by Jory Sherman
"Eat so you will calm down. This is not a day for hot blood to run in a young man's heart."
Red Tomahawk finished dressing and went outside to look at the young women starting to emerge from their lodges. He watched them as they put up the spears and shield cases of the warriors, the scalplocks and feathered headdresses of honor, beside the teepees. They were comely women, with vermillioned cheeks, dark sleek hair combed to a high sheen, shapely in their wing-sleeved deerskin dresses. Curly and his father lifted their lodge flap and came out to look at the red-smeared morning sky. Curly waved, made a sign that he would be over to see Red Tomahawk later.
His stomach was fluttering even more now that he saw other men moving from their lodges, speaking in low tones of the bad that was upon them. Later, when Snow Wolf and the others had gone to the lodge of Bad Heart Bull, Curly came to Red Tomahawk's teepee.
"Do you want to ride with me and He Dog to the Brule camp?" he asked,
"Yes. When are you going?"
"Get your bow and your quiver. We will wait where we can see the lodge of Man Afraid of Horses. Last night, the council chose him to go to the fort to talk to the soldier chief."
"How do you know this?"
"I heard my father talking to Snow Wolf this morning."
Red Tomahawk looked crestfallen. Curly knew more than he did about last night's council. He got his bow and quiver, said goodbye to Lady Walking Crow. He and Curly met He Dog and they caught up their ponies and rode to a place where they could see the lodge of Man Afraid.
Already, his ponies were outside, stomping the ground and shaking their tails at the flies that boiled around them in the sun. Man Afraid was a big man, taller than many white men, six feet four by their measurement, and the head of a great family of good strong warriors, wise men in councils. He could trace his family back to the days spoken of only in the stories of heroes, to the days when the Lakota had no horses, back when they dwelled in the place-of-the-big-water and fought enemies whose names were lost to memory.
The boys had not long to wait before Man Afraid and some hand-picked warriors emerged from his teepee and mounted their horses. They rode off toward the fort as people watched from in front of their lodges.
"We go!" said Curly.
"Yes, yes, we go," chorused He Dog and Red Tomahawk.
The three boys raced to catch up to Man Afraid and the others. They passed the stone Gratiot houses where the Indian agent lived, crossed the river in sight of the white walls of Fort Laramie. Man Afraid saw them and waved them back.
"This way," shouted Red Tomahawk, riding toward the breaks. Curly and He Dog caught up and the race was on, the boys riding as though they were winding their ponies before a battle.
When they were out of Man Afraid's sight, they slowed and pulled to a halt.
The ponies blew and shook their tails.
"Man Afraid thinks we have gone back," said He Dog.
"Let us sneak back and find a place to wait," said Curly.
"We can wait in the brush along the river," Red Tomahawk panted. "We can see the road from there."
The boys rode back slowly, taking their time, running their ponies in circles, weaving them through the brush as if they were stalking an enemy. They lazed by the river, staying out of sight until the sun passed over the middle of the sky.
"Here they come," said Curly, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.
It was true. Man Afraid rode ahead of the soldiers and white visitors. There were several soldiers on horseback, led by an officer. Behind this column, the boys saw a wagon full of walking soldiers. Horses pulled two wagon guns and there were soldiers riding on the cannons.
"Let's go," said Curly.
The three boys made a wide circle, rode breathlessly into the Brule camp with the news.
But scouts they had not seen had already told of thirty soldiers coming with Grattan, the young bragging soldier chief and Wyuse, the interpreter who was dizzy from drinking the firewater.
"The soldiers have loaded their guns for shooting," a boy told Red Tomahawk.
"That is bad. It is bad that they bring Wyuse to talk."
Curly rode his pony back and forth, nervously. The camp was busy, with women hurriedly taking down the spears and shields, hiding them inside their lodges. Others called the children in from play, then began loosening the lodge stakes so their houses could be quickly struck.
The dust cloud in the sky told of the soldiers coming long before they reached the western ridge above the valley.
"Come," said Red Tomahawk, "let us get out of sight."
