“Wait,” Dane protested. “This is where the coyotes come to sing and talk to me every night.”
“Plenty room for coyotes here, too,” she said. “Won’t have to sing so loud close to tipi.”
“God damn,” Dane muttered. “John Bear-in-the-Water, go bring her the lodgepoles.”
Book Three
The Survivors
49
DURING THE YEARS IMMEDIATELY following their flight from the Ghost Timbers to the Powder River country, the survivors of Big Star’s band of Cheyennes saw many changes come into their lives. Afterward they always counted themselves lucky that they found Old Two Moon’s Cheyennes near one of their former camping places on Crazy Woman’s Creek. Two Moon’s people had just returned from a summer’s trading journey to posts on the Missouri River and they were rich in Hudson’s Bay blankets, fine woolen cloth leggings, and stores of sugar, coffee, and flour. When Old Two Moon saw the condition of his relatives from the south, so poor they had only that one tipi brought by Sweet Medicine Woman, he summoned all his young men to join them in daily buffalo hunts. Then, as soon as the first hides were brought in, the women and girls from Two Moon’s camp came to help in the fleshing and stretching and drying and smoking.
By the end of the Deer Rutting Moon, the fugitives from the south had enough tipis to shelter them from the coming cold and enough jerky and pemmican to last until springtime. They planned to spend the winter there, but Old Two Moon insisted that they go with his people to a creek valley across the Tongue. There the Bighorn Mountains and forests of tall lodgepole pines shielded them from bitter winds and heavy snows. After the anxieties, the violence, and sadness of their recent life, Dane and his little family felt that they had come at last into the real world.
Once the Cheyennes were settled for the winter, in tipis with thick inner linings, they began holding councils to choose new leaders to replace those lost in the fighting with the Bluecoats. Some wanted Yellow Hawk to succeed his father as chief, but most thought he was yet too young, and so they chose War Shirt as chief of the band. Yellow Hawk then became the new leader of the Fox Soldiers, and to Dane’s surprise the society members chose him as first subchief. The Dog Soldiers met in many councils before they agreed upon a war leader. They younger men admired Pleasant’s daring and imagination, but he had been acting strangely since the death of Rising Fawn, keeping to himself and brooding, and the Dog Soldiers finally chose a hardbitten old warrior, Iron Crow, to be their war chief.
With the arrival of springtime, life became a procession of joyous days. They moved down the Tongue and then across to the grasslands of the Powder again, always camping near Two Moon’s people. So many young men of each camp began courting young women in the other camp that it soon became apparent to the chiefs that someday the two bands might become one. Swift Eagle pledged himself to a girl in the Two Moon camp and went off on a horse-raiding expedition with other members of his soldier society, the Bowstrings. In a nearby camp of Oglalas, Pleasant discovered a wiwazica, a woman several years older than he, whose husband had been killed in a fight with Bluecoats on the Missouri River. After meeting this widow, Pleasant cast off his winter gloominess and spent much of his time with the Oglalas.
Young Two Moon, the old chiefs nephew, paid frequent visits to Sweet Medicine Woman’s tipi to admire the beauty of Amayi, but when he inquired of Dane if he might begin courting in earnest, Dane told him to wait another year; Amayi was still a child, late in forming into womanhood. As for Dane and Sweet Medicine Woman, they found themselves sitting close beside each other during the long evenings and making love through the nights as they had done in their first summer of wedded life.
The first shadow that touched them was the arrival of a band of Arapahos who had fled from the south after the massacre of Black Kettle’s Cheyennes at Sand Creek. They told of the brutalities of the Bluecoats against the women and children and old men. Many of Black Kettle’s people were relatives and friends, and the Cheyennes’ newfound tranquillity was broken by days of mourning. Soon after that, hunting parties began bringing reports of white men traveling in wagons, so many they were making a rutted trail from Fort Laramie to the Powder, across Crazy Woman’s Creek to the headwaters of the Tongue and on to the Yellowstone—right through the heart of the tribes’ last hunting paradise.
