People of the Fire(171)

"There's more," she added desperately. "You've got to keep together, drive them in until they get confused, split up. Keep them there. Watch the skies."

"In the black timber?" He cocked his head.

"You'll know." She glanced toward the trail head. "When you see the sign, run! Get everyone out. Follow the winter elk trail and run like the wind. The Short Buffalo will be taken care of. You can do that?''

"Yes, but what about—"

"I have to help the Dreamer! Trust me." And she was running, knowing now the path Two Smokes had taken.

Under her breath, she added, "Curse you, White Calf, you'd better be right!"

Ramshorn stepped out on the point, looking down over the sprawling basin that stretched west of the Buffalo Mountains. The land reflected stripes of brown mixed with clots of tan and light gray. The eye could lose itself out there, while beyond, the Stinking Water Mountains lay where the earth bubbled and boiling water shot high into the air. A land of ghosts, some said. The distance drew him, appealed to something in his soul. Even an eagle would be hard pressed to fly across that in a span of days.

But Tanager had Dreamed, and while he might come back here someday, more than ghosts lay behind him. Tanager had picked this place with unerring accuracy. From here, the fire would spread, bringing destruction to the Short Buffalo People.

Ramshorn squinted into the distance one last time. Turning his back, he walked down from the point and began pulling up the dry brush. He worked until a fine sweat coated his body. Already the west winds had begun to blow hot across the basin behind him.

He studied the trees, the wonderful trees whose branches waved in the wind.

"I'm saving the world," he told them. "Forgive me for this."

He bent down, reaching for his fire sticks where they lay in his pack.

Two Smokes led the way carefully, gritting his teeth every time he stepped over a deadfall and his bad leg took his weight. Despite his clamped teeth, a groan escaped his lips as agony shot up his leg.

"Should we rest a bit?" Fire Dancer asked.

Two Smokes swallowed at the pain. "At that rate you'd never get to the People. Heavy Beaver would have died of old age. Go on. If Power calls, you can't wait for an old berdache."

Fire Dancer smiled thinly, the detached look in his eyes * unfocused. "No, old friend. Here, sit."

Two Smokes gratefully lowered himself on a log, panting '. his relief.

Fire Dancer reached into the pouch, producing the Wolf I Bundle where it lay wrapped in the black wolf pelt. Two Smokes dug worried fingers into the rotten bark underneath him. "What are you thinking?"

Fire Dancer unwrapped the bundle, resplendent where lines of wolf blood had been copied meticulously on the smoothly stretched hide.

"We've restored the Wolf Bundle."

"We think we've restored the Wolf Bundle," Two Smokes corrected, a tingling of premonition charging his veins We did what we could."

"And that counts with Power," Fire Dancer said. "Let me Sing over your knee."

"And if it doesn't work? If the Power's not right yet? Let's not be hasty. Maybe a little pain's not a bad thing. You just watch, I'll .

But Fire Dancer had closed his eyes, lifting the Wolf Bundle to the sky. He chanted a Spirit Song, calling to the Power, a benign expression modeling his face.

Two Smokes gulped as the Bundle lowered to his knee. He quivered at the feel of it, the old sensations returning, drawing him.

And if we turned the Power? He didn't have time for more. The world seemed to pitch on its side. Searing fire shot up Two Smokes' leg.

Tanager burst into the cove, a rush of relief bottling her throat as she walked up to the sweat lodge. "Two Smokes? Fire Dancer?"

Silence.

She lifted the flap, finding nothing but a tripod and rocks inside. She bent down and felt of the rocks, cold. Moving to the fire, she rubbed the ashes in her fingers, detecting the heat. Not gone long.

She looked around, starting at the sight of the wolf. Skinned, the animal rested on a platform, face to the west. Suddenly unsure, she walked carefully around it, noting the dart wound, seeing how the entrails had been carefully repacked in the body and the gut sewn closed with infinite care.

A pool of blood marked the animal's spot of death.

A knot formed in the back of her throat as she backed away. "Forgive me, Spirits," she called, fearing to raise her voice. "I came only to help the Dreamer and the Spirals, In your presence, I pledge to do this."

Step-by-step, she retraced her way, careful to disturb nothing. Beyond the cove, she waited for her heart to stop throbbing. She, Tanager, warrior of the Red Hand, quivered.

She turned, cutting for tracks until she found Two Smokes' hobbling trail. A smile of relief lit her lips for a brief instant. As she looked up, she caught the rising pall of yellow-brown smoke, bent by the winds, blowing east across the timber. It moved so gently, looking as if barely pushed. Any Red Hand could tell you the lie of that—especially in a year this dry.