Chapter II: Part 2

Some of the warriors tried to convince Flying Arrow that he should wait until a large war party could be sent against the Sioux. To all urgings, Flying Arrow shook his head.

“Soon Old-Man-of-the-North will send snow,” he insisted. “Then we’ll have to wait until spring.”

“It would be better if we could spare a warrior to go with you,” Chief Barking Wolf said thoughtfully, “but it will take all of our men to get the meat to winter camp.”

_CHAPTER FOUR_

As soon as he and Bent Arrow had returned to their tepee, Flying Arrow began to make preparations for his raid against the Sioux. While Bent Arrow helped his uncle, his mind was busy.

“Chief Barking Wolf thinks that you should not go alone,” Bent Arrow suggested.

“It would be much better if two of us could go together,” Flying Arrow agreed. “However, Barking Wolf is right in saying that he can’t spare another warrior from the hunting party.”

“I could go with you,” Bent Arrow pointed out.

Flying Arrow looked at him with surprise. For a moment Bent Arrow thought that his suggestion was going to rouse his uncle’s anger. Then the warrior smiled.

“I should have known that you don’t make words just to hear the sound of them,” he said. “I am proud that you offered to go, but this raid is too dangerous.”

“I would get the exercise which Clawing Bear says I need,” Bent Arrow urged. “I might find an eagle feather, and I can help you by tending the horses.”

Flying Arrow made no answer. Instead, he gave all of his attention to arranging the things he was to take with him. Bent Arrow began to fear that he had talked too much. Evidently he had made his uncle angry. Flying Arrow emptied the arrows from his quiver. Two of them he tossed into the fire. He selected three of the best and handed them to Bent Arrow.

“You may need these,” he said. “There will be hunting to do and perhaps even a fight with the Sioux.”

“Then I am to go with you?” Bent Arrow exclaimed.

“Yes,” Flying Arrow answered, nodding. “I’ll need help, and you need the training. I know you’ll obey orders. When I tell you to stay back from danger, you will do so.”

When everything else was prepared, Flying Arrow filled two small bags with dried buffalo meat.

“There may be times when we don’t dare build a fire,” he explained, handing one of the bags to Bent Arrow.

The next morning, just as the eastern sky was lighting up, Flying Arrow led the way out of camp. He was mounted on his best horse. When he had given Bent Arrow his choice of the horses, Bent Arrow had selected Rock.

Although the ground was white with frost, when they came to the river, Bent Arrow jumped from his horse and swam across. On the other side of the river, he trotted beside his horse until he was thoroughly warmed.

Instead of continuing north to find the Sioux trail, Flying Arrow turned east and selected the easiest route along the riverbank.

“I’m sure the Sioux circled north and later returned to the river,” he explained. “We’ll find their trail before the day is over.”

Several times during the day, Bent Arrow dismounted and trotted along beside his horse. Clawing Bear had said he needed exercise. Bent Arrow was determined to leave nothing undone that would help cure his leg.

The sun was still hanging in the western sky when Flying Arrow stopped. Bent Arrow was worried because they had not found the Sioux trail. Flying Arrow seemed to read his mind.

“The Sioux traveled farther before returning to the river than I expected them to,” he explained. “We’ll camp here. We’ll find their trail soon when we start on tomorrow.”

Bent Arrow tended the horses while Flying Arrow built a fire and cooked the meat they had brought with them. When Bent Arrow returned to the camping spot, he could see his uncle before he could see the tiny campfire. Flying Arrow was taking no chances of a fire or its smoke attracting the Sioux.

It was scarcely daylight the next morning when the two Crows started. Flying Arrow watched the ground closely as he rode along. They had not gone far when he dismounted. When Bent Arrow dismounted to join his uncle, he saw the hoofmarks of several horses.

“The Sioux went to the river to water their horses,” Flying Arrow explained, pointing to the tracks.

“Did they cross the river?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously, thinking that the Sioux might have circled back and attacked the Crow hunting camp.

“Probably not,” Flying Arrow answered. “I’m sure we’ll find their trail a little farther on.”

Flying Arrow started ahead, leading his horse. Bent Arrow followed him. They had gone only a short distance when they came upon the Sioux trail leading from the river.

“It is as I expected,” Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux camped by the river. It looks as though they have given up their plan to raid our camp.”

“Are they on their way to the Sioux winter camp?” Bent Arrow asked.

“I think they are going farther toward the land of the rising sun,” Flying Arrow answered. “Probably they want to hunt before they go to winter camp.”

He studied the trail carefully. Bent Arrow, too, looked at the many tracks. He tried to judge how many warriors were in the hunting party. From the tracks, he decided there had been about as many Sioux as he and Flying Arrow together had fingers.

“There were about this many warriors,” Flying Arrow said, holding up both hands with his fingers spread.

“I thought there were more,” Bent Arrow admitted.

“Some of the hoofprints were made by horses without riders,” Flying Arrow explained. “See, there is a difference in the prints.”

Bent Arrow looked where his uncle pointed. Some of the hoofmarks were deeper and clearer than others.

“I thought that the deeper prints were made by horses that came at the end of the herd,” Bent Arrow told his uncle.

“That is good trailing,” Flying Arrow praised. “Even some warriors wouldn’t have noticed that there was a difference in the tracks. However, the deeper marks are made by horses carrying riders.”

