Chapter Ten
We moved into Blackfeet territory. The country was mountainous and beautiful. The sky impossibly high and incredibly bright. White clouds dotted the endless blue that stretched beyond imagination. The air was crisp and cool. A welcome respite from the dusty, hot days of only a week ago.
We embraced the country and it us. Game seemed to jump in front of us, begging to be shot. We flushed elk and antelope from thickets and riverbanks. Our ponies grew fat on the rich grasses and we became complacent. Live was too good. Too easy.
The Blackfeet quietly watched from a distance. They were not happy to see us, but they liked our horses and began to steal them at night.
I must admit, I too became lazy. While on guard at night, minding Two Feathers' herd, I would tie myself to my saddle and let the crickets sing me to sleep. I lay over my pony's neck and shoulders and slept in that manner for hours. The pony wandered and grazed and in the morning I awoke to find myself far from camp. This did not worry me as I saw no immediate threat to the herd or myself. I rounded up the horses and drove them back to camp.
However, this did not last. One night a noise brought me fully awoke. A rustling in the grass, off to the right. I did not lift my head from my pony's shoulder. I remained still and peered into the darkness. A half-moon cast a pale, blue light upon the land. There, in the grass, I saw three Blackfeet Indians crawling on their bellies. Ice passed through my body and the hair on my arms rose. The Blackfeet were here to steal horses. The best ones of course. The staked horses. Those would be harder to steal, but well worth the effort as they were the strongest and fastest.
The Blackfeet had not seen me because I was flat against my pony. This was a stroke of luck and may have saved my life. If the Blackfeet had seen me, I am sure they would have shot me full of arrows.
I nudged my pony's flanks hoping to edge away and return to camp and sound the alarm. My pony nickered a soft protest and the Blackfeet on the ground froze. One tilted his head in my direction and my heart stopped. I groped for my bow and arrows.
I chided myself for my laziness. My bow and arrow should have been in my hands, ready to shoot. I promised myself then and there that I would never sleep on guard again. I wonder now how many braves and soldiers have made that same promise only to renege upon it later. I would guess a large number of them.
I pressed myself against my pony. He did not mind – this was normal behavior on my part – and went back to grazing. I waited, heart pounding, barely breathing. One eye on the patch of grass where the Blackfeet lay.
Finally, they deemed it safe and began crawling again. I followed them with my eyes, but did not dare move. My pony wandered away from them. Perhaps he did not like their smell.
I craved more distance between the Blackfeet and myself. I stroked my pony's neck on the right side, a secret signal for him to move right. He took a few steps in that direction. Lonely nights guarding the herd had led me to develop small signals and gestures with my pony. Those came in handy now and, slowly, the gap between the Blackfeet and me widened. When the distance was great enough, I thumped my pony and lit out for camp.
We came barreling into camp and I gave the warning whoop. Another brave came whooping in behind me. He'd seen a band of Blackfeet creeping along the southern edge of the herd.
Braves spilled out of tepees. Shields and quivers were flung over shoulders and flashed in the moonlight. Lances were hoisted into the air and war-whoops rend the night.
A call to arms! A call to battle!
The brave and I pointed in the directions we'd seen the Blackfeet. We told how many we'd seen. The warriors took off – weapons in hand – ready for battle. A cloud of dust, kicked up by their ponies, swirled through the camp.
Enchiposato and Two Feathers had mounted their horses. I looked to Two Feathers for instructions. He sat upright and erect in the saddle of his palomino, a rifle in his hand. A fierce grimace made a slash of his mouth and his eyes were venomous slits.
He turned to Enchiposato and me. "Guard the herd, my sons. To lose one horse is too many."
Enchiposato and I nodded and galloped off. Enchiposato followed my lead. I pushed my pony hard hoping to catch those Blackfeet on the run. The thrill of battle had infected me. I wasn't sure what I'd do if I encountered a Blackfeet. I was untested in battle. Had never drawn my bow against an enemy. Yet the lust for blood coursed through my veins.
Enchiposato and I galloped as fast as our ponies would go. My pony was as free spirited as me and loved to run. I'd raced him many nights on the plains. I'd given him free rein and let him run full-tilt. It was a form of liberation for me. We were like the wind, flying over the land. Reckless and wild.
Tonight, I pressed my pony to his limit and he gave me his full measure. We were kindred spirits, born to run. Attracted to the chase.
We rode in the direction where I had last seen the Blackfeet. I spotted a group of trees I remembered and headed toward them. We slowed to a trot and came upon the spot where the Blackfeet had been on the ground. Enchiposato and I dismounted and searched the grass.
Enchiposato's sharp eyes found the tracks first. We followed them on foot for a short distance and came upon hoofprints. The three fellows I'd seen had been met by comrades on horses.
