Lakota (26 page)

"I have this," Tacante explained, holding up the pistol taken from the wasicuns on Powder River so long ago. "Now hurry to safety. I will stop the soldiers here!"

So it happened, for Bearcoat's men suffered greatly from the blinding snow and the numbing cold. They could not press the attack against the Horse's angry warriors. Finally they had enough, and the shooting died. Tacante rejoined his family.

"Hau, Ate!" Tahca Wanbli called. "You've taken a scalp!"

"Yes, we've punished them hard," Tacante said, sadly observing the shivering children.

"I'll miss our lodge skins," Cetan Kinyan whimpered.

"Maybe we'll find a good cave tonight," Tacante said, touching the Hawk gently on the shoulder. "And later we'll make a new lodge."

"And will the soldiers come to chase us from it, too?" Flying Hawk asked.

Tacante bowed his head under the hard gaze of this small son. For the first time he had no answer. He was no longer strong or wise enough to protect his family. Winter's claws tore at them. Could there be a darker time?

There could. As Tacante rode out to spy on the bluecoats, he caught sight of Three Stars's scouts. These weren't Rees or Crows. On the left were Sahiyelas, and on the right—Lakotas. In the lead was . . . no, it couldn't be. But it was. Waawanyanka was wearing a three-stripe blue coat. Now the people were hunting their own brothers.

Watcher wasn't the only familiar face Tacante spied that bitter winter. As Sunkawakan Witkotkoke's party eluded their pursuers, Hinkpila appeared. Louis and his brother Philip led six fine buckskin ponies and a pack mule laden with dried venison and flour and good blankets.

"Hau, brother!" Tacante called as he and three young men met the two traders.

"Hau, brother," Louis replied. "I'm glad to see you still have your hair."

"You may not have yours so long riding this country alone," Tacante scolded. "Many would kill for the goods you carry."

"It's not by accident I've found you," Louis explained, speaking in English the other Lakotas could not comprehend. "Colonel Miles sent dispatches to Fort Fetterman, and Philip got wind of them. We came out this way, and who did we meet but Watcher. He said you were with Crazy Horse."

"I'm not the only one."

"No, but I speak Lakota fair when there's need, and Wicatankala beaded me a shirt in the old fashion. I thought mentioning your name might help, too."

"Why have you come, Hinkpila, Istamaza?"

"To bring you home," Louis answered. "Your sister worries. The fighting's finished, Tacante. Over. Surely you can't hope to escape when so many are after you."

Tacante only frowned. He dismissed his companions, then led Hinkpila and Istamaza to the snow dwelling that served as a home.

"I didn't know how hard things were," Louis whispered when he joined Hehaka and the little ones around the fire. "Look at the little ones, Brother. They grow thin. Let me fill their bellies. Come back to Laramie. We'll hunt the elk and share the good stories of better days beside a warming fire."

Tacante watched Tahca Wanbli's eyes light up. Hinhancika crawled over and curled close to his uncle. Cetan Kinyan sat with Philip Le Doux and babbled about the many soldier fights.

"Tacante, come in," Louis pleaded.

For the first time Hehaka turned to her husband. Her eyes echoed the plea.

"You're my brother," Tacante said, dropping his chin to his chest. "I can't provide for my family's needs as I once could. Hinkpila, take them into your lodge as my father once welcomed you. Give them food and clothing and shelter."

"And you?" Louis asked.

"I stay with Sunkawakan Witkotkoke. I walk the trail to its end."

A heavy silence filled the frigid hovel the remainder of the night. And when Louis and Philip carried Hehaka and the children away that next morning, Tacante was already preparing his death song. Life had lost its sweetness, death its terror.

The world is a circle, and a man's trail is constantly turning back upon itself. In the despair of winter, Tacante painted his face black and prepared to fight a last battle. It wasn't to be. Louis Le Doux wasn't the only brave heart to speak of setting aside the lance and coming to the reservation. Sinte Gleska, the Spotted Tail, came to urge Crazy Horse to give up the ghost trail. Here were strong words well spoken. And with the hunger of a starving winter leaving the people weak and faint-hearted, many followed the Tail to fight no longer.

