by Don Bendell
Strongheart went on, “The wasicun call them the Indian Ring. We know now William Belknap, one of the white chiefs in Washington is the chief of the Indian Ring, and he is no longer any type of chief. He had a subchief named Hartwell who has been the real chief of the Indian Ring. They want to eliminate the buffalo, thinking it will kill the plains tribes. Many greedy men are getting much money by stealing your blankets and supplies and replacing them with cheaper ones and other things like that.”
Sitting Bull said, “The leaders of the Long Knives are foolish, too. They think the Lakota, the Chyela (Cheyenne), and the Arapaho are cowards because we flee when they attack our villages. They do not understand we leave so we do not lose warriors that we must have to fight. Now, many have come together, and we will not leave if the Long Knives come. We will fight and many Long Knives will die. We are Lakota. We will die fighting not freezing and starving on the reservation.”
Strongheart said, “My chief, they want me to tell you not to fight, but I do understand. White men have found gold in the Black Hills and come here all the time. That is sacred ground, but they do not care. The Indian Ring likes this, encourages it, but hear me, my chief: Not all wasicun hate the red man. Some do, but many do not.”
“I know this, young friend,” Sitting Bull replied. “But when they come to kill us or put us back on the reservations, our arrows will not ask who hates us and who likes us.”
They both smoked for several minutes without speaking.
Then, the chief said, “You must kill these men. This Indian Ring.”
“I cannot kill them all, but I will kill the Indian Ring,” Strongheart replied. “It must die before more of our brothers and sisters die.”
Sitting Bull rose and blew smoke toward the smoke hole, watching its egress.
He said, “Many more will die. We made peace and we made a treaty. The wasicun broke that treaty. They must fight us now. The thief does not say, ‘He is a good man and I have stolen from him.’ The thief hates him instead. You should leave soon. We will break the camp tomorrow and go to the valley of the Greasy Grass. I think the Long Knives will come soon and many will die. I saw this.”
“I wish all men could live together,” Strongheart sighed.
Sitting Bull smiled, saying, “Maybe, someday the eagle and the rabbit will lay down together and have many babies.”
Joshua chuckled at that one.
He said, “I will leave tomorrow.”
8
AMBUSH
Joshua rode a steel horse and kept hearing a clicking sound. He looked down and the horse did not have legs. It was built like Eagle, but it had narrow gauge railroad car wheels and the horse was rolling along swiftly in an easterly direction. This was very obvious because he kept noticing the sun as a big ball behind him. His eyes started fluttering, and he realized the clicking was the sound of a campfire with the sticks crackling in the fire. It was also the sun behind him, as his back was toward the fire. He rolled over facing the fire as his eyes came open, and he saw a man sitting there on a long log drinking coffee. His head ached like an abscessed wisdom tooth, and most especially when he turned over. His hand went down to his Colt, but it was gone, and he saw it and his holster lying next to his head. He relaxed but started wondering what was happening.
Then he realized who the man was. It was his friend Chris Colt, chief of scouts for Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer of the 7th Cavalry.
Colt sipped his steaming coffee and said, “Welcome back, Joshua. You want some coffee?”
Strongheart moaned while he sat up and reached up to his head, feeling a large bandage tied around it. He was confused, very confused. He tried to answer and felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness.
The sun was hot and bright as his eyes came open. It was daylight, and he remembered waking up and seeing Chris Colt, but he was gone now. Strongheart felt better and stronger. There was still a fire and a coffeepot on the fire. He got up, took care of his needs after a long sleep, and returned to the fire, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was in a glade of cottonwood trees along a clear stream, the camp was out of reach of wind and wandering eyes, and the leaves of the cottonwoods clearly filtered the smoke so a smoke column could not be easily seen at a distance.
Leaning against his saddle he saw Eagle grazing in the green grass along the creek. His fiancée, Belle, had left him a pocket watch, and he pulled it out and saw that it had stopped. Looking at the sky he knew it was mid-morning. Now Strongheart was even more frustrated. For his watch to stop, he must have been out for a long period of time.
