Running Horse twisted backward but the blade of the hatchet tore through his shirt from the neck to the belt, leaving a sharp, broken bright line of blood where it grazed the body in two or three places.
Running Horse’s shirt fell open.
The hatchet fell from Drum’s hand, to lie unnoticed in the dust, and the young Indian, only a moment before so intent upon war, slipped stumbling, shaken, back into the Indians who crowded about, leaving the circle of conflict uncontested beneath the moccasins of Running Horse.
Running Horse tore the useless shirt from his shoulders and threw it to the dust.
On his chest were the twin wounds of the Sun Dance.
Kicking Bear said it, from the side of the cabin. “He has looked at the sun.”
Sitting Bull now stood.
All eyes turned toward the chief, and as he stood, not speaking, he let his heavy, dark blanket, thick with smoke and grease, slip from his shoulders.
Large on the broad chest of the old chief, but white and old, were the twin scars of the Sun Dance.
He went to Running Horse and put his arm about the shoulders of the young man. Standing in this way he faced the Indians, and Drum and Kicking Bear.
“He has looked at the sun,” said Sitting Bull. “I am proud.”
The face of Running Horse in this moment seemed the most magnificent thing that Chance had ever seen.
“The white man must die,” said Kicking Bear, sitting on the ground, finishing the knot of scarlet cloth that bound his hand. “He has seen the dance.”
Running Horse spoke to Sitting Bull. “The white man is my friend,” he said.
“Then,” said Sitting Bull, “he will not die-because he is your friend.”
Sitting Bull took his arm from Running Horse’s shoulders and stood before Chance.
He put his right hand on Chance’s shoulder, holding the pipe cradled in his left hand.
“The lodge of the Hunkpapa is your lodge,” he said. “The fire of the Hunkpapa is your fire. The kettle of the Hunkpapa is your kettle.”
“Thank you,” said Chance.
Sitting Bull looked at him. “Let us go inside,” he said. “Let us smoke.”
“I would like that,” said Chance.
The chief turned and gathering his blanket about his waist, and holding the pipe, led the way into the cabin, Chance and Running Horse following him.
At the sound of the gunshot, when Chance had wounded Kicking Bear, Winona, the first and only daughter of the subchief Old Bear, had run with many other Indians to the cabin of Sitting Bull.
There she had stood in the midst of the Indians who had watched Running Horse and Drum struggle, and had seen the hatchet of Drum inadvertently reveal the wounds of the Sun Dance on the chest of Joseph Running Horse.
Now the Indians had returned to watch the dance, and Chance, Running Horse and Sitting Bull having gone into the cabin, Winona and Drum stood before the cabin.
She looked at him, her large, dark eyes questioning. Why had he attacked Running Horse? Had he seen the wounds of the Sun Dance? What did it mean? Were they not both of the Hunkpapa?
“Pick up my hatchet,” said Drum.
Winona obediently knelt down to the dust and picked up the fallen hatchet, handing it to Drum so he would not have to stoop.
“Running Horse thinks to shame me,” said Drum. “But he will not do so.”
“He has danced the Sun Dance,” whispered Winona, looking toward the closed door of the cabin.
“It means nothing,” said Drum.
Drum slipped the hatchet back in his belt.
“You would have killed him,” she said.
Drum looked at her closely.
Winona dropped her eyes. “He is of the Hunkpapa,” she said, confused.
“No,” said Drum, “he is only a Short Hair, doing what the white men want.”
“No,” said Winona, lifting her head. “He is Hunkpapa.” And she added, “And he has danced the Sun Dance.”
“Do you care for him?” asked Drum.
“No,” said Winona, dropping her head.
Drum grunted his satisfaction.
“I am lonely in the lodge of my father,” said Winona, not raising her head.
“I will bring him horses,” said Drum.
“What if he does not take your horses?” she asked.
“Then,” said Drum, “I will take you to the Bad Lands and we will live in the old way, and later when he is ready to take my horses I will bring you back.”
“When will you bring horses to the lodge of my father?” asked Winona.
“When my honor is strong,” said Drum.
Winona looked at him, puzzled.
“By dancing the Sun Dance, Running Horse has sought to shame me,” he said, “but instead I shall shame him.”
“Please,” said Winona, “do not think of Running Horse.” Hesitantly she put her hand to the buckskin sleeve of Drum’s shirt, daring to touch him. “Think of the girl,” she said, “whose name is Winona.”