PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Marshall, Joseph, 1945–
In the footsteps of Crazy Horse / Joseph Marshall ; illustrated by Jim Yellowhawk.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-1-4197-0785-8 (hardback)
[1. Self-confidence—Fiction. 2. Crazy Horse, approximately 1842–1877—Fiction. 3. Lakota Indians—Fiction. 4. Indians of North America—Great Plains—Fiction. 5. Grandfathers—Fiction. 6. Great Plains—Fiction. 7. Great Plains—History—19th century—Fiction.] I. Yellowhawk, Jim, 1958– illustrator. II. Title.
PZ.1.M35543In 2015
[Fic]—dc23
2015002042
Text copyright © 2015 Joseph Marshall III
Jacket illustration, text illustrations, and map copyright © 2015 Jim Yellowhawk
Book design by Jessie Gang
Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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IN LOVING MEMORY OF
Connie West Marshall
1949–2013
—J.M. III
Contents
Map
CHAPTER 1
Rosebud Sioux
Indian Reservation
CHAPTER 2
Bear Butte
CHAPTER 3
The Oregon Trail
CHAPTER 4
The Bozeman Trail
CHAPTER 5
The Tongue River Valley
CHAPTER 6
Little Bighorn Battlefield
National Monument
CHAPTER 7
Fort Robinson
CHAPTER 8
The Way It Was
Author’s Note
Glossary
Bibliography
1
Rosebud Sioux
Indian Reservation
JIMMY McCLEAN WALKED AMONG THE BUFFALO BERRY thickets along the Smoking Earth River. It was a warm afternoon in late May. School was done for the week, and almost for the year. Jimmy was glad of that. He was tired of being teased for having blue eyes.
The river cut through the valley below the town of Cold River. Cold River was on the northern edge of the Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Jimmy lived with his parents in a modular house on the east side. That was okay. But it was not okay that he lived two blocks from Cold River Public School. He hated school. Corky Brin and Jesse Little Horse were two of the reasons. Maybe they were the only reasons. No, he didn’t like math, or PE, either. In PE he had to hold hands with a girl. It was a game everyone had to play. But holding hands with a girl—that was embarrassing.
Corky teased him about it, and so did Jesse. Corky was white, and Jesse was Lakota. They didn’t like each other, but they seemed to bond over teasing Jimmy.
Jimmy had blue eyes and light-brown hair. Other Lakota children had black hair, brown skin, and brown eyes. They had family names like Little Horse, Turning Bear, Bissonette, or Black Wolf. This was another reason for Corky and Jesse to tease him.
McClean was a white name. It was his other grandfather’s name, a man he had never met. Angus McClean was his dad’s dad. His mom was Anne, and her last name was High Eagle. But now she was Anne McClean. Jimmy’s dad was James McLean Sr. No one called him Jimmy. James Sr. was half Lakota and half white. His hair was dark brown and his skin was a bit lighter than most Lakota people’s, but his eyes were brown. Jimmy was James McClean Jr.
His dad’s mom was Madeline Bear, from the Pine Ridge Reservation, in the western part of the state. It all meant—as his mom explained—that three parts of Jimmy were Lakota and one part was white. That part was Scottish, to be exact.
“The problem is,” Anne McClean would say, “your three Lakota parts are all hidden inside. Your one white part is on the outside.”
Jimmy understood what she meant, but it didn’t make him feel any better. It was the main reason Corky and Jesse teased him.
“You’re just an Indian pretending to be white” was what Corky liked to say.
“Who ever heard of a Lakota with blue eyes and a name like McClean?” Jesse would say.
Jimmy’s usual reply always infuriated Jesse even more. “Malakota yelo!” he would yell. Which meant “I am Lakota” in Lakota. Jesse did not understand or speak Lakota. According to Jesse, a blue-eyed Lakota was strange. And one who spoke Lakota was even stranger.
Jimmy never fought, because he was eleven and Jesse was twelve and bigger. Corky was bigger than Jesse, so every argument with either of them was a loss, because it made Jimmy feel small and weak.
Now he found refuge, again, in the trees and thickets by the Smoking Earth River. Here the trees accepted him just the way he was, blue eyes and all. So did the grasses, and the birds, and the rabbits. Here, by the river, he was just a boy.
On Saturday morning Jimmy awoke to the sound of his grandfather Nyles’s voice. He hurried to the bathroom to splash water on his face. In the kitchen he found his parents and Grandpa Nyles having coffee and talking in English. Sometimes they spoke in Lakota, but not this morning.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” James called out to his son. “I thought you were going to snore all morning.” James was in his dark-blue uniform. He was a tribal police officer and sometimes worked on Saturdays. Today was one of those sometimes.
Jimmy let his dad rumple his hair. “Hey, Grandpa,” he said as he hugged his mom. She was a Head Start teacher and did not work on Saturdays. “What’s the haps?”
