Chapter III: Part 3

There was a wide space of open hillside between the two Crows and the Sioux camp. Bent Arrow knew they dared not cross it until the Sioux camp was asleep. He knew that his uncle would learn much about the Sioux plans just from watching the camp. He settled down beside his uncle, determined that he, too, would learn of their plans by watching.

Flying Arrow suddenly reached over and gripped Bent Arrow’s arm. At the same moment Bent Arrow saw a Sioux warrior ride across the hill at the far side of the valley. The warrior was leading three horses. Bent Arrow’s heart sank. Rock was one of those horses. He and his uncle were far from the Crow camp, and now they had no horses.

Losing their mounts was only part of the danger in which Bent Arrow and his uncle found themselves. The Sioux warrior who had taken the horses was sure to have studied the trail left by the Crows. He would know that a warrior and a boy had made the trail. He wouldn’t have had to follow the trail to know that the two Crows would be near the Sioux camp. Unless darkness fell quickly, Sioux warriors would find the two Crows before they had a chance to escape. For a while the danger made Bent Arrow forget the disgrace of having lost their horses to a raider.

With a pressure on Bent Arrow’s arm, Flying Arrow warned that they must leave at once. They crawled back until it was safe for them to stand. Flying Arrow led the way southeast, trying to avoid stepping in snow where their tracks would easily be seen. Bent Arrow came to a sudden stop. He stepped aside to get a closer look at the thing which had attracted his attention. He gave a low exclamation. He had found an eagle feather.

He realized that this was the place where he had watched the Sioux butchering buffaloes. This was the eagle feather which he hadn’t dared try to pick up that afternoon.

Flying Arrow had stopped and was watching Bent Arrow.

“I have my eagle feather,” Bent Arrow exclaimed, holding the feather for his uncle to see.

“It may be too late,” Flying Arrow answered grimly. “We must go fast if we are to escape.”

Although the two Crows went rapidly, they did not seem to be getting any great distance from the Sioux camp. In trying to pick his way where there was no snow, Flying Arrow followed a zigzag course. Bent Arrow gave his attention to planting his feet in his uncle’s tracks. Occasionally he did stop and look back. Each time he expected to see the Sioux riding toward them.

Darkness should have fallen quickly. Now, it seemed to be holding off. When it did come, it wasn’t deep; the sky was clear, and the snowdrifts reflected the starlight. Bent Arrow glanced back. A Sioux warrior was coming across the hill behind them.

“The Sioux are coming,” Bent Arrow warned.

Without wasting time to look back, Flying Arrow threw himself on the ground. Bent Arrow stretched out beside him. There was a ditch to the left. Flying Arrow crawled toward it, with Bent Arrow close behind him. Both of them rolled over the edge and to the bottom of the ditch.

Bent Arrow scarcely noticed the trickle of cold water which thoroughly wet his clothing. When Flying Arrow got to his feet, bent double so that his head was below the edge of the ditch, Bent Arrow followed. They walked carefully until they came to a place where a clump of brush grew at the edge of the bank. Flying Arrow cupped his hands, making a stirrup. Bent Arrow understood what he was to do. He stepped beside his uncle, placed a foot in the cupped hands, and was lifted up until his head was just above the edge of the draw.

When Bent Arrow tried to look around for a sight of the enemy, he found that the brush shut off his view. He moved one foot gently as a warning to his uncle. Then stepped up on Flying Arrow’s shoulder. From there he crawled out onto the bank, keeping hidden under the branches of the shrubs. He wormed himself forward until he could see out over the valley. The Sioux warrior was riding along the bank of the ditch only a few paces away. Bent Arrow tossed a tiny stick into the ditch as a warning to his uncle. Then he crept under the brush and waited.

With one ear pressed against the ground, Bent Arrow could follow the approach of the Sioux warrior almost as well as he could have had he dared watch. Once the warrior stopped his horse, and Bent Arrow’s heart stopped beating. Before Bent Arrow could decide whether or not he should jump to his feet and run, the Sioux moved on. Bent Arrow’s heart began to beat again.

After the warrior had gone on, Bent Arrow lay still, waiting for a signal from his uncle. At last Flying Arrow tapped the wall of the ditch lightly. Bent Arrow crawled to the edge.

“The Sioux will come back on the other side,” Flying Arrow whispered in Bent Arrow’s ear. “We’ll have to stay here until he returns.”

Bent Arrow crawled back to his hiding place. He took another look up the valley. He thought he saw a Sioux warrior far to the other side, but in the darkness he couldn’t be sure. He caught the sound of the first Sioux warrior returning on the other side of the ditch. Bent Arrow crawled under the brush and lay motionless. As soon as the warrior was safely out of sight, Flying Arrow crawled up onto the bank.

“When daylight comes, the Sioux will find our trail,” he explained. “We’ll travel as fast as we can go now. Later we’ll try to hide our trail.”

Flying Arrow led the way. He tried to find the easiest route, but he made little effort to hide their trail. He led the way out of the valley that they were in, across some low hills and into another valley. He continued on until they came to a small, tree-lined stream. He stepped into the stream, and Bent Arrow followed him.

Although the stream was small, it flowed swiftly, making it difficult to walk against the current. In spite of Bent Arrow’s care, he was soon drenched with the water he splashed. Flying Arrow continued to stay in the stream until he came to a large tree with branches spreading across the water.

