Turn the Stars Upside Down: The Last Days and Tragic Death of Crazy Horse

by Terry C. Johnston

  Perhaps all he needed to feel better was to look forward to going off to do some hunting on his own. That way he could clear his head, think about the two women, and consider where each one would have a place in his life. And when he returned from those days away from the camp, he would feel much better for having been alone among the rocks, alone beneath the stars. Oh, how he tried more and more to make his mind dream himself back into the Real World, to tear himself from this Shadow World where everything reeked of despair—

  Turning at the sound of the hoofbeats, he saw Young Man Afraid approaching with Good Weasel and He Dog on horseback. They were coming from the direction of the Soldier Town.

  “Crazy Horse!” He Dog sang out. “We have found you!”

  He got to his feet there in the shady overhang of the trees as the grasshoppers buzzed out in the bright splash of sunlight. “Found me? But I haven’t been lost!”

  “Grave news,” Young Man Afraid announced, his mouth turned down.

  From the hard look on their faces, he knew it must be serious. “Come rest, and we’ll talk.”

  Tying off their ponies, the three came to the cool grass and sat with him, four old friends.

  He asked, “This is because I changed my mind and will not be going east with Red Cloud?”

  “No,” Good Weasel replied. “The White Hat is very upset that you won’t go, but this news is not about that.”

  He Dog said, “Young Man Afraid has been at the Soldier Town for the last two days.”

  “The half-blood translator who is friendly to us,” Young Man Afraid explained, “he has been telling me what news has been coming over the white man’s talking wires.”

  That was a relief. Nothing in regard to the white man could be so serious to him anymore. “What news of the wasicus would be of importance to me?” Crazy Horse snorted, pulling up some blades of grass between his fingers.

  “Reports of a new war,” Good Weasel declared.

  “Who?” he demanded uneasily. “I thought that Sitting Bull had crossed the Medicine Line with his people long ago.”

  “The soldiers are not fighting the Hunkpapa,” He Dog advised.

  “Who then?” he asked. “Are there others still in the North Country who we don’t know about? Our brothers and cousins who have not surrendered and fight on?”

  Good Weasel shook his head.

  But it was Young Man Afraid, the well-known Lakota diplomat, who answered, “The Nez Perce.”

  For a moment Crazy Horse could not remember who those people were. Then he finally answered, “Oh. They live far, far away to the west. Beyond the mountains. I have never fought any of them, although some Lakota have done battle against them when the Nez Perce came east to visit the Psatoka and hunt buffalo—”

  “They are coming east again,” He Dog confirmed. “That seems to be all the white men and soldier chiefs are talking about at the Soldier Town.”

  “So the Nez Perce will have a hunt of their own,” Crazy Horse said. “We will go north and hunt too. There are enough buffalo—”

  “I want you to understand that the soldiers are chasing the Nez Perce,” Good Weasel interrupted. “Talk is that the army has been doing a lot of fighting while the Nez Perce fled their homelands for the buffalo country. The soldiers here are already talking about marching north to fight the Nez Perce when those Indians reach the land of the Psatoka.”

  Crazy Horse considered that for a long time, picking one green blade of grass from the ground at a time, tossing it aside before he picked another one. So on and so on, until he said, “If these people do come east to Psatoka hunting ground, and these soldiers go to stop them, then there will a lot of fighting near our old buffalo country.”

  “Where we want to go for our hunt,” He Dog asserted.

  “Soldiers and Psatoka and Nez Perce all mixed up in that country,” Young Man Afraid said, wagging his head. “Three of our enemies already up there where we are going to do a little hunting before winter.”

  “This is soldier talk we must listen to very carefully,” Crazy Horse declared. “Be sure that the young half-blood knows that we are thankful for all the news he can give us about the wasicus chasing our old enemies.”

  “What about Nellie?” He Dog asked. “She knows the white man’s tongue like it was her own. Why don’t you ask her if she would listen to any talk about the Nez Perce running toward the land of the Psatoka, how the army is trying to surround them?”

