Black Fox watched
the approach of his scout, followed closely by the warrior woman, with a great deal of satisfaction.
It had been a great stroke of good fortune that the tall man, now known by name as Long Walker, had fallen into their hands. The war party, preparing to camp for the night, had happened to be near the point where he climbed from the ravine. They had quickly signaled each other to silence and concealed themselves to seize the fugitive when he pulled himself over the ledge.
Ah, how things sometimes go right! Black Fox gloated in the strength of his medicine as they made camp, and he began to question the prisoner. There were those who would have killed the man outright, and even more who wished to test his manhood by torture and mutilation. But Black Fox had a better plan. It depended on keeping the prisoner alive and in good condition.
He talked with the man, using the sign talk, and learned that his name was Long Walker. The girl they spoke of as Crazy Woman was called Running Eagle by her people.
Black Fox found it amusing that she did not bear “woman” as part of her name.
“Among the Head Splitters,” he signaled proudly, “a warrior's name would not be worn by a woman.”
“Among the Head Splitters,” Long Walker retorted, “there is no warrior like Running Eagle!”
The man was infuriating in his insolence, but Black Fox could wait and play out his game. He attempted to determine more about the relationship between the man and the girl.
“Just friends,” Long Walker replied with a shrug.
He used the hand sign for comrades or fellow warriors. Black Fox was not entirely convinced. There was some special relationship here, and on this his plan depended.
The two were so inseparable in all the tales and legends about them that there had to be a special meaning of some sort. If one were a prisoner, the other would attempt rescue.
With this in mind the camp was placed in an open area and heavily guarded. The prisoner was tied to a pole between two trees, in plain sight. He would be bait for the trap.
Actually Black Fox had little thought that the girl would make a rescue attempt. She would realize that the prisoner would be heavily guarded and could be killed at the first threat of attack. No, she would wait for daylight and then seek a parley.
And he had been right, so it seemed. One of the scouts who had been posted in the area of Long Walker's capture was escorting her into the camp.
A couple of young warriors sprang forward to seize her, but the girl stopped them with a hand sign and a withering glance.
“What hospitality is this?” she gestured indignantly. “I come to talk with your chief!”
Black Fox smiled to himself. Many men in such circumstances would have lost their nerve. This remarkable girl not only maintained her haughty composure, but she had just given his young men a lesson in the etiquette of visiting another's camp.
She strode forward boldly and marched straight to where Black Fox sat, his back against a small tree. Both were relaxed, weapons not at ready. There would be no surprise moves here, for the implied terms of this parley were those of a truce.
“I have come to bargain for your prisoner,” the girl began.
She had barely glanced at Long Walker, except to assure herself that he was alive and well. She dared not look at the stricken expression on his face.
“How?” Black Fox's retort was not really a question. “You have nothing to offer.”
“I will meet you in combat. If I win, we both go free. If you kill me, you do as you wish.”
Black Fox laughed aloud. “Why should I fight you? I might be injured.” He cowered in mock fear, then continued. “No, I wish to keep him. You should not challenge me, anyway. You should be in a lodge, in some man's bed, not trying to be a warrior.”
He was teasing her, and he saw that her anger rose. For a moment he wondered if she were about to break the rules of etiquette and strike at him.
“Now, I might consider,” he continued thoughtfully, “an exchange of the right kind. But you have nothing.” He spread his hands in mock perplexity, enjoying this moment. “Unless, of course, you would exchange yourself for this prisoner.”
“No!” shouted Long Walker, twisting at the thongs that bound his wrists to the pole. “No, Running Eagle! Do not do this!”
The girl turned, white-faced, to look at him for the first time during the parley. “It will be all right, Walker.” She spoke in their own tongue, not familiar to their captors. Her voice was a trifle tense, but confident. “I will escape later.”
Black Fox interrupted. “Stop! There will be no talking to my prisoner!” he warned.
A torrent of protest poured forth from Long Walker until Black Fox stepped over and inserted a rawhide thong between his teeth, tying it cruelly tight behind his neck.
Walker's yelling subsided to a murmur of ineffectual sound.
“What arrangements?” the girl was asking.
“None. He goes free, I keep you.”
“No.” She spoke firmly. “He must have a horse and weapons.”
Black Fox shook his head. The woman was driving a hard bargain.
“A horse, no weapons,” he insisted.
“He is not to be tied, and not followed when he leaves here?”
“Agreed. But if he tries to return he will be killed.”
The girl nodded. “Of course.”
She stepped over to the prisoner and confidently cut his bonds. “Do not worry, Walker. I will escape when I can,” she whispered.
Long Walker's frustration was evident. Had it not been for the rules of the truce he would have attacked Black Fox in an instant. “I will come for you, Running Eagle,” he promised. “Watch for me.”
