So when the terrible news came, Crazy Horse made sure the word was spread through this camp. Last night he had chosen to go alone, taking only Black Shawl with him. Everyone was free to go where they wanted now, he announced. He was no longer their leader. Still, Red Feather would not let the two of them go without him. Kicking Bear—half brother to Black Fox—and the youngster called Shell Boy either. The three vowed to stay with Crazy Horse to the end.
“We are coming and you cannot stop us,” his young brother-in-law declared. “You might just need us at your back when trouble comes.”
And they all knew that it was just a matter of time—a day, maybe two at the most—before trouble caught up to them.
“No,” Crazy Horse said. “I want you to go with Black Fox, who is leading the others. Stand with them as the men have always done. Put yourselves between the soldiers and our families.”
“Is that the best way I can protect my sister?” Red Feather asked.
“Yes, because you can give us time to get started on our escape.”
So they watched Black Fox lead out the eight-times-ten of those warriors most committed to their chief, then turned away from the last of the women struggling with uncooperative animals, or left to choose between what to take and what to leave behind, because very few horses still belonged to the Oglala. Crazy Horse leaped atop the bare back of his gelding and started them away from that camp.
Only the four on a run now: a wanted man, his ailing wife, and two young warriors who rode behind, ready to defend their chief to the death.
Instead of racing north onto the open prairie, he had chosen to make the long ride for his uncle’s agency. Spotted Tail could give him some measure of safety while the evil of all those lies against him were put straight once more. Liars like Grouard—who could trust the Grabber anymore as it was? Or trust No Water? Every Oglala knew that No Water had won back the body of Black Buffalo Woman, but ever since that day when No Water shot Crazy Horse in the face she had been nothing but an empty shell.
How could the wasicus trust those who lied again and again until it became so natural? How could the soldiers want to arrest, imprison, even murder Crazy Horse, when he had never spoken anything less than the truth all his life?
As Black Shawl and the rest of the women in camp had hurried about making preparations to scatter on the winds or flee to Spotted Tail’s agency, Red Feather and Black Fox kept an eye on the Soldier Town, and on Red Cloud’s camp too. They were to signal with mirrors the moment either of them saw the soldiers and their dog pack of friendlies on their way. That morning they came.
After riding a short distance, Crazy Horse turned and looked back at the deserted camp. His hollow, aching heart felt every bit as empty.
* * *
William Clark’s belly boiled with the acid of bitterest disappointment. Just watching Crazy Horse fleeing in the distance made every nerve in his body scream out in agony.
The lieutenant bawled his orders to the half-breed interpreter. “No Water! Take your best men on the strongest horses and go after Crazy Horse!”
The sorting out began immediately, with each of the twenty-five men who were going on this chase making his choice of a horse of his liking from those who would remain behind. No Water had already grabbed the reins of two extra horses to take along on the chase.
Yanking his horse around in a half-circle, Clark found another of Red Cloud’s most trusted leaders. If any two men could be counted upon to capture that outlaw, it would be No Water and, “No Flesh! Pick thirty of your finest fighters and put them on your best horses. You are going to bring Crazy Horse back to me!”
“‘What will the White Hat give me for bringing back the trouble-maker?’” Garnett translated No Water’s words.
Clark raised himself in his stirrups and bellowed, “I will give two hundred dollars and my fastest horse to the man who brings me back the scalp of Crazy Horse!”
Billy Garnett barely had the words out of his mouth when No Water yipped wolfishly, reining about on his pony and kicking the animal savagely with his heels. The two spare horses lunged away behind him the moment No Water snapped on their lead ropes. It was clear to Clark that this longtime enemy of Crazy Horse would spare no effort to stay in the lead and snatch the bounty offered for the capture of the fleeing criminal.
With a sigh of satisfaction, Clark looked over at Major Mason. “Colonel, I believe we’re ready to march on to the camp and see what we can make of things now.”
“Is that our quarry?” Mason asked, pointing off in the direction the agency scouts were taking in their race, yipping and howling like wolves on the chase. “Have you sent them after Crazy Horse?”
