Strong Bear breathed deeply, savoring the thin, hot air, and then looked around at the canyon. Yes, he thought, contented. This spot would do well. At the far end of the canyon the walls grew narrow and twisted, forming an almost oppressively tight maze. He would have the advantage there. Best of all, the walls were so high that it would take the white soldiers many hours to place men there to fire down upon him.

They would have to come straight at him, in two's, or else demonstrate the patience and wisdom of a true hunter. Strong Bear doubted that the bluecoats would take the patient route. They had been patient for two weeks, and he could tell that their patience was wearing thin. They wanted only to kill the final Cheyenne renegade and return to the safety and security of their barracks.

The bay behind Strong Bear nudged his back. He had been a good war-horse, and even now he made his master proud. The maned old warrior had grown tired of standing still, and wanted Strong Bear to rush into the fight with him. Strong Bear stroked the bay's neck, speaking to him softly in the private language which men everywhere reserve for their horses. Then he stood back, levered a shell into his Winchester, and ended the faithful beast's life.

The shot echoed in the canyon like a dry stick, or like the cracking bones of a pack animal which can endure no more of its burden. The soldiers would hear, of course, but it did not matter. Strong Bear had at least a few minutes on them more than enough time to do what needed to be done. There was no need to be cautious now. They knew roughly where he was, they just did not know that he was about to turn on them.

He spun around and walked into the canyon. He had chosen that specific site to kill his horse, and he hoped that the white soldiers were smart enough to figure out the reason. It had not only been a matter of him not wanting the animal to fall into the hands of the enemy; it had also been a symbolic gesture, a simple and graceful message to his enemies.

It said, Here I shall stand. I shall not ride away.

Strong Bear had not imagined that it would come to this. The possibility of dying, of course, he had recognized from the very beginning -after all, does not a Dog Man live his life knowing that death is always close at hand? It was the prospect of facing that end alone that Strong Bear had not anticipated. He had always thought that he would be in the company of his comrades at that moment. Instead his last deeds would be witnessed not by Our People but only by the eyes of the enemy. Them, and Great Medicine who looked on from afar.

It seemed like many winters since he and his nine chosen Dog Men left their village, and not just a handful of days. The whites had once again been speaking of treaties and reservations, of safety for those who would submit, destruction for those who would not. The white men's words of safety were regarded as little more than wind. Too many of Strong Bear's people remembered what had happened at the place which white men call Sand Creek; women and children, and old ones, had been slaughtered without pity. Our People would not trust the bluecoats again, not when they spoke of safety. But when they spoke of killing, the Cheyenne listened, for in that regard the white man had always been true to his word.

It was decided that a small group of Dog Men called "Dog Soldiers" by the whites would "surrender" and see for themselves what manner of treatment their people could expect on the reservation. Strong Bear, who had proven his valor many times, was chosen to lead the band. The soldiers were instantly on their guard when the Dog Men arrived, for even some of them were aware of the prowess of the greatest warrior society of the Plains. The blue-bellies took their weapons, even their bow-lances. Strong Bear was deeply shamed; if the soldiers recognized by their regalia that they were Dog Men, then surely they must know that no Dog Man separates himself from his bow.

Perhaps that dishonor had been performed out of ignorance. If the soldiers had known of its significance, they would surely have taken the bows anyhow and gloated over it. They had certainly spent no strength in extending to the Dog Men any other politeness that guests have the right to expect. There had been no question that the Dog Men had been prisoners, not guests.

The soldiers, and even their scouts, had not seemed to notice that the ornaments and decorations on the Dog Mens clothing did not match with the designs and patterns set down ages ago by the Dog Society's founder, who had been chosen by the Great Prophet. Stupid, on the white men's part to be ignorant of your foe's garb was to be ignorant of your foe's soul. Strong Bear and his companions all knew the significance of the troopers' sleeve stripes, and leg-piping, and banners. Strong Bear also knew that if a Sioux painted his face black, it signified that his spirit's thirst for vengeance had been quenched. If a Crow applied the same paint to his face, however, it meant that he was in mourning. Very wise, to know one's enemies, and his friends, as well. But especially his enemies, for they would try to trick him one day.

