Stimulated by this pain, I turned and
looked up into the face of Auberry. He stood frowning, holding in his
hand a feathered arrow shaft of willow, grooved along its sides to let
the blood run free, sinew-wrapped to hold its feathers tight--a typical
arrow of the buffalo tribes. But, as I joined Auberry's gaze, I saw the
arrow was headless! Dully I argued that, therefore, this head must be
somewhere in my neck. I also saw that the sun was bright. I realized
that there must have been a fight of some sort, but did not trouble to
know whence the arrow had come to me, for my mind could grasp nothing
more than simple things.
Thus I felt that my head was not uncomfortable, after all. I looked
again, and saw that it rested on Ellen Meriwether's knees. She sat on
the sand, gently stroking my forehead, pushing back the hair. She had
turned my head so that the wound would not be pressed. It seemed to me
that her voice sounded very far away and quiet.
"We are thinking," said she to me. I nodded as best I could. "Has
anything happened?" I asked.
"They have gone," said she. "We whipped them." Her hand again lightly
pressed my forehead.
I heard some one else say, behind me, "But we have nothing in the
world--not even opium.
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