“Don’t you worry about Crazy Horse, sir,” Clark said. “We don’t have a thing to worry about now.”
* * *
No Water could almost taste the fury burn at the back of his throat. At long last he was given sanction to chase down and kill this lifelong enemy of his. Ever since childhood, he and Crazy Horse had been dancing toward this day, preparing for the moment when No Water would not only kill, but rip off the scalp of the man who had caused him so much shame and ridicule.
Far, far in the distance he noticed one of the four turn to look over his shoulder. They could see that No Water was gaining a little on them. He must be yelling at the others. Perhaps that rider was Crazy Horse himself.
I hope he recognizes me, No Water thought to himself. Then he’ll know death is riding on his tail!
The horse beneath him began to falter, even though he kicked and kicked it again, forcing it to gallop up the steep hill. At the top it stumbled and nearly went down with him. Flecks of whitish foam were plastered around its jaws, sweat crusted in the horse’s mane, in patches beneath his bare legs. The animal fought, jerking its head every time No Water kicked it hard in the ribs, forcing it to race on down the slope for his quarry. As it continued to toss its head, the warrior dropped the reins and leaped to the ground.
Some of his men were succeeding in coming up the slope behind him. He had to keep himself in the lead, and slow up the progress of the others.
“Shoot this horse!” he shouted to the first warriors to arrive.
“Why shoot it?” one of them hollered up the slope at No Water.
“I have run it into the ground!” he screamed before he turned away from the animal just then collapsing to its knees. “Do as I order you and give this horse a merciful death!”
In a couple of bounds he was on top of a fresh horse, wheeling it away, down the hill from the crest where that first exhausted animal rolled onto its side, and weakly thrashed its legs.
“A merciful death for that stupid beast,” No Water cursed under his breath as the wind came strong into his face, pushing this new horse to a furious speed. “When I catch up to him, there will be no such merciful death for Crazy Horse!”
He doesn’t stand a chance against me! No Water thought as he unstintingly whipped his pony with a rawhide quirt. Crazy Horse has but one horse, only one he will have to carefully pace … while I have two left me!
* * *
The good doctor had done everything he could think of in attempting to make the army give his friend, Crazy Horse, evenhanded treatment.
Days ago, the moment he learned from Louis Bordeaux that Grouard had made the mistake in translation and hadn’t attempted to correct the mistake, Valentine McGillycuddy went to see George Crook himself. But the general said he trusted Grouard, had for a long time, so the matter would stand, especially after he had learned of Crazy Horse’s plot to kill him a couple of days ago. From what the doctor could see, that lie about a murder plot had sealed the chief’s arrest … and there would be no turning back now.
When Crook sped away from Camp Robinson, heading west to begin his campaign against the Nez Perce, McGillycuddy hastened to see Luther Bradley, asking permission to visit the Crazy Horse camp.
“I hope to get at the truth of this matter, General,” the doctor explained. “If I
can talk to Crazy Horse, I can find out what he really said, what he really meant.”
“All fine and good, Doctor,” Bradley had replied. “But I can’t give you permission. It would be far too dangerous at this point. Too much already set afoot, you see.”
“They know me, Crazy Horse and his warriors,” McGillycuddy pleaded. “Besides, if I take Fanny along, they’ll know I have come for a medical visit—”
“Take your wife?” Bradley spewed. “My god, man! Are you daft? Why would you sacrifice your wife to those savages who are worked up to no good? No—I won’t allow you to go and that’s that!”
So here he was tagging along as surgeon to those eight troops of cavalry and some four hundred friendlies, riding down the White River for the Crazy Horse village about six miles from the post. It seemed the only way the doctor was going to get a chance to see for himself just how this arrest would play out. Then word came back to the army’s side of the stream that Little Big Man was saying Crazy Horse was fleeing, and that he had left some eighty warriors behind to delay the soldiers … and a sudden flurry of activity among the scouts was explained as more than fifty hand-picked warriors were set off after their prey. Crazy Horse had been seen escaping in the distance.
