by John Foxjohn
Hand followed Crazy Horse across the creek to the woodcutters’ tents and shot two of them before they made their way to the wagon boxes. The warriors who had followed Crazy Horse stopped for scalping and plundering. When Crazy Horse and Hand raced back, they found the other warriors sitting in the shade eating the white man’s food in the middle of a fight. This left Hand speechless, but Crazy Horse shook his head in disgust and continued.
After returning to the main fight, Hump asked Crazy Horse to lead a massive charge to overwhelm the soldiers. With the horses’ hooves thundering forward in a devastating charge at the boxes, warriors raced their horses to see who would get the first scalp. There would be no scalps to get this day.
The charge melted from the unrelenting fire that swept from the soldiers behind the wagon boxes, melting warriors away like buffalo butter in the hot sun. In charge after charge, they attempted to kill the soldiers, but none succeeded.
Hump had them try circling and shooting low from their horses to run the soldiers out of bullets, but this didn’t work any better than the charges they’d already attempted. The soldiers seemed to have an endless supply of bullets, and no matter how many times the Indians circled, the mad hornets kept zipping by their ears, killing the horses.
Word of a rescue detail from the fort came, forcing the warriors to leave the fight.
Those who watched from the hill, left first.
Hand shook his head. The soldiers must be coming to rescue us. Those whites behind the boxes don’t need any help.
Crazy Horse gained another measure of respect from Hand after the fight. He never told Hump he’d told him so. Hand, in his brother’s place, thought he would have.
When they arrived back at camp, the women ran to the travois as the warriors entered the village, pulling their knives and slashing their arms and hands—the wailing and mourning cries made the hair stand up on Hand’s neck and sent icy jolts flooding down his back. This custom of the people, he would never understand. He wasn’t alone in that thought, either. Crazy Horse shared the same feelings.
Three days later, they moved their lodges back to the Powder River, but as they left, Hand looked around at all the burial scaffolds they left behind—too many. Most of the older warriors believed that this one day had erased all the good the people had done that cold winter day against the little soldier chief called Fetterman.
* * * *
Although summer breezes still blew, the Hunkpatilia gathered meat and robes for the winter. The starving winter that they’d gone through had taught them a lesson. After setting up camp between Pumpkin Creek and the Powder River where the lush grass fed their horses and made them strong, the warriors went on the hunt.
The chiefs’ society held a large council to discuss what to do. Many of the elders favored luring the soldiers into a big trap to kill all of them. This time, some of the more powerful Big Bellies listened to Crazy Horse.
As the debate raged at the council fire, Crazy Horse stood. Several minutes passed for everyone to get quiet so he could speak.
“You know my only concern…is for the welfare of our people.”
Many people nodded their heads in agreement—even Crazy Horse’s enemies would agree with this statement.
He dropped his head, staring at the ground. “I’ve no desire to gain glory, power, or honors. Last year I said…we should kill soldiers. I spoke strongly against warriors…who fought for individual glory and this I still believe…even more today.”
A loud cheer erupted from the warriors around the fire. Everyone knew that Crazy Horse and his advice were mostly responsible for the great victory over the white soldiers.
“I tried to warn against the attacks…on the wagon boxes, but many thought I was too careful and foolish.”
Hump rose to speak. “This is true. I wish I’d paid more notice to your council.”
Mans Afraid rose, “Your wisdom in war is far beyond your age. I’m an old warrior. My bones hurt when I walk, and won’t bend like they used to, but my mind is still good and even though I’m old, I’m alert enough to know who to listen to. I’m ready to listen to your guidance.”
A great cheer arose from the warriors.
Hump rose once again and looked directly at Crazy Horse. “You’re my kola, friend for life, even though I’m many suns older than you. You have tagged along after me and gotten under my feet ever since you first walked.”
Ripples of laughter followed, and Crazy Horse’s face glowed like the coals in a fire.
