Brand, Max - 1925 by Beyond the Outposts (v2.1)

Author:Beyond the Outposts (v2.1) [Outposts, Beyond the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IN THE CAMP OF THE PAWNEES

After I had started on the way, I wished that I had taken Chuck Morris along with me. But, when I thought of Zintcallasappa, I knew that I had no right to take him into such danger as that toward which I was now going. I had two horses with me, riding one and leading the other, and each day I changed horses. In this way I made excellent time, but, even with that change of mounts, my eagerness was such that I wore both horses to rags before I got to the enemy's land. I myself had only the vaguest idea where that boundary might be, but one afternoon I was told by a bullet that whistled past my ear.

I used one of the oldest ruses in the world, which Standing Bear himself had taught me and which he said had given him four scalps - the old rascal. The instant I heard the sing of that bullet - and before even the report of the gun, like a great handclap, came to me - I tumbled off my horse and lay like one dead, except that for a dead man I had my rifle astonishingly handy. Another bullet cut the grass at my head. Then I saw the scoundrel coming toward me, and I knew at once that he was a Pawnee hunter. He came at the full speed of his horse, leaning forward, with his rifle slung once more. When that second bullet didn't make me stir, he was confident that his first shot had gone through my head. Now he was bent on the scalp. I waited until he was thirty yards away. Then I rolled onto my knee and tucked the butt of my rifle into the hollow of my shoulder. He made a futile grab at his own gun, then he seemed to realize all at once that it was too late. He threw out his hands with a howl of despair and brought his horse to a stop almost on top of me.

I said: "Brother, you shoot well, but your rifle is not good. It carries to the left."

He grunted and then folded his arms. I could not make this fellow out. He had the look and the manner of a real warrior. He sat on his horse and looked down at me with a perfect calm. The manner of a man surrounded by the most hopeless odds.

"The Great Spirit," he said, "has charmed the rifle of Black Bear so that he cannot help but kill. But you shall not wear the scalp of Two Feather long. Bald Eagle shall stoop and strike you down."

I was twenty years old, and at that age flattery has a sharp tooth. I was tickled to the core to find that I was so well known to these fellows. So much nonsense had gone abroad about my marksmanship that, I suppose, Two Feather decided it was useless to try to fight once I had the drop on him.

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