Nyles High Eagle’s brown face had deep creases. He was tall, and his hair was long and black, sprinkled with gray. He always wore it in a single braid. A wide smile beamed for his grandson. “Got some chores,” he said in a strong, soft voice. “Means riding horses, though. I know you don’t like to do that.”
“Who told you that?” Jimmy teased back. “I was born riding horses.” It was his favorite thing to do. Well, next to being with his grandpa.
“A meadowlark,” answered Grandpa Nyles. “Just yesterday one told me that. Mom and Dad say as soon as you have breakfast and get ready, we can go.”
“I’m not hungry,” Jimmy said. “I’ll be ready in a sec.”
“There’ll be breakfast waiting for you,” Anne McClean said. “Take a shower, get dressed, and take some clothes for overnight. You’re not leaving this house without breakfast.”
Jimmy nodded and hurried away to his room. There was no arguing with his mom when she used that tone of voice. Anyway, he was spending the night with Grandpa Nyles and Grandma Sarah! They lived ten miles out of town, on a small horse ranch.
Jimmy smiled ear to ear as he loped across the prairie with Grandpa Nyles. He was riding Little Warrior, a small but sturdy buckskin quarter horse. Grandpa was on Dancer, a muscular bay quarter hors
e stallion. Grandpa Nyles had a small herd of horses. There was the stallion, three mares, their colts, and two geldings for riding. Little Warrior was a gelding.
Their chore was checking Grandpa Nyles’s twelve miles of fences. Jimmy knew Grandpa Nyles hated barbed wire, but it did keep the neighbors’ cattle out of the horse pastures. So it was important to check the fences regularly, just in case there were breaks or any loose wire.
They stopped along Horse Creek, which flowed into the Smoking Earth River. Grandpa wanted to rest the horses and let them graze. Besides, it was always good to relax in the shade of some big, tall cottonwood trees. Jimmy took a long stick and poked around in the grasses before he sat down. It was a way to scare away snakes. Grandpa had taught him that.
Sitting against the trunk of a giant cottonwood tree, they listened to the creek gurgling and watched the horses munch on grass. This was the sort of thing Jimmy wanted to do the rest of his life.
“So them boys been teasing you again?” Grandpa asked suddenly.
Jimmy nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly.
“Well,” drawled Grandpa Nyles, a blade of grass between his teeth, “what’s their main problem?”
“I don’t know.” Jimmy shrugged. “They say I’m not Lakota.”
“Why? Because your skin is light and you have blue eyes?”
Jimmy shrugged again. “I guess so.”
“I think I can settle this whole issue once and for all,” declared Grandpa Nyles.
Jimmy perked up. “You going to beat them up?” He could almost see that.
“No,” Grandpa replied with a chuckle. “Don’t think we can change them boys. But we might change how you look at things.”
“What do you mean, Grandpa?”
“Well, the answer to that question is a long one. It means you and me are going on a trip, soon as school is out. Are you up for that?”
Jimmy sat up straight. This was too good to be true. “You mean, like camping?”
“Yeah, there’ll be some camping. A lot of driving. And seeing some interesting and important places.”
Jimmy could not believe his ears. He couldn’t wait!
“One more thing,” added Grandpa. “You remember the stories about Crazy Horse, don’t you?”
“Yeah. You told me he was the greatest Lakota warrior, a long time ago.”
“Did I tell you what he looked like?”
Jimmy shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well,” said his grandpa, “let me show you what he looked like. Let’s go to the creek.”
Puzzled, Jimmy followed his grandpa.
“Now,” said Grandpa Nyles, kneeling carefully at the edge of the bank. “Look into the water.”
Jimmy looked down, but all he could see was their reflections.
Grandpa pointed at Jimmy’s. “Who do you see there?” he asked.
“Me—that’s me, Grandpa.”
“Are you sure? I could swear that’s Crazy Horse when he was your age. Though his hair was probably a bit longer.”
Jimmy was still puzzled, but now he was curious, too. “For reals?”
“Yeah. My great-grandfather—your great-great-grandfather—was born in 1860. He saw Crazy Horse, as close as you are to me. He said Crazy Horse had light skin, like you, and brown hair, like you. He didn’t have blue eyes. But some boys teased him, too.”
Jimmy stared at his own reflection in the water. No way, he thought. I don’t look like Crazy Horse.
“Yeah,” sighed Grandpa, as if he had read Jimmy’s thoughts. “I could swear that’s young Crazy Horse looking at me. Of course, when he was a boy, they called him Light Hair.”
Jimmy couldn’t take his eyes off his own face looking back at him.
“Tell you what,” Grandpa Nyles continued. “Now that you have some idea what he looked like, want to go see where he lived, and played, and hunted—all that stuff?”
Jimmy looked at his grandpa and smiled.
2
Bear Butte
JIMMY HAD BEEN TO RAPID CITY MANY TIMES. SOMETIMES he went with his grandparents and sometimes with his parents. Now and then they all went together. Rapid City was a large town on the northeast edge of the Black Hills. The Black Hills were in the western part of the state. They weren’t just hills—they were the only mountains in South Dakota. Actually, they were the only mountains on the Great Plains.
