dawned on her that she would be going with these strange people. She tried to kick out.at the man tying her feet. She could not see him. She could hear his low belly laugh. Two others came and stood close to her face; one was Buzzard Beak, who pointed to the three slashes on his face. The men laughed and talked as if teasing Grass Child for fighting them.
Then they mounted their shy, scrawny horses. Some led prisoners on horseback; others led only the beautiful Agaidüka horses. As they trotted down the valley, Grass Child twisted, trying to look back. The effort agitated the welt across her back, and she cried out. Someone slapped her on the side of the face, opening the head wound. It was the ugly-looking fellow with the white scar across his forehead, and he lifted his hand in pretense of slapping her again if she called out. She felt blood ooze down her neck. Scar Face mounted a horse and took up the reins of one behind that seemed too weary to put one foot in front of the other. Grass Child blinked in disbelief. Willow Bud was sitting upright onthis tired old horse. The eyes of the girls met, but they dared not speak. Again, hot tears stung Grass Child’s eyes. Her head throbbed in time to the throbbing in her back. She sobbed quietly. In her grief she could not even sing the shrill mourning song of the People. Her mind refused to go over the day’s events.
They rode all night, never stopping. Grass Child began to wonder if her father and some of the other warriors were on their trail, following. Surely he would come with her brothers if he could find the trail. Was Rain Girl with them, she wondered, or was Rain Girl— Her mind could go no farther. Only the sound of that watery thud came clear and sharp in her mind, and the sight of her mother’s limp, bloody form lying in a crumpled heap in the dust.
It took all of her strength to stay out of the dark, endless pit that pulled her downward. She was determined not to give in to that sinking feeling where the blackness rushed over the top of her head. In the early-morning light she looked, trying to find Willow Bud or Rain Girl among the semi-naked riders.
Soon the sun’s rays shone warm and the birds were singing. Grass Child saw that they were traveling northeast along the Big Muddy. She wanted to tell this discovery to Willow Bud. Finally she could no longer fight, and she slept without wanting to. In the warmth of the sun the deep cut across her back began to smart and swell. She felt it throb with each stride of the horse. When the sun was overhead they stopped by a stream. Her mother’s murderer, Buzzard Beak, removed her bonds and pulled the tunic down from her shoulders, loosening it from the back wound. He left it tied at her waist. When he lifted her down, she could hardly stand on her sore legs for the first few moments. He took jerky from a pouch and offered her some. She turned away. He pushed her toward the stream. He motioned for her to kneel down in the fashion of squaws and drink. The water tasted good. She scooped some and let it splash her face and the back of her head where her hair was matted with dried blood, but when it touched her back below her shoulders the
She moved her head to the other side, then let it drop to ease the pain, then opened her eyes. In front of her were some Agaidüka women tied to scrawny beasts, the mistreated horses of their captors. She was about to shout to them when a quirt across her back stopped her. It felt like fire. Gradually the pain subsided. Someone tied her feet around the horse’s belly with a long piece of rawhide. It dawned on her that she would be going with these strange people. She tried to kick out.at the man tying her feet. She could not see him. She could hear his low belly laugh. Two others came and stood close to her face; one was Buzzard Beak, who pointed to the three slashes on his face. The men laughed and talked as if teasing Grass Child for fighting them.
Then they mounted their shy, scrawny horses. Some led prisoners on horseback; others led only the beautiful Agaidüka horses. As they trotted down the valley, Grass Child twisted, trying to look back. The effort agitated the welt across her back, and she cried out. Someone slapped her on the side of the face, opening the head wound. It was the ugly-looking fellow with the white scar across his forehead, and he lifted his hand in pretense of slapping her again if she called out. She felt blood ooze down her neck. Scar Face mounted a horse and took up the reins of one behind that seemed too weary to put one foot in front of the other. Grass Child blinked in disbelief. Willow Bud was sitting upright onthis tired old horse. The eyes of the girls met, but they dared not speak. Again, hot tears stung Grass Child’s eyes. Her head throbbed in time to the throbbing in her back. She sobbed quietly. In her grief she could not even sing the shrill mourning song of the People. Her mind refused to go over the day’s events.
They rode all night, never stopping. Grass Child began to wonder if her father and some of the other warriors were on their trail, following. Surely he would come with her brothers if he could find the trail. Was Rain Girl with them, she wondered, or was Rain Girl— Her mind could go no farther. Only the sound of that watery thud came clear and sharp in her mind, and the sight of her mother’s limp, bloody form lying in a crumpled heap in the dust.
It took all of her strength to stay out of the dark, endless pit that pulled her downward. She was determined not to give in to that sinking feeling where the blackness rushed over the top of her head. In the early-morning light she looked, trying to find Willow Bud or Rain Girl among the semi-naked riders.
Soon the sun’s rays shone warm and the birds were singing. Grass Child saw that they were traveling northeast along the Big Muddy. She wanted to tell this discovery to Willow Bud. Finally she could no longer fight, and she slept without wanting to. In the warmth of the sun the deep cut across her back began to smart and swell. She felt it throb with each stride of the horse. When the sun was overhead they stopped by a stream. Her mother’s murderer, Buzzard Beak, removed her bonds and pulled the tunic down from her shoulders, loosening it from the back wound. He left it tied at her waist. When he lifted her down, she could hardly stand on her sore legs for the first few moments. He took jerky from a pouch and offered her some. She turned away. He pushed her toward the stream. He motioned for her to kneel down in the fashion of squaws and drink. The water tasted good. She scooped some and let it splash her face and the back of her head where her hair was matted with dried blood, but when it touched her back below her shoulders the
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