by John Foxjohn
A part of Hand didn’t want to believe that anyone could have this kind of protection from Whankan Thanka, but Crazy Horse did.
The next morning Hand lay around camp and didn’t do much. Good Weasel ambled by the lodge and they sat outside and talked while watching the women work by the river. They had a buffalo hunt planned and would leave the next morning, so they relaxed. Crazy Horse rode by with Red Feather in tow.
“Hoyhe. Where are you taking your shadow?” Good Weasel asked.
They’d started calling Red Feather the shadow because where his idol, Crazy Horse went—Red Feather usually followed.
“I’m taking him to the southern part of camp. I want a Lakota scout on that end. Someone I can trust,” Crazy Horse said and winked.
Red Feather’s chest swelled. Hand knew what the boy felt like. He could still remember the first time Crazy Horse told him that he trusted him.
Good Weasel and Hand lay back on the grass with warm sun on their faces. Both dozed when Crazy Horse rode by on his way back to his lodge.
Someone running and screaming that soldiers were coming snapped Hand and Good Weasel awake. They jumped to their feet.
Red Feather, yelling about soldiers coming, dashed toward the main camp. Good Weasel and Hand, both on their feet, sprinted for their horses staked on the grass by the river. Firing erupted as they mounted. “Let’s go,” Good Weasel yelled, spiking his horse with his moccasin heel.
Hand’s horse leaped to follow. As the two reached the southern part of camp, soldiers were dismounting and firing. Hand wondered if they’d gone mad attacking a camp this size with so few soldiers. They outnumbered the hundred attacking soldiers a thousand to one. Hand yelled to Good Weasel over the fire, “They must be crazy to attack this camp.”
“Yep,” he yelled back. “It looks like Sitting Bull’s vision was correct.”
Warriors exploded from everywhere, and Hand knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d kill them all. The soldiers’ chief must have had the same thoughts because they made a hasty retreat back across the river with the Lakota chasing. As the soldiers stopped running and forted up in the trees, horses thundered behind Hand and Good Weasel. Crazy Horse and Red Feather ran up. Red Feather had run all the way to Crazy Horse when he had spotted the soldiers.
“Ayiee. You’re almost too late for the fight,” Good Weasel yelled.
“It can’t be over yet,” Crazy Horse yelled back.
“There were only about a hundred soldiers,” Hand told him.
“A hundred soldiers?”
Crazy Horses spun his horse around. “Follow me to the real fighting.”
“What’re you talking about?” Hand yelled.
“Soldiers aren’t stupid enough to hit this camp with a hundred men. This is a diversion. The real fight will occur behind us. Are you coming with me?”
Crazy Horse didn’t have to ask Good Weasel and Hand twice. After leaping on their horses, they ran them back through the village, following their leader.
As they raced through the camp, Crazy Horse held his rifle high and yelled, “Hoka Hey. Today is a good day to die. Who wants to fight with Crazy Horse?”
Apparently, many did, because it wasn’t long before they had many warriors riding with them. When He Dog and Gall raced their horses from the north end of the camp, Crazy Horse slid his horse to a stop.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Crazy Horse said. “He Dog, come with me. Gall, gather as many warriors you can find. I want you to take them to Medicine Trail Ridge. The soldiers may come that way. If they don’t, continue on to the top of the ridge.”
“Where are you going?” Gall asked.
“I’m going to the northwest part of camp. There’s two ways the soldiers can attack us. You’re closing one of them and I’m closing the other. We may catch them in the middle on the top of the ridge.”
“How do you know this?”
“I scouted our camp, yesterday,” Crazy Horse said over his shoulder as he sped his horse away.
As Crazy Horse’s group raced away, Gall stared after him a moment and wheeled his horse.
Before Crazy Horses’ group hit the northern end of camp, gunfire erupted behind them. “That has to be Gall at Medicine Trail Ridge,” He Dog yelled over the pounding hooves.
“Are we going back to help him?” Hand asked.
