Man on Two Ponies

by Don Worcester

  At that the Tetons from the Missouri River agencies recalled that General Terry had taken hundreds of their ponies the same year. The money from the sale of those animals had been used to buy them 600 head of stocker cattle, but the officials were unaware of that, so they agreed to tend to the matter. These concessions, far from getting the chiefs to talk about the land sale, opened the floodgates to a torrent of demands based on promises of long ago as well as new things the Sioux wanted, such as a red farm wagon for every family and rice and dried apples added to their rations. And they didn’t want money from land sales wasted on schools and farm tools—they wanted to spend it themselves in the trading posts.

  At the mention of land sales, the weary officials pricked up their ears. They suggested that the chiefs return home and persuade their people to sign the agreement. The chiefs were indignant. The officials threw up their hands in surrender, and the chiefs were sent back to their agencies.

  Billy was elated that the chiefs had remained united and unyielding. The Great Sioux Reserve was still intact. In late October, Two Strike and the others arrived back at Rosebud.

  “This is only round three,” Culver cautioned. “It’s way too soon to celebrate. The presidential election is almost on us, and much depends on how it turns out.” Billy still felt jubilant—first the Pratt commission had been roundly defeated, then the chiefs had stood their ground under pressure from big men in Washington.

  In the election in November, Benjamin Harrison won the presidency. “Nothing will happen until he takes office in March,” Culver said, knocking the ash from his pipe. “Then we’ll see.”

  That winter of 1888-1889, measles struck at all the agencies and hundreds of children died. The widespread grief made the Brulés appear despondent, resigned to a life of sorrow. Disease is something else the Wasicuns brought us.

  Billy read in late February that Harrison planned to appoint Baptist minister Thomas J. Morgan as Indian Commissioner, and had instructed him to base his policy on the views of the Friends of the Indian. Morgan promptly attended one of their meetings. “I place myself in your hands,” he told them.

  “The brethren must be rejoicing,” Culver said grimly, chewing on his pipestem. “For the Sioux this is the worst news I’ve heard in a while.”

  When Morgan announced what his Indian policy would be, he declared that it had been his “long established conviction that the reservation system is an anomaly that cannot be permitted to continue.” The Indians must be absorbed into the white population as quickly as possible.

  “Poppycock,” Culver said. “He’s just parroting what the brethren poured in his ear. God help the Indians.” Billy thought of Pratt’s defeat and the stand the chiefs had taken. What can they do to us now?

  Another day Culver handed him a paper. “Read this,” he said, tapping a column with his pipestem. “General Crook has been in Boston making speeches about Indians. You’ll like what he has to say.” Billy had heard of Crook, the stem officer who had helped defeat the Teton hostiles and force them onto the reservation.

  “The Indian is a human being,” Crook began. “One question today on whose settlement depends the honor of the United States is, ’How can we preserve him?’ “ Billy eagerly read on. If the Tetons have a powerful ally like General Crook, that should help them fight off any land sale. “We must not try to force them to take civilization immediately in its complete form,” Crook continued. “If they are treated justly, the Indian question, a source of dishonor to our country and of shame to true patriots, will soon be a thing of the past.”

  It was hard to believe, but here was an army officer who had fought and defeated the Tetons, who admitted that Indians are human beings. He wanted them treated justly, and not pushed too fast, while those who called themselves Friends of the Indian treated them like ignorant children and would force them to change rapidly even if it meant starving them into submission. Billy read on.

  “I wish to say most emphatically that the American Indian is the intellectual equal of most, if not all, the various nationalities we have assimilated,” Crook continued. “He is fully able to protect himself, if the ballot be given, and the courts of law not closed to him.”

  “I never thought I’d hear a white man say anything like that,” Billy said. “And one who used to fight us. I can’t believe he really said that, after hearing what the rest want to do to us. Why don’t they listen to him?”

  “Crook knows Indians as well as any man, and he says what he knows is true. The brethren are dead wrong, and they listen only to those who agree with them.”

