the image of a boot fades in, pull back to see that a lone rider is coming toward us. he has had a long and dusty trip. it's lieutenant dunbar. he's still riding the little buckskin.
dunbar is off the seat riding atop the mountain of supplies. he is writing in his journal.
a cluster of bones bleached white, are lying in the tall grass. human bones. dunbar is squatting next to them. timmons' head dips into view over his shoulder and the teamster's mouth splits into a toothless grin.
from a high point on the prairie we can see the wagon moving west. and no more than half a mile away we can see cargill's column, moving east. neither is aware of the other's presence.
dunbar is walking through a little valley of tall, rich grass. the wagon is nowhere in sight.
four fantastic faces fill the screen, three together, one a little apart. they are tired, frustrated faces, and also very fierce. they are painted. several wear their hair in spiked roaches, one has brightly-colored eagle feathers jutting out of his scalp at all angles. the four warriors are naked from the waist up.
we're dropping down through the smoke, right down to the supper fire of timmons the teamster. he's cooking slab bacon in a pan. risking the heat, he dips a finger into the pan and sucks off the grease.
a lone arrow remains in timmons' dead body, jutting out of his privates.
just as dunbar did on his trip out with timmons, someone is running a palm over the tips of the tall prairie grass. this hand, however, is red.
the three boxes are stacked on the open prairie. suddenly a shovelful of dirt flies out of an unseen spot next to the crates. another flying shovelful. and another.
the lieutenant sits atop cisco scouting along the bluff. fort sedgewick lies in the background.
wind in his hair is riding hard and happy. he really fixed that white god. but as he clears the brow of a rise, a riderless horse blows past him, running in the opposite direction.
wind in his hair and his friends, two of them riding double, are going slowly home when they see a courier coming in their direction. they rein in waiting for the young man cantering toward them.
lieutenant dunbar has ridden deep into the prairie. watching the sky, he takes a drink out of his canteen. the lieutenant hears something, he turns cisco in that direction. he listens harder. a weird sort of singing. warily he goes ahead.
she's lying in the same spot, still unconscious. the cuts on her arms have been bandaged up with strips of old glory.
dunbar is on cisco. his big impression is gone. the uniform, and his hands and face are smeared with stands with a fist's blood. the girl is slung in front of him.
a little girl of seven, christine, is lying in the grass of a sod roof. next to her is ten year-old willie. they are planning their wedding and staring up at the sky.
a wide stretch of prairie, falling away to nothing.
dunbar and kicking bird are riding together at the flank of ten bears' entourage.
it's the first time we've seen the buffalo up close. they're fantastic creatures, powerful, brutish, untameable animals from another age. a great bull turns away from the others and lifts his purple, horned head to sniff the breeze. he can detect no sign of trouble and eventually returns to his browsing.
the hunters are advancing across the prairie, spreading out in a formation that will encircle part of the herd.
a strike far up on the horned formation. their ponies leap forward. the mad dash is on.
sioux hunters stream past him, every man for himself zeroing in on targets.
the buffalo has been split open and wind in his hair, kneeling at the bull's side, is feeling around in the cavity. he finds what he's looking for and gives it a jerk.
there is nothing for miles.
the indian entourage is riding slowly toward lieutenant dunbar. stone calf is at kicking bird's side.
the war party with kicking bird and wind in his hair at its head has halted in the middle of nowhere. the sioux riders are coming toward them at a run. they pull up, excited with what they have to tell.
kicking bird and dances with wolves are cantering side by side across the open prairie.
dances with wolves and kicking bird gallop their horses to the crest of a steep hill and rein to a halt.
kicking bird and dances with wolves are alone on a great sea of prairie.
dances with wolves and cisco are cantering quickly over the open prairie.
elgin and one of the escort soldiers are scouting far out on the prairie. the lieutenant pauses and looks back at the wagon. it is far behind in the distance, but still coming.
we follow a pair of boots walking in the snow. pan up to find an orderly bringing coffee to a major. he is surrounded by other officers and in front of him a large column of men is moving toward the snow covered mountains.
the column is moving at a leisurely walk when the horses start to bunch up. they're stopping.
the column of soldiers is not in a rush, but they're trotting now to make better time.