Joseph M. Marshall III

by The Journey of Crazy Horse a Lakota History

  The soldier-escorted column was allowed to pass, although several scouts shadowed them all the way to the Shell. However, a small group of men from the train slipped away from the soldiers and headed toward the Elk River. Gold must be very important—perhaps a kind of medicine so valuable to the whites that it drove them to take such risks, some presumed. But they had left their group alone, knowing that it was likely they would meet their deaths some other way than at the hands of Lakota warriors.

  Crazy Horse would always remember the strange episode on the staked trail, especially in light of all that was to follow. He carried a lesson from it that he would use as a measure every time he took to the trail as a fighting man: all the warriors on the ridges surrounding the gold seekers had invoked a feeling by virtue of simply coming together, a feeling of strength that comes from pursuing the same purpose. Several hundred had responded, some of them Sahiyela and perhaps a few Blue Clouds married into Lakota families. He knew several by name, but most were unknown to him. On those windswept ridges for six days, however, they had shared the kinship of purpose.

  More soldiers were coming to Laramie, it was said, and with them came many Pawnees, old enemies of the Lakota. Having never seen a Pawnee, Crazy Horse went to the fort and took Little Hawk with him. Along the way, several other young men joined them. They camped north of the fort and found a high place to settle in and watch with the long field glass before venturing any further.

  They watched a long column of soldiers return to the fort, and instead of taking their mounts to the horse barns, they turned them loose in the open area in the middle of the buildings after unsaddling them. Long ago, the soldiers had stopped posting sentries, perhaps lulled into thinking that no one would dare attack them, especially in daylight. The sight of so many horses loose and unguarded was like waving a blanket in front of a buffalo bull and daring it to charge, especially since all the whites were in their dwellings out of the hot summer sun.

  The plan was made in an instant. Blankets and robes were unfurled. Two men were sent to wait north of the fort while - everyone else would go after the horses. With Crazy Horse leading the way, they circled to the west staying out of sight in the gullies and rode up out of the creek to the south, just past the stone building where the soldiers had a large wood-cutting apparatus of some sort. By the time the raiders gained the open area, they were at a full gallop, yelling and waving their blankets and robes and firing pistols. Panicked immediately, the big Long Knife horses bolted and broke past a large building on the northeast corner as groups of wide-eyed soldiers emerged from the buildings, but all they could do was watch helplessly. The Pawnees were sitting in the shade of some trees, watching.

  The two Lakota waiting north of the fort helped point the horses in the right direction and then were joined by Crazy Horse as a rear guard. The herd and their new, gleeful owners were several hills and creeks away before the soldiers organized a pursuit. On into the afternoon and night, the raiders kept the horses moving, but the soldier pursuit was nothing to speak of. Sometime during the following day the soldiers turned back - toward the fort.

  In the Powder River camps, the horses were given away mostly to the old and the widows for packhorses or to pull the drag poles. They were not suited for much else since it was well known that they had difficulty in the rough country. First, the curved iron shoes nailed to their hooves were removed—they were too noisy.

  Worm welcomed his two sons home. The older one, as usual, said nothing of his particular part in the horse raid—only that it had been done. Little Hawk, however, was not at all bashful about providing the details, to which his mothers and father listened with no small amount of pride, and amusement. Worm was especially pleased that Crazy Horse seemed to have put the disappointment over Black Buffalo Woman behind him. More than a few available young women had cast hopeful glances in his son’s direction, especially since his reputation as a fighting man was rising rapidly. Yet it was difficult to know if he had any interest in any particular one. Now and then someone would deliver a gift of moccasins from Yellow Woman, the Sahiyela girl he had helped after she had lost her husband and child. But she looked on him as a younger brother and nothing more. There was time. Crazy Horse was still a young man. Meanwhile, while they waited for grandchildren, Worm and his wives would bask in the knowledge that few households had two such fine, strong sons.

