Joseph M. Marshall III

by The Journey of Crazy Horse a Lakota History

  Calling the young men together, High Back Bone scolded them for causing the ambush to fail. The young men listened without protest as he reminded them that fighting the whites was not a war for glory but a war for survival. He reminded them of Sand Creek. When he finished there was a loud affirmation, but even a louder one came after he announced his plan for another ambush.

  Most of the fighting men would hide themselves and their horses in the ridges and gullies on either side of the wagon trail up from Prairie Dog Creek to Lodge Trail Ridge. A small group would attack the wood gatherers who always went out from the fort by wagon in the morning. When soldiers came out to drive the attackers away, ten decoys would show themselves and lead them toward Lodge Trail Ridge, and then north down to a slope ending in a meadow before Prairie Dog Creek. When the signal was given, the hiding warriors would attack, and not before or the ambush would be spoiled. The soldiers had to believe that only the ten decoys were fighting them.

  Most important to the plan were the decoys. If they failed, several hundred fighting men would be denied the opportunity for a victory. Therefore the decoys needed a strong leader, one skilled in warfare, with proven judgment in battle. The leader of the decoys would be Crazy Horse.

  The cries and shouts of affirmation rang through the camp, and fighting men—young and old—crowded around the Hunkpatila to put their names in as one of the other nine. The decision would be made in the morning, they were told. Crazy Horse and High Back Bone would smoke on it and make the choices.

  Far into the night, Crazy Horse sat with He Dog, Lone Bear, and Little Hawk as they prepared themselves and their weapons. Watch yourselves, they told each other; we are many, but the soldiers have many more bullets.

  They began gathering at dawn, starting from the farther camps. By the time they reached the flats around Goose Creek they were over five hundred strong. Just past Prairie Dog Creek—below Lodge Trail Ridge—the Sahiyela were given first choice to pick their ambush spots. They chose the northern gullies so they could stay out of the wind, for this was one of the coldest days ever in the memory of old men and women. The Lakota groups dispersed as well, mostly to the east of the wagon trail. Now the responsibility for success or failure fell on the decoys.

  The Mniconjus called on a medicine dreamer among them. With his holy robe tied over his head, he rode among the hills in a back and forth pattern and returned to announce he had caught a few soldiers. He was sent again and returned to report a few more. The third time, he reported that he had so many, a hundred in the hand, that he couldn’t hold them all.

  Crazy Horse had selected two Sahiyela and seven other Lakota as decoys. Each rode one horse and led a good warhorse for this day. One of the Sahiyela was Big Nose. They, and the group of twenty or so that were to attack the wood wagon, swung around to the west, staying below Lodge Trail Ridge and out of the line of sight from the fort and the soldiers’ farseeing glasses.

  The main gate of the fort was on the west side and the trail to the pine slopes started there. Crazy Horse and his men found a good thicket, mounted their warhorses, and waited beneath warm robes while the others went to wait near the wagon trail. At midmorning wagons left the fort and headed west along the well-worn trail.

  The attack came well away from the fort but still within sight, so the Lakota could be seen surrounding the wagons. After an initial charge the attackers kept the wagon men and escort riders engaged. The gunfire sounded especially sharp in the frigid mountain air. Soon the western gates swung open and a column of mounted and walking soldiers appeared. The Lakota attackers kept up the firing, making sure the rescue column was well out of the fort. As the soldiers passed their thicket, Crazy Horse and his decoys charged.

  Fortunately, enough of the decoys had a few bullets so that they could fire several shots to make it seem like an all-out attack. Crazy Horse shot a few arrows when he was close enough to see the hairy faces of some of the soldiers. For some moments, the soldiers seemed confused. Then they finally opened fire.

  Uneven snow cover over frozen ground and dangerously frigid air were the decoy warriors’ first obstacles, and bullets humming and buzzing past them like angry bees reminded them that they had a daunting task ahead and a long way to go to finish it.5 The first few mounted soldiers turned off the trail to pursue them and the rest of the column fell in slowly behind them.

