He hurried toward the creek so he could see the camp better. Warriors whooped and cavorted in the firelight. Every eye had fastened on the ground. Badgertail maneuvered around . . . and saw Locust staked out on her back before Hailcloud. Her naked flesh glowed orange, revealing the puncture wounds on her legs and arms. Blood webbed her thighs.
A small "No!" worked up Badgertail's throat when he saw Hailcloud pull a flaming stick from the fire and bend over Locust.
"Don't force me to do this to you, Locust!" Hailcloud shouted. "Tell me Badgertail's plans and I'll make your death quick. How did he intend to fight me?"
"I don't know!"
Hailcloud thrust the stick against Locust's hip. She writhed, trying to get away, but her bonds allowed her only a few hands of movement. Hailcloud jabbed his brand again, this time at her side. Locust's cries pierced the night—^high, breathless, driving Badgertail to near madness.
The crowd went wild, clapping and laughing. Small groups of warriors formed into a Dance line to circle the fire. Their silhouettes had an inhuman quality in the darkness, resembling wolves moving anxiously around a freshly killed buffalo calf.
Frantically Badgertail studied the formation of the camp. Around the base of the knoll Hailcloud had thrown up a six-hands-tall pile of brush. Entering that ring unheard would be almost impossible. But he might be able to create a diversion.
"There. Stop," Flaxseed ordered. "See that dip in the bank?"
"I see it."
"Good. Walk down. The creek is shallow enough there to cross. And remember, FU be right behind you, with my arrow aimed at your back."
Badgertail scrambled down the crumbling bank and stepped out into the knee-deep flow. The frigid water grabbed at his bare legs so powerfully that it almost toppled him. He glanced over his shoulder. Flaxseed was sliding down the bank, clods of dirt tumbling each time he braced a foot. When he entered the fast-moving stream, the young warrior's sandal slipped on a rock and he dropped his eyes for an instant to catch his balance.
Badgertail dove with lightning quickness. His head ranmied Flaxseed's stomach and knocked the youth into the chilling current. The bow swept by Badgertail before he could grab it.
I can't let him scream. Lunging, he splashed on top of Flaxseed and dug his toes into the rocks. At the same time, he gripped Raxseed's bristly ridge of hair and shoved his face under the water. Badgertail managed to straddle Flaxseed with his broad chest over the man's throat—holding him down.
Flaxseed twisted like Snake beneath him, flopping, kicking, clawing at Badgertail's sides.
Just another finger in time . . .
In a mad gamble, Flaxseed wrenched sideways and thrust a knee into Badgertail's groin. Pain flashed, causing Badgertail to lose his toehold on the rocks. The current jerked them downstream, dragging them over the stones.
Flaxseed's contorted face crested the water, and he let out a desperate cry of "Help!" before Badgertail could throw himself forward. His thick fingers groped for Flaxseed's throat to cut off the cry. He crushed with all his might, and felt the bands of Flaxseed's windpipe collapsing under his fingers. Flaxseed choked hoarsely, writhing; then his limbs went still, and he fell back in the water.
Badgertail kept holding Flaxseed's head under the rushing current. Through that gaping mouth, water flooded to fill the lungs. Bubbles broke the surface. Badgertail waited, making certain. Flaxseed's wide eyes stared up at him, chilling in the moonlight that reflected from the stream.
When the throbbing of blood in his ears began to fade, Badgertail could again hear Locust's cries penetrating the raucous shouts of warriors. It drove him like a knife in his back. Exhausted and cold, he tugged Flaxseed's body onto a rock and proceeded to search it. But he found nothing he could use as a weapon; the quiver on Flaxseed's back hung empty.
Badgertail slogged back into the water. Carefully, he searched the downstream bank until he found the bow and, a good distance later, three arrows.
Not much, but it was a start.
Crossing to the opposite bank, he pulled himself up so he could again study the camp. Through a thick wall of brush and grass, he could see the central fire. The shadows of warriors moved wherever he looked.
He lowered himself and laid his cheek against the cool dirt. What can I do?
Locust's cries had died down, but Hailcloud's voice rose angrily: "We searched for his body. We couldn't find it. He's ahve. Locust. Where would he have gone? Back to Cahokia? To meet with the war parties he sent north? Where was he supposed to meet up with them?"
Exultant whoops and hollers split the air. Badgertail forced himself to concentrate. Think. Think, blast you! Where has Hailcloud left himself weak? The enclosure of brush might defeat an opponent trying to slip in soundlessly, but if Badgertail could get a fire going and shoot flaming arrows at strategic locations . . .