He felt hungry and looked for food. Near the fire were some hardtack biscuits ready to be heated up and a slab of bacon. There was also some sweet corn sitting in a pan of water near the fire. It had apparently already been boiled.
Joshua, without thinking or feeling confused, moved to his pistol and drew it from the holster. Something told him to do so, a sense, a warrior’s sense of knowing. Then he heard a twig and soon hoofbeats. He saw his friend Chris Colt riding up along the creek bank on a large black-and-white overo paint horse, similar in appearance to Gabe, the red-and-white paint horse killed by We Wiyake.
He saw a field-dressed young buck deer draped over the back of Chris’s saddle. Colt smiled and nodded.
“How’s your head, Strongheart?” Colt asked.
Joshua said, “Aching like a toe would if you dropped an anvil on it, and like it’s filled with oatmeal and molasses. Where are we, Colt? I have a million questions.”
Colt dismounted, stripped the saddle and bridle off and his horse, War Bonnet, trotted over to Eagle, who gave a low whinny. The two grazed side by side.
Chris carried the small buck to a tree nearby and tied off its forelegs to two branches, using leather thongs. He had already removed the intestines, genitalia, and the scent hocks on the inside of the back knees, right after he’d shot the buck. Colt immediately went behind it and cut the back straps off and then rinsed them in the creek. Strongheart’s mouth watered.
An hour later, the two men finished their food and started drinking coffee.
Chris Colt said, “What was the last thing you remember?”
Strongheart got frustrated, as he felt confused. Then, he remembered.
“I went through the sun dance ceremony,” he said touching his sore pectoral muscles without thinking, “along with Sitting Bull. After we had a talk. Where are we, Chris? What happened?”
Colt said, “Well, Custer and I got crossways with each other and to make it short, I am no longer his chief of scouts. Sitting Bull moved the big camp from the Rosebud to the Little Big Horn and I was traveling toward the Rosebud and got about halfway between the two places. They’re about eighty miles apart. I saw this figure in the distance traveling southwest on a black-and-white paint. It was you, but I could tell you were being followed at a distance by two hombres.”
Strongheart said, “So, we are about halfway between Rosebud and the Little Big Horn?”
Colt said, “Yep, but a little farther south. I figure you were maybe headed toward the railroad.”
Joshua said, “I’m having a hard time figuring out anything. You know my boss, Lucky DeChamps. He got shot and is in a hospital in Denver. Maybe I was on my way to see if he is still alive. He better be. Did I get shot?”
Colt said, “Yep, you bounced a bullet off your noggin. Got your hair parted.”
Strongheart said, “What happened?”
Colt said, “I saw them running over to the backside of a ridge that curved with the gulch you were in. They reappeared ahead of you and were way out of range of my gun. They got down and one held the horses, and the shooter was aiming at you with what looked like a Sharps rifle maybe. It was a big one.”
Strongheart whistled and Colt went on, “You were way out of range for my long gun, so I aimed right at you, hoping the bullet would hit somewhere, li
ke a rock, where you might hear it. Your horse gave a little jump right before he shot and you flew out of the saddle.”
Joshua said, “What happened to the dry-gulchers?”
“They saw me running toward them and got the hell out of there like someone set their horses’ tails on fire,” Chris said. “And I had a choice, chase them or try to save you.”
“You think they are out of the area?”
Colt laughed. “I’d say so. All that happened four days ago.”
“Four days!” Strongheart said. “I’ve been out for four days?”
Chris just chuckled.
Joshua got serious. “Thanks, Chris. I owe you big stakes.”
Colt said, “You owe me nothing. Is the meal helping?”
“Yeah, a lot,” Joshua said. “Why are you heading for the Lakota anyway?”
Chris Colt poured both another cup of coffee and replied, “I have become friends with Crazy Horse, and I have to try to get there to stop what’s happening. Custer is marching toward Sitting Bull’s new camp on the Little Big Horn.”
