When he heard the translation, the soldier chief smiled and said, “I am happy White Bull will stay at my fort. Last night I told him, ‘Come inside my home and rest until the others return with the rest of your people.’”
Two Moon dismounted and passed his rifle off to another warrior before he stepped up to the soldier chief and the holy man. “I want to go inside this place where you will keep White Bull. I want to go inside to tell him my goodbye.”
The soldiers before the doorway parted as the Bear Coat turned and went inside. Behind him went two more soldiers, the half-breed, then White Bull and Two Moon. Old Wool Woman was the last to step into the shadows of the log lodge.
When he had turned and leaned back against the big wooden box covered with papers, the soldier chief said, “I will do no harm to this man you are leaving with me. I want to enlist him now as a scout for my soldiers.”
Two Moon repeated, “A scout for you?”
“I have learned there are some Indians who will not go in to their agency,” the Bear Coat explained. “They are Indians who will not come in to surrender to me. I must go find them. They must go to their agency or I will have to fight them.”
Nodding, Two Moon said, “We know there are bands of warriors who will not agree to come in.”
“I need a man like White Bull to lead me to these warrior bands,” the soldier chief explained.
“You want me to be your scout to find these Indians?” White Bull asked.
“I will pay you to be my scout, White Bull. You will have a horse and a rifle. I will feed you and give you a soldier uniform to wear since you will be leading my army.”
For a moment the holy man considered it, then said, “Once I was a warrior all the time. Now I am a priest of my people. But if you want me to be a scout for you, I will scout for the Bear Coat.”
When the translation had been made, the soldier chief smiled and pounded his hand on White Bull’s shoulder. “This is good news! Welcome, White Bull!”
Still, Two Moon appeared grave. “You must remember that I do not wish to have White Bull killed or hanged while he stays with you. He should die like a warrior in battle. He is a good man and is my friend. I would rather see him shot than hanged, so his soul can be free in death.”
“I would not kill my new scout, White Bull,” the soldier chief exclaimed in dismay at the translation. “He is my friend and is going to help me find the Indians who do not understand that the fighting must end.”
“This will be good I think, Bear Coat,” Two Moon said. “When we return, we will march our village right through the middle of your soldier post and camp on the bottom-ground above it.”
“My soldiers will help you all that we can,” the Bear Coat promised. “I know the people in your village must be very hungry.
“It has been a hard, hard winter for the children and the old ones.”
The Bear Coat continued, “If you and the other chiefs will return to your tents for awhile, I will have my soldiers bring you food to live on while you ride back to your village. And a little food to take back to your people. This is my gift to show you that I mean to help your people. That I do not want to punish them anymore.”
Chapter 19
Cannanpopa Wi
1877
Lame Deer knew he would have to ration this last of his agency tobacco. What little remained would have to last him until they had a chance to trade, or until he found some stuffed in the pockets of a white wagon driver or one of those yellow-rock diggers they might happen to come across.
More than at any other time, he always liked smoking here as the fire burned low and the camp fell quiet. Everyone but him was asleep now.
It hadn’t been all that long since half-a-hundred lodges of his Mnikowoju had followed Crazy Horse away from the great hunting camp of Lakota and Shahiyela in the Greasy Grass country. South by east, the great village had been traveling toward the Powder River country, long a favorite of Crazy Horse. Every day meant looking for game, along with sending out the young men to search for sign of the soldiers everyone knew were roaming. With so many people, the big village made short, daily marches, stopping early to camp before the winter sun fell.
Eventually the Lakota camps began to talk of going their own way as well. The hunters had to range farther every day to find enough game for all the hungry bellies. And to find enough buffalo. For the first time in the memory of any of the old men, there wasn’t enough buffalo meat to dry, not enough hides to make all the shelters and sleeping robes they required.
More and more each day, Crazy Horse had become like a man confused, truly the Oglallas’ strange one. Increasingly he spent his time away from the camps, going alone to the hills. Where, no one knew. To do what, Lame Deer could only guess. The man’s leadership was needed now more than ever. But Crazy Horse was rarely seen in camp.
