Twelve years of one-on-one instruction provided any Lakota male the basic physical skills to be a fighting man. By the age of fifteen or sixteen, any boy was proficient with all of his weapons. But unseen factors determined how each would-be warrior would handle live combat. After the first few encounters with enemies on the battlefield, young Crazy Horse had demonstrated qualities that eluded many men for an entire lifetime. Older experienced men, while initially impressed, waited to pass judgment, however. It wasn’t unusual for young men to perform well in the first face-to-face encounters with enemies, if for no other reason than that their inexperience made them less cautious. Then the daunting realities of combat became part of their thinking and the same young men who seemed so daring and reckless in their first few outings hesitated, taking stock before taking action.
Caution was good. It turned reckless boys into thinking men and a thinking man was overall more valuable on the battlefield than one who placed others in danger because he took unnecessary risks. So the old men who heard of the first exploits of young Crazy Horse nodded knowingly, remembering that “such-and-such” had started the same way and now he was a man with a family because there was more to life than glory on the battlefield.
There were many good men among the Lakota. Three years after Woman Killer’s attack on Little Thunder’s camp on the Blue Water, many still talked about how the Sicangu leader, Spotted Tail, fought that day—jumping into the middle of swarms of soldiers with his bare hands until he took a long knife away from one of them and killed him, and ten more, with it before he finally fell from several grievous wounds. Black Shield, the Oglala, was still a formidable fighting man though he was nearly sixty. Old Smoke still wielded much influence because he was known for a lifetime of good judgment and honesty. And there were others.
The reckless die young, the old men advised, and their only legacy is a brief moment of glory; but over time it is forgotten. It is the steady and the steadfast that prevail, the old ones said. So while it stirred the heart and the imagination to hear of the exploits of a new young warrior—one whose quiet ways in camp contradicted the stories of daring on the battlefield—the old men puffed on their pipes as they sat around the evening fires and nodded knowingly. Over time, young Crazy Horse would give up his reckless ways, they said. Everyone does.
But even in this one encampment, there was more going on than the campfire conversations about the exploits from the latest raid. After a few days, the initial excitement that rose like a hot wind after several hundred horses were brought back had waned. The warrior societies decided that the families of those who had been killed should have first pick from the new herd, followed by the other participants. So the spoils of victory were thus divided and life went on.
The lines of suitors at the lodge of Black Buffalo Woman were as long as ever. One young man was notable by his absence. Young Crazy Horse had taken his place in line a time or two before the raid into Snake country. Some old women whispered to each other that many of the young hopefuls and fops who stood in line would not in their lifetimes achieve the battle honors that young Crazy Horse had earned in only a few raids. Furthermore, Black Buffalo Woman was not the prize for the heart of any man, they said. The family had gone to considerable effort to affirm their high standing by putting on the Woman’s Ceremony for her. And, some said, her family had already picked the man she would marry. Perhaps the man didn’t know that himself, but his good fortune was that he had been born into an influential family. It would be a marriage of families, the old women said, not of a man and a woman alone. Therefore, young Crazy Horse would be well served to bide his time and court another young woman who didn’t have the high ambitions of her father, uncle, and brothers, who were clinging to her like sandburs on her dress fringes.
Many of the old women, who watched with some amusement the parody being played out at the lodge of Black Buffalo Woman every evening after sundown, had seen the boy Light Hair grow into a shy and respectful young man. Perhaps he was overly shy but he had humility—something not often found in someone so young. And, after all, his family was not completely without status, they told one another. His mothers were the sisters of Spotted Tail and the mention of his name always evoked respect. In time, young Crazy Horse would have the pick of any young woman he wanted, so long as it wasn’t Black Buffalo Woman.
Life indeed went on for the Hunkpatilas. More raids were conducted and more successes became stories to tell in the months, and perhaps in the years, to come. Word spread throughout the land that the Hunkpatilas were fat and happy. They had put fear into the hearts of their enemies and even the hunting was better than it had been for many years. They had passed up the opportunity to go into Fort Laramie for their annuities, raising the eyebrows of those who had no choice but to live off the promises and uncertain generosity of the whites. What did the Hunkpatilas have that we don’t, they wondered. Yet they knew the answer as quickly as it had crossed their minds—the old way of living by hunting.
The old ways were good, and living off all that the land provided had always been the way. The unwanted realities were what were difficult to face. The Holy Road, messengers from the south said, had been as busy as ever. A new agent had come to the Shell River fort to replace the one with the Lakota wife. The agent was new because a new “great father” had come into power among the whites, it was said. Perhaps the old one was not wise, some Lakota thought, so the whites needed to find another. Wise or foolish, came the response, he looked on the Lakota as children, and the words and the ways of the new agent were less trustworthy because he knew nothing about the Lakota.
Crazy Horse listened to the news and sat at the edges of conversations that rose with the smoke from the evening fires outside the lodges. He said little, though he shared the sentiments of those who were puzzled that any Lakota would give up the free-roaming life to live so close to the whites. He liked especially to sit with his uncle Little Hawk, who was very opinionated about such matters and never hesitated to speak his mind.
