Joseph M. Marshall III (33 page)

Good Weasel chose runners to spread the word. The Greasy Grass fight was over.

A very old Mniconju had said, sometime during the night, that if he still had the strength of arm and a good horse he would ride down the soldiers himself. It was a brief moment of levity during the heated arguments. He went on to say, however, that to let the soldiers live would be a message to the “great father” that the Lakota had compassion as well as strength. To the old man, it was a matter of what the whites were really willing to pay for the Black Hills. The cost couldn’t be measured in their money. They should have been asked if they were willing to pay with their blood. That was the price that should have been put on the table at “the council to steal the Black Hills.”

That old man should have been the one speaking for the Lakota at the Spotted Tail agency, some said. But now the whites would understand that the issue of selling the Black Hills had not been decided at the Spotted Tail agency with their “agreement.” The heart of everything that is, would be defended as it had been at the Rosebud—and, now, as it had been at the Greasy Grass.

Nineteen

“When a rattlesnake crawls into your lodge, you crush it,” advised an old man. “You crush it because it knows the way to your lodge.”

Crazy Horse couldn’t agree more. The threat to Lakota territory had to be stopped and at all costs. But the overall sense of unity that had prevailed at the Greasy Grass seemed to give way to complacency. Among the younger warriors, however, flowed a feeling of invincibility.

Around night fires throughout the camps along Goose Creek, they recounted their deeds in the Greasy Grass and Rosebud fights, one story leading to another, in an ancient ritual that served to strengthen the warrior brotherhood. The Sahiyela had identified the overall soldier commander at the Greasy Grass, known as Long Hair to some and Son of the Morning Star to others. The last was not a name of respect, as it was given because he had attacked a Sahiyela encampment just after dawn eight years past at a place called Washita. In the span of eight days, the Lakota and Sahiyela warriors had defeated two separate armies. Let them come, was the sentiment. We can defeat them all.

Crazy Horse knew the value of the sense of confidence earned from two hard-fought battles. It was the best weapon to take into a fight. Nevertheless, unless an overall plan was devised to anticipate and meet the threat of retaliation from the soldiers, all that confidence would be useless. To his dismay, however, there was no talk of planning. He heard, instead, the first indications of disagreement among the old men during the move south - toward the Shining Mountains. It was the kind of fundamental disagreement that left little room for discussion.

There were two widely divergent opinions. One side felt they shouldn’t pass up the advantage they had gained. Never had the Lakota so decisively defeated the Long Knives. Why, it was asked, did Three Stars retreat in spite of the fact he still had a large force unless he had a newfound respect for the fighting ability of the Lakota? Furthermore, the soldiers they had spared behind the barricades at the Greasy Grass would certainly report the fighting ability of the Lakota and Sahiyela to other soldiers. When an enemy was truly afraid, he was more apt to hesitate—and such an opportunity must not be wasted.

The other side agreed that Rosebud and Greasy Grass were indeed messages that the Long Knives would take to heart. However, they were in favor of waiting for them to send their peace talkers, as they certainly would. It was obvious, they said, that from now on the Lakota would speak from a position of strength because of their victories and that no more Lakota blood had to be spilled to win back the Black Hills. The Long Knives had learned a bitter lesson and would be cautious hereafter. This was nothing more than a false sense of security as far as Crazy Horse was concerned—something to be expected from the agency Lakota, who were in favor of friendly relations with the whites.

The idea of sending a large force to attack all the soldier outposts had been circulating among the warriors since the departure from the Greasy Grass. Crazy Horse and He Dog took the idea one step further. If different groups attacked Fort Caspar, Fort Fetterman, and Fort Laramie on the same day, the effect - could be devastating. It was bold thinking, yet the reaction to it was largely silence until someone fretted about who would stay behind to protect the women and children.

