© 1997 by Kathy. May not be reproduced without permission
Quickly the warriors finished their sweep-search of what remained of the village - not that there was much to search; tepees made of wooden poles and hides burn well. There were a few cooking pots, knives, bits of harness and other metal objects taken as spoils of battle or traded for in times of peace. These were blackened, some warped by the heat of the fires.
So were some of the bodies. But mostly they just lay on the ground, bloated and swollen. Two day s ago , Running Buck knew.. No one spoke - there wasn't anything to say. There did not appear to be anyone left alive - whoever had killed the Kiowas had been thorough. All the warriors could do was prepare the bodies for the fire then take revenge on whoever had desecrated their village and their people.
Because of the food shortage, most of the warriors had been away with either of the two hunting parties. A few sick or elderly warriors remained behind, as did the younger boys. The position of their bodies showed that they had tried to fight, but with little success. Women had tried to run, children in hand. They had been shot in the back. Other had died trying to protect their children with their own bodies.
Not everyone had died immediately, Running Buck saw. Some of the bodies had a great deal of blood around them. If a victim died quickly, the still heart could not continue to pump the blood out of the wound, so little blood was lost..
Red Bear strode up to the boys, his brow creased. He took the reins of two horses from Running Buck. "Check the bodies. See if anyone missing Sleeping Dog and I will look for sign," he ordered, his words clipped in anger. .
Quiet Elk and Running Buck fastened the horses to some nearby trees, then hurried to help. If the Comanches or other Indians had raided the village, a number of the women and some of the children would have been taken as captives. They would marry and become full members of their new people. An old practice, this was often done after sickness or an attack had greatly reduced the numbers of women in a village.
But if white men have done this Running Buck almost froze at the thought. There will be war. He pushed the thought aside, working with the elder warriors to place families together to make it easier to distinguish between the missing and the dead. As they worked it became obvious that a number of the women and children were missing. It was possible that they'd got away into the trees. But why had they not returned after it was safe? And where was Little Bird?
"Here!" Yellow Hawk's shout was loud amongst the unnatural silence. "White men! White men did this!" Grey Wolf and the younger boys rushed to the place where Yellow Hawk pointed. The white man had several arrows in his back, some of which had markings which indicated their owner. Grinning Fox was - had been - only nine or ten. Well done! thought Running Buck.
"The whites will pay for this!" Grey Wolf vowed. "I will not rest until the white men who did this are dead! But first I will kill their wives and children. This way they will know why they die!" Yellow Hawk's voice echoedhis father's oath. The whites had been hurting the Kiowas long enough. Now there would be war.
Just then, Red Bear and Sleeping Dog returned. Behind them rode the warriors from the other hunting party. Their horses carried little meat behind the warriors. Apparently, they had not had the success Grey Wolf's party had enjoyed. The warrior's faces were grim, their eyes mirroring the grief in Red Bear's eyes. Their leader, Clever Eagle, spoke quietly. "This means war." He didn't need to say any more. There simply was nothing else to say.
That afternoon the Kiowas built the platforms for the dead and spent the evening and night engaged in singing the death songs so the dead would find their way to the Land Behind the Sun. While their hearts ached to follow the hunters, the dead must be allowed to rest. Trained to endure sleeplessness from an early age, the warriors remained alert the following morning.. The tracks from the white men had left behind were still clear, and the Kiowas would have no difficulty following them.
Running Buck was checking his things for the following day, when Yellow Hawk's hand on his arm spun him around. Yellow Hawk's anger was plain. "Where do you think you're going, White Skin? Going to help your white brothers? Did you tell them where our camp was? Did you help them do this to our families? Did you betray us?" The hatred in his heart made his voice thick.
"Of course not! I've never even seen a white man. You know that!" It was true. Any time white traders had come to the camp Running Buck had suddenly been given a task to do which would keep him out of the way of the white men. This wasn't to protect him so much as to prevent him 'plotting' with the whites. As so often during his life, the colour of his skin was more important to others than the colour of his heart.
He looked around at the other warriors. Everyone was watching, knowing that the insult Yellow Hawk had just given Running Buck meant only one thing; this fight was to the death. That Yellow Hawk had challenged a child of only 14 summers, just over half his own age, was irrelevant. By 14, a Kiowa was expected to be able to take care of himself in a fight, whether against a human being or an animal. Running Buck looked around for support. There was none; even Red Bear seemed to have suddenly remembered something vital back at the stream. In this fight he was alone.
