The Coming

by David Osborne

  The wagon-gun had begun to fire again this morning. Every time it boomed, dogs yelped and women and children screamed—like sharp fingers ripping into his ears. He just wanted to close his eyes and die.

  White Bird wanted to escape in the night. People had been drifting out of camp every night, easily making it through the soldiers’ lines. The Soyappos needed their sleep, he said, and it would be easy to creep up on a few sleeping guards, slit their throats, and take all the people through the gap in their lines. With the rain and snow, sounds were muffled and visibility was limited. Without enough horses, they could not make it to the Old Woman’s Country in one night. But it was better to die trying than to sit here and starve in their freezing, snow-filled hovels. The warriors had not eaten in four days.

  He was right, Smoke decided. He sat up, looked over at Widow Bird. “I want you to take Little Fire and Yellow Hair and escape with White Bird,” he said.

  Yellow Hair sat up, tears in her eyes: “What will you do?”

  He reached out for her, took her hand. “I will stay here and die fighting.”

  “Do you think we can walk far enough to escape soldiers on horseback?” Widow Bird asked.

  Another shell exploded. Women screamed, the earth shook, and dirt fell from the roof of their shelter pit.

  “You might find some of our horses on the prairie. It is better to try than to sit here suffering.”

  He glanced up at the bluff to the east, where Red Bear and other warriors lay in rifle pits. They had seen something; they were pointing north. Looking Glass walked toward them, out of the ravine, across a level piece of land and up the bluff.

  “A Sioux rider!” Smoke heard. He stepped out of the shelter and peered north, through the falling snow. He saw Looking Glass rise out of a rifle pit, gazing north, heard the sharp crack of a rifle and watched with horror as he pitched backward.

  Looking Glass’s wives raced toward him, wailing. Smoke hobbled up the slope of the ravine and stared north. The rider was alone, on a dark horse. Smoke strained to see if there were others beyond him, but the snow made it hard. He watched as the rider moved steadily south, toward the camp, then descended from the bluffs, toward the creek. He disappeared behind a point of rocks that overlooked the creek, and Smoke heard shots. Suddenly the horse appeared from behind the point of rocks, galloping straight at them. Its rider was hanging from its side. When he reached the ravine he pulled himself back up on the horse and reined in. It was Grizzly Bear Boy, who had escaped the morning they had been attacked.

  The gun boomed again, and the long whistle of the shell descending triggered more screams. It exploded so close that Smoke was thrown on his face, earth showering him. He could hear nothing, but people were moving now, and he lifted himself up, watched as women grabbed their camas hooks and frying pans and frantically began to dig at what had only a moment before been his shelter. It was caved in, earth covering his wife, Little Fire, and Yellow Hair. Everything was silent, as if time and sound had stopped. Unsteadily, he pulled himself to his feet. His soldier’s rifle lay near him; he pulled the shovel bayonet off it and limped to the collapsed pit, began to dig with the others.

  His hearing came back, and with it his mind, and suddenly he was digging frantically, in a panic.

  Someone shouted; they had found something. The women all dug there until they had uncovered hands, arms, and a head full of golden hair; they pulled his granddaughter out, still alive.

  Tears streamed down Smoke’s face as he dug. He hit something—a leg! He called out for help, and three women moved quickly to his side. Together they unearthed Little Fire, who gasped for air as they dragged her out of the hole.

  The last body was lifeless. Smoke shook his wife, as if he could force the life back into her. He pressed on her chest, tried to force her lungs to work. Then he took a large breath and blew it into her mouth, covering her nose, over and over. But she remained limp. Do not let this be real, he said to himself, over and over; let it be a nightmare. Finally he just held her body and wailed.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  October 1877

  “Colonel! Riders! To the south!”

  Miles stood up and stared at the horizon. It was dusk, and the visibility was not good. Was it Howard? Or Sitting Bull?

  “They’re army!” a voice called, and a cheer went up from the men.

  “Saddle our horses,” Miles said to Lieutenant Long.

