Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

As they came to the top of the rise, they had a view over the plains and a meandering stream, with
cottonwoods growing alongside it. And stretching as far as they could see were white teepees, each
with a thin column of smoke issuing from them.
“My God,” Sternberg said. He quickly estimated the number.
“What do you make it?” Isaac said.
“I make it more’n a thousand teepees. My God,” Sternberg said again.
“I am persuaded,” said Isaac, “that we are dead men.”
“I reckon,” said Cookie Hill. He spat on the ground.
Sternberg didn’t think so. The question was what tribe of Indians they were. If they were Sioux,
then Isaac was right; they were as good as dead. But the Sioux were supposed to still be farther south.
“Who cares where they’re supposed to be?” Cookie said. “They’re here, and so are we. It’s that
Little Weasel, he led us here—”
“That’s enough. Let’s go about our business,” Cope said. “Make our camp, and act naturally.”
“After you, Professor,” Cookie said.
It was difficult to act naturally with a thousand teepees spread on the plains below, and the
associated horses, fires, people. They had of course already been spotted; some of the Indians were
pointing and gesturing.
By the time they had unloaded the cook wagon and started the fire for the night, a group of mounted
horsemen splashed across the stream and rode up toward their camp.
“Here they come, boys,” Cookie muttered.
Johnson counted twelve riders. His heart pounded as he heard their horses approach. They were
superb horsemen, riding fast and easily, trailing a cloud of dust. They whooped and shouted savagely
as they came closer.
“These were my first Indians,” he later remembered, “and I was consumed in equal parts with
curiosity and terror. I confess that to see the swirling dust cloud, and hear their savage shrieks,
increased the latter, and for the thousandth time on this journey I regretted the rashness of my wager.”
The Indians were now close and rode in circles around the wagon, whooping enthusiastically. They
knew the white men were frightened, and enjoyed it. Finally, they drew up, and their leader repeated
several times, “Howah, howah.” He said it in a grunting sort of way.
Johnson whispered to Sternberg, “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘How.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, ‘I agree, everything is fine, I feel friendly.’”
Johnson could now see the Indians clearly. Like many other first-time observers of Plains Indians,
he was astonished at how handsome they were—“tall and muscularly endowed, their faces
possessing pleasing regular features, their bearing naturally dignified and proud, their persons and
buckskin garments surprisingly clean.”
The Indians were not smiling, but they seemed friendly enough. They all said “Howah” in turn, and
looked around at the camp. There was an awkward silence. Isaac, who knew some Indian language,
ventured a few words of greeting.
Instantly their faces darkened. They wheeled on their horses and rode away, disappearing in an
alkaline dust cloud.
Sternberg said, “You goddamn fool, what did you say?”