Chapter 16

Panther Sprung was cursed with a night of bad dreams. In the first he was walking a forest path alone. He carried no weapons and wore no clothing. He was walking towards a cave, from which a roaring light emanated, a light high and bright in the distance, a ball of flame. Somehow he knew there was a cave there, and he continued towards it trancelike and aloof, a hint of fear built into every step he took and that a fear he did not understand. When in his dream the cave and its light began to stretch towards him, and he was pulled forward with increasing force, he could not bare to look and see into that fire which burned. At last when there he stood at the precipice, feeling the heat and the light play about his stiff body, and he was made to open his eyes and see--that was when he woke up.

He lay confused within his blankets, confused and terrified, but he collected himself with a short prayer and even laughed off the vague imagery which had rattled him. He knew he was stressed, had a heavy mind, and he controlled his breaths taking long thick heavy gulps of air and letting it ease out through his nostrils. Eventually these exercises, and the constant chatter of surrounding Kuroctu and the hills around it, eased back into sleep, and he had his second dream.

This one was of he and Drake when they were young. As part of their passage into an elite circle within the Ixopaw, one which granted prestige and honor to those who undertook the ritual, they had climbed the high rises of the Bear's Lodge, the ruins of a creation, a monolith of the First Days. In this dream they were boys, fragile and lost and confused though neither wanted to admit as such. The prevailing thought in Panther's mind was of falling, of reaching for the next step only to have your foot contact air alone, for the sloping rock to be disappeared from underneath, and the shrinking vestige of where you once stood as the ground rushes to meet you. But this did not happen. The steps kept coming and his feet found hard rock to propel him farther.

Drake said nothing. His child's body kept the face of the man, hard, aloof, focused and entirely utilitarian. Panther kept his silence as well. There was no rule against speech, but they were acting as if when they spoke the Devil's Tower, the Bear's Lodge, would collapse.

Drake reached the summit first. Here is where dream bleeds into memory, where the subconcious widens from a slim stream to a capacious canal that swallows all, the waters opaque and secretive, hiding all which they consume. He saw Drake throw his arms up in glory, ready to embrace the blessings of the Great Spirit which had watched and judged them. There stirred within Panther Sprung a tumult of jealousy. His eyes, beset with the consciousness of his age, upbraided Drake's foolish jubilance. But Drake was answered. A bolt of lightening blindingly bright jumped into him and Drake became luminescent, lifting off the ground and staring at Panther Sprung, staring and smiling, his form blurring into light and air.

Panther fell to his knees and howled after him, his arms outstretched and his hands futilly grabbing at the sky. He watched helpless and forgotten as Drake formed enormous wings, each one of which so large it would enshroud a state, the wings expanding out of all vision, even dream vision--they were incomprehensible. The bird's eyes were on Panther, he was the center of all they saw, and he felt pain like hot magma heavy and thick slowly boring through his insides like a demonic snake.

Panther awoke from the last one and there was no more possibility of sleep. He got up and went out of his home and wandered in the night, walking without knowing a path, walking without even looking where he was going. He was sweaty, cold, sick. He wondered if he hadn't poisoned himself somehow.

He walked to a place and stopped. He did get sick, vomiting into nearby brush, his hands on shaky kneecaps. When he was done he sat down against a tree and let his head drop forward, his eyes closed as the images of his dream swam across the front of his mind.

"Igmuwatogola? Are you unwell?" in Lakota, a gentle voice. A woman's, a girl's.

"Ojinjintka?" whispered he.

"No, Chief Panther Sprung, have you been sleepwalking?"

"Oh! Forgive me!" He opened his eyes to warmth, to a sun suspended above and raining wide blades of daylight cutting across the wood. He was not far from the trail, and somewhere close were the cumbersome motions of a horse rooting the ground to graze.

The girl before him was Robe Whispers, who was a friend to Black Heart.

"I certainly didn't expect to find you here..." she said. She looked like she felt embarrassed, or in some way awkward.

"Nor did I expect to end up here," he confessed, embarrassed himself. Suddenly aware of his position, he jumped to his feet and straightened himself, brushing off foliage and hoping he had wiped clean all traces of his retching. "I had a troubling night, I should say, but I would not lie to you, in spite of my pride. I'm not well, not as well as I'd like to be, but in any case...thank you for waking me. I am, however, concerned for you as well. Why is it you are out here, away from the village? American scouts could be about."

