by Crazy Horse
The older man took a seat on the sand at the edge of the stream, shielded from the village, and from a casual passerby, by the dense foliage of the willows. Leaning forward and snatching at a reed at the water’s edge, he patted the ground beside him, and waited for Crazy Horse to sit down.
Worm twirled the reed in his hand, took a knife from his hip and sliced it through cleanly at both ends, leaving himself with about eighteen inches of the hollow stem. Holding it to his eyes, he peered through it for a long moment, his son silent at his side. Then, cutting several small sections from one side of the reed, he blew through one end. A delicate moan emanated from the reed. Covering the holes with his fingers one at a time, he changed the pitch of the sound. Since he had not tried to be careful, cutting the small lozenges from the edge of the stem the way a farmer would cut chips from a whittling stick, there was no relation between the tones. The music, if such it could be called, was sour, the sounds random as hole after hole was covered by Worm’s fingers.
Then, tapping his thigh with the reed, he looked at Crazy Horse. “Not a very good flute, is it?”
Crazy Horse, knowing the question was only preamble, smiled, but said nothing.
“I used to be able to make a very good one. But you have to have just the right reed. It must be big enough around, the walls thick enough, but not too thick, or the sound is muddy. But then, I am not really a musician.”
“Neither am I,” Crazy Horse said.
“No. You are a warrior. Maybe the best there is. I know that some would say Red Cloud, and some would say Spotted Tail. They are great men, both of them. And there are others, too. They all would have their defenders, but I guess I am partial to you.”
“You are my father.”
Worm nodded. “I am. Still, I have another son, also a warrior, and also a very great one. But Little Hawk is not Crazy Horse. Only you are Crazy Horse. You alone. Alone.”
“Yes. I am alone in many ways, but that is not a bad thing.”
“Yes, it is. It is a bad thing. It is not right for a man to be alone. It is not right for so great a warrior to have no one to tend him when he is ill, to cook for him, to give him sons as White Deer, and her sister before her, gave me children. That is only proper.”
“I am away often. Sometimes I am gone for weeks at a time. That is hard on a woman.”
Worm nodded. “That is true.” He seemed to mull that over for a moment, but Crazy Horse knew that Worm was not ready to abandon his theme just yet. Instead, the son guessed, his father was probably trying to find another way to approach it, the same way a warrior would try to attack an enemy and, being repulsed, would try again from another direction. Try again and again, if he were courageous and a great warrior, until he found the way to do what he had come to do. So would Worm persist until he found the way to make his argument.
“You have seen twenty-one winters, son.”
“Yes.
“If the Great Spirit is willing, you will see many more; twice, three times that number. I hope that will be your time. And that is a long time.”
“Yes, it is a long time.”
“A long time to be alone.”
“I have my work.”
“Your work is to care for the people. But you, Crazy Horse, are you not one of the people? Who will care for you?”
“I need no one to care for me.”
“Not now, maybe, but … Listen, you have seen the old ones. You have seen how, when they can no longer go into battle, they have other things to do, children to teach, even children’s children. That is a good thing. I have enjoyed watching my children grow.”
“That is not something a man has to do. It is something he chooses to do.”
“And you choose not to?”
“I didn’t say that, Father. I don’t know. I just think that it wouldn’t be right, to leave a woman alone all the time. I would worry about her when I was on the warpath. Who would protect her from the Crow … and from the white soldiers? I have seen what happens to the women and the children. I once …”
Worm nodded. “I remember. I know how much that hurt you, the teasing, the jokes at your expense. But I know that what hurt you most was not what the other warriors said, but what you felt in your heart. You thought it a bad thing to kill a woman.”
“I did. I do now. And I have never done it again. And I never will. But the Crow are not like that. The Pawnee don’t mind killing women. And the white men seem to like it. I remember at Ash Hollow, what they did. I saw the dresses pulled up, the dried blood between the legs where there should have been soft hair. That was not right. That was not what a warrior ought to do. It is something I would never do, and that I have never seen any Lakota do.”
“But that is no reason to deprive yourself of the comfort a woman can bring. Why suffer alone when you can have someone to share the suffering? It makes it easier to bear. Even the worst suffering can be endured if you have someone to share it with.”
“It is not my way.”
Again, Worm paused for a long time. When he spoke again, he was more direct. “If there were a woman you would wish to take to your lodge, who would she be?”
“I have never thought about it.”
“Yes, you have. I even know who she is. Why not speak her name yourself?”
“What would be the point?”
“All right, then I’ll say it—Black Buffalo Woman. I think maybe you should court her. I think maybe she would be a good wife to you, and you a good husband to her.”
Crazy Horse shook his head. “No. She is from a great family. Red Cloud is her uncle. There is …”
“My own family is not nothing, you know.” He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Try it. What have you got to lose? If she refuses you, well, you say you don’t wish to be married. But if she says yes, then … I know what you feel for her in here.” He reached out and tapped his son on the chest. “It is what I felt for White Deer. It is what I still feel for White Deer, even after all these winters together.”