  Two mixed bloods and their Brulé wives entered the store. One of the men nodded toward the shelves behind the counter. “Cloth,” he said. “Two yards.”

  Billy watched the women to see which of the brightly colored rolls caught their eyes then set both rolls on the counter. He measured and cut the cloth while the two men looked at the Winchesters and Culver refilled and lighted his pipe. The men paid for the cloth and followed their giggling wives to the door.

  “What Crook said applied to you,” Culver said, making a jabbing motion with his pipe. “You have a responsibility to him to keep on learning so you can help others adjust, and to prove that Crook and men who agree with him are right about Indians. If you were to forget what you’ve learned and go back to being a blanket Indian like most of the Carlisle boys have done, you’d help prove him wrong. Those who say that Indians can’t or won’t learn to live like whites and do the things whites do unless they’re driven to it would like that. Think about it.”

  Billy touched the short braids that fell to the back of his neck. He’d tied them together so they wouldn’t flop around like Julian’s had done. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’m still mixed up. It hasn’t gotten any better. Joe Smith was right when he said I’m a man on two ponies. I thought I wanted to go all the way back to the blanket and forget I’d ever been away, but I wanted that mainly to please my father, and I was too late. I still hope to hear him call me his son, but I know my chances are pretty slim. I might as well cut my hair, and when I’ve given up all hope I will. But I haven’t yet. Something could happen to change things, though I don’t know what.”

  In February 1889 the Omnibus Bill passed in Congress. Dakota Territory would become the states of North and South Dakota and enter the union along with Washington and Montana in November. Congress also passed a new Sioux Act to remove the Indians’ objections to the earlier one and end opposition to the land sale. President Cleveland signed it on March 2, just before leaving office.

  Not long after President Harrison was inaugurated, the Democrats on the agency staff began to be replaced by Republicans. The Friends of the Indian had been ardent supporters of the Civil Service system and had protested loudly when Cleveland had replaced Republicans in the Indian Service. Now, when there were wholesale dismissals of Democrats, they were strangely silent.

  “The brethren can’t bring themselves to criticize their own administration,” Culver said, shaking his head, “especially after it handed them what they’ve wanted most—a free hand to meddle with its Indian policy. “

  The Friends of the Indian were too busy making plans for the Sioux to care about Civil Service. Our first goal, they announced, is to cut down the Great Sioux Reserve by nine million acres and force every family to settle on a farm. Raising cattle won’t do. It lets them keep roaming around, and that’s bad because they enjoy it. The brethren even protested that when in Washington in October the chiefs had promised to promte the land agreement, and that most Sioux now favored it. No one but they believed that.

  The new Sioux Act set the price for land to be ceded at $1.25 an acre for the first three years, seventy-five cents for the next two, and fifty cents an acre thereafter. Funds from the sales would be held for the Sioux at five percent interest to be used for education. Because the Sioux had worried about allotment, the act specified that the program could not be introduced at an
y agency until a majority of the men approved it. At that time each family would receive 320 acres instead of 160. The act also allocated $28,500 to compensate the Oglalas for the ponies seized in 1876, at $40 per pony. But the Sioux must accept or reject the agreement, not abstain from voting.

  “The chiefs did a good job in Washington,” Culver remarked as he read the agreement’s provisions, “better than any of us realized.” He tapped the article with his index finger. “I’ve never seen Congress in such a generous mood. This time the Sioux had better accept before Congress has second thoughts about it. They’ll never be so free handed again—they leaned over backwards to make it attractive. If it’s rejected, Congress will be miffed, and they’ll figure a way to take the land without adequate compensation. Believe me.”

  Billy frowned. Why do we have to give up our land? If they get half of it now, how long will it be before they take the other half? He only hoped that the government would send another bungler like Pratt, and that the Tetons would remain as united as before.