The Veheos had found gold north of the Yellowstone, and in their madness for the yellow metal were swarming like gnats over a new road they called the Bozeman Trail. At first the Indians took no concerted action against these intruders. After all, the Horse Creek Treaty gave Veheos the right to travel across the Indian country. Many young men in hunting parties greeted the white travelers, offering to trade buffalo robes or moccasins for gunpowder and lead. But some of the gold seekers feared or hated Indians and fired on them if they came within range of their weapons. Some also began killing buffalo and other wild game in the wasteful ways of so many whites, leaving the carcasses to rot where they fell. Soon the Indians were retaliating with raids and ambushes, and then only well-armed and heavily guarded wagon trains ventured north over the trail to Montana. And eventually, because of the fury of the Indians, all travel stopped.
One day in the Moon When the Ponies Shed, Red Cloud of the Oglala Sioux rode into the Cheyenne camp on the Powder looking for Old Two Moon and War Shirt. With him was Big Mouth, a Brule Sioux who lived near Fort Laramie. Big Mouth had been sent north by the Bluecoat commander to summon the chiefs of all the tribes in the Powder River country to Fort Laramie for a council.
Red Cloud said that he and several other leaders of the Oglalas and Minneconjous were going, as well as Dull Knife of the Northern Cheyennes, Black Bear of the Arapahos, and Spotted Tail of the Brules. He invited Old Two Moon and War Shirt to accompany them. The chiefs would be taking along a number of their best warriors, Red Cloud said, so as to make an impression upon the Wasicus at Fort Laramie.
While the two Cheyenne leaders were considering the invitation, Red Cloud sought out Dane, finding him with his daughter Amayi. Dane was teaching her how to shape a bow. A dozen years or more had passed since Dane and Red Cloud had traveled together along the Platte, but they greeted each other with the warmth of old friends. Red Cloud complimented Dane for being blessed with so beautiful a daughter and commiserated with him over the recent ill-fortunes of the Cheyennes in the south. After explaining the purpose of his visit to the Cheyenne camp, Red Cloud said: “I do not think War Shirt will go to Fort Laramie with his warriors. He fears the Bluecoats would force his people back to Sand Creek. But you are not of Cheyenne blood. You may go there without fear.”
Dane smiled. “I live as a Cheyenne, and under the treaty we have no right to be here north of the Platte.”
“The treaty has been broken into many pieces by the Wasicus,” Red Cloud said. “It is time for us to go to the fort on the Laramie with a treaty for them to sign. That is why I ask you to go with me. You understand the words of the Wasicus. They cannot fool you with their words.”
Dane shook his head. “I have sworn to myself that I will never treat with the whites again. Their hearts and tongues are false.”
“If we do not go to them they will bring their treachery and death to us,” Red Cloud said. “How long can we live in peace in this land unless we show the Wasicus our power? Our warriors have stopped them from crossing our hunting grounds to shoot at our people and kill our animals. Now we must make them understand that this is Indian land forever in which no whites can make roads, build soldier forts, or intrude to hunt our animals.”
Dane stubbornly resolved to have no part in the Laramie council, but during the feast that the Cheyennes gave Red Cloud before his departure, the Oglala leader became equally determined. “In the past we have always given to the white men,” he said. “This time the white men must give something to the Indians.” When he appealed to Dane as a patriot whose knowledge of the Wasicus was needed in the councils, Dane reluctantly consented to go.
This was Dane’s first
visit to Fort Laramie since the Horse Creek Treaty fifteen years before, and he was surprised to see log-and-adobe barracks and stables extending in all directions. He was also surprised to find commissioners from the American government waiting there for the chiefs. The Indians and their interpreters met with the commissioners in a large canvas tent outside the fort. Leading the commissioners was a Bluecoat chief, a great warrior named Sherman, and it was during the preliminary talks that Dane learned for the first time that the Civil War between the Bluecoat Yankees and Graycoat Confederates had ended in the East with a great victory for the Bluecoats.
The Great Warrior Sherman and Commissioner Edward Taylor told the chiefs that they had called the council to make a lasting peace with the Indians. “We do not want your land,” Taylor said. “We want you to remember the treaty signed at Horse Creek, which gives us the right to make roads through your country so our people can go to the gold mines and make settlements in Montana Territory.”
