Man on Two Ponies (33 page)

The remaining Brulés at Pine Ridge and many Oglalas struck their tipis, loaded their wagons, and despite the efforts of Brooke and Royer to calm them, fled north. Shortly after noon, the Brulé war party returned with the rescued women and children, and their tale of the killings aroused the others even more. The Brulés especially were eager to fight. A large number of them rode over a ridge southwest of the agency, which was protected by only a few companies of infantry and the Indian police, and fired at them out of rifle range.

General Brooke wisely ordered the infantry and the police not
to return the fire, and thereby prevented a serious attack on the poorly defended agency. He knew that all were excited, but he was convinced that not many were actually hostile. The Brulé war party left before dark, forcing old Red Cloud to accompany them.

The Indians were kept agitated by the rumor that Big Foot's men had been disarmed and then callously attacked. The whites heard that the Miniconjus had attacked the troops and had the cavalry cut off, and they huddled in the agency buildings in terror.

Two Strike's people and the Oglalas under Little Wound, Big Road, and No Water fled down White Clay Creek and camped about fifteen miles from Pine Ridge. On the way they met Short Bull, Kicking Bear, and their followers, who were cautiously moving toward the agency, and who immediately joined them. Together they numbered about 4000, a fourth or fewer of them warriors. During the night a number of wounded men and women who had escaped from Wounded Knee straggled into the camp, and the doleful wailing of the women and the death chants of the men mingled with the howling of coyotes. Short Bull and Kicking Bear ordered that no one was to leave the camp–they would fight and die together. The aroused Brulé warriors enforced the order.

On December 29 Major Henry's black troopers of the Ninth Cavalry made a fifty-mile scout for Big Foot's band, then returned
to their base camp after dark. At nine that night two Oglala scouts arrived with orders from Brooke to Henry to make a forced march to Pine Ridge to defend the agency against an expected attack. The weary troopers struck their tents, loaded the wagons, and, wrapped in their buffalo hide coats, rode the fifty miles to Pine Ridge in a light snow. They arrived at reveille and found that Forsyth and half of the Seventh Cavalry had reached the agency the previous afternoon.

At noon the same day, Forsyth and the First Squadron rode out to check on burning buildings in the vicinity of the Drexel Mission. Warriors lured them into low ground and other hostiles in the surrounding hills cut them off. In the skirmishing, Lt. Mann was fatally wounded. A courier raced to Major Henry, whose black troopers were soon in the saddle again, although their jaded mounts could barely trot. They drove the hostiles from the hills and rescued
the beleagured troopers of the Seventh, who embraced their deliverers.

On December 31, Gen. Miles arrived at Pine Ridge and took charge. He immediately ordered Forsyth relieved of his command because of the Wounded Knee debacle. Despite Miles' heavy handed pressure, a court of inquiry exonerated Forsyth of culpability for the killing of women and children.

The huge hostile camp was cut off from the Stronghold by a concentration of troops to the north and west of them. Miles sent conciliatory letters to the chiefs, gently reminding them they were surrounded by a great many soldiers. Not a shot would be fired or a hand raised against them, he assured them, if they did as he directed.

The chiefs were willing to trust Bearcoat Miles, for he had never lied to them, but the Brulé followers of Short Bull and Kicking Bear refused to surrender or to allow others to leave. Day after day they quarreled bitterly in council. Finally Big Road, He Dog, Little Hawk, and Jack Red Cloud slipped away at night, and others left when they had the chance.

Two companies of Cheyenne scouts kept the hostile camp under close surveillance day and night. One company was under Lt. Edward Casey, a promising young officer who was genuinely concerned for the welfare of the Indians. His scouts frequently met and talked with men from the camp. On June 6, several of them visited Casey in his camp and encouraged him to talk to the leaders, most of whom were eager to return to Pine Ridge.