At this crucial time, Lame Deer believed the Lakota needed a leader who would not flee to the north like Sitting Bull was doing. The Titunwan needed a fighting man to lead them, not someone who rode off alone into the hills to talk to the trees and stones and clouds above. The Lakota needed a man to stand at the center of his people, gather them to him, and stare the wasicu soldiers in the eye.
“No more will we run from the white man,” Lame Deer had vowed when the camp leaders spoke of splitting apart. “Those who will stay in our country to fight the soldiers should lock themselves together like the fingers on our hands intertwine to make one all-powerful fist.”
Brushing his fingers along the well-rubbed stem of his pipe, here in the red glow of his low fire, Lame Deer thought of the stories of how Wakan Tanka brought the Sacred Pipe down to earth and presented that sacred gift to its First Keeper, Buffalo Standing Upright. To smoke was a spiritual act. Cannunpa iha wacekiya. His people prayed with the pipe.
Many nights when the village fell quiet and the wind moaned outside the lodges, Lame Deer stuffed a little of his precious tobacco and bark mixture within his pipebowl and smoked it slowly, thoughtfully. Winter was indeed a time of thought for a considerate man who weighed all things very carefully.
At first he had wanted to know why the old ways were disappearing. Gone were those easy days when the Lakota wandered and hunted, coupled and celebrated, the days when they raided other tribes and the few white men who ventured through their country. No more were there any easy days. And the decisions came harder.
Sitting Bull had brought ammunition and announced he was taking all of his people north into the Land of the Grandmother. No one disputed his right to go there, but neither did anyone say what Lame Deer himself wanted to shout.
“Don’t you realize that if you flee with your Hunkpapa across the Medicine Line that we will never again unite in numbers strong enough to crush the wasicu? Don’t you realize that you are abandoning the rest of us to the white man?”
But at least the rest of the Lakota who had stayed on with Crazy Horse could count on the Shahiyela to stand beside them against the white man. Twice the Shahiyela had limped into their camps after the soldiers had attacked. Twice the Crazy Horse people had sheltered and fed their old friends. So despite the fact that the Hunkpapa were abandoning the struggle for the Land of the Grandmother, there were still plenty of Indians willing to fight on.
As winter continued to batter the north country, Crazy Horse and He Dog, Heart Ghost and Lame Deer, along with the many other war chiefs, decided that the combined village was too large. Too many hunters and too few buffalo, not to mention no elk and no antelope. And the women and children were forced to range far to scare up enough firewood. It was better that the chiefs had decided to part company with the Shahiyela for the remainder of the cold time.
From that big hunting camp on the Greasy Grass, Crazy Horse led his people toward his favorite country in the valley of the Powder River. There they would be sheltered, and the snows would not be near so deep. Nor would the cold bite all the way to the bone as it did farther north.
His ears caught the so
und of distant voices outside his lodge, and he wondered who might be up this late, unless it was an old man who had to leave his lodge several times a night to relieve himself.
But these were young voices, two of them at least.
Lame Deer set his pipe down on the altar he had made with two forked sticks by the low fire, snatched up his blanket, and ducked out the doorway.
The dim moonshine reflected off the bluish snow, making the lodges dark tripods against the steel-gray sky as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He heard the voices again, finding the three men with his ears more than his eyes.
“Lame Deer!” one of the trio turned and called out as the three heard the chief’s moccasins crunch and whine across the icy snow.
It was his nephew, Iron Star. But Lame Deer did not recognize the other two who stood clutching the reins to their ponies, heaving with exhaustion, their heads hung low as they shivered in the cold.
“Visitors?” he asked, sensing no alarm from his nephew.
“Shahiyela,” Iron Star announced.
“We come from our camp nearby,” one of the men began, speaking his unaccustomed Lakota slowly.
“I am concerned that you have come here so late,” Lame Deer commented.
