Free Black Horse by Veronica Blake Page A

the superintendent imitated. An exchange of Sioux words followed, with Walsh speaking first, then Sitting Bull. There appeared to be no harsh words spoken, and since the superintendent spoke to the Sioux leaders in their own language, Brandon had no knowledge of what was being said until Walsh turned around and repeated the brief conversation in English.
    “Sitting Bull has assured me that his people have abandoned their fight on the other side of the border.”In spite of his calm manner, Brandon noticed a heavy mask of sweat coated the superintendent’s face as he spoke.
    “Are we free to leave, then?” one nervous-looking Mountie asked.
    “Sitting Bull has asked us to stay for a wedding that is about to take place. I’ve accepted his invitation,” Walsh announced. The obvious tension that was apparent in his expression and tone of voice began to fade as he added, “He said his people are too tired to fight anymore—and I honestly believe him.”
    After Brandon watched Walsh turn around and follow Sitting Bull toward the center of the village, he glanced at the crowd of Indians who had slowly backed away to make passage for the soldiers. An overpowering sense of sorrow washed through him. He had been prepared to hate these savages, but there was nothing savage about these pitiful-looking people. The sea of dark faces around him were not hostile and murderous. Many of the women—especially the older ones—looked as if they had borne the weight of a thousand pounds throughout their lifetimes. There was emptiness in their eyes and a look of hopelessness on their haggard faces. Most of the men looked old and walked with hunched shoulders and slow steps. But it was the children Brandon found the most pathetic. In spite of their tiny bodies, the haunted expressions they wore on their faces made them seem as though they weren’t really children at all. It was as if their youth had been stripped away and they had forgotten what it meant to play.
    Walking through the village, Brandon was amazedto see how many tepees were crowded into this wooded area. He guessed there had to be several hundred lodges scattered among the trees. His nervousness returned as he settled down on the ground beside the rest of his comrades. The Indians joined them, all sitting down in a huge circle around a large fire pot. Several large buffalo hindquarters roasted over the hot coals, giving off a scrumptious aroma. Brandon had heard the Sioux were at the point of starvation, but it did not appear that they were doing without food now. Buffalo were rare in this part of Canada, so Brandon was even more surprised to see that there seemed to be such an abundance of this type of game in the village.
    When a long pipe was handed to him, Brandon obediently took a puff. The tobacco was potent and it felt as if it had lighted his throat and nose on fire. Trying to keep from choking, he handed the pipe to the next man. A gruff cough escaped from him in spite of his attempt to hold it back. He kept his attention focused on Superintendent Walsh and Sitting Bull.
    He was not able to hear their voices because of the drums that had resumed beating. The Mountie sitting closest to Walsh, however, began to pass bits and pieces of the conversation down the line as the superintendent relayed information to him. When the tidbits reached Brandon’s waiting ears, he learned that the wedding they were about to witness was that of a war chief and the daughter of an elderly medicine man. He was one of the men who had accompanied Sitting Bull out to meet them when they had first arrived in the village. That same medicine man was sitting next to Sitting Bull now. Brandon eyed him thoughtfully.He looked slightly older than Sitting Bull, and not nearly as fierce. Sitting Bull, with his hawk-like nose and perpetual frown, seemed almost ominous.
    The pounding of the drums grew more intense, drawing Brandon’s attention to the opposite side of the fire pit. Through the rising