by J. R. WRIGHT
Coming to the steep incline that skirted the bluff, the horse did not hesitate, but rather plowed in with lunging leaps that eventually brought the two of them to the top. Whirling the stallion around, then, Luke got his first view of what was happening below. From where he sat, it was close to three miles to the closest action across the river. Indians were circling a cluster of trees near the Hunkpapa village, but little could be seen because of all the dust kicked up by horses and the smoke from rifle fire.
Pulling the glass from his saddle bag, Luke stretched it full length and looked again. Still he could not make out what exactly was happening in the trees. Having a feeling all the soldiers were not there, he panned the glass to the right and spotted a detachment of a dozen or so bluecoats approaching the river near the Cheyenne village, upstream. And on the hills far back of them, two miles distant, were more. Upon closer look, Luke noticed one of those on horseback strung out across the ridge was dressed in buckskins and wore a broad hat. No doubt that was Custer playing it safe up there, far from the devastation occurring below.
Luke wondered what Custer thought of the size of the encampment now. Now that he could see it in its entirety?
It wasn’t long before warriors began crossing the river upstream, forcing the small detachment to return toward Custer’s ranks in a hurry. At this point the villages were a beehive of activity. More and more warriors were gathering their weapons and their horses, and crossing the river. Presently it seemed Custer’s location was the focus of their attention.
The other group of soldiers in the trees could be seen now making a run for it back across the river, in the direction from which they came. And it appeared that the warriors that had once circled were letting them retreat. For the life of him, Luke couldn’t understand what that was about, but it was a joy to see. Custer, however, wasn’t faring so well. Warriors continued to cross the river in droves, while others had already made it to the hills where his soldiers took shelter behind the crest and fired down on them.
This went on for half an hour or more with few noticeable casualties on either side. But by all appearances, that was going to change soon. A large group of warriors had made their way far upriver unnoticed and were now circling high into the hills. There was no doubt in Luke’s mind what they had planned. If they could eventually flank Custer’s troops, catching them in a crossfire, then it was all over. As busy as the soldiers were at defending their position, it was unlikely any of them noticed.
If Luke could make it to them before the flanking warriors did, there was a good chance Custer could get to higher ground. Without further delay, he kicked the red stallion into action. If the man would have listened to him, all of this wouldn’t be necessary. His shoulder had begun to pain him again, but even that wouldn’t stop him now that he had made up his mind.
Circling wide to the rear of the hill out of sight of the roving warriors to the front, the stallion galloped across hillsides and jumped narrow ravines, Luke’s sandy hair flagging in the wake. Minutes later he caught sight of Custer still mounted and among some soldiers who held the horses, while most of the two hundred or so others were on their bellies, fanned out across the crests of two adjacent hills.
Coming to an abrupt halt beside him, an action that near caused Custer to leap out of the saddle, Luke shouted to be heard above the constant gunfire: “You’re about to be flanked from the north, General!” Luke tossed his right arm in that direction. “Best get your men up there!” He swung the arm to a higher hill a mile further up.
With that, Custer signaled his bugler to sound retreat. Soon thereafter final shots were taken, then everyone scrambled for a horse. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Hill!”
“I won’t be, for long!” Luke returned. “Maybe you ought to follow my lead and hightail it as well?”
“And miss this? Don’t be a damn fool!” Custer laughed. “I’ve waited for this moment of glory my entire life! I’m not about to run from it now, Mister Hill!”
Then, without waiting for a response, Custer charged off, leading the way to higher ground. Luke watched him go, gallantly waving a gloved hand, standing tall in the saddle as he went. Luke then reined the horse over to leave. As much as he thought the man suicidal in continuing this fight, he couldn’t help but wish him luck.
Seeing Indians cresting the hill in the absence of Custer’s troops, Luke kicked the stallion to a gallop and headed out the same way he had traveled to get here.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Luke knew, with the Indians riled the way they were, there would be no way he could get to the village in search of Chaska and his family. But since Custer’s troops had had no luck in penetrating any of the villages, he figured they were in little danger now. If in fact they were there at all? He still didn’t know that for sure. Traveling east now, he hoped to catch up to Captain Benteen to give him a heads up as to what was taking place here.
But as it were, none of that was going to happen. Dead ahead coming up a ravine was a Cheyenne war party of forty or more. A quick look to his left produced another sighting of a hundred warriors coming over the hills in the near distance. Of course, to the right were the villages. Even though the grassy hills blocked his view in that direction, he knew what was there. This left only one alternative, and the stallion, seeing what he saw, made the decision for the both of them. Reversing near on a dime, the two of them were soon in hot pursuit of Custer and his troops, well into their frantic dash for the high hill.
What in hell had he gotten himself into this time, he wondered? Ahead he came upon more yelping warriors in pursuit of Custer, and without a choice in the matter, the horse charged among them. Drawing the Winchester instinctively, he used it to club two of them from their horses as he passed.
Then an arrow struck him in the same shoulder as before. It came as no surprise. Neither did the next, an instant later. This one to the middle of his back. But it was the bullet that grazed his head that caused him to slump in the saddle.