  He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or angry. It meant relief for his men and increased protection should Sitting Bull attack. But it also meant that Howard, arriving on the fifth day, would take command and earn credit for Miles’s victory. He and Long rode out through the snow to meet the general in silence. To add salt to the wound, Howard had only 20 men with him—hardly enough to break the stalemate. He extended his left hand and gave a hearty shake, a smile on his face: “Colonel Miles! I was worried you might have met Custer’s fate! Why didn’t you let me know?”

  Miles did not return the general’s warmth: “It never occurred to me you might entertain such a possibility. I have the Indians corralled down yonder, in the direction of the firing.”

  “Well, let’s go take a look before it’s too dark.”

  They rode to the top of the bluff and stood gazing down through the fading light into the bowl, surrounded on three sides by snow-covered bluffs. Miles pointed out his men’s positions, the position of the Napoleon gun, far to the west, and then pointed to the ravine where the Nez Perce had dug in: “There are your hostiles.”

  Howard stared into the gloom. “Congratulations, Colonel. You have done what none of the rest of us could manage.”

  Miles nodded but still did not smile; he could not help but feel bitterness toward his old commander, who would steal his victory. “They have fought with more determination and skill than any Indians I have ever encountered.”

  “Yes,” Howard said quietly. “I know.”

  They rode back to headquarters in silence. When they dismounted, Miles led the general to the fire and beckoned him to take one of the camp stools. “Warm yourself up, General. Coffee will be here shortly.” He turned to Long: “Lieutenant, please tell the cooks to prepare something special for the general and his men tonight.”

  Miles gestured to the rest of the camp stools, said to the general’s aides: “Please, gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable.” Miles himself remained standing.

  Howard accepted the tin cup Lieutenant Long handed him and gazed down into it for a moment. Then he looked up and spoke in a quiet voice: “I did not come to rob you of any credit, Colonel. I know you’re after a star, and you deserve one. I have no desire to assume immediate command of the field. I will stand back and let you receive the surrender. I’m sure it will come tomorrow.”

  Miles felt embarrassed, but the words came as an enormous relief. Finally he nodded, said, “That is very gracious of you, sir.”

  “I’ve got two Nez Perce scouts with me. Both of them have daughters with the hostiles. We’ll send them in tomorrow to talk with Joseph.”

  “He can’t hold out much longer.”

  Lieutenant Wood followed Howard to the creek to wash up for supper. “A word, General?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  Wood looked uncomfortable. “Sir, we’ve been after these Indians for three and a half months. Are you really going to give all the credit to a man who’s been part of this war for two weeks? We’ve chased them seventeen hundred miles.”

  “What are you worried about, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir, you know his reputation. The world will never know you were even here. You’ve taken all the bad press; he’ll make sure he gets all the good press.”

  Howard laid a reassuring hand on Wood’s shoulder. “You’re wrong, Lieutenant. I would trust Miles as fully as I trust you. I got him his first regiment. When they cut off this arm”—he gestured to his empty sleeve—“Miles was at my side, holding the other one.”

  The soldiers had moved closer during the night, and wit
h the sunrise they began to fire. Red Bear lay in his rifle pit, paying no attention to the bullets that whistled overhead, and gazed up at the lazy pink clouds in the eastern sky. It had been the coldest night yet; water in his pit had frozen hard. He had no energy left; he just wanted to sleep.

  As the sun traveled higher it warmed the earth, and the ice and snow began to melt. The Soyappos stopped shooting, as if they too just wanted to enjoy the warmth. Dark brown swallows wheeled and swooped above the snow, and Red Bear could hear birds singing.

  The sun was more than midway to its highest point when he heard a shout. People down in the ravine were pointing to the southwest. Red Bear gazed into the distance; he could see two figures on horseback, one holding a white flag. He looked over the edge of his rifle pit, saw the soldiers watching as well. He pulled himself up and slowly made his way down the cutbank and over to the ravine.

  The riders were Indians, with dark blue Soyappo coats but feathers stuck in their hatbands. One called out in Nimíipuutímt, “All my brothers, I am glad to see you alive this sun!” It was Worthless, the one the Soyappos called John. Know Nothing was with him. Both had daughters here in the Nimíipuu camp.

