Massacre of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “I see eight,” Falcon said. “How many are there?”

  “I expect that’s about all that’s left,” Clayton said. He wriggled up the dune so he could peer over it with Falcon, then he pointed. Do you see that fella there? The one wearing the buffalo horns?”

  “I see him.”

  “I don’t know his name, but he seems to be the leader of them. But now, here’s the funny thing. He and one of the others are dressed like Crow. This here fella is Shoshone.” He pointed to the Indian who had tried to sneak up on him last night. “And I know that some of ’em are Cheyenne. What are the Crow and Shoshone doin’ fightin’ with Cheyenne? And agin’ us? I thought we was friendly with the Crow and the Shoshone.”

  “It is a curious thing,” Falcon said. He cocked his rifle and aimed it at the Indian who was wearing the buffalo horns.

  “You can’t hit him from here,” Clayton said. “And that Injun knows it. He’s been struttin’ back and forth out there all day, just rubbin’ it in that he’s out of range.”

  Falcon’s answer was to squeeze the trigger of his rifle. The rifle boomed and the recoil kicked his shoulder back. The Indian stiffened, then one arm went up as he fell from his horse. The rest of the Indians, seeing their leader fall, turned and galloped back into the trees.

  “Damn!” Clayton said in admiration. “That was one hell of a shot.”

  “Let’s get you home,” Falcon said.

  When the other Indians fled, Running Elk waited. He watched as the white men left, seeing that one of the horses was carrying two men. He was sure there had only been two men when the battle started. Someone else must have joined them during the night. That meant that there had never been more than three men against them. Three white men against thirteen Indians, yet the white men had prevailed. This was not a good sign.

  When Running Elk was certain the three white men were well gone, he went out to check on White Bull. As he expected, White Bull was dead. Running Bull constructed a travois, then put White Bull’s body on it. He was taking his childhood friend and recent rival home.

  Running Elk traveled for the rest of the day, then camped out that night. It seemed strange, lying on the ground sleeping beside White Bull’s body. Once, when they were children, they watched as an old man of the tribe was dressed in his finest clothes, then elevated onto a burial platform.

  “Where do you think he is now?” Running Elk asked.

  “He is in the great beyond, where hunting is always good and there is always feasting,” White Bull had replied.

  Running Elk had always found the Happy Hunting Ground to be a comforting thought for those who died. But, when he went to the white man’s school, he was told there was no such thing as a Happy Hunting Ground. He was told that only if one followed the white man’s Jesus, could one be saved, though he never quite understood what it meant to be saved.

  When Running Elk rode into the Crow Village the next day many came to see who was being pulled behind him on the travois. White Bull’s mother saw him, and began weeping, as did his sister and even Quiet Stream.

  “Were you with Mean to His Horses?” High Hawk asked.

  “No,” Running Elk replied. “Mean to His Horses would not take us with him. So White Bull led a raiding party, and was killed.”

  When he saw White Bull’s mother put her hand on White Bull’s face, he wanted to comfort her.

  “White Bull died very bravely,” he said.

  Brown Cow Woman shook her head as she continued to weep. “I do not care that he died bravely,” she said. “I did not want him to go. I feared when he left that this would happen.”

  “Are you going back to join Mean to His Horses?” Quiet Stream asked. “Did you come back, only to return White Bull’s body?”

  “I am not going back,” Running Elk said. “I was wrong to leave. I will stay here, with my people, in peace.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Major Frederic Benteen held up his arm to signal a halt. “Battalion!” he called.

  “Troop!” the troop commanders sang out, issuing their supplementary commands.

  “Halt!”

  The battalion, riding in columns of twos, came to a halt.

  “Dismount! Trumpeter, sound Officers’ Call and First Sergeant’s call.”

  The trumpeter blew the calls, first for officers, then for the first sergeants.

  Benteen and two troops of the Ninth Cavalry had come up from Fort Keogh, reaching the Greybull River without seeing any hostile Indians. The guideon-bearer planted the unit colors and stood by them to keep the wind from blowing them down. Benteen filled his pipe and had just lit it when Captain Pope and Lieutenant Bond, acting Sergeant Major Coletrain, and the two first sergeants responded to the bugle call.

  “I think we will bivouac here for the night,” Benteen said. Troop commanders, get your sentries posted. First sergeants, see that the horses are cared for.”

  “Yes, sir,” all responded.

  “Return to your companies. Sergeant Major, you remain,” Benteen said.

  Benteen watched as the troop commanders and first sergeants returned to their units. He puffed on his pipe for a long moment before speaking and Coletrain stood by in silence.

  Not until the men started unsaddling their horses and getting out their shelter-halves did he speak.

  “Sergeant Major, I understand you were at Willow Springs.”

  “Yes, sir, I was,” Coletrain replied.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Not much to tell, Major,” Coletrain said. “There were thirty of us. We were well mounted and armed, but Sergeant Winston and I were the only two veterans. I was a corporal then. The rest were all raw recruits, and we were taking them to Fort Shaw for training. We had just stopped for lunch when we were attacked by sixty to seventy Lakota.