Moments later, they saw the silhouettes of the soldiers and the wagon guns on the horizon.
"We are many, they are few," said Curly, looking around at the three great lodge circles. The camp was twelve hundred warriors strong, but not a brave man was in sight as the soldiers reached the Oglala circle. There, Man Afraid and the others separated from the column and dropped back to show that they were not part of this thing that was going to happen this day.
It was quiet in the camp, as if everyone was asleep.
Grattan broke the silence. He held up his hand to stop the column, rode up ahead by himself.
"Hey, you!" he shouted. "You infernal red devils! Come out here!"
Gratten peered through open lodge flaps, saw only the backs of Indians sitting inside, their shoulders draped with blankets.
"Wyuse, come on up here. Quick!"
Red Tomahawk felt anger burn his face as the trader's son rode up beside Grattan. Wyuse acted like a big man when he was with the soldiers, but he was very drunk this day and had to hold on to his saddle horn to keep from falling down.
"Tell those damned Indians they better stay close to their teepees or I'll crack into them," Grattan said to Wyuse, his voice still loud.
Grattan spurred his horse, rode on ahead.
Wyuse spoke the warning in Lakota, shaking his fist at the empty camp circle.
There was a sound from the north as many ponies beat their hooves on the ground. The herd boys ran the horses toward the camp, splashed across the river. The hoofbeats became as thunder and the soldiers in the wagon pointed to them as the column moved to catch up to Grattan.
"Look at Wyuse," said Curly. "Listen to his bad Lakota words."
"The soldier chief wants to kill an Indian today," observed Red Tomahawk. "Look at him."
The boys followed at a distance, staying well away from Man Afraid, who was also moving again.
Grattan halted at the Bordeaux stockade, called Jim out.
"Bordeaux, you come with us."
Jim Bordeaux was a short, stocky Frenchman who had traded in the Indian country for years. He was accepted as a relative by the tribes. But now he walked a narrow line.
"I don't know where you are going. Is there some trouble? Why do you have so many soldiers with you?"
"You know damned well we're going to the Brule camp. Some blasted redskin stole a cow and he's going to be punished."
Bordeaux did not want to go and he knew the ponies were coming in, so he stalled for time, played dumb.
"Cow? What is this about a cow?"
"Bordeaux, I'm ordering you to accompany me to Conquering Bear's camp. Are you coming? These people have got to learn they can't steal a cow and get away with it."
"Oh, the old cow," said Bordeaux. "The Mormon cow?"
"Yes, dammit, the Mormon's cow."
"But the owner was offered good pay for that cow, much more than it was worth. To the Indian, that is a good offer. Very generous. Let them pay for the cow and do not take the soldiers any farther."
"It's gone beyond that, Bordeaux. Come on now."
"But, Mister Grattan, you should not take cannon into the Brule camp for such a small matter. This is foolish and will get everyone stirred up. Somebody could get hurt."
"Are you threatening me?"
"It is a bad day to do this. There is mourning in the Brule camp this morning. Old Chief Bull Tail died last night. The women
and some of the men are excited. The women have cut their arms and they bleed. They have rubbed dirt in their hair and are making a lot of noise with their wailing."
Bordeaux turned away from Grattan, shaking his head.
"He's not coming," said a soldier to Grattan.
"Bordeaux! This is your last chance. Are you coming with me?"
Bordeaux turned around, looked sadly at young Grattan.
"No," he said slowly, "I am not going. And the white civilians with you had better stay here."
Grattan appeared to think about this and he spoke some words to the visitors. They all dismounted, followed Bordeaux inside the stockade.
The soldiers moved on, Grattan in the lead.
Red Tomahawk let out a breath.
"It is a bad thing the soldiers do," he said. "Our friend Jim knows that trouble is coming. He can smell it like the buffalo smells the storm when it is hidden in the mountains."
"He is a coward," said Curly, with bitterness.
"Look," said He Dog, pointing. "Man Afraid goes to the stockade."
The great warrior called Bordeaux out.
Jim opened the gate.
