by John Foxjohn
“These soldiers aren’t like us…they don’t have any lodges to protect. They don’t have women and children to protect. We have always sat in our villages…fought a rear guard until the women and children escaped…then we fled like the coyote that’s chased by the bear.”
Big Road stood. “This is how we’ve always fought the white soldiers. How else can we fight them?”
Crazy Horse stared at the ground for several minutes with dead silence in the lodge. Hand, sitting close to the front, watched his brother intently. After all the years, he knew what his brother would say and he agreed. It was time.
Glancing up, Crazy Horse rubbed his hands together.
“Ayiee, you’re right. This is what we always do. Does this way stop the white man? No it doesn’t.” Crazy Horse raised his arm with a clinched fist. “We’ll take the fight to them. We can be the bear and this time they can be the coyote.”
His voice rose strong and powerful as Hand had only heard a few times since he’d known Crazy Horse. His passion and intense words shocked most of the people in and around the council.
“We’ll hit them in their camp. We don’t need to wait for them to hit us. ATTACK!”
Seventeen
Crazy Horse’s last word exploded in the lodge like stampeding buffalo.
Gall rose to speak. He asked the question everyone wanted to hear. “Crazy Horse, will you lead us in this attack on the white soldiers?”
“I’ll lead this attack,” Crazy Horse said. “But I must warn all of you. I’ll take no one who won’t follow my lead and my instructions. We’ll fight these soldiers like we have never fought, and there’ll be no stopping to get scalps or count coup. Our only goal will be to kill them or drive them out of our country. It’ll be a brutal fight because this Three-Stars knows how to fight. If you can’t agree to this, stay here!”
As the noise in the lodge died down, Sitting Bull rose to speak. “You have heard our war chief and I agree. Will you take all the warriors?”
Crazy Horse raised hi gaze from the ground. “No. We need to leave a large fighting force here to protect our camp.”
Sitting Bull nodded, but Kicking Bear stood. “Why don’t we take all the warriors and wipe the soldiers out?”
“No, we have to protect the women and children, and don’t forget Sitting Bull’s vision about the soldiers falling into our camp. We can’t take a chance on this happening while we’re all gone,” Crazy Horse said.
After Crazy Horse sent out scouts to find the soldiers, warriors prepared their weapons for a great fight. These preparations differed from the others. Normally, the warriors sang in a spirited fashion, but now, took on their leader’s confident, businesslike manner.
Before daylight and with seven hundred chosen warriors, the attack party eased through the bushes on a journey to meet the great white chief, Three-Stars, knowing that the soldiers and Indian allies out-numbered them two to one.
With Crazy Horse leading, Hand, He Dog, and Good Weasel rode at his side. Scouts circled all around the great column, and several rode well to the front and rear.
Although nervous about the upcoming fight, Hand thought that if he had to fight anyone, he’d want Crazy Horse, He Dog, and Good Weasel with him. Hand thought about Lone Bear, Hump, and Little Hawk. He knew that those three would’ve loved to have ridden with them.
“How do you think this fight will go?” Hand asked Crazy Horse as they rode.
“Hand, this is the first time we’ll face these white soldiers…in an open fight…if our warriors fight to kill the soldiers…not for individual glory, we’ll do well. This is the first time I can remember…when we faced the soldiers properly armed.”
With the sun three hands high from the horizon, some of the scouts who watched the soldiers rode in. Lone Wolf reported to Crazy Horse.
“Where are the…soldiers?”
“They’re coming. They’ve wandered around almost in a circle, but they’re crossing the headwaters of Rosebud Creek.”
“Which way do you think they’ll go from there?” Crazy Horse asked.
“I think they’ll move north toward the swampy area.”
“Why do you think that?” He Dog asked.
“The Indians with the white soldiers have been scouting in that direction.”
Crazy Horse turned to He Dog, “What do you think?”
He Dog looked around for a few moments before he replied. “If they continue north, they’ll have to take the south fork of Red Flower Creek. They won’t be able to go the other way because of the swamp.”