“I’ve accused you in the past of being too careful, but I’ve also said you’re the bravest warrior I’ve ever seen,” Hump said.
Again, the yipping from the warriors filled the tent. “What’s your advice?” Hump asked.
Hand could tell that Crazy Horse was uncomfortable at all this attention and he knew his brother probably wished he’d never spoken. He started out slowly, and gained timbre in his voice as he continued.
“I think it would be a big mistake…to try to attack the white man in force. As I’ve said in the past, we have no bullets…for our guns and we can’t attack these soldiers with the fast shooting guns…and the big canons…with arrows, and spears. Too many of our young men…will die.”
No Water spoke with malice, “What do you recommend us to do then, watch them?”
Crazy Horse turned to face his lifelong antagonist. “I’ll leave that for you and the women,” he said in a sharp, mocking voice.
Rippling laughter made No Water turn as red as blood.
“I think,” Crazy Horse, continued, “That we should hit them…with many small raids. We control the high ground. They can’t do anything…without us knowing it. Hit them and run. Make them unpleasant. Make them fight for everything, even the water they drink…and the wood they cut, but not in massed attacks, in small, fast raids…like lighting from the sky. Hit them at night…when they come out of their forts to camp, raid their horses…steal their small buffalo, and keep them awake all night. Most of all make them miserable. I think this is the way to fight…these white soldiers without killing off all our young warriors.”
A great cheer arose from the people who had gathered around the council fire. Mans Afraid rose and raised both hands to quiet the cheering crowd. “My friend has spoken from his heart at what he thinks is best for our people, and whether you agree with him or not,” he paused and looked at No Water. “You have to respect him for this because my friend has the interests of the people at heart. I also believe what he speaks is true. I have with my own eyes seen how careful the whites are. I’ve watched when the warriors attacked the soldiers at the wagon boxes. I believe as Crazy Horse, this kind of fighting against the whites will only kill off our young warriors and will gain us nothing in the end.”
The council ended by taking Crazy Horse’s advice. There would be many small raids upon the whites, but no all-out battles.
No Water stood outside talking to Woman’s Dress when He Dog and Hand left the council. As they walked by, Hand heard No Water say for them to hear, “If Crazy Horse is so great, why did he not defeat the soldiers all by himself?”
Hand whirled around, “No Water, the last raid I saw you take part in, you left early with a toothache to stay with the women.”
No Water stepped forward with a hand on his knife. Hand smiled at him and said, “Go ahead.”
He Dog stepped between them. “It would be best, No Water, if you went to your lodge. If you choose to stay, I’ll let Hand have you, and we both know this is something you don’t want.”
No Water glared with hatred in his eyes for a few moments, but turned and left.
* * * *
In the first few suns of moon of colored leaves, September, runners told the Hunkpatilia that the great white father had again sent out his peace men to get them to sign a treaty. This time they promised to give the Lakota what they wanted, their own country along the Powder River. The Lakota would get all the land between the Missouri River and the White Mountains, or Big H
orns, and the great white father would close down all the forts on the Holy Road. The white men said they wanted peace.
Again, the elders held a council. Many of the chiefs favored going in and signing. Spotted Tail, Crazy Horse’s uncle, traveled out to try to talk the hostile Indians into signing the treaty.
They would get more done if they didn’t hold a council so they could argue among themselves, Hand thought.
Many tried to say the white man gave them a lot this time and everyone should go in and sign the treaty. Crazy Horse pointed out that the white man wasn’t giving the people anything. The people already had the Powder River country. How were the whites giving it? Some did agree with him on this.
Even Red Cloud spoke against the peace treaty, saying, “We can’t trust the white man’s word. If he’s going to abandon the forts on the Holy Road, why hasn’t he done it? I’ll go in and talk only when I see the forts deserted.”