“Will we catch up with the Sioux today?” Bent Arrow asked.

“Not unless they stop to hunt,” Flying Arrow answered. “They are too far ahead of us.”

When Flying Arrow remounted, he did not follow the Sioux trail. Instead, he stayed on the level ground a short distance from the riverbank. He kept his horse going faster than he had the day before. Several times Bent Arrow dismounted and ran beside his horse. He found that he was able to run farther before his leg began to hurt. The sun had sunk to the top of the western hills when the two Crows again crossed the Sioux trail. Flying Arrow dismounted to study it briefly.

“We are getting close to them,” he gloated. “In a day or two we may be able to make a raid.”

They traveled until dark. Again Bent Arrow cared for the horses while his uncle made camp. This time, when Bent Arrow returned to camp, there was no fire.

“We’ll eat some of the dried meat we brought,” Flying Arrow told him. “The Sioux have sharp noses. Even the smallest fire might give off enough smoke to warn them.”

Bent Arrow glanced around quickly as though expecting to find a Sioux watching from the brush near by.

“They aren’t that close,” Flying Arrow said with a smile. “Probably they are half a sun’s ride ahead of us.”

Bent Arrow knew that the Sioux would have little chance to surprise them. Flying Eagle heard every noise, no matter how slight, and he always knew the meaning of the noise. Nevertheless, he had a feeling of uneasiness as he crawled into his blankets to sleep. The moment that he fell asleep, he dreamed that he saw an eagle soaring overhead. In his dream he followed the eagle, hoping it would drop a feather. He followed the eagle over hills and across a small stream. At last a feather fell from the eagle and floated down. As Bent Arrow was running to get the feather, some sound awakened him.

Although it was still dark, Bent Arrow could see his uncle moving about. Silently Bent Arrow crawled out of his blankets.

“I’m going to scout ahead on foot,” Flying Arrow explained. “It may be that I can reach the Sioux camp.”

“Let me go with you,” Bent Arrow urged.

Flying Arrow shook his head.

“As soon as it is light, you water the horses,” he ordered. “If I’m not back by then, you might hunt near the river for game. We’ll need food.”

After Flying Arrow slipped away into the darkness, Bent Arrow sat on his robe and waited until the eastern sky gave enough light so he could see. He took the horses to the river and let them drink. He found a hidden place where there was plenty of grass for the horses. He returned to the camping place, rolled up the blankets, and hid them. He took a small branch from a tree. With this he brushed the ground until there were no signs of the camp left.

Bent Arrow arranged two sticks to tell his uncle where the horses were in case the warrior was the first to get back to the camping place. He went back on the trail he and his uncle had followed the day before. When he thought that he was far enough from the camping place, he went toward the river. He hunted along the river until he found the place he wanted. It was a clump of willows near the river and along a well-worn trail leading to it.

Bent Arrow had been hidden in the clump of willows only a short time when he caught the faint sound of something coming down the trail. He kneeled, waiting tensely as the sound came nearer. His heart was pounding wildly when a fine buck stepped into view. The deer stopped, lifted its head, and sniffed suspiciously. Evidently it failed to catch Bent Arrow’s scent, because it came on toward the river.

Bent Arrow waited until the buck was a step past him before he fired. The arrow struck the deer just back of the foreleg. The animal crumpled beside the path. There was a scurrying farther back. Bent Arrow knew that the sound was made by other deer which had been following the buck. Their sharp ears had caught the sound, warning them of danger. They were fleeing back up the trail.

Although he wanted to jump up and run over to look at the first deer he had ever shot, Bent Arrow remained hidden in the clump of willows. It was possible that a Sioux warrior would be hunting along the river. As Bent Arrow waited patiently, he felt more and more uneasy. There was an unnatural stillness around him. It wasn’t only that there was no movement along the path, but there was nothing stirring on either side of the river.

As he waited, still crouched on one knee, the awkward position began to make his leg hurt. The pain increased rapidly. It hurt below his knee, where the old injury was, and all the way up his leg. Little beads of sweat moistened his brow. He had to move. As he tensed himself to shift his position without touching a twig or making any other sign of movement, he saw a branch move on the other side of the river.

Bent Arrow almost forgot his pain as his eyes searched the other bank. Another branch moved slightly. A Sioux warrior crawled out to the river bank and leaned down to drink. In his excitement, Bent Arrow had forgotten the pain in his leg. Now it swept over him, and he remembered that it was Sioux warriors who had injured him and made him different from other Crow boys. He took careful aim at the unsuspecting warrior across the stream.

Before he let the arrow fly, Bent Arrow knew it would be a mistake to shoot. If he missed, or if he injured the warrior, or even if his shot was successful, the Sioux would be warned. There would be no chance of Flying Arrow’s plan succeeding. Silently Bent Arrow lowered his bow.

When the Sioux warrior had drunk his fill, he raised his head and listened. Slowly he got to his feet, and his sharp glance swept up and down the river. Bent Arrow was thankful that the deer had fallen to one side of the path where it was hidden from the Sioux’s sight. At last the Sioux slipped back from the river. For a few paces Bent Arrow could follow the warrior’s progress by the slight movement of the underbrush. Soon he could no longer see any sign of movement. He had no way of knowing whether the Sioux had stopped or whether he was moving more carefully. There was nothing to do except wait.

