A shout that was deep with groans rose from that throng. It was the despairing cry of the Pawnees as they saw themselves lost. Numbers, order, everything was now against them, and they dropped like deer before a forest fire. They strove to draw clear and get to their horses, but the Dakota cavalry swept in before them, spattered with blood, and still hungry for more, insatiable for slaughter. Victory made them double in strength. Defeat weakened the Pawnees.
For my part, seeing that the end was here, I reined out of the press and looked about for Bald Eagle. There was no real or complete victory until he was down, and I wanted that death for myself. Then, to my bewilderment, I saw a horseman rushing far away across the prairie with two or three rushing behind him. It was Bald Eagle, who knew that the cause was lost on this day and had made a wise decision to save himself. It was as though nine tenths of the victory were slipping from my hands. I gave White Smoke the reins and shot after him.
FACING CERTAIN DEATH
Behind me I could hear the Sioux, finishing the feast and relishing every morsel they tasted. There would be a scalp for every survivor, that I knew. Many a trophy would dry hideously over the teepee fires of the Dakotas. This day would pass into song and story. I had other work before me, and that work consisted in running down the men before me. I loaded my rifle and my revolver while White Smoke was at a brisk gallop. Then I straightened him out on the trail and flew after them. They came back toward me as though they were standing still.
There were three Pawnees besides Bald Eagle. What they must have done, at the instigation of their great chief, was to take the horses of some of the fallen Sioux in the midst of the battle and so ride out to freedom. But I was hard at their heels. They turned back, one by one. Doubtless they could have escaped if they had spread out and scattered to either side, but that was not their intention. They only had the thought to cover the retreat of their leader. Each whirled, as I came up, and charged, sending a rifle bullet at me. But bullets fired from a running horse I laughed at. I brought White Smoke to a halt, faced each charge, and sent that Pawnee to his last accounting. Three men whirled at me; three men died. Now there remained before me only the strong roan horse that carried Bald Eagle away. I had felt some pity for him in his defeat, but what seemed his consummate selfishness in allowing his braves to sacrifice themselves for him made me as cold as steel for the work to come. I swept closer, with White Smoke running swiftly and easily as the wind. It was a stanch animal, that roan, but even on equal terms it could not have lived at the pace of my stallion - and weighed down with the bulk of the Pawnee chief, it seemed anchored in one place.
He unlimbered his rifle and fired back at me. I heard the whir of the shot close to my head, and I saw the rascal, who had slackened the speed of the roan, look back and start with surprise - so confident was he in his marksmanship. My own rifle I left in its case. A revolver was enough for me, and already he was in range, but still I pressed in to make assurance doubly sure. I even drew White Smoke back to the roan’s own pace, to let Bald Eagle taste his death before it came to him. I could see him work like lightning to load his gun.
It was done before I dreamed it could have been finished. The roan was brought to a sharp halt, and the big man twisted in the saddle with the rifle at his shoulder. I snatched out my own revolver and fired what should have been the bullet that clove through the heart of the chief, but, at that moment, the roan, whirling, threw up its head and through its brain my bullet crashed. It dropped instantly, but, as it dropped, Bald Eagle fired. All I knew was that a stroke of darkness flicked across my brain.
When I wakened, I was bound hand and foot. Bald Eagle sat cross-legged beside me, smoking a pipe. I saw that the end had come for me and sat up to face it. There was no doubt in me now that this was an Indian and not a white. The deep copper of his skin seemed too true for dye to have made it, and his shaggy hair fell partly across his face.
“My young brother,” said the chief, speaking excellent Siouan, and his heavy voice rolling the words like soft thunder, “my young brother has frightened Bald Eagle from his nest, but at last my talons are in his flesh.”
I nodded, and, as I moved my head, a trickle of crimson from the glancing scalp wound that had felled me slipped over my face. “The scream of Bald Eagle,” I said, “has frightened many a Dakota, but now they know him at last. The young men have forgotten their fear. Even now they are riding to take the Pawnee women and children as their slaves. They are riding with scalps at their belts and with many rifles, and, when they come home, fifty thousand Pawnee horses shall run before them.”
He looked at me and frowned. “I have only to stretch out my hand,” he said. “Black Bear was cunning. He made men of the Sioux. I shall turn them into children again.”
If I was to die, there was no reason why I should not sting the heart of this villain if I could. I said, smiling: “The claws of Bald Eagle are blunt and dull. The Sioux have seen the Great Spirit is not fighting on his side. They have made him run away like a whipped boy.”
He stared at me savagely for a moment. Then he said: “Black Bear is young. He does not know that great things grow from small beginnings. One small cloud is the beginning of the storm. When Black Bear is dead, there are left to the Sioux only fools. They will forget his lessons. It is for that reason that he must die. Is he ready?”
I closed my eyes, and nodded, and then looked up at him, still smiling. “Luck and the head of your horse saved you,” I said. “It is your turn, Bald Eagle.”
“Luck is the wise man’s friend. As for my horse… White Smoke will content me.”
“You can never ride him,” I said, looking sadly at the great stallion. “He will throw you and tear you to pieces, as the buffalo wolf tears the calf.”
“If I do not ride him today, I may ride him tomorrow. And after tomorrow there are many tens of days. He shall come to know me, little by little. As the Pawnees came to know me… and as they will come to know me again. Great things grow from small.” He added sharply, rising to his feet, “What word shall Bald Eagle take from the dead lips of Black Bear to the Sioux so that they may pierce their flesh and weep for him?”
I saw in that moment no face in all the world except the blue eyes of Mary Kearney. And what would a message from me mean to her? “I have no message, except to one who lives in a place that I do not know, but he will hear of my death in time. And when he hears, he will come for Bald Eagle.”
The chief smiled. “It is well,” he said. “I shall welcome Rising Sun, as I have welcomed you, Black Bear.”
I smiled in turn. “It is not Rising Sun,” I said. “Though even he may take the trail to find you. But the man of whom I speak is such a one that, if Bald Eagle were to see his face, he would be filled with fear. He would become a woman. He would hide in the grass like an antelope.”
The chief lifted his lion-like head. “This is well,” he said. “I have lived a man’s life and seen men, but only one worthy of the name… and that is Black Bear. Therefore, I am glad there is another to meet. Is his skin red, my young brother?”