  But there was another reason for a little fatherly pride. Several of the warrior societies had approached him seeking to make Crazy Horse not only a member but to offer him positions of leadership. His exploits as a fighting man were well known even though he did not participate in the accepted ritual of telling victory stories. His uncle Long Face had made a fine staff for him covered with red trade cloth and attached the eagle feathers given to him to commemorate his achievements. Already there were nearly twenty. As a proven warrior, he was entitled to carry the staff in any ceremony or occasion, but he chose not to do so. Perhaps it was his way, Worm surmised, to honor the calling of the Thunder Dreamer. Worm knew that it was simply not in his son to brag or show off, but he also knew that his son understood that a Thunder Dreamer had to live his life as an example to others. Humility was a good example. A Thunder Dreamer was also called upon to do the opposite of what people expected. So it made sense that he would not carry the eagle feather staff or talk publicly about his exploits in the victory ceremonies, which was expected from an accomplished warrior. All in all, Worm was pleased to see his oldest son honor his calling.

  Summer passed lazily, and people talked of making presents to the buffalo scouts and sending them out looking, so the planning for the autumn hunts could be made. So it was done, and once more the Lakota renewed the bond they shared with the buffalo, careful to observe all the rituals of honor and respect and keeping in mind the sacrilege of the white hide hunters. The meat was good and plentiful once again for the coming winter.

  As the first heavy snows fell, troubling news came from far south, from the Sahiyela who lived along the southern fork of the Shell River: soldiers—it was always the soldiers. Three hundred - people had been killed at a place called Sand Creek, most of them Sahiyela and some Blue Clouds led by Black Kettle and White Antelope. Both leaders were regarded as wise and always working for peace. The killing was bad enough because those killed were mostly women and children, but the soldiers who attacked did more than kill.

  The white agent trusted by Black Kettle and White Antelope had advised them to find a place to pitch their lodges that was away from the main trails, it was told. There were many whites in that part of the country, many living in a large town called Denver, and there was a hatred among them for the Sahiyela and any people of the Earth. The camp was to fly the white banner of peace as well as the striped banner of the Long Knives to signify they were peaceful. But the soldiers found them and the banners meant nothing to them.

  The messengers could barely tell the story, trying to keep back the anger and the tears as well as the bile that rose in the throat from remembering. Women and children were butchered after they were killed, it was told. Parts of their bodies were cut away, such as a woman’s breasts and genitals, a child’s hand or fingers, and boys’ genitals. Brains were bashed out with gunstocks, and eyes were gouged out. Some babies not yet born were cut from their mother’s stomachs. The final insult came when the soldiers attached body parts to their blue coats and rode in a victory march through the streets of the large town as the other whites cheered.

  The Lakota did not want to believe the news—not because they wanted to deny the truth of it, but because it was much too difficult to believe that anyone could do such unspeakable deeds. Some asked after friends or relatives, fearing they might be among the dead, and the messengers would speak ever so softly the names they knew.

  Crazy Horse walked away to his mothers’ lodge and quietly sat against a chair near the back. From a painted rawhide box he slipped out a pair of moccasins he had yet to wear. They had been brought several month
s ago with a message.

  “She who made these smiles at the sound of your name.”

  Yellow Woman. It was the last name the Sahiyela messenger had spoken.

  With his rifle over one arm, he went out into the cool air and walked to the slopes past the horse herd. On the crest of a hill that looked out over a small valley, he stopped to breathe in the good air that rose from the land.

  The old men had said it: We must stop them or we will be fighting them at our lodge doors.

  Crazy Horse hefted his rifle and slid it from its decorated case, then laid it over the crook of his arm to aim it at all the enemies coming.

  Thirteen

  The strength of a tree, the old ones say, comes not from growing thicker in the good years when there is water, but from staying alive in the bad, dry times.

  The winds howling across the prairies from the lower fork of the Shell River to the Powder River carried the wails of grief for the Sahiyela and Blue Clouds. Soon the hollow sobs of pain turned into angry growls for revenge. The Sahiyela sent messengers north to the Lakota that lamenting the blood spilled at Sand Creek was not enough. In the Moon of Frost in the Lodge, the camps of the Sahiyela and Blue Clouds moved north carrying their righteous anger, gathering more and more the further north they came. Many fighting men from the northern camps of the Lakota rode south to meet them, crossing the frozen Shell and the strangely quiet Holy Road.

