PROLOGUE
Northwest Indian Country
Territory of the Blackfeet
The Month When Geese Come (May), 1871
Máóhkataatoyi,Red Fox, watched as Pokaa'aakíí(Poka'aki),Child Woman, raised her hand and shouted, "Watch me take down this buffalo calf with one shot!"
"Saa!Wait!Do not shoot!There are—"
BLAST!
It was too late! The damage was done. Hadn't Poka'aki, or as the whites called her, Briella Fehér, seen the buffalo herd hidden in the shallow plain-like valley below?
And now the buffalo, having heard the shot, would assume hunters were close by; it would cause them to stampede. But, perhaps their direction might be to run along the valley rather than to climb the hill and…
As Red Fox heard the unmistakable thunder of hundreds or perhaps thousands of the buffalo's hooves coming closer and closer to him, he knew the stark reality of what this was: a stampede on its way—toward him and Poka'aki.
There was, perhaps, nothing more terrifying to the heart of a man than the tremendous force and speed of a stampeding herd of buffalo on the run: the sound of snapping wood, thewhooshing of shrubs and bushes, as well as the quaking and rattling of the ground.
Even now the air carried the dirt and rocks kicked high into the air by those buffalo's hooves. With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew the herd would be here before Poka'aki had time to get out of the way, and if she didn't move fast enough, they would trample her to death.
"Get out of here!" he shouted and waved at her. "Quick! Leave here! Go! Fast!"
But, he knew his words were useless. All sound was blocked except the thunder of the stampede.
In a time quicker than it took to think it, Red Fox knew that George— who was Poka'aki's brother as well as Red Fox's own brother-in-law, also spoken of as his almost-brother—was too far away to come to her rescue. George had left their hunting party early in the morning, his intention having been to return to the tribe and report this enormous herd of buffalo to the chiefs, letting them decide if they would call a tribal hunt of the buffalo or secure a buffalo caller to send the herd, one and all, over the cliff of thepisskan, the buffalo jump.
Inwardly, Red Fox cringed. Because of his and Poka'aki's actions here today, the stampede would interfere with the tribe's ability to obtain enough food for winter storage, since a stampeding herd of buffalo could run through the day and into the night, taking its vast supply of food completely out of Blackfoot territory.
This was why, whenever a large mass of buffalo was spotted, the chiefs banned all hunting until the tribe's men could, as a single body, hunt the game.
On this very day, the chiefs had sent both Red Fox and George—two scouts—out from the camp to look for buffalo. No one else in the tribe yet knew this large herd was even here. And, now it would soon be gone.
The thunderous, ground-shaking roar of the stampede caused all further thought to cease. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Red Fox caught sight of the black, horned creatures coming directly at him. Just then, his horse reared as a wave of the hairy black beasts surrounded him and his mount, pushing him and his pony in alongside of them.
With a quick action, Red Fox brought his pony under control. There was no running from the buffalo now, but he was on the other side of the herd from Poka'aki.
Because the sharp-horned cows crowded in from every side, enveloping him, his pony was forced to keep time with the stampede. Red Fox spared a glance behind him to see the blackened masses of the animals to the rear of him, seeming as though they were without end. Indeed, there was to be no retreat from them.
Once more, he looked toward Poka'aki, seeing she was caught up within the herd, as was he. He had to save her—but how?
He was on the complete opposite side from her of the solid mass of charging buffalo. He knew well that even the best of horses could not last for long within a fleeing herd of these animals; the buffalo's lungs were large and strong, and the muscles in their legs were sturdy, allowing them to run both day and night without ever stopping.
Not so a horse. Even the best buffalo horse could not long keep up with a running buffalo herd; instead, a good pony was trained to take his master toward a buffalo, allowing the man to grab a quick shot, and then to retreat, carrying himself and his rider to the side of the terrorized animals.
Glancing at Poka'aki to his left and across the field of terror-stricken and plunging buffalo, he took stock of her horse—a three-year-old mare not trained to a buffalo run. Her horse wouldn't last longer than a breath. Worse, Red Fox could see shehad lost control of the reins and was clinging to the pony's mane, the reins being dragged behind, which could be stepped on by a buffalo…
All Indian hunters knew that the only way to remain alive in a buffalo stampede was to gradually guide one's horse to the edge of the stampede, and then leave the massive push of the herd. But, without reins? How was she to guide her horse?
With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew Poka'aki's chances of surviving the stampede were all but impossible.
But, she must survive! She must! She, the girl he had loved for so many years!
He had to get to her! Her horse would soon become tired and be overrun by the sharp hooves of the buffalo pushing in on her from behind, trampling them both into the ground.
His one chance to save her was to guide his horse toward hers and then lead them both to the side. And, this he would do; this he must do.
