And now they would take that frail security from him, too. Sage Root had been Cursed by their mediocre Spirit Man. He shook his head. Compared to White Calf, Cut Feather, or Clear Water, Heavy Beaver couldn't make smoke rise from a hot fire. And Sage Root would die without knowing the difference. He'd seen the fear, the resignation, in her eyes. She believed she would die. The single-minded stare at the witching sticks proved it.
"And what then for Two Smokes?" He blinked up at the sun, now high in the sky. "Stay and be beaten and raped? -How long until they kill me, too? How long until they declare the Wolf Bundle to be evil and burn it?"
You promised. Little Dancer is your responsibility.
He swallowed hard, staring back upriver. Little Dancer's words echoed in his mind. "We could run away."
He stood up and unrolled his special pouch. One by one, he placed his grass stems into the special holes punched in the hide. Unrolled, the whole thing measured almost two arms in length. In it he had grasses from everywhere. Giant wild rye, wheatgrass, needle and thread grass, buffalo grass, steppe bluegrass, and more. He rolled the long strip of leather into a compact tube and slipped it behind his belt.
Hobbling along, he stared dully forward, knowing trouble waited. His crushed leg had begun to ache again. Not for years had it caused him so much torment.
As he walked, he scanned the sky, noticing the thin strips of cloud that arched across the vaulted expanse. How long since rain? Three months since the last sprinkle? Now even the shadow of a rain cloud would be a relief.
A faint cry carried from the camp, causing him to hitch along a little faster on his bad leg. The knee had never worked right after the buffalo had stepped on it. Better stiff, however, than maimed so badly he couldn't move—or had to be left behind to starve and die of exposure.
Nothing seemed amiss as he passed through the trees. The camp looked deserted. But no, a knot of people had collected behind the birthing lodge. A wail broke out, keening on the heavy stillness of the day.
Two Smokes winced, feeling the dread. What new misery had befallen them? His stomach twisted like a snake unable to shed its skin. He wavered, half wishing he could run.
At that moment, the sky seemed to darken, as if his vision blurred and grayed. Two Smokes shook his head, trying to free himself of the terrible fear that grasped at his heart. What could . . .
"The Wolf Bundle!" he cried, wheeling, stumping toward Sage Root's lodge.
Blood Bear tensed as the cries rang out from the other side of the camp; the stillness shattered. People scrambled to their feet, running to investigate. Even the sleeping dogs followed, curious about their masters' excitement.
The camp lay open before him.
Moving with all the sound of smoke over polished granite, Blood Bear darted forward, heart thudding in his chest. By his very audacity, honor would be his. This act, this daylight invasion of the Short Buffalo People, would bring him p and stature as a cunning and powerful man.
Without hesitation, he ripped the lodge cover back and ducked inside. Three rolls of bedding lay before him. The one in front drew his attention. A compact parfleche lay on a grass mat behind the head of that first bed. The bag had been manufactured with outstanding skill. The seams had been stitched so tightly one could almost believe the bag waterproof. The perfectly tanned leather gleamed white, accenting the brilliant colors of the decoration. Effigies of Wolf, of the White Hide, and all the other myths of the Red Hand covered each side.
Almost trembling, Blood Bear dropped to his knees, darts clattering as he discarded them to fumble the laces open with thick fingers.
The inside contained a beautifully tanned wolf hide. This Blood Bear lifted free, unwrapping the silky skin to expose the Wolf Bundle, its sides somewhat scuffed, but familiar nonetheless.
"The spirit of the Red Hand!" he gasped. "I've won. No one will stand against me now. I am the leader of my people."
Trembling with excitement, he could barely control his hands as he swiftly repacked the parfleche. In a final gesture, he kicked ashes over the inside of the lodge, grabbing up a packful of dried meat and slinging it over his shoulder.
The Wolf Bundle pressed to his chest, he reached for his atlatl and darts and ducked through the door.
"Blood Bear!" the cry caught him off guard.
He turned with the speed of a trapped lynx. Instinctively, his right arm snapped back, ready to launch a deadly dart even before he recognized the anguished face of his victim: Two Smokes!
"Die, berdache!"
Two Smokes flopped to the side as Blood Bear threw all his weight behind the cast. Two Smokes would have died right there but for the cumbersome pack of dried antelope meat that bumped Blood Bear's elbow during the release. As Two Smokes screamed in terror, the dart hissed harmlessly over him to skewer the lodge behind.