  Like a snowball rolling down a slope, they grew stronger by the day and gathered north of the south fork of the Shell. To the east was the soldier stockade near the trading post called Julesburg. Fighting men were selected by the various war leaders and sent against the soldier post. Hundreds of men hid themselves in the sagebrush as decoys drew the soldiers out and into the open, but the younger, inexperienced men couldn’t hold themselves back. They rushed past their leaders too soon and the ambush was spoiled, with only a few soldiers killed or wounded. Their misguided zeal took them on to the trading post. Ransacking it, they rode away and tore down the poles that held up the singing wires. But most of the soldiers had retreated into their stockade and watched their attackers taunt them from inside the safety of their walls. The older leaders among the Sahiyela, the Blue Clouds, and a few Lakota with them grumbled their disappointment. It was a victory not worth the dancing.

  Crazy Horse heard the grumbling and listened. Once more, the older men said that the whites were not honorable enemies, that to defeat them was not an act of honor but one of necessity. Therefore, the young men must understand that fighting them was not for honor or victory stories, but to wipe them out. For that to happen the young fighting men must understand that victory for the people must come before individual glory.

  All whites were the enemy now and that thought was carried with the guns, lances, war clubs, and bows as angry men rode out from the great camp. The Lakota swept to the northeast, the Sahiyela to the northwest, and the Blue Clouds swirled like hornets in between. Way stations, soldier posts, and any travelers along the Holy Road or any trail frequented by whites were the objectives. Young men took the admonitions of their elders to heart as they hardened themselves to mercy and remembered Sand Creek. The spirit of revenge rolled with the thunder from the hooves of warhorses across the frozen prairies. Prominent among the leaders was Spotted Tail, who had returned from the prison at Leavenworth. No one had expected him to return alive from the place where whites punished their enemies and their own lawbreakers. The Oglala had heard that he had returned with a new fear of the whites, but it was not a fearful man that fought with the Sahiyela and Blue Clouds. Once more, he was like the wounded grizzly and fighting men followed him without hesitation.

  Crazy Horse joined the second attack on Julesburg. But the whites were reluctant to meet them face-to-face in the open, so there was no fighting to speak of. They left the post ablaze after taking all they could carry from the storehouses.

  The combined encampment moved north, reaching the upper Powder River in the Moon of Snowblindness. They had brought with them herds of cattle and horses taken in their raiding. After the initial gathering, and since it was still winter, the people broke into smaller encampments along the river.

  Victories in the south and the coming together of the three nations brought a new sense of power not known for years. Horses were traded, marriages were arranged, and the councils of old men made plans to put the new power to good use. The avenging of Sand Creek would never end, some said.

  Word came from the Loafers along the Holy Road that the soldier leaders were planning to drive all the nations of the Plains north beyond the Great Muddy. Now that the war over the black-skinned men was over, the whites could turn their attention to other things, the Loafers cautioned—which surely meant that more soldiers would be sent to fight the Lakota and their allies. One called Moonlight was in charge at Laramie, it was said, and he had five hundred new soldiers. Let them come, said many young men. Let them come.

  Winter slid into spring. There was some excitement because the Crow could not pass up the opportunity to help themselves to some of the captured horses in the camps along the Powder. Most of them were not successful. In the Moon When Horses Lose Their Hair, the camps came together once more to make the warrior ceremonials before the planned attacks for the summer were carried out. Crazy Horse hung back in the shadows watching with great interest, listening with great amusement to Little Hawk’s excited descriptions of the goings-on.