The other warriors made a circle around the combatants. Their faces, while outwardly impassive to those who did not know better, did not completely disguise their tacit support for Yellow Hawk. Whatever happened, no-one would interfere with the contest. Whoever died, died. The loser, even in this time of dire need, would be a liability to the tribe. In terms becoming popular in in the white world, there was a kind of 'natural selection' in the tribal society. Those who were weak died young, leaving the stronger members of the tribe to produce the next generation of warriors. The Kiowa saw this as part of the natural order of life, and never questioned it. If Running Buck won, he would be a little more accepted, if not, so much the better.
Yellow Hawk allowed his rage to get the better of him. It wasn't as if Running Buck were a full man. True, his body had begun to change, and his muscles were just beginning to become evident, but he had not yet arrived at his full growth or strength. Yellow Hawk had all the advantage, with the full strength of a Kiowa warrior of twenty-six summers. He had fought in many raiding parties, attacking both other tribes and white men, and owned many horses which indicated his valour in battle. As he pulled his knife from its beaded sheath, he lunged towards the boy, inwardly thanking D'ah-kih that the abomination, this half-white, would be removed from the tribe forever.
Running Buck dodged sharply to the right. His knife in his own hand, he forced himself to concentrate solely on Yellow Dog's movements. He watched Yellow Dog's eyes, aware that very few fighters can prevent signalling their movements in the eyes just before mirroring them in their body. As he dodged then rolled past Yellow Dog, he slashed towards Yellow Dog's ribs, producing only a slight scratch, not enough to impair Yellow Dog's movements. First blood was his! Even if he lost, he would retain some honour in the eyes of those who were prepared to see it.
Again Yellow Dog lunged towards Running Buck, more cautiously this time, his knife flashing right then left. His thrusts parried time and again by Running Buck, he continued to be the aggressor, actively seeking any weakness in his junior's technique. The knife moved left again, then downward in a stabbing motion and entered Running Buck's left thigh. The wound was not deep enough to cripple the boy, but the blood flowed and Running Buck was forced to favour the leg.
Both fighters were wounded now, Running Buck hurt far more seriously than Yellow Dog. The already hushed watchers became quieter than before as the fight intensified. This time Running Buck moved towards the elder warrior. At first he sought to exacerbate the warrior's side wound, but found that he could not penetrate the defense Yellow Dog's longer reach gave him. Different tactics were needed. The only hope Running Buck had was to surprise his enemy. Just how, he wasn't sure. Until an opportunity presented itself, Running Buck just had to survive.
He was good at that. Running Buck had been the butt of jokes and more physical attacks since his early childhood. Once his peers had recognised that no-one would come to the defence of the round-eyed child, he became an obvious target. At first, Running Buck had simply fought back to the best of his ability, but as time went on he saw that this allowed his persecutors to see his weaknesses and exploit them. He then changed tactics; something that no-one ever realised. It was simple enough really - only fight was much as you have to to win, and always, always keep a trick or two reserved for a time when you really needed it. Later on he would learn the poker term 'Ace in the Hole,' but for now Running Buck knew only the theory. He had more experience than Yellow Dog realised and was prepared to use it.
The circle widened as Yellow Dog took the offence once again. He'd just inflicted a more serious cut on Running Buck's right arm, and decided to press his luck. He pushed himself close against Running Buck's body, and as the boy used his left hand, holding the knife, to force Yellow Dog's right knife-hand up, Yellow Dog slammed his knee up, trying to reach Running Buck's groin. A sharp twist meant that his knee only slammed into Running Buck's side, which was painful but not as debilitating as a groin injury would be. Still, the boy was obviously weakening and Yellow Dog's height meant that he was pushing the knife downwards towards his foe while Running Buck had to push against both gravity and the older man's strength. Knowing he had no choice, Running Buck suddenly dropped to the right, slashing Yellow Dog's calf with his knife, then rolled into a stand behind Yellow Dog's back.
Turning again, the two warriors moved again into a series of thrust-and-parry moves. As they fought, the opponents watched for any weaknesses the other might display. Yellow Dog now knew of Running Buck's trick of a sudden drop, slash and roll-to-the-side, and was prepared for it. He did not think the boy would use it again after using it twice so quickly, but youngsters often made mistakes which prevented them from growing into men.
