The Elk-Dog Heritage (17 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Elk-Dog Heritage
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Heads Off had
watched the charge form with detachment. It was not despair, but was beyond that. In his own mind, he realized later, he had already accepted the total annihilation of the Elk-dog band. Thus, as the attacking force formed up in the distance, he had become cold and objective. His detachment now allowed him to observe the enemy strategy and evaluate it critically.
This time they were well organized. Warriors on foot, he knew, were moving into position for diversionary attacks from several quarters. It would be up to the bowmen along the stream, the women in the woods, to stop these attacks on their own. The entire force of the horsemen must be used to stem the main charge. And that, he realized, was a hopeless situation.
So, in this, his last battle, he found it amusing in this strange detached way, to observe the enemy tactics. There was one maneuver that he did not quite understand, as the Head Splitters began to mount for the attack. He was puzzled by the horsemen on the hill. He had not noticed them before. In fact, they appeared to be newcomers, just arriving in time for the kill. There was a bit of confusion among them, he thought, some argument and gesturing.
That was a poor position for a flanking attack. He would have placed them across the creek to the east. The stream would slow their charge, but allow a diversionary attack on the weakest flank, and put them behind his poor group of defenders.
The way the new group of horsemen were located, they would actually contribute little to the attack. When they came down from their hilltop they would encounter the fight from nearly the same angle as the main charge. Both would be funneled into the narrow bottleneck where the defenders would meet them. From the People's standpoint, it would make little difference. Either of the enemy groups could probably overrun his handful of warriors.
Still, he was puzzled by the behavior of the group on the hill. They seemed indecisive. There was more arguing and gesturing. Heads Off could not see them well at this distance, and was further handicapped by seeing them only as silhouettes against the bright western sky.
Suddenly he realized the reason for the confusion. For some of it, at least. From where the newcomers stood, they could not be seen by the main camp of the Head Splitters. The shoulder of the hill would intrude on their line of sight. The main group might be completely oblivious to the presence of the others.
Both groups of attackers, in fact, might be unaware of each other. This might account for the indecisiveness on the hill. They could be arguing whether to attack. Still, how could the newcomers fail to see that a battle was beginning? Perhaps they were unsure as to the identity of the attackers. The entire matter became more confusing.
There was no time to contemplate further. The distant enemy were mounted now, the faint yipping war cries beginning to melt together into a chorus of sound designed to terrify. He knew that it would also serve as a signal for the warriors on foot to begin the attack. Then the charge began.
The People had seen this spectacle so many times recently that it seemed commonplace. The Elk-dog warriors moved forward at a walk into line to meet the charge. Heads Off was pleased to see that none faltered. Somewhere at the far end of the line a
warrior raised his voice in the death song. The young chief wished for a moment that they wouldn't do that. It seemed so final. In reality, today was to be final, he realized, but still, he hated the admission.
The Head Splitters gained in momentum and volume, the high-pitched
yip-yip
of their attack becoming louder as they approached. There would be no doubt now in the minds of the horsemen on the hill as to the identity of the attackers.
He kneed the gray mare into a trot and the others kept pace. The charging Head Splitters thundered past the shoulder of the hill and began to crowd into the narrowing portion of the meadow. From the corner of his eye, Heads Off was aware that the newcomers on the hill were beginning their charge too. They poured down the slope, lances at the ready, an efficient-appearing band of horsemen. Their charge would be a little late, he noted dully. The first rank of the attacking main force would be well past before the newcomers could join them.
Now the new horsemen began their war cry as they came charging down the slope into the battle. It was a long moment before the reality sank home to Heads Off. The sound that came ringing down the hillside and reverberating against the trees behind him was not the yipping falsetto of the enemy, but the full-throated war cry of the People.
Confused, he reined to a stop to evaluate the changing scene. The enemy charge faltered, too, and they began to mill around in indecision, colliding with each other in disorganized confusion. How could this be, the enemy obviously was thinking, that we are attacked in the middle of an attack? Some of the Head Splitters turned to meet the rush of the new assault, while others made as if to continue the charge. Still others continued to mill about in confusion.
Heads Off was still watching in shocked disbelief. Where had
this new force of attackers come from? They were obviously of the People, it could now be seen not only from their war cry, but from their dress and weapons. They charged from the slope and out onto the meadow. The element of surprise was the important factor, perhaps more so than the advantage of momentum and the blow to the unprotected flank of the enemy.
In total number, the People were still outmanned, but were now in a position of tactical advantage. Just before the flanking attack struck, someone identified their new allies.
“It is the Bloods!”
“The Bloods!” The cry went up and down the line, and the People's war cry rose from exultant throats. Heads Off could now plainly see the bright scarlet band across each forehead.
Along the creek, bowmen echoed the full-throated yell. The enemy warriors on foot in the dogwood thickets along the stream saw an unpleasant situation shaping up and began to retreat. After a few parting shots, the bowmen of the People turned and began to run to join the fight in the meadow.
Now the Head Splitters, still confused and disoriented, were being attacked almost simultaneously from both sides, by the Bowstrings from the creek and by the Bloods from the hillside.
Quickly, Heads Off evaluated the rapidly changing scene. Given the terrain and the tactical situation as it now existed, there was only one possible course of action. He lifted his buffalo lance and shouted for the attention of his elk-dog warriors.
The gray mare was plunging with excitement now. He turned her in the general direction of the battle and let her have her head. Without further signal Lolita leaped forward like a great cat, and her rider roared a yell that moved his warriors forward as one.
