MASSACRE OF EAGLES
William W. Johnstone with J. A. Johnstone
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SAVAGE TEXAS
Copyright Page
Notes
Following the Custer fight at Little Big Horn, the Northern Cheyenne were sent to Oklahoma, then known as Indian Territory. The Cheyenne were not accustomed to the hot conditions of Oklahoma and they began dying in great numbers. In desperation, a small band left the reservation and headed north, settling in the Tongue River watershed in Montana Territory. Here, they established homesteads in the northern edge of the Big Horn River Basin, which they considered their natural home. And, because their settlement was peaceful, President Arthur, by executive order, established the Tongue River Reservation, making it legal for them to stay there.
PROLOGUE
Tongue River Reservation, Montana Territory
One of the residents of the Tongue Reservation was Mean to His Horses, a member of the Crooked Lance Warrior’s Society, and a nephew of the most notable of all Cheyenne warriors, Roman Nose. Mean to His Horses was but a youth when he saw his uncle killed at Beecher Island in September of 1868. Later, Mean to His Horses had been by the side of Crazy Horse in the fight against Custer. Crazy Horse was killed September 5, 1877, at Fort Robinson, Nebraska. He had been told that he was going to a meeting with the white officials to correct a misunderstanding. The misunderstanding was the result of a deliberate misrepresentation of his words by a translator during an earlier conference. Instead Crazy Horse was arrested, and as they attempted to put him into a guard house, he resisted. During the altercation, Crazy Horse was stabbed and killed.
Mean to His Horses was thinking about this when he entered the sweat lodge. Though he was alone, he observed the etiquette that would have been required had there been others in the lodge. He smudged his face with sage, he loaded his sacred pipe with tobacco, he turned in a clockwise circle at the door, then he crawled in through the opening, saying the sacred words Mitakuye Oyasin (All My Relations). Crawling in a clockwise direction, he completely circumnavigated the tipi, then he poured water over the seven hot stones to produce the steam.
He did not know how long he had been in the sweat lodge when it began. He heard singing and drums, but he had built the sweat lodge far from the village, so he knew there were neither drums nor singing to hear. He could see, in the clouds of steam, a great battle between Cheyenne and white soldiers, and he saw that the Cheyenne were winning because all the soldiers were falling from their horses.
Then the scene of the battle went away, and the drums and the singing stopped, and it was so quiet that he could hear his own blood flowing through his veins. That is when a new vision came to him.
The vision was of a man with long curly hair, not too tall and with a somewhat rounded face. His hair hung to his waist, braided with beaver-pelt covering and with two eagle feathers hanging down on the left. This could be only one person, and yet Mean to His Horses knew this could not be.
He challenged the apparition.
“Are you Crazy Horse?” Mean to His Horses asked. He asked the words with his heart, since speaking aloud would be inappropriate.
“Look,” the apparition said, putting his finger to his left jaw. “What do you see here?”
There, Mean to His Horses saw a scar on the apparition’s left jaw near his mouth and nose. The scar, Mean to His Horses knew, was from a bullet wound where No Water shot him for being with Black Buffalo Woman, who had been No Water’s wife at the time.
“It is you!” Mean to His Horses said.
“Listen, and I will tell you of a new thing,” Crazy Horse said.
Mean to His Horses listened, and learned of the new thing: Wagi Wanagi or Spirit Talking.
“If all Indian people will do Spirit Talking, the Great Spirit who guides our lives will be pleased, and he will send the whites away so that all the land and the water and the game will return to the Indian people,” Mean to His Horses was told. “You have been chosen to teach this thing to all Indian people.”
“And if the white man objects and there is war?” Mean to His Horses asked.
“You are a war leader,” Mean to His Horses was told. “If there is to be war, the people will follow you.”
“I will lead them,” Mean to His Horses said.
“From this day forward, you must wear the sacred paint,” Crazy Horse said. The right side of your face, you will paint red. That is for the blood of the whites that must be spilled. The left side of your face you will paint white. That is so that our people will no longer be in darkness. Do these things and you cannot fail.”
Upon leaving the sweat lodge, Mean to His Horses obeyed the commands of Crazy Horse. He painted the right side of his face red and the left side of his face white.
No one asked why he had done this.
Broken Bar K Ranch, near Virginia City, Montana Territory
It was late morning and Len Kennedy and his two oldest boys, Len Jr. and Luther, were working in the field. Len’s wife Mary had just called her family in to lunch when they saw Indians approaching. They thought nothing of it. All the neighboring Indians were friendly.
There were ten Indians in the party, and they rode right up to the back of the house.
Len was still not concerned because the Indians, while hunting, often came by the house for water, and sometimes for food. Just as often, the Indians left some of their game with Len. He recognized the leader of the group.
“Mean to His Horses,” Len said. He chuckled. “Why do you have your face all painted up like that?”