Flying Arrow leaped up and caught hold of a stout limb. He swung himself up and crawled onto the limb. Bent Arrow had to jump a second time before he managed to grab the limb. When he did get hold of it, he swung himself behind his uncle. Flying Arrow crawled along the limb to the trunk of the tree. He found a large limb extending on the other side of the tree. He crawled as near the end of it as he could and then dropped to the ground. Bent Arrow dropped down beside him.

There was only a little snow under the tree, but it was enough to leave plain footprints. Flying Arrow found a small branch. Using it as a broom, he swept away the tracks which they had made. There was another tree a few paces from the one the Crows were under. Flying Arrow pointed to it.

“We’ll jump from here to the next tree,” Flying Arrow told Bent Arrow. “You go first. I’ll brush out any tracks you make in the snow.”

Bent Arrow stepped back to the trunk of the tree. From there he ran forward and jumped as far as he could. He landed among the low branches of the next tree. A moment later his uncle landed beside him. There were no other trees near, and all around was snow which would plainly show any tracks that were made.

“You ride on my back,” Flying Arrow ordered. “You can carry a branch and brush away my tracks.”

Bent Arrow picked up a small branch. Holding it in one hand, he got on his uncle’s back. Each time that Flying Arrow took a step, Bent Arrow leaned down and brushed the footprints away. This left odd markings in the snow. If the sun shone even a short time before the Sioux found the trail, there would be little they could read in it.

It was slow progress across the valley and to the top of the hill. Here the ground was bare. Bent Arrow jumped from his uncle’s back. Now they were able to go rapidly. As they went on, they did find patches of snow, but they jumped across these.

As he and his uncle hurried along, Bent Arrow noticed that the darkness was deepening. He glanced toward the sky. Clouds were blotting out the stars. A short time later, he felt snowflakes hitting against his face. Flying Arrow turned from the chain of hills and led the way into a valley where there were a few trees.

“We can camp now,” he said. “Old-Man-of-the-North is sending more snow. It will cover our trail. The Sioux won’t be able to find us.”

“If he had sent it earlier, we wouldn’t have had to run from the Sioux,” Bent Arrow exclaimed bitterly.

Flying Arrow laughed.

“Spoken like a good Crow,” he praised. “No Crow likes to run from the Sioux. Some day we shall repay them for this.”

In the darkness Bent Arrow and his uncle groped under a tree until they found a pile of leaves. Carefully they raked the wet leaves from the pile. They bunched the dry leaves together and burrowed into the pile. Although they had no blankets, they soon were dry and comfortable. Bent Arrow had scarcely crawled into the leaves before he fell into a sound sleep.

_CHAPTER EIGHT_

When Bent Arrow awakened, he brushed the leaves from his face and lifted his head. It was bright daylight. The ground had been covered with a light blanket of snow, but it was no longer storming. The clouds overhead were beginning to break up. At any moment the sun might shine through.

Flying Arrow stirred and sat up beside Bent Arrow.

“I’ll try to find food for us while you start a fire,” Flying Arrow directed.

Bent Arrow searched in piles of leaves until he had gathered an armload of dry sticks. He laid these on the ground. Next he raked together a small pile of dry leaves. He struck a spark on the pile of leaves and blew the sparks to a flame. He added small sticks of dry wood until the fire burned brightly. By the time Flying Arrow returned with a deer which he had killed and dressed, the fire was a mass of glowing coals.

While the food was cooking, Bent Arrow’s mind was puzzling with the question of what plan he and his uncle could follow. Probably Flying Arrow would announce that they would start at once to try to rejoin their own hunting party. Bent Arrow thought it likely that the hunters had already started toward the Crow winter camp. Unless he and his uncle could overtake the party, they would have to travel all the distance on foot.

“I’m afraid that we will have to walk to the winter camp,” Flying Arrow said, as though he were guessing Bent Arrow’s thoughts.

“Everyone will laugh at us,” Bent Arrow replied thoughtfully. “Not only have we failed to capture Sioux horses, but we have lost our own.”

“No one will laugh at us,” Flying Arrow assured him. “Many raids are unsuccessful. It will be an almost-victory if the two of us escape so large a Sioux hunting party.”

Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in surprise.

“The Sioux won’t look for us since the storm, will they?” he asked.

“They’re not likely to hunt for us unless”—, Flying Arrow let his voice fall.

“You were thinking that we might follow them,” Bent Arrow guessed. “You would like to try one more raid.”

A smile briefly touched the corners of Flying Arrow’s mouth. It was quickly replaced by a thoughtful frown.

“Our raids have been unsuccessful,” he said gloomily. “The Sioux have strong medicine. Our medicine is weak.”

Bent Arrow had forgotten the eagle feather inside his shirt. As he shifted to a more comfortable position, the feather rubbed lightly against his skin. He reached his hand inside his shirt and drew out the feather.

“Our medicine was weak,” he agreed, “but it’s strong now. I have the eagle feather.”

Flying Arrow started to shake his head. He stopped abruptly.

“I noticed yesterday that you did not limp even though we walked and ran a great distance,” he admitted. “The eagle feather may be helping us.”

“And Old-Man-of-the-North sent snow to hide our tracks,” Bent Arrow went on. “Our medicine is stronger than the Sioux’s.”

“It does seem to be,” Flying Arrow acknowledged. “I must think more about this.”