Today, a week after summer vacation had started, he and Grandpa were on the top of Bear Butte. It stood northwest of Rapid City, near the town of Sturgis. The air was cool. They had climbed the winding Summit Trail to reach the top. It was called Bear Butte because from the south it looked like a bear lying on its stomach. It was sacred to the Lakota. It was a special place to pray.
The view was spectacular. To the west were the Black Hills, and to the east were the endless prairies. Jimmy and his grandpa stepped onto the wooden platform at the top. Grandpa Nyles took pictures and then offered pipe tobacco to the four directions.
He pointed southwest, toward the dark line of mountains. “Rapid Creek starts in the hills, flows east, and goes through Rapid City. Then it joins the Cheyenne River farther to the east.”
Jimmy nodded. He could not really see the creek, but he followed where his grandpa was pointing. He knew Rapid Creek had something to do with Crazy Horse.
“Crazy Horse was born somewhere along that creek,” the old man said. “Somewhere in sight of Bear Butte, according to most stories. So I thought this would be a good place to start our journey.”
“You think Crazy Horse stood up here?” Jimmy asked.
“I’m sure he did,” Grandpa Nyles replied.
They stayed for a while, taking in the scenery and the fresh air.
“Well,” said Grandpa at last. “How about we start back down? We’ve got a long way to go on this journey.”
They drove south from Rapid City and after two hours crossed the South Dakota–Nebraska border. Jimmy had driven to Nebraska before with his dad. They had gone to a town called North Platte, to look at a pickup truck. But traveling with Grandpa Nyles was different. Grandpa told stories about things they saw, like coyotes, crows, a white-tailed deer, and hawks. In a way, it was like watching TV, because he was such a good storyteller.
“A long time ago,” Grandpa said as he and Jimmy rode down the highway, “people and animals could understand each other’s languages. A person could understand what a hawk said. The hawk could understand people. But things changed. Animals and people don’t understand each other anymore. That’s sad.”
“What changed, Grandpa?”
“Oh, people began to think they were better than anything. Better than animals.”
Not long after they crossed the state line, they came to a town called Chadron. From there they continued south. It was a long drive, and eventually they came to a sign that read ASH HOLLOW STATE HISTORICAL PARK. From there they drove north a ways.
“I have a friend here,” Grandpa Nyles told Jimmy. “He’s a rancher, and he gave permission for us to camp on his land.”
Jimmy waved his hand. “Why is it so hilly, Grandpa?” he asked.
“These are the Sandhills. They go a long way to the east,” his grandfather said.
They drove across a cattle guard gate in the woven wire fence. For a few miles they followed a worn pasture trail. As Jimmy’s curiosity grew, they came to a meadow that was hidden among the low, grassy hills. There were no roads or houses anywhere. Jimmy liked the feeling of being away from everything. Just like the old, old days his grandpa talked about. No houses, no fences, no power poles. It was cool.
“Our first camp,” Grandpa Nyles announced. Jimmy eagerly jumped out of the truck.
They had the dome pop-up tent up in no time, and soon Grandpa had a small fire going in the fire pit he had dug. He already had prepared two big slabs of skillet bread—just flour mixed with water. When the skillet was hot, he cooked them. They looked like two big dark pancakes. Soup was heating in a saucepan on a metal
grate over the fire. Jimmy was wearing his face-splitting grin again. This was the good life. He even pretended the old pickup was a horse.
“Crazy Horse was here,” Grandpa Nyles declared suddenly. “Somewhere in this very area, around 1855. He was twelve or thirteen then, and still called Light Hair.”
“Did he live here?”
“No, but other Lakota people did. Our Sicangu ancestors came this far south. Light Hair’s birth mother died when he was about four. Later, his father, Crazy Horse, remarried. He had two new wives. They were sisters and Sicangu Lakota. The Sicangu people hunted in this area.”
“How could Light Hair’s dad have two wives at the same time?”
“Some men did in those days. So the two new wives went to live with their new husband and his children, Light Hair and his older sister. That was in what is now eastern Wyoming.”
Jimmy was confused. “So if Light Hair didn’t live here, then why are we here?”
“He was here visiting relatives,” Grandpa Nyles said, taking the soup off the grate.
“Was it something brave?”
“For sure. He rescued a young woman near here, so she would be safe.”
“Rescued her from what?”
Grandpa Nyles looked at the low hills around them, covered with tall grass. A slow, lazy wind was making them wave. Like they were dancing together. A look came into Grandpa’s eyes. Jimmy could not tell where he was looking. But he was definitely seeing something. It was his storytelling face.
“Well, let me tell you the way it was, why Light Hair rescued that young woman. . . .”
The way it was—1855
Light Hair and several other Lakota boys galloped their horses over hill after hill. It was exciting to feel the wind against their faces. It was a warm early-autumn day in the Moon of Leaves Turning Color. “Moon” was the Lakota word for month. The Lakota did not number the years. For other people it was 1855.
In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse Page 1