What was left of the largest gathering ever of Lakota had separated into several encampments along the eastern foothills of the Shining Mountains. Soon after the departure from the Greasy Grass, small groups began breaking away to head for the agencies. Sitting Bull, like Crazy Horse, was deeply disappointed because they were losing the strength of numbers. Staying together as long as possible would have been safer. But the Hunkpapa saw that it was the underlying fear of retaliation from the Long Knives that drove the agency Lakota back. They apparently felt it was the safest place to be. Before a month had passed, most of the agency Lakota were gone.

Crazy Horse understood that an unbreakable commitment was necessary to defend the Lakota way of life. For him, the symbol of such commitment was Gall, the Hunkpapa, who was one of Sitting Bull’s most loyal followers. Gall was a tall, imposing figure and an experienced leader. Both of his wives and a daughter were killed in the first attack on the Greasy Grass. He had found them when he’d hurried to his lodge to gather his weapons. Rifle fire from the initial soldier charge had carried into the Hunkpapa lodges at the southern end of the large encampment. In spite of his grievous loss, he led men in a counterattack, leading the charge that broke the soldier lines and began the rout that eventually ended with the soldiers retreating across the river, where they threw up barricades on a hill. Gall was also chiefly responsible for the defeat of Long Hair’s group of soldiers. He had led the pursuit that turned the attempted incursion across Medicine Tail crossing into another rout. Understandably, the man had kept to himself after the battle, staying close to his surviving children.

Gall would have dishonored the memory of his wives and his daughter if he had chosen to seek safety at the agencies. No one would have thought less of him if he had, yet he spoke for a united stand against the Long Knives. They are only men, was his assertion, and can be defeated.

Despite the best efforts of Sitting Bull, the people scattered. Some made excuses, saying it was time to hunt and make meat for the coming winter, which was more difficult now because of the scarcity of buffalo. Others unabashedly headed for the agencies. Sitting Bull finally headed north to more familiar territory.

Crazy Horse took his people east toward the Black Hills, finding a sheltered valley northwest of the mountains to hide the camps. From there, he led raids into the Black Hills. They operated separately, with He Dog, Big Road, Little Big Man, and Crazy Horse each leading a group of up to a dozen men. This tactic was effective overall, forcing the miners to think that hundreds of Lakota were raiding. A few Sahiyela had stayed with the Crazy Horse camp and their young men joined him in the raids. He was glad to have them along: they were fierce and aggressive and counted their share of kills.

On one of the raids, they found a large tent settlement. Crazy Horse was incensed. Not only were the miners coming in larger and larger numbers, but they were bringing their women and children. They were expecting to stay, to build their square houses, and to plant crops. The Lakota victories at the Rosebud and Greasy Grass meant nothing to these people. Or, perhaps, they hadn’t heard. More frightening, however, was the thought that they had heard but didn’t care. They cared more about gold.

Impatient and angry, Crazy Horse began to raid by himself and stayed in the mountains for days. Picking isolated camps, he positioned himself and would attack at dawn when the miners were groggy with sleep and their judgment was impaired, or just as they were bedding down for the night, exhausted from their day’s labors. In either case there was little opportunity for effective reaction. His expertise at close combat made up for his low supply of bullets, though he preferred the bow and his stone-headed war club. He worked silently and grimly, and without remorse. This was Lakota land. These miners were invaders. Their kind brought nothing but trouble. So, wraithlike, out of the morning mist or moving with the shadows of dusk, he carried on his war—alone, silent, and deadly. If Lakota fighting men - couldn’t take to the field en masse against soldiers, there were other ways to fight.

At night, he slept in fireless camps always high on a slope where he could hide his horse. He used the terrain to his advantage. He was, after all, a man of the Earth. Black Shawl’s dried meat and berry mixture sustained him, and gave him strength. He didn’t count the number of miners he had killed, but he - wasn’t doing it for the numbers. He was removing blight from the heart of all there was.

One day, He Dog found him. His best friend was glad to see that he was alive and unharmed, and then scolded him.

