Peering through the fringe of brush, he could see a clearing in the dim starlight. Recumbent figures lay scattered about the area and dying fires smoldered without giving light. The scout pointed ahead, indicating two figures close together on the west side of the encampment. “The old chief and the young war chief,” he whispered. Lean Bull nodded. “The young chief is mine. His black horse, also.” The black stallion and a gray mare grazed on picket lines nearby. “Yes, my chief.” He pointed beyond the camp. “There are thin woods to the north. Those we do not kill will run there and we can hunt them in the morning.” “It is good.” The two squirmed backward and made their way back to the rest of the party, waiting beyond the next range of hills. A small fire burned low. Lean Bull squatted and beckoned his warriors. By the light of the fire, he sketched a rude map showing the scattered slopes, the fires, and the semicircle of woods on the north. “We will crawl up close.
