Climb the Wind: A Journey Into Another Past

by Pamela Sargent

  Yellow Bird nodded. The son of Young Spring Grass and Long Hair Custer already had the look of a warrior about his eyes. Dancing Girl knew that her adoptive brother was sorry he could not ride to war with the men.

  “And One Star Terry,’’ White Eagle continued, “has his men moving east in small companies now, through Missouri. They will go up the Ohio River as far as the Wasichu city of Louisville and move toward the Great Father’s city from there on the Iron Horse. The wire warriors will send signals over the talking wires, so that we will all know where our other forces are at any time. We will have to strike hard and fast; we must move and be close to Washington before the chiefs there can know what we are planning and think of ways to stop it. And our victory must be swift.”

  Her father did not have to explain why. The men would be fighting in unfamiliar territory. They would have to perform this summer’s Sun Dance far from their own grounds, without much of the usual ceremony. Although Touch-the-Clouds and the most respected medicine men believed that the spirits would overlook any such changes in custom if they won a great victory, there were those, particularly among the Cheyenne men, who doubted that. The men would not be back in time for the beginning of the buffalo hunt. If they did not finish this war with the Wasichu in Washington quickly, many of the men would grow impatient. Their thoughts would turn more and more to the Plains. They would worry about how their families would fare during the winter. They would no longer want to fight. Many would desert and try to find their way home.

  “You will have victory,” Yellow Bird said.

  “There will be others helping us to fight,” White Eagle went on. “The talking wires told us only this morning that more Blue Coats have left Washington to strike at raiders along the Mississippi. Our Comanche and Apache brothers have helped to draw them there.”

  Dancing Girl drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Except for not joining the rest of their people for the buffalo hunt that summer, and the absence of the men of fighting age, life would not change as much in White Eagle’s camp as some feared. Young Spring Grass and some of the other women would still ride to Bismarck to trade; messages from the outside would still come to them over the talking wire. But the people camped to the west on the Plains and by the Black Hills and along the Yellowstone River would see many changes. Chief Joseph’s Nez Percé people to the west of the Lakota lands would come east to hunt buffalo for both themselves and the Lakota, while bands of Kiowa to the south would share some of their game with the Cheyenne near them. People could live like that for a while. She did not think that they would put up with it for very long.

  “It is good that both of you have learned the speech of the talking wire,” White Eagle said, “and are teaching it to some of your friends. We will send you as many messages as we can.”

  “You will win,” Dancing Girl said, wishing that she could feel as certain as she was trying to sound. Her father would not say it, but there was another message he might send, a message telling her that there had been no victory, that the warriors were tired of fighting, even that the Blue Coats had forced them into a retreat. She hoped that such a message would never come. If it did, her people would have to hide in the Lakota lands, and prepare to fight there. And if they lost again, there would be nowhere to run.

  “They’re good,” Lieutenant Hugh Scott said to John Finerty. “Better than I thought.”

  The lieutenant, Finerty knew, was not just talking about his own men, but also of the Indians who were already moving out in advance of General Crook’s forces. He stood next to Scott on the wooden dock, watching as the steamboat carrying men, artillery, and supplies moved down the Missouri toward St. Joseph.

  This was probably the most important story he was likely ever to cover, and he still had not been able to telegraph any of it to Snowden, or find a courier willing to risk riding to the nearest town to send it for him, but then the other newspapermen on campaign with Crook and Miles and Terry were equally restricted. One reporter, a fellow named Wasson, who apparently had some expertise in telegraphy, had been caught near a telegraph pole with a small battery and a pocket relay, and had been shot dead. Since then, no newspaperman moved around, ate a meal, relieved himself, or slept without two soldiers at his side.

  Lieutenant Scott and a private named Donoghue were usually with Finerty during the day. The thin-faced Scott, at first taciturn, had grown more talkative in recent days.

  “Those Injuns will do all right as fighters,” Hugh Scott continued. “I didn’t know whether to believe that chief, that Touch-the-Clouds, when he said they’d learn to follow his orders. Hell, I know some of them were terrified getting on the train, but they got on without a peep. I just hope they can keep up their courage.”

  “Oh, I think they will,” Finerty murmured. “One might almost think that, by sending them out ahead of your men, General Crook has made certain that they won’t lose heart. After all, if they wanted to retreat, they would either have to go through your men or around them.”

  “You’re damn right about that, Finerty.”

  “And I suspect that Colonel Miles doesn’t mind that the Sioux immediately behind Major Roosevelt and his volunteers will probably take more casualties than his Fifth Infantry.”

  Scott laughed. “Probably not. If we have to fight with the redskins, if we’re on the same side this time, fine, but it doesn’t mean we have to like them.”

  Finerty shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He had been told that he could send a telegraph message from St. Joe, although an army telegrapher would be there to make sure that there was nothing in that message that would give away Crook’s plans. He had already made his notes for an innocuous interim story about life at Fort Kearney, but once the invaders—for invaders they were, in a sense—were on the eastern side of the Mississippi and moving rapidly by train, Crook’s best efforts would not keep the story from getting out. By the time the Army of the West got to Washington, Finerty would see that his stories got to Chicago by telegraph if possible, and by courier if necessary.