“Ayiee, I agree,” Crazy Horse said. He stared off in the direction of the soldiers for several minutes. He said at last, “We should be northeast of them. If we move to the southwest…we should catch them on the south fork of Red Flower Creek, and that’s a good place for us to fight. But we need to catch them in the morning.”
They traveled all that day and most of the night, pausing every so often to let the horses rest. As the night gave way to the splendor of the sun, Lone Wolf reported in.
“They’re moving like He Dog said,” he reported. “They camped, but are starting to move out.”
Crazy Horse gathered the leaders. “The soldiers are moving out, and this is good. If they leave their camp this time, they’ll rest in a little while, and that’s when we hit them.”
He laid out his plan. “We’ll hit them on line, and in waves, the warriors riding knee to knee. I want four long lines. I’ll lead in the first one. He Dog, I want you to lead the second line, Good Weasel, the third, and Hand, you’ll lead the fourth line. The lines will make their charge a bow shot apart.”
Gall spoke. “What is it you wish of me?”
“I want you to take your group of warriors and continue to the west. When the first wave hits, you hit them from the flank. You should have the high ground there. This will stop the soldiers from retreating to the only high ground around, and they’ll have to fight us where we want them.”
Hand realized how good a plan Crazy Horse had made. Soldiers always tried to run to the high ground. He was confident that if they surprised them and took the high ground away, they could defeat the soldiers. His brother’s genius always amazed him.
As sweat poured down Hand’s body as if it rained under his shirt, he hoped the other warriors couldn’t smell the fear racing through his body. Although apprehensive about the fight, his position as a leader made him fear. Crazy Horse counted on him. He couldn’t let his brother down. He believed they would defeat these soldiers, but many warriors would die.
The closer they came to the soldiers, the butterflies, at first feeling like moths, had grown to hawks swooping down on rabbits.
As they rode, Hand glanced at his brother. A smile twitched at the edges of Crazy Horse’s mouth, and his nostrils flared. He loved to fight, to test his strength, ability, and medicine against the enemy. Crazy Horse and Hand had talked about this. Crazy Horse loved the intense concentration it took to make a good fight—the sounds and confusion, and energy the body is given. The extra charge that lifts up the spirit when the bullets whiz by. Feeling of a person’s mortality only the danger of a fight can bring to one’s spirit.
With no sound except the horses’ hooves on the thick, carpeted grass, the attackers drew closer. Although they couldn’t see the soldiers, they felt their presence. Hand’s chest tightened and he had trouble breathing. Before every battle he’d ever fought, these feelings had engulfed his inner self.
At first, they scared him, but over time, he looked forward to their visit. These feelings made him feel more alive than anything did. Maybe he was like Crazy Horse. Although he didn’t like killing, he loved battle, and wondered if he was addicted to how it made him feel.
When the sounds of the soldiers’ camp filtered to them, Crazy Horse sent Gall to the left with his warriors. Crazy Horse put his group on line and ready—everyone else fell into place. Before advancing, they waited a long time to give Gall’s warriors a chance to get around to the
high ground.
Suddenly, shouts shattered the morning. Crows shouted “Lakota! Lakota!” Hand’s eyes closed tight for a moment. They’d surprised the soldiers, but not their Indians.
Mass confusion swallowed the Lakota. Before panic destroyed the advantage the attackers had, Crazy Horse’s leadership took over. He thrived on confusion—his ability to remain calm in the worst situations set him apart from others, and this was the reason so many followed him.
Crazy Horse’s cry of “Hoka Hey, today is a good day to die,” thundered above the confused warriors, ripping away their dread, leaving them with calmness.
Before Crazy Hose charged, Hand didn’t know why he’d wanted to fight in waves, but as the fight progressed, it became obvious. The first wave led by Crazy Horse hit the soldiers with the warriors lying low on their horses, firing under the necks.
When they ran out of bullets, they spun their horses to retreat as He Dog’s charge hit the soldiers. By attacking in waves, warriors didn’t need to worry about reloading in the middle of the fight.
The soldiers tried to run to the high ground as Crazy Horse had predicted, but Gall’s assault stopped them.