"We follow?" Enchiposato said and signed west, the direction the hoofprints had taken.
I wanted to follow those prints, but a sense of duty lay heavy on my heart. "Two Feathers say guard herd."
"Herd that way, too," Enchiposato said with a smile.
And indeed, the herd was. Enchiposato wanted to chase those Blackfeet as much as I did. We would have to go west to round up the horses. We could scout for the Blackfeet at the same time.
"We go," I said and leaped onto my pony. A smile bloomed on my lips and my heart raced.
We rode low on our ponies, our eyes and ears alert. The ponies were alert, too. Their small, pointed ears swiveled in all directions. They often sensed danger before we did. We found the herd easily and started driving them toward camp. Other young braves arrived with some of the camp dogs and helped us. The dogs kept the herd in check. Any horse that tried to bolt was quickly driven back into the throng.
I noticed one dog off to the side, standing stock still. He lifted his head, sniffed the air, and whined. Something was amiss. I scanned the horizon as I trotted over to him. I soon spotted the trouble. Four horses in the distance. Stragglers? If so, why had the dog not run out to round them up?
I called to Enchiposato and signaled him to join me. As he rode up, I pointed to the horses on the horizon.
"Ours?" he asked, squinting into the gathering light.
Dawn would break soon. The predawn light was hazy and gray. The horses merely black silhouettes in the tall grass.
I shrugged one shoulder. From this distance, in the muddy light, it was hard to tell. "We go. To lose one horse is too many."
Enchiposato smiled at me. He recognized Two Feathers words. "So, it is, brother."
We used caution and approached the horses at a trot from an oblique angle. Hunched over our ponies, bows and arrows in our hands, ready to shoot. My bloodlust had waned while rounding up the herd. Now, it surged with renewed vigor and heated my body. Sweat dotted my neck and back. My senses were heightened. I could smell the musty odor of the horses on the breeze.
The horses kept a fair distance from us and moved in a westerly direction. Their movement was not one of horses grazing leisurely. To my mind, these horses were being led quietly and cautiously away from camp.
Enchiposato and I signaled these thoughts to each other. I was of two opinions as to how to deal with the situation. One; we could pursue and attempt a surprise attack. Enchiposato was ten, I was twelve. We were a little young for such a deed. Two; we could return to camp and alert Two Feathers and the other warriors. This seemed the safer of the two options. However, by the time we alerted the others these horses would be long gone along with whoever was leading them.
Enchiposato proposed a third option. He would return to camp and alert the others while I continued trailing the horses. I liked this idea and immediately agreed to it.
Enchiposato turned his pony in the direction of camp and cantered off. He would switch to a full gallop once he was far enough away. I focused my eyes on the horses in the distance. They had wandered further away, into a grassy meadow. Only their heads and backs rose above the grass.
I was in the forest that lined the meadow, hidden in the shadows of pine trees. I followed the horses for some time. As they moved, I moved. I sensed there was a specific destination toward which the horses traveled. And these horses did not travel alone.
Finally, my suspicions were confirmed. A man poked his head above the grass. The sun had broken over the horizon and I could see him clearly. Eagle feathers stood straight up from his headband. Another man's head rose out of the grass. He, too, was adorned in eagle feathers. This was the custom of the Blackfeet Indians.
The two men held a brief discussion. Both were wary. Both scanned the meadow and forest for enemies as they talked. I was well hidden behind a thicket. Their eyes passed over me without a second glance.
The men vaulted atop their horses and took one last look around. They were going to make a break for it. I nudged my pony forward.
Each Blackfeet held a rope that led to a stolen horse. Comanche horses. I saw the feathers and trinkets in their manes.
The Blackfeet started off at a trot, babying the stolen horses along. This would soon pass and when the Blackfeet set off at a gallop, the stolen horses would follow suit. They were already somewhat accustomed to the Blackfeet.
I did not want these Blackfeet to escape. I quickened my pony's pace and shortened the gap between us.
The Blackfeet soon felt their distance from our camp was great enough and put into a gallop. I pressed my pony's flanks and he jolted forward, happy to run. I made myself small by laying my head along my pony's neck. My bow and arrow were in my hand.
One Blackfeet glanced over his shoulder and saw my pony galloping in their wake. He seemed perplexed at first as he did not see me. However, his partner, who now looked back, saw me and took off. Dirt and grass spewed into the air as though from an erupted geyser.
The first Blackfeet hesitated. He called to his partner who did not even look back.
I was within a hundred yards of the first Blackfeet when I sat up and notched an arrow in my bow. This sight set the Blackfeet in motion. He turned in his saddle and thumped his horse. A cloud of dirt and grass hit me in the face. I spit out bits of dirt and grass and grabbed my pony's reins. I urged him on, to greater speed, and he gladly complied.