The next day Casey and two Cheyenne scouts rode up the valley and met several men from the camp. One returned, carrying a message to Red Cloud that Casey wanted to talk to him. Red Cloud replied that Casey must leave at once, for the fanatics in the camp would kill him on sight. Just as Casey received the message, two Brulés rode up and stopped to talk, a warrior named Broken Arm and Plenty Horses, a youthful Carlisle graduate. As Casey turned to ride back down the valley, Plenty Horses shot him in the back of the head.

When the influential Young-Mao-Afraid-of-His-Horses returned
to Pine Ridge from his long visit to the Crows, Miles sent him to the hostile camp to persuade the Indians to come to the agency. With difficulty, he induced the reluctant, tempestuous Brulés to move the camp a few miles nearer the agency. The troops to the north, now commanded by Gen. Brooke, immediately followed, which made the Brulés hesitant to move again. Miles, well aware that it was a delicate, explosive situation, ordered the troops to make no threatening gestures, but their mere presence a few miles away kept the hostiles nervous. On January 11 they finally reached the Drexel Mission, after several more short moves. They were now five miles from the agency, with the troops not far behind them. Short Bull, Kicking Bear, and most of the Brulés still preferred to die fighting rather than surrender. They continued to quarrel furiously every day.

On January 12 the Oglalas in the camp, over the threats of Brulé fanatics, moved two miles closer to the agency. The Brulés, seeing themselves alone and exposed to the nearby troops, soon struck their tipis and hurried after the others. They had hardly departed before troops bivouacked at the mission. White Tail, a Brulé chief, rode back to the soldier camp and begged Brooke not to follow them so closely. Finally, on January 15, they entered the agency and surrendered.

When asked for their guns they handed over 200 rifles without protest. Miles knew they had many more but he judiciously refrained from pressing the matter. More guns were voluntarily surrendered once the fear of a treacherous attack subsided. Symbolizing the end of the Ghost Dance affair was a meeting between Kicking Bear and Miles. The two warriors stared at each other for a few moments, then the tall Ghost Dance leader leaned over and laid his rifle at Miles' feet.

Brig. Gen. L. W. Colby of the Nebraska National Guard, who'd been at Pine Ridge as an observer, remarked: “This Indian war might be regarded as the result of a mistaken conception or misunderstanding of the Indian character and of the real situation and conditions on the reservations. The general condition of things, however, which made such misunderstanding possible, was the result of the Indian policy of the government.”

Those who'd had a heavy hand in designing that ill-begotten
policy, the Friends of the Indian, met at Riggs House
in
Washington on January 8. News of the Wounded Knee fiasco made them angry and resentful, eager to pillory someone for wrecking their pious plans for remaking the Sioux. They sniffed at the possibility that someone might be misguided or depraved enough to charge them with being responsible for the sufferings of the Sioux. It was, they concluded, their usual whipping boys—Red Cloud and other stubborn old chiefs, and
the
sinister nonprogressives
in
general who were to blame. They ignored the fact that it was the desperate young men who'd caused the bloodshed. Roundly damning their scapegoats, Congress and the administration, lifted their spirits, and they were quickly able to look on the bright side of the tragic affair.

The Messiah craze, they happily agreed, was the last stand of the evil nonprogressives. The Sioux, they assured themselves, having learned the penalty for heeding wicked leaders, were now ready to make the instant transformation into imitation white farmers. Commissioner Morgan wholeheartedly agreed with the brethren. There was, he said, no reason to be any more despondent over Wounded Knee than over the Haymarket affair. He cheerfully quoted carefully selected and doctored Indian Office figures to show a bright future for
all
tribes.

On January 21, the troops at Pine Ridge held a
final
parade
before departing the following day. While Miles watched infantry and cavalry pass in review, a blinding, suffocating sandstorm swept over the parade ground, concealing the marching columns from the Indians who nervously watched from the hills. Still not fully trusting the bluecoats, they'd taken the precaution of rounding up their ponies in case flight was necessary.