While some of the chiefs did go in and talk to the peace men, most remained in camp. Runners spread the word that the peace men had insisted that Red Cloud sign the treaty. As the snow and ice pelted the lodges, a starving time developed. They’d found few buffalo to provide meat for the winter. The warriors went out hunting almost every day, not only for themselves, but also for the old and sick who couldn’t hunt. Also, they continued their small raids on the whites and the white soldiers when they could catch a few soldiers out without a big guard.
After a successful raid, they’d take everything, especially the guns and bullets. The guns they could get without too many problems, but when they stopped working, the warriors had to throw them away. The ammunition was another story. They were hard to acquire—the Lakota had no way to make them, and without bullets, their guns were useless.
Early in moon of popping trees, February, Crazy Horse, Little Hawk, He Dog, and Hand went on a raiding, hunting party with several others. After camping close to the Shifting Sands River, Powder River, they headed south to the Holy Road and Crazy Horse and He Dog went scouting. It wasn’t long before they raced back with the news that one of the white man’s slow wagons rolled down the Holy Road and only had five soldiers guarding it.
“That is stupid,” Little Hawk said. “They have not learned yet that we attack the slow wagons when so few guard them?”
“Ayiee,” Crazy Horse said with a grin. “It’s good for us that they’re slow learners.”
“Yes,” He Dog agreed. “Let’s get them.”
After traveling parallel to the Holy Road about four bowshots, they reached a big bend in the trail. Hand knew they would set up on the other side, out of sight until the wagon rolled around—his brother liked this kind of terrain for ambushes.
Crazy Horse set them up, putting five on the south side of the bend to hit the soldiers from the front. He Dog would lead this group, with orders to kill the driver first, while the others would kill the first two mules pulling the wagon. This way, Crazy Horse explained, they couldn’t move the wagon.
With the rest of the warriors on the west side of the trail, they’d hit the soldiers’ rear after He Dog’s group attacked. Crazy Horse told them they’d catch the soldiers in the open and they would try to get behind the slow wagon to fight. The soldiers would have to get on the west side of the wagon, and that’s when the second group of warriors would attack.
As Hand waited with He Dog’s group, the wagon creaked toward them. They could hear it a long time before it rambled around the bend. He Dog’s first shot knocked the driver off the seat of the wagon. Hand, beside him waiting for the opening shot, aimed at the first mule, but He Dog’s shot startled him and he jerked the trigger, missing.
The others didn’t miss, and the mules fell. The mules’ braying and the whites’ shouting were all they could hear. As the white soldiers retreated to the west side of the wagon, the warriors opened fire. One of the soldiers stumbled, but another grabbed him before he could fall and pulled him behind the wagon. The remaining soldiers started to fire, but Crazy Horse’s group hit them from the rear, catching them by surprise.
The fight lasted only a few minutes.
The wagon didn’t have much in it—only a little of the white man’s food, but their guns and bullets were worth the fight. As Hand walked around to the back of the wagon, Little Hawk jumped down, a big leather bag in his hand.
“What’s in the bag?” Hand said.
“Some of the white man’s colored leaves they write funny things on.”
Confused, Hand asked, “The white man’s colored leaves?”
Little Hawk snatched a handful from the bag and threw them into the wind. As the wind caught the small scraps of green paper, a long-ago thought flashed through Hand’s mind.
As Little Hawk reached in for another handful, Hand yelled, “Stop,” much louder than he’d intended to, and the others rushed to see what was going on.
“What’s the matter?” Crazy Horse asked Little Hawk.
With a shrug, Little Hawk said, “I do not know. Hand hollered at me to stop throwing the useless white man’s colored leaves away.”
“Do you want these things?” Crazy Horse asked Hand.
“Crazy Horse, do you know what this paper is?”
“No. What is it?”
“This is the white man’s paper money.”
Crazy Horse looked at Hand with that “so what?” look.
“Whites buy things from other white men with this paper.”
“What is buying?” Little Hawk asked.
This question stumped Hand. How could he explain buying to them? A thought occurred. “Our people have traded robes to the white man and other Indians for the things we want,” he said.