“We saw the smoke from your fires near sunset,” the first man explained. “We were still a long way off, but the thought of reaching your village tonight appealed to us much more than a night of curling up beneath a cedar tree. We pushed our ponies hard—”
“You bring us bad news?” Lame Deer asked.
Iron Star turned to him and explained, “They say they come to tell us the Shahiyela are breaking apart.”
“You mean the big camp of the Northern People is splitting up because the hunting is so poor?”
“No,” said the second visitor who only now spoke up. “We bring news that our Council Chiefs and the chiefs of our warrior societies cannot decide on one path to take—to continue the war, or to make peace with the white man.”
“Make peace?” Lame Deer echoed in disbelief. “Don’t you realize the soldiers will not follow us any more this winter? We fought them again and got away. They have scurried back to their burrows like gophers and prairie dogs. We will not have to worry about them until the grass is green.”
“The old woman, and the Bear Coat’s messenger—”
“Big Leggings,” Lame Deer snarled, remembering the half-breed Sitting Bull had taken in out of the softness of his heart. That act of treachery reminded a man of what to expect when dealing with a white man. Even a half-white man. “This Big Leggings … he brings empty promises from the Bear Coat. That’s why Crazy Horse and the last of our war-chiefs are not going north or south.”
“But the soldier chief convinced many of our people to go to his fort on the Elk River,” the second Shahiyela explained. “Still, like us, many more of our people are following Little Wolf and Morning Star in turning our backs on the Bear Coat’s words.”
Lame Deer sneered, “So where are Little Wolf and Morning Star now?”
“They are moving south,” the first man answered. “They sent us to bring word to the Crazy Horse people, asking that we all travel through the rest of the winter together, safe from the wandering soldiers, so that we won’t have to surrender our ponies and guns to the Bear Coat.”
“But Little Wolf and Morning Star are taking your people to the White River Agency. Don’t they remember what happened to Red Cloud? Three Finger Kenzie forced Red Cloud and the Lakota leaders to give up their ponies and weapons last fall!” Lame Deer scolded. “The White River Agency is no place to be safe. Little Wolf and Morning Star are making a mistake.”
The second Shahiyela drew his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the despair. “What will the Lakota in your camp do, if not go in to Red Cloud’s agency?”
Lame Deer snorted, “We have no intention of going to an agency. We have always hunted and raided, and we will go on doing the same this spring, in spite of the soldiers they may send against us. We will fight them all. Some we will kill.”
“What of those you cannot kill?”
“We cannot kill all of the wasicu at once,” Lame Deer declared, “so we will flee with our villages and fight another day.”
“There are too many—”
“Just as there are many coulees and ridges for my people to hide behind,” Lame Deer interrupted, scoffing. “And there are many trees. The soldiers cannot look behind every one. Besides, the wasicu won’t be out looking for us—not with Old Crow giving up on the Tongue River, and with Little Wolf and Morning Star sneaking onto Red Cloud’s Agency. Don’t you see? We are very safe! No soldiers will come looking for us with everyone else surrendering!”
The weary visitors glanced at one another. “We are tired now. Tired of fighting, tired of running. Tired from our journey.”
In looking at their faces, Lame Deer could see more than fatigue and bone-numbing cold written there. All around him the warrior bands were giving up and going in. He sighed, “My nephew will find you something to eat, and a warm place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow you can tell the rest of our leaders this sad news you bring of the Shahiyela splintering both north and south.”
“We thank you for your hospitality,” the second man said quietly.
“You will always be welcome in my camp of Mnikowoju,” Lame Deer said to cheer them. “When your chiefs have all given up, when your leaders have all gone in to surrender to the Bear Coat or at White River, then you must bring all your warriors to the camp of Lame Deer. Fighting men are always welcome here … for fighting men my people will always be!”
* * *
Two Moon and the others did as the Bear Coat asked of them. They went back to their tents and waited out the morning around the fire they rekindled.
