Ghost Dance - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 93
Gone too were the days of painted horses and the feathers of eagles; the days of Kills-His-Horse and of Drum, his son; Old Bear lifted his hands to the sky; the Messiah had not come; the wire remained on the prairie; the buffalo had not returned. Tears from the eyes of the old man fell in the mane of his pony.
Weeping he rode from the place where he had found and spared the white buffalo.
He would go home now, letting the white buffalo go where it might, untroubled, eating what grass and drinking what water it could.
He rode away, weeping.
He would go home now. The hunt was done.