by J. R. WRIGHT
Luke laid the letter aside, having decided to write Titus Oxley at the bank asking him to wire his agent in Texas with a request to add the extra cattle needed to the second drive. Surely the first herd of Longhorns was well on the way by now. He would also write Bordeaux, telling him what he had done to solve the problem.
The next letter was from Thomas Twiss. Luke opened that one slowly, anticipating the possibility of disappointing news there as well. Sure enough, within the first few lines it stated his request for a land grant had been firmly denied by Congress. However, as the letter went on, things improved somewhat. Due to Twiss and Snively’s persistent hounding, Congress did decide to allow for the sale of the one hundred and forty thousand acres at a discounted price of only fifty cents per acre. For a mere seventy thousand dollars, Luke could own the Tea Cup straight out, and be done with the uncertainty forever.
With that news he ran to find White Bird but bumped into Mary instead. “Mary, we got the ranch!” He shouted. “We got the ranch! Where’s White Bird?”
Just then White Bird came from the kitchen near covered completely in flour, “What is it, Tom?”
“We got the ranch. The government will sell it to us for fifty cents an acre!” He picked her up and whirled her around, as White Bird squealed joyfully.
“Careful!” Mary scolded.
With that, Luke set White Bird down, gave her a quick kiss, and rushed back to his office, anxious to finish the letter that had brought the great news. In it Twiss mentioned paperwork for the sale would be arriving by separate mail. Now Luke wondered if it may be the mysterious letter from a man he’d never heard of. The name on the envelope was John Peabody, with a group of confusing letters behind the name. The return address, though, was Washington D.C. Inside Luke discovered a contract naming him as purchaser, and the United States of America as seller, of up to one hundred and fifty thousand acres of land within the boundaries of the Territory of Wyoming. That, he immediately realized, was ten thousand acres more than he had requested. He wondered why, then thought of the flat grassland east of Cheyenne he thought would make a good holding pasture, for the eventual building of a stockyard, as he and Bordeaux had discussed at Christmas. If it were allowed, he would add the extra ten thousand acres there.
Reading on, it said: The actual location and dimensions of the property or properties will not be noted for deed until a survey could be completed, once purchase was made.
That sounded clear cut enough. It seemed he could choose what land he wanted. Also what was clear was the time limit for making the purchase: six months from the date enacted by Congress, which was on June 2, 1869. That left a little over five months. Luke concluded he wouldn’t take near that long to complete this deal. He wanted it done now, though, fearing someone along the way may change their mind. He then went to work penning a letter to Titus Oxley. He would have Grady leave tomorrow and deliver it directly to the bank once he got to Cheyenne. The first order of business was to sign the contract. He couldn’t overlook that little detail.
Then it dawned on him: what if something happened to Grady on the way? What if some highwaymen or drygulchers that frequently traveled the roads around Cheyenne got to Grady and the contract was lost? It may take too long to get a new one. No, the only sure way to do this was to go himself. Then he would know everything was handled properly. There was just too much at stake to do anything less.
With that thought in mind, he latched onto a set of saddlebags, shoved all the letters into them, even the one from Anne Budd, and headed out of the office. In the kitchen he relayed his plan to White Bird and Mary before heading to the barn to saddle two fast horses. His plan was to alternate between them, to make better time. Not that time was all that important. That was just his nature, and had been ever since Breanne was taken from him all those years ago. He needed to keep moving, or the memory of her haunted him of a day, as it did near every night. It was like running from a rainstorm. The worst that could happen was getting wet, but even that would prove miserable for a time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Five Years Later
Paha Sapa –July, 1874
Strange musical sounds tickled his ear, bringing him awake. Looking around the cave, the remains of the antelope feasted on just a short time earlier still sizzled over white hot coals. Bright Moon slept beside him, the children likewise, scattered about at his feet.
