by John Foxjohn
* * * *
When Hand’s eyes snapped open, fire crackled nearby. He turned his head, but didn’t know where he was for a moment. As Hand tried to move, pain exploded through him. He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. At first, he thought he was back on the wagon train, but the robes he lay on, the fire and odors jarred him into the present.
He opened his eyes and saw He Dog and Good Weasel squatting next to him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You were shot in the right shoulder,” He Dog said.
“You’re lucky,” Good Weasel said. “The bullet went all the way through, but it did hit and break the bones.”
“It hit under the collar bone, but you should be OK,” He Dog said.
Hand lay his head back on the robes with pain shooting through him. Easy for them to say. They aren’t in pain. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but awoke sometime the next day, or at least thought it was the next day. He couldn’t be sure. With the sun in his eyes, bumping woke him. It took him a moment to realize he lay on a moving travois.
Intense pain shot through him and he gritted his teeth. He must have dozed off again because the next thing he knew, they had stopped and Crazy Horse knelt beside him.
“How is the…shoulder?”
“It doesn’t hurt as much as it did. Where are we?”
“We’re almost back to the camp. We’ll be back…in our lodge tonight.”
Hand attempted to move but couldn’t. Almost back to our lodge? Could he have slept that long?
“How long have I slept?”
“You’ve been gone from…us for six suns, and you had a bad fever…out of your head most of the time.”
“What happened after we chased the Crows back to their camp?”
“Nothing much…we raided their horse herd and dared them…to fight, but they wouldn’t. We packed you up…and headed home.”
Hand’s wound took time to heal, and many moons passed before he could move his shoulder.
* * * *
Crazy Horse’s wedding surprised no one but Crazy Horse. His mother decided at his age he needed to have a wife. She got together with Worm, Hand, He Dog, and Good Weasel and demanded they find her son a wife.
Worm, with a perplexed expression, scratched his head and asked her, “Shouldn’t Crazy Horse do that himself?”
Ina didn’t find his question funny. “No. He shouldn’t. He is too old to not have a wife. I want grandchildren.”
After several long talks, they decided on Black Shawl, Red Feather’s older sister. Tall, slim, and pretty, she would make a great companion for Crazy Horse. She had wed Two Feathers and remained married for a year, until he died at the battle beside the fort, the same battle that killed Lone Bear.
Talking her into it wasn’t hard. Crazy Horse was another story. He refused many times, but with the increased pressure, he must have figured it would be easier to get married than put up with all the harassment.
While they convinced Crazy Horse, Red Feather didn’t need any convincing. He became the happiest boy in the entire Lakota nation. Not only was his sister getting married, she was marrying his idol. He already trailed after Crazy Horse like a buffalo calf.
After the wedding, Crazy Horse and Hand didn’t spend much time together, and this made Hand sad. He had to admit Black Shawl made him a little jealous.
Everyone thought Crazy Horse would stop going off by himself so much when he married, but that wasn’t the case. Hand accepted this from him because his brother valued his privacy, and they were different in that way. But he respected Crazy Horse for those differences. Crazy Horse stood up for his beliefs.
When Black Shawl gave birth, Crazy Horse was as happy as Hand had ever seen him. With several people gathered around a few days before the birth, they laughed and joked. Red Feather said he felt sorry for all the young men if the baby was a girl. All the young men would be afraid of her because of Crazy Horse. No one thought much about this at the time, but at birth, Black Shawl Woman and Crazy Horse named her, “They are Afraid of Her.”
* * * *
Several moons later, Hand rode out to an open area close to the camp to practice with his bow. He looked up to see Crazy Horse approaching on horseback with Good Weasel and Red Feather.
“Ayiee. How’s the…shoulder?”
“It’s completely well. Look,” Hand turned and pulled the bow back all the way with his left hand. When he released the arrow, they watched its smooth flight until it hit the old wicker basket that he’d tied on a stick a long way off.
“Hoyahe.” Red Feather exclaimed. “That was a good shot. We worried about your shoulder healing.”
