Free Scarlet Plume, Second Edition by Frederick Manfred Page B

we’ll wait and see.”
    Vikes was jumping wild.
    Tallak tried to quiet him. “It’s all right, Billy. With your first shot you become a new man.”
    Vikes cried, “But I ain’t got no gun. Only a pitchfork, and I left that t’ home.”
    Whitebone and his warriors spread out. They came on singing a monotonous, eerie chant, the Dakota death song. Each warrior had painted himself in his own individualistic style, celebrating personal coups and battle marks. Even the ponies were painted and decorated for battle. The warriors rode naked except for clout and war feather. Most carried bows and arrows, a few double-barreled shotguns. Compared to Pounce’s Christian braves, Whitebone’s war party had the old wild look. Whitebone’s group had always kept pretty much to themselves, had never had much traffic with the whites.
    Whitebone and his warriors came on. Their horses breasted through the rushes in the swamp in a wide line. In some places the growth was so deep, horse and rider vanished from view.
    Reverend Codman stood calmly. But his fists were balled so tight they were white all the way back to the wrist.
    Tallak shrugged twice, quick, then took command. “Boys, we’ve got to take cover. Ladies, take the kits inside and get under the beds and tables. Men, knock out the chinking from between the logs and we’ll shoot them down as they come.”
    No sooner said than done. Women and children piled inside and hid as best they could. Vikes tied his team of horses to a wagon standing against the south wall of the cabin. Men looked to their guns and powder, and picked their spots inside along the log walls. Reverend Codman sat down in the old black rocker in the middle of the cabin. He fell into deep thought, eyes down. He rocked slowly back and forth.
    Pounce didn’t like the white maneuver of taking shelter inside the Codman cabin. He frowned. He had had other plans for them. And it was with an effort that he finally managed to clear his pockmarked face with a benign smile. He pointed at Whitebone’s oncoming band of warriors. “You see,” he cried, “there the enemy comes. Now you will see that Pounce is your friend. Pounce will council with the chief known as Whitebone.”
    Tallak snorted. “That dirty devil Pounce. Look at him. Hair cut off like a Christian. T’while his clout is shitty like the breeching of a horse.”
    Theodosia spoke up near the door. “Remember, where the baptized are gathered, there the Lord is.”
    Waggling his war club, Pounce strode off to meet Whitebone. He met Whitebone just as the line of Whitebone’s mounted, chanting braves emerged from the deep grass.
    Pounce held up his left hand, palm out. “Houw!” He spoke loudly enough for the whites to hear.
    Whitebone stared down at Pounce a moment, then, reining in his war horse, held up his left hand too. “Houw.”
    The line of braves braced, and stopped. Slowly the eerie chanting faded away.
    Pounce and Whitebone conferred. They were too far away for the whites to hear much of what was said. Only occasional words, spoken in sarcasm, drifted across the intervening space. Pounce seemed to be talking big; Whitebone quietly and incisively.
    Judith lay with Angela under the table near the door. Looking out through a crack between the door and the doorpost, Judith distinctly heard Whitebone say in Dakota, “I see my red brother has removed the white man’s pants and put on the breechclout.” A little later Whitebone laughed scornfully and called Pounce a name. “Pantaloons.”
    Pounce defended himself.
    Time passed. Hearts pumped loud. When the children whimpered they were pinched and told to shut up. The old black rocker creaked as Reverend Codman rocked and pondered.
    The two chiefs at last fell into a low murmuring discussion. There was much looking toward the cabin by both of them, then off toward the northeast in the direction of Fort Ridgely.
    Judith could make out Whitebone’s face quite clearly. The afternoon sun shone full