Suddenly, and without so much as a word, the Indians attacked, sending an arrow through the senior Len’s torso.
“Pa!” Len Jr. shouted.
The Indians shot Len Jr. and then they shot Luther as he tried to climb over the fence.
Mary Kennedy, hearing her son call out, then hearing the sound of a gunshot, came out onto the back porch.
“Mean to His Horses! What are you doing?” she screamed in fear and anger.
Mean to His Horses signaled to some of his men, and they grabbed Mrs. Kennedy and the three youngest children. Then his warriors went inside and ransacked the house, taking the money box and whatever else they thought might be useful.
Back outside, they planned to take Mary and her three youngest children with them as they left, but as they started to tie the boy, Toby, to a mule, Mary and Toby began crying and screaming.
Mean to His Horses shot Mary several times and ran a lance through Toby’s neck. Then, leaving seven-year-old Tamara with her five-year-old brother Donnie and their dead mother, father, and brothers, the Indians rode off. Tamara stayed with Donnie and the dead members of
her family until nightfall. Then she led Donnie back into the house.
The next morning, three passing freight wagons stopped by to visit and to see if they could get water for themselves and their team.
“Whoa,” Doodle Priday said, as he halted his team. “Len! Len, where are you? I know you seen us coming, you thick-headed Irishman. How come you ain’t out here to meet us the way you always are? I got that tobacco you wanted. Len! Len, where the hell are you?”
“Doodle, they’s somethin’ that don’t feel right here,” Arthur said. Arthur, sitting on the seat beside him, was the shotgun guard.
“Yeah, it does seem awful quiet, don’t it? Len! Len, where are you?” This time Doodle’s call was more insistent, and more worried.
“Doodle!” the driver of the second wagon called up to him. “Look over there. On the fence!”
Looking toward the fence, Doodle saw Luther’s arrow-riddled body, draped across the top rung.
“Damn!” Doodle said.
“Ain’t that Len, over there?” Arthur said.
“What the hell happened here?” Doodle asked. He set the brake on the wagon and climbed down. By now, the other two drivers had seen the bodies as well, not only Luther and Len, but Len Jr. All three, in addition to bullet wounds, had several arrows protruding from their bodies.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Doodle, look over there!” one of the other drivers said.
The driver was pointing to the bodies of Mary and Toby.
“God in heaven,” Doodle said. “Have the Injuns gone mad?”
After determining that none of the ones they found outside were alive, the drivers and shotgun guards went into the house.
“Is anyone alive here?” Doodle called.
Getting no answer, he called again.
“Hello! Is anyone here!”
“Me and Donnie are here,” Tamara answered.
The young girl’s frightened voice came from behind a hutch.
“Tamara? Tamara, child, come out here.”
Tamara and her younger brother crawled out from behind the hutch.
“We were hiding in case the Indians came back,” Tamara said.
“That was a wise thing to do.”
“Are they all dead?” she asked.
Doodle was amazed at how calm the young girl was, and he was sure it was the result of her being totally overcome by the events.
“I’m afraid they are, darlin’,” he said.
“I thought they were.”
“I expect you had better come with us, child,” Doodle said.
“Not until mama and daddy and my brothers are buried,” Tamara said. Overnight, she had aged from a seven-year-old girl to a responsible young woman.
CHAPTER ONE
From the New York Register Journal:
Indian Depredations
GHASTLY RAIDS AGAINST INNOCENT FAMILIES
“Spirit Talking” the Cause
CHICAGO—Recent savage attacks by Plains Indians have given General Nelson Miles, Commanding General of the Department of the Missouri, cause to be concerned about a possible new Indian war. To this end he has ordered all commanders in the field to be alert for any further savageries. His concern is animated by intelligence from the West which suggests that the recent horrors perpetrated by various nations of the Sioux, the same tribe of heathens who so foully massacred Custer and all his brave men, may be the harbinger of renewed war against the white race. The cause of the unrest is thought to be something called Spirit Talking, a quasi-religion espoused by various shamans in which they are told that if all tenets of the strange heresy are followed, the white man will leave the cities and settlements of the West, and the land will be returned to the Indians.
The Indian who started this movement and is its most vocal spokesman is Mean to His Horses, a leader of the Crooked Lance Warrior Society of the Cheyenne. Mean to His Horses was a relative of Roman Nose, the ferocious Cheyenne warrior who led more attacks against the white man than any other Indian. He was also a follower and protégé of Crazy Horse. It is said that the Indians believe that Mean to His Horses is able to communicate with Crazy Horse through the means of Spirit Talking, and that has given him much medicine.
Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Exhibition Playing to Packed House
NEW YORK—The Buffalo Bill Wild West Exhibition has performed before the crowned heads of Europe, delighting the royals and their subjects with a view of life in America’s Great West. Now that same show is in New York and should a citizen of this fair city wish to be enlightened about the true nature of the Wild West, they need only to apply at the ticket office at Madison Square Garden where daily performances are being given.