Hand grinned at them. “Yep, I think it’s good.”
“It appears to be. Do you want to go…on a raiding party with us?”
“Ayiee. When do we leave?”
They left the next morning, heading back to the Crow reservation to steal some more of their horses. He Dog and Hand rode together, bringing up the rear of the raiding party. “He Dog, something has me puzzled. Why do the Crows set up camp exactly like we do?” Hand asked.
“What do you mean?”
“They set up their camps in the same kinds of places we do, and in a circle with their lodge openings facing east as we do.”
“Yes, they do. If you hear them talk, you’d also notice that we speak the same language.”
“We speak the same language as the Crows? How can this be?”
“Before my father’s time, the Crows were a part of the Lakota people.”
Hand’s eyes widened in surprise, “I didn’t know that. What happened to make them our enemies?”
“As you know, White Buffalo Woman gave us the seven sacred ceremonies. One of the ceremonies covered how to conduct marriages. We couldn’t marry in our own clan. I married White Flower of the Smoke clan, and Crazy Horse married Black Shawl Woman and she was in Big Road’s clan. He couldn’t marry inside his clan.
Long ago, a son of a chief of the Bear clan fell in love with a woman, not related, but in the same clan. They approached the council for permission to marry. The Sparrow Hawk Clan, or Crows, opposed it. Since the two had no blood between them, the council gave permission. This angered the Sparrow Hawk people and they attempted to stop the wedding, but couldn’t. They chose to leave the Lakota. We’ve been enemies ever since. This is the reason the Crows call us Sioux. It means one who sleeps with his sister.”
Hand started to ask him something else, but He Dog held up his hand. Hand stopped his horse beside He Dog.
“Listen,” He Dog said.
Hand listened, but couldn’t hear anything out of the normal. They rode a short way and He Dog turned into some brush where they could look at their back trail. They stood motionless and quiet for a long while. Hand’s horse fidgeted as bees swarmed over the wildflowers they stood in.
“We have someone on our back trail,” He Dog said.
“I don’t see anything. How do you know?”
“Don’t look directly at our back trail. Look out of the corner of your eye. Look for flashes of shadows on the trees.”
Hand tried and sure enough, he could see something moving about three bowshots behind them.
“Look to the east. A large group,” He Dog said.
“What’re we going to do?” Hand asked.
“Let’s ride.”
As they turned their horses, He Dog heeled his to a trot, and Hand followed. After catching up with the main group, He Dog reported to Crazy Horse.
“We’re being followed by a war party.”
“Do you know how many?” Crazy Horse asked.
It occurred to Hand that this was the exact reason Crazy Horse had told him they watched their back trail. He realized if they had not done it, they could’ve run into serious trouble.
“No, but they aren’t alone,” He Dog said. “There is a big group coming up on us from the east. My guess is they’re trying to get around us.”
“Ayiee. They know we can’t go west.
They’d trap us in that big box canyon. They probably have more coming from the north,” Crazy Horse said.
“What’re we going to do?” Hand asked.
As Crazy Horse looked around for a long moment, the other warriors began to fidget. Now, everyone could see the enemy coming up from behind, fast.
Without an apparent worry in the world, Crazy Horse continued to think. Hand always admired the fact that his brother didn’t lose his self-control when things heated up. The hotter it got, the calmer Crazy Horse became.
While Crazy Horse gazed into the distance, Black Robe strode forward. “We have to get out of here. Now,” he almost shouted.
Crazy Horse turned his head, staring into the young warrior’s eyes. “We are going to get out of here, but we will not panic. If we do, we’re all dead.”
Fifteen
“OK. Listen up,” Crazy Horse said at last. “We’re going to turn west. That’s the direction they want us to go. They are trying to herd us into a trap. We’ll trot our horses about two bow lengths. He Dog, I want you up front with the main group. I’m going to keep Good Weasel, Hand and a few others with me as a rear guard. When you’ve traveled two bowshots to the west, turn and race the horses to the southeast. This should take us between the two groups.”