“Charge!”
Before the Elk-dog
warriors fully struck the battle, it was almost over. Head Splitters, unsure and bewildered, were in full retreat, scattering as they ran. Heads Off was unable to strike a single blow with his lance.
It was to be hoped that his warriors would not pursue the retreating enemy out onto the prairie in unprotected positions. They seemed not inclined to do so. A few of the Bloods made a token charge after the retreating enemy, but then returned.
A young Blood warrior approached him at a trot, and reined his horse to a stop. It was Red Dog.
“
Ah-koh
, my chief.” He smiled with genuine respect. “It is a good day for a fight.”
Heads Off sat, still dumbfounded at the rapid turn of events. He glanced again at the ridge above him and saw a solitary figure still outlined against the sky. There was something familiar about the way the man sat.
“It is Badger.” Red Dog spoke at his elbow. “He would not come with us.”
Heads Off nodded. The situation now began to make sense. The argument on the hill, the indecisiveness. Red Dog had assumed command and led the Bloods in their amazing charge, when Badger had refused. The Bloods had followed their new leader. Now Badger sat, rejected and angry, alone.
Someone called out and pointed. A handful of the enemy were climbing the hill, intent on escape. Heads Off recognized the
young chief whom he had noticed before. The man seemed to be the leader of the retreating group. He was choosing a good line of escape, seeking higher ground above the conflict. He was a good leader.
At first it appeared that the Head Splitters were not aware of the horseman above them. At what point he was seen was unclear, and mattered little anyway. Their line of flight would bring them in direct contact. The People watched, fascinated.
Above the scattered noise and confusion on the plain below, the intermittent cries and nickers of the elk-dogs, now rose another sound. The solitary figure on the hill was singing the death song of the People. Badger moved his big horse forward to meet the advancing enemy.
The first of the Head Splitters was still off balance at the lip of the hill when Badger struck. The others scattered to climb to the flat top of the ridge at different points. Yet another felt the lance of the young Blood before the rest gained the hilltop. For a few heartbeats there was a flurry of activity as three horsemen closed at once on the lone warrior. Badger had stopped his song now, and fought in silence.
The struggling figures tumbled to the ground for a moment, and then slowly began to rise. The watchers could not see how many remained on the ground, but recognized the young Head Splitter chief as he stepped forward to face them from the rim of the hill. Slowly he lifted a long buffalo lance as if to show it to the People below. Heads Off believed it to be Badger's lance.
With a last defiant yipping cry, the four remaining enemy swung to their horses and departed in the direction of their camp, leading the horses of their comrades and the big black that had been Badger's.
“He was a brave man.” Heads Off spoke solemnly to Red Dog.
“Yes, my chief, but sometimes wrong.”
Coyote trotted up, grinning through a layer of dust and sweat. He nodded to the young Blood warrior and spoke to the chief.
“They go!” He pointed out onto the plain.
Though Sun Boy's torch was moving low in the west, the Head Splitters were breaking camp. The first of their column was already forming up to depart over the hill to the south. Even while the People watched, a lodge came down in frantic haste as the inhabitants prepared to retreat.
A thought occurred to Heads Off.
“Where are your women?” he asked Red Dog.
“About two suns north.” The other pointed. “They are camped with some Growers. We came to trade, and the Growers told us of this.” He spread his hands in an all inclusive gesture around him. “The message had gone out to all the Head Splitters to be here for the kill.”
The young man was silent a long moment, then spoke again, hesitantly, and with respect.
“My chief, are we welcome in your camp?”
Heads Off was startled. He had almost forgotten the edict of the Big Council. He was inexperienced in tribal custom, and did not know how matters would stand now.
It was a shock to find the Bloods even alive. The enemy had apparently been so preoccupied with the destruction of the Elk-dog band that they had overlooked the small and vulnerable Blood Society, alone on the prairie.
Now the status of the Bloods was in doubt. Their leader was dead, and it was against him that the Council had ruled. Still, the others had withdrawn from the tribe to follow him.
There seemed little doubt as to their status with the Elk-dog band. There were warm greetings, shouts of recognition, and reaffirmation of friendships. The women, children, and oldsters
came straggling from the woods with joyful cries of reunion. A tearful mother embraced her son, whom she had given up for dead, and smudged the embarrassed warrior's crimson paint.
Heads Off had hurriedly taken leave of the activity in the meadow and loped to the woods to find Tall One. She came bounding toward him, nearly knocking him from his horse.
“What happened, my husband? Someone said it is the Bloods?”
He vaulted to the ground and gathered her in his arms.
“The children are safe?”
“Yes, the attack had just begun.”
Here and there, a voice lifted in the lamenting wail of the song of mourning. The People were not without casualties. Still, that they had survived at all was such an unexpected triumph that the general atmosphere was one of jubilation.
Children were brought from their hiding places, and scattered to find their own families. Crow Woman came to hand tiny Owl to his mother.
“The signs were good!” she reminded Tall One with a wrinkled smile.
The day was rapidly drawing to a close. Someone had already started a large fire in the center of the camp. There would be a victory celebration like none ever seen. But first, Heads Off realized, he must call a council.
“Coyote!” he called.
“Yes, my chief, you wish a council?” The little man had anticipated again.
Heads Off nodded, and knew that the word was probably already spreading. Just now, he felt, he should go and speak to White Buffalo of his remarkable prediction.

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