  He refused to think of what might happen if Crook’s forces were stopped, or worse, driven back.

  The performers in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show were all in the center of the ring, taking their bows. The people in the stands cheered, stamped their feet, then stood up and waved from the bleachers. Annie Oakley Moses smiled at Frank Butler as he took her hand. They were still mounted on their horses. Annie stood up in her stirrups and bowed from the waist as the crowd cheered the sharpshooting skills of Butler and Oakley.

  Well, heck, she allowed to herself, they ain’t just cheering for me and Frank, God knows. They were also cheering those Indians Mr. Rubalev had talked Mr. Cody into hiring. She had to admit that they were the best she’d ever seen in “Custer Among the Indians,” riding around and standing up on the backs of their mounts and then ducking around the barrels of the horses while they shot at targets. They might not have hit most of the targets they aimed at, but they were dad-blamed great trick riders.

  The Indians looked mighty impressive, sitting there on their horses, bare-chested and with feathers in their long black hair and all their war regalia. They might not be Sioux, but they had surely given a good performance as Sioux—or as Mr. Cody’s notion of what a Sioux was, anyway. They had even put on war paint, for more authenticity. And Mr. Rubalev, Annie thought, had put on a wonderful performance as Custer, making his stand with his men, then going into battle with his Sioux blood brothers, and he looked just as handsome in his fringed yellow buckskins and Indian headdress as he had earlier on in his blue uniform costume.

  Then she saw the soldiers at the east entrance to the big tent. One line of them marched inside and set up a line, and then a second line of soldiers marched in and lined up behind them. At first, Annie thought they might be some of the performers in the Wild West Show, even though she didn’t know their faces, and then she noticed that the people in the audience were getting up all of a sudden and climbing down
out of the bleachers.

  “What the hell,” Frank muttered under his breath.

  A man with lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders lifted a megaphone to his lips. “Everyone must leave immediately,” he announced. “This circus is being closed down.”

  Annie dug her heels into the flanks of her horse. Her pinto began to step sideways toward Mr. Cody, who was sitting on his white horse near the eastern side of the ring.

  A man in a blue uniform with a colonel’s gold eagles on his shoulders trotted into the ring on a bay horse. “William Cody?” he said to Buffalo Bill.

  Mr. Cody tipped his white hat to the man. “I am that gentleman,” he said, “and the proprietor of this show.” Annie could not help noticing what a fine figure Mr. Cody cut in his white buckskin jacket and his long golden locks and pointed beard, compared to the mousy little colonel, who sported a weedy moustache and had straggly brown hair.

  “I have been ordered to close this show down,’’ the little colonel said.

  “Look, I pay my bills, and this is only our first performance in Cincinnati.” Mr. Cody’s cheeks above his goatee were getting redder. “We’ve already sold out the next week’s performances, and—”

  “Cody, keep your hands away from that Colt,” the colonel said. Annie made sure that the soldier saw that her hands were still holding her reins. “This show is being closed down, and you and your performers will go with me quietly. You have been charged with sedition, and those Injuns over there are now considered hostiles.”

  “Sedition?” Mr. Cody was scowling. “What the hell are you talking about?” From the sides of her eyes, Annie noticed that both Mr. Rubalev and Frank had moved closer to Buffalo Bill on their horses.

  “The Council of the United States now considers newspaper stories, speeches, or any other public presentation produced, distributed, or performed by Indian-lovers acts of sedition designed to give comfort to the enemy.” The colonel puffed out his not very impressive chest. “Because, Cody, the Injuns are now at war with us.”

  Annie gaped at the little officer. “Since when?” Buffalo Bill asked.

  “Since the Council of the United States has ordered General George Crook into action against the Sioux. General George Forsyth is already on his way out there from Virginia with the—”

  “Hold on, Colonel,” Buffalo Bill said. “The Injuns in this show aren’t even Sioux, and what did the Sioux do to provoke a—”

  “I don’t care what those Injuns call themselves. If they aren’t Sioux, they’re friends of the Sioux, and they’re all redskins anyway. So—”

  Someone fired. That’s a Remington, Annie thought. The shot had come from close behind her, which meant that Mr. Rubalev might be the one who had fired. Somebody screamed, and then a whole lot of people were suddenly screaming and shouting. A line of soldiers lifted their guns, took aim at the trick riders, and fired.

  Most of the people in the audience were still making their way down from the bleachers and over to the exit. They surged toward the openings at the eastern and western ends of the tent. The lines of soldiers broke as they tried to restrain the frightened people. Several shots were fired before the crowds overwhelmed the soldiers.

  Annie’s horse reared. Frank was next to her. “Better get out of here,” he shouted. She rode after him toward the exit on the west, farther from the soldiers. She glanced back. Mr. Cody was right behind her. Amid the fracas, it looked as though some of the Indians were shooting at the soldiers now. She rode past the knots of frightened people and followed Frank outside.

