Man on Two Ponies (13 page)

The council opened with the goateed chairman Foster reading the agreement, pausing after each sentence for the interpreter. Then
Three
Stars spoke.

“The white men in the East are
like
birds,” he told them. “They
are
hatching out of their eggs every year, and there isn't enough room for them in the East. They must go elsewhere, as you have seen them coming for the last few years. They are still coming, and they will come until they overrun all of this country. You can't prevent it, nor can the President prevent it. Everything is decided in Washington by the majority, and these people come out West and
see
the Indians have a big body of land that they aren't using, and they say, ‘we want the land.' ” He paused, then his face became solemn.

“Last year when you refused to accept the bill, Congress came very near opening the reservation anyway. I'm certain that you will never get better terms than are offered in this bill, and the chances
are
you won't get
so
good. It strikes me that
instead
of complaining about the past you had better provide for the future.” When he finished speaking, he told them to talk about it among themselves and to return in the morning. The Brulés broke up into groups, and Billy saw that in each the mixed bloods were doing most of the talking.
The Brulés don't want to sell their
land.
Those men can't possibly make them change their
minds.

The next morning Crook explained the agreement's benefits for
the Tetons. “I have no personal interest in this matter,” he told them. “It's up to you. Think about it and talk it over for a few days, then decide. We have other work to do and can't stay much longer.
If
you don't sign the agreement soon we 'II assume that you don't intend to sign it, and go on our way.”

Billy felt relieved to hear that—it was what he'd expected of Three Stars. “All we have to do is hang on for a few more days,” he told Culver. “Then the commission will leave and we'll still have our land. At least he isn't trying to bully us into selling.”

“Don't bet on it. A lot of that was just so it won't appear that the commission is being heavy handed. He knows this is the best offer the Tetons will ever receive and that they must accept
it.
He's not likely to leave until they do, and there's been a lot of money changing hands.” Billy said nothing, hoping Culver was wrong.

At the next council old Swift Bear invited squawman Charles Jordan to speak, while the fullbloods narrowed their eyes. Jordan had lived among the Tetons for many years, and his wife was Oglala, but that didn't give him the right to speak. “I am convinced we should sell the land they want,” he said. “The men who oppose selling it just want to sit around forever, eating free rations and neglecting their families.” Billy sensed a wave of anger sweeping over the fullbloods, who scowled at Jordan. Squaw-men and mixed bloods, their inferiors, were boldly speaking up in councils and acting important only because they knew more about the whites. They'd have it out with them right now, Billy thought as he looked at their angry faces, but they're afraid of Three Stars. Crook had praised these men as the most forward-looking element, the hope of the Sioux, but to the fullbloods they were traitors.

After the commissioners left the council ground, the Brulés all tried
to
talk
at once.
“three
Stars is right!” Louis Richards shouted. “It's to our advantage to sell now, not later.”

“We don't want to sell!” White Crow roared. “If we do they'll cut our rations!”

“No! They'll cut them if we don't,” Richards replied.

They argued heatedly for half an hour. Billy noticed that some fullblood progressives were silent, and he felt fear. They're weakening, he thought, and he remembered seeing some of them talking to Three Stars. It appeared that all who spoke privately with Crook came away agreeing with him. Only a month earlier all had sworn to remain united, to stand fast against the land sale. Now that unity was drifting away before their eyes, vanishing like the smoke of a campfire. Billy's shoulders sagged. He felt helpless. As they were leaving, Hollow-Horn-Bear walked up to Richards. “Don't tell Three Stars about this talk,” he said. The mixed blood nephew of Swift Bear didn't reply.
Three Stars pays
him, so he'll tell him.

“The Brulés have many worries,” Culver observed when Billy told
him
about the quarrelling. “Some are real, some are
imaginary.
For one thing, they're sure that any government proposal is a bag of snakes; the sweeter the offer, the more deadly the bite. The Edmunds crowd confirmed their suspicions. They look for deception in every sentence; they're especially nervous when they can't find it, for they're sure it's there. They know what they have now, but they don't know what they'll have if they agree. They've been burned so many times they're sure it will happen again if they say yes. That's unfortunate, for this is a good offer, and one they should accept. But however it turns out, it will leave bad feelings that won't go away soon. That's also unfortunate.”

J.
T. Lea, a white man that the Indian Bureau had sent several weeks earlier to take a census of the Brulés, entered the trading post to buy a hunting knife. “How's your work coming?” Culver asked.

“They sure hate to be counted, but I'm getting it done.”

After
Lea
left, Culver shook his head while sparks flew from his pipe. “This is the worst time for making a head count, while the commission is trying to negotiate a sale.”

“Why did they choose this time?”

“Someone in the Indian Bureau figures there may not be as many men as are on the rolls. To help the commission, they want to reduce the number and make it a lot easier to muster a three-fourths vote. But nothing arouses the Sioux more than being counted. They know nothing good ever comes of it, and it worries them.”

“Should it?”

“It should worry them more
than
they realize. Right now that count is to help the commission, but it can also affect their rations. Sioux rations have been reduced each year since '85 to way below what the
treaty
guaranteed. When Congress wants to save money, it thinks first of the Indians—they don't vote. The Brulés have kept from starving only by not reporting deaths and by claiming more children
than
they have. There are a lot fewer people
than
are listed on the rolls, and some will avoid being counted if they can. This head count may help get the land, but it could mean disaster for the Tetons.” Billy remembered the Friends of the Indians' talk about starving the Sioux into submission and shuddered.

