Action at Beecher Island: A Novel by Brown Dee

Author:Brown, Dee [Brown, Dee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453274248
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-10-22T22:00:00+00:00

12

Two Crows

September 17,

Early Afternoon

TWO CROWS WAS DOWN in the brush, his numbed shoulder beginning to ache from the fall. He removed his legging bells so they would not betray his position and then carefully hid them under a pile of dry reeds. Through the grass he could see his pony, Bay-With-Star-on-Forehead, lying quite still, eyes open but glazed in death. Truly, he thought, these white soldier scouts who had come with the bluecoat chief Forsyth were good shots!

Behind him he heard a rustling, and turned to discover his Dog Soldier brother, White Horse. “Are you bad wounded?” White Horse asked.

“It is nothing,” Two Crows replied. “I grieve for my best pony.”

White Horse held himself in a stooping position so that he would not make a target. “Your brother’s son, White Thunder, has been killed. I took him to the women on the bluff.”

Two Crows bowed his head. “Now I truly grieve. He was only a boy warrior.”

“I will help you catch his pony,” White Horse said, “so you can get back into the fighting.”

Two Crows followed White Horse to where the latter had concealed his own mount. He leaped up behind and they galloped to the high thicket at the north end of the island. In a minute or so they found White Thunder’s mustang. Gripping the lariat twisted around the pony’s belly, Two Crows mounted and rode to join the Dog Soldiers who were reassembling along the east side of the river.

His eyes scanned the hills to the north. “Has no one seen any sign of Roman Nose?” he called. “I sent Spotted Wolf for him when the sun was there.” He held his hands apart, fingers pointing skyward, to show how far the sun had moved.

“I do not think Roman Nose will come this day,” Prairie Bear said.

“Whether he comes or not,” Two Crows replied, “I must make one more charge to avenge White Thunder, the son of my brother. Will the Dog Soldiers follow me?”

Along the line of horsemen, a dozen red-streamered lances were lifted, and the eyes of all the warriors were fixed on Two Crows, awaiting his signal. He raised one hand, slapping it down hard on the mustang’s shoulder, and they sprang into motion. “Hi-yi-yi!” Two Crows shouted. He brought his rifle up, firing at a head that showed briefly above a sand pit.

A second later his pony stumbled and he had to grip the lariat surcingle tightly and bend forward, catching the animal’s mane between his teeth to avoid a spill. The mustang had stepped into one of the water holes that buffalo had used for a wallow; it was having difficulty pulling its legs from the muck. All around him Two Crows could hear bullets singing like bees, and then suddenly White Horse dashed between him and the island, zigzagging his mount expertly, drawing off the fire. At last, the mustang was free of the mud, and Two Crows signaled his brother warriors to withdraw. He was convinced now that the fire of the entrenched white scouts was too heavy for a mounted assault.

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