As Walks Tall rode after his friend, he thought about the events of the past few weeks. Before leaving Montana, Black Horse had led his small band of renegade warriors on a daring raid against the U.S. Cavalry. Supply wagons headed for Fort Keogh had been too tempting for the war party to resist. Not only were the wagons loaded with whiskey and food, but they were also carrying several boxes of rifles and ammunition—all desperately needed by the Sioux on the other side of the Canadian border.
Regardless of the danger involved, Black Horse had planned an attack. At first, it had seemed like a suicide mission, ten warriors against two dozen or more soldiers. But the cavalry unit was careless—and lazy. Black Horse had not made any raids in this part of Montana for a long time, and reports said that he was somewhere in the Dakota Territory. This misleading information made the attack almost easy.
With the cover of darkness as their greatest asset, the warriors had crept into the soldiers’ camp. The guards had been easily disposed of, so the Indians quickly loaded all of the supplies and weapons into one wagon. They hitched up a team of the soldiers’ own horses. The rest of the soldiers in the camp weren’t even aware of the intrusion until the warriors knocked down the
makeshift corral and started running off the horses. By the time the sleepy soldiers had their pants on and their weapons in their hands, Black Horse and his warriors were long gone.
The food and the whiskey the wagons were carrying to Fort Keogh were for a large celebration that was planned at the fort. This, combined with the embarrassment over the ease with which the soldiers had been overtaken by the Indians, made the U.S. Cavalry furious. Black Horse’s notoriety had quickly grown, and to wipe out him and his followers became the cav-alry’s top priority.
Walks Tall had been more than a little relieved when his good friend became enchanted with White Buffalo’s adopted daughter and decided to stay in Canada for a spell. Black Horse deciding to marry the girl was more than Walks Tall had expected, however. He knew his friend must truly love her to take such a big step, and he hoped this meant that they would stay in Canada for an even longer time—maybe long enough so that the soldiers across the border would get tired of looking for them.
But, should Black Horse lose Meadow now … A chill ran through Walks Tall’s body. He knew the chief would be so filled with rage that his quest for revenge and destruction would never end until the last spark of life was gone from his body.
At the top of the ridge, Walks Tall surveyed the countryside down below him. The land looked vaguely familiar. He wondered if they had come this way when they had come up from Montana. To his surprise, Walks Tall noticed that Black Horse was waiting at the bottom of the slope. Kicking his horse in the sides,
he hurried down the incline. As Walks Tall approached, he could see that the chief’s face was flushed, and even though he was sure he knew the other man as well as he knew the back of his hand, there was a strange look in Black Horse’s eyes that Walks Tall did not recognize.
“The Blackfoot are moving fast. The cowards know what I will do to them when I catch up to them.” Black Horse pointed down toward the hoofprints in the dirt. “See, one horse carries two riders. The man who rides this horse will die soon.”
Walks Tall swallowed hard. He barely glanced down at the tracks on the ground. Black Horse’s words spoke of death, yet his eyes seemed to hold so much pain. Walks Tall hoped the combination of these powerful emotions would not interfere with Black Horse’s judgment.
“We can cut them off in no time. I know of a shorter way, but it will mean crossing over the border to the American side.”
“This is not wise, my brother.”
“It would only be for a short distance,” Black Horse retorted.
“There will be American soldiers patrolling the border.”
“When have I ever been frightened by any soldier?”
Walks Tall shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He knew that there was nothing he could say anyway. Black Horse’s love for the girl ruled his actions now.
Without further discussion, Black Horse nudged Dusya in the sides. The horse tossed his head back and fought against his master’s command. Black Horse yanked on the reins and pressed his knees into the
horse’s sides as hard as he could until the horse yielded. He kicked him roughly in the sides again. This time, Dusya obeyed without hesitation.
Shaking his head at the insanity of what they were about to do, Walks Tall gave Hawk the signal to follow. Black Horse was no longer pushing Dusya at such a fast pace, and so Hawk was able to stay at the other horse’s heels. Walks Tall was not sure when they crossed over into Montana, but he did notice that Black Horse was headed for a stretch of wide-open prairie where only stirrup-high grass grew. A queasy sensation washed over Walks Tall. They would be out in plain sight, defenseless, without one tree or rock to take cover behind if they were spotted.