Bent Arrow quickly got to his feet and walked away. He must say no more. Already he had spoken more than a boy should. He noticed that the sun had not kept its promise to break through the clouds. The north wind was damp and chilly; every gust seemed sure to bring more snow.

“I hope Old-Man-of-the-North doesn’t send more snow,” Bent Arrow thought to himself.

When Bent Arrow left the camp, he crossed the small valley and climbed to the highest point on the hills that divided the valley from the next one. He saw a few buffaloes grazing there. That was proof enough that the Sioux were not near.

When Bent Arrow returned to camp, he found Flying Arrow busily dividing the best parts of the deer meat into two packs.

“We’ll follow the Sioux two days,” Flying Arrow announced. “If, by that time, we haven’t been able to make a raid, we must turn toward our winter camp.”

Bent Arrow wanted to shout his joy at his uncle’s decision. He could feel the Crow war cry climbing up his throat, and he had to clamp his mouth shut to make sure that he didn’t shout. If Flying Arrow noticed Bent Arrow’s excitement, he gave no sign.

In a very short time they were on their way, each of them carrying a small pack of meat. When he and his uncle had fled from the Sioux, they had gone southeast and then circled west. Now Flying Arrow was swinging toward the north.

Flying Arrow set a fast pace. Several times he cast an anxious look back at Bent Arrow, but the boy was following easily. The weather had changed again. Evidently the sun had remembered its promise. It had chased the clouds away and was busily melting the snow. At midday, when Flying Arrow called a halt, the blanket of snow was gone, with only scattered drifts left.

“We’ll cook all of our meat,” Flying Arrow announced. “This will be the last fire we can have until we complete our raid.”

As the afternoon wore on, Bent Arrow became more and more uneasy. One of the two promised days was rapidly being spent, and still there had been no trace of the Sioux trail. If Flying Arrow had misjudged the route the Sioux would take, the last chance to make a raid would be gone. To add to Bent Arrow’s troubles, his leg began to ache. The ache increased rapidly until the pain was so great that he could hardly walk without limping. It was the first time the leg had pained him since he had found the eagle feather. Perhaps Clawing Bear had been wrong. Perhaps the eagle feather wasn’t the medicine which would bring victory. Resolutely he put the thought away.

Bent Arrow kept his head down and put every effort into walking without a limp. He promised himself that he wouldn’t let Flying Arrow know that his leg was hurting. The warrior would insist on stopping, and that would mean the chance to make the raid was gone. However, Flying Arrow was too intent on finding the best route to glance back. In spite of the pain, Bent Arrow managed to keep going until Flying Arrow stopped beside a small stream.

Both Crows drank their fill of the cold water. They made a meal of the cold meat and prepared for the night.

The eastern sky was just beginning to light up when Flying Arrow touched Bent Arrow on the shoulder. Hesitantly Bent Arrow got to his feet and took a few careful steps. He was elated to find that there was no pain in his leg.

“What has pleased you so much?” Flying Arrow asked, glancing at Bent Arrow’s face.

“My leg was hurting me yesterday when we stopped,” Bent Arrow explained. “I was afraid it wasn’t cured. It’s all right now.”

He danced a few steps of the Crow war dance to show how completely his leg was healed.

“Perhaps we should give up this raid and go directly to the winter camp,” Flying Arrow said thoughtfully. “We could travel slowly. Your leg must not be completely healed or it would not have hurt you yesterday.”

“I’m all right,” Bent Arrow insisted. “We don’t want to return to winter camp empty-handed.”

Flying Arrow smiled.

“You have the determination of a good Crow warrior,” he praised.

They made a quick meal of cold meat and set off again. They had gone only a short distance when they came upon the Sioux trail. The trail was plainly marked, although most of the snow had melted since the Sioux had passed.

“I think they are going directly to their winter camp,” Flying Arrow said. “They are farther ahead than I had expected.”

The Sioux trail led almost due north. For a time it lay in the level valley of the stream. When it left the valley, it followed much rougher ground. There were steep hills surrounding narrow valleys which were little more than canyons. Some of the valleys had wooded streams; others were only a dip in the prairie. In spite of the rough ground, Flying Arrow kept at his swift pace.

It wasn’t until the sun was directly overhead that Flying Arrow halted beside a small stream. Both he and Bent Arrow drank.

“Does your leg hurt?” Flying Arrow asked, as he got to his feet.

“Not at all,” Bent Arrow assured him.

“Then we’ll go on at once,” Flying Arrow decided. “We must lose no time if we are to overtake the Sioux.”

Now the trail led away from the hills and out onto the open prairie. In every direction the dried grass looked like a great brown sea. The low hills were like rolling waves. Occasionally the two Crows came to a valley where a few trees grew beside a stream. The sun was about halfway down the western sky when they came into a valley which had a larger grove of trees than the others. The nearer they came to the trees, the faster Flying Arrow went, so that he was running at full speed when he reached the trees.

“It is as I had hoped,” he called, pointing to the signs of a recent camp. “The Sioux camped here last night.”

Bent Arrow felt a wave of triumph. He and his uncle were getting closer to the Sioux. He was to have another chance to take part in a raid against their enemies.

“If you can keep traveling, we’ll overtake them tonight,” Flying Arrow assured him.

“I can keep traveling,” Bent Arrow answered confidently.

Flying Arrow led on at a rapid pace. There was no need to take time to study the trail. The Sioux had been so sure that no one would follow them that they hadn’t tried to hide their trail. It was not quite dark when Flying Arrow stopped and studied the signs with a puzzled frown.