  Feinting head-on charges, the decoys would swerve at the last moment, well within range of the soldier guns. They took the soldiers north over the frozen snowfields. At one point, some of the decoys, including Crazy Horse, had to ride down a treacherously steep, frozen slope. The soldiers took the gentler slope of the south face and kept pursuing. An open valley with a thick stand of trees on either side of a creek lay ahead with no serious obstacles to impede the soldiers’ advance. Once across the creek, the warriors turned straight north and came in sight of Lodge Trail Ridge.

  The walking soldiers were slowing down the column. Crazy Horse dismounted well within rifle range, pulled out his knife, and calmly scraped ice from the bottom of his horse’s hooves. When the bullets began to ricochet closer and closer, he remounted and loped away. The other decoys, to infuriate the soldiers, used similar tactics. One of them stood on the rump of his mount and calmly watched the soldiers before he retook his seat and galloped away. Each time the soldier column seemed to be slowing, the decoys charged at them to draw their fire. On and on they took them, ever closer to Lodge Trail Ridge and the warriors hiding in the cut banks and gullies beyond. Many of the walking soldiers grabbed stirrups or saddle skirts to hang on and run a little beside the horses.

  Now they gained a gradual slope that ended on the mostly east-west crest of Lodge Trail Ridge. To the south, the fort was partially visible through some trees. The breath of the big soldier horses formed puffs of misty clouds that dissipated quickly. On and on the soldiers came, some of their big horses slipping, some of the walking soldiers slipping and falling.

  Movement gave a searing edge to the frigid air. Faces of the decoys were numb and fingers could barely hold weapons and reins. Now and then, one of them dismounted to stand against his horse to get warm. Crazy Horse ran up the slope leading his horse and then stopped to build a fire, fumbling with the flint and striker. He was barely able to coax flames to life from the small pile of tinder and kindling to warm his tingling fingers before bullets began erupting in the snow around him. Calmly, he mounted and galloped up the slope, leaving the warmth of the little fire.

  He gathered the decoys on the back of Lodge Trail Ridge for a quick parley, deciding to stay on the wagon trail since it was familiar to the soldiers. A few rounds passed overhead with a high-pitched whine. Those that were closer had a lower, angrier hum. They waited and waited as the bullets sounded closer and closer before they slid their mounts down the north-facing slope. Gathering at the bottom, they waited for the soldiers to gain the ridge.

  On the ridge the soldiers hesitated, perhaps waiting for some to catch up. The decoys renewed their efforts, coaxing their tired horses partway up the slope, moving dangerously close. One pretended to be shot off his horse and immediately bounced up, running behind the horse before skillfully remounting from the back. Crazy Horse had picked the right men for the task at hand. Here, the decoys opened fire, sending the heaviest volley so far at the soldiers. Down off the ridge came first the mounted soldiers. The decoys loped to a slight rise that was the wagon trail and milled around, as if uncertain what to do. Like a dark blue stream, the soldiers reached the bottom of the slope and those on horses went hard after the decoys.

  For Crazy Horse and his decoys, this was the decisive moment. If the waiting ambushers attacked prematurely the soldiers could still escape. The decoys looked right and left as they proceeded north along a very narrow part of the ridge, but could see no movement. Below the slope of the ridge falling away before them was the winding Prairie Dog Creek, and the end of their task.

  Now the soldiers were pressing harder, increasing their gunfire
, obviously certain that the decoys comprised the entire enemy force. Crazy Horse formed his men into a skirmish line, and those with bullets to spare fired at the oncoming soldiers. Drawing heavy return fire, the decoys raced their horses down the slippery slope, forming two lines as they rode. They crossed the flats leading to Prairie Dog Creek, each line of riders swinging out wide and then crossing each other on the opposite side of the creek. This was the signal to attack.

  From out of the very Earth itself came the waiting ambushers. Horses and men burst from the gullies, cutbacks, and what little winter shrubbery there was. In a heartbeat, several hundred fighting men rode south, some from the east and some from the west. Those closest to Lodge Trail Ridge quickly shut the soldiers’ escape route back to the fort.