Madison Square Garden, New York, New York
By the use of clever stage props, dirt, horses, cattle, cowboys and Indians, Madison Square Garden was transformed into a part of the American West. Falcon MacCallister and his brother and sister, the twins Andrew and Rosanna, were among the many spectators enjoying the Buffalo Bill Wild West Exhibition. So far the show had portrayed Pony Express mail carriers galloping to deliver the mail, leaping off one horse and instantly mounting another to continue at breakneck speed around the arena; Indians setting fire to and attacking a burning cabin from which heroic settlers would escape just in the nick of time; and stagecoach robbers who were fought off by the bravery of the shotgun guard and armed passengers.
They also had cowboys bringing a cattle stampede under control, and it was during the stampede that something went wrong. A bull broke out of the thundering herd to come rushing toward the audience.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful how they have trained the bull to do that?” Rosanna said, her voice tinged with excitement.
When the bull first broke loose from the herd, Falcon, like Rosanna and everyone else in the audience, believed it to be a part of the show. But looking around, he saw that there was no cowboy in position to be able to stop the runaway, and the reaction of the nearest cowboys to the bull clearly indicated that this was unplanned. There was a mounted New York policeman nearby but he was for crowd control only, and Falcon could tell by the expression on his face that he also thought the runaway bull was part of the show.
With no time to spare, Falcon got up from his seat, climbed onto the railing and, pushing the policeman out of the saddle, leaped onto his horse. He wished he was on Lightning, but he had no choice. This police horse was all he had. He raced across the arena toward the bull.
Behind him the policeman blew his whistle in anger. “Stop that man! Stop him! He stole my horse!”
The crowd, still believing that it was all part of the show, cheered in approval and applauded as Falcon, bent low over the horse’s neck, urged the animal into what was, without doubt, the fastest it had ever run. Falcon measured the distance between the bull and the crowd and between himself and the bull, and realized that if he was going to catch up with it, it would be at the last possible second.
As he drew alongside the bull, he could smell its pungent odor and see the fear, confusion, and anger in the bull’s eyes. Falcon leaned over the bull, then leaped from the saddle, grabbing the bull by the horns as he did so. He dug his heels into the ground as he twisted the bull’s neck, throwing the animal over onto its side.
With the bull safely on the ground, Falcon quickly regained his feet, then swung back into the saddle of the horse that had stopped running and was now waiting for him. The bull, its initial charge stopped, got back to its feet, shook its head and snorted a few times. By now a couple of the cowboys from the show had come over and herded the bull, docile now, back to rejoin the others.
Buffalo Bill himself rode up to Falcon’s side and, reaching over, grabbed Falcon’s hand and lifted it up into the air.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “The cowboy who performed this thrilling rescue for your viewing pleasure is Falcon MacCallister!”
The crowd gave Falcon a thundering ovation.
“You are acting as if you had planned that,” Falcon s
aid quietly.
“Why not?” Cody replied, still smiling and speaking without moving his lips. “It was a great act.”
Falcon laughed, shook his head, then rode the horse back to the policeman who, while angered by the “theft” a few minutes earlier, had now joined the crowd in applauding him.
Falcon swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to the police officer.
“Thank you for the loan of the horse,” he said.
“Well, I didn’t exactly lend the horse to you,” the policeman replied with a big smile. “But I’m glad Harry was here for you.”
“Harry, is it?” Falcon asked. He rubbed Harry behind one of his ears. “You did well, Harry.”
“I’ll say he did. I never knew he had that in him.”
“Treat him well.”
“He’ll get an extra ration of oats tonight,” the policeman promised.
“He’s a good horse,” Falcon said.
“And you are a good man,” the policeman responded. He stuck his hand out and Falcon shook it.
Delmonico’s, New York
The waiters at Delmonico’s Restaurant on Number Two William Street vied for the opportunity to serve the handsome assemblage of guests in the private dining room on the upper floor. All the diners were well known personalities. There was Buffalo Bill Cody, easily recognizable by his flowing blond hair and his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. In addition there were the MacCallister twins, Andrew and Rosanna, who were famous show business personalities. Andrew had what the newspapers called “rugged good looks,” handsome enough to play the most romantic lead, but manly enough to play the most gallant hero. Of Rosanna it was said that she had discovered the fountain of youth, for her skin was smooth and flawless, her dark hair luxuriant, and her eyes ablaze with still-youthful beauty.
The fourth diner was Falcon MacCallister, brother to the show-business twins. Falcon was over six feet tall with wide shoulders, a flat stomach, and powerful arms. Someone once described his face as “not weathered, but cured.” It bore a permanent tan, and his eyes had the suggestion of a squint as if he were outside in the sun. Unlike Buffalo Bill, Falcon wore his hair, which was the color of sun-ripened wheat, cut short.
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