"You do not count coup? You take no scalps?" How to explain that without offending him or seeming weak? "The Great Spirit knows of my victories.

It is enough." "Your medicine is strong," he said.

Yet we rode with care. The air was cooler, the wind a little stronger, and the coulees deeper. The greater the distance from the settlements, the greater the danger. We were all aware of this, and aware, too, that we were being watched. Twice tracks were seen where horsemen had observed us for some time, and by now they knew our numbers. Without doubt they also knew of an encampment of Cheyennes to the west, toward which we were obviously pointing.

If they wished to destroy us, they must attack soon, and Walks-By-night was aware of this, as was Buffalo Dog.

We found a camp in a shallow place where there was green grass from a seep, and a few gooseberry bushes growing about. One lone ash tree grew nearby and there was a dead tree lying on the ground.

While the others made a fire, Walks- By-night and I rode a circle wide about the camp, scouting every rise in the ground, but we saw nothing but a few buffalo.

During the passing days, my meager supply of Cheyenne words had increased so that with it and what English Walks-By-night knew, we managed to communicate. I was also acquiring some skill with sign language, and then to my surprise I discovered that the Indian talked very passable French.

He shrugged at my astonishment. "Many French trapper," he said. "All the time they come.

Live in village. Ride with us. My people long time lived beside Great Lakes, then beside river far to north." "This is not your homeland then?" "No. My people lived north of Great Lakes in what you call Canada. The Cree were our people, too... far, far ago. All Indians have moved. No Indian lives where he once lived." "It is the same with us... with all peoples.

A long time ago our ancestors lived in what we call Russia... or beyond in Central Asia. Then they came west... many, many people came west, and some of them occupied empty lands, some took lands by driving others out." "They were white men?" "Yes. There was not one migration, but many. The horse made it easy for them to move, and with the horse to ride they became more powerful." "It was so with us," Walks-By-night said.

"The Sioux have become strong with the horses." We dismounted on a hillside. There in the sand around an anthill he drew me a rough picture of the western Great Lakes and showed me where once his people had lived and how they had moved west to the Sheyenne River in what was now the lands of the Dakotas or Sioux.

The Sioux had got the horse by trade or by theft from southern Indians who had them by theft from the Spanish. And once mounted the Sioux had pushed west from their homeland to conquer much of the Dakota lands of Nebraska, part of Montana and Wyoming.

It was growing darker. "Some say you people came from here"--I sketched in the northern steppes of Siberia--"and that you migrated across this water to America. They say my people came from here too." He put his finger on the western Tarim and southwestern Russia. "And you from here? Then once our people may have ridden together... there?" He put a finger making a wide sweep of Central Asia.

"It could be," I said. Standing up I gathered my reins and stepped into the saddle. "Your people went east and north, mine went west and south, and now we meet again... here." "It is far? This land we come from?" "Very far. Perhaps three hundred suns of riding ... perhaps more." "We have come far." He looked at me. "We have come far to fight again here." I smiled. "But not you and me, Walks-By- Night. I think there is friendship between us." I held out my right hand. "Between us let there never be blood." "Only of our enemies," he said.

So we rode into camp together, and dismounted by our fire.

"See anything?" Kemble asked.

"A few buffalo... nothing more." I cut myself a chunk of meat and began to roast it over the fire. Walks-By-night had gone down to his own people.

The meat smelled good, and I was hungry. I thrust a stick into the coals and a few sparks went up... disappeared.

I began to eat my meat and listen to the campfire talk.

CHAPTER 7

We were noticeably higher when we moved out in the morning, the air was cooler, and the vegetation was changing to shorter grass, drought-resisting plants. Yet it was the Cheyennes that interested me most of all, and whenever possible I led Buffalo Dog or Walks-By-night to talk of their people.

The horse had revolutionized the Cheyenne way of life, and once the horse had arrived in numbers, the Indians had almost ceased from planting, and had become meat eaters, buffalo hunters. Their way of life was in many ways easier as well as more dramatic. The Cheyenne lived upon the herds much as did the wolf, but the wolf could only kill the poorer stock while the Indian looked for fatter, healthier animals.

The white man, when he came in numbers, would do the same.

Yet much of their killing was wasteful, for often the Indians would stampede a herd over a cliff, killing great numbers, although much of the meat would inevitably rot. Such a way of life could support only a limited number of Indians, but constant warfare and occasional blood feuds kept down their ranks.

In the distance we could see a faint line along the horizon and gradually I began to realize it was a far-off mountain range. Excitement grew within me. Soon we would be there and settled down to the business of trapping.

Suddenly Shanagan came racing to me.

"Scholar! Look!" Atop a low line of hills to the south, several warriors had appeared. They sat their horses, watching us.

Sliding my rifle from its sheath, I made ready for an attack. But Buffalo Dog went racing by us and out upon the plain, calling out to the strange warriors. Slowly, they began to ride down off the ridge and we saw there were but four.

Walks-By-night was beside me. "They come.

Our people." The four, riding a wide open line, rifles at the ready, came down the slope to meet Buffalo Dog. They drew together, stopped, and there was much talk. Meanwhile we had halted the column.

Now they came toward us--four warriors, one of them scarcely able to sit his saddle.

We had the story before the sun was high. They had come up to the Ute encampment, found it empty.

Warily they had approached up a draw. Two lodges stood there, a fire was burning, nobody was in sight.

A rifle lay across a bundle of furs; a pot was over the fire; there were saddles and equipment lying about. The horses were tethered among the trees back of the lodges. Emerging from the draw, the Cheyennes were sure they had come upon a camp where the Utes were gone buffalo hunting.

They went into the camp. One Cheyenne stooped to lift the rifle; another started for the lodge nearest him. Suddenly there was a burst of fire.

Three Cheyennes dropped where they stood, the others scattered, running. Another fell as he ran.

Hidden in their lodges, with holes made in the buffalo hide tepees from which they could fire, the Utes had waited until the Cheyennes were in their camp and at point-blank range.

The Cheyennes had recovered some of their horses, most of which had been lost in the chase that followed.

Was Fernandez with them? He was.

"Likely it was his idea," Sandy commented.

"That's one we owe him." "The Utes need no ideas," Talley replied. "I never knew an Indian yet who needed help figuring an ambush. They dread an ambush more than anything, and use it themselves when they can." "I'm for cuttin' loose," Bob Sandy said.