“The Sioux stopped here,” he pointed out. “I wonder why?”

Bent Arrow crossed to the other side of the trail, carefully studying the marks.

“Look, Uncle,” he exclaimed. “Another Sioux joined them here.”

Flying Arrow came quickly to Bent Arrow’s side. He studied the hoofprints left by one horse.

“It must have been a scout,” Flying Arrow said after he had examined the trail carefully. “He must have been sent out the night before. If we had studied the camping place carefully, we would have seen his trail.”

“He came from the direction where our hunting party was camped,” Bent Arrow answered worriedly.

Flying Arrow studied the trail left by the one rider. Then he turned his attention to the trail left by the Sioux party as they rode on. He pointed out to Bent Arrow that the scout had stayed with the main party.

“He may have brought back news that our hunting party had moved on,” Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux didn’t turn aside. Let’s hurry. We want to follow as far as possible before dark.”

Flying Arrow motioned for Bent Arrow to travel at his side. They had gone only a short distance when both of them stopped as though halted by an invisible fence. The Sioux trail turned sharply to the west.

“They went that way because it’s easier traveling,” Flying Arrow said. “I think I know where they are camped. We’ll take a shorter route.”

Bent Arrow wanted to protest. Perhaps Flying Arrow’s reading of the trail had been wrong. Yet Flying Arrow was following so confidently the diagonal course he had set that Bent Arrow’s doubts began to fade.

The light dimmed rapidly. Even after darkness had blanketed the prairie, Flying Arrow kept up his rapid, sure pace. Several times Bent Arrow reached inside his shirt and felt of the eagle feather. Each time he did, his confidence mounted. In the last two days he had traveled as far as a warrior could have gone, and his leg wasn’t hurting at all. Clawing Bear’s prophecy that an eagle feather would complete the cure had come true. His prophecy that it would protect Bent Arrow from the Sioux would surely be equally true.

At last Flying Arrow called a halt.

“The Sioux were not traveling fast,” he said. “We are near their camp. We’ll rest a while before we try to make a raid.”

Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in surprised wonder. Flying Arrow seemed as sure of the Sioux camping place as if he had seen them there.

“How can you be sure?” Bent Arrow asked.

“I read the signs of the Sioux trail,” Flying Arrow explained. “I know much about the Sioux, and I know the only good camping place for a large party.”

Flying Arrow had already fixed a comfortable place to rest. Bent Arrow found a clump of tall, dry grass. He curled up in that to sleep.

“I’ll waken you when it’s time to start,” Flying Arrow promised.

It seemed to Bent Arrow that he had hardly fallen asleep when he was roused by his uncle.

“We’ll make our plans before we start,” Flying Arrow said.

Flying Arrow carefully described the place where the Sioux were camped. It was a rather small valley. There was a narrow entrance at the south end, but the rest of the valley was ringed in with steep hills. It wasn’t impossible for horses to get up the hills, but it was difficult and dangerous. There were a spring and a few trees near the north side. That was where the Sioux would be camped. Since the Sioux had no idea anyone was pursuing them, they would leave the horses loose to graze over the valley.

“We can slip into the valley, get two horses apiece, and be far from here before the Sioux learn of their loss,” Flying Arrow concluded.

“That is small punishment for the trouble they have caused us,” Bent Arrow pointed out. “We should take all of their horses.”

“It might be possible,” Flying Arrow agreed excitedly. “If you can catch Rock, this is the plan we’ll use. Truly the Sioux will be punished.”

Quickly Flying Arrow outlined his new plan. Bent Arrow nodded from time to time. He could see no flaw. If it worked, the Sioux would be well punished. If it didn’t work, Bent Arrow and his uncle would still get some Sioux horses. He reached inside his shirt and felt of the eagle feather.

“Let’s start,” Flying Arrow said.

_CHAPTER NINE_

Although there was no moon, the stars in the clear sky gave enough light so that Bent Arrow and his uncle could see well enough to travel swiftly. When they reached the rim of the valley where they could look down into the Sioux camp, they saw a grove at the far end. The glowing embers of the campfire marked the place where the Sioux were sleeping. The horses were scattered about the valley.

While Flying Arrow was watching the camp to make sure no Sioux warrior was moving about, Bent Arrow was looking over the horses. Much of the chance of success of their plan depended upon Bent Arrow recapturing Rock. Had it been daylight, the boy would have had no trouble picking Rock out in the herd. In the darkness it was much more difficult. The horses were dark shadows, too faint to be told apart. At last Bent Arrow spotted a horse which was grazing apart from the others. Gently he touched Flying Arrow’s arm.

“I believe that is Rock alone on the far side of the herd,” he whispered.

Flying Arrow turned his head to look in that direction. He watched the horse carefully.

“I believe you’re right,” he agreed. “You crawl to him. By the time you get to him, I will have a horse. We must work swiftly. Everything depends upon being able to surprise the Sioux.”

Bent Arrow reached inside his shirt and touched the eagle feather. He felt a great wave of confidence. This time there would be no failure. His medicine was more powerful than any the Sioux could have.

He crawled down the hill a short distance toward the Sioux camp. It would have been easier to go along the rim to a point directly above Rock, but he would have been shadowed against the sky line. He would have been visible to any Sioux warrior who might have chanced to look up.