So the words and the feelings of old men rose with the smoke into the cool night sky. Crazy Horse sought the light and the warmth of the low flames as much as he sought the wisdom of those who encircled the fire. As Light Hair, he had dared only to stay at the edge of the light. Now he could walk into the light, and at his approach, one or another of the old men would make room and invite him to take a place.
Since the fight on the rocky hill west of the Wind River in Snake country, he had a new sense of himself. Like a man trapped beneath thin ice, he had suddenly broken through to breathe fresh, life-giving air. High Back Bone and other established fighting men of strong experience looked at him differently and invited him into the lodges of the warrior societies. A few small boys had called out his name, “Crazy Horse! Crazy Horse!” But the circle of old men around a small fire offered a kind of acknowledgment he yearned after. Perhaps that was why he always stood at the edge of the firelight as a boy. There was something in the air any time a group of old ones gathered together, whether it was grandmothers talking as they dyed porcupine quills or as now, old men around a fire. He couldn’t explain it or understand it yet—except to wonder if the old ones had reached a place that everyone yearned to be.
So the young man with the new name breathed the fresh air of life.
Eleven
Worm, like all old ones, knew there were many unavoidable realities in life—some good and some bad. The sun rises and sets; warm spring weather follows quickly when the geese fly low. And broken hearts are as certain as snow in winter.
The silence hanging over the lodge of Worm was almost too much to bear. Elsewhere in the encampment were noisy victory celebrations for Red Cloud and his warriors. For nearly a month he had roamed at will in Crow territory with a large and powerful contingent, claiming victory after victory against the ancient enemy of the Lakota. But now a few old women shook their gray heads knowingly. Red Cloud was celebrating more than victories against the Crow.
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p; Red Cloud had taken to the warpath with all the young men in the camp answering his call to arms. He needed to strengthen his influence as a military leader with a successful campaign, and to solidify his political alliances as well. To accomplish his first objective, he needed warriors to gather to him. For his second objective, a marriage of convenience would serve his purpose.
Just when many people thought that young Crazy Horse had wisely turned his attention away from Black Buffalo Woman, he raised a few eyebrows by taking his place in the line of hopefuls. Her family was encamped with Red Cloud a short ride from the Hunkpatilas, so the quiet young man would slip away now and then in the early evenings and take his hopes and his heart with him. Given his rapidly growing reputation, many weren’t at all surprised when the young woman seemed to favor him, much to the disappointment of his rivals. As time went by, even the staunchest skeptics agreed that Black Buffalo Woman and the stalwart young Crazy Horse were a good match and that she would do well to bring such a man into her family. But there were still many whispers behind the hand that her family had plans that didn’t take the girl’s own feelings into consideration. One of the other suitors was No Water, who of his own accord was no comparison to Crazy Horse. But No Water’s older brother Black Twin was a skilled orator and a man of growing influence, and he held many opinions solidly in line with those of Red Cloud. So No Water was suddenly a valuable man. There was nothing for anyone to do but wait and watch with great interest—and great amusement.
Yet there were other things to concern the Hunkpatila. To the north, the Crow were crossing the Elk River and were seen scouting as far south as the head of the Tongue and the Rosebud Rivers. The Oglalas responded swiftly, but the Crow, owing mostly to their good horses, always managed to slip back to the protection of their own lands. Scouts to the southwest reported small contingents of Snakes and perhaps Utes probing into Lakota territory as well. So in the summer of the year that would come to be known as the Winter of Many Buffalo, the enemies of the Lakota provided many opportunities for Lakota fighting men to prove themselves.
Among the new crop of eager young fire breathers was Little Cloud, only recently given the new name of Little Hawk from his uncle, following the example of Worm. The boy was slender like his older brother, though his hair was darker brown. In him burned the same fire of commitment to a dream he had yearned to fulfill since he had picked up his first bow.
Crazy Horse and Little Hawk were a source of pride for their mothers and father. Where the older son was quiet, soft-spoken, and often serious, the younger was always laughing and playful. But wherever Crazy Horse went, Little Hawk followed, whether it was down a treacherously rocky slope in pursuit of an enemy or into a state of mind that lifted them to a level of daring and recklessness unknown to others. It was hard to comprehend that one was just past twenty and the other barely seventeen. Many who watched the pair in action speculated that the younger brother would eventually win more battle honors—if he could outlive his recklessness, others were quick to add.
Red Cloud had sent out the call for warriors the old way: each of his messengers carried one of the man’s individually marked arrows to the headman of a warrior society. High Back Bone took it upon himself to include the sons of Worm, though they had not yet taken membership in any society. He knew no one would refuse them.
After preparations were made, the throng of mounted warriors rode from the encampment to the trilling of wives, daughters, mothers, sisters, and grandmothers. Strongheart songs also rang through the camp to give them courage when they met the enemy. The reputation of Red Cloud was evident in that nearly - every able-bodied fighting man in several encampments joined his endeavor.
