Spanish Bit Saga, Volume One: A Classic Western Series by Don Coldsmith

Author:Don Coldsmith [Coldsmith, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647345945
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2021-12-13T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lean Bull crawled forward, one of the scouts at his elbow. Peering through the fringe of brush, he could see a clearing in the dim starlight. Recumbent figures lay scattered about the area and dying fires smoldered without giving light.

The scout pointed ahead, indicating two figures close together on the west side of the encampment.

"The old chief and the young war chief," he whispered.

Lean Bull nodded.

"The young chief is mine. His black horse, also."

The black stallion and a gray mare grazed on picket lines nearby.

"Yes, my chief."

He pointed beyond the camp.

"There are thin woods to the north. Those we do not kill will run there and we can hunt them in the morning."

"It is good."

The two squirmed backward and made their way back to the rest of the party, waiting beyond the next range of hills. A small fire burned low. Lean Bull squatted and beckoned his warriors.

By the light of the fire, he sketched a crude map showing the scattered slopes, the fires, and the semicircle of woods on the north.

"We will crawl up close. I will cut the throat of the young war chief first, so they are without a leader. Then, when I give the war cry, we will all strike the others. We can divide their supplies and horses in the morning."

Quietly, the group moved out, following single file the route indicated by the scouts. There was still plenty of darkness left when they arrived in the vicinity of the travelers' camp. In silence, the warriors spread in an attack line and began to crawl forward toward their assault positions.

When everyone seemed ready, Lean Bull snaked forward, wriggling flat on his belly, raising his head ever so slightly to keep proper direction. A horse stomped and nickered softly, and he dropped flat for a long moment to see if any activity ensued. There was none.

The crawler neared his quarry and paused to look around for a sentry. He saw none and reflected for a moment on the stupidity of the strangers.

Now he could see the long form of the sleeper before him. The sleeping robe was drawn up around the ears and it appeared that the man's back was toward him. Lean Bull slipped the razor-sharp flint knife from his waist and took it firmly in his right hand. It would be a simple matter now to slide close enough to throw back the robe, grasp the hair with his left hand, and make one swift slash across the throat with the blade.

He flipped the blanket aside and the grasping left hand encountered no hair, but a smooth, hard surface. What he had taken for the head of the sleeper rolled away, a smooth, round stone. His sequence of motion already begun, the knife was already thrusting downward, but slashed across emptiness. It glanced off the rotted end of the log which stimulated a sleeping body.

Confused, unwilling to admit that he had been duped, Lean Bull voiced the yipping war cry of his tribe and the others rushed forward.

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