One day we spent at Camp Sheridan, driving across at Spotted Tail’s invitation; he sent Standing Bear, the young brave we’d met in Chicago, to escort us, and I noted with a jaundiced eye that here was another gallant from the same school as his chief. Not only was he as handsome a redskin as ever I saw, three inches over six feet and built like an acrobat, his attentions to Elspeth were of the most courtly, and I knew from the way he held himself as he rode alongside that he fancied himself most damnably, all noble profile and grave immobility.
Spotted Tail welcomed us outside the fine frame house which the army had set aside for his use at Camp Sheridan, but after showing us round its empty rooms with a proprietorial pride, he explained gravely that he didn’t live here, but in a tipi close by. The advantage of this was that when the tipi got foul he could move it to a clean stretch of ground some yards away (like the Mad Hatter at the tea-party), a thing he could hardly have done with a two-storey house. What, clean the floors? He shook his head; his squaws wouldn’t know how.
To Elspeth’s delight he invited us to sit by him at his levee, where he heard complaints, settled disputes, and dispensed hospitality out of the extra rations the agency allowed him for the purpose. When we dined, though, it was on the traditional Plains Indians fricassee from the communal pot; Elspeth picked away, smiling gamely, and I hadn’t the heart to tell her it was mostly boiled dog. She didn’t flirt with him more than outrageous, and he was on his best dignified behaviour. When I asked him how the treaty talks were going, he simply shrugged, and I wondered was he preparing to concede and look pleasant.
Yes, says Allison when I tackled him later, it was all as good as settled. He was preparing the commission’s formal offer, to be delivered before the assembled tribes, and he had every confidence that Red Cloud and Spotted Tail would accept it, six million and all. Well, thinks I, I’ll believe it when I hear it.
Sure enough, it was on the morning of the assembly that we got the first whiff of mischief. At Red Cloud’s request the meeting was to take place out on the open prairie, some miles from the fort, where the Indian thousands could congregate conveniently, and we had already piled into the ambulance, with Anson Mills’s two cavalry troops flank and rear, and Elspeth and Mrs Mills waving from the verandah, when there was a shout from across the parade, and here came a party of mounted Indians, armed and in full paint, cantering two and two and led by a stalwart Oglala, Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, whom I’d seen in Red Cloud’s entourage. As he rode up to Anson Mills, I noticed young Standing Bear in war-bonnet and leggings, with lance and carbine, at the head of one of the lines; I beckoned him to the tailboard and asked him what was up.
“How,” says he. “Chief Sintay Galeska sends word that you and the Isantanka chiefs should stay in the soldiers’ camp today.”
“What’s that? But we have to go out to the meeting.”
“He thinks it better you should talk here than there.”
I didn’t like the sound of this, and neither did the others when I told them. We asked why, and Standing Bear shook his handsome head and said it was the chief’s advice, that was all; he added that if we insisted on going, he and Young-Man-Afraid had been ordered to ride with the cavalry as an additional escort.
That was enough for me. Didn’t I remember riding out from the cantonments on just such an occasion to parley with Akbar Khan? I said as much to Terry, who agreed it was disquieting, the perceptive chap. “But we cannot stay in camp,” says he. “Why, we should lose face.”
I observed that it might be preferable to losing our hair, but he pooh-poohed that, and Allison, after some waffling, backed him up. “It is a strange message, to be sure,” says he doubtfully, “but if Chief Spotted Tail were uneasy I am persuaded he would have come himself. In any event, not to keep the meeting would show a lack of faith which would be fatal to our whole negotiation. No, we must go – why, what harm can come to a government commission?”
I could have told him and added that he could go without Flashy, for one. But it wouldn’t have done, in front of Yankees, and with Elspeth watching, so I kept uneasily mum, and presently we were jolting out of camp, with the fat clergyman beside me sweating and twitching; I noticed Collins’s hand stray under his jacket, and wished I’d thought to come heeled myself.
