Page 31 of The Last Warrior

“Yep, near as I can tell.”

“Good, then who else have we got who could do it?” As he spoke, both Buffalo Bill and the other gentleman left the podium to drift away from the arena.

“All right, is everybody ready?” It was Richmond, the announcer, speaking. “We’re about to start again. Resume your original positions.” He paused as the cowboys filtered out of the arena. “Here we go from the top. Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to witness is not a mere show. The characters you see before you are not actors. These are the people who have lived out their lives on America’s Great Plains. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you a Congress of Riders of the West!”

The noisy band started to play, a band Suzette now realized consisted of a woodwind section—clarinets and flutes—as well as a brass section. It was a marching song they were rendering—a rather loud marching song—but as soon as it began, into the arena pranced a procession of some of the finest specimens of horseflesh Suzette had ever seen.

Of course their cowboy riders were even wilder and more dangerous looking than the animals. All the young men wore cowboy hats, which they removed as they rode farther into the arena, for as they came in, they waved their hats in the air. Many in the small rehearsal audience waved back.

There was a cold, yet rather rank odor in the air—one of manure and horse flesh—but as a strong wind whipped into the arena, the smell was quickly replaced by one of pure oxygen, along with a dusting of snow.

Some of those cowboys, Suzette noted as she stared at them, had grown their hair long, but most kept their hair cropped short. All were groomed with a mustache, some with beards grown full out. Most had donned jeans or plain trousers, as well as chaps, multicolored shirts and leather gloves.

Several of the cowboys in the front guard held flags, but a few had hopped off their horses and, while continuing to walk, whisked out their ropes and began a series of rope tricks. It was amazing.

Next into the arena galloped the Mexicans, their guns held high as they sent off one shot after another. A few of their fellows followed on foot, strumming their guitars and singing a song which was in competition with the one being belted out by the band.

It was a noisy concatenation at best, but spectacular all the same. At last, pulling up the rear, came the Indians. No women were in the procession; it was all warriors who were adorned with full headdress, buckskin shirts, leggings, breechcloths and moccasins. Each man, in his right hand, held a staff decorated with feathers. Each lifted the staff high into the air, much as the cowboys had waved their hats. Those few in the audience responded with a round of applause.

“All right,” said the announcer, “that’s fine. That’s good. Now at this point, we’ll play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’—the song which Buffalo Bill thinks should be America’s national anthem—and then we clear the arena. Are you ready? All right, let’s do it now.”

Suzette leaned forward to see if Black Lion was amongst the impressive-looking warriors, but either her vision was at fault or he was missing from this particular performance. Placing her hand over her forehead, she strained forward in her seat.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” asked Irena, who was seated beside her.

“Uh, yes. I was…uh…looking at the Indians.” Suzette glanced away from her grandmother. She had yet to confide her pregnancy to Irena, let alone that she was married to a man who was not her babe’s father. Indeed, because she was British to the very end, Suzette hardly knew where to start. But of one matter she was certain, this was not the time or place to make a confession. Still looking in the opposite direction, Suzette said, “The Indians and the cowboys are quite a sight, are they not?”

“Yes. It’s why I thought we should come here to see the dress rehearsal. Of course, you’ll be invited to watch the show itself when it plays this weekend, but the rehearsals are more intimate…less people. I thought you would enjoy it.”

“And so I do,” replied Suzette.

“Careful. Careful,” came Richmond’s voice over the megaphone. “We’ll do the buffalo hunt first. Now I want every rider to form a protective line around the audience. Do this as soon as the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ is done playing. And I’ll say something like this: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, for your protection, our riders are forming a protective line around the arena so you may witness a buffalo chase in safety.’ That’s right. That’s right. Take your positions now. Jed, a little to your left. That’s right. All right now, are you ready? Because as soon as you’re in position, we’ll let the buffalo into the ring. Remember, your job is to keep the buffalo toward the center of the arena. That’s right. Okay, let ’em loose.”

Suzette could hear the buffalo before she saw them.

It would have been hard to miss the sound, since the ground literally shook. They burst through the open gates and entered the ring—there must have been as many as fifty of them.

Were they being controlled? Suzette hoped so, because they seemed to be on a path aimed directly at her. Suzette jumped out of her seat, ready to run, and would have done so, too, except for Irena, who was still seated beside her.

“It’s all right, Suzie,” said Irena. “Sit back down. It is dangerous, but only to the cowboys and the hunters. You’ll see.”

Reluctantly, Suzette sat as instructed, though she wasn’t sure she could trust her grandmother’s logic. She peered out toward the arena. She had never seen a live buffalo before. They were massive, wild and hairy beasts, and she shuddered to think of meeting one of them without the safety of the arena.

While she was staring at the beasts, she saw him, there amongst the other riders. Riding a spotted pony which was no taller than were the buffalo, Black Lion rode hard into the fast-moving herd. He was yelping and urging his mount to run up to the side of a buffalo. Without a saddle, without even a hold on the reins, he performed the stunt hands free.

In awe, she watched as his pony nudged itself in close to one of those buffalo. Closer and closer it pushed until its master, Black Lion, at last shot off round after round of the arrows, aimed directly at the buffalo. No buffalo bull fell, however, since the arrows the Indians used were rubber tipped. But the pony acted as though its master had killed the beast and dropped back to find another target. Once again, it was the pony that brought his master in close to the buffalo, so close Suzette was certain Black Lion could have reached out and touched the beast.

Again, Black Lion shot off round after round of arrows. What happened next was surely not in the script. One buffalo slowed and turned. It pawed the ground. Then it rushed toward Black Lion.

Those who were seated in the audience leaped to their feet. A few of the women screamed. Several of the cowboys, those who had lined up around the arena, prodded their mounts slowly forward.

“Stay where you are,” came the announcement over the megaphone. “Protect the audience.”

The cowboys retreated.

The buffalo charged. Was Black Lion prepared for the attack? He looked relaxed in the saddle. Was he too relaxed?

The huge animal stormed forward. Suzette screamed.