And so Crazy Horse was left with no way out. In the evening, according to the custom, he would show himself at the door to Black Buffalo Woman’s lodge. She was permitted to come out and sit with her suitors. The young man and woman would wrap themselves completely in a buffalo robe. It was the only way they were permitted to be alone. But there was little time for anything more than small talk. And since Black Buffalo Woman was beautiful, and from a good family, she had many suitors. If another would show up, one she preferred to the man with whom she was wrapped in the robe, it was permitted for her to make a change.
During the day, and during the long nights after his visits, Crazy Horse would think about her. He had known her most of his life. He could still see her as a child, her braids trailing in the breeze as she ran through the grass. Later, when she was old enough to work, he would watch her bringing water to the village, or tanning buffalo hides or sitting with the other women, talking about whatever it was the women talked about. None of the men knew or, if he did, he was not sharing his secret knowledge.
Once again, Crazy Horse became the butt of jokes. Hump teased him unmercifully. Little Hawk, too, would raise the issue at every opportunity. And Pretty One, the winkte, who now went by the name Woman’s Dress, would tease him, too. But he didn’t mind so much.
He enjoyed his time wrapped in the robe with Black Buffalo Woman. It seemed to fly by, and the long days waiting for another chance to court her seemed to stab him with a thousand knives. Sometimes he couldn’t breathe for thinking of her. But in the back of his mind was a worry. She had several suitors who had more to offer her. No Water was one of them. His family was powerful, and his brother, Black Twin, was already a member of the council, though not much older than Crazy Horse.
All Crazy Horse had to offer her was the life of a warrior’s woman. And that meant long periods without seeing each other. It meant the torture, all the time he was away, of wondering whether or not he would come back. It might mean early widowhood, perha
ps with children to care for and worry about. She was young and beautiful, and she would find someone who could offer her so much more than he could. Because of his vision, Crazy Horse did not have much at all to offer her father. He had only a few horses, the ones he needed for war parties. Beyond that, he had nothing. And he was sure that it made a difference. Why wouldn’t it?
After two months of courting, it came as a relief when Red Cloud announced that he was going to lead a war party against the Crows. Hump was going, Black Twin and No Water, too. And Crazy Horse signed on without hesitation. Little Hawk, too, would go along. On the warpath, Crazy Horse knew that he could forget about his fears. He would not see Black Buffalo Woman for many weeks, but that was almost better than seeing her so much with so little he could offer her.
But on the morning they were scheduled to depart, No Water was in agony. He had a terrible toothache. In itself, this was no great thing. But for No Water, it was everything. No Water’s special medicine was from the long incisors of the grizzly bear. The toothache meant that his medicine sign was not favorable. It would be foolish, could even be fatal, to risk the warpath in such circumstances.
They were gone two weeks. The raid was a success, although they found few Crows and stole few horses. None of the Sioux were wounded, and they had managed to kill one enemy warrior, so there was every reason to feel satisfied.
On the long ride home, without the anticipation of battle to occupy his mind, Crazy Horse found himself thinking about Black Buffalo Woman almost constantly. When the wind blew through the trees, he thought it was her voice whispering to him. When he looked at the sky, he saw her face in the clouds. At night, with nothing but the deep black of the heavens and the tiny points of the stars to see, he imagined the twinkling of her eyes. She was everywhere. He couldn’t wait to see her again.
He hadn’t realized until the separation how much she meant to him. He was willing to do anything, endure any humiliation, make any sacrifice, if only he could succeed in winning her. He knew that Red Cloud had no objection, because he had overheard Hump and the great war chief talking about it. That gave him hope. But he knew, too, that the final decision was not for Red Cloud to make. It wasn’t even for her father to make. It was up to the woman herself. And in his heart he had to admit that he just didn’t know what she would decide.
As they drew near the village, Woman’s Dress ran out to meet the warriors. Taking Crazy Horse by the leg, he pulled him, still on his pony, to one side. Crazy Horse watched the winkte in bafflement. “What do …?”
But Woman’s Dress shook his head. “Wait.” He held a hand to his lips and waited for the rest of the warriors to pass by. Little Hawk looked quizzically at the two of them, but Woman’s Dress waved him on impatiently.
Only when the rest of the warriors were inside the village circle did Woman’s Dress speak. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. I think it is best if …”
“Tell me what?”
Woman’s Dress rubbed a hand over his chin. The beadwork on his dress, the best anyone had ever seen, which he had done himself, shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. It looked as if sheets of white fire were coursing down his body as he breathed.
“Black Buffalo Woman …”
Crazy Horse jumped from his pony. “What has happened to her? Is she …”
Woman’s Dress shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. It’s just … she’s married.”
“Married? Who?”
“No Water.”
“But she can’t have done that. She wouldn’t do that. She …”
“She has, Crazy Horse.”
“It was planned, wasn’t it? No Water didn’t have a toothache. He had this planned all along. Even Red Cloud … this must have been his idea. He …”
Woman’s Dress shook his head vigorously. “No. Red Cloud knew nothing of this. He will be as surprised as you. And as angry at No Water for this cowardly way of dealing.”