"If you come," the tall Indian said to the trader, "you will save us much trouble. We need a good man to say the Lakota words. We have only the Iowa, Wyuse, and he is much drunk."
Bordeaux shook his head.
"Words won't do any good, Man Afraid, no matter who says them. Grattan has blood in his eye."
"Maybe," said Man Afraid, "he will taste his own blood this day."
Red Tomahawk heard these strong words and he looked at Curly.
His friend had that strange look in his eyes again, as if he could see ahead of things, as if he could see blood and smoke and hear the sounds of war when there was only the buzzing of flies and the stomping of hooves in the afternoon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Red Tomahawk had never been this close to white soldiers made up for war nor had he seen the wagon guns except from a distance. His heart pounded to see the column move toward Conquering Bear's camp. But even more ominous were the things he saw that the soldiers did not see.
Some Brule braves stood at their lodges watching the soldiers come. Women and children, scurrying through the brush like quail, slipped down to the river where they hid themselves among the willows. They were very still and armed warriors made sure they were safe. Behind the lodge circle, other warriors dropped over the bank to the brush where their horses were tied, naked except for breech-clouts, their hands full of war weapons. Some tied their hair in tight knots over their foreheads and painted themselves with their special signs.
But it was the drunken Wyuse, the Iowa, who drew everyone's attention. He was acting big, talking badly. He rode his pony back and forth in front of the Brule camp, as if he was winding it for battle. He spurred his pony and whipped it as Lakota braves did, and yelled out insulting war whoops as if making fun of the Indians. He put his hand over his mouth and rapidly flapped it to make the quavering sounds of the Lakota going into a fight.
"You make the laugh at Wyuse, you filthy Sioux!" he shouted, mixing up his bad Lakota words with English. "You set yourselves above me as on a snow mountain? My heart is big, bigger than your bad hearts."
There were Brules who heard these words, Minneconjous, and Oglalas who had come down along the bottoms to see what the soldiers would do in the camp of Conquering Bear. They tried to shut their ears, keep their hearts quiet, for they were filled with anger and distrust at the drunken display of a man they had accepted into the tribes of Lakota peoples.
Wyuse grew bolder because the soldiers were near with their many guns and because Grattan could not understand his words.
"I will bring the mighty Sioux down!" Wyuse raved. "I will cut out your hearts and eat them. I will swallow your balls! I will give you new ears so that you can understand the words in my mouth!"
"Lucien, shut up," ordered Grattan. "Get back up here and stay close."
The soldiers moved up and formed a skirmish line. The wagon guns rumbled along behind them, the men atop them looking at the few Indians who showed themselves with contempt.
Red Tomahawk saw these things and scowled. He gripped his bow tightly and seemed ready to nock an arrow.
He felt a hand on his arm.
"Wait, brother," said Curly. "Wyuse is painting himself with bad words and singing his death song."
"The soldiers protect him. They want him to say these bad words."
"Look at the soldiers. Look at their eyes. They are afraid. That is why they hold their guns like magic shields and stay close together."
Red Tomahawk looked closely at the walking soldiers in the wagon and those on the wagon guns and those riding with the little chief soldier, Grattan.
It was true. The soldiers had fear in their hearts. Their eyes moved back and forth in their skulls and their tongues licked parched lips. Their hands, slick with sweat, moved up and down the stocks of their rifles.
"Why do we not wipe the soldiers out now? We are many, they are few."
Curly looked at Red Tomahawk with soft brown eyes that turned suddenly hard like the round stones inside of stones that cracked open like eggs.
"We do not paint a thing on the skins before it happens," said the young brave. "Let us hear what Conquering Bear will say."
"Yes," said He Bear, somewhat uneasy, "perhaps the Brule chief will make the soldiers go back to the wooden fort."
"He comes," said Red Tomahawk, pointing. "Conquering Bear."
Grattan raised his right hand, halting the line of soldiers. Horses snorted and stamped. Wyuse shrank back between the riding soldiers and the walking soldiers in the wagon.