The sun had risen and, to Bent Arrow’s anxious eyes, seemed to be racing up the sky. By this time Flying Arrow would have returned to camp. He would wait for a time, but when Bent Arrow failed to return, Flying Arrow would come to look for him.

Finally Bent Arrow decided that he must take the risk. He crept out of his hiding place and slipped away from the river, keeping near the trail. When he was far enough back from the stream so that no watcher on the other side could see him, he crossed the trail and started back toward the river. He moved carefully. Before he took a step, he glanced ahead to make sure he could avoid touching any branches. When he came near the deer, he dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled the remaining distance.

The deer had fallen in such a way that a clump of brush hid it from the other side of the river. However, it was so close to the brush that it seemed impossible for Bent Arrow to move it without stirring the branches. Carefully he inched the deer away from the brush. He got it away from the brush without causing the branches to move noticeably. It was a long, tedious task, dragging the deer and avoiding the brush and shrubs, but at last Bent Arrow got it to a place well enough hidden that he could lift it to his shoulders.

Instead of going straight toward the camping place, Bent Arrow went due north. When he was at a point directly west of the camp, he hung the deer on a low tree branch. Then he went toward camp.

He had covered about half the distance to the camp, when he caught a slight movement directly ahead of him. He stopped and slowly brought his bow into position.

“It’s all right, Bent Arrow,” Flying Arrow called softly, stepping into view.

Bent Arrow quickly ran to his uncle.

“I have a deer,” he said, “and I saw a Sioux warrior.”

“We’ll get our horses and move farther away before we talk more,” Flying Arrow decided.

_CHAPTER FIVE_

When they had their horses, the two Crows rode back to the tree where Bent Arrow had left the deer. Flying Arrow took the deer on his horse. He led the way back over the trail they had followed the day before. The sun was starting down the western sky when Flying Arrow turned north off the trail. After a time he stopped in a small valley. There was a small stream running through the valley. There were trees to furnish concealment and fuel.

It wasn’t until the horses had been tended, the deer properly butchered, and steaks frying over the fire that Flying Arrow had Bent Arrow tell his story. At the end of the story, Flying Arrow nodded his head in approval.

“You did well,” he praised.

“Are we going to raid the Sioux camp tonight?” Bent Arrow asked.

“We are,” Flying Arrow assured him. “I was close to their camp before daylight. Their scouts had found a herd of buffalo across the river. They are hunting today. Tonight they will gorge themselves on buffalo meat. They will sleep so soundly that we will be able to take our pick of their horses. Their chief has two fine ones.”

“Why would that warrior have been at the river alone?” Bent Arrow wondered.

“Probably he had been sent out to watch the herd,” Flying Arrow explained. “He was coming back to join the others.”

“I suppose that is the reason,” Bent Arrow agreed.

“Is your leg better?” Flying Arrow asked. “You carried the deer a long way, and I noticed that you weren’t limping when you came to camp.”

“It is better, although it hurt when I was kneeling in that clump of willows,” Bent Arrow told him. “I hope I can find an ea—. Look, Uncle. Look. There’s an eagle soaring above us.”

Flying Arrow’s glance followed Bent Arrow’s pointing finger.

“Yes, that’s an eagle,” he agreed.

“I must follow it,” Bent Arrow exclaimed. “I’m sure that it will drop the feather I need.”

He told Flying Eagle of his dream. Flying Eagle listened and, at the end, thoughtfully considered what Bent Arrow had told him.

“Since your dream wasn’t finished, it is difficult to tell what it means,” Flying Arrow said. “Still, Clawing Bear said that you must have an eagle feather. It would almost seem that the eagle has been sent here to bring you a feather. Go carefully.”

Bent Arrow picked up his bow and arrows.

“I’ll go down the river to the forks,” Flying Arrow said. “When you return, meet me there. We’ll cross the river after dark.”

“I’ll be back before you’re ready to leave,” Bent Arrow answered confidently. “The eagle isn’t far from us.”

“It’s farther than you think,” Flying Arrow told him. “It is so high in the sky that the distance deceives you. We’ll plan to meet at the forks.”

Bent Arrow had not gone far before he realized that his uncle had been right about how far away the eagle was. The bird seemed to be motionless in the sky, yet Bent Arrow could not see that the distance had lessened. Fortunately he did not have to move carefully. If the Sioux were hunting on the other side of the river, there was no immediate danger from them. Bent Arrow had started at a fast run. Now be slowed his pace so that he would not tire so quickly.

As he neared the river, where the trees were close together, Bent Arrow sometimes lost sight of the eagle. The bird seemed still to be hovering in one spot, but that spot was ahead. When he came to the river, Bent Arrow stopped. He was sure that his uncle hadn’t intended for him to cross the stream. He looked up at the eagle again. It was much closer. Bent Arrow glanced back the way he had come as though considering going back to ask permission before he crossed the river. But the afternoon was far spent. It would take too much time for him to make the trip to camp and return. If he was to get the eagle feather, he must go now.

He slipped quietly into the river and swam across. On the other shore he hid himself in a clump of brush. He listened carefully. The only sounds he heard were made by the movements of wild creatures who lived among the trees. That was good. He glanced up into the sky. The eagle was almost straight above his head.