The stallion, running full out, got to the hill where Custer was ordering his troops to shoot their horses for the purpose of using them as breastworks, but he did not slow. Galloping past, as men and horses scrambled to clear a path, the horse, in an arching pattern, began its descent. He was heading directly toward the Indian encampment now. And it wasn’t until they reached the valley floor that it slowed some.
Then, at the river’s edge, completely winded, the stallion eased to a stop as other horses, decorated for war, crossed from the opposite side at the shallow place. A painted rider on one of them came close and yanked the arrows from Luke’s back. In anger, he tossed them to the ground. With shame in his heart, then, he slowly moved on. Crazy Horse was in no hurry now. With the soldiers pinned down in several locations, it was just a matter of riding in for the kill now.
Once all the many horses had passed, the great red stallion took his turn and walked knee deep to the center where it stopped again, this time to drink. It was there his trusted master of many years loosed his grasp on the saddle and ever so slowly fell into the water.
At that moment, Tom Too, who had lost his zeal for the killing of white men, happened upon his horse and saw his grandfather tumble into the river.
Blue had seen him earlier on the hill to the east. Then, using the glass Luke had given him years before, he confirmed to Chaska it was indeed his father that sat the red horse there. They had both expected him to come and took satisfaction in the fact that they were not wrong. But wasn’t he always about somewhere when danger came their way?
Before Tom Too could get to his grandfather, no less than a dozen women entered the water on a run and were already dragging him up on dry land once he arrived.
“Grandfather…” Tom Too shouted, leaped off the strawberry Appaloosa, and fell to Luke’s side. “Grandfather…” He clutched at the buckskin covered chest and shook the big man, hoping to see him awaken from the sleep he was in.
Others came and glared down on this bigger than
life person who had been their friend for so long, and tears appeared in many eyes of the older ones. Even Sitting Bull, who was nearby watching the battle upon the far hill, came up. He had never met this one they called Dawn, but had heard of him – everyone had. No doubt he was a legend among the Siouan peoples of the plains, and would be remembered, as he hoped for himself someday. Being remembered after death was what life was all about, for him.
Little Thunder’s daughter, Shunkaha (Wolf), came up then. She had stitched this Tom Hill once before many years ago and wondered now where the wounds were that had killed him. Other than the drying blood on his head, she saw nothing. Taking the liberty, she pushed people aside, knelt, and rolled the body over. There she saw two places of blood, but neither still bled. Swiftly she cut away parts of the buckskin shirt. The one wound already had a white man’s bandage on it from a previous injury, though it appeared to have a second close by it. The other was a deep gash that needed closing, as may the one under the bandage. From a pocket she withdrew her treasured hooked needle, already threaded with a length of sinew. But before it could be used, these wounds would need to be cleaned. Then, leaning in, she extended her tongue and began to lick away the dirt, cleansing the largest wound first.
“Why are you doing this?” Tom Too protested.
“There is life in this body!” Shunkaha shouted back in the Oglala tongue, angry that this boy had questioned her as a healer of the sick and injured. “My fingers detect it. Remove a boot and tickle the toes if you doubt what I say.”
With renewed hope in his heart, Tom Too proceeded to do just that. Once the boot was off, he selected a seedy stem of green grass and began dragging it over the back side of the toes. At first nothing happened, so he did it again. Then, as if a miracle had happened, the toes began to move. He did it some more, and they jiggled again. This time, finally convinced his beloved grandfather lived, he began to laugh. “He lives! My grandfather lives!”
He’d shouted so loud it alerted Chaska and Bright Moon, busy at taking down the tepee a hundred yards away, but with no clear view of the river. Minutes later they arrived on a run, having no idea what had brought their son to make such words in English.
Seeing his father face down in the grass, Chaska thought he was dead. Mournfully he asked, “Who did this?”
Bright Moon began to bawl Indian death sounds.
“No Mama, Grandfather lives! Watch!” Blue gleefully began tickling the toes again.
“Stop that!” Chaska ordered. He had seen animals reflex to touch long after life had left them. A downed deer, for instance, if poked, could break bones with a belated kick after obvious death. “Put the boot back on!”
Undaunted in her belief, Shunkaha finished her stitching, rearranged the shirt, and rolled Luke back over. She then pulled a mature grass shoot of her own and delicately fed the seeded end into one of Luke’s nostrils. This near instantly produced a sneeze. “Dead people don’t sneeze,” she said with a satisfied look on her face. “He will awake soon,” she said, then gathered up her things, pushed through the surrounding crowd, and left the area. With the war raging all around, her services would be needed again soon, she was confident.
And as Shunkaha said he would, Luke awoke a short time later. Finding himself gazing into the eyes of his son, he said, “Your mother has come. She anxiously awaits us at the Tea Cup.”
This brought a smile to all their faces.
“We should go, then,” Chaska said.
Near nightfall, with the tepee that had once belonged to Taloma left behind, along with most of their other things, they got underway. Luke, wrapped in the family’s finest buffalo robe, rode a travois pulled behind the red stallion. The horse didn’t seem to mind, even though this duty was strange to him. He, as well as his master, just felt lucky to be alive. And that alone made it tolerable.
