News about the battle had already spread, and by the time they rode back to camp, everyone knew that Curly had saved Hump, one of the most honored and most ferocious warriors in their tribe. Arrows, they’d been told, seemed to bounce off Curly. He had killed two Arapaho up close, scalping them easily. As the warriors entered the camp, the entire tribe greeted them. Standing in the front was Worm, waiting for his son. Curly dismounted and approached his father, who placed a hand on each of Curly’s shoulders. He looked him in the eye. “For someone so young,” he said solemnly, “you have shown remarkable bravery.” Curly stood proudly before his people, but said nothing. “You have a wound,” Worm said, indicating where the arrow had struck his leg. “I did not listen to my dream,” Curly admitted. “In the heat of victory, I took scalps and kept them for myself.” Worm nodded. “You will not forget that lesson again.” “No, Father,” Curly said. “I won’t.” Worm faced the tribe and announced, “Tonight I will have a ceremony for my son, to honor his bravery today, and to send him forward with a new name worthy of his warrior status.”
