said.
“Yes, I am your friend. As your friend I warn you to get on your horse and leave the Black Hills. There are Lakota everywhere and more are coming.”
“Why?” Fargo asked. It was normal for the bands to pay the hills a visit but not for all of them to converge at the same time. “Are the Lakota making great medicine? Is there a council of war?” For some time there had been rumors that the bands were going to gather together in a concerted push to drive the white man out. Fargo didn’t doubt that if it ever came to pass, blood would flow in rivers.
“You have not heard?”
“I have been in the white man’s lands far to the south. I have not heard anything about my Lakota brothers.”
Four Horns smiled happily. “It is glorious, my friend. A white buffalo has been born.”
Fargo’s interest was piqued. To many tribes, white buffalo were special. They were living symbols of hope and unity. The Indians held them in the same high regard as the white man held, say, his church or his Bible. “Where is this animal?”
“Here.” Four Horns gestured at the hills. “Exactly where, I will not say. We kept it a secret. I hope I do not hurt your feelings by not telling you.”
“I understand.”
“It has been many winters since a white buffalo was among us. It is why the bands gather. Not one or two or three but all seven. All the warriors, all the leaders.”
That meant thousands of Sioux, Fargo realized.
“The Arapaho have asked to see the white buffalo. The Cheyenne, as well. It will bring many of the tribes together.”
“It is good fortune for you,” Fargo told him.
“Little Face said the same words.”
Fargo frowned. Little Face was what whites would call a medicine man, or shaman. Fargo had met him a few times and didn’t like him for the simple reason Little Face was a bigot. Just as there were whites who hated the red man because the red man wasn’t white, so were there red men who hated the white man because the white man wasn’t red. “I am glad you are sitting there and not Little Face.”
Four Horns’ eyes sparkled with humor. “He is still mad at you over the white woman.”
Fargo remembered. The Sioux had attacked a wagon train. They killed a score of whites and took a white woman hostage. Little Face wanted her for himself but Fargo persuaded the council to let her go back to her own kind. “He sure does hold a hate.”
“Little Face hates you with all he is. Were you his prisoner he would stake you out and skin you.”
Fargo glanced at the other warriors. One Feather was fingering his knife. “I ask only to go my way in peace.”
“If I help you, you must agree to leave our land.”
Fargo had no objections and he doubted Senator Keever would, either, when Keever learned about the gathering of the bands. “You have my word.”
Four Horns smiled and put a hand on Fargo’s shoulder. “I have missed you, my brother. You are one of the few whites who looks at me and sees a man and not the color of my skin.”
“ Cola ,” Fargo said warmly.
Four Horns grunted, and stood. Fargo followed his example and they walked over to where the other warriors waited.
One Feather pointed at Fargo. “I still want to kill this one. He should not be in the Paha Sapa .”
“ Heyah ,” Four Horns said. He gripped the Ovaro’s reins and placed them in Fargo’s hand. “Go now, He Who Walks Many Trails. And may it be many moons before we see each other again.”
Fargo didn’t linger. One Feather and some of the others were too outright eager to kill him. They were under no obligation to do as Four Horns wanted, and might change their minds at any moment. “ Pila mita .”
“Go,” Four Horns urged. Fargo touched his hat brim and got the hell out of there. But he had gone only a short way when a war whoop warned him he was far from safe.
One Feather and two other young warriors were after him.
Once again Fargo resorted to his spurs. He deliberately rode to the southwest;
“Yes, I am your friend. As your friend I warn you to get on your horse and leave the Black Hills. There are Lakota everywhere and more are coming.”
“Why?” Fargo asked. It was normal for the bands to pay the hills a visit but not for all of them to converge at the same time. “Are the Lakota making great medicine? Is there a council of war?” For some time there had been rumors that the bands were going to gather together in a concerted push to drive the white man out. Fargo didn’t doubt that if it ever came to pass, blood would flow in rivers.
“You have not heard?”
“I have been in the white man’s lands far to the south. I have not heard anything about my Lakota brothers.”
Four Horns smiled happily. “It is glorious, my friend. A white buffalo has been born.”
Fargo’s interest was piqued. To many tribes, white buffalo were special. They were living symbols of hope and unity. The Indians held them in the same high regard as the white man held, say, his church or his Bible. “Where is this animal?”
“Here.” Four Horns gestured at the hills. “Exactly where, I will not say. We kept it a secret. I hope I do not hurt your feelings by not telling you.”
“I understand.”
“It has been many winters since a white buffalo was among us. It is why the bands gather. Not one or two or three but all seven. All the warriors, all the leaders.”
That meant thousands of Sioux, Fargo realized.
“The Arapaho have asked to see the white buffalo. The Cheyenne, as well. It will bring many of the tribes together.”
“It is good fortune for you,” Fargo told him.
“Little Face said the same words.”
Fargo frowned. Little Face was what whites would call a medicine man, or shaman. Fargo had met him a few times and didn’t like him for the simple reason Little Face was a bigot. Just as there were whites who hated the red man because the red man wasn’t white, so were there red men who hated the white man because the white man wasn’t red. “I am glad you are sitting there and not Little Face.”
Four Horns’ eyes sparkled with humor. “He is still mad at you over the white woman.”
Fargo remembered. The Sioux had attacked a wagon train. They killed a score of whites and took a white woman hostage. Little Face wanted her for himself but Fargo persuaded the council to let her go back to her own kind. “He sure does hold a hate.”
“Little Face hates you with all he is. Were you his prisoner he would stake you out and skin you.”
Fargo glanced at the other warriors. One Feather was fingering his knife. “I ask only to go my way in peace.”
“If I help you, you must agree to leave our land.”
Fargo had no objections and he doubted Senator Keever would, either, when Keever learned about the gathering of the bands. “You have my word.”
Four Horns smiled and put a hand on Fargo’s shoulder. “I have missed you, my brother. You are one of the few whites who looks at me and sees a man and not the color of my skin.”
“ Cola ,” Fargo said warmly.
Four Horns grunted, and stood. Fargo followed his example and they walked over to where the other warriors waited.
One Feather pointed at Fargo. “I still want to kill this one. He should not be in the Paha Sapa .”
“ Heyah ,” Four Horns said. He gripped the Ovaro’s reins and placed them in Fargo’s hand. “Go now, He Who Walks Many Trails. And may it be many moons before we see each other again.”
Fargo didn’t linger. One Feather and some of the others were too outright eager to kill him. They were under no obligation to do as Four Horns wanted, and might change their minds at any moment. “ Pila mita .”
“Go,” Four Horns urged. Fargo touched his hat brim and got the hell out of there. But he had gone only a short way when a war whoop warned him he was far from safe.
One Feather and two other young warriors were after him.
Once again Fargo resorted to his spurs. He deliberately rode to the southwest;
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