“Recklessness belongs to the young,” he chided. “You are a man past thirty and responsible for more than yourself. Never forget again that you belong to the people.”

At home, old Worm also rebuked him. Crazy Horse listened to both men without protest because they were right.

Crazy Horse was moving his people closer toward Bear Butte when news came of an attack against the camp of Iron Plume, further to the north near Slim Buttes. Iron Plume was friendly to the whites, but that didn’t save him or stop the soldiers from killing women and children. And that was not the end to the bad news. A thousand or more soldiers from Fort Fetterman were in the area. Crazy Horse, with less than two hundred warriors, - could do little more than harass them because they were all critically low on ammunition. But he did manage to confuse the soldiers with hit and run attacks, allowing them little rest, taking full advantage of the Lakota horses’ superior stamina and speed. When ammunition ran out, he withdrew. Word came later that the soldiers had released the women and children captured from the unprovoked attack on Iron Plume as a result of the continuous harassment.

Three Stars was the one said to have led the soldiers, although no one had actually seen him during the attack on Iron Plume. But as everyone knew, Three Stars was the overall commander stationed at Fort Fetterman. The man would undoubtedly be anxious to make amends for the Rosebud fight, and word came that the Long Knives were very anxious to avenge the defeat of Long Hair at the Greasy Grass. The agency Lakota were wrong.

The Long Knives had learned a bitter lesson, and they were aggressive, not hesitant. He Dog and Crazy Horse were angry that their idea to attack all the forts had not been taken seriously. For that matter, they could have taken the initiative and carried out their plan on their own. Men would have followed them. How many would have been the only unknown factor, and any amount of speculation about the outcome now would be useless—just as much as blaming anyone.

Crazy Horse decided to relocate to the upper Tongue River area where elk were reported to be plentiful. He laughed wryly at a bit of news that drifted up from Red Cloud. The agent there had taken away guns and horses from the agency Lakota, following the orders of Three Stars. What did the Red Cloud - people do, he wondered. Did they stand aside quietly like obedient children while the agent confiscated guns and drove off the horses?

“What would you do?” asked He Dog.

“Fight to stay free,” replied Crazy Horse, “and die a free Lakota if it comes to that. I will never live on an agency, so I will never give up my horse or my gun.”

Sometime in the Moon When Leaves Fall came more news. Scouts who had been along the old Holy Road had seen soldiers leaving Fort Fetterman with buffalo-hide coats and heavy fur caps, a sure, unsettling sign of a winter campaign. A man sent by Sitting Bull arrived with equally disturbing news. A new fort had been built to the north at the confluence of the Tongue and the Elk rivers. The Long Knife in charge there was one called Bear Coat, with the white name of Colonel Nelson Miles. Sitting Bull’s men attacked their supply train and drew first blood. Bear Coat then asked to talk with Sitting Bull. While they were talking, his soldiers attacked the Hunkpapa encampment, destroying winter meat stores and driving off some horses.

Uneasiness came to live in the Crazy Horse encampment. All the news was of the Long Knives escalating their war against the Lakota—a thousand soldiers to the north, a thousand in the south at Fetterman. Furthermore, every soldier was armed with a rifle and a pistol, and spare ammunition was transported on pack mules or in supply wagons. But if the soldiers had an endless supply of ammunition, there seemed to be an endless supply of whites overall. There was only a limited supply of Lakota.

Crazy Horse sent several small raiding parties out essentially to scrounge for rifles and ammunition. Procuring ammunition had always been a significant problem because of the wide variety of rifles. A few Lakota carried lever-action repeating rifles similar to the one given to Crazy Horse. Others had breechloaders, many captured at the Rosebud and Greasy Grass, and there were still a number of single-shot muzzle-loaders that fired round lead balls. But percussion caps to ignite the powder were harder and harder to find. Crazy Horse had carried a back-loading rifle during the Battle of the Hundred in the Hand, with only four round balls.