  The soldiers’ advance stopped. Then they instinctively began their fight to reach the safety of the fort. The walking soldiers were strung out far to the back, closer to Lodge Trail Ridge. They were the first to fall as gunfire blasted up the slopes below them.

  There was no end to the guns firing. The soldiers fought hard as they retreated up the ridge, but there was nothing to be gained. They were cut off with nowhere to go. Wave after wave of mounted warriors fought their way up the treacherous slopes. Those with guns used up their bullets and then resorted to their bows. Some had only bows and arrows. Arrows flew up the east slope and from the west. The sky was dark with them and some found their mark in the body of a Lakota or Sahiyela. Toward the end, the warriors waded in among the dead and dying soldiers, killing them with a pistol shot or a hard, skillful swing of a war club or the deadly thrust of a lance. And then all was quiet. All the soldiers were dead.

  It began with the Sahiyela, as they remembered Sand Creek and what had been done to their relatives. When the frenzy ended, the soldiers were stripped naked, fingers were chopped off, bellies slashed open, eyes gouged out.

  Many warriors were wounded, but fewer than fifteen had been killed. Crazy Horse found a pouch with bullets for his gun, suddenly remembering that he had not fired one of the four bullets he had for his back-loading rifle. He had used only his pistol and bow.

  Little Hawk, He Dog, and High Back Bone found him, and then they began looking for Lone Bear. Even as someone warned that more soldiers were coming, they found him on the east slope below the wagon trail, face down in the snow. His body was cold but he was still alive. A bullet had torn through his chest and only the brutally cold day had prevented him from bleeding to death immediately.

  Crazy Horse turned his friend over and watched his eyes flutter. The dying man grimaced, or perhaps it was a smile at this last bit of bad luck. Then he was gone.

  Crazy Horse held him close for a time, tears freezing as they fell out of his eyes. For Lone Bear, the victory had come at the highest price. Little Hawk and the others stepped in and helped carry him up the slope.

  Later, he was told that there had been eighty soldiers, so the Mniconju medicine dreamer had known the true outcome when he saw one hundred soldiers in his hands. Almost before the warriors reached the warmth and comfort of their lodges, it was known among them as the Battle of the Hundred in the Hand. Sometime in the night, word was brought to Crazy Horse that among the dead was one of his decoy warriors, Big Nose, the stalwart and fearless Sahiyela.

  The soldiers stayed in their fort for the rest of the winter. The wood wagon did not venture out and no whites traveled along the wagon trail to the gold fields, due mostly to one of the hardest winters in memory. It was so hard, in fact, that many Lakota camps were dangerously low on meat.

  Snow was deep and hunters wore out horses or injured their legs traveling in it. Many went out on snowshoes looking for elk and buffalo. A month after the battle, Crazy Horse and Little Hawk went east and then south to Crazy Woman Creek to sheltered areas and cottonwood groves. Elk, like horses, fed on young cottonwood trees in winter.

  Days of scouting brought no results and they were forced to seek shelter in a sudden blizzard. As the wind whipped the snow sideways, they could do no more than huddle beneath their buffalo robes in the lee side of boulders in a narrow creek bed. When the wind abated somewhat, they saw shapes in front of them through the veil of snow, a small herd of elk also seeking shelter from the wind. Stringing their bows, the brothers crawled through the snow and managed to shoot several before the others fled. The next morning when the storm ended, they found their elk, some already being torn apart by hungry wolves. They managed to rescue most of their kills and gathered wood for a large fire. Crazy Horse stayed there to guard the meat against the wolves as Little Hawk returned to camp for horses. Back at the encampment, they distributed the fresh meat first to those who had nothing to eat but kept only a little for their family. There was no hunger in the lodge of Worm, however, because with each scratching at the door, someone handed in a buffalo horn filled with elk soup or a skewer of roasted meat.