“They’ll chase us,” He Dog said.
“Yes, I know. That’s what I’m counting on. Once you get in front of them, head across that long grass strip we saw.”
“OK,” He Dog said. This was normal. Warriors that followed Crazy Horse didn’t question his decisions, especially at a time like this.
“Make sure you travel facing the wind,” Crazy Horse said.
“Ayiee.” He Dog said with a laugh.
Mounting up, Hand hoped Crazy Horse knew what he was doing. He sure didn’t.
As He Dog had predicted, when they raced their horses, the enemy gave chase. While they ran their horses in the rear of the main group, Crazy Horse yelled to Good Weasel and Hand to follow him. After they pulled up, Crazy Horse told them to get out their fire-making flint. He pointed to his left. “Hand, take three people in that direction about three bow shots. Good Weasel, you do the same,” he pointed to the right. “When I stop and give the signal, fire the grass. Go now.”
Hand whirled his horse to the left and yelled for Little Killer, Horn, and Short Bull to follow. As they ran their horses, dry grass licked at the bellies of the horses. Hand reached for his fire making equipment, yelling for the three with him to do the same. When Crazy Horse stopped, the others did too.
After Crazy Horse waved his blanket over his head, he kneeled, and struck the white man’s metal on the flint and sparks caught in the dry grass. Flames licked upward—wind caught, rolling the fire right into the faces of the pursuing Crows.
As the flames grew, they looked like fiery creatures chasing the terrified Crows attempting to flee from the devastating wall.
Hand knew that the Crows thought they had this group trapped. Knowing what they themselves would do, the Crows must have figured their insight gave them an advantage. With anyone else, the Crows’ trap might have worked. The Crows didn’t know that Crazy Horse led the group they tried to trap, and he didn’t think like the traditional Lakota.
Several years went by as fast as the fire the Lakota had set to get away from the Crows. With a growing group of followers, Crazy Horse became the unquestioned leader of the Hunkpatilia. An unwilling leader, he had He Dog, Hand, and Good Weasel who carried out his plans and actions.
Crazy Horses’ three lieutenants often bridged a gap between the leader and his following. Never the type to communicate much, Crazy Horse left this task to the three lieutenants.
As years passed, the unknown warrior by the name of Crazy Horse of the Hunkpatilia became recognized. People whispered about his great medicine from lodge fire to lodge fire, white fort to white fort, sweeping across the plains.
Every successful raid by the Lakota against Indian or white, Crazy Horse received credit, whether he had anything to do with it or not.
Uncomfortable in his growing role, Crazy Horse had no wish to lead. He only wanted to fight. He and Hand talked about this often. As Worm had predicted years before, and Red Cloud had envisioned, Crazy Horse didn’t have a say in the decision. Now, although he didn’t look for power, it not only looked for him, the power of the Lakota seized him by the seat of his breechcloth.
Worshipped by the young warriors, women, and children, the strange one would stop what he did, no matter what, to instruct the younger boys on how to shoot a bow or ride a horse. Children, swelling with pride, stood goggle-eyed like fish as Crazy Horse spoke to them, almost as if he were a god.
The pleasure Crazy Horse took when he helped one of the younger boys was obvious. He loved the kids and they knew it. Every time he’d ride back into the camp, the children would run out and start chanting his name. But it wasn’t always the younger children. Many times, some of the older women of the camp joined them. All this embarrassed Crazy Horse, and he’d hang his head and continue riding.
* * * *
Late in the Moon of June Berries, Crazy Horse decided he wanted to set off on a long journey to the Yellowstone River country. Red Feather, Good Weasel, and Hand went along with him.
With the rolling hills lush with high green grass, and sparkling clear streams that sped over rocks, this area brought a beauty that differed from the flat plains the Hunkpatilia were used to.
While avoiding white forts and settlers, the small group made many stops at Lakota camps. The most noteworthy stop was when they visited the Hunkpapa. Sitting Bull, their medicine man, greeted them like long-lost brothers. He and Crazy Horse talked for hours about the problems with the white man, and what they could do about it. Although total opposites, they did posses a mutual admiration.