Yellow Dog continued to exploit his advantage, using his longer reach to inflict several cuts on Running Buck's arms and body. Only the youngster's agility prevented the wounds from becoming more than mere annoyances, but each cut bled and over a period of time would produce weakness, slowing his actions. If there was time, that is. A mis-step of Running Buck's part meant that he slipped on a stick which rolled beneath him, and he fell to the ground. As any Indian did from the time he first fell off a horse, he rolled to limit the injury done to him -but rolled right under Yellow Dog's falling knife.
Seeing the boy fall, Yellow Dog took a chance. Knowing that the boy could only roll in one of two directions, he risked serious injury and plunged the knife down, hoping Runnign Buck would rol the right way. He did. The long blade of Yellow Dog's knife sank deep into the boy's right shoulder. When he drew the knife out again, Running Buck couldno longer use his right arm, which bled profusely and flopped about as if with a life of its own. There was no more time. The fight was almost over, Yellow Dog the certain victor. Indeed, Yellow Dog was now so sure of his victory that he did not see Running Buck as a serious adversary. This was to be his final error.
With Running Buck's arm useless and his leg barely supporting his weight, Yellow Dog felt a victor's exultation steal over him. He moved in for the kill, savouring the satisfaction even before his knife entered the boy's flesh for the last time.
Running Buck felt the weakness creep over him as his blood watered the dry ground. He had only one more trick. He knew Yellow Dog's confidence was his only hope. Yellow Dog expected the drop-slash-roll movement, but Running Buck decided to use a variaiton on it. He dropped to a sitting position as his wounded leg seemingly gave way under him, and as the older warrior stepped towards his victim, ready to cut his throat as he rolled, the boy stabbed forward, thrusting his knife upwards into Yellow Dog's groin. Cutting deep into the warrior's flesh with all his remaining strength, he not only damaged the soft, tender parts of the warrior's manhood but cut deep into the bone of the pelvis. Only as Yellow Dog fell to the side, screaming, did Running Buck roll to the left, lifting his knife again and plunging it deep into Yellow Dog's heart, killing him instantly.
Running Buck got up slowly and looked around at the warriors. He saw Red Bear standing in the back of the circle, acknowledging Running Buck's win with a fleeting smile. He saw the approval of Quiet Elk and Sleeping Dog, together with a few of the warriors from the other party. For a boy to kill a warrior almost twice his age was no mean feat. Nevertheless, the hatred shone stronger than ever in the eyes of Grey Wolf and some of the other warriors. He ignored it, and holding his head high, went to his hide bag and began to treat his wounds with herbs.
As night fell,Red Bear came to assist , bringing other herbs and dried meat as well. "You fought well." Red Bear didn't know it, but those three words meant the world to Running Buck. A life of rejection mean that he cherished his brother's approval. "You will be a strong warrior wherever you go."
"Go?" Hadn't he just proven himself as good as any warrior in the tribe? Surely he would be accepted now.
"You must leave tonight. I will give you whatever food I can, but you must leave."
"Why? I am Kiowa. I am a warrior!" The anger in Running Buck's voice was plain.
"I know. But you have no place here. Grey Wolf hates you more than ever for killing his son, and sooner or later you will have an accident that is no accident. Go quickly, before the dawn comes. I do not wish to sing for you too, little brother."
"I am Kiowa!" The combination of the grief, pain and weariness together with the realisation of Grey Wolf's hatred brought Running Buck closer to the brink of tears than he had been in years.
"And I am your brother. But it is not safe for you here and I cannot help you. I must lead the others and try to recover our women and children."
"Are you ashamed of my white blood too?" The shameful tears threatened to spill from Running Buck's eyes.
"No. But if our people go to war with the white hunters they will expect the war chief to have his heart only in one place. As long as they see you to be white they will doubt my leadership while our women get taken further away from us. Please, my brother, go." Red Bear's eyes also betrayed his pain. Already he had lost his wife and two children to the whites, now he was losing his brother as well.
"Where will I go?"
"Perhaps...Perhaps it is time for you to explore the world of your father. It will not be easy for you, but you are a child of two worlds. You should know both, and then maybe you will be able to find a home."
Running Buck's heart rebelled at Red Bear's words. He'd never considered himself as anything other than a full Kiowa, no matter what his features said, and the idea of entering the white world scared him in a way he'd never been frightened before. At the same time, he knew he had no choice.
"What about Little Bird?"
"If she is for you, the Spirits will help you find her. I will pray for you, my brother."
"And I will pray for you, my brother." Before he could change his mind, he took the food Red Bear had brought, limped over to his horse and got up as gracefully as possible considering his wounds. Not looking back, he moved out into the darkness.