  “With the opening shots, ten of the recruits threw down their weapons and ran.” Coletrain was silent for a moment. “It was such a damn fool thing for them to do. The Indians had sport with them, running them down easily, then clubbing them or running them through with lances.

  “The rest of the men stayed, whether because they knew it was the right thing to do, or because they saw what happened to the ones who ran, I don’t know. But they stayed, and we formed a circle. Some of the men, despite being raw recruits, were pretty good shots, and we held the Indians off for the rest of the day, though we had three more killed and another eight wounded.

  “Come night time, we pulled out, but we ran into the Indians at least three more times during the night. We exchanged fire with them every time. Sergeant Winston was killed during one of the nighttime fights. Finally, we reached Fort Shaw just before dawn, bringing our wounded with us. But in all, we lost fourteen killed.”

  “What were the Indian casualties?” Benteen asked.

  “Yes, sir, I knew that’s where you were going with this. The next day a reconnaissance in force retraced our route, they brought back all of our dead, all them had been scalped and mutilated, but they did not find any Indian bodies. So the official report says that there were no Indian casualties at all.”

  “Is that true?”

  “No, sir, it isn’t true,” Coletrain said. I personally saw nine Indians killed, and that was just on my side of the defensive circle. Winston told me he saw as many himself, though some of them might have been the same ones I saw. But without any proof, the official report remained—no Indians killed.”

  “No Indians killed,” Benteen repeated.

  “That was the report, yes sir.”

  “You may wonder why I asked you about this,” Benteen said. “I asked you about it because many of the officers and men of the Sixth Cavalry have taken great delight in telling me that story. They use it to point out that nearly half of your platoon ran at first contact, and that the rest of the men did nothing more but hold on until they could run away come nightfall. All that, and not one Indian killed. It is proof, they say, that colored soldiers can’t be depended on in a fight. I wanted
to hear it from your own lips.”

  “Major, as God is my witness, I have told you the truth. I can only guess at how many Indians were killed, but I know there were at least fifteen or more.”

  “Which is nearly as many men as you lost,” Benteen said.

  “Yes, sir. But considerably less than Custer lost.”

  Benteen blinked a couple of times, then nodded. “You are right about that, Sergeant Major,” he said.

  “You are right about that. And, if it is any consolation to you, I believe you.”

  “Thank you, Major.”

  “What is the mood of the troopers?” Benteen asked.

  “It’s very good, Major. Many have been in battle before, and the ones who have not been in battle are looking forward to it. And, Major, if you don’t mind my saying so, they feel good because you are our commanding officer. Even the rawest recruit knows that there is no one in the army with more experience than you.”

  “That may be true, Sergeant Major. But not all my experiences have been positive ones,” Benteen said.

  DeMaris Springs

  When Major Benteen brought the Ninth Cavalry through town, the townspeople turned out to welcome them.

  The volunteer firehouse band played stirring marches and the soldiers rode in close formation. As they passed the mayor’s office, Benteen ordered eyes right, and the guideon-bearers dipped their colors as the soldiers in every file except the extreme right file turned their eyes right in salute.

  “Damn,” Regret said. “Did you see them soldiers? They’re all colored.”

  “All the better,” Bellefontaine said.

  “Why all the better?”

  “Because they won’t have enough sense to figure out that we’re the ones that started all the trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Regret said. He smiled. “Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it?”

  “The mayor is holding another meeting tonight, and he’s invited the officers.”

  “Colored? Comin’ to a town meetin’?” Davis asked. “How’s the rest of the town goin’ to take that?”

  “The officers are white.”

  “Oh. Well then, I reckon that will be all right.”

  The Rocking B Ranch

  Clayton was lying in bed now with fresh bandages on the wound on his side, and wrapped around his arm. His daughter Diane was sitting on the bed beside him. Mrs. Clayton, Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham were in the bedroom as well.

  “I can’t thank you enough for bringing my husband home safely,” Mrs. Clayton said.

  “He had a lot to do with it himself,” Falcon said. “Don’t forget, he held the Indians off for twenty-four hours.”

  “And he was all alone,” Cody added.

  “I wasn’t quite alone,” Clayton said. “I had Diane with me.”

  “I wasn’t with you, Daddy,” Diane said.

  Clayton had already told his wife about the dream in which Diane warned him of the Indian, so she smiled and reached over to put her arm around her daughter.

  “He means you were with him in spirit, dear,” she said.

  “And I owe thanks to Oliver Bowman as well,” Clayton said. “I know now, what an ordeal he went through to find help. But what I can’t understand is why the Indians have suddenly gone bad. We have lived here for ten years without the slightest bit of trouble. In fact, we have had Indian guests in our home.”

  “I’ve dealt with Indians for most of my life,” Cody said. “And the most important thing I have learned is that they are always unpredictable.”

  “They’re having a town meeting tonight in DeMaris Springs,” Ingraham said. “Do you plan to go?”

  “Yes,” Falcon said. “I think we need to.”

  “I heard that they have brought in the cavalry,” Mrs. Clayton said. “I’m glad. I hate it that it has come to this, but since it has, I feel safer knowing that the cavalry has been called in.”

  “When you men go to that meeting in town, give them my excuses for not being there,” Clayton said.