Strong Bear and his men had decided that they did not like being the white mens prisoners. They had been locked in a large, empty room, with guards stationed outside the door to watch over them. As soon as the door was closed and locked, the Cheyenne set to work.

The shiny metal pieces which had been sewn onto moccasins, leggings and shirts were torn off. Heavy ornaments which had hung from the men's necks by leather thongs were removed. Blades and even wooden handles were produced from within their leggings. These things were tied together by the leather necklaces. Soon the ten warriors were armed with knives, axes, and war clubs. The soldiers had marched them into captivity with their weapons stitched on their clothing.

It was a simple matter for the Dog Men to lure the guards inside by feigning loudly that they were all ill. One warrior, Angry Cloud, had recommended setting fire to the little building, thinking that perhaps they would be more interested in saving their own property than in helping their captives. He was overruled. The risk was too great that the soldiers would simply allow them to be cooked.

The two guards had stepped uncertainly inside, their rifles at the ready. By the time they had the chance to notice that the Indian band was smaller than it was supposed to be, Strong Bear and Angry Cloud had leaped from their places of concealment and cut the unfortunate men's throats. The escaping warriors paused only long enough to take the dead men's weapons and scalps. Then they slipped into the moonlight.

They could have taken horses and left then, but they all knew that first they must find more weapons. One very observant warrior, Three Trees, had earlier taken note of the building in which the Dog Men's weapons had been hidden by the whites. This was good, for it meant recovering the bow-lances which served as badges of their Society. They stole across the courtyard.

The door to the dark little shack was easily forced open, and the bow-lances, staves, and lances removed. Three of the Cheyenne, including Strong Bear, had rifles as well. Only the leader Strong Bear, however, had one of the new repeating Winchesters. Even the bag of shells was untouched. Interesting, Strong Bear had thought, that the soldiers would recognize the danger of the cartridges, but miss the disassembled weapons which were sewn onto their captives' clothes.

All was going smoothly. Perhaps it should not have been a surprise to them when the two soldiers had approached from around the corner. But surprised they were. The warriors still acted swiftly, killing the two before they could aim their weapons. They were not quick enough, though, to prevent one white from calling out and another from firing his rifle into the dirt. The Dog Men ran toward the corral, leaving their victims' scalps to be wasted.

Blue-bellies stumbled into the courtyard, half-asleep, some in their odd sleeping garments. A few bullets whined into the night. None found their target, though at least one entered another soldier by mistake. It was fortunate that the whites were not trained their whole lives in the ways of war. Strong Bear knew that if he and his friends had disrupted a large Comanche camp in the middle of the night, none of them would ever have gotten out of it alive. The white scouts were a little better, but they were not numerous enough to make a difference in the skirmish.

They made it to the corral, and most of them ended up with their own horses. Strong Bear's bay ran to meet him. The animal would probably have trampled any white who tried to stand in his way. The mounted Cheyenne charged out of the corral and out of the little fort. Strong Bear doubted now that the soldiers had ever intended to send them anywhere else. The Dog Men scattered as many of the troopers' horses as they could, although they did not have the time to do the job properly.

One of the warriors Strong Bear learned later that it was his own nephew, Lost Eagle was hit by rifle fire. The young man fell to the ground. He was dead or dying, or he would never have fallen. Strong Bear swore that the brave man would be avenged. If the soldiers were foolish enough to follow them, that avenging would come very soon.

Despite the fact that it was late and many of their horses were scattered, the soldiers regrouped quickly. They pounded into the night, not very far behind their escaping quarry. Strong Bear decided that he and his men must ride north a little way and prepare an ambush to discourage the cavalrymen. His men followed without question, for they had long ago learned to trust his judgment on matters such as these.