Miles departed on January 26, accompanied by twenty-five Ghost Dance leaders who were to be confined at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, until the echoes of Wounded Knee had died away and the Indian Messiah was forgotten. Buffalo Bill was preparing to take his Wild West Show on a year-long European tour, and he requested permission to take the Indians. The army was pleased at the prospect of having the troublemakers out of the country for a year, but Commissioner Morgan had a low regard for circus life and denied the
request. Cody secured the help of the Nebraska congressional delegation in persuading Secretary Noble to overrule Morgan and allow the Indians to go.

Before leaving Pine Ridge, Miles arranged to have a delegation of chiefs and headmen, both progressives and nonprogressives from all the agencies, taken to Washington to present their grievances to the Secretary of the Interior and other officials. He proposed having an army officer of his choice escort them, but his arrogance and unconcealed contempt for Indian Bureau officials made them seethe with fury. Morgan persuaded the President to order the Indians escorted by civilians.

Thirty chiefs and headmen reached Washington on February 4 on a visit Miles had designed for the purpose of putting them in a happy and cooperative frame of mind. They expected leisurely discussions and opportunities to talk freely and at length, but Washington officials had more pressing concerns and their time was limited. The Indians chose Grass, American Horse, Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, Hump, and several others to speak for them, but the Secretary insisted their talks
be
brief. Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses was able to ask some embarrassing questions, but he received no satisfactory answers. To Miles' outrage, the chiefs were sent home more discontented than before.

Miles, who regarded himself the leading expert on the Sioux and who was nearly correct, pushed his own program for them.
It
was far more reasonable and practical than the Indian Bureau's plans. First the government must win their confidence, and it could start by belatedly making good on the promises of the Crook Commission. On January 19, in fact, the President had already signed the hastily passed bill that had been before the House for nearly a year without action.

It was, Miles continued, patently wrong to teach Indians to support themselves by starving them. Rations should
be
maintained at an adequate level until the Indians could provide for their own sustenance. Since the climate and soil of Dakota prevented them from ever supporting themselves by agriculture, the farming program so dear to the Friends of the Indian and certain officials should be jettisoned in favor of stock raising. “I do not think any one thing would please those Indians more than to give each
family, as far as possible, the Angus or Galloway cattle, which come nearer to their dream of the restoration of the buffalo than anything else.”

The young Brulé Plenty Horses, who killed Lt. Casey, was
arrested
on February 18 and taken to Fort Meade. He
had
no money to hire a lawyer even if he'd been inclined to raise a hand in his own defense, and the Indian Bureau had no funds for such purposes. His plight aroused the sympathy of officers like Col. Sumner, who informed the Indian Rights Association about
him,
and it engaged an attorney to plead his case. To the federal grand jury in Deadwood that same month, Plenty Horses explained the reason for his fatal action.

“I am an Indian,” he said. “Five years I attended Carlisle and was educated in the ways of the white men.”
As
a result, he said, both whites and Indians despised him. “I was lonely. I shot the lieutenant so I might make a place for myself among my people. Now I am one of them. I shall be hanged and the Indians will bury me as a warrior. They will be proud of me. I am satisfied.”

Since Plenty Horses had freely admitted his guilt, the grand jury had no choice but to indict him. In April he was tried in the federal district court at Sioux Falls, but the jury was unable to reach an agreement on whether the charge should be murder or manslaughter.

He was tried again in June. The judge now ruled that Plenty Horses acted as a combatant in time of war and therefore couldn't be held liable under criminal law. The jury returned a verdict of not guilty, and Plenty Horses returned to Rosebud a
free
man.

The Ghost Dance affair had cost the government $1,200,000. At Wounded Knee, twenty-five officers and men were killed and many more wounded. The Indian losses can never
be
known, for an unknown number escaped only to die of their wounds later. When the burial party reached the battlefield, the grisly scene was shrouded in a light blanket of snow brought by the storm Yellow Bird had predicted. A huge trench was dug where the Hotchkiss guns had stood, and 146 bodies—84 men and boys,
44 women, and 18 children—were interred in it. The site was known thereafter as Cemetery Hill. As anthropologist James Mooney remarked, the cost in lives and money was a significant commentary
on the bad policy of breaking faith with the Indians.