Although he was eager to get directly under the eagle and wait for it to drop a feather, Bent Arrow didn’t forget caution. He walked carefully avoiding low-hanging branches and dry twigs which might snap if he stepped on them.

As he moved ahead, Bent Arrow continually looked up at the eagle. It wasn’t long until he was directly under the bird. He found a good hiding place and settled himself to wait for a feather to drop. It was tiring, waiting and looking up into the sky. Then, to Bent Arrow’s dismay, the eagle soared south.

Bent Arrow left his hiding place and followed. He was soon far enough from the river so that there were few trees. It would be difficult to hide if danger appeared. Suddenly the eagle changed from its easy soaring to swift flight. Hopelessly Bent Arrow watched it. There was no use to try to follow. Even the swiftest horse couldn’t keep up with that fast-flying bird. A moment later, Bent Arrow’s heart gave a great bound. The eagle had turned and was soaring back toward him.

Although the eagle stopped before it had come all the way back, Bent Arrow’s hopes returned. He could go that much farther. He hurried forward. He came to a hill on which no trees were growing. He started up it swiftly. It looked as though the eagle were almost straight above the top of the hill. Near the top, Bent Arrow remembered his training. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled. At the top he stretched out to look ahead.

On the other side of the hill was a small valley. There were a few trees growing in a clump on the valley floor. Bent Arrow saw a sparkle which he knew was sunshine reflected from a bubbling spring. This valley would be a fine place for the Sioux to make camp, but there was no sign of them.

As he lay there, Bent Arrow’s ear caught a rumbling sound carried by the ground. It took him a moment to realize what caused the noise. It was the rumble made by a great herd of running buffaloes, and he knew the Sioux must be near.

Again Bent Arrow looked up into the sky. His heart sank when there was no sign of the eagle, but the next moment he saw it again. The bird had soared a short distance toward the river. Now it had turned and was coming back. Bent Arrow gave a cry of triumph when he saw a feather floating from the eagle and dropping toward him.

He leaped to his feet. But while the feather was still high in the air, a breeze caught it and wafted it away from him toward the trees in the valley. Bent Arrow raced toward it. It looked as though the feather was going to lodge in the trees, but another gust of air lifted it over them. As Bent Arrow ran up the hill at the far side of the valley, the feather was just out of reach above his head. A few more steps and he would be able to grab it.

Near the top of the hill, the feather was low enough, but it was so far ahead that Bent Arrow could not quite grasp it. He sprinted forward. The feather barely cleared the top of the hill. Bent Arrow tensed himself to dive for it. Instead, he dropped to the ground. In the valley below him were Sioux warriors butchering the buffaloes that they had killed.

At the moment Bent Arrow saw the Sioux, he also saw the feather lodge against a weed a few steps ahead of him. He dared not crawl down to it. At any moment a Sioux warrior might glance up and see him. He had to crawl back off that hilltop before he was discovered.

Bent Arrow pushed himself back. Each inch that he moved back was torture. Every movement had to be painstakingly careful or it would attract attention. A Sioux warrior looked up from his work and glanced directly at Bent Arrow. Bent Arrow held himself motionless. When the warrior went back to his work, Bent Arrow resumed his backward crawling. When he was finally across the hill, he continued to crawl until he could stand without being seen from the other side. He wanted to run for the shelter of the trees. Instead he walked. A Sioux warrior might catch the thud of running feet.

It was all Bent Arrow could do to keep from running. Step by slow step, he went down the hill and came to the trees. In his mind he had been thinking of the trees as a hiding place. When he reached them, he knew he must go on. Undoubtedly the Sioux would select this spot for their camp. He crossed the valley and climbed the hill at that side, constantly looking back. At the top of the hill, he took one last backward glance. The head of a Sioux horse was just coming into sight at the top of the hill on the other side of the valley. Bent Arrow ducked down out of sight.

He crawled until the hill hid him from the Sioux. The river looked a long way ahead, but now he could run. Sioux warriors on their horses wouldn’t be able to hear the thud of his feet. He sprinted to the nearest tree before looking back. When he did, there was no sign of the Sioux. Evidently they were making camp in the small valley on the other side of the hill.

Not until now had Bent Arrow noticed the throbbing pain in his leg. He slowed his pace to try to ease it, but it was still hurting badly when he came to the river.

The sun had gone down before he reached the river, and darkness was beginning to shadow everything. Bent Arrow slipped into the river and swam across. Strangely, when he crawled out on the bank, the pain in his leg was much less. He turned downstream, staying close to the river as it was lighter there.

“You were gone long,” Flying Arrow said when Bent Arrow joined him at the forks.

“The eagle was farther away than I thought,” Bent Arrow explained.

“Did you get an eagle feather?” Flying Arrow asked.

“No,” Bent Arrow answered. “I almost ran into the Sioux trying to get one.”

He gave Flying Arrow an account of his attempts to get the feather and of his narrow escape from the Sioux. He was surprised to see how discouraged Flying Arrow became as he told the story.

“It would seem best to postpone our raid,” Flying Arrow said in a voice of disappointment. “Not getting the feather must be a warning that the raid would be too dangerous.”

“Perhaps we can get the feather as we go on our raid,” Bent Arrow suggested. “I can find the spot where it is lodged.”

Flying Arrow hesitated. It was plain to see that he was anxious to make the raid, yet he didn’t want to take the added risk of going against the medicine man’s advice.