  The old men had decided that the soldier settlement at the Shell River bridge crossing should be attacked and the soldiers - driven out. Crazy Horse was picked as one of the scouts to ride south to watch the settlement. Soldiers had already crossed and were well on their way to the Wind River, guarding a line of wagons. The scouts attacked just to harass them and managed to take several horses before they broke off. A spring snowstorm stopped them when the soldiers couldn’t, so they returned north with their captured horses.

  Messengers came from the Loafers at Laramie. Two old Lakota who were friendly to the whites had been hanged after returning a captive white woman. The one called Moonlight had ordered it. One of the men was old Two Face, and Crazy Horse remembered the warm welcome in his camp along the Shell. He had been for good relations with the whites. Now he was dead. The two bodies were left hanging until they had rotted and fallen from the tree in pieces, the messengers said. Now the soldiers were sending all the Loafers to a place called Fort Kearny, because the whites at Fort Laramie couldn’t trust them not to exact revenge. The soldiers led by one called Fouts had already taken to the trail, driving the Loafers like cattle.

  Fighting men were quick to respond and a plan was made for a rescue. High Back Bone, along with Crazy Horse and several others, rode south. Several young men had ridden ahead and caught up to the captives, and, at night, they sneaked in to mingle with their friends and relatives, waiting for the attack they knew was coming so they could fight from inside and confuse the soldiers.

  On the opposite shore, past the point where Horse Creek flowed into the Shell, a camp was made for the night, with soldiers posted around the ragged lodges of the Loafers. The next morning when the soldiers were ready to move on again, the women had not yet taken down the lodges. Angry and impatient, Fouts himself charged over to shout orders. The waiting warriors who had sneaked in opened fire, killing the soldier. A few others with him whipped their horses to get away, and all around the warriors waiting under cover opened fire. High Back Bone, Crazy Horse, He Dog, Spotted Tail, and even Red Cloud himself, among many others, broke from cover and attacked.

  For a time, there was utter confusion. The young men who had sneaked into the camp helped the women and children back across the river while the mounted warriors engaged the soldiers to enable the crossing. The soldiers could do nothing but defend themselves and watch their former captives scatter into the hills to the north. In frustration, they set fire to the lodges still standing and killed a crippled old man who had been left behind.

  The warriors too
k the people north and then east to the sand hills, scattering into several small groups to confuse any pursuers. Moonlight and his column did come and stopped where several trails crossed. After the soldiers unsaddled their horses to rest them, Crazy Horse and a few young men swept in and ran them off. Instead of trailing the horses, Moonlight positioned his men to form a protective circle around himself. Crazy Horse led the young men and their new herd away. Clearly, this enemy was not worth the effort to kill him. Later, they watched from hilltops as the soldiers walked back toward Fort Laramie carrying saddles.

  On the way back to the Powder River country, the former captives had stories to tell. Fouts’s soldiers had tied boys to wagon wheels to watch them turn helplessly as the wagons rolled. Small children were thrown into the Shell still running high from the spring snowmelt. And some of the young girls had been dragged into the soldiers’ tents at night. If a man’s heart - didn’t turn cold toward the whites after hearing such things, then he didn’t have one, was the sentiment among the rescuers. And one opinion they spoke low and among themselves. Perhaps some lessons had been learned about being friendly to the whites.

  Word spread like wildfire that the Lakota were on a killing rampage. Whites living in strange little sod houses built into hill-sides, or in log houses here and there along creek bottoms, sought safety at Fort Laramie and the various outposts along the Shell. But the old men leaders kept to their plan to attack the soldier post north of Elk Mountain. As the days rolled into the Moon of Ripening Berries and then the Moon When the Sun Stands in the Middle, they waited in the camps along the Powder grazing the horses and letting them grow strong.

  The Lakota had their Sun Dance and the Sahiyela did their Medicine Lodge ceremonies, and ancient warrior rituals were invoked to give strength to the fighting men. Crazy Horse was given a stone dreamer medicine—a small pebble to tie into the tail of his warhorse—from his friend Chips. Scouts returned with news of more soldiers gathering at the bridge on the Shell, and the old men sent the fighting men south, like the sudden storm turns loose the hailstones.