"Yes, they are," said Robe Whispers. "But I am bidden here for the time being, if I am to become a matron. Have you spoken lately with them? They are insistent that all Ixopaw shall leave He Seppa. That all Indians should leave and become the Rainbow."

"I have not spoken with them. I will make a point to, soon as I get back to the village. I must find Black Heart."

"She went down the mountain trail, headed for the Race Track. Is that why you're out here, then?"

"She left? Did she say when she would come back?"

"She did not."

"Has she abandoned us? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I don't know. I saw her in the night. She was moving swiftly, looking for someone. Why, I could not say."

"I had work to do today! But I believe I know where she has gone, and so I will ride out for Glory's Dawn Ranch. I must have a word with Hassidius Drake. The man is a sickness I cannot seem to cure."

"Take care, for she may not go with you willingly."

"I will not force her, but she must know what she is doing. Are you headed back to the village?"

"Not just yet. I will return to the matrons when I am done. I am to be one of them now, if you haven't heard."

Panther Sprung offered a weak smile. "Yes, I have heard. Congratulations to you, it is an honor."

She thanked him when he left, and as he walked away she prayed quietly for her beleaguered chieftain.

Y passed the threshold of the bank trying his hardest to appear both austere and confused. He rankled his brow and kept his eyes away from everyone else's, which wasn't all too difficult. There weren't many customers inside, and the bank wasn't as large within as one might guess it to be from the outside. A pair of older men stood against the wall to the left of Y, frowning and nodding and pointing at the newspaper one of them was holding. A middle-aged woman sat in a chair along the wall adjacent to the men, holding her handbag and trying her best not to look impatient. Across from where Y stood was the counter separating the rest of the bank from the lobby, and here a couple of tellers were having a routine conversation.

Hannah was waiting outside in the back. Wynchell and Percy were in the front. The pieces were in place and they were all lying at Y's fingertips, waiting for him to make his move. In one of the first moments of his conscious life where he truly held power over the direction it would take, he could not drive what Hannah had said to him out of his head. He was on the verge of panicking.

"Can I help you?" One of the tellers was staring at him.

Y realized he hadn't moved once since walking in the door. "Uh, yes. I--ahem! Excuse me. I'm supposed to come and get my aunt, but I don't see her...I'm waiting to..."

"Ah, I see. Well, if you'd like, you're welcome to pull up a chair and wait for her. You're expecting her here, you say?"

He was so polite. Y hoped no harm befell him. Perhaps he would try and keep Percy diverted. "Uh, thank you, yes. I'm asking for my mother." Where was that woman?

The teller scanned the small lobby and, after fixing his gaze on the middle-aged woman sitting near Y, looked back at the boy. "And she's not here, is she? Your aunt?"

"She works here, sir. Well...yes, she works here..."

"Mr. Bottine, that is my nephew Cal. Hello, Cal! Come looking for your Aunt Delphine, haven't you?" A young woman with long blonde hair tied back behind her came out from a back door. She was wearing a black jacket over her dress, and a small black hat to match. Her smile was wide and a little upsetting, but Y was glad to see her.

"Yes, I have!" Y's relieved expression and tone were no act. "Mother is asking for you to call on her. Is it your lunch break yet?"

The teller went about his business with the other while "Delphine" spoke. "It isn't yet but if you come wait with me in my office we can see about what your mother wants."

Y thought he caught the tellers sneaking glances his way as he passed them, following the woman behind the counter and through the door she had entered from just a minute before.

"Pays to have information on the bank manager," Delphine said, once Y had closed the office door. There were two desks in here, a bookshelf, a coatrack, a window and a kerosene lamp. The woman sat at one of these desks and was beaming about her office. "Mind you, it isn't like I can't do this job. We have performed exceptionally well relative to the other branches in the state. Who do they have to thank? Not Ned, no no no. But me. When I heard Dean was coming this way...oh, but you don't care about that, do you? You have a robbery to perform."

Y felt a gust of bravado, tempered quickly by a squeamish wave in his stomach. "Yes, a...a robbery."

"Let me take you to the vault. You seem like such a sweet boy. Not like that awful Billy Kid. Not at all. Manners. Right then, this way." All bluster and verve, the woman got a ring of keys from her desk and stood up, crossed the room and unlocked a heavy metal door behind her desk. There was a heavy thud, a grating sound and a clunk. Then, huffing and a bit red in the face, the woman hauled the door open. "I suppose it has begun," she said with sparse glee. "I shall fetch your cohorts."