  Chapter Six

  When Congress authorized President Harrison to send a new commission to negotiate with the Sioux under the terms of the new act, he quickly responded. This time the commissioners would not be what the Tetons considered small men. Harrison named Charles Foster, ex-governor of Ohio, as chairman, then added William Warner, head of the Veterans’ Administration. Neither had been involved in negotiations with Indians, but the third member was expected to do the persuading. General George Crook, Three Stars to the Tetons, had years of experience in dealing with Indians, and he had campaigned against the Sioux hostiles in 1876.

  The announcement of his appointment stated that Crook had been named to the commission because he was an old friend of the Sioux. Culver snorted when he read that. “An old friend of the Sioux! Most of them will be surprised to hear that. They fear him for good reason, but they respect and trust him as a big chief who has never lied to them. I don’t know any who call him friend.”

  “From what he said, he must be a friend of all Indians. At least he said that Indians should be treated fairly. I can’t believe he’d try to force us to sell our land,” Billy said, fingering the braids at the back of his neck.

  Culver scratched a match on his pants leg and lit his pipe. “Crook being on the commission is goin’ to make a lot of Tetons think twice about opposing the sale. Just seeing him will bring back the sound of bugles and the rattle of sabers. Putting him on the commission is a pointed reminder that the bluecoats are somewhere in the background. And it was just a year ago that Pratt recommended taking the land by force.”

  “Three Stars wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “He’s a good soldier, and soldiers do what they’re ordered whether they like it or not.”

  The commission, it was announced, had been given $25,000 for ordinary and “unusual” expenses. “That means Congress doesn’t intend for them to fail this time. It gave them plenty of money to hire or bribe mixed bloods and maybe even a few fullblood progressives to do the arguing for them,” Culver observed. “That will make their work a lot easier. I’m not sure how it will turn out, but once they’re here, it’s not likely they’ll leave until they have what they came for.”

  “But if we stick together and refuse to sell...?” Billy thought of the Hunkpapas, and how they’d stayed with Grass through all of Pratt’s threats. “Pratt couldn’t force the Hunkpapas to sell.”

  “Crook’s not Captain Pratt.”

  Dr. Bland and the Indian Defense Association also had a war chest, and they printed warnings to the Sioux not to sell and distributed them at Pine Ridge. Joe Smith brought one of the sheets to show Billy. “I been over to Pine Ridge and got this,” he said, showing his broken tooth. “I hear tell that Red Cloud and the other chiefs got letters telling them to stand pat. They really got their backs up about it.”

  After he left, Culver laid his pipe on the counter. “The lines are drawn,” he said, “and except for Dr. Bland’s folks it’s the U.S. against the Sioux Nation. That’s so one-sided the Tetons likely can’t hold out this time, but it’s in their interest to accept anyway. It would be best if it could be managed without generating hard feelings, but that isn’t likely to happen.”

  Billy thought some more about General Crook. If Three Stars doesn’t actually like Indians, at least he respects them as humans and wants them treated fairly. When he finds they don’t want to sell, that should settle it.

  In the East, the Friends of the Indian waited, ready to rejoice over news that the Sioux had given up half of the Reserve. The Dakotans, whose demands had led to the Sioux Act, had suffered so severely from the prolonged drouth that they were no longer concerned over Sioux lands, at least for the moment. With statehood approaching, they were involved in political maneuvering over the location of the state capital, and ignored the land commission.

  One afternoon in late May, Agent Spencer came to see Culver. “The commission is coming here first,” he said, flourishing a letter. “They arrive next week, and I’m supposed to have all of the Indians camped around the agency until they settle the land question. I’ve been after them to get their corn planted, and now this.” He waved the letter again. “If it drags on they’ll miss planting time, and there goes any farming this year. After pushing farming here more than at any other agency, it has to take a back seat to talking the Indians out of their land. “He paused, watching Culver light his pipe. “The Commissioners said to bring all of them in,” Spencer continued. “Some of the old hostiles probably won’t come in unless I send the police. And if they do come, they’re likely to disrupt the talks if any of the others want to sell. I’ll be damned if do and damned if I don’t. What would you do?”