  Cody chuckled. “I’m sure they will understand.”

  The Crow village on the Meeteetsee

  “Why have the whites turned on us?” Grey Dog asked.

  “Did we not fight at their side against the Sioux?” Black Hand asked.

  “Now we know, they are our enemy.”

  “Soldiers have come,” Running Elk told High Hawk.

  “Where are the soldiers?”

  “They are very near to here,” Running Elk said. “They are camped along the river the whites call Stinking Water.”

  “I think that is good,” High Hawk said.

  “Why do you think it is good?”

  “I think the soldiers will see that we are not the ones doing these terrible things. And I think they will stop the whites from attacking us.”

  DeMaris Springs

  Again, the citizens of the town gathered in the town center for a meeting called by Mayor Joe Cravens. As before, Pierre Bellefontaine was seated at the head table with the mayor, but joining them tonight was Major Benteen. Falcon, Cody, and Prentiss Ingraham were, once more, in the front row. And though Clayton had been unable to attend due to his wounds, Oliver Bowman, still showing the effects of his ordeal, was present.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mayor Cravens said. “We are met again to discuss the Indian problem. In a few minutes, I’m going to call on Mr. Oliver Bowman to give us a firsthand report of his experience with the Indians, but first I want to introduce Major Benteen and his gallant officers. Would you gentlemen stand, please?”

  Benteen and his officers stood to acknowledge the applause.

  “Major Benteen and his soldiers are camped out on Stinking Water River, some west of here. I know that will make you feel better to realize that they are between us and the Crow village.”

  “If all the officers are here, who is in charge of the soldiers right now?” Don Bailey asked. Bailey worked for Bellefontaine as a freight-wagon driver.

  “Sergeant Major Coletrain is in charge at the moment,” Benteen answered.

  “I understand all your soldiers are colored. Is this fella Coletrain a colored man as well?”

  “He is.”

  “Well, what if the Injuns decide to attack tonight, while you and all your officers are here? Do you think it is safe to leave a colored man in charge?”

  “Sergeant Major Coletrain would be quite capable of mounting a defense if it became necessary,” Benteen said.

  “What I want to know is when are you going to go out to that village and clean it out?” one of the men in the audience shouted.

  “And just what village would that be?” Benteen asked.

  “Hell, you know what village. I’m talkin’ about that nest of crows that’s between here and Yellowstone.”

  “I don’t believe that the Crow are our enemy,” Benteen said.

  “What do you mean they ain’t our enemy? Didn’t they kill the Barlow family? Ever’ last one of ’em?”

  “Indians may have killed the Barlow family . . .” Benteen started, but he was interrupted in mid-sentence.

  “What do you mean may have kilt ’em? If you had seen ’em strapped to boards in front of the hardware store, you wouldn’t of said may have. They was all butchered up, exactly the way Injuns do it.”

  “Even if it was Indians who killed them, there is no proof that it was Crow. And even if it was Crow Indians, chances are that it was no more than one or two renegades. I just do not believe that the Crow are our enemy.”

  “Then who is? Sioux?”

  “More than likely it is Mean to His Horses and a few renegades, mostly Cheyenne, though I am willing to admit that he may have attracted Indians from some of the other bands as well.”

  “So, what do you plan to do about it?” Bellefontaine asked.

  “Our first duty is to provide safety for the town of DeMaris Springs,” Benteen said.

  “The best way you can do that is to go after the Injuns and take care of them,” one of the others sai
d.

  “I agree,” Benteen said. “It is my intention to establish a very aggressive pattern of scouting. If we find armed Indians wandering around off the reservations, we will deal with them.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Bellefontaine said. “The first thing you should do is attack the Crow Indian village near Yellowstone. Run them completely out of here, back up into Montana somewhere. Then, with that taken care of, you can start your scouting.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bellefontaine,” Benteen replied. “But I am in command, and I will conduct the military operation as I see fit.”

  DeMaris Springs bivouac

  After the meeting broke up, Benteen invited Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham to the bivouac area of his two companies. There they had lunch together, and Benteen discussed his plans with them.

  “I intend to send out a couple of scouts in strength,” Benteen said. “I shall want one element to go down to the Graybull River, then follow it up to the Big Horn River. The other group will follow the Stinking Water River up to the Big Horn. Colonel Cody, if you would, I would like you to act as guide for the men who will take the Graybull scout. Colonel MacCallister, if you are agreeable to it, I would like you to act as guide for the group that will take the Stinking Water River scout. Proceed to the Big Horn, then go south until you effect a rendezvous with Colonel Cody, who will be coming north. If for some reason you do not effect the rendezvous then that will probably mean that the other detail is engaged, in which case I want you to continue on until you do make contact.”

  “All right,” Falcon agreed.

  “Colonel, MacCallister, I will send Sergeant Major Coletrain with you. Colonel Cody, Lieutenant Bond will be with you.”

  “Very good,” Cody said.

  “I will flip a coin to see which of you I will accompany,” Ingraham said.

  “I’m not sure having a civilian along is such a good idea,” Benteen said. “I don’t want any of my men to be distracted by having to look out for you.”