In the end, it was Three Stars Crook who convinced the Horse it was time to end the hard fight. The soldier chief spoke of a new agency for the Oglala strange one, a fine place on Tongue River, where the elk grew tall and strong, and the air was crisp and clear. It wasn't a stinking place like the flatlands where Red Cloud and Spotted Tail waited for the wasicun handouts. There were no soldier forts in that country.

Late in the spring Sunkawakan Witkotkoke rode into Camp Robinson, near Red Cloud's agency. With him were eight hundred horsemen, riding proudly in their finest clothes. Streaming feather tails flowed from bonnets of eagle feathers. Faces were painted red and yellow and, yes, black. War songs filled the air, and for a moment soldiers ran about as if an attack was expected.

It was all a show. Crazy Horse wished everyone to know he wasn't a beaten warrior dragged in starving to a jail. No, here was a great warrior, unconquered, yet ready to hand over his weapons to make the good peace.

Tacante rode in that line of warriors, but his face bore red paint. There was no bad heart for this peace. Already he'd learned from Louis that Hehaka and the little ones were with her father at Red Cloud. Soon Tacante would again know the warmth of his wife's tender touch and the admiring eyes of his sons. Or so he hoped.

"It's time for peace," the Horse had said. "The buffalo are dead, and so are many brave ones. I have no heart to see more die."

Tacante knew those feelings. They were his own. As he laid his Winchester and the old Colt pistol in the pile of guns, he knew his warrior days were at an end. He had yet to walk the earth thirty summers, but he was an old man.

Hehaka noticed the change when he greeted her beside her father's lodge. Wanbli Cannunpa had that same beaten expression on his face. Tahca Wanbli leaped into his father's strong arms, though, and howled in delight. Cetan Kinyan ran over as well, his dark eyes shining with delight. Even Hinhancika, who had departed as little more than a painted skeleton, hugged his father tightly and boasted of his restored strength.

"Life here is not like the old free days," Waawanyanka explained later. "Some of the young men, as I did, ride as scouts for the soldiers. Others take to strong drink. We eat the stringy Texas cows, and my teeth hunger for pte, sacred buffalo cow."

"Why have we surrendered, then?" Tacante asked. "Why have we let them put us in this reservation cage?"

"Why is Tatanka dead?" Waawanyanka asked. "Who has answers? The children grow tall and strong, and we have buried no brothers here. Perhaps it's enough."

Tacante wondered. He wasn't the only one.

As the moons came and went, and Three Stars's promised reservation on Tongue River didn't come, Sunkawakan Witkotkoke spoke often of returning to the old ways. There were Powder River and the Big Horns waiting. Who could stop the Horse if he chose to ride there?

It was spring, and scouts had spotted buffalo. All the young men wanted to go to hunt them, and as the herd was on reservation land, the treaty allowed such a hunt. But when Sunkawakan Witkotkoke prepared to leave the agency, soldiers and Lakota police were sent to stop him.

"Come with us!" they shouted, taking him in their hands. As they dragged him toward the iron-box jail, the Horse gave a shout and struggled to free himself. A soldier or one of the Lakota police used his bayonet. Cold, cruel steel pierced the Horse's flesh, and he sank to the ground, mumbling his death song.

So died Sunkawakan Witkotkoke, slain in the shadows of a dark hour. Many mourned his passing.

"You cannot cage a hawk," Tacante told his sons. "His pain is over now."

Tacante searched his own heart for direction. With Hehaka, he tried to bring on a dreaming, but there was no wakan on the agency. He longed for the high places and the hunting.

"What brave trail will my sons walk?" Tacante asked Hinhan Hota when the Owl came for a visit. "Paha Sapa is full of wasicun towns. Pe Sla and Bear Lodge are gone. Where will we perform the sun dance? How will Wakan Tanka know his children?"

"Ah, who can see the wind?" Hinhan Hota replied. "Who can tell what tomorrow's sun will bring?"

Tacante gathered the boys together that night. He sat beside the fire, crafting a fine bow of river ash. As he worked, he spoke of how the first bow was given long ago by the Sky Father to a brave hunter. Tacante also told of Itunkala and Hokala.

"What will I hunt?" Hinhancika asked.

"Ate, how will I win a warrior name?" Tahca Wanbli asked.

Tacante had no answer. As he gazed around at the silent lodges, clothed in the amber shadow of the sinking sun, he wondered. For it seemed the old ways had passed. And now there was but the dying of the people left.