My nerves were not steadied by the sight that greeted us at the little grove which was the meeting place. Every Sioux in the world seemed to be there; beyond the tarpaulin canopy where we were to sit they squatted in row on endless row, brown painted faces grim and unmoving, warbonnets and eagle feathers stirring in the breeze; every knoll and slope for a quarter of a mile was covered with them. The whole vast concourse was deathly silent; there wasn’t a cough or grunt, let alone a welcoming “How!” from all those thousands; as we took our seats the only sounds were the flapping of the canopy overhead, the stamp and jingle of Mills’s troopers, and the nervous rumblings of one set of bowels at least.
Mills ranged his troopers in line either side of our seats, while Young-Man-Afraid and Standing Bear sat their ponies out to the left, their mounted braves behind them, facing the great mass of waiting Sioux; I noticed Standing Bear make a little sign to Spotted Tail, who was seated with Red Cloud and the other chiefs in the front rank of our audience. Spotted Tail caught my eye and nodded, presumably in reassurance, which I needed, rather; sitting on my ridiculous camp-stool on the flank of the commission, looking at that mob, reminded me of being in the platform party on Speech Day when you’ve forgotten your address about Duty and Playing the Game, and the audience are already starting to snigger and pick their noses. Only this crowd weren’t sniggering.
Allison got to his feet and cleared his throat, shooting nervous glances at the silent red assembly twenty yards off, and at that moment I noticed movement on the outer wings of the crowd. Mounted warriors were cantering in towards us, either side; they swept wide to outflank the canopy, and trotted in behind Mills’s two lines of troopers. I screwed round to watch, my hair on end, as the two long files of painted braves, lances and guns at the ready, took station behind our cavalry – by God, they were marking ’em, man for man! Ten feet behind each trooper there was now a mounted Sioux, and there was no doubting the menacing significance of that. Allison stammered over the first few words of his address, and ploughed on, and I was preparing to translate aloud when a harsh voice cut in before me – a half-breed among the Indians was translating. So they’d brought their own interpreter with them; that might be significant, too.
There was a flurry of hooves to the left; Young-Man-Afraid and Standing Bear were moving their riders – in behind the lines of Sioux who were marking our troopers, so that they in turn were covered man for man! It was like some huge game of human chess, and damned unnerving if you were in the middle of the board; now there were three lines of silent horsemen either side of us, and the Sioux riders were neatly sandwiched in the middle; they didn’t like it, and turned muttering in their saddles. Standing Bear grinned and made a derisive gesture at them, and then edged his pony close to where I was sitting. I felt a sudden warm surge of relief; with that hawk profile and lance at rest against his muscular arm, he looked a confident likely lad to have at your elbow. Terry, beside me, glanced round coolly at the troopers and the Indians and whispered: “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”q John Charity Spring would have been all for him.
Allison was in full spate now, and my fears returned as I realised that what he was saying wasn’t even tactful, let alone conciliatory. Instead of arguing persuasively that white occupation of the Black Hills would really be in the Sioux’s interest, since they could make a thumping profit out of it, or something of that sort, he was taking a most minatory line, like Arnold lecturing the fags. The government must control the hills, and that was that; compensation would be paid, and if it became necessary to occupy more land in the Powder River country, a price would be settled for that too. I listened appalled; if the fool had wanted to put their backs up, he couldn’t have done it better
– and not for the first time the suspicion crossed my mind: were they trying to provoke the Indians, to ensure that no treaty was reached, so that they’d have an excuse for disciplining ’em once for all? If so, he’d picked a bloody clever time to light the train, hadn’t he, with several thousand Sioux getting shorter-tempered by the minute? For they were stirring now, and angry grunts and shouts of “Ho-ho!” were coming from around the arena; Allison raised his voice stubbornly, I heard the figure of six million mentioned again, and then he turned and plumped down in his seat, red-faced with oratory and determination.
One thing was clear: he hadn’t made it any easier for Red Cloud and Spotted Tail to accept with dignity. Red Cloud was getting to his feet, his face a grim mask; as he raised a hand to the assembly and faced the commission, silence fell again; he pushed back the trailing gorgeous wings of his war-bonnet and fixed us with his gleaming black eyes.