  Red Bear’s father emerged from the ravine. “Why are you here?” he shouted. “To spy for Bear Coat? To tell him where to fire his wagon gun so he can kill our women and children!”

  Red Bear reached him: “They carry a white flag!”

  “Your mother is dead,” his father glared. “This Worthless is helping her killers, just like he helped those who killed her family.”

  Red Bear stared. “Dead?”

  “From Soyappos’ wagon gun.”

  Red Bear felt faint. He felt a hand on his arm; it was Thunder Rising. “I am sorry you have lost your mother,” the chief said, “but we must hear their words.” He beckoned for the riders to approach. “Your daughters are alive!” he shouted.

  In a daze, Red Bear watched his father return with his many-shots rifle. “You are a traitor to your own people!” Smoke shouted as he raised the gun.

  “Father!” cried Little Fire, seizing the barrel and pulling it down.

  “This Worthless once led Soyappos to a Cayuse camp where they murdered a hundred women, children, and old men!” Smoke shouted to the crowd. “His word is dirt!”

  Red Bear slumped to his knees.

  Thunder Rising asked Yellow Bull, Little Baldhead, and Light in Mountain to join him when he talked with the Soyappos. White Bird refused. “You are a fool,” he told Thunder Rising. “When have Soyappos ever spoken truth? When have they ever hesitated to take what they want from us, to kill us if we stand in their way?”

  Thunder Rising picked up his pipe, his tobacco pouch, and the largest buffalo robe he had, which he slung over his shoulders. When they were halfway to the Soyappo camp, he stopped, and they spread robes over the melting snow.

  Thunder Rising felt poor in front of the bluecoats, in his leggings and thin blanket, both torn by bullets. But he held his shoulders square and waited with dignity. When the two Soyappo chiefs arrived he offered his hand to Cut-Off Arm, but not to Bear Coat or Ad Chapman, who would turn their words into Nimíipuutímt. He glared at Chapman, who had started the war, firing at riders under a white flag.

  Cut-Off Arm looked older now: his face was drawn, his belly flat, and flecks of gray showed in his beard. He probably thinks the same about me, Thunder Rising thought. He gestured to the buffalo robes and sat down, cross-legged, and the others did likewise. He lit the pipe, took three puffs, and passed it to his right. When the pipe had completed the circle twice, he put it down beside him and spoke. “We have discussed your messages. I too wish to end this killing. My brother is dead. Sound of Striking Timber is dead. Looking Glass is dead. My people are cold and hungry. We did not choose this war. We did not choose to leave our homes. Our lands were stolen from us by your people, just as you have stolen our horses. We want only our horses and our lands returned.”

  Bear Coat’s eyes never left Thunder Rising’s. “We cannot give you back your lands,” he said. “But we will return your horses, and I will take you back to your people’s reserve when winter is over and we can travel freely. Until then, your people can stay with me in Yellowstone River country.”

  “For our lands, which we never agreed to sell, we want payment,” Thunder Rising said.

  Bear Coat was silent for a long moment, his eyes cast down. “I have no authority to agree to payment for your lands, nor does General Howard.” He glanced at Cut-Off Arm, who nodded his agreement. “I wish I did. I have never fought a more worthy adversary.”

  “I speak only for myself, not for other chiefs,” Thunder Rising said. “Other chiefs do not trust you. They fear that if they surrender they will be hung. They prefer to wait for Sitting Bull.”

  Thunder Rising watched Bear Coat’s eyes closely as Chapman translated this. They widened only slightly, then narrowed again. “No one will be hung, I promise you. If your people turn over their weapons, we will go to my fort on Yellowstone River, where I will feed you until spring, when we can take you back to your reserve.”

  Thunder Rising shook his head. “I might be able to convince other chiefs to turn over some of their weapons, because we have collected many rifles from soldiers who have attacked us. But we must keep some of our weapons to hunt during cold moons. We cannot give up all our guns.”

