posted on Aug, 20 2009 @ 02:14 PM
Two Dogs Running rushed over to Davis, who was now cursing up a storm
as he rocked back and forth on the ground, both hands holding the spear
up at arm's length. Grit, Peg, and the Rev had all slapped leather and they
sat with guns drawn watching every movement the Comanches made. It
was a momentary stand-off, neither side particularly anxious to provoke
the other. To the rear and dismounted, Cole, Bobby, Josh, and Joe stood
with their rifles at the ready, concerned looks on all of their faces.
And then, the tall Indian that had hugged Bearclaw climbed down from his
horse and joined Two Dogs at Davis's side. In one swift motion he leaned
over and pulled the lance from Davis's chest, throwing it over to the side,
in the sand. He said something to Two Dogs, then climbed back up onto
his horse, turned sharply and rode away, as if disgusted. Two Dogs
explained to Davis that he would be okay, that the spear had been poorly
thrown, had missed anything vital, and was now bringing shame to the
young warrior that had thrown it. Davis wasn't exactly a'believing every-
thing he was hearing, but he did calm down a mite. Still, it hurt like hell !
The other Indians took turns spitting at the two Indian boys, and then, one
by one, they rode off angrily, looking over their shoulders every now and
then and shaking their spears at the sky. And just like that it was over . . .
except for the carrying-ons of Davis, who never did care much for seeing
his own blood.