She left Y alone with the vault, closing the office door behind as she left. Without hesitation Y jumped into the vault. He saw that the woman left the keys inside the vault door and retrieved them, using a skeleton key to open each deposit box. Then it was a simple matter of unbundling the potato sacks he stuffed inside his trousers and filling them with the contents of the deposit boxes. As he worked he heard the commotion of the rest of the gang entering the fray. He heard Hannah's loud commands and Percy's rabid barks and shouts.

Wynchell appeared behind him in the vault. He went to the safes and worked on cracking them, waving Y away when he tried offering the keyring.

After filling one potato sack Y took out another and went about his business. He didn't count many bills as he dumped the boxes but he saw plenty of valuables. When he heard the definitive click of the vault Wynchell was working at his heart skipped a beat. What a rush! It was possibly the greatest moment of Y's young life. Just look at him, robbing a bank! He was a real outlaw. His father's Peacemaker, which he'd snuck in tucked under his shirt and into his waistband, dug against his skin. He didn't mind. He just hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

"Get these bags out front," Wynchell said. "Dean should be waiting with the wagon."

Y did as he was told, but the bags were too heavy to take all at once. He dragged the lighter bags that he filled himself first, taking them out of the office and around the counter. Inside, Hannah had a pistol out and aimed at the crouching tellers, both of whom had their hands up at the back of their heads. They cussed at Y as he went past, prompting a kick from Hannah. Percy was patrolling the floor with a rifle, keeping the middle-aged woman and the two suits in their places. "Delphine" lay prone on the floor, playing along with the robbery, or so Y assumed.

Outside the wagon was indeed waiting, though it was Will driving it while Dean was out of sight. Will hopped down and helped Y load the bags, asking after Wynchell.

"He's coming," Y said. "I don't believe he'll be much longer."

"Let's hope," Will said. "Can't keep this quiet for much longer."

Y, holding the empty bags, ran back inside. When he got back to the vault, Wynchell was holding two stuffed bags, one on each massive shoulder. He gestured for Y to take the last bag which was still sitting on the floor of the vault. Y took hold of it, grunting as he moved it. It seemed to weigh as much as he did.

When he got back out to the floor Percy had left and so had his hostages. Hannah was waiting with her gun. Y continued to pull along the heavy sack until he was stopped by Hannah.

"Leave it," she said. "And stick with me. Stick close."

"Ok..."

"Close, dammit!" She pulled him close against her so that they were touching. She proceeded to drag him forward in much the same manner as he had been dragging the sacks of loot.

When they got outside Wynchell and Percy were already in the wagon and waiting to leave.

"C'mon, hop in! Let's get out of here!" Percy said, before whooping and cheering.

"Would you shut up!" Will yelled.

"Quickly Y," Wynchell said, patting the wagon, "quickly!"

Y stepped forward and was again stopped by Hannah. When he looked at her she was shaking her head.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

"Hold up!" Percy said. "Who're they?"

Y looked at Hannah, whose face was blank and white, and back to the wagon. A posse of men on horseback approached, wearing white hats with dark bands and with badges gleaming on their vests. One of the men, wearing a black handlebar mustache, took lead and addressed the onlookers. "Hollis boys at work, I presume?" When he received no answer he continued unperturbed. "I'm Jim Daviess, Deputy Marshal of the state of Minnesota. These boys are Francis Cutter's boys, the bounty hunter. Mr. Cutter, sitting to my right here, says he received a note a while back that you was planning to come here and rob the national bank. Now I know the Hollis brothers wouldn't be so stupid as to try something like that here, yet I think I'm looking at Will Hollis right now. Ain't that right?"

Again, he received no answer. Hannah squeezed Y's shoulder. "Hold tight, whatever happens," she whispered.

The marshal continued. "I have a warrant for the arrest of Dean Hollis and for Will Hollis. If you lot are willing to turn yourselves in we can save a whole lotta ugliness."

"It's my fault, Will!" Dean appeared from the alley next to the bank, holding his gun out and pointing it at Hannah. "It's all my fault. It was this bitch here who betrayed us, I know it is."

"Don't be stupid, Dean," Hannah said.

"I loved you," he snarled. "I loved you and you throw me to the dogs! I mean, just look at this!" He was shouting, jumping up and down. "This is bullshit, Hannah!"

"Mr. Hollis, I'm glad you could join us," said the Marshal. "Now set the gun down and come with us. It would be better for your friends."

Dean, glaring at Hannah and holding his gun on her, answered, "I can't do that, marshal. You see, I'm a rebel. Always have been."