Crazy Horse didn’t stop or look back. “No. He’ll stop them there. The soldiers may be trying to enter camp on this end, too.”
“What if they aren’t?” He Dog asked.
“We’ll be on the high bluff and hit them from the rear.”
Firing erupted from the bluff as they turned up the washout that they had scouted the day before. At the top, a large group of soldiers kneeled and fired down Medicine Trail Ridge at Gall’s group who tried to advance up the hill.
The soldiers faced in the direction of the trail with their backs to Crazy Horse’s group. With an ear-splitting “Hoka Hey, today is a good day to die,” Crazy Horse charged the soldiers from the rear as the others followed. The soldiers didn’t know about the group behind them until the devastating charge. They tried to turn and engage, but Gall and his warriors charged up the hill from the other direction, catching the soldiers in a wall of crossfire.
Several of the soldiers tried to run on foot, but the Lakota on horseback caught them. After catching and killing the ones attempting to run, Hand and the rest spun their horses and raced back to the hill where the soldiers tried to make a stand.
Many of the soldiers shot themselves in the end. Hand never did know why they did that. As Hand sat on his horse next to Crazy Horse in all the dust, the warriors swarmed over the dead soldiers’ bodies, taking scalps, stripping their clothes, weapons, and anything else they could find.
He Dog rode up. “Sitting Bull knew what he was talking about.”
Crazy Horse’s head dropped. “I hope not.”
“Why?” Hand and He Dog asked at the same time.
“Have you forgotten the other part of his vision? The warriors aren’t to touch any part of the white soldiers or take any spoils.”
As the thrill of the great victory settled over Hand, the defeat of the soldiers had almost intoxicated him. Now, Crazy Horse’s words struck like cold water hitting his hot face.
Sitting Bull’s vision was clear. Whankan Thanka gave them a great victory over the soldiers. Would he now turn his back on the Lakota as promised?
A hollow voice deep inside Hand echoed the answer to his question.
“Yes.”
Eighteen
As the sun’s rays dropped behind the hills to the west, and Whankan Thanka created many colors in the sky before darkness, Hand huddled in his robes. Thoughts drifting, he edged closer to the fire’s warmth. The great camp on the Greasy Grass had to break up. With other soldiers coming, they’d tried to finish off the ones that had attacked the camp first, but they forted up on a hill with much ammunition for their guns. Somehow, their slow supply wagons had caught up and Crazy Horse had decided that they’d killed enough. They were running out of bullets and he would not risk his warriors against the fast shooting guns.
With the start of the moon of middle winter, December, an intense cold settled over the people, the kind of cold that penetrates all the way to the bone. Snow and ice covered everything, and the lodges looked like standing icicles. A crier ran through announcing a messenger coming in, jarring Hand from his thoughts. As he trudged to the edge of the village, He Dog and Crazy Horse joined him. The messenger rode up to where they stood, waiting.
“Hola. I’ve ridden far to speak to Crazy Horse.”
Hand recognized him as Waits Bear, a warrior of the Hunkpapa.
“Come to my lodge, Waits Bear—it’s very cold out here,” Crazy Horse said.
With stiff joints, he said as he dismounted, “That would be good.”
As the two started to walk away, Crazy Horse spoke, “He Dog, Hand, would you also join us…in my lodge?” Both nodded and walked with
him. As they entered the lodge, Black Shawl moved to sit in the woman’s place. Crazy Horse sat in his willow backrest facing the outer tent flap. He motioned to Waits Bear to sit at his left in the seat of honor in council. No one spoke for a while to give Waits Bear a chance to warm by the fire.
“What brings you this far…when it’s so cold?”
Waits Bear hesitated to speak—warming his hands. “Sitting Bull sent me to give you a message.”
“How are my friend…and his people doing?”
“We’re all doing fine as can be expected. Of course, we don’t have enough food and robes, but so far we’re staying away from the wasicu.”
“That’s good. I hope…you continue to do so. What’s the message?”
“Sitting Bull would like for you to come to his lodge for a council.”
“Do you know…what the council’s about?”
