We didn't have a lot of difficulty pulling the old bull out of the rocks. Hitching the ponies up, we tugged the carcass free and down the slope to a narrow spring creek, where we gutted and skinned the bison. The tall Sioux, under orders from Hair-like-Bushes, brought the melon-sized liver to me in his bloody hands. I chopped up the liver with the heart and testicles of the animal, and placed the mess in an iron trade-pot with some water from the brook. The skull and hide were hung from the low branches of a cottonwood, and a fire built of aspen and maple branches. I signed to Hair that I would gather some herbs for the stew to be eaten with the buffalo, and he sent the tall man with me.

Wandering the bank of the creek, I found a small bear willow and sliced away a piece of the exposed root. I also found several purple star-flowers, and farther from the water, sage and wolftongue. A clump of bitter cherry yielded bark and leaves for the mixture. These herbs I washed in the creek and I prayed for blessing on them. As I chanted, I glanced at the Lakota, who was inspecting what appeared to be a wapiti trail through the brush. I used the opportunity to take the spirit plant leaves from my shirt and mix them with the other plants, and immediately I began to chop and mix the plants. Bringing this back to the camp in a basket, I placed everything in the bubbling pot.

The hump and shoulder of the buffalo were spitted and roasting over the fire, and Hair and the other man were boning the rest of the meat, cutting it in strips, and hanging it from a cottonwood branch that lay in the smoke above. I stirred the stew, and the aroma reached my nostrils, strong with the power of the liver and the bear-root, and I could not detect the spirit plant. I was certain they would not either.

The darkness descended, and the Sioux warriors sat on the windward side of the smoky fire, while I sat near the ponies. The smell of the meat roasting was almost overpowering, the hiss of the fat dripping into the fire and the snap of the maple sap bringing life to the little circle. From time to time they would slice bits of meat away, juggling them to keep from burning fingers, popping the meat into their mouths. Hair cut a long sizzling piece of meat, held it out to me, and motioned for me to approach. I sat with them, taking the strip of tender flesh in my fingers. Suddenly, Hair jumped up, took a spear from beside his blanket, and gestured with it, saying something in his language. The others smiled and glanced at me, and then Hair began to dance and to sing along with his dance. He danced up to the hide and skull which towered over him, lit by firelight. Then he staggered back, eyes big in abject terror as his two friends burst into uncontrolled laughter. Then Hair stopped, seemed to grow in height, thrust out his chest, and plunged the spear up into the bison's skin. The warriors stopped in their laughter, together saying "waaaa-hosh." Hair turned slowly to me, nodded his head, and said "wa-hosh."

As we devoured the meat, Hair picked up the cooled pot of stew, drank deeply of the broth, then ate a handful of the meat and vegetable mash. The other two followed suit, then handed the pot to me. I took it, drank, bowed, then took my seat in the darkness by the ponies where they wouldn't see me spit the mixture onto the ground. I had, against my own will, lost much of the hostility I felt toward them. It was the thought of Hair's words of killing my brother, the thought that Wolf might already lie dead, that relieved me of my guilt from poisoning them.

We had finished eating, and the tall Sioux and Hair were speaking animatedly, when the other Lakota cried out, struck with his fist at something unseen which seemed to be attacking him from out of the fire, scuttled backward in a panic into the branches of a willow. The other two stared at him in shock as he suddenly doubled up, vomiting violently. The tall Sioux stood to walk over to him, stumbled and fell, then slowly raised his head, his face quivering. Hair-like-Bushes sat very still, his eyes pinned to the skull and hide of the dead buffalo as he whispered something unintelligible.

As I gathered my things, it was clear that the spell of the Datura was in full sway. I could hear the rapid footfalls of the tall Sioux somewhere in the darkness as he sought to escape whatever demons pursued him. Hair was still transfixed by the adoration and terror inspired in him by the carcass, and offered no resistance as I took back the mirror, the medal, the sash and the other treasures he had stolen from me. The other Lakota was nowhere to be seen. I left them their ponies. It would be at least a day before they would be in any condition to pursue me. That is, if they didn't die. There was a always a danger in summoning the visions of the spirit plant, a danger that with the imps and demons Death too would come in his disguise. But I had tempered the plant with the wolftongue to bring on vomiting, for I didn't wish them dead.

My pony loaded with meat from the buffalo, I departed the camp of the enchanted Lakota at daybreak, following the spring creek down to where it met the Little Bighorn, then east and south toward the Wolf Mountains.