A young warrior stepped forward and struck Walker across the shoulders with a quirt, hoping to goad him into an unwise move. Walker gave the youngster only a glance, then stepped over to face Black Fox.
“You think this is a great day, Head Splitter. Your troubles have only started. You will not live long enough to forget, and we will see the vultures pick your bones.”
Only a momentary expression of doubt crossed the face of Black Fox, then he smiled. “Bring a horse for this man,” he chuckled. Then an amusing twist occurred to him. “Let it be the horse of Crazy Woman!” he called.
A man led the white-splotched dun forward, with only a simple thong looped around the lower jaw as a war bridle. There was no saddle or pad, but Long Walker easily vaulted to the animal's back.
“Take him well away from the camp,” instructed Black Fox to two mounted warriors near by.
“And kill him?”
“No! Not unless he tries to return. He is under the truce.”
Long Walker turned to look over his shoulder once more. “Remember! I will be back for you!” he called.
“No, Walker! They will kill you. I will escape!”
She watched until the three riders disappeared over the crest of the hill. At least she had been successful in freeing Long Walker. She turned to face her captor and laid her weapons at his feet.
“There must be no treachery,” she cautioned. “If Long Walker is harmed, I will know. Then there is no way you will escape me.”
“Escape?” Black Fox snorted. “You are the one who will never escape.” He stepped forward and looped a thong around each of her wrists.
“Over here,” he motioned. He knotted the fetters on her wrists to the overhead pole, so recently the place of Long Walker's imprisonment.
“You will remain tied,” Black Fox informed her in sign talk, “until we reach our village. Then the other women in my lodge will show you your duties.”
He turned on his heel and strode away to prepare to depart.
Long Walker, flanked
by the two Head Splitters, rode slowly out of the enemy camp. He had never been so furious, so frustrated, so utterly helpless. He raged inwardly.
Only one thought prevented him from attacking the warriors who rode beside him. Common sense told him that they would kill him immediately at the slightest cue. Then there would be no one at all to attempt the rescue of Running Eagle.
At the very thought of the girl, carried away as a prisoner to the lodge of Black Fox, he could have screamed out in grief and frustration. But it would do no good and might provoke these warriors into action.
So Long Walker sat upright on his horse, looking straight ahead. He did not know how far these men would escort him. He was not concerned about the possibility of treachery. Custom was too strong. These men had merely been assigned to make certain that the erstwhile prisoner actually left the area.
They were pointing his course due south, back toward
his own band. So be it. He would let it appear that he followed that trail.
One of the warriors now motioned him to stop. Long Walker tensed, ready for any surprise move.
“You go,” the young warrior motioned. “If you try to return we will kill you!”
Walker was greatly tempted to make a statement as to the relative likelihood of longevity for himself and for Black Fox. He decided against such an inflammatory remark, saving it for a better moment.
Suddenly Owl Dung leaped forward, nearly unseating his rider. Long Walker looked back, catching only a flying glimpse of what had precipitated the plunge. The other of the enemy warriors, who had ridden in sullen silence until this point, was laughing uproariously. He had struck the horse across the rump with a quirt to make it bolt, hoping to unseat the rider.
Long Walker realized that this was the same man who had struck him across the back earlier. This would be the sort of man who enjoyed the torture of prisoners. Walker marked him well for future reference. The time might come when he would wish to remember.
He cantered away, trying to appear dejected and beaten, suppressing the impulse to toss a final obscene gesture at the two laughing enemy warriors. They must think him completely defeated.
Once out of sight, he waited to make certain he was not followed and then turned due west. As he rode, his mind was working rapidly.
The Head Splitters would immediately start for their own people, somewhere to the west or southwest. He must follow without being detected and be aware of the exact location of Running Eagle's imprisonment. Then he would plan the moment and the manner of her rescue.
But first he must have food and weapons. Especially weapons. With a bow or a lance he could obtain food. A knife, also, might be helpful.
The most obvious course of action was to strike an enemy sentry in the dark and take his weapons. Long Walker soon rejected this plan. Aside from the risk it involved to himself, there was Running Eagle to think of. It would not be unlikely for the frustrated Head Splitters to take vengeance on the prisoner. No, he must avoid all contact with the Head Splitters,
any
Head Splitters, until his plan was complete. He must find another way.
He traveled rapidly, and by late afternoon he felt that he was well ahead of the enemy war party. Somewhere in the area, he knew, was a village of Growers. They would furnish him with food and a place to spend the night. The open prairie could be quite cold at this time of year, especially without so much as a robe for protection.
It was nearly dark before he located the Growers' village. He did so by following the most prominent of the streams he could find. Not until he was riding in did an idea occur to him that might be fruitful.