“No, he won’t. No one can be that angry, my friend.” Crazy Horse slumped to the ground and let his head hang to his lap. Woman’s Dress tried to comfort him, but the great warrior just pushed his friend away. “Leave me alone,” he said. Then, without a word to anyone, he got to his feet, climbed onto his pony, and rode off into the plains. Lashing the war-horse’s flanks with his reins, he drove it to a full gallop, its hooves thudding dully on the grass until they could no longer be heard in the village. Woman’s Dress watched him until he was out of sight.
Crazy Horse never looked back.
Chapter 12
June 1863
LT. CASPAR COLLINS NODDED to the sentry standing at parade rest beside the entrance to the commanding officer’s office at Fort Laramie. Glancing over his shoulder at Peter Bordeaux, who gave him the thumbs-up, he tried to smile. Then he stepped into the office, wiping sweaty palms on the trousers of his uniform. He cleared his throat and clicked his heels as he stopped in front of the commander’s desk.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” the colonel said. “What can I do for you.”
Collins cleared his throat a second time, then curled the fingers of both hands into his palms. He could feel a new sheen of sweat already beginning to glaze them, but he ignored it, afraid the commander would catch the gesture, and having caught it, would realize its significance.
“I was wondering, Colonel, if …” he stopped in midsentence, not quite sure he had made the right beginning. “That is, I …”
“Spit it out, Lieutenant.” The colonel leaned back in his chair. His whiskers, still black despite his age, nearly fifty, bunched under his chin as he tilted his head forward a bit to peer at the young lieutenant over his spectacles.
Taking a deep breath, Collins tried again. “Well, sir, I was wondering if you would have any objection to my visiting a Sioux village …? Unofficially, I mean.”
“Oh? Do you mind if I ask why?”
“No, sir. It’s, well, I find them fascinating. I’d like to learn more about them. Curiosity, I guess.”
“What do you plan to do, Lieutenant, put them under a microscope, examine them like bugs?”
“No, sir. I just want to understand them better, the way they think, the way they see things. I mean, if I’m going to be posted in the West for the next few years, I think it would help me to be a better officer.”
“They’re human beings, just like we are, Lieutenant. You know that, don’t you.”
“Of course I know that, sir. I don’t mean that I’ll be obtrusive. I mean, I’ll only do what they’ll let me do. I won’t interfere in their affairs. I’d like to learn their language if I could.”
“To help you be a better officer?”
Collins nodded. “Yes, sir. I think maybe it’s important to be able to speak to them directly, to understand what they really mean. Some of these interpreters aren’t the most reliable men, sir. Half the time you can’t find one when you need him, and the half of the time you do, he’s got a snootful of whiskey. I don’t think that’s in anyone’s interest, Colonel.”
The colonel nodded. “You’re right, Lieutenant, it isn’t. But how do you propose to communicate with the Sioux?”
“Peter Bordeaux, the son of the trader, has agreed to help me.”
“Very well …”
“Then you have no objection?”
The colonel shook his head. “No, I have no objection. But I think I ought to warn you, Lieutenant. These people are not fools. They will know that you are an army officer. They don’t much trust white men of any kind, let alone soldiers, and I can’t say I blame them for that. It wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t want anything to do with you.”
“I’ll take that chance, sir, if I may.”
“You may.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Collins snapped to attention, saluted, and spun smartly on his heel. He was already on his way to the door when the colonel called to him.
“One more thing, Lieutenant …”
Collins stopped and turned. “Sir?”
“You mi
ght be putting yourself at some risk. That’s something I want you to consider before you go. Eventually, if they don’t know it already, they will know that you’re also my son.”
“I’ll be careful, Colonel.”
“See that you are. For all our sakes.”
As he stepped outside, Bordeaux, who was sitting on the boardwalk, talking to the sentry, said, “Well, how did it go?”
“He said all right,” Collins said, breaking into a broad grin.
“When do you want to start?”
“What’s wrong with right now?”
“Christ, you’re eager, aren’t you? You sure you don’t want to think it over for a day or so, now that it’s approved, I mean?”
“No. I might change my mind.”
“You get into this, you still might. In fact, you might wish you never got started.”
Collins nodded. “I know that, Peter. But if I don’t do it, I might wish I had. So, better to seize the day.”
“You’re in charge, Lieutenant. I’ll meet you at the stable in fifteen minutes.”
Collins waved, watched Bordeaux cross the compound to the general store, then walked to the stable and ordered his horse saddled. He waited impatiently for the trader’s son, and checked his rifle twice before Bordeaux finally reappeared.
Collins swung into the saddle while Bordeaux went into the stable to get his own mount. Bordeaux rode out, looked at Collins, and said, “I thought you might change out of that uniform, Lieutenant.”
Collins shook his head. “No. I am what I am, Peter. I can’t change that. And the last thing I want to do is go out there and pretend I’m something else. If anything is to come of this, they’re going to have to trust me.”
Bordeaux sucked his cheeks in and gnawed at the flesh on their insides for a moment. Then, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he nodded. “You’re right, Lieutenant. You ready?”