A few hours later the nine Cheyenne were waiting patiently behind a rise. They heard the enemy's approach. There were twice as many soldiers as there were attacking Indians, and they moved far too slow to ever catch anyone. Strong Bear gave the signal to attack.

To his surprise the soldiers dropped from the saddle and took cover behind their horses, almost as if they were expecting just such an attack. Strong Bear gave them credit; they showed much more wisdom than he had expected.

The Cheyenne still managed to kill at least a couple of the hidden cavalrymen, but at a cost. Strong Bear lost two more killed, and three wounded. He had not expected this kind of resistance.

Then something else happened which he had not expected. Another group of soldiers was approaching, from the northeast. They numbered at least as many as the first group, perhaps more, and they had Indian scouts. When they drew nearer Strong Bear could tell that they were Crow. The first soldiers had been dangled before him as bait, while the second group and its Crow scouts had flanked him. The Crows must surely have alerted their masters to Strong Bear's tactics.

Strong Bear cursed the filthy Crows, at the same time pitying their ignorance. Did they not realize that the same hand which petted them now would cut their throats when there was no more prey for them to help catch? It was more of the white man's tactics: divide the enemy. It had even achieved some success in Strong Bear's own village. There were always a few misguided men who believed the white man's kind words, oblivious to the cocked gun he carried.

Strong Bear entertained the notion of making a final stand right there. It seemed to be the most glorious course, and left to himself there would have been no need for consideration. But he realized, with some bitterness, that his men relied on his experience to guide them. He knew he must ensure that at least some of them return home to fight again some day. Strong Bear also knew that if they fled to the east, the Crow scouts could follow them and lead the soldiers to their village. Far better to lose them in the mountains. Strong Bear urged his bay to the west, and his men followed him.

Two more Cheyenne died before they put a safe distance between them and their pursuers. Strong Bear burned at the indignity of leading a desperate retreat. His comrades said nothing, but he knew that they, too, were tortured by the shame. Perhaps they had not yet begun to question his own courage and wisdom, but it was only natural that they would eventually. Perhaps they would be right to. He wore the long sash which signified that he had been chosen one of the Four Bravest, with the red and yellow quills and eagle feathers reserved for the Two Bravest. His leggings were decorated with locks of human hair, another honor reserved for the Two Bravest. After today's debacle, all these honors might well be stripped from him at the yearly council and given to some more deserving man.

They made their way, after two days of pursuit, into the mountains. Angry Cloud remarked that he hoped they did not cross paths with any Utes, they had enough people to kill that day. Perhaps any Ute they met would be obliging enough to wait his turn. The other four Dog Men laughed.

Still the horse soldiers came on, picking their way through the rocks. The Crows were able to read the Dog Men's tracks, and a couple of the white scouts seemed almost as proficient. The surviving Dog Men looked to Strong Bear, awaiting his word. He saw by their faces that they were tired of running, and ready to die with honor. He explained to them that they must remain hidden a little while longer, and perhaps they could escape and kill a few more whites at the same time. They were unconvinced. The four men's faces were contorted with some unseen pressure. It was the first time since Strong Bear was a callow, untested youth that his words were not accepted at once. His cause was not helped when one of the Crows began to laugh derisively and shout obscene taunts at the rocks. The Cheyenne began to move forward and Strong Bear called them back.

Three Trees's brow was twisted, as if he were betrayed and betraying in the same act. "Do you not see, my friend?" he asked Strong Bear. "He calls us cowards. If we do not kill him, we will have proven his words to be true."

Three Trees, Angry Cloud, and the other two charged at the impudent Crow scout. Strong Bear hesitated a moment, not in doubt or fear, but in sadness that his counsel was no longer heeded. The fact that it would lead to all their deaths was also disturbing, but not as much so   that, after all, was their duty.