Custer and his men hadn’t fared so well, it was reported later in the day, once everything had become quiet on the hill. There was little celebration, though, as most of the villages spent this time preparing to break camp. By the end of the following day, they would all be gone as well – that sorrowful place left to the ghosts of history.
Out of sight of all that, Little Moon and Rain, happy to be going to the Tea Cup for good, began to sing cheerful Indian songs, and did so far into the night. Along the way Luke felt the pain returning and dug into the saddlebags by his side for the extra bottle of Laudanum. Finding it there was relief enough for him now, and he allowed the singing to lull him instead.
It was hard for him to believe that after thirty-seven years, his family would finally be together for the very first time. This thought alone, he decided, would be worth the misery suffered from the jarring travois over the next several days.
It had already been discussed with Chaska and Bright Moon, a brief stop would be made at Bordeaux’s store to pick up Tana Star. She would need to be made a part of this celebration too, they all agreed.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER
July 4th, 1890
On July fourth, 1890, the celebration had already begun in anticipation of Wyoming becoming the forty-fourth state to be admitted to the union. The actual signing would not occur until Congress reconvened after the holiday, but for those in Cheyenne on this day, it was as good as done. Red, white, and blue banners waved from everywhere, bands marched and played, and the streets were filled with most all of the soon to be new state’s populace, plus thousands who came to witness and report on the momentous occasion.
Even a few free spirited Indians, mostly Shoshoni, dressed in native costume, appeared before the wide eyes of some newly arrived easterners who probably had never seen one before, unless they had visited Bill Cody’s Wild West Show somewhere east of the Mississippi.
There was double reason for celebrating in Cheyenne this day. Cheyenne, even though shoved down in the southwestern corner, would be the new state’s capital city.
This pleased none more than the influential cattle barons of the area, who membered the famed Cheyenne Cattleman’s Club. Its plush billiard room, restaurant, and parlor sang with chatter, cheers, back slaps, and laughter this day as hundreds lined the bar and sat up at the tables.
One of the tables was approached by an eastern reporter, one of many admitted for the day. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but would one of you go by the name Tom Hill? I’ve been asking about town, and a person named Oxley at the bank up the street said I may find him here.”
“That depends on who’s asking?” Luke turned up to eye the neatly dressed man more closely.
“The name is Adrian Cooper. My grandfather was William Cooper.”
“Captain Bill Cooper?” Luke put pressure on the table and stood to tower over the younger man.
“So you’re Tom Hill?”
Now that he had spoken, how could he deny it? “I am.”
“Then do you recognize the name Luke McKinney?”
What had he gotten himself into? Of course Captain Cooper would have known him by that name. As well as Tom Hill. The sincerity in the young man eyes told him he meant no harm by asking it. “I do.”
“Excuse me for asking that, but I had to know for sure,” Cooper said, putting out a hand. “My grandfather spoke of you often when I was a boy. He’s dead now, but you were his hero for the remainder of his life, Mister Hill.” Cooper then looked around at the other faces at the table, hoping he hadn’t given too much away.
“Thank you.” Luke took the hand for a firm shake. “Your grandfather most likely saved my life. Did he tell you that?”
“He may have mentioned it.” Adrian Cooper smiled, taking pleasure in the fact he and Tom Hill, as he called himself now, were most likely the only two within earshot who knew what they were talking about. “There’s one thing that always ate at him, though.”
“What’s that?” Luke was interested to know.
“That woman you married at the wood station. I believe he called her Breanne. Did you ever…?�
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“Find her? I did.”
“I think my grandfather was of the notion she was dead. Killed by Indians.”
“That’s what I thought for many years. But as it turned out, she wasn’t.”
“Mister Hill, I’d very much like to hear that story, but perhaps this isn’t the best place to tell it. Can I meet with you in private while I’m in town, covering the statehood celebration?”
Luke saw a bit of Bill Cooper in the man now, same stature and quick smile, but shy of the white hair. Adrian’s was much darker. “You can find me at the Prairie Princess Hotel.”
“Then I’ll go there later today. But before I do, I think it only fair to tell you I’m a reporter for the New York Times…”
“I gathered that. But tell me, Mister Cooper, do reporters print everything they hear?”
“Not at all. In fact, I was about to assure you this is purely personal. I have children, and they like to hear the old stories, especially where it concerns their great-grandfather. When I pass on tales of his riverboat days, it excites them immensely.”
“Well, then maybe they would be interested in this.” Luke pulled a brass compass from his pocket. “It was your grandfather’s. You’ll see his name is inscribed inside. He gave it to me as a wedding gift in 1849, and it hasn’t left my person since.” He handed it over.
“Oh, thank you, sir.” Cooper opened the device and looked it over proudly. Even though showing some scratches and being well worn, it still functioned. “But won’t you be in need of one now? I’d be happy to buy a replacement.”
“No, thanks. Compasses aren’t of much use to me anymore, with roads everywhere a person needs to go. I just carry it by habit, and for old time’s sake, I guess.”
“Well, then I don’t know how to thank you. This is truly a treasure.” Cooper folded it into his hands as if afraid someone may snatch it away.