With one hand holding her in place, he managed to jump up behind. Then he turned her around, and looking like a father cradling his stricken daughter, Dunbar steered his horse in the direction of the smoky cloud.
As Cisco carried them across the prairie, the lieutenant thought about his plan to impress the wild Indians. He didn’t look very mighty or very official now. There was blood on his tunic and his hands. The girl was bandaged with his underwear and a United States flag.
It had to be better this way. When he thought about what he had done, cavorting stupidly around the countryside with polished boots and a silly red sash and, of all things, a flag flying at his side, the lieutenant smiled sheepishly.
I must be an idiot, he thought.
He looked at the cherry hair under his chin and wondered what this poor woman must have thought when she saw him in his dandy getup.
Stands With A Fist wasn’t thinking at all. She was in twilight. She was only feeling. She felt the horse swaying under her, she felt the arm across her back, and she felt the strange fabric against her face. Most of all Stands With A Fist felt safe, and all the way back she kept her eyes closed, afraid that if she opened them, the feeling would be gone.
CHAPTER XIII
Smiles A Lot was not a reliable boy.
No one would have characterized him as a troublemaker, but Smiles A Lot disliked work, and unlike most Indian boys, the idea of shouldering responsibility left him cold.
He was a dreamer, and as a dreamer often does, Smiles A Lot had learned that one of the better stratagems for avoiding the boredom of work was to keep to himself.
It followed, then, that the shiftless boy spent as much time as possible with the band’s large pony herd. He drew the assignment regularly, in part because he was always ready to go and in part because he had, at the age of twelve, become an expert with horses.
Smiles A Lot could predict to within hours the foaling time for mares. He had a knack for controlling unruly stallions. And when it came to doctoring, he knew as much or more about tending to equine ailments as any grown man in the band. The horses just seemed to fare better when he was around.
All of this was second nature to Smiles A Lot . . . second nature and secondary. What he liked most about being with the horses was that they grazed away from camp, sometimes as far as a mile, and this placed Smiles A Lot far away, too; away from the omnipotent eyes of his father, away from the potential chore of minding his little brothers and sisters, and away from the never-ending work of maintaining camp.
Usually there were other boys and girls lolling around the herd, but unless something special came up, Smiles A Lot rarely joined their games and socializing.
He much preferred climbing onto the back of some calm gelding, stretching out along the horse’s spine, and dreaming, sometimes for hours, as the ever-changing sky drifted by.
He’d been dreaming like this most of the afternoon, happy to be away from the village, which was still reeling from the tragic return of the party that had gone against the Utes. Smiles A Lot knew that, though he had little interest in fighting, sooner or later he would have to take up the warpath, and already he’d made a mental note to watch out for parties going against the Utes.
For the last hour he’d been enjoying the uncommon luxury of being alone with the herd. The other children had been called back for one reason or another, but no one had come for Smiles A Lot, and this made him the happiest of dreamers. With luck, he wouldn’t have to go back until dark, and sunset was still several hours off.
He was smack in the middle of the big herd, daydreaming about being the owner of a herd all his own, one that would be like a great assembly of warriors whom no one would dare to challenge, when he picked up a movement on the ground.
It was a large, yellow gopher snake. Somehow he’d managed to get himself lost in the midst of all these shifting hooves and was slithering along at a desperate clip, looking for a way out.
Smiles A Lot was fond of snakes, and this one was surely big enough and old enough to be a grandfather. A grandfather in trouble. He spilled off his horsey couch with the idea of catching the old fellow and carrying him away from this dangerous place.
The big snake was not easy to run down. He was moving very fast, and Smiles A Lot kept getting hemmed in by the tightly bunched ponies. The boy was constantly ducking under necks and bellies, and it was only through the dogged determination of a Good Samaritan that he was able to keep the yellow body twisting along the ground in sight.
It ended well. Near the edge of the herd the big snake finally found a hole to crawl into, and the only thing Smiles A Lot caught was a last glimpse of the tail as it disappeared underground.
Then, while he was standing over the hole, several of the horses whinnied and Smiles A Lot saw their ears go up. He saw all the heads around him suddenly arch in the same direction.
They’d seen something coming.
A shiver ran through the boy, and the buoyancy of being alone turned against him in a single stroke. He was afraid, but he moved forward stealthily, staying low amongst the ponies, hoping to see before being seen.
When he could see empty patches of prairie opening in front of him, Smiles A Lot dropped down and duck-walked alongside the horses’ legs. They hadn’t panicked and that made him feel a little less scared. But they were still watching with as much curiosity as ever, and the boy was careful not to make a sound.
He stopped when the horse flashed by, twenty or thirty yards away. He couldn’t get a good look because his view was blocked, but he was sure he’d seen legs, too.
Slowly he rose up and peeked over a pony’s back. Every hair on Smiles A Lot’s head tingled. A racket went off in his head like buzzing bees. The boy’s mouth froze, and so did his eyes. He didn’t blink. He’d never seen one before, but he knew exactly what he was looking at.
It was a white man. A white soldier man with blood on his face.
And he had somebody. He had that strange one, that Stands With A Fist woman.
The white soldier’s horse started into a trot as he passed. They were headed straight for the village. It was too late to run ahead and raise the alarm. Smiles A Lot shrank back into the herd and started to work his way back to the center. He would get into trouble for this. What could he possibly do?
The boy couldn’t think clearly; everything was tumbling in his head, like seeds in a rattle. If he’d been a little steadier, he would have known from the look on his face that the white soldier could not be on a hostile mission. Nothing in his bearing said so. But the only words banging around in Smiles A Lot’s brain were “White soldier, white soldier.”
Suddenly he thought, Maybe there are more. Maybe there is an army of hair mouths out on the prairie. Maybe they’re close by.
Thinking only of atoning for his carelessness, Smiles A Lot pulled off the willow bridle he kept around his neck, slipped it onto the face of a strong-looking pony, and led it as quietly as he could out of the herd.
Then he jumped up and whipped the pony into a run, racing away in the opposite direction of the village, anxiously squinting at the horizon for any sign of white soldiers.
Lieutenant Dunbar’s adrenaline was running. That pony herd . . . At first he’d thought the prairie was moving. Never had he seen horses in such numbers. Six, maybe seven hundred of them. It was so awe-inspiring he’d been tempted to stop and watch. But of course he couldn’t.
There was a woman in his arms.