“Another thing they fear is that this agreement will cancel the 1868
treaty,
and they don't like the pricing system. All of them are smart enough to see that if settlers wait five years they can have the best land for fifty cents an acre.”

“All of
this
land was once ours. It's up to us to hang on to what's left.”

“I know, and I don't blame the Sioux for not wanting to part with any more. They've heard, too, that tribes whose reservations have been broken up into individual allotments are in worse shape
than
before, worse off even than the Sioux. And allotment is likely
to
follow the land sale, sooner or later. The old chiefs know very well that allotment will break up the tribe and end what influence they still have. In spite of all this, I agree with Crook that this is the best offer they'll ever receive and they should take it while they can.”

At the next council, White Bird asked the question most often on the lips of the Brulés: “What about our rations? As soon as you get our land, the government will cut our rations.”

“I assure you that there is no connection between the land sale and your rations,” Crook answered wearily. Like the others, White Bird didn't appear convinced. Being confined to a reservation was bad enough, but having to see their families go hungry was a frightening specter. Again and again the commissioners
had
insisted that the land sale had nothing to do with rations, but the question refused to die.

As he listened to the talk after the council ended, Billy was
appalled to see that many fullblood progressives were wavering.
What held them back was worry over what Pratt and the Friends
of the Indian had said about scrapping treaties and ending rations. They needed positive, unequivocal assurance from Three Stars himself.

“We have told you repeatedly that what you fear won't happen,” Crook told them gruffly in the morning. “I have now written our promises to you on this paper and signed it. I will leave it with you.” A murmur of approval rose from the Brulés. Three Stars had won over many fullbloods, that was clear. Soon some of them were arguing in favor of the agreement, and that made Billy feel queasy.

When they met on June 7, Hollow-Hom-Bear, who still opposed the sale, spoke. “The Brulés,” he said, “have chosen twelve men to represent them, and those men have asked me to speak for the tribe. The Brulés don't want to talk to the commission. They want a big council of all the Teton chiefs to deal with it.
If
four men have to decide, and two are here and two far away, they will decide differently. Only by having all the chiefs together can we reach a decision fair to all. That is all the Brulés have to say.”

Crook thanked him, then invited any man who wanted to speak to come forward. Billy was shocked. The Brulés had chosen Hollow-Hom-Bear to speak for them. No one else had the right to talk. Three Stars must know that.

“He's trying to get around the chiefs and the tribal council by appealing to individuals,” Culver said quietly, as he and Billy stood at the edge of the crowd.

“He talked about being fair. What he's doing is unfair. The Brulés chose Hollow-Horn-Bear to speak for them.”

After a long silence, Louis Richards, Swift Bear's mixed blood nephew, arose. “Every man has a right to his own opinion,” he said. “The tribal council has no right to decide for all. Many of us have studied this agreement, and it has lots of advantages for us.” He looked over the crowd. “The commissioners would like to see you men who are against it.”

Old Two Strike, who was not ashamed to be called nonprogressive or to admit that he opposed the land sale, immediately
replied. “The tribal council has always had the right to choose who will speak for the tribe, as you know very well.” He scowled at Richards. “It has chosen Hollow-Horn-Bear to speak for all,” he said, then sat down.

Good Voice leaped to his feet. “I am a man who works hard,” he said, “and I am as good a progressive as you.” He glared at Richards. “When Hollow-Horn-Bear spoke for the tribe he spoke for me. You
try
to make it sound like the tribal council is fighting Three Stars, when it asked only for all Teton chiefs to
be
brought together to talk to the commission.”

Crook slowly arose. “The Great Father didn't call a general council,” he said, holding the lapels of his corduroy jacket, “because that would make too many Sioux neglect their farms during the planting season.” Yet planting time would soon be past for the Brulés, and it appeared that they would remain at the agency until the commission released them. When several men told Spencer they wouldn't sign the agreement and wanted to look after their cattle, the agent threatened to arrest them if they left.

“When I was here before,” Crook continued, “I expected much good of you, and now after eleven years I come back and find that you have done very little toward civilization. You have been
content to sit and eat rations the government gives you, thinking
it is always going to support you
in
idleness. When I was here before I was proud of you. You were full of manhood, and any decision that was required of you, you gave it right away.”

After Crook finished, Standing Bear spoke for the progressives in his band. “We want to sign the agreement,” he said. “We haven't done so because no one is sure we will continue to receive rations.”

Crook, who had addressed this fear again and again, slowly arose and discarded his friendly pose. “I have assured you that rations will not be cut,” he said sharply, his face flushed. The tone of his voice gave Billy visions of bluecoat soldiers. At that a group of mixed bloods started to push through the crowd toward the table where the copy of the agreement lay, along with an inkpot and quill pens.

The fullbloods leaped to their feet. Hollow-Horn-Bear shouted
for
all
who stood by the tribe to leave at once. Most of the Brulés rushed away like the cavahy was after them, but they soon stopped and looked back
like
a bunch of startled but curious antelopes. Billy watched, hoping they wouldn't return. Old Swift Bear, who had never said no to a white official, rushed to the table and grabbed a pen, shouting for someone to write his name. At his elbow was Crow Dog. Crook and the other commissioners looked on, unsmiling.