“You are sure that you can find the eagle feather even in the dark?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Bent Arrow answered positively.

“Then we’ll make the raid,” Flying Arrow decided. “If we don’t, the Sioux will go unpunished.”

Both Bent Arrow and his uncle mounted their horses. They rode across the river, but a short distance on the other side, they dismounted and tied the horses. From here on, they must go on foot.

The air had grown much cooler, and dark clouds were shutting off the little light the stars gave. Yet Flying Arrow walked along as surely as though it were broad daylight. While Bent Arrow was carefully stepping in his uncle’s tracks, he was considering the distance yet to go. He had gone swiftly, and it had taken him a long time to go from the Sioux camping place to the meeting with his uncle. Would they have time to walk to the Sioux camp, take horses, and escape before daybreak?

While Bent Arrow was still worrying about the time that it would take to reach the Sioux camp, Flying Arrow stopped.

“Old-Man-of-the-North is sending his wind at us,” he pointed out. “We would have to circle the Sioux camp and approach it from the south, even if we didn’t want to go there to find the eagle feather.”

“What difference will that make?” Bent Arrow demanded, thinking uneasily of the time they were losing. “The Sioux warriors are not like buffaloes. They can’t catch our scent.”

“Their horses can,” Flying Arrow explained. “With a storm coming, the horses will be restless and uneasy. If they catch a strange scent, they may make enough disturbance to rouse the Sioux camp.”

“I should have thought of that,” Bent Arrow acknowledged.

“It is well to ask questions,” Flying Arrow assured him. “A boy remembers better when he knows why a thing is done.”

Flying Arrow started on. Now they went straight south with the wind at their backs. They were on open ground away from trees, so they could go rapidly. After a time, Flying Arrow turned west. He led the way into a great wide valley. Soon Bent Arrow saw places where buffaloes had been slaughtered, and he knew that they were in the valley where he had seen the Sioux. The Sioux must be camped by the spring across the hills to the north. In the middle of the valley, Flying Arrow turned north and led the way up the dividing hills. Old-Man-of-the-North’s wind was carrying the odor of smoke and cooked meat. There was no doubt but that the Sioux were camped just ahead.

Near the top of the hill, Flying Arrow got to his hands and knees. Bent Arrow followed his example.

“Are we near the eagle feather?” Flying Arrow asked in a whisper.

“It’s nearer the top of the hill and to our right,” Bent Arrow answered.

The two of them crawled forward and then to the right. Carefully they searched every clump of weeds, but they couldn’t find the feather.

“We can delay no longer,” Flying Arrow whispered. “Perhaps we must punish the Sioux to earn such valuable medicine as the eagle feather.”

He stretched out prone and wriggled toward the top of the hill. Bent Arrow followed his uncle’s example. At the top of the hill they could look down into the Sioux camp. There were no Sioux warriors stirring about, although the campfire glowed brightly.

The Sioux camp had been pitched near the trees. The horses were grazing between the top of the hill and the sleeping warriors. The glow of the campfire gave enough light to make it easier for the raiders to pick the horses they wanted. At the same time, the horses would hide Flying Arrow and his nephew from any watchers in the camp.

Bent Arrow waited as patiently as he could while his uncle studied the camp. At last Flying Arrow nodded confidently.

“We’ll crawl to the herd and pick the two horses that I saw this morning,” he said.

“It will be easy,” Bent Arrow answered.

“Often the raid which looks easy is the most dangerous,” Flying Arrow warned. “Follow me. I’ll point out the horse you are to take.”

_CHAPTER SIX_

Bent Arrow smiled happily as he started to crawl behind his uncle toward the Sioux horses. He had been afraid that at the last moment his uncle would think it too dangerous for him. Evidently Flying Arrow was convinced that the Sioux had stuffed themselves with fresh meat and would sleep soundly. The fact that there were no guards near the horses showed that the Sioux were confident that they were safely hidden.

Bent Arrow thought proudly how well his uncle had planned this raid. The Sioux had gorged themselves. They would sleep soundly. Only a clumsy, awkward raider would make enough noise to arouse them. Bent Arrow’s first uneasiness came when Flying Arrow passed the horses farthest from the sleeping warriors and continued to crawl nearer the camp.

The second horse which the two Crows passed snorted loudly and pranced aside. For a moment it looked as though the whole herd would stampede. When the horse had started to move, Flying Arrow had stretched out on the ground. Bent Arrow quickly followed his example. Both of them lay motionless until the horse quieted and again started grazing.

Flying Arrow waited until he was sure that no warrior had been roused by the noise. At last he started ahead.

By the time he and his uncle had passed half the horses in the herd, Bent Arrow’s uneasiness was becoming real alarm. The glow of the campfires had seemed faint when he watched them from the top of the hill. Here, close to the Sioux camp, the light seemed bright. If a Sioux warrior opened his eyes and looked, he could scarcely fail to see the raiders. Flying Arrow continued to crawl toward those fires. At last he halted. He touched Bent Arrow’s arm and pointed to the next horse.

“That is the horse you are to get,” he whispered, so low that his voice was hardly louder than the wind rustling through the dry grass.