It was because of this brief pause that Strong Bear was riding out of the rocks at the moment the fusillade began. He watched helplessly as his friends were cut down. Angry Cloud lived long enough to kill the infuriating Crow who had angered the men past reason, then he toppled spinning from his horse as several cavalry bullets found their mark. All four of the Dog Men in Strong Bear's charge had fallen to the ground, their forms temporarily obscured by the dust raised by their horses' hooves and the foes' bullets. The war was taking a new form.

Now there was only Strong Bear and the enemy.

At the very moment the soldiers realized they had a new target, Strong Bear decided to stay in the rocks. If he was going to die, it would be on his own terms. He did not consider four Cheyenne Dog Men for one boot-licking Crow scout a very good trade at all. He was determined that his own life would be bought at a much higher cost.

Bullets ricocheted into the boulders after him. He ignored them. His mind was focused on recalling every trick he knew to elude the soldiers, at best long enough to buy the time he needed to find a suitable site for his stand and make the necessary preparations.

It had worked, and now he stood in the mouth of the narrow canyon with no horse and an ever decreasing amount of time. He indulged himself in a warm thought of his woman, Wild River Bird, the feel of her, the sound of her laughter. Strong Bear hoped that her sister's husband would care well for her and for their daughter. He thought also of his three sons. That thought made him ache with regret. Strong Bear now discerned that the boys would not grow up in time to live their lives as warriors; the white men would have destroyed the Cheyenne way of life by then. Strong Bear occasionally heard news from the Cheyenne's sometimes allies the Comanche, which indicated that those fierce horsemen were nearing defeat in their war with the whites. If Quanah could not prevail, who could? And once the Comanche were led meekly off their lands, the eyes of all whites would turn toward Our People and their friends, the Arapaho and the Sioux.

Strong Bear now understood more clearly the nature of the whites, and their danger to true human beings. It was not that they were especially brave, or especially wise. It was the fact that they were determined, and they were many. One could not kill enough of those people to stop them.

Strong Bear picked his way through the narrow maze of the canyon until he reached the end. There were so many twists and turns leading to that point that the soldiers would be nervous to the point of panic by the time they reached him. And it would be soldiers who came after him, he knew, not Crow scouts. The Crow might track the rattlesnake to his den for their white masters, but they would not run their arms down into it. The soldiers would. Unlike any of the native peoples, the whites seemed to have a curious lack of independence where obedience to their leaders was concerned. A Cheyenne or a Comanche usually followed his leader, if the leader made sense, but he was free not to. The blue-bellies, on the other hand, sometimes acted like slaves. The white man's victories were built on the blood of their own men as much as on the blood of others.

Strong Bear began to unwrap his long sash. It was made of tanned skin, worn over the right shoulder and under the left. The sash was longer than a man is tall, and its end usually trailed on the ground behind Strong Bear. At the bottom end was a lengthwise slit, and tied to it with a buckskin thong was a wooden picket-stake, painted red. Strong Bear used the head of his ax to drive the pin through the thin slit and into the ground. By unwrapping the sash he had given himself a little room to maneuver, but he was not moving.

He had considered staking himself out earlier, during the battle when they had been flanked, but there had been no time. His men had needed his guidance, and he felt at the time that by retreating they could yet prevail. Perhaps he should have staked himself out then. It was past, though, and there was the present challenge to be faced. This time Strong Bear had no responsibilities except his own honor.

Strong Bear had taken this drastic action on a couple of occasions before, but on those times he had been accompanied by comrades whose retreat he was covering. At least one of them would always disobey his command to flee, for just long enough to rescue him. There would be no rescuing now.

By pinning his sash to it, Strong Bear had claimed that small section of the canyon floor as his ground. And since as a leader of the Dog Society he represented the Cheyenne nation, it was Cheyenne land as well. It was not to be surrendered while he lived.