“He’s likely got his sick wife with him, Colonel,” McGillycuddy explained to Mason, using the major’s brevet rank.
“Why not leave her behind if she’s so ill?”
The doctor said, “This is proof he’s not making a run for his old country. He’s going to Spotted Tail’s agency.”
“Perhaps. But I happen to think it’s proof that he’s fleeing the reservations entirely,” Mason advised. “He’d leave her behind if he were merely in fear of his life. The fact that she’s with him clearly shows that he’s escaping, and taking with him all that he holds dear.”
Clark loped up and halted his horse, explaining that it was time for the cavalry to continue on to the Crazy Horse camp, accompanied by the balance of his agency scouts.
There wasn’t a lot left to the village Valentine had come to know so well. Not even one smoking fire. It was clear the women hadn’t taken the time to cook any breakfast that morning. Perhaps news that the forces were assembling at the post had reached the camp and the warriors set their women to tearing down the lodges and packing the travois. No more than a half-dozen lodges were still standing, another handful nothing but lodgepole skeletons, stripped bare of their canvas or buffalohide covers, left standing because of the approach of soldiers.
Sending out Clark’s scouts to see what they could determine as the direction of the escapees, Mason posted guards to watch from the surrounding heights while he and his officers decided what to do next.
“It appears the bastard is running for Spotted Tail,” Clark reported as he rode back up to the major.
Mason asked, “Is that where the rest of his people are fleeing too?”
Shaking his head, Clark said, “No, for the most part they’re scattering, and a lot are racing south for Red Cloud’s camp.”
“Where it’s safer for them.”
“Damn right, Colonel,” Clark said. “So I’m taking my leave of you and following those scouts I already put on his trail. With any luck at all, we’ll have him by nightfall.”
“Lieutenant Clark?” McGillycuddy said.
He turned to the surgeon. “Yes, Doctor.”
“I will ask you as a personal favor to me,” and Valentine considered how best to put it, “that you take special pains to be sure some of your scouts won’t act too enthusiastic about their duty.”
“Oh,” and the lieutenant smiled, “I’ve already seen to that, Doctor. I’ve offered a reward and my best horse to the man who … arrests Crazy Horse.” He immediately turned away and snapped a salute to the major.
Mason returned Clark’s salute and said, “Let’s pray you don’t have to pursue this outlaw all the way into Burke’s jurisdiction.”
“Not a chance, Colonel!” the lieutenant cheered as he reined away. “I’ll have him back at Robinson by sunrise!”
* * *
From time to time Crazy Horse turned on the back of his pony and looked over his shoulder at the pursuers. At places where the terrain allowed, he could see behind them far enough to make out some of the horsemen. But most often, Crazy Horse could only see the wisps of dust all those hooves spun into the hot late-summer air as they raced down the White River for his uncle’s agency.
Still, there was that one rider who seemed obsessed in his pursuit, staying far out in the lead, ahead of the others whenever Crazy Horse looked back. At first the horseman had two ponies strung out behind him. Then there was only one spare animal, convincing Crazy Horse that one horse had already been ridden into the ground. That rider could only be one of two men who pursued him with such dogged determination, with old, nagging scores to settle. It might be Woman’s Dress … but then he realized it had to be No Water. There wasn’t another man he could name who would be pressing the chase with this much zealous energy.
Right at the first of their flight, the three of them had put Black Shawl out in front, shielding her as Lakota men are taught to do for the women and children, for the old and the sick ones, whenever a village had to flee attacking soldiers. They rode behind her up and down every hill, and sometimes one of them had to whip her horse to make it run faster.
And run they did, across every flat and down every hill. But when they came to a slope they had to climb, Crazy Horse had them rein up and slow to a walk, attacking the slope at an angle if possible, giving their horses a chance to save their strength. Once the top was reached, he and the others would yell to the animals, urging the utmost from the horses as they raced headlong to the bottom and across the flat until they reached the next hill. Then they would again slow to a walk, conserving every ounce of energy from these Indian ponies … while he was certain that No Water was beating his animals to death, not only with his rawhide quirt, but with his obsession to race up and down every hill without slowing, without paying heed to conserving his horse’s strength.