Followed by yapping dogs and staring children, Long Walker walked his horse among the log and dirt dwellings until he found a prosperous-looking one that looked familiar. He dismounted and called out politely at the door. A woman thrust her head out, then quickly withdrew it.
In a few moments she came outside, followed by a suspicious man, probably her husband. The approach of a lone stranger, poorly equipped and unarmed, was a situation that required caution.
Long Walker opened the parley quickly in the gathering twilight. He knew only a few words of the Growers' tongue, but the sign talk was universal.
“I am Long Walker, of the Elk-dog People, the band of Heads Off.”
“Yes,” answered the woman. “I remember you now. Your band traded with us last season.”
Both Growers relaxed somewhat. Nearly every year they had some contact with the tribe of this man, trading their corn, beans, and pumpkins for the meat and skins of the hunters.
Long Walker knew that they must remain perfectly impartial in a situation such as his own crisis. Still, there were ways to use their help.
“I have been a prisoner of a Head Splitter war party,” he explained. “I have no weapons, only this horse.”
The two nodded understandingly.
“You wish to trade the horse?” the man inquired.
“No, I need the horse. I come to hunt, for you.”
Rapidly he outlined his plan. If someone would loan him a bow or a lance, he would try for a buffalo kill near the Growers' village. Then all the meat and the skin would be theirs, in exchange for weapons and a few supplies.
The couple conferred for a few moments in their own tongue, expressions of doubt plain on their faces. The husband stepped to a nearby lodge and called something to the occupants. Another man joined him, and a third. There was much animated conversation. Finally the man to whom Long Walker had first spoken returned.
“Blackbird will let you use his bow.” He indicated one of the other men. “If you are successful in the hunt, we will trade. If not, you return his bow.”
Long Walker nodded. “Will someone let me use a robe for tonight?”
A woman handed him a ragged buffalo robe. He accepted it gratefully, only hoping for a moment that its previous occupant was not infested by many lice. He curled against the outside wall of one of the lodges and fell asleep almost instantly. It had been long since he had slept without the threat of death or capture. He could eat later.
Â
By the time daylight allowed him to see for the hunt, Long Walker was searching for buffalo. A few of the men in the village had expressed resentment and scorn at the suggestion that the stranger could best them at hunting. Most, however, realized that a man of one of the hunter tribes would be more skilled than one of the Growers. That was the way of things.
Walker was pleased to note that there were several small
bands of buffalo in the immediate area. One group was grazing slowly in the direction of the village. He wondered if it might not be possible to help the Growers make a larger kill. He could see that at one point the valley narrowed. A few men could conceal themselves and perhaps kill several of the animals. He rode along the ridge and attempted to plan the best strategy for the hunt.
Then, from the advantage of his new position, he saw an alarming development. Approaching from the east was a column of riders. They were some distance away, but there was little doubt as to their identity. It could be no other than the war party he had just left.
There was a moment of panic, then reason returned. The war party could not be searching for him. They would have no reason to do so. The Head Splitters were merely traveling, returning to their own people, while Long Walker was, in effect, doing the same. Since their destination was the same, their paths would easily cross. He must remember this and be more careful.
For the present, quick action was necessary. The village of the Growers was, in a way, a haven of refuge. It would be against the code of conduct to attack an enemy in the village of neutral friends and traders.
Still, Long Walker wished to avoid all contact with the Head Splitters if possible. There would be questions, doubts, and embarrassment for the Growers. The impression he wished to leave was that of a man beaten, fleeing for his life. At the same time, he must have weapons.
Reluctantly he rejected the thought of staying close enough to catch a glimpse of Running Eagle. There would be time for that later.
He headed straight for the village of the Growers, looking all the while for the buffalo that he sought. A fat young cow raised her head to stare at him curiously as he approached. Long Walker fitted an arrow to the bowstring.
Owl Dung sensed the pursuit and sprinted forward as the cow whirled to run. Long Walker's arrow struck the selected
spot, and the animal stumbled and fell to lie kicking in the grass.
Now, scarcely pausing to look at the dying buffalo, he urged the horse on toward the village. He slid to a stop before the lodges.
“Blackbird!” he called loudly.
The man emerged from the doorway.
“Your buffalo is there,” he pointed. “I must go. There are Head Splitters coming. I keep your bow.”
Without waiting for an answer, he urged the horse into a fast canter away from the village.
He was pleased with the manner in which things had happened. The closemouthed Growers, if they mentioned him at all, would describe him as a frightened fugitive, running for his life. This was the impression he meant to leave for the enemy war party.
More important, his contact with the Growers had suggested the beginning of a plan for the rescue of Running Eagle.