Lakota (24 page)

"Brave up!" a young Minikowoju shouted as he fought to halt the blood flowing from his belly. "Already I'm dead. I wait for you on the other side."

"Hau!" the Oglalas called to him. "It's a good day to die, brother."

As Sunkawakan Witkotkoke charged the bluecoats at the water's edge, a great cry rose up from the other Lakotas. "Sunkawakan Witkotkoke comes!"

What little resolve remained in the soldiers standing near the river melted like ice in the noonday sun. A pair of Rees tried to meet the charge, but Tacante's Winchester cut them down. A buckskin-clad scout was caught by the chargers and cut to pieces. The Oglalas tore through the enemy as a sharp knife cuts bear fat, and the soldier line broke. Soldier horses fled in panic while the bluecoats hurried up a nearby hill. It was hard going for men on horseback, and Tacante halted.

"Save your bullets!" Crazy Horse cried. "Wait!"

But it was no use. The fight was an individual thing now. Lakota charged bluecoat, dodged a bullet, and struck down the enemy. Or else the bluecoat took careful aim and shot down a brave heart.

One group of clever bluecoats was hiding in a ravine covered by heavy brush. The Lakotas tried to root them out, but a heavy fire met each charge. Finally some boys set fire to the brush. After a bit the wasicuns howled and cried. One ran out into the open, choking, with his arm smoking. A young Hunkpapa charged him and cut his throat.

Fire soon forced other bluecoats and a Crow into the open, and these, too, were killed. Tacante had been resting his horse, but he saw a large wasicun carrying a small flag lead two companions toward the hill where the other bluecoats had fled.

"Kill them!" someone cried. "Get that flag!"

Tacante charged up beside them. One wasicun pulled a pistol, but Tacante knocked it aside with his shield. He then fired his rifle into the face of the flag carrier, blowing him from his horse. Tacante clubbed a second soldier to the ground. Others escaped a moment before a rush of Sicangus fell upon them.

Tacante tore the flag from the slain soldier's grip, then drew a knife and cut away the bluecoat's scalp. As the Heart held up the flag, the second wasicun fell upon him.

"I'll kill you, you devil!" the soldier shouted, clawing Tacante's side as might an animal. Tacante threw the soldier off, then turned back and drove the blade of his knife into the wasicun's belly down to the hilt. The bluecoat's eyes rolled back, and he screamed as Tacante drove the blade up into the vitals. A small army of young men now descended on the scene, eager to count coup on the dead soldiers. Tacante took the scalp before stepping away to tend the deep scratches in his side and back.

Sitting Bull appeared then, calling out that these other bluecoats, the ones on the hill, should be left to tell of their cowardly attack and of the death it brought them.

"Wakan Tanka has given us these lives," the Bull said, bringing back to all the memory of his dream.

Tacante swallowed those words and tried to cast off the bad heart he had for the wasicuns. Perhaps the hundred had charged, and he could see around him many dead. The Ree scouts were cut down hard. Many horses were captured. It was a great victory.

"Tacante, my brother, you fought well!" Hokala called, holding up a scalp. Tacante held up his two, then tied them to his belt and draped the captured flag across his chest. All around, the small boys and women had come to strip and cut up the bodies.

Tacante managed to laugh at the wide eyes of the little ones gazing at the hairy bodies of the naked soldiers. He recalled how strange he had thought it to grow hair in such odd places. But there was little time to observe the hard-hearted cutting up of those foolish wasicuns who had charged the huge Lakota camp. A soldier horn was blowing from the far side of the village. More soldiers were coming down toward Little Big Horn, toward the Sahiyelas, attacking the west where Hehaka and the little ones waited helplessly.

"Hau!" Tacante shouted, turning his weary horse. He kicked the animal into a gallop and raced along. Hokala was soon at his side, as were many of the young Oglalas. Up ahead Sunkawakan Witkotkoke had already gathered a force to cut down these women fighters.

"Hurry!" the cry arose. "Protect the helpless ones."

"Hau, kolas!" Waawanyanka shouted as he rode up, his shield tied to his useless arm. "Our people are in danger !"