Rising, Chaska went to the fall, then away from the roar of it, across the ledge and onto the hillside. Now he heard it better, but still did not know the source of the music. It was soldier sounds, like he had witnessed around Fort Laramie from time to time during his visits to Cola and James Bordeaux. But why would the soldiers be here in the Paha Sapa, when the most recent treaty assured against it? The words used were, “Absolute – Undisturbed – Forever.” And, they had been undisturbed, for the most part, except for the occasional trespassers that needed scaring away.
Checking the wind now, Chaska determined the faint sounds were most likely coming from the north, the direction of his village. This frightened him. He went back into the cave to arouse the family. He had to know if his village was safe, and he preferred his wife and children be with him. They would take the high ground above the cave and perhaps, from there, spot the soldiers before the soldiers spotted them.
The younger girls were disappointed their outing had come to an end. They had planned to stay another week, at the least. Tom Too, on the other hand, was anxious to get to the source of the music. He wanted to know first-hand why the soldiers had come to their sacred land and disturbed them in such a way.
The music was echoing louder through the valley now and could readily be heard in the cave, even above the roar of the fall. Chaska had thought to go below, gather the hobbled horses, and bring them up, but it was obviously too late for that now. Instead, all six of them would now be made to run for them, as if their life depended on it. And run they did, like deer through the pines, each taking a separate route as they were taught from childhood. Even Rain, the youngest at thirteen, with her long legs, kept pace and reached her pony just as the others did.
Chaska led the way, but again they fanned out, reaching the ridge top at different locations. Tom Too wasn’t with them, however. He had gone a different way, as he almost always did, to the dismay of his father. In the past, Chaska had become angry with Blue’s self-will, but now he expected it, and tried not to be alarmed when he did something he saw as foolish.
Bright Moon, Bree, Little Moon, and Rain were told to wait in a cluster of pines as Chaska scouted ahead for the source of the music, along with the other sounds of a different nature he heard now.
And Chaska went on for miles before the valley he looked down on finally opened up onto a near treeless meadow of some size. That’s when he saw them in their entirety. The bluecoats stretched on for a mile or more, and behind them were wagons, hundreds of them, and cattle, hundreds of them, as well.
Closer up, soldiers worked at clearing a path for a road. Trees were being chopped down and sawed, underbrush likewise removed. What was the meaning of this invasion of Lakhota lands? With so many of them it appeared as though they had come to stay. The number of supply wagons, and cattle even, told him that. But to know for sure, he would need to speak to these people. Inform them they were trespassing and ask them to leave, before any more damage was done to this place they held sacred.
Looking around for Blue, Chaska spotted him aboard the raspberry roan horse his grandfather had given him, on the opposite hill, also taking in the unbelievable sight. With a whistle familiar to them both, Chaska got Tom Too’s attention and signaled him to stay put. Chaska then started his horse down the hill, toward the woodchoppers, all the while looking about for a reaction to his approach. Seeing none he rode on past them to the mounted soldiers beyond. A heavily bearded, rather fat sergeant was the first he came to.
“What are you doing here? This is Indian land!” Chaska gestured to all of the felled trees lying abo
ut. “What’s the meaning of this?” Clearly he was angry.
“We’re building a road. But I might ask you the same. What’s yourself doin’ out here?”
“I am Chaska, Chief of the Lakhota.”
“Chief?” The sergeant turned his head aside and let loose of a long string of tobacco juice. “Takes more’n buckskins to make one an Indian, where I come from. You’re just a bit pale, ain’t ya?” He turned to the other mounted soldiers nearby and laughed heartily.
“I am who I say!” Chaska shouted in anger, causing his spirited red stallion to dance about. “This destruction of our country must stop now!”
Seeing this from above was all the excuse Tom Too needed to come charging down from above. He had his rifle un-scabbarded by the time he reached the valley floor and leveled it at the soldiers. It was then a wolf hound came from nowhere and in a flying leap toppled him from his horse, causing him to fall headlong to the ground. Nearly instantly, though, Blue sprang to his feet, gathered his rifle and used it to club the snarling dog. It was an action that sent the mongrel yelping away, tail between its legs, obviously in pain.