While Bent Arrow was still some distance away, Rock raised his head and sniffed suspiciously. For a terrible moment Bent Arrow was sure the horse was going to run. Rock sniffed again and then took a hesitant step toward Bent Arrow. Now was the time. Slowly Bent Arrow got to his feet. Rock stood quietly as Bent Arrow approached. A moment later Bent Arrow was on the horse’s back.

Bent Arrow looked around. He saw his uncle mounting a horse. A moment later the wild Crow battle cry rang out. Bent Arrow sent Rock charging at the nearest horse. When that horse turned and raced toward the campfire, Rock charged another one. It was a wild, blurred time as Bent Arrow kept his horse circling the herd and stampeding it toward the campfire. From the noise at the other side of the herd, he could tell that Flying Arrow was being equally successful. It took only a very few minutes completely to stampede the herd and send it charging straight at the Sioux camp.

The Sioux warriors had been aroused. They had sprung up and were waving their arms and shouting, trying to stop the horses, but they were too late. The wild stampede could not be stopped. For a few moments the Sioux bravely held their ground, but at the last moment they turned and dashed into the grove of trees for protection. The horses swerved around the grove and raced on across the valley.

Bent Arrow kept Rock close on the heels of the last horse on one side of the herd. Flying Arrow was riding close to the last horse on the other side.

The moment the horses veered to go around the trees, the Sioux warriors sprang into action. Arrows whistled around Bent Arrow’s head as he crouched low over Rock’s neck. It took only a moment for the horses to get out of bowshot.

The horses continued their wild stampede across the valley and started up the hill at the other side. Here they were slowed. The hill was so steep that the horses plunged and struggled to move forward at all. Again arrows whistled around Bent Arrow’s head. The Sioux had raced across the level valley to the foot of the hills. The slower speed of the horses had given the warriors a chance to get within range again. A horse, a little to the left and just ahead of Bent Arrow, crumpled to the ground. Bent Arrow felt a searing pain along his left shoulder.

The volley of arrows broke off suddenly. At first, Bent Arrow thought they had again got out of range. A quick look over his shoulder showed him this wasn’t true. The Sioux were dangerously close. Then he realized that the warriors were so sure they would recapture their horses that they were taking no chances of arrows hitting any more of them. And then, unexpectedly, Bent Arrow found himself at the top of the hill. The herd of horses was again running at a wild speed. Bent Arrow raised his voice in the triumphant Crow victory cry.

While Bent Arrow’s yell was still ringing out, one of the Sioux horses suddenly swerved and tried to escape. Rock wheeled and headed it off. Another one tried to turn back. Rock got it back into the herd, only to have to chase two others. The herd was scarcely moving forward at all. It was plain to see why the Sioux had quit shooting. They had known that the horses would be hard to drive. As the horses became more and more difficult to manage, Bent Arrow’s heart sank. The Sioux wouldn’t even have to hurry to catch them.

A horse broke out of the herd and was racing back before Rock could swerve to cut it off.

“Let him go,” Flying Arrow shouted.

As though understanding the warrior’s order, Rock swung back behind the herd. Bent Arrow saw two horses escape near his uncle. Another one broke away in front of Rock, but at last the rest of the herd was beginning to run again.

The herd of horses strung out ahead of the two Crows. The speed was slower than it had been in that wild stampede at the Sioux camp, but it was fast enough to run away from warriors on foot. The Sioux would have to recapture the escaped horses in order to have a chance to overtake the herd. At the top of the next hill Flying Arrow stopped his horse to look back, while Bent Arrow kept the herd moving ahead.

“If the Sioux are following, they aren’t close,” Flying Arrow said as he rejoined Bent Arrow.

He noticed the blood on Bent Arrow’s shoulder.

“Let me have a look at that wound,” he ordered.

“It’s nothing. We shouldn’t lose any time,” Bent Arrow protested.

Nevertheless, Flying Arrow cut away the sleeve and examined the wound.

“If it doesn’t stop bleeding soon, we’ll stop and apply a poultice,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” Bent Arrow insisted.

“If it doesn’t stop bleeding soon, you are to tell me,” Flying Arrow ordered.

“The Sioux will lose time trying to catch those horses that got away from us, won’t they?” Bent Arrow asked.

“They will,” Flying Arrow agreed. “But, when they do catch them, they’ll go faster than we can. Driving this herd will slow us.”

It wasn’t long before Flying Arrow’s words were proved true. The herd, which hadn’t been running very fast, slowed to an easy trot. In spite of the efforts of the two Crows, the horses would not increase their speed.

“We must find some way to slow the Sioux,” Flying Arrow said thoughtfully.

Bent Arrow didn’t have an opportunity to answer. Two horses at the head of the herd had slowed to a walk; others were reluctant to pass the leaders, and the whole herd was going at a dangerously slow pace. Bent Arrow crowded his horse against the nearest one in the herd, trying to get it past the leaders. It was while he was failing that he thought of his plan. He reined his horse beside Flying Arrow’s.

“The Sioux will stop to catch every horse we leave, won’t they?” Bent Arrow asked.

“They’re sure to do that,” Flying Arrow agreed. “They’ve probably delayed to catch the horses that escaped from our herd.”

“With Rock I can cut out one of those lead horses,” Bent Arrow pointed out. “Later we can cut out another one and cause another delay.”