Oblivious to the danger of exposing himself and Walks Tall to an attack, Black Horse ached with guilt over not being with Meadow when she had been taken captive. If he hadn’t waited so long to go back to the river, maybe he could have prevented the attack on White Buffalo and protected Meadow from the Blackfoot. Every second that passed allowed them more time to abuse his beloved Meadow.
He kept being reminded of Shy Deer, his Blackfoot captive. It seemed too ironic that he had stolen a Blackfoot woman, and now his woman had been taken by a Blackfoot. Was it possible that Meadow had been targeted just because she was his woman? He closed his eyes for a minute and swallowed hard. This staggering thought made his stomach hurt and heaviness settle in his chest. If this was all in retaliation for his past actions, how would he ever be able to live with himself? He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky.
“Please don’t make Meadow pay for my past evils,” he begged of
Wakan Tanka
.
A feeling of helplessness claimed Walks Tall as he watched the chief move ahead. He did not push Hawk to go faster. Instead, he held the horse back for a reason he could not explain. At a slow gait he led Hawk out into the open prairie. With a nervous glance around the countryside, Walks Tall tried to push the rising sense of panic to the back of his mind. Unconsciously, he pulled on Hawk’s reins, bringing the horse to a complete stop. His heart pounded like thunder in his chest as he watched Black Horse ride farther away. The chief and his powerful stallion were growing smaller, the black and white color of the horse and the tan shades of Black Horse’s buckskin suit all blending together. Something did not seem right.
Walks Tall kicked Hawk in the sides. The horse bounded forward just as a loud sound echoed across the valley. The explosion sent Walks Tall’s mind into confusion. His instincts caused him to yank on his horse’s reins, but his loyalty to his comrade made him kick the horse in the sides an instant later. In spite of his rider’s mixed signals, Hawk charged forward.
Another loud gunshot rang out.
Off in the distance, Walks Tall could see Dusya bucking and twirling around as more shots were fired. Then, although he had not seen Black Horse fall, he realized that the chief was no longer on the horse. Now absent his rider, Dusya was galloping toward him at a dead run.
The events were happening at such a rapid pace that Walks Tall did not have time to think through his own
actions. He kept riding toward the fallen chief, but as he drew nearer, he realized his efforts were in vain. He could see the soldiers who had surrounded Black Horse like circling vultures. Because they blocked his view, Walks Tall could not see whether or not the chief was alive or dead. When he was only several hundred yards away from the cavalry troop, one of the soldiers spotted him. Walks Tall heard the soldier shout out to his companions. When they all turned around to look at him, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Black Horse’s unmoving body lying in the deep grass.
Walks Tall’s first reaction was to try to reach his fallen friend, but in the final seconds before it was too late for him to turn his horse around, his thoughts were jolted back to the many conversations he and Black Horse had had during their long friendship. On several occasions they had talked about what they would do if ever they were in a life and death situation such as they were now. As blood brothers, each had initially said he would never desert the other, but as Sioux warriors they had vowed to do whatever was necessary to benefit their people.
Walks Tall knew what he had to do. He yanked on the reins and leaned to one side, then clamped his legs against Hawk’s sides to keep from being tossed off the horse’s back when the animal swung around in a swirl of dust and flying grass.
Hawk’s hooves pounded down on the hard ground, and beads of sweat flew off his mane as he galloped back in the direction of the forest. Dusya had already disappeared into the thick maze of pines. All coherent thoughts had now fled from Walks Tall’s mind. His only goal now had to be to outrun the soldiers quickly
closing in behind him. Once he reached the shelter of the trees he knew he would be able to lose his pursuers. Then, he would allow himself to think about Black Horse’s fate.
Even though Hawk was not as swift as Dusya, the older stallion ran now as if he understood his master’s desperate plight. The trees drew nearer at a rapid pace, and not once did the horse’s hooves falter. When they crossed the last of the open field and moved into the trees, Walks Tall did not even have to urge Hawk to keep running. The horse dodged the trunks of the trees with ease.