Bent Arrow turned and crawled toward the horse. When he had crawled far enough so that the horse was between him and the fire, he slowly got to his feet. The horse took an uneasy step away. Bent Arrow waited patiently until the horse lowered its head to nibble at the grass before he moved toward it. The horse tossed its head and moved ahead several steps.

Bent Arrow stood and helplessly watched the horse. A shower of sparks flew up at one of the campfires as a log burned apart. One end of the log blazed up, throwing light which would have shown Bent Arrow to any warrior awake in the camp. Bent Arrow felt the icy finger of fear along his spine. He wanted to turn and run for the top of the hill. Somehow he managed to fight down his panic.

A new plan occurred to him. As quickly as he dared, he stepped beside another horse. Luckily this horse stood quietly while Bent Arrow walked along its side and reached its head. With the pressure of his hand against the horse’s neck, Bent Arrow guided it toward the horse he wanted. When he had this horse beside the other one, he let it stop. He slowly walked around the horse and went to the side of the one he had been following. This time the horse stood quietly while Bent Arrow put a rope around its neck.

Taking the horse from the herd had to be done slowly and carefully. Any rapid movement might arouse a warrior. Bent Arrow had to hold back his own impatience. By the time that he had worked his horse out of the herd, he was about halfway up the hill out of the valley. Here the shadows were dark, and there was small danger of being seen even if a Sioux warrior chanced to waken. A few steps and he would be across the hill and completely out of sight of the Sioux camp. The horse suddenly swung its head, jerking the rope tight. Desperately Bent Arrow held on. The next moment the horse stepped quietly ahead.

As Bent Arrow crossed the top of the hill, he felt moisture against his cheek. Then he saw flakes of snow dancing in the air. If he and Flying Arrow could move swiftly enough, the snow would hide their trail. Good fortune was on their side this time. Then he saw the mounted rider just ahead of him. There was no chance to escape. At that moment he realized the rider was Flying Arrow.

“Get on your horse,” Flying Arrow whispered. “We can escape easily.”

Bent Arrow jumped on his horse’s back. Flying Arrow led the way, at first going slowly, but soon letting his horse run. Bent Arrow stayed close behind him. So suddenly that Bent Arrow was taken completely by surprise, his horse stopped running and started bucking. Bent Arrow fought to keep his seat. He stayed on for two wild pitches, but the third one sent him flying through the air. He landed with a thud that drove the air from his lungs.

He leaped to his feet, gasping and struggling to draw air into his lungs. When he did manage to draw in a lungful of air, he looked up and saw his horse racing back the way he had come. Flying Arrow had turned and was trying to catch the horse, but it had too great a start. He soon gave up the pursuit and rode back to Bent Arrow.

“Get up behind me,” he ordered. “We’ll both ride this horse. That one will undoubtedly arouse the Sioux camp.”

Bent Arrow climbed onto the horse behind his uncle. Flying Arrow turned the animal in the direction of the place where they had left their own horses and started it at a gallop. Snow was falling so fast that the ground was already blanketed with it.

“I’m sorry I let the horse get away,” Bent Arrow told his uncle.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Flying Arrow assured him. “No rider would have expected the horse to buck after running so well.”

A load seemed to lift from Bent Arrow’s shoulders. He had been blaming himself bitterly for losing the horse. He had thought his uncle must blame him. Instead, the warrior had seen it as an unavoidable accident.

The wind began to rise, driving the snow stinging against the riders’ faces. Bent Arrow lowered his head close to his uncle’s back to keep the snow from his eyes. Flying Arrow sat erect, giving all of his attention to keeping the horse running in the right direction.

As they rode on, Bent Arrow strained to catch any sounds of pursuits, but none came. The driving snow was piling up so that the horse was leaving a plain trail. However, if the snow continued, it would soon cover the trail again.

It was daylight when the two Crows reached the place where they had left their horses. Bent Arrow leaped down. Without waiting for instructions, he gathered up their few belongings and the remainder of the deer meat. Flying Arrow dismounted, rolled the supplies in two bundles, and tied the bundles on one of the horses. He took the lead rope of that horse and motioned for Bent Arrow to mount the other one.

“We’d better cross the river to find a hiding place,” Flying Arrow decided.

Bent Arrow shivered at the thought of getting in that icy water. However, when they came to the river, he slid from his horse and swam beside it to the other shore.

Across the river, Flying Arrow continued riding straight into the wind. The driving snow stung their faces and pelted their eyes, but Flying Arrow continued to lead the way confidently. Finally he stopped in a sheltered place.

“The horses will be able to get grass here,” he pointed out.

Bent Arrow hobbled the horses while his uncle started making camp. As soon as he had cared for the horses, Bent Arrow helped build a shelter. Flying Arrow showed him how to lean branches against a small tree to form a framework. Smaller branches were woven into the framework, and there was a wall to keep the snow from their blankets. As soon as the shelter was completed, both of them searched for firewood until they had a good supply piled nearby.

Flying Arrow took his and whittled away the part of a stick that had been wet by the snow. Then he whittled dry shavings. Bent Arrow put his robe over his head and took a corner in each hand. He leaned forward over the pile of shavings, using his robe as a roof to protect the kindling from the snow. As soon as he had enough shavings, Flying Arrow struck fire with his flint and steel. In a moment the fire caught. Flying Arrow fed fuel to it until it burned brightly.

“Now we’ll eat,” said Flying Arrow, smiling.