The waves continued with tremendous gunfire, thunder of the charging hooves, and powder smoke hanging in the still air. Horses fell, some screaming above the din. Bullets snatched warriors off their horses. Some crawled, and others limped away, but most remained. As the charges continued, soldiers, unused to this type of fight, panicked, looking for places to hide. Many dug frantically in the ground with their bare hands.
After his third charge, Hand retreated to gather his warriors for another attack when he witnessed an unusual scene. As the Lakota and soldiers took a deep breath from the intensity of battle, the Crows knocked Jack Red Cloud off his horse before he could retreat. Moments later, they swarmed all around him.
In utter astonishment, the Lakota watched as the Crows took Red Cloud’s bonnet and gun away from the son. Hand expected them to kill him, but they must have recognized him and taunted. Jack Red Cloud responded to the taunting Crows by dropping to his knees and begging them to spare his life.
Loathing boiled in Hand’s spirit. A horse and rider charged out of the Lakota lines toward Jack Red Cloud.
Hand held his breath as Crazy Horse charged into the middle of the taunting Crows. With a loud, challenging cry, Crazy Horse spurred his horse, knocking Crows away from the pleading Jack Red Cloud. Crazy Horse reached down, grabbed him, pulled him onto his horse, and raced away.
As Crazy Horse slid to a stop at the Lakota lines, he didn’t bother to let the crying warrior get down, but dumped him on the ground like a sack of the white man’s flour.
He Dog raced up. “Crazy Horse, why’d you go and get him? You should’ve let the Crows keep him. Maybe one of the Crow warriors would’ve married him.”
Hand agreed with He Dog. He shook his head. Jack Red Cloud was not worth risking their lives. He wanted to feel pity, but only contempt entered his thoughts.
The fight continued all day. Crazy Horse, He Dog, Good Weasel, and Hand led charge after charge. This kind of fighting, and the intense, passionate spirit the Lakota fought with surprised the soldiers.
As the afternoon wore on and the Indians ran out of bullets, Crazy Horse called the fight off. He wouldn’t lead the warriors to a needless death by trying to fight with bows and arrows.
With a victorious spirit, they carried their many wounded and dead warriors to safety. Sheer exhaustion overtook them. Riding warriors almost lay down. Others guzzled liquid from their water skins. Most of the warriors walked on wobbly legs—their horses too tired to carry them.
Hand slumped—his head close to the mount’s mane, his muscles wilted. He tried to swallow, but is mouth was dry as a rock.
They left the battle scene absent one person, and no one took time to look for him. Hand never saw Jack Red Cloud again.
Crazy Horse left a small group of the Cheyenne warriors at the battle site. He told them not to fight the soldiers—watch them and report to him what the soldiers did and the direction they traveled. He couldn’t forget Sitting Bull’s vision.
* * * *
With so many people in the camp, the Lakota moved after returning from the fight. The grass grew well in this Moon of June Berries, but they had too many horses in one area. After word of their great victory spread, hundreds of people flooded into their camps. At one time, the clans had separate camps, but the lodges continued to grow until the camps merged.
Crazy Horse kept scouts out to make sure soldiers didn’t surprise his people. Many of the warriors didn’t think this was necessary, but Crazy Horse kept reminding them of Sitting Bull’s vision. A few days later, they moved to one of their favorite areas in the Powder River country—between the Bighorn River, and the little Bighorn, the area the Lakota called the Greasy Grass.
Hand smiled when he remembered several years ago asking Crazy Horse why the people called this area the Greasy Grass.
“Hand, the grass is lush and sweet to the animals. Sheep with the big horns love it, and they graze here so much that they leave large amounts of their droppings in the grass. When we walk, it’s as slick as buffalo grease.”
Hand found Crazy Horse squatting by his lodge, deep in thought. “Ayiee, what’re you thinking?” he asked.
Crazy Horse glanced up with deep furrows creasing his brow. “Do me a favor. Find He Dog and Good Weasel…bring them to me. The four of us need…to go on a scout.”
“A scout?” Hand asked, confused.
“Yes. I’ll explain when you return.”
