Free Savage Cry by Charles G. West Page A

your sister? Throw her on that horse, too?”
    “I reckon not. I reckon I planned to get another horse.”
    “Where was you gonna git it?”
    “The same place I got this one,” Clay replied, his face expressionless.
    Badger’s grizzled face cracked with a thin smile. He didn’t have to ask where Clay had gotten the sorrel; he had a pretty good idea from the determined look in the young man’s eyes. It was still too early to judge, but Badger had a feeling that he was going to like Clay Culver. “Well, Clay Culver, come on with me, and I’ll show you where you can tie that fancy horse of your’n. You can sleep in my lodge tonight.”
    Badger got to his feet. Speaking in the Lakota tongue, he excused himself from his companions around the small campfire. Clay, of course, could not understand his words, but from the laughter of the five warriors, he guessed that he was the butt of the joke. He didn’t care. Badger had agreed to take him to the Powder River country, and that was a start toward finding Martha.
    “First thing,” Badger said as Clay followed him toward a large tipi near the center of the camp, “we’d best go see Little Hawk.”
    Although there were many curious eyes that followed their progress as they made their way through the camp, Clay sensed few hostile stares. For the most part, there were simply looks of curiosity, no doubt wondering what business the white man had with their chief. Little Hawk, upon hearing Badger’s greeting,came out of his lodge to meet them. Wearing only a breechclout and leggings, the chief stood tall and straight, almost as tall as Clay himself, and half a head taller than Badger. His chest and left shoulder were marked with old scars, wounds from many battles. Though his hair was generously streaked with gray, he still had the rigid bearing of a young warrior, and Clay sensed a quiet dignity about the man that immediately commanded his respect.
    Badger and Little Hawk exchanged polite greetings before the old scout explained Clay’s presence in the camp. Clay stood back and waited while they talked, glancing around him occasionally whenever members of the tribe paused to stare at him. He was beginning to feel a bit uneasy, and he couldn’t help but recall some of the bloodcurdling tales he had heard back East about Indian atrocities. Still, Little Hawk looked friendly enough when he glanced past Badger and nodded at Clay.
    “Little Hawk says you’re welcome in his village,” Badger finally said when he turned again toward Clay. He felt no need to tell his guest that he was welcome for two reasons only: He was vouched for by Badger, and he was not wearing a soldier’s uniform. After the recently unsuccessful peace talks, Badger knew there was going to be war between the Lakota and the soldiers. Red Cloud had spoken for Little Hawk and many others when he angrily withdrew from the talks. The Lakota would protect their hunting grounds from any white men attempting to travel over the trail that Bozeman had blazed. There would be bloodshed if the wagons kept coming.
    The situation was not an easy one for Badger himself, for he was forced to make a decision as well. He had worked for the army as a scout for many years, but his wife and her family were in Little Hawk’scamp. Little Hawk was his friend. He could not draw the tommyhawk against his friend—his wife’s brother. Nor could he in good conscience draw down on a soldier. Already, Badger’s mind was beginning to ache with these troubling thoughts, and when the time came to choose, he hoped there would be some out for him. For the time being, he would return to his wife’s village and think on it later. Badger had never bothered his mind by looking too far ahead into the future, preferring to deal with each new day as it dawned. Hell, maybe Red Cloud and the other chiefs will forget about making war on the soldiers. Even as he thought it, he knew better. It was coming, sure as water was wet and flowed