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Now I am commencing a serious annoyance with these people, Rudi thought. If they persist, it's soon I will be angry.

"Ah, shit," Red Leaf said. "They've got a lot of spare gear, see? They're driving their remounts along saddled with the stirrups tied up on the horn. Makes it faster to switch horses, but it's expensive if you're abandoning the ones that've been ridden out. Someone back there really has a hard-on for us. But I know a trick for that too."

The sun grew hotter, and Rudi sweated under his brigandine and war gear. When Red Leaf gave the order he switched to a remount and rode it bareback, with Epona pacing beside him unburdened, saving her endurance for later; the others did the same. The roll of the land grew a little steeper, and the blue on the horizon was definitely hills. They splashed through another seasonal stream, and then onto a flat upland where the Cutters came up on them faster…

Just about long One of the russet-armored Sword troopers rose in the stirrups and drew, his bow pointed halfway to the sky for maximum range.

– bowshot, Rudi thought.

The first arrow twinkled towards them and landed with a dry shunk in the dirt not far behind the last of the Sioux. The second was never shot; a Rancher whose saddle glinted with silver in the hot sunlight rode close and cut the man's bowstring with the head of his light lance. Suddenly unstrung, the powerful recurve bucked and twisted, and the trooper clapped his hands to his face.

Does that smart? Rudi thought, grinning to himself. Ouch!

The relentless pace of the pursuit faltered as a furious argument broke out between the Rancher and his men and the soldiers from Corwin.

Virginia left her place beside Fred for a moment. "That'll be Vince with the fancy saddle, the son of a bitch always did like to show off. He needs me alive. At least for a while-and if he did catch me, he'd wake up dead sometime soon. But they won't be spraying arrows at us long distance, not when one might hit me."

"That's good news," Red Leaf said as the argument among their enemies died down. "Three arrows beat one, pretty much. And that'll make them keep their distance-there's no reason we can't shoot at them . Hey, though… didn't I hear Vince was already married?"

"He's a Cutter now. They can have as many wives as they want. He is a bastard, too-was even before he went over to the enemy."

As she spoke a young cowboy spurred out from among the pursuers. He shook his bow overhead and screeched a challenge.

"I was hoping for that," Red Leaf said. "They're going to challenge us to one-on-one fights. It's one of our ancient traditions here, both sides of the border."

"Ancient?" Rudi said.

"Yeah, ten, twelve, maybe even fourteen years old-immemorial antiquity, as my Classics teacher used to say. They figure they can't lose, since they outnumber us; we'll get whittled down until it's safe to charge us. OK, Black Elk. Get him!"

Others shouted encouragement too:

"Hoo'hay, Lakota!"

"It's a good day to die!"

"Nail his balls to the barn door!"

Both parties slowed a little. A way to let the younger men prove themselves, Rudi thought; that made sense. And… he grinned.

That commander of the Sword of the Prophet must be trickling steam from both ears, and his nose, not to mention his arse, he thought happily. Here he's caught up to us after month upon month of chasing, and now the locals won't let him just shoot us full of holes. But there's not enough of his men to ignore their sensibilities, that there is not. Most of them must be scattered elsewhere, looking for us.

It was worth bearing in mind for the future. No man was ever really just an instrument of another's will; everyone had their own purposes.

Then the grin died. The two young men had galloped towards each other, standing in the stirrups and shooting as fast as they could. Red Leaf swore under his breath as the Sioux rocked back in the saddle, an arrow standing in his body. The cowboy cased his bow and pulled out his shete; the curved blade glinted in the sun as he swept past the wounded man, and the Indian toppled to the earth. The victor reined in, a showy flourish as the agile quarter horse reared and milled its feet, and sprang to earth.

"Yes!" Red Leaf said, as the crumpled form suddenly lashed out with a knife. Then: "Damn, it didn't work! But you tried, Black Elk!"

The cowboy skipped backwards, then stabbed with his shete. He left it standing in the body as he bent; there was a flash of knife blade, and then the man stood again, dripping scalp in one hand and knife in the other, shaking them aloft and screaming his triumph.

Mathilda swore and reined out, sliding the knight's shield from her back.

Red Leaf spurred ahead of her. "No!" he said. "If you interfere, they'll do a massed charge. We want to spin this out!"

Rudi nodded grimly. The whole thing made a certain sense; battle customs often did. Not every fight was to the last man man standing. This was something halfway between a tournament and an all-out fight to the death. The winner stripped Black Elk's body of weapons and grabbed the reins of his horse, riding back with his trophies and his loot.

Both war-bands had slowed down to a trot, halting altogether during the duels; the horns of the Cutters' crescent were level with the forward part of the Sioux formation. By tacit agreement they went no farther, as long as the Indians didn't refuse the challenge.

"It's our turn," Red Leaf said, looking down the line of his men. Every one of them raised his voice, asking for the honor…

He waved to one. "Go for it, Jimmy."

Jimmy was slender, dark, and looked young, probably younger than he was, and he was naked to the waist except for the kit-fox pelt that marked his membership in that warrior society.

Hmmm, Rudi thought. He also looks quick as a weasel.

The young warrior nodded soberly at the chief's call, sliding his round shield onto his left arm and taking a two-foot stick from his belt, one with a feather at the end.

"He's toast, itancan," he replied, and rode back along the Sioux column with a whoop.

"Challenger gets choice of weapons," Red Leaf said. "Sorta."

A cowboy spurred out to meet Jimmy. He had a metal-strapped leather breastplate, and a helmet like a steel bowl topped with a horsetail that bobbed and fluttered with the motion of his gallop; there was a letter Q with a diagonal slash through it in white on the dark brown bullhide of his shield. He cased his bow and drew his shete, which showed what Red Leaf had meant by sorta; evidently no bows were used if the challenger started with an impact weapon.

The two horsemen met in the field between the war-bands. Rudi didn't think the life and death of brave men should be just a show.. . but he was a warrior by trade, and it was frustrating not to be able to see the details. The men came together with the combined speeds of their horses, screaming their war cries, and there was a tangle as the Cutter's blade chopped down. Rudi's breath caught for an instant as the shete flashed… and then Jimmy was past, shaking his stick in the air and whooping, and the Powder River man was reeling backwards in the heavy Western saddle, pawing at his face with both hands.

A groan that was half growl went up from the ranch-hands and their patron; the Sioux gave a high shrill cheer-one that contained the banshee Mackenzie shriek, and shouts of Haro!, Richland!, Lacho Calad, Drego Morn! and USA! as well as Father Ignatius' more restrained Good!

Red Leaf grinned like a wolf. "They're about to find out Jimmy's other name."

"Which is?" Rudi said, his eyes still glued to the two small figures.

" Many Coups. In the old days sometimes they'd just whack someone with a coup stick and leave them to swallow the humiliation, but we're more practical now."