Red Cloud spoke first, and then other leaders joined him in complaining that the white travelers molested their people and disturbed the wild game. The commissioners promised that travelers would be forbidden to leave the line of the road or hunt animals while passing through the Powder River country. Red Cloud wanted to know how the commissioners were going to enforce the good behavior of white travelers through Indian country, and then he boldly proposed a new treaty that would set aside land for the tribes north of the Platte into which no white men could come for any purpose. Somewhat surprised, the commissioners whispered together for a few minutes and then replied that they would use the talking wires to counsel with the Great Father in Washington about Red Cloud’s proposal. They then asked the chiefs to stay for another sleep at Fort Laramie. Before ending the meeting, the commissioners also dropped subtle hints that if the tribes continued to block the Bozeman Trail they would be considered hostile and barred from trading for powder and lead.
That evening Dane went alone to the sutler’s store. He had brought with him from the Powder River camp two fine buffalo robes, and he traded them for red ribbons and peppermint candy sticks for Amayi, a bolt of brilliant-colored calico for Sweet Medicine Woman, and some gunpowder and lead for himself. As he was turning to leave the store, he almost collided with Jim Carrothers.
“Wa-agh!” Jim cried. “Bless me, Dane, they told me you was gone to the land of ghosts, burned up in my old tradin’ post.”
Dane told him what had happened, and then Carrothers gave him some news of his relatives in the Cherokee Nation. Carrothers had recently seen Jotham and Young Opothle in Westport, and learned from them about the troubles that had befallen the family. William had died during the last months of the Civil War, probably of a broken heart, Carrothers said, because of the turmoil in the Nation that had devastated the towns and farms and destroyed all of William’s trade. Jotham had survived the war without a scratch, and with his son and daughter was now trying to restore the trading post near Park Hill.
“Jotham and I figgered we’d fired shots at each other in a night battle at Cabin Creek,” Carrothers said. “He was leadin’ rebel Cherokee cavalry and I was scoutin’ for a Yankee supply train. The Cherokees whipped us good, and we had to run for it, leavin’ enough arms and rations and whiskey to keep Jotham’s boys goin’ to the end of the war. Well, that’s all over now.”
“What brings you to Fort Laramie?” Dane asked.
“Scoutin’ for the army. Need the pay to keep my family fed and clothed back in Westport. Since the war ended, this country out here is fillin’ up with soldiers.”
“They’ll want to fight us, I suppose,” Dane said.
“Mebbe so, mebbe no. I’ve signed on as guide for Colonel Carrington’s regiment. They’ll be campin’ close by here tonight. Goin’ north to open the Bozeman Trail, build some forts.”
“They’ll have to fight us for that country,” Dane said. “It is all we have left.”
Carrothers gave Dane a worried look. “I figgered so. That colonel is a greenhorn from back east, and his soldiers may be vet’rans but they’re greenhorns when it comes to Indians.” He tugged at the end of one of his long mustaches. “Colonel Carrington don’t ask me for much advice, but I told him twice that the army ought to make its road west of the Bighorns, away from the Powder River country. I know how much that country means to the tribes in there.”
Dane had no desire to talk further on the matter. “We won’t give the army the use of the Bozeman road unless they whip us,” he said curtly.
“Hold on.” Carrothers’s aging face revealed his distress. “Mebbe Colonel Carrington will listen to me when he finds hisself in trouble in your country. After all, my wife’s people come from there. I got friends in all the tribes.”
“If you’re a friend you’ll try to keep the Bluecoats out,” Dane said. “Not guide them in.” He left the sutler’s store, wondering where he could find Red Cloud to tell him about the Bluecoats’ plans for marching north. But Red Cloud was not in the Oglala camp. He and Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses had gone down the river to see Spotted Tail and would not return until morning.
At dawn, off to the east of Fort Laramie, Dane saw an immense number of canvased wagons drawn into a hollow square. Inside the square, bluecoated soldiers were erecting tents in straight-lined rows.
