Lakota (25 page)

Tahca Wanbli drew out a small knife and cut the skin of his chest so that blood flowed.

"Itunkala was my father's brother, my father by blood," the boy said somberly. "I mourn him."

Tacante watched with pride as the younger boys also made the giving up of blood. Then the Heart led the way back to the camp.

Madness had now descended upon Little Big Horn. Everywhere people were tearing down lodge skins and packing up belongings.

"Soldiers come," many said. And when Waawanyanka rode to see if it was true, he hurried back with the dreaded news.

"They come like ants upon the plain," Watcher warned. "Many. We must ride hard."

Tacante looked at the tall poles of good pine and sighed. It was hard work cutting new poles. But pony drags would slow the escape, so there was nothing else to do. He folded the tough buffalo-hide covering and tied it to a packhorse. He then gathered the other belongings and packed them as well. It was good to be a man of many horses, for even Hinhancika rode a pony by himself as they headed away from the stinking place. Little Big Horn was left to the wasicuns, but Tacante would always carry in his heart the memories of triumph and despair.

It wasn't right to travel when in mourning, and Tacante led a small band of friends and relations into the Big Horn country. There they camped and sang the sad songs. Hokala killed a deer, and there was fresh meat to bring strength. Tacante erected a sweat lodge, and Inipi offered purification. But nothing cut away the sadness.

The sun rose and fell three times before Tacante readied his small band for the hard trail. By then soldiers were everywhere, searching all the country for Lakotas. The bluecoats from the north set loose armed parties of Crows, and Three Stars stopped his flight and searched Powder River. Tacante made camp in caves, making no fire for fear the Crows would catch the scent. Now was a running time. The Winchester knocked down elk or antelope to fill the hungry bellies, but the bullets grew to be few, and Tacante often made arrows.

"Once we were a great host," Hokala grumbled as the chokecherry moon faded into memory. "Now we, who killed our enemies, run from them like hares chased by hungry wolves."

"Ah, we are chased by wolves," Tacante said, gazing upon the wary eyes of his sons. "Hinhan Hota was right. There is no fighting the wasicuns. Kill two, and three come instead."

As always in such times of great trial, Tacante climbed the mountain-side until he found a place where he was alone with the sky. There he prayed and starved himself until a vision appeared.

At first the dream seemed familiar. There was Tatanka thundering across the plains. He seemed to bellow fiercely as he trampled beneath his hoofs many wasicuns. Then came a whirlwind of bullets, and Bull Buffalo fell, bleeding.

"Cry for me, Tacante," the spirit whispered. "And for yourself. Our time is finished."

Beyond the whirlwind rose the steep sides of Mato Tipila Paha, the sacred Bear's Lodge. When Tacante awoke from his dreaming, he knew it was the place they must go. There, in that sacred place, perhaps peace waited.

So it was that Tacante led the way eastward, across the Big Horn Range, past Powder River, on through the yellow grass prairie once ruled by the buffalo. Bear's Lodge reached out to the fugitives, called them. There Tacante had joined the sun dance. Surely Wakan Tanka still dwelled in that holy place.

They spent the rest of summer evading the wasicuns and the Ree and Crow scouts. The horses were exhausted, and the little ones weak and thin. Winter would come soon, and where were the stores of wasna to sustain them? Hardly a day did Tacante know the same camp, and cook fires were lit only in the daylight. Even then, no thought was given to drying meat. The risks of discovery were far too great.

Then, even as Tacante's despair darkened his somber face, Waawanyanka's sharp eyes detected riders on the plain ahead.

"Lakotas!" Hokala called.

"Sunkawakan Witkotkoke!" Waawanyanka shouted. The Horse was there.

Crazy Horse was glad to welcome the lost ones to his camp. This was not the great band of Oglalas that had camped at Little Big Horn. Many had returned to Red Cloud's agency even before the fighting, and others had gone afterward. Those who remained were far thinner than summer usually found them.

"The wasicuns chase us hard," the Horse explained. "We would fight them, but we have no bullets for our guns, and arrows cannot find the dark hearts of the bluecoats from far away."