“I believe your plan will work,” Flying Arrow exclaimed. “The mounted riders will stop and catch each horse. Very likely they’ll wait while one warrior takes the captured horse back to those on foot so that there’ll be another warrior to join the chase.”

Bent Arrow pulled Rock to one side so that he wouldn’t cause the herd to turn. He urged the horse forward until he was just behind the two leaders. Rock seemed to understand what was wanted. He dashed between the two lead horses and crowded one of them to the side. He kept that horse away from the others, while the herd moved on. As soon as he had the horse far enough away, Bent Arrow turned Rock to rejoin the herd.

The horse that had been driven out of the herd followed for a considerable distance. Bent Arrow was about to give up hope that the plan would work, when the horse stopped to graze. In his mind Bent Arrow could see the four mounted Sioux riding into sight of the horse. The warriors would expect an ambush. They would wait and watch carefully before trying to catch the horse. If the horse ran away, there would be more delay.

Bent Arrow had been so busy that he had scarcely noticed when darkness had given way to daylight. As the sun climbed steadily into the eastern sky, he became more and more confident that he and his uncle would escape. But as Bent Arrow’s confidence grew, Flying Arrow appeared to become more worried. Several times he anxiously examined Bent Arrow’s shoulder. Each time they crossed a small stream, he dismounted and dug in the mud beside the water. About the middle of the morning, he ordered Bent Arrow to cut out another horse.

They came to a small stream at midday. The horses drank and then were allowed to graze. Flying Arrow again dug into the mud along the bank. This time he stood up, holding a handful of odd-colored mud.

“This will help heal your wound,” he told Bent Arrow.

Flying Arrow watched as Bent Arrow washed the blood and dirt away from the wound. As soon as it was clean, he applied the mud over it.

“You have lost much blood,” he said.

“I’ll be all right,” Bent Arrow insisted.

Nevertheless, he was glad to stretch out on the grass. He fell asleep almost at once. It seemed he had scarcely closed his eyes when Flying Arrow called that it was time to start.

All morning the herd had been kept going northwest. When it was started after the midday rest, Flying Arrow turned it directly west. The horses had become much more manageable. They quickly fell into a steady trot. Whenever they crossed high hills, Flying Arrow stopped to see if pursuers came into sight, while Bent Arrow kept the herd moving. Each time Flying Arrow reported that he had seen no sign of the Sioux.

“They may have given up the chase,” Flying Arrow said doubtfully after the third such scouting trip.

While he may have hoped that the Sioux had given up, Flying Arrow did not change his plans. The horses were kept moving steadily forward. While the sun was still high in the western sky, he had Bent Arrow turn another horse away from the herd.

As he and his uncle kept the horses moving, Bent Arrow found himself getting more and more tired. His eyes grew heavy, too, so that it was a struggle to keep them open. To add to his discomfort, the horses began to give trouble again. They no longer tried to turn back, but they continually stopped to graze. Bent Arrow was thankful that he had dependable Rock to do the work.

“Can you keep going?” Flying Arrow asked anxiously. “There is a good place for us to camp not far ahead.”

“I’ll keep going,” Bent Arrow promised.

Keeping the promise proved harder than making it. It took all of Bent Arrow’s determination to keep his eyes open. The sun had dropped behind the western hills, and darkness was closing in. Still Flying Arrow urged them on.

To Bent Arrow it seemed that they kept moving forever. In spite of his best efforts, his eyes would close. Once he caught himself slipping from Rock’s back. He got off and walked, hoping that the exercise would waken him. It did rouse him, but he was too tired to walk far. When he did remount, he had to struggle to get back on his horse.

“Only a little farther,” Flying Arrow encouraged. “We’ll be at Bear Trap Canyon. There I can watch while you rest.”

Bent Arrow had been dimly aware of a darker shadow looming ahead of them. He realized that this was Bear Trap Canyon. Actually the canyon was only a narrow cup, circled by hills which rose up out of the prairie. On both sides the hills rose so steeply that it was almost impossible for a man to get up the sides. Bent Arrow remembered having heard warriors talk about the hills. He knew the only opening into the canyon was a narrow slit which they were approaching.

At the opening the herd of horses balked. Bent Arrow had awakened enough so that he was able to do his share, but all their efforts were not enough to force the horses to enter the opening.

“Ride Rock through,” Flying Arrow ordered. “Maybe the other horses will follow him.”

Bent Arrow guided Rock to the entrance. Rock snorted uneasily but, under Bent Arrow’s urging, carefully picked his way between the steep walls. The passage was narrow and covered with stones. However, in a few paces it widened. Flying Arrow had been able to get the other horses to follow Rock. At last the entire herd was safely in the canyon.

“I’ll watch while you sleep,” Flying Arrow said. “Later, you will watch while I sleep.”

Bent Arrow knew that he should protest. Since sundown his uncle had done most of the work of keeping the herd moving. He should have the first rest. But the words wouldn’t come. Bent Arrow stretched out on the ground and immediately fell asleep.

When Bent Arrow awoke, daylight was beginning to light up the eastern sky. He looked reproachfully at his uncle.

“You were to awaken me,” he protested.

“You were wounded and needed the rest more than I,” Flying Arrow answered. “Let’s take a look at your shoulder.”

He led the way to the spring in the middle of the canyon. Bent Arrow crouched down while his uncle washed away the dried mud. Flying Arrow gave a low grunt of satisfaction.

“It is doing well,” he said.