On the Fort Laramie parade ground during the morning, soldiers from the garrison nailed together a small platform, and laid green-leafed boughs on a frame above the speaker’s stand to screen the bright June sunshine. Then they brought several pine-board benches, placing them in front of the stand. The peace commissioners had decided that a tent would not be large enough for the important proceedings of that day.
As soon as the council ground was readied, the chiefs were invited to seat themselves on the benches. Commissioner Taylor mounted the platform, and in a hearty voice assured his listeners that the Great Father in Washington had agreed to set aside a tract of land, a reservation upon which no white persons except those authorized by the Indians “shall ever be permitted to pass over, settle upon, or reside in the territory to be described.” The borders of this reservation would be decided upon later, the commissioner said.
Dane was seated with Red Cloud and Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses on one of the front benches. While Taylor was speaking, Red Cloud muttered to himself about the uncomfortable position in which he had to sit. He finally slid off the end of the bench and sat cross-legged on the ground. Man-Afraid called out in Lakota: “Why are so many Bluecoats camped nearby?” All the chiefs were restless, whispering among themselves, and looking inquiringly at Red Cloud.
Commissioner Taylor stamped one of his boots against the planking, calling for order. He beckoned to a bearded soldier chief who wore eagles on his shoulder straps. As Colonel Carrington stepped upon the platform, Taylor introduced him. “He comes here from the East as your friend,” the commissioner’s voice boomed cheerfully. “He will lead his soldiers up the Bozeman Trail to build forts to protect you. You no longer need fear mistreatment from travelers through your land. Colonel Carrington.”
After the fort’s interpreter translated Taylor’s surprising statement, Carrington’s bulging eyes peered nervously at the Indians, whose faces plainly showed their sudden anger. “It is my—” he began, but a loud chorus of disapproving hunh-hunhs drowned out his words. The interpreter leaned closer to the colonel and whispered something in his ear.
“Colonel Carrington wishes to hear first from the chiefs,” the interpreter declared in a loud voice.
Most of the Indians looked at Red Cloud, who still sat motionless on the ground. Suddenly he arose and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. His straight black hair, parted in the middle, reached almost to his waist. “Dane,” he whispered, “come with me to make my Lakota words burn in the ears of these Wasicus.” Dane followed him to the platform, Carrington and his interpreter moving to the edge of the flooring to make room for them.
Red Cloud’s wide mouth was fixed in an angry slit beneath his
hawk nose, his dark eyes searching out the faces of the commissioners and the Bluecoat chiefs on the benches below. Phrase by phrase, as Red Cloud cried out in Lakota, Dane repeated the words in English: “You treat us like children. We are men. We are warriors. You summoned us here as though we were your children and pretended to counsel with us while behind our backs you bring soldiers to send into our country. The white men have pushed us into a small country north of the Platte, and now you want to send soldiers into our last hunting grounds. This land and its animals gives us our food, shelter, and clothing. If you take it from us, we will starve and freeze. For my part I will die fighting rather than by starvation. The Great Father sends us presents and wants to talk about a road through our country.” He stopped and scowled at Carrington, his lips twisting as he glanced at the colonel’s shoulder straps. “But you, White Eagle Chief, you come with soldiers to steal road before Indian says yes or no!”
Red Cloud abruptly turned his back on Carrington, tugged at Dane’s sleeve while he was still translating his last words, and with a proud jerk of his head motioned to the other chiefs to follow him from the parade ground.
50
“THAT WAS THE BEGINNING of Red Cloud’s War,” Dane said. “For six or seven moons we gave Carrington’s Bluecoats no peace, pestering and tormenting them while they built their fort at the Little Piney crossing of the Bozeman road. Then in the Moon When the Deer Shed Their Horns, Crazy Horse and Swift Eagle and their decoys led a hundred soldiers into our trap along Peno Creek and we killed them all.”
We were seated on flat rocks overhanging the stream across from Dane’s cabin, watching John Bear-in-the-Water driving his wagon down to the corral shed to bring the lodgepoles to Red Bird Woman. She was hunched forward, her white boot-moccasins crossed, resting her chin in one hand. “I remember, I remember,” she said. “What heart-swelling times we lived in then. Two days we rode up Tongue River and never out of sight of tipis. Warriors come from everywhere.”