  Culver blew smoke at a fly buzzing around his face. “Those ex-hostiles will never vote one way or the other, but they won’t let anyone else vote if they can help it. You’ll come out better if you don’t even tell them about it. If enough of the others vote in favor, the commission can still get the required three-fourths approval.

  “Good. I was thinking along that line, and you’ve confirmed it.”

  Billy watched as one group after another set up canvas tipis on the open land around the agency. The men seemed puzzled. Farming had seemed almost sacred to the agents, but now, when their women were ready to plant com, the police had ordered them to come to the agency to talk about selling land they were determined not to sell. The agent had warned the chiefs that no family could leave until the commission was through with its work.

  Late in the afternoon the commissioners and their staff arrived in wagons from Valentine. Billy joined the crowd that gathered to watch, eager to see Three Stars. He wore a brown corduroy suit; his beard was full and bushy, and his hair was short. Chairman Foster had a goatee. Warner was clean-shaven except for a carefully trimmed mustache. The large crowd of Brulés watched as the commissioners’ aides set up tents near the agency headquarters.

  The commissioners appeared to be on a friendly visit, with nothing in mind but leisurely talks with the Brulés. They immediately bought fifteen fat steers and had them butchered and roasted over fires, then invited everyone for a feast. For the Brulés it was like a successful hunt in the old days, when every family was roasting hump ribs, and men and women wandered around visiting and gorging themselves until they could eat no more.

  But in the old days, when they celebrated, they danced. Then the missionaries had persuaded the Indian Bureau to ban all dancing as heathenish. Old Two Strike beckoned to Billy. “Tell Three Stars we want to dance,” he said.

  Feeling awed and unsure of his voice, Billy cautiously approached Crook, who was wiping the grease from his flowing beard. “Two Strike asked me to tell you they want to dance,” he said nervously, fingering the braids at the back of his neck. “The agent doesn’t allow dancing.”

  “Come with me,” Crook said, and set off to find Spencer, walking with the measured tread of a veteran infantryman. “They want to dance,” Crook told Spencer.
“I see nothing wrong with it, and it’ll put them in a good humor.” The agent frowned.

  “It was the Commissioner who ordered us agents to stop the dances,” he said. “But he also ordered me to cooperate with your commission in every way. This is one of the ways. They can put on the Omaha Dance if they want to.”

  Billy relayed the good news to Two Strike, and when the feasting ended, the dance began. The Brulés enjoyed it enormously, while Three Stars looked on and smiled. Only the Reverend Cleveland looked unhappy, and he quickly left.

  “I saw Louis Richards and other mixed bloods visiting Three Stars in his tent after the feast,” Billy told Culver next day.

  “Some of them were here this morning early,” Culver said, “and they all had money to spend. I’m sure it was some of that $25,000 Congress provided for ’unusual’ expenses.”

  That same afternoon, when he went to the agency for the mail, Billy saw old Swift Bear of the Corn Band talking to Three Stars. Of all the chiefs, Swift Bear was the only one who was always eager to please white officials and who could never say no to them. He must have forgotten that all Tetons had agreed not to discuss the land sale, for on June 4 he asked Three Stars to call a council. Crook was happy to oblige him. The Brulés had formed a big circle with their wagons, and it served as the council ground. In the center was a canvas shade for the commissioners, the chiefs, and the interpreters, who sat on wagon seats.

  The council opened with the goateed chairman Foster reading the agreement, pausing after each sentence for the interpreter. Then Three Stars spoke.

  “The white men in the East are like birds,” he told them. “They are hatching out of their eggs every year, and there isn’t enough room for them in the East. They must go elsewhere, as you have seen them coming for the last few years. They are still coming, and they will come until they overrun all of this country. You can’t prevent it, nor can the President prevent it. Everything is decided in Washington by the majority, and these people come out West and see the Indians have a big body of land that they aren’t using, and they say, ‘we want the land.’ ” He paused, then his face became solemn.