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.”
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.
Bent Arrow fought to keep his seat
Bent Arrow fought to keep his seat
“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.
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.
{The two Crows crept to the top of the hill}
{The two Crows crept to the top of the hill}
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.
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.