  “Soldiers are coming from lots of places,” Young Man Afraid said. “But so far they can’t stop the Nez Perce. One fight after another, and the soldiers still haven’t stopped them from coming this way.”

  “Soon enough,” Crazy Horse said gravely. “One day soon the army will have enough soldiers in that country to surround our old enemies. The same way we won our first fights against the soldiers … until the white man wore us down.”

  Good Weasel agreed, “The same will happen to the Nez Perce.”

  “But Three Stars and the soldier chiefs might take away the promise for our hunt,” He Dog said. “If the Nez Perce are coming into that country up north, the wasicus will not let us go up there to hunt buffalo.”

  “We must learn everything there is to know about these people fighting and fleeing the soldiers so far away,” Crazy Horse said, hope ringing in his voice. “You must remember: if there is a chance that all the soldiers will be going to fight those enemies … perhaps we’ll be free to make our own run to the North Country.”

  * * *

  “Grouard, I want you to tell the chiefs why I called them to my office,” instructed William Philo Clark.

  The young lieutenant was nearly busting his buttons that morning in early August, unable to contain himself until he could watch the expressions on the Oglalas’ faces when he told them the news just telegraphed him from General Crook’s office in Omaha.

  “This better be some good news,” grumbled James Irwin, Indian agent.

  “We’re all due some good news,” Clark agreed. “Maybe this will be what it takes to convince Crazy Horse again that he should agree to visit Washington City with Red Cloud’s delegation.”

  “We best remind him that if he doesn’t go,” Irwin said, “he won’t stand a ghost of a chance of getting an agency of his own … anywhere.”

  “Let’s take first things first,” Clark said soothingly. “If we give a little on something, perhaps he will change his mind again and be convinced that it’s in his best interests to accompany the delegation when it departs for the east in October.”

  Irwin, a pinched and acerbic man to Clark, merely gave him a wave of his hand, gesturing for the lieutenant to proceed. If it hadn’t been that General Crook needed to have Irwin sign off every move of this sort on the reservation, Clark would have called these chiefs to meet him over at Camp Robinson instead of gathering here, beneath an awning erected beside the agent’s cramped office.

  Looking over those who had answered his call to assemble, Clark was undeterred that Red Cloud had refused to show. The old chief was growing more and more indignant that Crazy Horse was being given all the more prestige.

  “He’s not even a chief!” Red Cloud had protested time and again.

  “And for now you still aren’t chief of the Oglala,” Clark had always reminded him.

  “You promised me that I would be raised to chief again if I brought you Crazy Horse,” the Oglala needled the lieutenant.

  “General Crook won’t recognize you as leader until we’ve taken Crazy Horse to see the president,” explained the lieutenant. “Once that is done, we expect Crazy Horse to return and be very cooperative with our efforts to pacify the Northern bands. He’ll be given a little agency of his own—nothing of any consequence—and you will once more be our leader here.”

  Again Clark had emphasized that Red Cloud was the soldier’s chief, the white man’s chief. Like Spotted Tail was over the Brulé on his reservation. Both leaders were allowed to stay in power only so long as they performed as th
e white man dictated. Their rights to chieftainship did not come from the people they ruled, but from the distinction that they were the chiefs who the army officers believed would best follow the wishes of the white man. So Clark never lost an opportunity to remind Red Cloud that the only reason he was allowed to have any say over anything at the agency after Crook removed him from power almost ten months ago was that Red Cloud always did what Crook and Clark wanted of him. He was an obedient Oglala; that’s why he would one day be returned to a position of prestige among the tribe.

  As for Crazy Horse? Well, that was a pony of a different color. Right from the start, the war chief hadn’t done much that Clark or Crook asked of him. Why, he hadn’t even shown up for that first face-to-face meeting with the general back in May! On top of that, when it came time for rations to be doled out to his people, the highly suspicious Crazy Horse refused to make his mark in the agent’s ledger. And what with him demanding his reservation before he went east, it appeared that all of their plans would go awry … until Crazy Horse had suddenly reversed himself and agreed to go. Everything had been falling into place. Crook was ecstatic, and Clark was basking in the glow of success and the heady acclaim of his fellow officers, when word came that Crazy Horse had recanted. He had changed his mind again and would not go east until he was first given his agency in the Powder River country.