Tacante thought, too, that more and more of the older warriors were turning their faces away from the death another fight was sure to bring.

If Tacante's voice had carried weight with the Oglalas' council, the band might have erected their lodges at Bear Lodge. Sunkawakan Witkotkoke turned north, into the low hills, where many peaceful Lakota bands made their autumn camps. Scarcely had they stretched the lodge skins over such cottonwood and willow poles as could be cut than the sounds of gunfire carried across the hills. Tacante listened glumly to the faint noise, knowing surely here was another Lakota camp struck hard. It was bitter news, for that ground was part of the reservation set aside for the people at Fort Laramie long ago.

Soon riders appeared with dread news.

"Soldiers have attacked our camps. They killed American Horse and many brave hearts," a young man said. "Come, help us fight!"

"Who will follow the Tokala lance?" Hokala cried, and many howled their eagerness to punish the wasicuns.

It took a short time to paint faces and tie up the ponies' tails. Then Sunkawakan Witkotkoke led his Oglalas toward the threatened village.

Tacante had hoped it was perhaps Crow scouts who had attacked American Horse's village. But as the Oglala riders approached the battle, it was clearly a big soldier force. Women and little ones fled over the rough ground that led to Slim Buttes, where American Horse fell. And when the Lakotas arrived, they saw to their disappointment that Three Stars and a wasieun army were busy burning the lodges and killing such Lakotas who remained to fight.

"I am a fox," Hokala began to sing as he waved his lance high over his head. And even as he sang of the difficult things a Tokala must do, Badger led a charge against a party of horse soldiers.

It was a hopeless thing, fighting so many with little more than bows and arrows to answer bullets. But a brave heart never hung back when his kola charged. Tacante followed, screaming a war cry and then blowing his eagle-bone whisde. The bluecoats turned and dismounted. They lifted their rifles to their shoulders and unleashed a wicked volley at the charging Oglalas. A young man called Rushes Ahead fell first. Then No Paint died. Hokala continued on, for his medicine bent the bullets from his chest. He struck the center of the bluecoats and pierced one soldier with the lance. Then his horse went down, and he stood alone among many enemies.

"Ayyy!" Tacante screamed as he raced to rescue his friend. Hokala planted the lance, though, and he dove into the bluecoats with a slashing knife. They must have thought a demon was among them, for they fell back, stunned. Then one fired his pistol into Hokala's back, and another clubbed Badger's head.

Tacante managed to drive the enemy back from Hokala, but the life had already left when the Heart lifted Badger's body.

"Here is a brave heart!" Tacante shouted, taking the lance from the earth. But as he placed Hokala atop the horse and led it from the batdescarred village, Tacante wondered what such a good man had died for. The camp remained in the hands of Three Stars, and even Sunkawakan Witkotkoke's fiery words could not move the Oglalas to retake it. Too many, it seemed, had died already.

Not since Itunkala's death had Tacante known such pain. All the best and bravest among the warriors seemed gone now. Others would surely follow, for winter was a starving time. Now the Oglalas had more helpless ones to feed, and the good hunting moons were behind them.

"There will be game on Tongue River," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke said confidently. "There we'll be beyond the reach of long knives."

Tacante wondered. In their flight from Little Big Horn, the Lakotas and Sahiyelas had often set the prairie afire. With no grazing, the buffalo and elk had fled that good country. It was a long way to go, and the chill wind was already making itself felt.

"I have a wife and daughter, and a brother's wife and son to watch over," Waawanyanka told Tacante when the camp started west. "I'm tired of running. My heart is sad for all the dead young men, for the slaughtered children. My fighting days are ended."

Tacante gazed upon Watcher, the faithful one, he who was forever vigilant. Wakinyela and their little girl stood near, as did Sunlata and Hokala's boy. There was no fire in their eyes. Yes, the fight was over.

"Hinhan Hota is at Sinte Gleska," Tacante told his brother-friend. They would be welcomed at Spotted Tail, given food and clothing. It wasn't such a far way.

"Come with us," Waawanyanka urged.

"I am the Heart of the People," Tacante answered. "I know the curing songs. I can't turn away from the sacred road."