“This is true,” Crazy Horse said.
“The white man trades this paper that they call money to other people for the things they want.”
“It’s valuable like the buffalo robe?” asked He Dog, who stood and listened.
“Yes, more valuable to the white man than our robes.”
Little Hawk jerked the bag open. “But this does us no good. He reached in to throw more away.
“Wait!” Crazy Horse yelled, holding up his hand to stop Little Hawk. “Why is this important, Hand?”
“Don’t you see? We can trade this paper money for guns and bullets!”
“We can do that?” Crazy Horse asked.
“Ayiee. Let’s keep this and see what we can do with it,” Hand said.
* * * *
That spring the Hunkpatilia moved camp to Bear Butte in the He Sapas, camping on the south side of the Pretty Fork River, the one the whites called the Belle Fourche. After a good hunt, and with lush green grass to fatten the horses and make their coats shine, everyone had a good time. The children swam in the river, and the adults sat around, laughing and relaxing.
Hand had moved back to Worm’s lodge. Raven, Cat’s mother, told him he could stay in her lodge, but his wife’s memory wouldn’t let him. After Hand delivered food to Raven, Crazy Horse sat him down.
“Hand. You don’t need…to constantly take care of Raven. Others in the village will do that.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I know, but I promised Brave Bear that I would take care of her. I need to keep my promise.” What he wanted to say, but didn’t, was that he had broken his promise to Brave Bear in regards to taking care of Cat.
Numerous times, runners delivered the news that the whites wanted Red Cloud to come into the fort and sign the treaty.
“Why do they want Red Cloud to sign the treaty?” Hand asked Crazy Horse as the two of them rode, searching for buffalo.
“I don’t know,” Crazy Horse said. “He’s not a chief. He can’t sign…for the Lakota.”
“Who can sign for us?”
He thought for a minute before answering. “No one can sign…for all the people. Several years before you came, the whites…appointed a chief for everyone to sign a treaty. Conquering Bear was a good man, but…he was a peace Indian who hung around the fort. He didn’t wan
t to fight.”
“Where is he? Will the whites appoint him again?”
Crazy Horse laughed. “No, they won’t appoint him again. They killed him.”
“They killed him? Why?”
“They killed him…over an old cow that wandered into our camp…and a young warrior killed it for its meat.”
“But why did they kill him over an old cow?” Hand asked.
“I’ll tell you the story sometime. Let’s go see the fort…on the Little Piney Creek.”
“I thought we were looking for buffalo,” Hand said.
“We were looking…for buffalo,” Crazy Horse laughed.
“We didn’t find any. Now…we’ll look for soldiers.”
As they crossed the area where they’d killed all the soldiers, Crazy Horse stopped his horse and stared at the place for several long minutes. Hand knew his brother thought about Lone Bear, and didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts. Hand looked at the bushes where they’d found him and he couldn’t help but remember the time when they’d found the white buffalo and he’d shot an arrow that almost hit Lone Bear.
Crazy Horse spoke at last. “Lone Bear was a good companion.”
“Yes he was. I was thinking about the time we killed the white buffalo.”
“Yes, he was there. I’d forgotten that. He was a good friend,” Crazy Horse said.
“Yes, and loyal.”
When they crossed over the ridge called Lodge Trail, they sat on their horses on a high knoll that gave the two a good view of the fort. As they watched the fort, hoofs padded on thick grass behind them They turned to greet the four approaching Indians.
“They’re Cheyenne,” Hand said.
“Yes, that’s Morning Star in front, the one…the whites call Dull Knife.”
“Hoya. Crazy Horse, Hand. It’s good to see you today.”
“Thank you, Morning Star. It’s good…to see you too. What’re you and the Cheyenne…doing out today?”
“We got here this morning, but there’s something strange going on.”
“What do you mean by strange?” Hand asked.
“Many of the soldiers have left.”
“Left?” asked Crazy Horse.