He removed the bow-lance from over his shoulder and leaned it against the canyon wall. It was a long bow, two or three heads taller than Strong Bear himself when it stood upright, with a steel spearhead lashed to the tip. As a bow it would be unwieldy for the sort of close fighting which he would soon face, but it might prove useful as a lance should his rifle jam.

Strong Bear realized sadly that what he was about to do was what his tribe as a whole would have to do one day soon. Eventually they would realize that there was no running from the white man, and no defeating him. Instead of letting the soldiers and Indian agents push them from one reservation to another, they would have to choose a piece of ground and say "This is my spot; I shall move no further. Take it from me, if you have the courage." And, like Strong Bear, their bodies would be removed from the spot dead, but unconquered.

Strong Bear judged that he still had several minutes before the soldiers appeared. He would have time to sing a battlesong, and perform a final dance before the eyes of the Great Medicine. This was a luxury which was almost unheard of among men about to die, he had planned for it, taking special care to ensure he would have plenty of time.

He took out his buckskin-covered rattle and used it to keep time while he slowly danced, moving forward in a stooped position and bending each leg forward alternately. Around his neck was a whistle fashioned from an eagle's wingbone. He blew on it as he danced. As before, he did not care if the soldiers heard.

He hoped, in fact, that the eerie noises would frighten them even further. He wished he had been able to dress properly for the dance: his body and face painted red, wearing the Society belt made from four skunk skins with the heads still attached.

He used the dancing to test his mobility while pinned. It was sad that the ignorant whites would gain possession of the beautiful sash; Wild River Bird would be obligated to make another for the man chosen to succeed him.

Strong Bear let the whistle drop from his mouth, and he began to sing.

"I am only on this earth for a short time. Soon the battle will come, And I may die. It is not good for a man to grow old. Better he should die in his youth, his face to his enemies.

Strong Bear grasped his rifle with a firmer grip then, and waited grimly for the soldiers to arrive. His singing still echoed back to him from the rocks, like a sign from Great Medicine that his valor was acknowledged. He hoped that the wind carried it also to his enemies, so that they might know that he, Strong Bear, was not afraid to die.

The soldiers turned that last corner two at a time, as Strong Bear had planned. Their surprisingly young faces betrayed their shock. They had probably given up hope on actually fighting him, or else they had never allowed themselves to consider the possibility. Strong Bear ran forward as far as the sash would allow, firing the Winchester as he went. The first two soldiers crumpled to the ground and were replaced by two others, and they by two more. Bullets whined through the canyon, some of them striking the Dog Soldier. He was not hit in any area vital enough to slow him down.

He kept firing until his rifle was empty, and then he grabbed his bow-lance. He was upon the next wave of soldiers almost as soon as they turned the corner, thrusting and jabbing. The other soldiers were afraid to fire with their comrades in the way, so they charged, some armed with sabers, some with bayonets. Strong Bear felt blades slashing at his skin, but he continued to thrust the bloody lance.

"I am Strong Bear!" he cried out. "I shall not flee! I do not surrender! Do you see that I am not afraid of you? I am Strong Bear!"

The soldiers pressed forward, smothering him. It seemed to Strong Bear that there were almost as many blue-bellies beneath his feet as there were standing and stabbing at him. A bayonet was shoved into his belly. A sword found its way between his ribs. He did not drop the lance. He tried to plunge it into another enemy, but his arms did not obey him. A crowd of faces lurched toward him, terrified faces which now recognized that it was safe to look brave.

Strong Bear fell to the reddened ground, it rushed forward to meet him. Pebbles pressed into his cheek, and he was vaguely aware of more blades entering his body. He looked upon the ground he had chosen; it was covered with blood. They had not taken it, as they had not taken his freedom.

His sight slowly faded, the ground turned black. Great Medicine's words of acknowledgment and pride echoed through the canyon. They engulfed all else.

*~*~*~*~*
Copyright © 2000 Troy D. Smith. All rights reserved.