Satisfied he had remedied a potentially dangerous situation, Tom Too continued on foot, a bit shaken and embarrassed, toward his father among the column of mounted soldiers. That is, until he heard Chaska’s voice shout in Lakhota…
“Haahoo!” (Look Out!)
With all of the agility of his nineteen years, Tom Too whirled just in time to see a strange Indian, knife in hand, lunging at him. Reactively, he jerked away, but unfortunately not in time to avoid a cut on his arm. The blade had sliced through his buckskins and blood filled the opening. But he paid no notice to that. He was more concerned with defending himself against the older, battle skilled Indian before him. Drawing his knife, then, the two of them danced in circles, awaiting the best opportunity to lunge in. That lasted only a moment before a mounted rider came between them.
“Stop that!” the slim, bearded man, dressed in civilian clothing, said. “Go away, Tamina!”
Tamina, however, had a different idea and tried desperately to get around the horse that blocked him. “Sioux must die!”
“Blue!” Chaska charged in, gave Tom Too a hand up behind him on the red stallion, and galloped a distance away before turning the horse about and drawing his rifle.
“Go!” The slim man was still trying to head off the determined Indian.
Then a rifle discharged from somewhere, and another buckskinned man, this one wearing a wide brimmed hat and a red cravat, rode to the center of the action. His sudden presence brought a halt to everything. The Indian scout lowered his knife, the slim mounted man turned his attention to the new arrival, and the mounted soldiers, who had been gamely amused by it all until now, suddenly sat tall in their saddles.
“Charlie, what’s the meaning behind this brewhaha?”
“That, General!” The slim man pointed to Chaska and Tom Too on the red stallion, a few hundred feet away.
Until now Custer had yet to see them there, and seemed to be quite shocked at the sight. “What have we here?” He had been told, before starting out on this expedition, no white man had ever set eyes on the interior of the Black Hills. At least, none that had lived to tell about it. But here, it seemed, was proof to the contrary. And he had so hoped to be one of the first to tell of its wonders.
Chaska responded, while moving closer to this man who seemed to be in charge now, “My name is Chaska. I have come to say you must leave from here. This is the land of my people, the Lakhota!”
“Has my eyesight failed me?” Custer looked about for an explanation.
“He says he’s a chief,” the rather fat sergeant said from the side. “I don’t believe him either.”
“Believe it!” Charlie Reynolds, lead scout of the four Custer had chosen for this expedition, said. The other three were Arikara Indians from a village near Fort Lincoln, three hundred miles to the north. “I have heard from other Army scouts for years, this chief here is white. I never believed it for a second, until now.”
“So, just how do you reckon that happened… Chaska?” Custer ran a gloved hand over his bearded face.
“I am of the spirit of the White Buffalo – body white, heart Lakhota,” Chaska told his favorite lie one more time.
“Well, sir, whatever you claim to be may have fooled your people, but these eyes tell a different story. Perhaps you were taken captive as a child, or something of that nature. But for sure you are not Indian, in any way, shape, or form. And that, I wouldn’t hesitate to stake my life on!”
“Some think he is the son of a white man, the Indians in these parts called Dawn, twenty years or so back,” Charlie Reynolds tossed in. “It’s said the two resemble each other.”
“And who was this Dawn?” Custer asked.
“The name is Tom Hill.”
“The same Tom Hill that got crosswise with General Harney, back in the mid-fifties?” Custer had heard the story while at West Point. It took an act of Congress to keep him from being hanged.
“The same…” Reynolds said.
“So do you know this Tom Hill, Chief Chaska?” Custer pressed.
“Tom Hill friend of old chief, Brave Fox. Brave Fox no longer live. Now Chaska chief of Lakhota.” He tried to dumb down his English to sound more believable.