  “Impossible.” Bear Coat’s eyes were hard now. “Surrender must have no conditions.”

  “We are not talking of surrender! I have never talked of surrender! You want to quit fighting. I will agree, but not to surrender. You have not won, we have not lost. We have not even fought a war with your people. If we had, we could have killed all who tried to stop us after we crossed Buffalo Road. We could have killed all soldiers at Place of Ground Squirrels. But we wanted only to continue our journey, to find a place where we might live safe from attacks. Women and children we have not harmed; only your soldiers have done that. Only when attacked have we fought. True, our young men sometimes drink your whiskey and grow angry. We cannot always stop them from taking revenge.”

  Bear Coat’s eyes had changed, and his voice was gentle now: “I understand your words. I believe they are true. You and your warriors have earned my admiration, and you have fought me to a draw. You have my word: I will provide all the food and clothing and blankets your people need this winter, until they arrive back on your reserve. I will return all horses we have taken from you. But you will not need weapons.”

  “We will need our weapons when we return home, to hunt.”

  “Joseph, your days of hunting for your food are over!” said Cut-Off Arm, exasperation in his voice. “It is time that you learn to farm, raise cattle. Live as Christians do. You are in no position to impose your conditions on us. Those who surrender to my army have no right to insist on keeping their arms.”

  Thunder Rising stared at him. Perhaps White Bird was right. Perhaps Cut-Off Arm would hang them when they reached the reserve.

  Bear Coat reached across and put a hand on his arm. “I think General Howard will soon forget all this,” he said in a quiet voice. “I will feed your people and take you to a safe place for cold moons; then you can go back to your home.”

  Thunder Rising gazed at him, trying to see into his heart.

  “From this sun, we will have a good time on both sides, your people and mine,” Bear Coat said. “We have plenty of food, and warm fires. We will have plenty of time for sleep, for good rest.”

  “War is finished,” Cut-Off Arm said, his voice gentle now. “From now on we will have time to rest.” He smiled at Thunder Rising, and there was kindness in his eyes. “You have your life. I have my life. I have lost my brothers. Many of you have lost brothers, maybe more than on our side. I do not know. Do not worry anymore. We have plenty of food left. Anyone who needs a sack of flour, anything your people want, come and get it. All we have is yours.”

  Thunder Rising thought of his infant daughter, no longer strong enough
even to whimper.

  “I will guarantee your people safety and food,” Bear Coat said. “We will care for your wounded. I cannot let you keep your weapons, but I will return your horses.”

  Thunder Rising wanted so badly to end his people’s suffering, to feed Springtime and the baby, to go search for Bear Woman and Sound of Running Feet out on the snowy plains. “You are headman here?” he asked.

  Bear Coat nodded.

  Thunder Rising looked into his eyes. He desperately wanted to trust this man, despite his past lies. Another day and he feared his daughter would starve to death. He looked down at his feet, and in his heart he knew he had no choice. “We will go with Bear Coat,” he said. “He is headman.”

  He stood up and offered Bear Coat his hand. Then he shook Cut-Off Arm’s hand, then Chapman’s. He lifted his hand toward the sun, and the other Nimíipuu followed, to show their people that they had given their solemn word.

  Relief flooded his veins. Finally, his people could eat, his wounded could heal. He closed his eyes, prayed to Man Above that he had done the right thing.

  When he reached the ravine everyone was gathered, awaiting him. He explained the terms of his agreement. Women began to weep, and a few warriors called out in anger. Everyone looked at White Bird, who stared off to the north, still looking for Sitting Bull.

  When White Bird turned back to face them, his eyes were defiant. “Thunder Rising has made his decision. Now I make mine. I will fight no more, but I will never surrender to soldiers who make captives of those who come to talk under a white flag.” His eyes met Thunder Rising’s. “Tonight, with as many as choose to follow me, I will leave. We will travel north, to Sitting Bull. We have few horses and few warm clothes. But I would rather die a free man than surrender and be hung by Soyappos.” He paused, but no one said a word. The only sounds were the sobs of the women.