Bill Dugan Read Online Free PDF Page B

watch it, and made no attempt to evade the arrow. It struck his antlers with a sharp crack, then disappeared over the hilltop.
    Still, the buck didn’t bolt. It continued to stare at the brush where the boys were hidden, took a tentative step in that direction, then stopped. Once more, Hump notched an arrow. This time, he let it fly. The bowstring sang and the arrowhead flashed in the sunlight as it sailed past the buck, passing to its right and sinking into the ground just behind its rear legs. Curly could see the upper half of the shaftand the bright red feathers.
    The buck looked at the arrow for a moment, then back downhill. Hump fired a third arrow, andthis one fell short.
    Curly began to relax, thinking that the buck, whether or not it was truly
wakan
, had nothing to fear from Hump. Suddenly, the buck charged downhill, straight toward them. Hump, caught reaching for a fourth arrow, gave a shout and broke into the open. He was running downhill, the buckthundering behind him and rapidly gaining ground.
    Without thinking, Curly notched an arrow, drew and fired, a second arrow already under his fingers as the first struck the buck in the chest. Hump was screaming and the buck was closing. Already, it wasalmost even with Curly, who aimed and fired his second arrow. It struck the buck with a wet thwacking sound, sank in almost to the feathers, and the buck’s knees buckled and it fell to the ground, where it skidded. It turned to look at Curly, its nostrils foaming and bright red blood flecking its lathered lips. It gave a sigh, then its head fell forward and rolled to one side, until the great rack of antlers stopped it.
    Hump was already scrambling back up the hill. “That was my deer,” he shouted. “You shouldn’t have shot him.”
    “You tried,” Curly said. “He would have run you down if I didn’tshoot him.”
    “It was my deer,” Hump said again.
    “Take it, then. I give it to you.”
    “I don’t want it.”
    “He is dead because of you. You can’t leave him there. It is wasteful.”
    “I don’t want him anymore.”
    Without a word, Hump turned and stalked downhill, leaving Curly to stare after him in bewilderment. “Hump,” he called, “come back!”
    But Hump ignored him. He started to run, heading back toward the village.Curly called again and again, but his voice just echoed from the hillside and died away to a whisper. Finally,when he understood that Hump was not coming back, he started after him, his short legs jolting with every stepas he ran down the hill.
    Hump had a big lead, and the older boy’s longer legs were widening the gap with everystride.
    By the time the village came into view, Hump had disappeared. Curly, crying now, ran to his tipi. Crazy Horse was sitting by the fire, playing with Little Hawk, his younger son, two years Curly’s junior.
    He noticed the tears streaming down Curly’s face, but said nothing, preferring to wait for the boy to tell him what was wrong.
    But Curly said nothing. He went to the farthest recess of the lodge and lay down on his stomach, his face buried against the buffalo skin sheathing of the tipi.
    Crazy Horse got to his feet and set Little Hawk on the ground. Patting the boy’s head, he told him he would be back shortly, then walked over to sit beside Curly.
    “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
    Curly shook his head and refused to look at his father. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
    “Then why are you crying?”
    Curly didn’t answer.
    “Was Hump crying for the same reason when he came home? I saw him go past a little before you came in.”
    Curly turned then and sat up. He looked at hisfather, wiped his cheeks with the back of one hand, and nodded.
    “What happened?”
    He told his father about the deer. “And I thought it was
wakan.”
    “Why?” Crazy Horse asked.
    “Its antlers were full of fire, like lightning. It knew we were there and yet it was not afraid.”
    “Does that make it
wakan?”
    “Yes.”
    The holy man nodded.