Strongheart said, “Sitting Bull and his men are in the thousands, and they are not running, Colt.”
Colt said, “I know that. I wanted to warn Crazy Horse, and try to get them to move the camp, just in the hope we can stop a slaughter. Custer is hell-bent on fame and glory because he wants to be president, and he is going to get his men killed.”
He added, “I need to tell you what happened at Rose Bud Creek since you left.”
While Strongheart slowly regained his strength and ate again, Chris Colt explained what had happened at Rosebud Creek after Joshua left and got dry-gulched.
As Joshua well knew, January 1, 1876, all Indians who had not joined reservations were declared “hostile.” The commanding officer in charge of the campaign to return members of the Plains tribes to reservations or kill or imprison them was General George Crook, with a complement of twelve companies, ten companies of cavalry and two companies of infantry, and two main commanders: Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer and Brigadier General Alfred H. Terry, who was the overall commander of that column. On March 1, the main column left from Fort Lincoln. They were besieged by blizzards from the get-go.
Initially, the Crook’s Crow and Shoshone scouts spotted Sioux and Cheyenne along the Powder River. Colonel Joseph Reynolds had them follow some Lakota and then attacked their village on the bluffs over the Powder River. Reynolds had to retreat, however, because of heavy long-range rifle fire by Lakota warriors. When he rejoined Crook, the general returned the command to base and promptly court-martialed Reynolds for his failure.
The Lakota victory at Powder River really motivated the warriors and increased participation as more warriors joined Sitting Bull. That was why so many were at the giant encampment when Joshua went through the sun dance and more were joining each day, with Cheyenne and Arapaho joining the swelling Lakota ranks. By the end of May, Crook set out with his column again with more than a thousand cavalry and infantrymen and more than fifty officers, as well as 262 Crow and Shoshone scouts. Crook’s force was just one of three columns planning on serving as attacking and blocking forces to squeeze the warriors into unwinnable battles. Crook neared Sitting Bull’s encampment at about the same time Joshua Strongheart joined the giant circle.
Crook had stopped and fortified his forces at the Tongue River. At that point, Sitting Bull had not had his vision yet and he, Joshua, and several more were preparing for the sun dance. Sitting Bull sent a warrior volunteer with a coup staff with white cloth tied to it. He took a message from Sitting Bull warning Crook not to come any closer to the Lakota forces and their allies. The warrior said that Sitting Bull said to tell the general if he advanced, he would have a big fight on his hands. General Crook ignored the warning and pushed on, wanting a fight anyway.
On the morning of the 17th of June, the day after Strongheart left Sitting Bull, Cook’s soldiers were taking a meal break along the Rosebud Creek, and were attacked by Cheyenne and Sioux being led by Crazy Horse. The first attack was repulsed, not by the cavalry but by Crook’s scouts, the Lakota’s enemies, the Shoshone and Crow scouts who fought hard trying to impress Crook and his men. Crook was still being naïve about the Lakota, however, thinking they would flee if he attacked in force. He did not know how many thousands of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho had assembled and banded together. On Crooks orders, Captain Anson Mills led his Cavalry companies up Rosebud Creek and attacked the Lakota satellite camp that Crook believed lay just ahead.
Crook was shocked when the warriors attacked his column in the area Mills’s unit had been in instead of fleeing. Crook then sent a courier to fetch Mills, who actually ran into the rear of another Lakota force and surprised them from behind, putting them in the midst of two forces, Mills’s and Crook’s. The Lakota, however, ran around Crook’s force and made an escape, so Crook was already claiming he had won the Battle of the Rosebud. Strategically, he’d gotten whipped, as his men had shot more than twenty-five thousand rounds of ammunition and only killed thirteen Lakota, but he lost twenty-eight men, and had well over four dozen wounded. Crook was forced to return to his base camp on Goose Creek. Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull headed toward the Little Big Horn River to place their new giant encampment.
Chris Colt said, “I have to get to the new encampment and see if I can stop the slaughter. That idiot Custer will certainly get many brave men killed.”