Sitting Bull, who Hand had seen at the Sundance, but never talked to, didn’t have problems with talking. With a dynamic personality and self-assuredness, he spoke well and didn’t hesitate.
Crazy Horse’s small and slender body, narrow face, and the white man’s looks contrasted Sitting Bull’s broad, flat face. His leathery dark skin offset his coal black, intelligent eyes.
Before the visit ended, they both swore to oppose any change in the Lakota way of life and agreed to call on each other if they needed help.
The trip back to camp took longer than they’d expected. Many times, they had to avoid large raiding parties of both Crow and Snakes. Upon arriving, they discovered the camp had moved, but followed the buffalo skulls that told them the direction of the new camp. As usual, they met the scouts far out of camp and one rode back to announce their return.
Worm waited for them at the edge of the camp. Hand’s head dropped and he closed his eyes. It wasn’t good news when Worm waited for them like this.
“I would like to talk to Crazy Horse and Hand,” Worm said in a small, choked voice. After the others rode off, Worm looked at them with red, bloodshot eyes like he’d cried for a long time.
Hand groaned. Something bad had happened. Before he could speak, Crazy Horse beat him to it.
“Father, what’s wrong? Is Mother ill?”
Sobbing, Worm said, “No—your mother’s fine. It’s They are Afraid of Her.”
“What’s wrong with my daughter?” Crazy Horse cried.
Great tears rolled down Worm’s cheeks. “Crazy Horse—she died—yesterday.”
With the news, they sat on their horses, too stunned to speak. Crazy Horse’s chin dropped to his chest. As he swayed sideways, Hand leaned over and caught him, pulling him upright, and with his great strength, pulled his brother onto his horse where he held him in his arms as both cried. Long moments passed as the three of them, deep in grief, sobbed.
After what seemed like hours, Crazy Horse straightened and crawled back onto his horse. “How Father?”
“She died of the white man’s sickness, son.”
Great sobs rolled through Crazy Horse. He let out an anguished wail that seemed to
shake the trees.
As a gay, laughing six-year-old girl and the joy of Crazy Horse’s heart, she’d ridden with him on his horse the morning they left. She had been so happy.
They rode to Crazy Horse’s lodge. Black Shawl Woman sat inside by herself in the back of the lodge, her face and head covered with ashes. She had dried blood all over, and gory slashes on her arms and legs. Crazy Horse and Black Shawl Woman sat together all night holding each other.
The next day, Crazy Horse left the village by himself to visit his daughter’s burial place. He returned to the camp several days later when his mourning was over.
* * * *
Late one evening, a runner rode in with a message for Crazy Horse. Sitting Bull asked him to bring a group of warriors north to help him drive out a group of whites that camped in the Black Hills. Along with his three lieutenants, Crazy Horse led a large group to join the Hunkpapa. After conducting several raids on the whites that didn’t do any good, Crazy Horse decided to head back to the Hunkpatilia camp.
The Lakota didn’t have enough warriors to make the large group of whites, with their fast shooting guns, leave the sacred He Sapas. When the Lakota ran out of bullets, Crazy Horse made the decision. He would not send his warriors up against whites with fast shooting guns when his warriors had to fight with bows and arrows. He’d tried to make to Hump listen before the fight with the soldiers at the wagon boxes. The results were disastrous, and he would not repeat it, even for Sitting Bull.
Without the Hunkpatilia’s help, the Hunkpapa also withdrew.
On the way back, Crazy Horse remained quiet. Although they hadn’t lost any warriors, neither did they accomplish anything. The whites still occupied the Black Hills where they promised they would never go.
As darkness settled in, several days after they returned from up north, Hand walked to Crazy Horse’s lodge. He and Black Shawl Woman sat outside, talking.
“Ayiee, Hand, have a seat…with us.”
“Thank you,” he said as he sat down.
“Would you like something to eat?” Black Shawl Woman asked.
“No, thank you. I ate with Worm.”