“No, the Hunkpapa met, and I wasn’t present. They asked me to ride and find you and relay the message.”
Crazy Horse brooded over this for a few moments while everyone remained silent. “I don’t think…the Hunkpapa medicine man would’ve sent you through this weather…and the enemies for me if he didn’t think it were important,” Crazy Horse said out loud but almost as if speaking to himself.
Hand could see the trouble on Crazy Horse’s face. The Lakota faced hard times, but no one more than his brother did. Crazy Horse no longer had just himself and his family to think about, but the Lakotas’ fate resting on his shoulders, and it weighed on him.
“He Dog…what do you think?”
Without hesitation, He Dog replied, “I agree, Sitting Bull wouldn’t call you to his lodge at this time unless he thinks it’s important.”
All around the fire nodded their heads.
Crazy Horse looked at Hand with sad eyes. “Do you think we should go, Hand?”
Waits Bear’s head jerked up at this question to Hand, almost like he didn’t believe that Crazy Horse would ask for Hand’s advice. Crazy Horse read the same in Waits Bear’s expression because he replied, “Waits Bear, you may think of Wrong Hand as being white, but I and the rest of my people think of him as our brother. He’s not like the other half-breeds that have betrayed us. Wrong Hand is my brother. I value his opinion.”
Hand swelled with pride and love. He was among his people, no matter what the color of his skin.
Waits Bear looked at Hand. “My apologies. I didn’t know how it was.”
Something from long ago, something Hand’s white father had once told him entered his thoughts. “It takes a big man, Waits Bear, to admit that he’s wrong. I can understand your thoughts after what has happened to our people, and your apology is accepted, but not necessary.”
“Thank you for your kindness.”
Hand turned to his brother. “I think you should go. I agree with He Dog. Sitting Bull would not have called you to a council if he didn’t think it was important.”
“It’s agreed, but I want…Hand, Big Road, and Good Weasel to go with me.” Crazy Horse looked at He Dog. “I would like to have you with me…in this important council, but I need…my most trusted leader here. I don’t know what’ll go on at the council, but we…need to protect our women and children at all costs. Crazy Horse glanced at the warriors around him. I’m taking few with me…not because I don’t value or want your opinions…I do, but we can’t take our village. You’re to follow He Dog’s council…I know he’ll decide as I would in all situations.”
With packed snow turning into a solid sheet of ice, the small group, with Waits Bear as their guide, slipped and slid away from camp. Large icicles dangling from low brush broke as the horses swiped against them. As they traveled north, the wolf wind bared its teeth in their faces. At times, the wind blew so hard the warriors had to hang onto the horses’ manes so they wouldn’t blow off. Hand was thankful for the bear grease he’d rubbed on his face, but had trouble keeping his eyelashes from freezing.
As they rode single file, sounds like rifle shots split the dense air, and a big limb fell, almost hitting Big Road’s horse. The horse swerved to the side of the ice-laden branch and Big Road fell. He landed on the snow’s thick carpet and wasn’t hurt, but it took a while to find his horse.
Hand, glad that Waits Bear led them, was lost. As they rode, they ate their pemmican, stopping only to rest the horses or strip willow bark off trees for feed. Late that night, Sitting Bull’s scouts met them far out from the village. One rode ahead to announce them as the other showed them to the camp.
Even at that late hour, most of the village turned out in the frigid cold to greet them. Chants of “Crazy Horse, Crazy Horse” erupted from the Hunkpapas as they rode in. Without fanfare or fancy dress, the strange one was all the people’s warrior.
After sleeping the night in the lodges of friends and family, the next morning they met at a huge lodge that the Hunkpapa had created for this council. This showed Hand the importance Sitting Bull placed on this meeting.
As they entered the lodge, Sitting Bull sat on his robes in his woven willow backrest facing the lodge’s entrance. The seat on his left, the seat of honor, awaited Crazy Horse.