“Is that your village at the north end of the hills, along the Belle Fourche River? It looked vacant when we passed by it.”
“It is. My people are taught to flee into the hills when bluecoats are spotted. They are watching us now.” Chaska pointed to hills to the north and far west, where smoke signals rose into the sky. “They tell our neighbors to the west you are here. They will not be pleased to know that, either.”
“Well, I can’t be concerned with who is and who isn’t pleased.” Custer again smoothed his shaggy, cinnamon-colored beard. “I have my orders, and by Jesus I plan to follow them to the letter. If you have any ideas on how we can more rapidly complete our mission, perhaps you should share them. Otherwise we may be in these hills for months.”
“What is it you have to know?” Chaska asked, anxious to tend to Tom Too, whose hand gripped the knife wound on his arm in order to slow the bleeding to a trickle.
“Well, sir, some would say we’re here to scout for the suitable location of a fort. But that would be misleading, so I’ll get right to it. We’re looking for gold. Show us the gold, Chief Chaska, and we’ll be off your land.”
Hearing that, Chaska’s heart sank. If word got out there was gold in these hills, there would be no keeping the white man out. They would come by the thousands, as his white father had warned of some years back. He and the tribe had gathered much of it from area streams, but surely more was there they had missed. “I know of a place where some of it may be found,” he finally said, in hopes of leading them far from the area of the hills they claimed as their own.
“Then take us to it!” Custer bellowed. “Why are we wasting daylight?”
“My son needs treatment. I must get him to his mother so his wound may be closed with the fine sinew of the rabbit. I will come tomorrow and take you to this place.”
“Tomorrow!” Custer bellowed, again. “Let my surgeon treat the boy.”
The best gold had been found at the base of the waterfall that hid the mouth of the cave. But Tom Too knew his father would never take them there. Or anywhere else where gold may be present nearby. “Father, I can manage. The wound is no longer bad. I believe it is just a scratch,” he said quietly behind his father’s back. “Let us go take these people away from here.”
“I will take them. But someone has to take word to Red Cloud at his camp near Fort Laramie. He needs to know these bluecoats are here in violation of the treaty.”
“I will go to Red Cloud, then.” Blue hopped down from the red horse and ran to gather his rifle, along with the raspberry roan horse nearby. And then, before Chaska had a chance to object further, he was gone.
“It is far,” Chaska sa
id as he passed Custer and steered the red horse due west. He could hear Custer behind him shouting orders to the others, as many civilians that had come up scrambled for their mules, burdened with mining gear.
While going over the ridge Chaska had previously descended from, without looking in the direction from where he knew Bright Moon was watching, he let loose with the Indian love cry: “Aaaaaahhhhhheeeeeaaaaa!” As it echoed through the hills he hoped from it she would know to go back to the cave, their special place, and wait there for his return.
The surprise of that alerted Custer and the others, causing them to ready their weapons and scan the hills for a possible Indian attack.
Bright Moon did get the message, and with a heavy heart turned back toward the cave, her daughters giggling from what they had heard.
“Answer him,” Bree, the oldest, urged.
“Don’t be foolish,” Bright Moon scolded. “We are in hiding. We must not show ourselves until your father returns. Is that clear?”
By the light of a partial moon, Chaska was still moving west hours after nightfall. He had taken those that followed behind over many hills, through valleys, and across many shallow streams. Finally, at daybreak, he came to a narrow but swiftly flowing clear water creek that bisected a wide, knee high grass valley. It seemed the perfect place to be rid of these invaders.
Stopping on a shallow gravel bar mid-stream, Chaska did see a glimmer of gold at the horse’s hooves, as one could find in near all the creeks in the Paha Sapa. He just hoped it would be enough to satisfy this General Custer and get him the hell out of these hills. Surely the prospectors would come, but maybe those that did could be kept out, if all the tribes united. They would certainly stand a better chance of ridding themselves of them than this massive army here now that outnumbered those in his small village three to one.