Hand didn’t have a problem finding He Dog, but it took him awhile to find Good Weasel. After gathering their horses and weapons, they met Crazy Horse by his lodge with his horse and weapons. He led them to the southern part of the camp. Walking their horses through the camp, the group didn’t talk much as the children ran along beside their horses, yelling for Crazy Horse to let them ride with him. He laughed, and told them another time. When they approached the southern part of the camp, they pulled up and sat their horses for a long time. Crazy Horse stared into the sky, deep in thought.
“Ayiee, brother, there is something bothering you,” He Dog said.
“Yes,” Crazy Horse said after a few minutes passed. “Something doesn’t feel right to me.”
“What do you mean?” Hand asked.
“Hand, it’s not like the soldiers…to give up. They have never done this…before.”
“We have the scouts watching Three-Stars,” Good Weasel said.
“That’s true,” Crazy Horse said, “but Three-Stars isn’t…the only soldier chief of the whites.”
“Maybe you worry needlessly,” He Dog said.
“Maybe, but think…what we have here. This camp runs to the southeast. No one can approach from the west, and…we have Lakota scouts watching Three-Stars and the north side. What do we have to the south…and southeast side?”
Good Weasel answered, “Cheyenne scouts are on the camp’s east side, and Arapaho scouts are watching on the south side.”
“Ayiee, I don’t trust…Arapaho scouts.”
Crazy Horse heeled his horse forward, and his lieutenants followed. They forded the Little Sheep River and went up a low bluff overlooking the camp’s southern section.
“What’re you looking for?” Hand asked.
“I’m not sure. I want to scout this side…myself to see what’s here.”
The four rode through the tree line bordering the river on the southwest side at a slow walk and traveled on the high bluff overlooking the camp to the northwest.
“We could help you better, if we knew what you were looking for,” He Dog said.
“I’m trying to find ways…soldiers can penetrate the camp from this direction.”
“I rode this way yesterday returning from a hunt, and there are very few places that anyone can enter our camp from this direction,” Good Weasel said. “They can bring their horses the way we did, or down the draw on Medici
ne Trail Ridge.”
As they rode along the high embankment, they looked down at the camp—no way could anyone come down, not even on foot. When they approached the draw of Medicine Trail Ridge, He Dog said, “This is one of the few places anyone can enter the camp. I’ve rode down this draw several times.” Crazy Horse didn’t speak, but nodded.
“I know of one other place on this side of the camp that someone can get down this high ground and into camp without using the main valley,” Hand said.
“Where?” He Dog asked.
“There is a washout to our northeast. It’s above the camp.”
“Do you think…many horses could travel down it?”
“I’ll show it to you, but yes, I do. It’s a deep ravine that has been washed out by the rain. I did the other day, and it was an easy ride.”
They walked their horses in silence, each with his own thoughts, but watchful at the same time. When they rode up to the place Hand had told them about, they walked the horses down the washout and entered camp from the northeast.
“You’re right, Hand, many horses…can get down this draw.”
“I still think you’re worrying over nothing,” He Dog said.
“Maybe, but I’d rather be ready than surprised by the soldiers. I can’t help but think of Sitting Bull’s vision and the soldiers are using Crow scouts. The scouts will know that we like to camp here at this time of year.”
“Yes, but Three-Stars is far away,” Good Weasel said.
Crazy Horse turned his horse toward his lodge, but stopped for a moment. “Have you forgotten about the little soldier chief called Custer?”
Hand watched his brother ride away. He knew him as well as anyone, but didn’t think he knew him at all. He wished he could get into Crazy Horse’s head, know his thoughts, desires, and needs. His brother didn’t talk about these things and asking him got no response. What drove him, caused his hatred of the white man? Why did he differ from the others? Years before, Hand questioned Crazy Horse’s medicine—he didn’t believe in what his brother saw in his vision, and some doubts still lingered, but one fact remained. All his life, Crazy Horse had obeyed Whankan Thanka, took risks far beyond what any normal person would. Hand witnessed more times than he could count, his brother riding into a blizzard of fire from their Indian enemies, and the white man’s guns, but they could not hit him.