Sitting Bull brought out the sacred pipe of the people. Hand watched, almost mesmerized as Sitting Bull filled the pipe with a combination of sweet grass, cedar, red willow bark, and a pinch of tobacco to appease the spirits.
After tamping the special blend into the bowl, he lit it and puffed until he had it going. He held the smoking pipe up to the sky, smoke coming out of the bowl in a spiral. He offered the pipe to all directions of the circle of life.
Silence reigned in the council lodge as the pipe made its way around the fire. No one spoke, afraid that talk would offend the spirits.
When the pipe came around the circle and back to Sitting Bull, he tapped the lit ashes into his hand because the ashes could not touch the ground. When he had them out of the bowl, he placed the ashes in a special pouch, put the pipe and special blend of tobacco back into the beautiful hand decorated quill pouch.
With a voice that filled the lodge, Sitting Bull said, “The last moon of berries Whankan Thanka chose me to receive a great vision while we had our great camp on the Greasy Grass. In my vision the Great Spirit told me that soldiers would fall into our camp and we’d have a great victory over them.”
Everyone nodded, remembering the vision and the great defeat of the one called Long Hair.
“The Great Spirit also warned me—and I passed this warning on to our people—we were not to touch anything or take anything from this victory. Our people ignored the warning from our Great Spirit. They took the spoils from the soldiers, and they took the soldiers’ scalps. With my own eyes I saw a warrior riding through our camp waving the red cloth that the wasicu soldiers like to carry on poles.”
Hand closed his eyes. He’d sat his horse next to Crazy Horse as men, women, and children rushed to strip soldiers—taking their clothes, weapons, flags, everything. Caught up in an intoxicating frenzy of the great victory, they either forgot or ignored Sitting Bull’s warning.
Sitting Bull’s voice rose in the lodge. “I’m afraid that the Great Spirit has turned his back on our people because of our disobedience of his orders.”
A great buzz surged through the crowd around the council fire. Many of the ones around the fire agreed with Sitting Bull. Others had questions on their faces.
Sitting Bull continued, “Look at what has happened. The soldiers appeared unexpectedly on us from three directions and forced us to flee the Greasy Grass. They have pursued us ever since, not allowing us time to hunt and store meat for the winter, or make robes for the cold moons. The buffalo are leaving, as well as the elk and deer. Our children cry in the night from hunger, the old ones wander into the cold to go to the spirit land so there will be enough food for our children, and still the soldiers continue to chase us like dogs after a rabbit.”
He continued, louder, “We had a great victory, but one that closed a trap around our people. We’re tr
apped in our own land.”
Gloomy silence hung in the air like the thick snow that fell outside. Everyone knew that they faced a starving time, and many would freeze to death because of a lack of robes.
Sitting Bull’s voice roared, shattering the atmosphere hanging in the tent. “Many of our people are saying that our lives as free people are finished—even here in my own camp, some are whispering this.” His voiced roared again, “Nothing is finished for those of us who are still Lakotas.”
Silence engulfed the people in the lodge when Sitting Bull spoke these words, but moments later a great roar of approval burst from the throats of the men around the council fire.
Crazy Horse spoke at last when the silence fell. “What do you think…we should do?”
“I’ve decided to take my people north to the grandmother’s country, the one the wasicu call Canada. She’s a good mother and speaks straight, unlike here where the white man’s tongue parts in all directions. Her soldiers don’t kill women and children and shoot Indians for target practice.
Again, a cry of happiness filled the council lodge, but this time only from the throats of the Hunkpapas.
Hand glanced around the lodge. Not a single Hunkpatilia joined in. Crazy Horse would decide and Hand didn’t believe he’d take his people north.
Sitting Bull looked at Crazy Horse.
“Bring your people north with us. We can live as free men in the grandmother’s country.”
After the council broke up, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse sat and talked together for a long time.
On their trip back to camp, Hand huddled in his robes, a white man’s blanket covering his face, except for his eyes. He had to continuously wipe his eyes to keep ice out of his lashes. Their horses stumbled and slid through snowdrifts, and limbs broke from the weight of snow.