Strongheart said, “I am a big boy, my friend. I have to head out after the ones who shot me. I’ll have a headache but thanks to you, I’m alive.”
Chris said, “I followed them a little, and I bet they are heading toward the railroad south and west of here. When you track people, you kind of figure out where they are going, and not just see their tracks.”
“Denver!” Joshua said, “I bet they took off after my boss, Lucky, figuring they got me. I have to saddle up, Chris.”
“Me, too,” Colt replied, “I have to talk to Crazy Horse. Good luck.”
“You, too,” Strongheart said, “Thanks, my friend.”
Both men saddled quickly, gave each other waves, and rode off in opposite directions.
9
ANOTHER TRIP TO DENVER
Eagle was a very fast-trotting and smooth-trotting horse. Strongheart could actually say slow trot or fast trot, and the horse would respond to the voice command. He had another gait that Joshua called a floating trot, which the horse did to show off. He would toss his mane and tail from side to side and do a fast stiff-legged trot. Right now, he was eating up miles doing a fast trot, as Colt wanted to hit the north-south line, which would take him to Denver.
John Garden had been an engineer for several years and loved the railroad, but he hated this long uphill stretch. His long train slowed to a crawl going up the long haul. He was thinking about this when he saw the column of smoke and large fire right on the middle of the tracks. He started braking at first, thinking it might be hostiles. Then he saw the big black-and-white pinto and the cowboy wearing a bandage wrapped around his head and holding up a badge. He stopped and Joshua rode up to the engine sliding Eagle to a stop.
Garden said, “What in tarnation!”
Joshua interrupted, “Sorry to halt you, mister, but I have an emergency. My name is Joshua Strongheart, and I am a Pinkerton agent. Are you headed to Denver?”
John said, “Yep, why?”
“My horse and I need a car, please. I can pay you whatever the price,” Strongheart said.
Garden climbed down out of the engine and walked in front of Eagle saying over his shoulder, “Shore enough, Mr. Strongheart. I got an empty boxcar full of straw. Just got to rig some kind of ramp to get your horse up in it. You look Injun. Are ya?”
Joshua smiled. “Half. My father was Sioux and my mother was white. Grew up here in Montana territory, a good ways west of here.”
John said, “Well,
son, to be a half-breed and a Pinkerton agent, I would say you must be a man to ride the river with.”
Strongheart grinned listening to this straightforward railroad man. He was very short with graying red hair, but Strongheart could tell he was all man. One of those characters he enjoyed meeting who you knew could be counted on.
They made it to the car and the brakeman met them, shaking hands with Joshua and telling Garden he had heard of Strongheart.
Strongheart used dry straw to give Eagle a rubdown in the boxcar. He wanted to stay busy because he really wished the train would move faster. Joshua was certain these killers would be after Lucky to kill him. They obviously were very desperate to stop anybody trying to investigate or shut down the Indian Ring. Millions were being made and millions more would be.
• • •
The morning sun had just started streaking in the window when Lucky opened his eyes to the clicking of the hammer of the six-shooter. Allan Pinkerton opened his eyes, too. He had slept all night in the chair near Lucky’s bed and was now looking into the business end of pistols held in the hands of two very rough-looking hombres. One was tall and thin with a jagged scar running the length of his face, and the other was very large and very tall.
The large one said, “Shoot ’em, Skinny Tom.”
Tom said, “Naw, not yet we won’t. You two are gonna tell us where we kin find any others that know about yer investigation. We kilt yer half-breed already.”
Lucky started to respond and Allan Pinkerton cut in, “Do you gents know who I am?”
“Who are you?” asked the large one, “Yer another one a them Pinkertons thet is supposed to be so hotshot. I know thet.”
Allan said, “I am Pinkerton, Allan Pinkerton, and I am the one you want to talk to. Not him. He knows nothing about this investigation, but I know everything about it. You want to take me somewhere away from here, and we will talk.”
Skinny Tom said, “Nice try, boss man, but we shot your boy here whilst he was powwowing with the half-breed. He is real involved.”