The food tasted so good that for a few minutes Bent Arrow almost forgot his disappointment over losing his captured horse. The snowfall was heavier, and the rising wind was driving it so that it was sifting through the branches of the shelter.

“We’ll sleep now,” Flying Arrow said when they had finished eating. “As soon as Old-Man-of-the-North stops blowing snow at us, we’ll start toward the main camp.”

“I wish I had a captured Sioux horse to lead into camp,” Bent Arrow said.

“There will be other raids,” Flying Arrow assured him. “Perhaps you will find the eagle feather which Clawing Bear said you needed. With it, you’ll be sure to capture a Sioux horse. You almost succeeded without it.”

Bent Arrow rolled up in his robe and stretched out in the protection of the lean-to. He lay on his side and pulled the robe high to protect his face from the snow that sifted through. In a short time he felt warm. If it hadn’t been that pain began to throb in his leg, he would have been comfortable. In spite of the pain, he soon fell asleep.

When Bent Arrow awoke he found himself in complete darkness. He could see nothing at all. He started to raise his head, but it bumped against something soft. He had to choke back a cry of alarm. While he had been asleep, some strange spirit must have dragged him into a deep cave or an animal’s den. The next moment he smiled to himself as he realized that the snow had drifted over him. Slowly he raised himself, holding his robe in a way that kept the snow from sifting down his neck. When he was out of the drift, Bent Arrow found that snow was still falling. He stood up and looked at the sheltering lean-to. Snow had piled to the top of it and was now blowing across it. It was the snow blowing over the lean-to which had covered him.

He glanced toward the mound of snow which covered Flying Arrow. As Bent Arrow watched, his uncle stirred and then quickly crawled out of the drift.

“Old-Man-of-the-North is still sending snow,” Flying Arrow remarked, glancing around.

“I hope the sun becomes angry tomorrow and melts all of his snow,” Bent Arrow said crossly.

“It might be better for us if Old-Man-of-the-North keeps sending snow,” Flying Arrow answered thoughtfully. “The storm will keep the Sioux in that valley. We might have another chance to make a raid.”

“Could we try?” Bent Arrow asked eagerly.

Before he answered, Flying Arrow took a careful look around. He sniffed the wind.

“I think the snow will continue,” he answered. “If our horses can get through the drifts, we have a chance to succeed.”

Bent Arrow glanced about him, trying to decide how much of the day was gone. The dark clouds and driving snow shut off most of the light, yet Bent Arrow felt that there must be a fourth of the day left.

“Is there much daylight left?” he asked.

“If there were no snow, we could ride to the Sioux camp before dark,” Flying Eagle answered. “We’ll start at once. It will be harder traveling after darkness falls.”

Flying Arrow and Bent Arrow went together to get the horses. Flying Arrow mounted his own horse, while Bent Arrow got on Rock. The horse they had captured from the Sioux was left behind. Flying Arrow led the way, with Bent Arrow close behind him. Traveling was difficult. The driving snow made it hard for them to see. It was impossible to judge the depth of the drifts. Twice Flying Arrow started through what looked to be ordinary drifts only to find them so deep that the horse couldn’t get through. Each time he had to back the horse out of the drift and circle around it.

They had gone only a short distance from camp when Flying Arrow’s horse stepped into a drift and plunged out of sight. Rock reared and jumped back. As soon as he had his horse quieted, Bent Arrow dismounted and hurried to the edge of the drift. He could see his uncle still on his horse. The drift had filled and hidden a small ravine. Flying Arrow was trying to quiet his horse so that it wouldn’t injure itself.

“Get on your horse,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Toss me your rope. If you can pull me out, we’ll get the horse out.”

Bent Arrow hurried back to Rock. When he was mounted, he urged the horse forward. Rock stepped carefully, and again Bent Arrow was thankful for this dependable horse. When he was as close to the edge of the ravine as he dared go, Bent Arrow pulled the horse to a stop and tossed one end of the rope down to his uncle. He looped the other end of the rope across Rock’s shoulder as he had seen squaws tie travois poles. When Bent Arrow gave the command, Rock backed slowly away from the ravine. In a moment Flying Arrow was safely on the bank.

The moment Flying Arrow was off its back, his horse started plunging and struggling to get out. It worked its way forward to a place where the banks were lower, but still it couldn’t get out.

“I’ll have to pull it out,” Flying Arrow said.

He took the rope from Bent Arrow and tossed a noose over the horse’s head. After he had fixed the noose so it couldn’t slip and choke the horse, he took Bent Arrow’s place on Rock.

“Make all the noise you can,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Get the horse excited so it will try to get out.”

Bent Arrow yelled and jumped at the horse. It had been quiet. Now it scrambled frenziedly to get out of the ravine. Rock backed away, pulling on the rope. The hoofs of the excited horse caught on the edge of the ravine. It gave a lunge, and at the same time Rock put all of his weight against the rope. The horse’s hoofs slipped, but it got another footing and scrambled out. It stood in the snow blowing and pulling.

“This is too dangerous,” Flying Arrow decided. “We almost lost one of our horses. We’ll return to camp and make a better plan or at least wait until we can travel.”

Bent Arrow tried to hide his disappointment. Anxious as he was to make another attempt to capture a Sioux horse, he knew the wisdom of his uncle’s decision. It would be foolhardy to try to travel in the storm.

