“How are you, Brother?” Flying Arrow asked.
Bent Arrow stared at his uncle. Brother? That was the formal word of address Flying Arrow would have used if he had been speaking to a warrior. Why should he use that word?
“Can he come to the corral to see our horses?” Flying Arrow asked, turning to Clawing Bear.
“It will do him good,” Clawing Bear agreed.
As he walked along beside his uncle, Bent Arrow asked about the rescue. Flying Arrow told as much of the story as he knew.
He told how he had watched from the rim. The Sioux on foot had arrived before daylight. There had been a short powwow and then all of the Sioux had rolled up in their blankets to sleep. Knowing that he would need the rest, and that any small noise would waken him, Flying Arrow had fallen asleep too. He had wakened at the first hint of daylight.
The Sioux had attacked a few moments later. Flying Arrow’s two shots knocked two Sioux warriors from their horses. The Sioux only took time to pick up their wounded and then retreated out of bowshot to hold another conference. From their motioning to one another, Flying Arrow was able to guess their next move. They would stay out of bowshot and sneak up to the canyon wall at some distance from the entrance. One party would approach from one side and one from the other. Flying Arrow might be able to stop one party, but he couldn’t stop both of them.
“But you did stop them,” Bent Arrow interrupted excitedly.
“By an accident,” Flying Arrow explained. “Two of the horses we had taken wandered near the opening. I threw stones behind them and drove them on out. They kept right on running after they were out of the canyon. The Sioux postponed their attack while they caught the horses.”
“How did you keep the other horses from following the ones which you drove out of the canyon?” Bent Arrow wanted to know.