No one will ever know what he was going to say, for at that moment there was an outcry from the back of the crowd, and it was like some huge brown page turning as every head went round to look. There was a thunder of hooves in the distance, and through a gap in the low hills to the right came pouring a bright cavalcade of Indians, armed riders who whooped and yikked as they galloped towards us; the whole assembly was on its feet shouting, as they swept up to the clear space on our right flank, a surging, feathered horde two hundred strong, milling and waving their clubs and lances while one of their number trotted his pony forward in front of the commission.
He was a sight to take the eye even in that wild gathering, a lithe, brilliant figure who carried himself like an emperor. He was naked except for a short war-bonnet and breechclout, his face and chest glistening with ochre and vermilion, at his waist were strapped two long-barrelled Colts, a stone axe hung from his decorated saddle-blanket, and he carried a feathered lance. Standing Bear stirred and grunted as I looked anxious inquiry.
“Little Big Man,” says he. “The right arm of Tashunka Witko Crazy Horse,” and I began to sweat in earnest. These must be Oglala Bad Faces, the wildest of the wild bands from the Powder. The hostiles had come to the council at last.
I gabbled it in a whisper to Terry and Allison; the stout cleric goggled and Collins’s hand twitched again at his lapel. We waited breathless while Little Big Man checked his pony close by Red Cloud; he looked all round the assembly and then deliberately wheeled his pony so that his back was to us. I can still see that slim painted body and feathered head, the lance upraised; then he hurled it quivering into the turf at Red Cloud’s feet and his voice rang out:
“I will kill the first Lacotah chief who talks of selling the Black Hills!”
There was uproar, and I had to shout my translation in Terry’s ear. Mills was barking to his troopers to hold their line, but Young-Man-Afraid and half a dozen of his braves were round Little Big Man in a second, hustling him back towards his fellows, all yelling at once; the assembly were in tumult, but they weren’t breaking ranks, thank God; Spotted Tail was on his feet, arms raised, bellowing for order. Standing Bear tugged at my sleeve, and as I turned to follow his pointing finger I swore in amazement.
Behind where we sat was the ambulance, its horses cropping quietly at the grass and its driver standing on his box to watch the confusion – and cantering out of the trees towards the ambulance, a solitary rider, daintily side-saddle, waving her crop gaily as she saw me. I was out from under the canopy like a startled stoat, running towards her in rage and alarm; what the hell was she doing, I shouted, as I grasped her bridle.
“Why, I have come to see the great pow-wow!” cries the blonde lunatic. “My, what a splendid sight! What are they calling out for? Oh, see, there is Mr Spotted Tail! But I declare, Harry, I never knew there were so many—”
“Damn your folly, you should be in the camp, you – you mindless biddy!” I reached up and swung her by main force from the saddle.
“Harry, what are you doing? Oh, be careful – my dress! Whatever are you so agitated for? – and you must not curse in that dreadful way! Gracious me, I have only come to see the sight, and I think it was mean of you not to have brought me anyway – oh, look, look at those ones there with the horns and teeth on their heads – are they not grotesque? And the horsemen yonder – was ever anything so grand? Such colours – oh, I would not have missed it for anything!”
I was almost gibbering as I bundled her into the ambulance. “Get in there and sit still! For God’s sake, woman, don’t you know that this is dangerous? No, I cannot explain – sit there, and wait till I come, blast it! Keep her ladyship there!” I snarled at the startled driver, and ran back, followed by female bleats.
The space before the canopy was alive with jostling, shouting Indians; the vortex was the group round Little Big Man, arguing fiercely; the commission were on their feet, nonplussed, and Mills was whispering urgently to Terry. The great assembly was dissolving, some milling down towards us, others mounting their ponies. I saw weapons brandished as the whooping and yelling grew louder; here was Spotted Tail, his huge buckskinned figure thrusting through the throng as he shouted to Young-Man-Afraid; now he was under the canopy, addressing Mills.
