Sometimes, in the darkest part of the night, I still wake up and hear the sounds. The pounding of the hoofbeats so loud that you could barely hear the men shouting in pursuit, the rock kicked loose and rolling down the ravine clattering over the cap rock, the powerful snorts and gasps of the beast in its fear and effort. Looking in the direction of the chasm, sheer rock cut off our view of him as he came, but just before he emerged, I remember a cloud of dust and small stones raised by him and carried by a sudden wind that rushed through the ravine. That and the smell of him. I sang to my protector spirit, the Fish Hawk, to give me courage.

And then it was there, the eyes wide in fear, foam trailing from lips and nostrils. His eye stared into mine for a brief moment, and I shouted and Hair and I pushed our spear tips at him. He veered, but seeing or sensing the approaching brink, he locked his legs to stop, falling on his belly as he slid. Then time seemed to stop as he twisted, left foreleg off of the cliff edge, pulled back, stood, the dust in the air around him and us making him look like the grandfather spirit of the north...strong, majestic, noble. He coughed out a great breath, then we heard the others shouting as they approached through the ravine. He spun from them, snorted the air, then his head dropped low and he pawed the ground, and at once he charged Hair and me.

Hair shouted and hurled his spear, which lodged in the beast's shoulder. The Lakota then ran forward, grasping at the spear shaft as the creature sped toward me and escape. Dragging the butt of my spear backward, I felt it catch on a small boulder half-sunk in the earth. Now the bison raised forelegs and chest to crush me, and I leaned the spear toward him. His massive weight brought him down on it, as I rolled clear, and when I saw him writhing, belly on the ground, I knew that he had taken the length of it.

Still, he rose and swayed to his feet, the blood gushing to the ground beneath him. He stood facing the four of us, pawed the ground, then slumped down on his forelegs, rose again, his eyes unseeing. "Be still, now, Old One," I remember saying, and the two Lakota raised their spears for the death blow, but Hair stopped them. He walked forward, and quickly pulled his spear from the bull's shoulder as the creature staggered. This he brought to me, indicating that I deserved the honor of the kill.

I went to the bull, raised the spear and said a prayer for the animal's courageous spirit. Then he seemed to see me, and he bellowed so loudly we all staggered back from him. With a final expenditure of his strength he charged forward over the edge of the cliff. We ran to the brink in time to see him fall against the boulders and scree some 80 feet below us. The Sioux were speaking excitedly, and began to walk toward a narrow ravine that promised passage to the foot of the cliff. As they did, I saw the green leaves of the spirit plant just at the edge where the old bull had gone over.

"Thanks to you, Grandfather," I said softly, and I stuffed the leaves inside my shirt. Then I followed the Lakota braves down to the buffalo.