The sun was about to set. In the mid-distance he could see the first smudges of firesmoke rising from the hundreds of lodges tucked in the valley of Beaver Creek. They must skirt far to the south around the Soldier Town protecting the agency of Spotted Tail’s Sicangu people. Not that anyone could have alerted the soldiers here of his flight from Red Cloud’s agency. Just that under the wasicus’ laws a Lakota was not allowed to move from one place to the other without prior approval, even when he had friends, not to mention relatives, on his uncle’s agency. He thought of his father, wondering how things would be now for Worm. Hoping his uncle would take him in and let him live on Beaver Creek … a magical valley that held so many special memories for him.
Up ahead he saw the first of familiar faces, Mnicowaju warriors emerging from the camp of Touch-the-Cloud, his dear, old friend and uncle on his mother’s side. This band of Northern People would understand his need. For many summers they had fought to defend the old hunting grounds with him, so these men would see that his wife was protected. They would be his shield … placing themselves between him and those mad dogs whom Red Cloud, American Horse, and the White Hat had loosed on his back-trail.
Everything would be different now that he had made it to the camp on Beaver Creek. His heart lifted—oh, how he wanted to sing out a brave-heart song in joy!
Everything would be all right now!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
4 September 1877
Camp Robinson, Neb., Sept. 4, 1877.
General Crook,
Fort Laramie.
The cavalry and Indians started out at 9:30 this morning. Crazy Horse’s village broke up last night and when the Command got out to the ground, there were but few lodges to be seen and these making for the Bluffs; some of them came in and others were captured. We have about half the village—forty-odd lodges—and the Agency Indians are after the balance and are sure to capture some of them. Crazy Horse left the vi
llage this morning with his sick squaw for Spotted Tail, and we have twenty picked Indians after him who promise to bring him in. All the friendly Indians behaved extremely well, Little Big Man among them. Will telegraph you to-morrow at Cheyenne.
Bradley,
Lieut-Colonel
“Damn him to hell!” William Clark growled in exasperation when he caught sight of No Water in the distance, coming to the realization that no one was going to catch Crazy Horse before the war chief reached Spotted Tail’s agency. “Damn his soul to hell!”
About the only thing the lieutenant had to show for all the hours and all those miles put behind them was the fact that most of the Crazy Horse people had already chosen to join one of Red Cloud’s camps, being herded in that direction by large parties of his agency scouts. Minutes after he had dispatched No Water and No Flesh with their chosen posses to pursue Crazy Horse, Lieutenant Clark had asked Red Cloud and Red Dog, American Horse, and Big Road to divide their warriors into search parties that were to scour the country surrounding what had been the Crazy Horse camp on Little Cottonwood Creek. They were to bring in all members of the Northern bands.
“Those who will not comply willingly,” Clark told them through interpreter Billy Garnett, “then police them. Do what you have to—but just make sure they don’t escape downriver for the other agency.”
After more than 300 warriors were on their way in four different directions, Garnett assured the lieutenant that the scout leaders understood that word police.
“Akicita,” the translator said for Clark. “Just like the Lakota have always done when it comes to keeping men in the camps, when they are close to a buffalo herd, or making sure people behave on the march—for the good of the band. Akicita … they understand what you mean by bringing them in.”
Only a few families, lodges, or individual warriors had managed to escape the valley of Little Cottonwood before the noose closed around them. Very few slipped through and reached Spotted Tail Agency on the heels of Crazy Horse. But the mere fact that a few of them had made fools of Red Cloud’s friendlies did nothing but make those agency scouts seethe with anger. Bands of the scouts came pouring out of the hills to join Mason’s eight companies in covering those last two miles of their approach to the agency, itching for a fight—even though it would mean a fight within their Sioux family. So it struck Clark as odd when Mason ordered his battalion to turn aside and make for Camp Sheridan and Red Cloud’s Oglala continued for the nearby village.
Turn the Stars Upside Down: The Last Days and Tragic Death of Crazy Horse Page 29