Up ahead, where the river crossing led to the Sahiyela camps, a great host was turning the bluecoats back toward a hogback ridge. Two Moons was closing in on the other side, hungry for revenge against the wasicuns for the attack on his going-to-the-agency camp.

"Come, brothers!" Sunkawakan Witkotkoke called, waving his companions onward. "Follow the Sahiyelas! Let none of these wasicuns escape our hands!"

Tacante echoed the call, for already the sting of his slashed back and side drove hatred into his heart. He saw the faces of the little ones waiting in their father's lodge, putting the brave faces on even as fearful shooting grew closer.

Then Tacante's horse stumbled, and he fell against the rocky ground violently. If Hokala hadn't turned to fend off the following warriors, the Heart might well have been trampled. Tacante shook off the pain and got to his feet, then turned toward his horse. Already it was screaming in agony, for both forefeet appeared lamed.

"Look!" Hokala shouted, and Tacante turned and watched a solitary young rider appear, riding swiftly with a second horse carried along behind. It was Itunkala, his youthful face painted grim black.

"Here's a horse, Brother," the Mouse said as he reached Tacante. "It's a good day to die."

"Hau, Itunkala!" Hokala yelled. "Let no bluecoat escape."

Tacante now took out his eagle-bone whisde and blew the shrill call. A hundred and another hundred whistles answered. The sound swallowed the screams of dying wasicuns and the brave heart songs of Lakotas and Sahiyelas. A whirlwind of painted warriors, most of them now creeping up the rocky ridge on foot, was driving the wasicuns back. Small bunches tried to form lines here and there, but torrents of bullets and waves of arrows cut them down.

Tacante, Hokala, and Itunkala arrived to find Sunkawakan Witkotkoke exhorting his companions toward a clump of soldiers atop the hill. Tacante saw a tall wasicun chief firing his pistol and shouting bravely toward a handful of companions. This soldier seemed familiar. Perhaps Tacante had met him at Red Cloud. Perhaps the bluecoat was among those riding Paha Sapa, trying to drive out the thieves. It didn't matter. Tacante climbed off his horse, raised the Winchester, and shot the soldier chief in the knee.

Itunkala shouted loudly. Then, before Tacante could halt him, Mouse whipped his horse and charged the wasicuns.

"Misun!" Tacante called, fighting to move the lever and advance a new shell into the firing chamber of his rifle. Now Itunkala was in the way. The young man fired an arrow into the heart of a soldier. Then a volley of rifle fire spun the boy from his horse.

"Ayyy!" Tacante screamed, rushing toward the enemy. Bullets struck the buffalo shield, peppered the ground around him, but they didn't strike flesh or bone. Tacante slammed the shield against the first soldier, then clubbed another with his rifle, and shot a third. Hokala drove the point of his Tokala lance into the wounded bluecoat chief, and the three remaining wasicuns, their nerve shattered by the Lakota charge, fled up the hill. They were swallowed up by a band of Sahiyelas.

Tacante drew his knife and stabbed one of the senseless bluecoats while Hokala finished the other. Then the two kolas moved to Itunkala's side.

"I killed an enemy of my people," the Mouse said.

Hokala cut away the bluecoat's scalp and placed it in Itunkala's bloody hand.

"It was a brave heart deed," Tacante told his brother as he cried inside. Blood trickled out of the young man's mouth, and the narrow chest that had seemed so small that morning at the river seemed even smaller pierced by a pair of bullet holes.

"You'll send the scalp to our sister?" Itunkala asked. "You'll tell Hinhan Hota he had two brave sons this day?"

"I'll tell them so that they may sing of you in the winter camps," Tacante promised, gripping the small hand of his brother.

Itunkala then softly sang his death chant as a haze clouded his eyes. "I never grew tall," the young man muttered as death ended his suffering.

"Ayyy!" Tacante screamed, turning in anger to seek out some enemy, but there was none. Already the firing on the hilltop grew faint, and the victory cries marked the end of the wasicuns.

"Wakan Tanka!" Tacante called, cradling the head of his fallen brother. "Hold close this brave heart. Ayyy!"

