While Bent Arrow’s yell was still ringing out, one of the Sioux horses suddenly swerved and tried to escape. Rock wheeled and headed it off. Another one tried to turn back. Rock got it back into the herd, only to have to chase two others. The herd was scarcely moving forward at all. It was plain to see why the Sioux had quit shooting. They had known that the horses would be hard to drive. As the horses became more and more difficult to manage, Bent Arrow’s heart sank. The Sioux wouldn’t even have to hurry to catch them.
A horse broke out of the herd and was racing back before Rock could swerve to cut it off.
“Let him go,” Flying Arrow shouted.
As though understanding the warrior’s order, Rock swung back behind the herd. Bent Arrow saw two horses escape near his uncle. Another one broke away in front of Rock, but at last the rest of the herd was beginning to run again.
The herd of horses strung out ahead of the two Crows. The speed was slower than it had been in that wild stampede at the Sioux camp, but it was fast enough to run away from warriors on foot. The Sioux would have to recapture the escaped horses in order to have a chance to overtake the herd. At the top of the next hill Flying Arrow stopped his horse to look back, while Bent Arrow kept the herd moving ahead.
“If the Sioux are following, they aren’t close,” Flying Arrow said as he rejoined Bent Arrow.
He noticed the blood on Bent Arrow’s shoulder.
“Let me have a look at that wound,” he ordered.
“It’s nothing. We shouldn’t lose any time,” Bent Arrow protested.
Nevertheless, Flying Arrow cut away the sleeve and examined the wound.