Bullets ricocheted off the trees as the soldiers attempted to halt the warrior’s progress, but Hawk was not startled or distracted by the gunshots. Walks Tall thought briefly of Dusya. Had the paint been as well trained as Hawk, perhaps Black Horse would have had a chance to escape from the soldiers. Silently, Walks Tall cursed the young stallion, even though he knew the horse was not at fault.
Finally, Walks Tall became aware of the silence behind him. Hawk began to slow down; the fast chase had left him winded. He snorted and coughed as his breaths came in labored gasps. Sweat rolled down his neck and over his heaving sides like rain in a cloudburst. Still, Walks Tall could not let the horse rest. He could not chance having another encounter with the soldiers, and until he was certain that he was back on Canadian soil, he would not stop.
His next mission was too important for carelessness. He had to escape so that he could find out whether Black Horse was dead or alive. If the chief still lived, Walks Tall knew he would have to figure out a way to
help him escape from the soldiers. Until then, Walks Tall had no doubts about the kind of tortures Black Horse would be subjected to at the hands of the American soldiers. Coldness whipped through him in spite of the sweat that ran down his face and body.
When it seemed that a long time had passed since the sounds of the soldiers’ pursuit had disappeared into the distance, Walks Tall felt safe enough to take the time to rest his horse. He turned Hawk in the direction he knew would lead them back to the river, and then he let the horse walk at his own pace until they reached the water. Sliding down to the ground, Walks Tall dropped the reins and let Hawk walk out into the cool water. The horse didn’t stop until the water was halfway up his long legs. He bent his head down and began to take loud slurping gulps.
Feeling too weak and sick to drink, Walks Tall fell down on his knees and let his head drop down on his chest. Images of Black Horse’s still form lying in the deep grass kept flashing through his mind. Why had such a senseless thing happened? In spite of his sometimes-quick temper, Black Horse was usually a rational man, which was one of the many reasons he had obtained such an honored title at his young age.
Walks Tall knew Black Horse was aware of the danger in crossing over the Canadian border. Yet, because he was so ravaged by the pain of losing Meadow to the Blackfoot, he had sacrificed his own safety. He understood that Black Horse’s careless actions were ruled by his love of the woman, and an unexplainable feeling of protectiveness washed over Walks Tall as he recalled the girl who had stolen his friend’s heart. That she was a white woman did not enter his thoughts. It had become
obvious that regardless of her white bloodline, she was devoted to the Sioux. But none of that mattered now that they had been torn apart by the terrible actions of the Blackfoot.
Walks Tall clenched his hands into tight fists. He would avenge his brother even if it meant his own death.
A splashing noise caught Walks Tall’s attention. He jumped to his feet. His rifle was clutched tightly in his hand when he turned around to face the source of the noise.
“Devil horse,” Walks Tall hissed when he spotted Dusya standing a couple hundred yards upstream. For a few minutes Walks Tall did not move. The horse watched him with a wide-eyed stare, almost as if he were waiting for the man to forgive him. Compassion for the rebellious horse did not enter into the feelings Walks Tall had toward the stallion, nor did he feel any obligation to care for the horse that might have contributed to Black Horse’s capture or possible death.
Raising the rifle up slowly, Walks Tall began to take aim. When the horse was in direct line with the barrel of the rifle, Walks Tall let his forefinger wrap around the trigger. A moment of hesitation claimed Walks Tall’s conscience, and a tremor traipsed down his spine. He should just shoot the worthless beast. Yet he continued to stare intently down the barrel until his finger began to uncurl from the trigger. His thoughts were filled with memories of how determined Black Horse had been to train this stupid horse, and of how confident he had been that someday this animal would be worth all the aggravation and work. With a heavy
sigh, Walks Tall lowered the rifle. He stared at the stallion as he continued to think of Black Horse.
Walks Tall turned away from the beautiful black and white paint. He looked back at his own horse. Hawk had finished drinking his fill of water and was now staring at the other horse with a curious tilt to his head. He bent down and grabbed Hawk’s reins. Without looking back at Dusya, he mounted Hawk and began to lead him away from the river. His thoughts were occupied with the more important tasks he must do as soon as possible. First, he would ride back to the village and gather up the other warriors who rode with him and Black Horse.