  Three Star Crook had sent Gold Eagles Jeremiah Clarke to St. Joseph to seize control of the Iron Horse trails there. By the time White Eagle reached the edge of the city with his wire warriors, Clarke had secured the rail yards. There had been little resistance from the Wasichu in the yards. Some had cheered the Blue Coats. Others had volunteered to follow them to the Great Father’s city.

  Buffalo Calf Road Woman was the one who told this to White Eagle. “Gold Eagles Clarke now holds the trails of the Iron Horse,” she said.

  “Then there will be a talking wire room there somewhere,” White Eagle said. “I can send a message back to Bismarck before we leave.” Traveling part of the way here on the paddlewheel boat that belched smoke was bad enough, with the men crowded together on the decks and having to keep the horses calm while the deck tilted and moved under them. He did not want to admit how much he dreaded climbing into one of the Iron Horse wagons.

  Buffalo Calf Road Woman waved her hand at his face. “No talking wire signals,’’ she said. “Three Star says so. Touch-the-Clouds says so. Morning Star Brother says so.”

  White Eagle shrugged. He had not been happy that Buffalo Calf Road Woman and Walking Blanket Woman had decided to go to war with the men, but the two had no husbands, or brothers to fight for them and no children to look after, so Touch-the-Clouds had allowed them to come. What he liked even less was that Young Spring Grass had wanted to go with them, something White Eagle had refused to allow her to do. “The Wasichu women can shoot firesticks,” she had told him. “Unlucky Jane has long and short firesticks and knows how to use them better than most of our men.” In many ways, the Wasichu women set a very bad example.

  “Then you had better lead us to the Iron Horse corral,” White Eagle said.

  “I am to lead you there, but you are not to travel in a wagon now.” Buffalo Calf Road Woman got back on her horse. “You are to follow the Iron Horse trail to a place not far from here. Morning Star Brother Rowland will take you and some of the men there. Two of our scouts were shot and killed there.”

  “Then we must avenge them,” White Eagle said.

  “Touch-the-Clouds and Morning Star Brother mean to do more than that. They will tell all the warriors to destroy that place and kill everyone there. They will have their revenge for our scouts and for the death of Graceful Swan, who was a wife to both of them. You see, Touch- the-Clouds and Morning Star Brother have learned that a few of the men who killed her and so many others in Kansas may have come from that place.” Buffalo Calf Road Woman smiled. “And you have to admit that destroying that town will set a good example for any Wasichu who are thinking of fighting against us.”

  The Missouri town called Mayville was only a few miles east of St. Joseph and a mile away from the tracks of the Hannibal and St. Joseph Railroad. The town itself was little more than two rows of houses and ramshackle buildings on either side of a dirt road that led to Mayville’s center.

  There were, Lemuel knew, many good reasons to strike at this place. They did not want saboteurs disrupting the rail lines, as these men might think of doing. They had to punish the deaths of their two scouts. And, he thought darkly, maybe wreaking some vengeance for his loss would ease the knots of pain inside him.

  The men struck first at the farmhouse on the edge of town. One of the men crept toward the door and made a sound like that of a wild dog. When a gray-bearded man came to the door, Ghost Dog brought him down with one blow. Soon his wife came out to look for him and Crazy Bull grabbed her from the back and slit her throat before she could scream. By then, three more men had gone in through a window and found two sleeping children. Since they could not take them back to their camps for adoption by their people, the Lakota warriors killed them, too.

  The woman and the girl both had long thick hair and scalps worth taking. Lemuel might have ordered the men not to take the scalps, but kept silent. They had to punish those here for what they had done. He knew that he could explain it all to General Crook. He would say that they had to make certain that the tracks were not threatened, that no one else would dare to threaten them.

  Touch-the-Clouds had told Lemuel about a young man, not much more than a boy, who had been caught trying to sneak up on an encampment of Lakota warriors. The young man had been brought to him, and had told Touch-the-Clouds stories about the raid on Elysium and other raids and about blue uniforms and money that had been paid to him and to other men to make those raids. He had
said that they were told to regard themselves as fighters for the United States and its interests. He had told Touch-the-Clouds where some of his accomplices could be found. He had taken out one of the coins that had been given to him as payment and a silver belt buckle that he had taken from a dead man in Elysium. Then he had told Touch-the-Clouds that the two scouts he was looking for had been shot and their bodies quickly buried so that no one would know what had happened to them. He had said that he was willing to fight with the Lakota and their allies now.

  After the man had told him all that he wanted to know, Touch-the-Clouds had taken out his knife and killed the young man himself. A man who would so readily betray his comrades was of no use to him.

  Lemuel had no reason to doubt anything that Touch-the-Clouds had told him about that young man and his story. Touch-the-Clouds, like all Lakota, did not lie. They would have had to punish the people here for killing the two scouts, and there was a grim satisfaction in knowing that other hostile acts the men here had committed would also be avenged.

  The men took three oil lamps from the farmhouse. They rode toward the town, set a few arrows on fire with the lamps, then shot them at the thatched roofs of two of the buildings. The roofs were soon ablaze. When the first people ran from the buildings into the street, there was already enough light from the flames to shoot them easily with arrows or rifles. A few men came through doorways with rifles of their own, but were quickly brought down.