But White Bull remained behind at the log lodge because the soldier chief wanted him to stay.
After Two Moon and the others started back to the tent camp, the soldier chief turned to the holy man and said, “Now, White Bull, I want to make you my scout.”
“How do you do this—making a scout?”
“I am sure your people have ceremonies when a man becomes a warrior,” the Bear Coat explained. “We have a ceremony when a man becomes a soldier, our warrior. But, I have a special ceremony to perform when a man becomes a scout.”
“I will do this ceremony with you,” White Bull replied. “Is there a bravery test for me to complete?”
When the holy man’s words were translated, the soldier chief grinned. “No. I already know you are a very brave man. Two Moon said you volunteered to stay here with me when no one else would. Such a brave man I want for my scout, White Bull.” Then the Bear Coat turned to one of the other soldiers. “Captain Ewers, I want you to run over to the quartermaster’s cabin and get me a uniform.”
“A uniform, General?”
“Britches and blouse. For White Bull, my new scout.”
Later after they finished a cup of coffee, Ewers returned with a pair of pants and a long, dark-blue shirt hanging over one arm of his buffalo coat.
Laying these clothes atop a pile of papers with tiny marks scratched on them, the soldier chief asked Big Leggings to have White Bull stand. Then the Bear Coat said, “Have White Bull raise his right hand.”
“Why do I raise my hand to you?”
“You are making a very solemn promise before your Creator.”
“All right,” White Bull answered. “I take this vow on my life as a holy man of the Ohmeseheso, here before the eyes of Ma-heo-o, the Everywhere Spirit.”
When he had raised his arm, the Bear Coat held up his own right hand and said, “Bruguier, tell him to repeat his name for me.
When White Bull had complied, the soldier chief continued:
I have volunteered this day at the soldier fort on Elk River …
To serve as an Indian scout for the white soldier army …
After each phrase, the holy man repeated what came through the double-translations made
by Big Leggings and Old Wool Woman.
I will accept a horse, weapons, and food in return for my service …
I will serve against the enemy I am asked to fight under the rules of war …
At last the soldier chief finally lowered his right arm and held it out, shaking hands with White Bull. “Congratulations! Tell him how happy he has made me, Bruguier. He is now one of my loyal scouts!”
Midday came and went, but still the soldiers hadn’t delivered the promised food to Two Moon and the rest at their tent camp. Near midafternoon, just when White Bull was sure the warriors must be growing very anxious from all the delay, the Bear Coat finally asked his newest scout to accompany him to the visitors’ camp. Behind the two of them walked a line of soldiers carrying heavy sacks over their shoulders.
At the Bear Coat’s order, those sacks were dropped at the feet of the Ohmeseheso and Lakota warriors. Some of White Bull’s friends knelt, untied the coarse twine, and peered inside the bags. With no little excitement they pulled out packages of crackers, and wrappers containing some of the white man’s meat.
Stepping up to Two Moon, the soldier chief suggested, “Since it is so late now, I think you and your men should wait until tomorrow morning to begin your journey back to the village. You can start early, after a good breakfast.”
“Yes, we will go in the morning.” Two Moon nodded, then smiled as he turned to study the holy man’s new clothes. “You look good in the soldier’s uniform, White Bull. What does this mean?”
“I am a wolf for the Bear Coat now.”
Sleeping Rabbit asked, “You are going to scout for the soldier chief?”
“If the Bear Coat trusts me to be his wolf, then I can trust him to do what is fair for my people.”
White Thunder stepped up, rolling the fabric of the jacket between a thumb and forefinger with admiration. “If I become a wolf for the Bear Coat, he will give me a soldier uniform like this one?”
White Bull smoothed his hands down the front of this long, dark-blue blouse of heavy wool, his fingers brushing the row of shiny brass buttons. Pulling up the bottom of the blouse he tugged his breechclout aside to show his friends the alteration he had made in the soldier britches: removing the seat and crotch so that they more resembled a warrior’s leggings.
Ashes of Heaven Page 18