“Perhaps the sun will melt most of Old-Man-of-the-North’s snow tomorrow,” he said.

“It could be,” Flying Arrow agreed doubtfully.

Back at camp, they found that the Sioux horse had trampled a place in the snow, but with its feet hobbled, it hadn’t been able to paw any grass free.

“We’ll turn the horses loose tonight,” Flying Arrow said. “Even then they’ll have trouble getting enough to eat.”

As soon as they had cared for the horses, Bent Arrow and his uncle returned to the shelter.

_CHAPTER SEVEN_

The two Crows cleared most of the snow away that had drifted onto the sheltered side of the lean-to. Flying Arrow managed to blow flame alive on one of the coals still in the fire. Bent Arrow hunted for more wood, while the warrior peeled dry shavings and built the fire up.

While Flying Arrow cooked food over the fire, Bent Arrow found a large log and dragged it to the lean-to. As soon as the cooking was finished, the log could be rolled onto the fire. It would hold fire all night.

“We must return to our hunting camp,” Flying Arrow said. “This storm probably kept them from starting to the winter camp. If so, we can join the party and ride with the others. Next spring, you and I will make another raid against the Sioux.”

Bent Arrow thought of how easy it would be for the Sioux to follow the trail he and his uncle would leave in the snow. Reluctant as he was to give up the raid, he understood the wisdom of Flying Arrow’s decision.

“Perhaps we should scout the Sioux camp before we start back,” Bent Arrow suggested. “We might be able to learn something of their plans.”

Flying Arrow considered the suggestion. Bent Arrow knew that his uncle was thinking how valuable it would be to the Crows to know something of the Sioux plans. And still, the warrior had to remember that scouting the Sioux camp would leave a trail in the snow which might be found. At last Flying Arrow nodded.

“Even a scouting trip will be dangerous,” he said, “however we may learn enough to pay us for taking the risk. If the sun melts some of the snow in the morning, we’ll cross the river before sunset.”

Although he was tired, Bent Arrow had trouble falling asleep after he had crawled into his blankets. When he did fall asleep, he was bothered by a dream. In the dream he saw an eagle feather just out of his reach. It seemed that his uncle was trying to help him, but there was always a Sioux warrior with an arrow aimed at him.

As he and his uncle were eating the next morning, Bent Arrow told of his dream. Flying Arrow seemed greatly disturbed. He sat silently for a long time after Bent Arrow had finished. Finally the warrior got slowly to his feet.

“I must think about your dream,” he told Bent Arrow. “Take care of the horses.”

As Flying Arrow walked away from the camp, Bent Arrow left to tend the horses. The sun was shining brightly, and the snow was beginning to melt. Bent Arrow found the horses near where they had left them the night before. The animals had found a place where most of the snow had been blown off the grass. All three of them were eating hungrily.

Since the horses were all right and he had plenty of time, Bent Arrow decided to make a scouting trip to the river. He picked his way carefully, avoiding the larger drifts. He found a place near the river where he could hide in a clump of brush and watch the other side.

At first there was nothing stirring near him, but after a while two deer came down to the other bank of the river. Bent Arrow could tell from the actions of the deer that no Sioux were near. He thought of crossing the river and scouting farther but decided against it. He waited until the deer left the river before he left this hiding place to return to camp. When he arrived, Flying Arrow was waiting.

“Did you find a meaning in my dream?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously.

“Your dream warns of danger from the Sioux,” Flying Arrow answered. “Yet it may promise that we can find your eagle feather and escape.”

“Then we are to scout the Sioux camp,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.

“We are,” Flying Arrow agreed. “There is nothing in your dream to show that it would cause us greater danger.”

Flying Arrow insisted that they wait until the sun was sliding down the western sky before they started. The sun had melted the snow so rapidly that there were many bare spots. However the ground was soft, and the horses left a plain trail.

They crossed the river at the same place they did on their other raid. Soon after they had crossed, they left the horses and went ahead on foot. As Flying Arrow led the way, he kept to the bare ground as much as possible. They came to a small stream which flowed into the river. They walked along its bank in a direction which took them farther from the Sioux camp. When they had gone many paces, Flying Arrow stepped into the stream and turned back in the direction from which they had come. Bent Arrow followed him.

The two Crows walked in the cold water until the stream made a sharp bend. Here they stepped onto the bank, taking care to hide their tracks. They circled to the south of the Sioux camp as they had done the other time. The sun had sunk in the west, but there was still some light when the two Crows crept to the top of the hill and looked down at the camp.

Bent Arrow gave a little sigh of disappointment as he saw that the horses had been put into a pole corral. He had been hoping that he and his uncle might have a chance to take one or two of the Sioux horses. As he looked more closely at the camp, he noticed bundles hanging in the trees. It was too far for him to be able to see clearly, but he guessed the bundles must be meat.

“They must be planning to camp here for a while,” Bent Arrow whispered to his uncle. “They have their meat hanging on tree limbs.”

“Or they are planning to make a raid before they start to winter camp,” Flying Arrow whispered back. “The meat would be safe from wolves.”

“It would be against our Crow camp.” In his excitement Bent Arrow almost spoke aloud.

Flying Arrow nodded grimly.

“We’ll have to learn their plans,” he said.