  So the telegraph wires had hummed, not only with the faraway news of the pursuit of wild, breakaway bands of Nez Perce, but they buzzed with discussion between Crook and Clark as to how they could convince Crazy Horse it was in his best interests to be agreeable. The official go-ahead was given to grant the Northern hostiles something they had been wanting ever since they limped in during a rainy, soggy spring.

  “General Crook,” and Clark paused while Grouard translated for the Hunkpatila and those delegates Red Cloud had sent to the council on his behalf, “informed me yesterday that he has granted his official permission for the Oglala to take leave of their agency on a hunt … for them to be gone from the reservation for a period of forty days.”

  Clark paused again, studying the copper faces as Grouard translated the news into Sioux. Among the Hunkpatila, there wasn’t one face that didn’t register exceeding joy at the announcement. But … in looking at the Red Cloud emissaries standing on the edges of the assembly, the lieutenant was not surprised that clouds seemed to darken the countenances of those who saw this as a dramatic and signal victory just handed the upstart Crazy Horse and his unreconstructed hostiles.

  The lieutenant thought, Perhaps Red Cloud would now think twice about dallying with the power of the White Hat!

  When Crook was here, Red Cloud gave the general all the deference his rank and power deserved. But the general wasn’t at the agency all that much anymore. That meant that William Philo Clark was the power to be reckoned with when it came to making decisions that would affect the Oglala in general, and Red Cloud in particular. The chief had better give the lieutenant his due and toe the line … because right now Clark was showing the Red Cloud camp that the White Hat held power over their lives, whether they were Hunkpatila or Bad Face Oglala. One of the most powerful weapons the chiefs had handed the lieutenant was their own petty jealousies and toxic envy for one another. When Crazy Horse surrendered, it created all the deeper a friction between the leaders—and Clark did everything he could to aggravate that friction. Once more he was proving the old maxim of divide and conquer.

  “The trader will be allowed to sell you and your warriors ammunition for a limited time,” Clark continued his electrifying announcement when Grouard had finished and turned back to him, “between now and the last day before you leave for the hunt.”

  The one he knew as He Dog got to his feet beside Crazy Horse, asking his question that Grouard translated.

  “When will we start north on our hunt?”

  “I haven’t picked a specific date yet,” Clark admitted. “But I will schedule it to begin early in September. In less than a full month.”

  Grouard translated that, and the smiles grew bigger among the Crazy Horse people. Now they had something tangible to hang their hopes to. No Water, Woman’s Dress, Red Dog, Little Wound, and the rest of Red Cloud’s cronies grew more stony-faced than before while Clark discussed the specifics.

  “We will have enough horses along to carry the meat and bring back the hides?”

  Clark answered, “Yes. We will take as many horses along as it requires for you to hunt in the old way in that country.”

  Frank Grouard translated another question, “Our children and women will come along too?”

  But the lieutenant didn’t have an answer for that. There had never been any discussion with Crook on that matter of taking the whole village along.

  Leaning forward, the half-breed translator whispered, “That’s the way they hunt, Lieutenant. Bring their whole damned families.”

  “Now you’ve stepped in it,” Irwin grumbled sourly. “You and Crook have stupidly put all our feet in it too!”

  Scratching at his chin, Clark explained to Grouard, “Tell the chiefs that the general has not decided on that yet. But I will ask him if he will grant permission for the women to go along.”

  Soon enough the one called Little Hawk stood and petitioned, “We do not hunt without the women along. Our men hunt and make the kills. But the women are the ones who butcher the buffalo. They skin off the hides. They pack the meat and fold the hides onto the spare horses to carry back to our camp. We must bring in meat for our bellies this winter, and the robes to keep our people warm.”

  Looking Horse stood to make his point, “If the women come along with us on the hunt, who will stay behind with the children? There will be no one to watch over the little ones. Everyone must go. They all have a job to do when we chase down the buffalo.”

