He realized that this was the place where he had watched the Sioux butchering buffaloes. This was the eagle feather which he hadn’t dared try to pick up that afternoon.
Flying Arrow had stopped and was watching Bent Arrow.
“I have my eagle feather,” Bent Arrow exclaimed, holding the feather for his uncle to see.
“It may be too late,” Flying Arrow answered grimly. “We must go fast if we are to escape.”
Although the two Crows went rapidly, they did not seem to be getting any great distance from the Sioux camp. In trying to pick his way where there was no snow, Flying Arrow followed a zigzag course. Bent Arrow gave his attention to planting his feet in his uncle’s tracks. Occasionally he did stop and look back. Each time he expected to see the Sioux riding toward them.
Darkness should have fallen quickly. Now, it seemed to be holding off. When it did come, it wasn’t deep; the sky was clear, and the snowdrifts reflected the starlight. Bent Arrow glanced back. A Sioux warrior was coming across the hill behind them.
“The Sioux are coming,” Bent Arrow warned.
Without wasting time to look back, Flying Arrow threw himself on the ground. Bent Arrow stretched out beside him. There was a ditch to the left. Flying Arrow crawled toward it, with Bent Arrow close behind him. Both of them rolled over the edge and to the bottom of the ditch.
Bent Arrow scarcely noticed the trickle of cold water which thoroughly wet his clothing. When Flying Arrow got to his feet, bent double so that his head was below the edge of the ditch, Bent Arrow followed. They walked carefully until they came to a place where a clump of brush grew at the edge of the bank. Flying Arrow cupped his hands, making a stirrup. Bent Arrow understood what he was to do. He stepped beside his uncle, placed a foot in the cupped hands, and was lifted up until his head was just above the edge of the draw.
When Bent Arrow tried to look around for a sight of the enemy, he found that the brush shut off his view. He moved one foot gently as a warning to his uncle. Then stepped up on Flying Arrow’s shoulder. From there he crawled out onto the bank, keeping hidden under the branches of the shrubs. He wormed himself forward until he could see out over the valley. The Sioux warrior was riding along the bank of the ditch only a few paces away. Bent Arrow tossed a tiny stick into the ditch as a warning to his uncle. Then he crept under the brush and waited.