  Travelers returned to the wagon trail in the late spring after the runoff from the mountain snows had receded. The Lakota harassed or attacked every wagon they could, hampered by a lack of ammunition for the various assortment of pistols and rifles they owned. Nonetheless, they managed to take horses practically at will. Occasionally, however, the people in one of the wagon trains would be well armed and prepared to fight. Crazy Horse frequently joined a raiding party, sometimes going all the way to the first fort on Dry Fork, called Fort Reno.

  In the Moon When the Sun Stands in the Middle, the peace talkers at Fort Laramie requested a council, so the Oglala chose Old Man Whose Enemies Are Afraid of His Horses to speak for them. But they also sent Red Cloud along. Their terms were simple: no one would sign the paper unless the whites abandoned the forts, stopped using the wagon trail, and paid the Lakota with a worthwhile supply of ammunition. The peace talkers, of course, refused, so Old Man Afraid and Red Cloud left the council.

  With no agreement in place, the soldiers and the forts stayed. Whites continued to travel up the wagon trail, known to the Lakota as the Powder River Road and the whites as the Bozeman Trail. Various headmen from the camps met, deciding they should keep attacking all three forts. But they couldn’t agree which to strike first, however. The warrior leaders stepped in and decided among themselves that the Sahiyela would attack the fort near the mouth of the Big Horn and the Mniconju would lead against the fort on Buffalo Creek. Crazy Horse returned from a raid in Crow country to join them.

  The attack against the wood camp west of Fort Phil Kearny turned into a hard-fought battle, one the Lakota didn’t expect. For Crazy Horse, it was a lesson in fighting the whites. Waging war against them, he learned, had to be done with a cold heart.

  Thirty soldiers behind a circle of wagon boxes detached from the wheels and frames had poured continuous rifle fire into each wave of Lakota attackers, whether mounted or on foot. For most of a day, the fighting went on. Though a few soldiers were killed in the initial attacks, Lakota casualties were higher. Bravery on the part of the Lakota was not the issue—some had died because they were foolishly brave. A good man named Jipala had walked in the open toward the wagon boxes with his shield before him, and was shot dead. The outcome of the battle had to be just as important in the minds of the Lakota as demonstrating bravery during it. The whites didn’t fight a battle to show how brave they were, they fought to kill as many of the enemy as they could. Killing enough of the enemy would lead to victory. Crazy Horse said as much to High Back Bone, Little Hawk, and He Dog. Their reply was a philosophical one: then we must learn to jump from one horse to another in the middle of the rushing river.

  Crazy Horse learned later that the soldiers behind the wagon boxes had new back-loading guns. They could be reloaded and fired much faster than muzzle-loaders. In fact, as one soldier fired, a second behind him reloaded a second rifle.

  They had won the Battle of the Hundred in the Hand because they outnumbered the soldiers, though each had a rifle and a pistol and plenty of bullets. But faster-shooting rifles would sooner or later enable one soldier to fight like
two or three. Warriors outnumbering the soldiers would not always be the answer. Acquiring more and better guns and putting aside foolish acts of bravery in the face of an enemy that didn’t care were the ways to win against the whites. There was no choice but to jump from one horse to another before the rushing river became stronger.

  The Lakota and Sahiyela went hard against the travelers on the Powder River Road until only soldiers or a wagon train with plenty of guns and ammunition to put up a good fight dared to use it. Crazy Horse and Little Hawk joined the raiding, but as the autumn was passing, they joined the hunts to make meat for the winter.

  Snows came and the winter passed, and the camps along the Tongue waited to see what the new cycle of seasons would bring. The soldiers in the forts along the Powder River Road kept themselves inside, watching through their farseeing glasses and ready to fire off their wagon guns at the first Lakota that came within range.

  Then a strange thing happened. The soldiers left. In long columns of riders and wagons piled high with their goods, they set off south toward the Shell. Almost before the soldiers were out of sight of the fort on Buffalo Creek, the Sahiyela and Oglala went in to claim what had been left behind. Then they set fire to the fort and watched the great leaping flames reduce the walls and buildings to ashes, vowing they would never let another be built on their lands.