Tacante then slashed his chest, hoping the pain might somehow cast away the sorrow of his torn heart. Death hung over Little Big Horn like a cloud, for the wasicuns killed there were many. For Heart of the People, there was but one slain, though. He carried that solitary corpse in his bleeding arms, noting how light a burden it was. Here was a young man never grown tall, one who walked the hard road with a boy's name. There should have been a feasting that night, and Tacante would have given a warrior's name to the brother who had earned it.

Now there would only be mourning.

Tacante barely had tíme to wash his brother's body and dress it for burial. The bluecoats on the near hill remained, and many Lakotas were pressing them. Tacante had no more heart for war that day, and he devoted his time to treating the many wounded Oglalas and Sicangus. The wasicuns had not died cowards. Many a bullet had found its mark, and the wailing of the women echoed across Litde Big Horn like the eerie call of the great horned owl.

There were shouts of triumph, too, for over two hundred soldiers lay dead under the summer moon. Many Rees and some Crows had also fought their last battle. Young warriors recounted their coups, and not a few proudly presented scalps to sisters and mothers. Many good guns and fine horses were taken, and a band of Sahiyelas proudly wore the blue shirts of their dead enemies.

That night the women and boys prowled the battlefield, taking anything that was of use. Others cut apart the bodies in a savage manner, for there was litde love among the Sahiyelas for these wasicuns. Some who had survived the fight at Washita River said these were the men who had laid old Black Kettle low, for they carried the scissor-tailed flags with the number seven. It was even said Long Hair himself was among the dead.

As Tacante cut bullets out of bone and muscle or sang the healing chants over cut thighs or bruised heads, he didn't think of the hogback ridge blooming with the strange white bodies. His heart was full of sadness for the brother who would never again ride at his side.

Tahca Wanbli, Cetan Kinyan, and Hinhancika spoke little of the stiff body of Itunkala. Hokala had taken them amid the cottonwoods to cut scaffold limbs, and they had escaped long enough to visit the battle hill. Eagle Deer had recovered a fine leather belt and a box of Winchester shells from the body of a wasicun scout. The young boys contented themselves with snatching green picture papers and shiny buttons.

Tacante greeted their return with stern words, for it wasn't right to accumulate possessions while mourning an uncle.

That night, as Tacante lay on his buffalo hides, he noticed the children moaning in their sleep. Hinhancika thrashed about with his arms as if fighting back the enemy, and Flying Hawk, who was always the quiet one, screamed out in the night.

"Ate, I saw a head coming at me," the boy said, clutching his father's side.

"Brave up, Cetan Kinyan," Tacante urged. "It was only the dead head of an enemy." It took a long time to quiet his son's terrors, and Tacante knew the cause. Some of the older boys had taken heads of the enemy to kick around the camp. Better a rawhide ball had been used! It was wakan to strike the enemy, but to call down the ghosts of the enemy onto one's camp was folly.

By morning the moans of the wounded and the sobs of the mourning were not the only sounds on Little Big Horn. Scouts called out alarm that more soldiers approached from the north. The air was full of evil odor, for the dead turned foul under the summer sun.

"We must leave!" Waawanyanka cried. "There are no bullets for our good guns, and our arrows are all shot away."

Tatanka Yotanka already had the Hunkpapas breaking down their camp. Sunkawakan Witkotkoke painted his face and tied up his horse's tail, but there were few with the bad heart for more fighting.

"Tacante, you will come?" the Horse asked. "We'll decoy them into ambush and strike them down."

"I cannot," Tacante explained, for he was in mourning, and he'd set aside his rifle. "I go to bury my brother."

There were many dead to see to, and finally it became clear this new band of wasicuns faced no attack. Even the bluecoats on the near hill were safe from Lakota arrows. There would be no fighting that day.

"Upelo!" a Sahiyela crier called out. "Upelo!"

"They're coming to kill us!" women shouted.

"They are still far away," Waawanyanka spoke in a calming voice. "Brave up, Lakotas. There is time to tend our dead."

And so Tacante and his brother-friends took Itunkala deep into the hills. There they placed him on a scaffold overlooking the river. The distant Big Horn peaks seemed to watch over the young man, and Tacante made the many prayers and cut his chest again to take on the suffering of the traveling soul.