“Put them into the ambulance, now! Away, at once, and make for the camp!”
Allison, mouth open, was about to deliver himself, but Spotted Tail seized his arm and almost ran him to the ambulance, while the troopers closed round us, keeping back the shouting crowd of Sioux riders. There was an undignified scramble into the ambulance, the clergyman dropping his spectacles and Allison his papers; you could feel the panic starting to spread like a wave; oh, Jesus, any minute now and the devils would be breaking loose; it was on a knife-edge – and Standing Bear was pushing me, not towards the ambulance, but to a riderless pony. That suited me: if hell was going to pop, I’d sooner take my chance in the saddle than in a crowded, lumbering wagon that would be the focus for their fury. Christ, Elspeth was in the ambulance!
There was nothing to be done about that; with Standing Bear knee to knee I urged my beast up against the canvas cover as the ambulance rolled away. We were surrounded by a phalanx of Mills’s bluecoats, with Young-Man-Afraid and his braves among them. Thank God Mills was cool, and every sabre was in its sheath. All round was a disordered, threatening mob of Indians, yelling taunts, but the ambulance was moving well now, its horses at the trot; it trundled under the trees and out on to the trail to camp, towards the big buttes, and I swallowed my fear and looked about me.
The prairie either side was thick with mounted braves, whooping and singing; I caught some of the words, about how they would make the Powder Country tremble beneath any invader, so that his bowels would loosen with fear; the lightning about the Black Hills would flash and blind him. The more din they made, the better I liked it, for it sounded like drunken exultation; they were seeing the Isantanka chiefs scuttling for safety, and with luck that would content them. But a false move by Mills or his men, an accidental shot on either side, or a spurt of blood-lust in just one of that galloping host, and in a twinkling it would be massacre.
We were running briskly for the camp now, and Mills’s men were in good order around us. Beyond them I watched the Sioux; there was one evil son-of-a-bitch in a horned headdress flourishing a hatchet and proposing that they should kill all the white men and burn their lodges; suddenly he wheeled between the troopers and rode screeching for the ambulance – and I saw one of the coolest, smartest tricks I remember. Standing Bear raced forward to head him off, and I yelped with terror, for I knew if he cut him down the whole mob would pour in on us. But as he came up beside the whooping Sioux, he simply reached out and caught the other’s wrist, laughing.
“D’you want to kill something, great warrior?” he shouted. “Very good, kill away! See that colt yonder – let’s see if you can kill that!”
There was a colt running loose among the riders; the fellow in the homed cap looked at it, rolled his eyes at Standing Bear, and with a great howl galloped away, drawing his pistol, lettin
g fly at the colt. There were excited hoots as others took off after him. Standing Bear shrugged and shook his head as he fell back alongside me; I was cold with sweat, for I knew that only his quick thinking had saved us.58
The Sioux fell away after that, and we rolled on to the camp in safety, Mills sensibly holding one troop behind as rearguard while the other took the ambulance ahead. I stayed with him, since it always looks well to come in with the last detachment, scowling back towards the danger; it was safe enough now, and I knew that Elspeth was all right with the commission. Mills was thorough; he pulled up a mile from camp and we waited an hour while Young-Man-Afraid’s chaps scouted back; they reported that the Sioux were dispersing to their tipis, and Little Big Man’s hostiles had withdrawn. All was quiet after the sudden brief excitement, but I guessed it had been a damned near thing.
I finally rode in with the troop, rehearsing the rebuke I would visit on my half-witted wife. Of all the cake-headed tricks, riding out alone to watch the great pow-wow, indeed! Even she ought to have known that although it had been quiet enough about camp, it was folly for a woman to ride alone in wild country; if the meeting had boiled into real violence it would have been all up with her.
She wasn’t in our quarters, Mrs Mills hadn’t seen her, and I was making for Terry’s billet to inquire when I saw the ambulance driver, a bog Irish private, puffing his cutty by the stables. I hailed him, and he stared like a baffled baboon.
Flashman Papers Omnibus Page 202