The tediousness of the long trail to enemy country was overshadowed by the power and spirit carried along by such a large group of fighting men. Rarely did so many warriors carry the banner of war at one time. In the evenings, the older men told stories of past fights and of men whose deeds were still emulated. Hero stories, they were called. Upon hearing them for the first time, most boys didn’t realize that the heroes in the stories were real. Some had lived in the time before horses, but the storytellers could make it seem as though it was only yesterday. Young men went to sleep with images of brave men whirling in their minds and awoke to a sense of purpose that drove them to face the long trail ahead.
Every morning a medicine man accompanying them arose and offered his pipe, asking for good things to ride with them and for courage to face the unknown as well as the enemy with a face. Then the throng would ride strong again.
High Back Bone started out leading a small group consisting of Crazy Horse, Little Hawk, Young Man Whose Enemies Are Afraid of His Horses (Young Man Afraid), Lone Bear, and He Dog. Soon enough, however, other individuals or small groups joined them. The Mniconju leader was known as a courageous warrior, and his reputation was further enhanced by the presence of the daring sons of Worm.
Among those who were invited to ride as part of Red Cloud’s immediate circle were Black Twin and his brother No Water. Before the group reached the Elk River, however, No Water began to complain of a toothache. The medicine man was quick to advise that it would be dangerous for No Water to continue since his medicine was from the fang teeth of the grizzly bear. A toothache was a warning, a bad sign not to be ignored. Reluctantly, it seemed, No Water took the trail home alone and no further thought was given to the matter.
They traversed the Elk River at a wide, shallow crossing. Red Cloud decided to keep the entire group together to maintain an advantage. The availability of so many fighting men was as much a tactical advantage as a numerical one. With feints and flanking movements, the Lakota wreaked havoc on each Crow encampment they attacked. Even the largest one they attacked couldn’t respond with adequate numbers of fighting men to effectively counterattack. The best they could do was hold the Lakota off long enough for women and children to flee to safety.
From each encampment, the Lakota made off with horses and as many guns as possible. The horse herd became so large that it became a tactical disadvantage. And so the decision was made to head for home.
Crazy Horse had accorded himself well, as had Little Hawk. Together, they had rescued several fallen Lakota, dashing in to snatch them up from under the very hooves of charging Crow warhorses. It astonished those who watched them that neither suffered so much as a scratch. Lone Bear, on the other hand, fell off his horse twice, but would not admit to some type of injury to his knee.
The Lakota crossed back over the Elk with only token harassment from the Crow. They understood that the extent of their success was directly proportional to the amount of shame suffered by their enemy. Therefore, revenge raids should be expected. The Crow were too proud, or too foolish, to let such an insult pass.
Scouts from one of the camps along the Powder River met the returning warriors and were quickly sent back to spread the news of success. But before he left, one of the scouts let slip a bit of news from the Red Cloud camp that was like an arrow into the heart of the young Crazy Horse. No Water, the younger brother of Black Twin, had become the husband of Black Buffalo Woman.
The grain of hope that Light Hair dared to allow himself to hold in his heart had grown into distinct possibility when, as Crazy Horse, he joined the line of hopeful young men waiting outside the girl’s lodge. That grain of hope had grown even more each time she stood with him under his courting robe and seemed reluctant to leave his embrace. Or perhaps it was only his imagination; this would not be the first time imagination totally ignored the boundaries and limits of reality.
High Back Bone, He Dog, and the others had been quick to turn their faces away at the news. There was nothing to be done and nothing to be said. Hearts were broken in an instant but they could not be healed in the same manner. Even those who did not feel his anguish were stunned to silence. The usually animated Little Hawk was subdued as his older brother gathered his things and took his leave of the warrior camp.
The land lay unchang
ed under the evening sky as young Crazy Horse rode in the general direction of the Hunkpatila camp. He rode on, lost in a new kind of pain, unaware that he had left his warhorse behind at the warrior camp.
The dogs announced his arrival in the Hunkpatila circle of lodges as he dismounted at the edge of the horse herd and turned his sorrel loose. He left his weapons at the door of his parents’ lodge and crawled inside.
The silence of the days that followed hung over the home of Worm like a deep, cold fog. Everyone remembered that No Water had returned alone soon after the raiders had left for Crow country. Soon after that, the family of Black Buffalo Woman announced that she had made her choice. Women who had watched the light-haired one grow into a broad-shouldered young man talked among themselves about this interesting turn of events. They remembered that he was so small when he had lost his mother, and that he had steadfastly endured the teasing of other boys because his hair was very light colored and wavy. Not unlike so many, he had already faced much difficulty in his life. So they didn’t blame him when he stayed in his parents’ lodge for several days. The fickleness of young women was always difficult to understand, they reminded one another. So, too, were the ambitions of grown men.
Days passed and soon enough the celebrations in the Red Cloud camp came to a stop. Little Hawk returned with his brother’s warhorse and with questions in his eyes, but his father shook his head and sent the young man on an errand. That evening Crazy Horse emerged from the lodge and announced to his mothers that he was hungry. They took it as a good sign and fed him.
Before the sun rose the next morning he was in the horse herd. The horse guards saw him catch the sorrel he had captured in the raid against the Snakes. But he spoke to no one. When a few old ones awoke to start cooking fires they saw him riding away to the northwest, armed and equipped for whatever he had in mind.
Joseph M. Marshall III Page 11