“I hardly know that the sore is there,” Bent Arrow assured him. “Now you must rest while I watch.”

“First I’ll ride back a way to see if there is any sign of the Sioux,” Flying Arrow replied.

Bent Arrow wanted to protest, but he knew that it would do no good. Flying Arrow would think it his duty to see that every possible precaution was taken. Very likely, when he returned, he would order Bent Arrow to waken him soon so that they could start on. Fortunately they still had small packets of dried meat, and as soon as they had eaten, Flying Arrow mounted one of the horses and rode out of the canyon.

Bent Arrow felt entirely rested. The wound in his shoulder was hardly noticeable. Since the horses were grazing quietly, he decided to explore the canyon while he waited for his uncle to return. The teacher had told the boys much about this canyon. It was a place of good omen for the Crows. Sometimes, when a warrior had been unsuccessful in raids, he would come here. He would climb the wall and lie on the rim. While he slept, he was sure to have a dream that would lead him to better raids.

Bent Arrow started walking around the canyon, looking at the walls in the hope of finding the place where the warriors climbed to the top. He made a complete round of the walls without finding a place. He started around again. At the far side, he noticed a place where the wall appeared rough enough so that he might be able to climb it. He glanced back at the horses. They were grazing quietly. He decided to see how far he could climb.

For several feet, he was able to go easily by stepping from one small ledge to another. Then he came to a place where the wall was smooth. There was a ledge above the one he was on, but it was out of his reach. Determined not to give up, he took his knife and gouged out a place above his head so that he could get a grip with his hands. He made another place just above his knees. He reached up and dug his hands into the place he had made above his head. He put his toes in the other place. Slowly he pulled himself up. He reached one hand up and managed to grasp the rim of the ledge. Carefully he put his weight on that hand. The ledge was solid. He gripped it with the other hand and pulled himself up. Above the ledge the wall was not so steep. Bent Arrow easily made his way to the top. From his vantage point, he could look far out over the prairie. He saw nothing moving until he looked in the direction Flying Arrow had taken. There he saw Flying Arrow racing back toward the canyon. Flying Arrow’s speed meant danger.

Bent Arrow turned back and went down the way he had come up. Getting down was easy, and he was waiting at the entrance when Flying Arrow dashed up.

“The Sioux are less than half a sun’s march from us!” Flying Arrow cried.

_CHAPTER TEN_

Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in dismay. It seemed unbelievable that they had traveled all of that distance the day before without seeing a sign of pursuit and now the Sioux were almost upon them.

“The Sioux are smart,” Flying Arrow said bitterly. “They knew we must stop sometime to rest. This place is on the way to our camping grounds. It is a place where we can leave our horses unwatched. The Sioux thought of those things and the mounted warriors took a short cut to get here.”

“How many Sioux are there?” Bent Arrow asked.

Flying Arrow held up one hand with the thumb doubled under.

“They will come so close that we don’t dare leave,” he explained. “They’ll wait for the others before they attack.”

“We can hold them off,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.

He told his uncle of how he had climbed to the top of the wall. He described the top and how it would be possible to stay up there and fire down on the Sioux. If the Sioux tried to rush the entrance, there were loose rocks which could be rolled down on them.

“We might be able to hold them off,” Flying Arrow agreed, “but we have little food. Soon we shall starve.”

“The Sioux won’t stay long,” Bent Arrow insisted. “Old-Man-of-the-North will send more snow. They will leave for their winter camp.”

“The Sioux will not want to stay,” Flying Arrow admitted, “but the disgrace of losing so fine a herd of horses to one warrior and one boy will shame them into staying.”

“We’ll find a way,” Bent Arrow insisted.

“We will,” Flying Arrow agreed, but there was little hope in his voice.

“You should rest before the Sioux get here,” Bent Arrow urged. “I’ll climb up onto the ridge and watch.”

“Drop a small stone to waken me when the Sioux get near,” Flying Arrow ordered.

As he walked to the place where he could climb the wall, Bent Arrow noticed how small an area of grass there was in the canyon. Not only would he and his uncle be short of food if the Sioux besieged them, but the horses, too, would soon be starving.

When he reached the top of the wall, Bent Arrow looked around. The Sioux were not yet in sight. He made his way along the rim toward the entrance. In most places the rim was wide enough to easily walk on. There were a few narrow places where he had to walk carefully. One short stretch was so narrow that he had to get to his hands and knees and crawl.

Near the break which formed the entrance, the rim was wide. A few shrubs were growing there. These would give him concealment. He found a few large stones and rolled them near the edge so they could be dropped on attackers.

He looked to the east again. He could see four horsemen approaching. He reached over to drop a stone to warn Flying Arrow, but changed his mind. The Sioux were still too far from the canyon to be a danger and Flying Arrow needed all the rest he could get. Bent Arrow stretched out behind a shrub and watched the Sioux. The riders came on until they were almost within bowshot. There they pulled their horses to a stop.

For some reason the Sioux seemed to be puzzled and uncertain. They drew together in a group. Evidently they were debating something concerning the canyon. Several times one of them waved his arm toward the entrance. Suddenly, the one who had been doing most of the talking sent his horse dashing toward the entrance to the canyon. It was too late for Bent Arrow to warn his uncle. Whatever was to be done to stop that Sioux, Bent Arrow had to do it.