We tore up the ground in hot pursuit of that Blackfeet. My pony and I were of two bodies, but of one mind. United in spirit and motive. Exhilarated by the chase.
The Blackfeet was trying to manage his stolen horse. He didn't want to give it up which was a mistake on his part. A fear had gotten into that horse. It reared and jerked and pulled the Blackfeet off his horse. Oh, how twisted fate can be sometimes. That poor Blackfeet hit the ground with a thud and lay there all alone in the grass. His horse sped away, racing after the departed Blackfeet, I supposed.
The stolen horse cantered in a wide circle around us. I felt the world grow smaller as I trotted closer to the fallen Blackfeet. My arrow was ready and aimed at his chest. He was on his back, propped up on his elbows, and a six-shooter in his hand.
He lifted his arm and fired. A round whizzed past me on the left. I didn't even flinch which surprised me. The adrenaline coursing through my body had numbed me. The world around me faded away. I was in a whole different world. A very small world where only this Indian and I existed. It was just him and me, and only one of us would survive this encounter.
He was aiming the six-shooter again. Unsteady. It seemed a great effort for him to lift his arm. Perhaps, he had broken a bone when he fell.
I should shoot, I thought. But something held me back.
Shoot before he kills you. Still, I hesitated.
He fired another round and missed. His arm dropped to the ground like a heavy sack.
His eyes met mine and we read each other's thoughts. He wanted to kill me. I saw it in his flinty, black eyes.
He grunted and lifted the six-shooter. Time stood still as he took aim. Not even a blade of grass stirred in the morning breeze. I drew back my arrow, steeled myself, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Do it. Do it now without thinking.
I heard the thunk of the arrow and the slump of the Blackfeet's body. I opened my eyes. An arrow quivered in the Blackfeet's chest. Time resumed and the breeze licked my skin. The world came back into view, full and vivid. Blood made a red blossom on the Blackfeet's cotton shirt.
A momentary fear gripped me. I had not shot my arrow. It still rested on my bow. Yet, an arrow jutted out of the Blackfeet's body. How was that possible?
Suddenly, warriors surrounded me. Three Comanche warriors. Standing Tree was one of them. He slid off his pony and stepped toward the Blackfeet. The corners of Standing Tree's mouth curved down in disgust as he examined the Blackfeet Indian. Then I recognized the arrow. It was Standing Tree's. I knew he would not take the arrow. It had killed an enemy and would remain in the enemy.
Standing Tree took the Blackfeet's six-shooter and held it up for the other two warriors to see. They congratulated him on his prize. Envy shone in their eyes.
Standing Tree found a knife on the Blackfeet and held it out to me. "You want?"
I was stunned by the offer and stared at him, open mouthed, unsure of how to respond.
Two more warriors came riding up with the two stolen horses. The other Blackfeet Indian had released his stolen horse and made good his escape.
Two Feathers and Enchiposato rode up then and I anxiously searched Two Feathers face. Was he displeased with me? I'd gone off on my own and had somewhat recklessly pursued two Blackfeet Indians. Two Feather's expression was unreadable.
Standing Tree walked over to Two Feathers.
Standing Tree jerked his chin at me and said, "He has saved two of my best horses today. This knife is his if he wants it."
Two Feathers looked at me in much the same way my white father once had, Where are your manners, son? What do you say?
I felt it would be an insult to turn down the knife. Besides, I wanted it. I held out a hand and Standing Tree placed the knife on my palm. I bowed graciously and reverently. I was a little shaken by the fact the knife came from a dead man. Then I remembered that the man had wanted to kill me. He'd tried to do so three times and failed. Perhaps, God, or the Great Spirit had had a hand in this. I was young and did not know much about God or the Great Spirit. I only knew that they worked in ways that were often mysterious and hard to understand.
Standing Tree was talking, telling Two Feathers of how I had chased the Blackfeet. "He rode like the wind. The spirit of the horse possessed him. He and his pony flew over the land." Standing Tree made the sign for flying as he talked. "It was an awesome sight."
The other two warriors joined in and confirmed this account.
"He and the horse were one," another warrior said and folded his hands together and shook them to emphasis the point.
Two Feathers lifted his head slightly and studied me intently for a long moment. I would learn later that day that he had chosen a name for me. One bestowed upon me by Standing Tree, an Indian I had thought my enemy. Now, he was a friend and comrade in battle.
My name was to be Spirit of the Horse. However, the Indians, like the palefaces, liked to shorten names. Therefore, I was called Horse Spirit.
The name suited me and I wore it with pride.