"We ain't afraid to shoot you, Dean."

"I know it," Dean's voice cracked. His face was damp and stiff. "I'm counting on that."

Just before he fired Hannah tackled Y to the ground. Dean whirled and fired a second shot in the direction of the marshals but was put down quickly by a bullet to his head, courtesy of a sniper atop the building next door. The rest of the marshals fired from their mounts in answer to Percy and Will drawing and firing their own weapons. One of the bounty hunters dropped while Will slumped lifelessly out of the wagon. Percy did his utmost, shooting off his rifle while sustaining a gunshot to his shoulder. He did his best to use the wagon for cover but he was soon surrounded. When his magazine was emptied the deputy marshal shot him between the eyes with his revolver, and Percy was still.

Wynchell flew into a rage at the sight. Though suffering from no less than a full cylinder of bullets himself he powered forth and took hold of one of the surrounding bounty hunters, biting into the man's face and then slamming it down on the surface of the wagon. Soon as that man dropped Wynchell lunged forth again, taking hold of the next man and snapping his neck with ease.

The sniper put another bullet into Wynchell, this one going low and burrowing into the back of the giant's knee. Wynchell howled as he dropped down, and was quieted when the marshal fired a shot execution-style in the same spot he'd used on Percy. The two brothers were still with identical holes in identical locations.

All told, seven men lay dead after a span of half a minute.

The marshal next turned his attention to Hannah and Y, who were still lying on the ground, Y in shock.

"And how about you, little miss? Your boys is all dead. How'd that happen? I thought they was great gunfighters."

"Get up, Y, with your hands out and open," Hannah hissed at him. Then, in a louder voice, she said to the marshal, "I'm the one who wrote the letter to Cutter. I work for him, and he'll vouch."

A terrified Y got himself up on wobbly knees. He felt like vomiting after everything that had just happened. His head hurt, it throbbed, and his mouth was never so dry, his breaths never so heavy and fast. He couldn't get enough air.

"You took your sweet time, Ms. Hannah," said Cutter, a man shorter and slimmer than the marshal but with a more commanding presence. He had a bureaucratic chill to his cadence that must have been effective on small children and the easily misled. "It was my belief that you'd turned on me. I told the marshal that. I mean, just look at you. You look wild. You look, may I say, immodest."

"I look like hell. Ain't no wonder if you knew anything of these men. Let me claim my payment for honest work, Cutter."

"I'm afraid you are no longer employed by me. You've got a bounty in the state of Minnesota, and in the state of Illinois. I ain't got a choice but to bring you in."

"You'll get your chance at trial," the marshal interjected, stepping closer. "If you'd just calm down a mo--" his words turned into a gurgling bile dribbling from his lips. He stared down at his chest with disbelieving eyes.

The ringing from the gunshot was still in Y's ears when he felt himself being pulled along somewhere. He heard a woman scream and men gasp. He heard other men shouting and gunshots and horsehooves on cobblestone going clap!-clap!-clap!

They ran for what seemed like forever, and Y registered almost none of it. He fumbled around for his own gun but never did even manage to draw it, as Hannah led him on a twisting, turning escape route which Hannah was no doubt improvising in her head. They reached a stable and Y felt himself being hoisted onto the back of a horse and the horse galloping and the rush of wind in his face but all the while he was blind--he could not see and he could not remember. They rode and rode, neither one of them speaking, neither one of them completely sure of what was happening or why or how they should respond to it. They kept riding. The wind stopped and Y knew they had turned and were headed for some direction with the sun shrinking at their backs. After some time he could see but he didn't want to, and so he kept his eyes closed and the daze went on as movement and sickness and air and sweat and nerves intermingled creating a torpor he felt ought to be enough to kill him. Then it was dark, and the rushing horse whinnied and whined its protestations as Hannah jumped down and Y slowly went after her.

The first thing he could think to say was about Acorn.

"Sorry kid," Hannah said. Her head dropped and she said nothing else.

They were standing on the edge of some dirt road in the middle of nowhere, just as daylight was beginning to diminish. There was much Y wanted to say, to ask, but the sight of Hannah put him off of it. He didn't know what had happened and was less sure now of than he had ever been about anything. He felt stupid and like a child, small and ignorant and helpless.

He did know one thing, however, and that was that Hannah had saved him. And while she had proven to be quite capable of taking a fool for a long ride, Y thought that maybe he could at least trust her. Perhaps he owed her that, or perhaps she owed him. He didn't know, but at that moment he didn't have much of a choice either.