Dunbar stood before them like an uninvited guest, twisting Cisco’s reins in his hands as he looked them over. Everyone could see his mind was working on something.
After a few seconds his gaze fell squarely on Kicking Bird, and the medicine man thought he had never seen the lieutenant looking so calm and assured.
Dunbar smiled then. It was a small smile, full of confidence.
In perfect Comanche he said, “I’m Dances With Wolves.”
Then he turned away from the fire and led Cisco down to the river for a long drink.
CHAPTER XXIV
Ten Bears’s first council was inconclusive, but the day after Lieutenant Dunbar’s return another meeting was held, and this time a solid compromise was reached.
Instead of leaving immediately, as the young men had wanted, the war party against the Pawnee would take a week to make necessary preparations. It was also decided that experienced warriors would be included.
Wind In His Hair would lead and Kicking Bird would go along also, providing critical spiritual guidance on the practical matters of choosing campsites and times for attack as well as divining unforeseen omens, several of which were sure to appear. It was to be a small party of about twenty warriors and they would be looking for booty rather than revenge.
There was great interest in this group because several of the young would be going out for the first time as full-fledged warriors, and the addition of such distinguished men to lead them produced enough excitement to upset the normally placid routine of Ten Bears’s camp.
Lieutenant Dunbar’s routine, already altered by his strange day and night in the ancient canyon, was upset, too. With so much going on, the meetings in the brush arbor were constantly interrupted, and after two days of this, they were discontinued.
Besieged as he was, Kicking Bird was happy to turn his full attention to planning for the raid. Stands With A Fist was glad for the cooling-off period, and so was Dances With Wolves. It was plain to him that she was making an extra effort to keep her distance, and he was relieved to see the sessions end for that reason if for no other.
Preparations for the war party intrigued him, and he shadowed Kicking Bird as much as he could.
The medicine man seemed to be in touch with the entire camp, and Dances With Wolves was delighted to be included, even if it was only to observe. Though far from fluent, he was close now to the gist of what was being said and had become so proficient in sign language that Stands With A Fist was rarely called upon during the final days before the war party left.
It was a first-rate education for the former Lieutenant Dunbar. He sat in on many meetings at which responsibilities were delegated to each member of the party with remarkable care and tact. Reading between the lines, he could see that, among Kicking Bird’s many outstanding qualities, none counted more than his ability to make each man feel he was a crucially important member of the coming expedition.
Dances With Wolves also got to spend time with Wind In His Hair. Because Wind In His Hair had fought the Pawnee on many occasions, his stories of these encounters were in demand. In fact, they were vital to the preparation of the party’s younger men. Informal classes in warfare were conducted in and around Wind In His Hair’s lodge, and as the days sped by, Dances With Wolves became infected.
The infection was low-grade at first, nothing more than idle reflections on what the warpath would be like. But eventually he was caught up with a strong desire to take the trail against the Comanches’ enemies.
He waited patiently for opportune times when he could ask about going along. He had his chances, but the moments came and went without him finding his tongue. He was made shy by the fear of someone saying no.
Two days before the party’s scheduled departure, a large herd of antelope was sighted near camp, and a group of warriors, including Dances With Wolves, rode out in search of meat.
Using the same surrounding technique they had employed with the buffalo, the men were able to kill a great number of the animals, about sixty head.
Fresh meat was always welcome, but more importantly, the appearance and successful hunting of the antelope was taken as a sign that the little war against the Pawnee would have a good result. The men going out would be made securer with the knowledge that their families wouldn’t be hard-pressed for food, even if they were gone several weeks.
A dance of thanks was held the same evening, and everyone was in high spirits. Everyone but Dances With Wolves. As the night wore on he watched from a distance, growing more and more morose. He was thinking only of being left behind, and now he could not stand the thought.
He maneuvered himself close to Stands With A Fist, and when the dance broke up, he was at her side.
“I want to talk to Kicking Bird,” he said.
Something was wrong, she thought. She read his eyes for clues but could find none.
“When?”
“Now.”
For some reason he couldn’t calm himself down. He was uncharacteristically nervous and fidgety, and as they walked to the lodge, both Stands With A Fist and Kicking Bird could see this.
His anxiety was still evident when they had seated themselves in Kicking Bird’s tipi. The medicine man skated over the usual formalities and came quickly to the point.
“Make your talk,” he said, speaking through Stands With A Fist.
“I want to go.”
“Go where?” she asked.
Dances With Wolves shifted restlessly, working up his courage.
“Against the Pawnee.”
This was relayed to Kicking Bird. Except for a slight widening of his eyes, the medicine man seemed unfazed.
“Why do you want to make war on the Pawnee?” he asked logically. “They have done nothing to you.”
Dances With Wolves thought for a moment.
“They are Comanche enemies.”
Kicking Bird didn’t like it. There was something forced about the request. Dances With Wolves was rushing.
“Only Comanche warriors can go on this ride,” he said flatly.
“I have been a warrior in the white man’s army longer than some of the young men who are going have been apprentices. Some of them are making war for the first time.”
“They have been taught in the Comanche way,” the medicine man said gently. “You have not. The white man’s way is not the Comanche way.”
Dances With Wolves lost a little of his resolve then. He knew he was losing. His voice dropped.
“I cannot learn the Comanche way of war if I stay in camp,” he said lowly.
It was difficult for Kicking Bird. He wished it was not happening.
His affection for Dances With Wolves was deep. The white soldier had been his responsibility, and the white soldier had shown himself to be worthy of the risks Kicking Bird had taken. He was more than worthy.
On the other hand, the medicine man had risen to a high and revered position through the dedicated gathering of wisdom. He was wise now and was able to understand the world well enough to be of great service to his people.
It was between affection for one man and service to his community that Kicking Bird was split. He knew it was no contest. All of his wisdom said it would be wrong to take Dances With Wolves.
As he struggled with the question he heard Dances With Wolves say something to Stands With A Fist.
“He asks that you talk to Ten Bears on this,” she said.
Kicking Bird looked into the hopeful eyes of his protégé and hesitated.
“I will do that,” he said.