"Ah, my brother, can you be sure it doesn't lead you to your father's lodge?"

"Yes," Tacante said, sighing. "It's never the easy path. It requires more suffering."

If that was true, the suffering soon came. It was a long, difficult journey across the stump grass to Powder River and the Big Horns beyond. Never was there a time when the fear of attack was not heavy on the warriors' minds. Tacante prayed often for visions, but Tatanka was dying, and he spoke only of more dying.

The winter moons found Three Stars Crook again prowling Powder River. While the deer were shedding their antlers, a new wasicun wolf swept down on Dull Knife's Sahiyelas. This was Mackenzie, he who had killed the ponies. In a fight against the southern people, he had captured a winter camp and shot the pony herd. This time his men shot mostly Sahiyelas, but they also burned the lodges, the blankets, even the winter meat. These Sahiyelas rushed to the safety of Sunkawakan Witkotkoke's Oglala camp nearby, and what was already in short supply was cheerfully shared.

Tacante gazed sadly at his frayed lodge skins and ordered them cut apart. Three pieces were made, and two Sahiyela families also had protection against the wind.

"Ate, our tipi is so small," Tahca Wanbli observed as he huddled with his mother, brothers, and father in the square hut stretched over willow limbs. "No longer can we burn a good fire."

"We will stay warm," Tacante promised, avoiding the probing eyes of Hehaka and the little ones. "We have good elk and buffalo robes, and the lodge skin is strong against the snow."

"And if the soldiers come?" Cetan Kinyan asked.

"Then I will fight them and chase them across Powder River," Tacante boasted. "When did Sunkawakan Witkotkoke ever lose a fight to Three Stars?"

The questions were often repeated as it grew colder, and the days were rare when there was enough to eat. Hinhancika grew to be a feeble shadow, and Tacante often held his little sons tightly and rubbed warmth into their frail bodies.

Under the terrible moon the unthinkable occurred. Bluecoats struck the camp. It was the Bearcoat, Nelson Miles, who found the Oglala camp. Already he had punished Gall's Hunkpapas and sent Sitting Bull hurrying to the Grandmother country. Now he had come to kill Crazy Horse.

They came out of a heavy mist. Horses snorted steamy breaths as the riders surged through deep snowdrifts. Bullets tore through lodges, striking the helpless. Terror flooded the land. Tacante threw on an elk robe and covered his face with ash from the fire. Then, using the old ash bow made in his youth, the Heart rushed out to greet the blue-coats.

No buffalo shield bent the bullets, and no elk teeth blinded the enemy. Tacante was a lone Lakota standing in the open, ready to be killed. Three soldiers tried. The first took a bullet in the chest and fell bleeding into the snow. Tacante grabbed his horse and met the second enemy mounted. The wasicun tried to fire his pistol, but the ash bow knocked it aside. Then the bow delivered a hard blow to the neck, unhorsing the wasicun.

The third soldier was a two-stripe, and he made no effort to close with a Lakota so practiced in the art of battle. Instead, he aimed his rifle and fired. It shattered the bow, and Tacante looked at the broken pieces in dismay. Then, screaming like a diving hawk, he slapped the horse into motion and simply ran down the rifle shooter. The soldier fell, and his own horse killed him as it fell atop him.

Tacante watched as the Oglalas found their horses or took mounts from the soldiers. Soon the warriors were driving the soldiers back from the camp. Tacante found two running ponies and brought them to Hehaka.

"You must see to your mother and brothers, Tahca Wanbli," Tacante told his son. Already Hehaka had managed to gather the warm hides and what dried elk meat remained. Tacante climbed down and helped tie the belongings onto the horses. Then he lifted Hinhancika atop the first pony and then assisted Hehaka to climb up. Cetan Kinyan mounted the second animal.

"Ate, you'll need this," Tahca Wanbli said, handing Tacante his rifle and shield before following Flying Hawk onto the second pony.

"Thank you, Cinks," Tacante replied. He passed the rifle back, for it held but three shells now/

"But your bow is ruined," Tahca Wanbli objected.