“Now they are all coming out of the smoke and circling away from it towards the creek valley below us and the Little Piney yonder. Many of them are riding double. “All at once it is still down there again. The smoke spreads and the sun shines in. Many horses are down and some are kicking and trying to get up, and some are dragging themselves along. When one of them screams, it is thin and far away, but it fills the big empty place because it is so still out there. “Everything is holding its breath and looking. “Now some warriors are going back with their horses on the run, and you can hear their death-songs. They are riding two and two and hanging low on their horses’ necks. They are going back for their dead and wounded brothers out there. A great high sound goes up from the women on the hills. They are making the tremolo and singing, for those are very brave men. “There is shooting from the ring of boxes. Some horses go down and some are dragging their riders, but others go on at a run. Two and two the riders lean and lift the wounded ones, where arms are held up among the dead horses; two and two they lean and lift the dead, and gallop away. They are very brave, and the voices of the women are one great voice on the hills. “Looking glasses are flashing over there. The warriors are singing again, and they are coming back. They are coming from the Little Piney and from over by the sun. They are galloping up out of the valley below us, whipping each other’s horses and riding fast. _Hoka-hey! Hoka-hey!_ This time they will go over and the Wasichus will be rubbed out. “The ring of boxes is a cloud of smoke with thunder ripping in it. It is the same as before. Dust and smoke and horses whirling in it, and a great noise floating high above it like a kind of cloud. “They are closer than before. They are going over now and it will be finished. “No! They cannot go over. They cannot make the horses go, and they are coming out of the smoke, circling back towards the creeks. Many, many are riding double. “It is still again out there, and the smoke begins to get thin. The women on the hill over by the sun have seen, and you can hear them mourning. It is like a little wind high up in pine trees. Now our own women have seen, and they are crying and mourning. I am crying too--because I want to kill Wasichus and I cannot. “There are many more horses down now, scattered around the ring of boxes. Some of our men are lying at the top of the creek bank below us, shooting with guns and bows at the Wasichus. Fire arrows are falling in the ring, and the mule dung there begins to burn and smoke.