  Now the murmurs were growing, louder, as the Oglala leaders discussed it among themselves, as Red Cloud’s Bad Face delegates grumbled contemptuously.

  Finally Clark waved his arms, gesturing for silence. “Quiet! I must have quiet! This isn’t something I can decide by myself. General Crook must tell me who has permission to go with you. As soon as I hear from him, I will call another council and tell you his decision.”

  He smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and with that he dismissed them. After all, the chiefs seemed satisfied with his response to their concerns about their families. The Sioux leaders got to their feet, talking with one another, and moved off toward their ring horses being held by a crowd of younger men. Soon he was left alone with his translator and Irwin.

  Furiously slapping both hands down on the thighs of his wool suit pants, the agent got to his feet beside his ladder-back chair. “I want you to understand that I am sending General Crook a strongly worded protest this very afternoon, Lieutenant.”

  “Protest?”

  “The very thought of what you’ve proposed!” Irwin whined. “Granting these warriors permission to purchase ammunition from the trader. I’m sure Johnny Dear will be very happy about that!”

  “Perhaps he will—”

  “But I don’t think Crook has even considered the possibility of danger,” Irwin said as four of the Red Cloud delegates motioned Grouard over to their corner of the canvas awning. “Danger in selling ammunition to a captive people. Who the hell knows if those bullets are for hunting, or for murder.”

  “M-murder?” Clark echoed.

  “Let them go on a buffalo hunt,” Irwin argued. “Just like the old days … why, the next thing you know, they’ll take up their savage practices once more. Just like the old days.”

  “You write your wire to the general,” Clark agreed. “And I’ll send it to him for you.”

  “You best see that you do,” Irwin said. “I’ll make sure others in Washington City know about this foolhardy plan of Crook’s too.”

  “All the way to the top of the War Department?”

  Irwin glared at Clark a moment. “By all means, Lieutenant. Just as high as I need
to go to get the general’s order rescinded.”

  Watching the agent stomp away around the corner of the log agency office, the lieutenant turned to start for his horse when Grouard and the five Oglala hurried over and stopped in a semi-circle around him.

  “These men, they want to talk to you,” Grouard explained, his eyes furtive, bouncing in one direction, searching in another.

  “What do they want to talk over?”

  “Want you to know I agree with ’em too,” Grouard said. “Like I told you before. This hunt Crook is planning for ’em ain’t a good idea. It will cause more bad than good.”

  “The ammunition that Agent Irwin is worried about?”

  Wagging his head, Grouard said, “No. Red Cloud and his headmen think you and the general are making a very big mistake.”

  “With the hunt?”

  “Yes. You allow Crazy Horse and his warriors to go on this hunt to their old war grounds,” Grouard declared, “they won’t come back at the end of your forty days.”

  For a moment Clark looked over the eyes of those four friends of Red Cloud. Then he fixed his gaze on Grouard once more. “What makes these leaders right and General Crook wrong?”

  The interpreter snorted humorlessly. “Crook don’t know any better that he’s come up with a bad idea because he’s a white man. But these chiefs … well, they damn well know what them Crazy Horse people are bound to pull once they’re off the reservation—because they’re Lakota themselves!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Wasutun Wi

  MOON WHEN ALL THINGS RIPEN, 1877

  “Red Cloud’s camp dogs have been among the wasicus for too long!” Crazy Horse snarled. “They have been loafers for so many winters it seems they have forgotten that when a Lakota makes a promise, he holds true to that vow … on his very life!”

  The friends around him murmured their agreement that warm summer evening after his brother-in-law, Red Feather, came to tell Crazy Horse that among the bad whispers being spread about the Hunkpatila chief, now there was louder talk from the Bad Face leaders, bellowing like wounded buffalo calves, that it was very wrong for Three Stars and White Hat to approve the forthcoming hunt to the North Country. No longer content to whisper behind their hands, Red Cloud’s allies were now spreading talk far and wide that the only reason the Crazy Horse people wanted to go north for a buffalo hunt with ponies, weapons, and their families along was so they could break out, take up the war road again … because the Northern People never had any intention of returning to the reservation when the scheduled allotment of four-times-ten days was done.