Conquering Bear walked out to meet the soldiers at the edge of his camp. He walked with regal bearing, his faded blanket of mourning held to his body with a firm arm. His hair flowed loose over his shoulders without fur piece or feather.
"I have no paint on my face," he said softly, in the guttural tongue of the Lakota. "I carry no bow, no knife." He swept his blanket away from his body to show the truth of his words. His chest was scarred with the torn marks of the Sundance, but he carried no weapons.
Wyuse said the words, twisting them. Red Tomahawk wanted to say something, but he knew the white soldier chief would not understand.
"I have come to arrest the man who stole the Mormon cow," said Grattan. "He broke the white man's law."
Wyuse twisted these words too.
"The soldier chief turns away from your face," he translated. "He says you have a bad heart for hiding Straight Topknot and he will wring all your necks like chickens if you don't surrender this thief."
Conquering Bear's smooth, unpainted face remained passive. He knew the words were bad. He looked into the eyes of the soldier chief and would not look at Wyuse, the Iowa so drunk on whiskey his tongue could not speak straight.
"Keep your soldiers out of my camp," said Conquering Bear. "Then there will be no trouble this day. Man Afraid is there and he does not bring his warriors into my camp. Look there at Big Partisan and he has done the same. And, too, Little Thunder of our tribe, the Brules. These good men of wisdom do not bring their men into camp. But they would like to sit and smoke with you and I will smoke with you also and we can take care of this trouble like good men."
Red Tomahawk, Curly and He Dog moved closer to the soldiers and the Brule chief so that they could see and hear these things. They were quiet because Man Afraid was already chasing young boys away who had come curious to listen to the talk.
The interpreter, Wyuse, translated Conquering Bear's words, but he turned them from good words into bad-sounding ones.
"He say," said Wyuse, "that it no good you come here and if you sit with him he will have a bad heart. He say you are enemy and he no like white man much."
Grattan's face flushed with crimson and his jawline tightened like the underside of buckskin drying in the sun. His eyes narrowed and he backed his horse with a jerking of the reins.
&nb
sp; He barked to his sergeant as the other Indians stood stolidly near Conquering Bear, their blankets draping their motionless forms.
"Move the troops into the center of the camp," he ordered. "Bring the cannon up to bear on the chief's teepee. Report!"
"Yes, sir!"
The pony soldiers rode into the camp warily. The wagon full of walking soldiers rumbled along in front of the wagon guns.
"You men line up," said Grattan. "Sergeant, see that every man loads and makes ready to fire."
Wyuse grinned wide, kicking his horse and reining in to tighten the bit so that his mount made prancing movements.
The Indians watched these things and said nothing, still hoping that Conquering Bear could make the soldier chief understand that he wanted no trouble. He wanted to be friends. For this day, at least.
"Go away, boys," said Man Afraid to a cluster of striplings who appeared out of the brush. The boys ran away. Red Tomahawk and his friends were looked at by Man Afraid, but he said nothing to them because they were quiet.
"Ask that redskin one more time to give us the cow thief," said Grattan to Wyuse.
Red Tomahawk strained to hear Wyuse's words.
"The soldier chief wants the Minneconjou, Straight Topknot. If you do not give him up, the soldiers will shoot you all dead."
These were strong words, but Conquering Bear did not show fear. Instead, he opened his blanket to show that he had no weapons and he opened his hands to show that they were empty.
"Tell the soldier chief that I will give him a good mule from my own herd for the worthless old cow." Conquering Bear then spoke to a brave who ran through the camp like a town crier asking for horses to be given to the soldiers. "But we will ask Straight Topknot if he wants to surrender."
Runners went back and forth to speak to the Minneconjou and then to Conquering Bear.
"Straight Topknot will not go with the soldiers," the Brule chief told Grattan. "He asks that you go away until our father, the agent, comes and tells us what must be done." The crier came back with five marked sticks, "Look, these sticks mean we will give you five horses, one each from the herds of five good men."
Conquering Bear laid the sticks down on the ground, spreading them at the feet of Grattan.