Bent Arrow raised his bow and took careful aim. The rider, stretched low over his horse’s neck, was not a good target, but Bent Arrow was confident that he would not miss. He drew the bow taut, but he lowered it without letting the arrow go. It had come to him why the Sioux were acting so strangely. They weren’t sure their quarry was still in the canyon, or if they were in the canyon, whether or not they were alert. The rider was hardly within good bowshot when he wheeled his horse and dashed back to the others.

The Sioux talked together again, often glancing toward the narrow opening. After a time, they divided into two pairs, one pair riding to the left and one to the right. From the way the warriors watched the ground, Bent Arrow knew that they were looking for a trail leading from the canyon.

While the Sioux were searching for a sign that he and his uncle had escaped, Bent Arrow dropped a stone to arouse Flying Arrow. It didn’t take the Sioux long to make sure that the raiders were still in the canyon. The four warriors returned to a place in front of the entrance, making sure they were out of range. They gave the Sioux war cry, but neither Bent Arrow nor his uncle gave any sign that they heard it.

The four warriors talked together again. Two of them left the group, one going to the right and the other to the left. As though at a signal, both turned their horses and dashed toward the entrance. Bent Arrow drew a bead on the warrior nearest to him, but waited for Flying Arrow to take the first shot. The warriors drew together and seemed about to try to dash through the entrance side by side, and still Flying Arrow didn’t shoot. At the last moment the two Sioux wheeled their horses and galloped back to their companions.

All four Sioux dismounted. They turned their horses loose to graze. Evidently they had decided to wait until the other warriors joined them before making an attack on the canyon. Bent Arrow saw that this would be his chance to go down and get instructions from his uncle. He carefully worked his way back to the place where he had come up the wall.

“There’ll be no attack until the other Sioux get here,” Flying Arrow said when Bent Arrow joined him. “I’ll sleep now and you can sleep tonight.”

“Shall I go back up onto the wall?” Bent Arrow asked.

“It is a better place from which to watch,” Flying Arrow agreed.

As soon as Bent Arrow had returned to his post, he dropped a stone as a signal. He settled himself as comfortable as possible. The day dragged slowly by. As the sun was dropping down the western sky, two of the Sioux caught horses and rode away. They soon returned, dragging large bundles of sticks. Before sunset they built a fire and hung meat to roast over it. Occasionally the wind veered and brought the tantalizing odor of cooking meat to Bent Arrow.

There was still some daylight when a stone dropped beside Bent Arrow, signaling that Flying Arrow wanted him to come down.

As Bent Arrow made his way along the rim toward the place where he could go down, he watched the outer wall. He saw one place where rain water had washed out a small rough groove. It would be a dangerous way, but it might be possible to descend there.

Flying Arrow had put out a small piece of meat for each of them when Bent Arrow got there. The warrior appeared very discouraged. He sat with a worried frown creasing his brow and had little to say. The only time he acted more cheerful was when he examined the wound in Bent Arrow’s shoulder.

“A night rest and you will forget you had a wound,” he said.

Bent Arrow told of the place he had found where it might be possible to go down the outer wall.

“We might slip down there and escape before they missed us,” he said.

Flying Arrow shook his head.

“The horses are getting restless,” he explained. “If they aren’t watched, they’ll get out of the canyon. The Sioux would guess at once that we were trying to escape. We’d be caught before we were well started.”

“How soon do you think the other warriors will get here?” Bent Arrow asked.

Flying Arrow didn’t answer. He got to his feet and went to the narrow passage opening out of the canyon. Pressing himself against one wall, he moved ahead and was soon out of sight. A few moments later he came back.

“I wanted to make sure that the Sioux weren’t trying to sneak in here,” he explained. “They’re around their campfire. They won’t attack before the other warriors get here.”

Again Flying Arrow sat with his head bowed. Bent Arrow had felt encouraged by his uncle’s belief that the Sioux would not attack for a while. To him, every moment of delay brought hope that something might happen to prevent any attack. Yet Flying Arrow’s gloom was beginning to affect him too.

“I didn’t answer your question,” Flying Arrow said, looking up. “I believe the other warriors will be here before daylight, although I doubt if much of an attack is made. They’ll wait to starve us out.”

“If we could think of some way to get help,” Bent Arrow thought aloud.

Flying Arrow looked up. He started to speak but changed his mind and shook his head.

“You thought of a plan,” Bent Arrow exclaimed.

“It was too dangerous,” Flying Arrow answered.

“You said we can’t escape from here,” Bent Arrow urged. “Your plan can’t be more dangerous than staying here.”

“I had thought of letting you climb down the wall after dark,” Flying Arrow explained. “It is possible that you could find our hunting party and bring help in time.”

“Let me try it,” Bent Arrow urged.

Flying Arrow remained silent for a long time. When he did speak, it was with reluctance.

“It is a desperate plan and there are many chances that it won’t work,” he said. “Yet there is no chance if we just stay here. After dark you will climb down the wall and go to the hunting party’s camping place. If they have started back to winter camp, you are to follow them until you overtake them.”

Flying Arrow gave Bent Arrow careful instructions as to how he was to get to the camp. He described the landmark which Bent Arrow would reach which marked the place where he would turn toward the river. Flying Arrow ended his instructions by reminding Bent Arrow that he should travel at the warrior’s pace.

“I’ll climb to your lookout place while there is still some light,” Flying Arrow concluded his instructions. “You can watch the entrance until I signal that I am ready for you to leave.”