by Dee Brown
Lean Bear’s full-lipped mouth fixed in a hard line. “We did not know of this fort,” he said. “I would take the families on to the north, but Big Star will need the Dog Soldiers if the Bluecoats find him.”
With Griffa’s permission, Dane gave Lean Bear and Red Bird Woman a few bags of flour from the diminishing supply in the trading post. After these unexpected visitors rode away, Dane and Sweet Medicine Woman and Griffa sat with their sons in the unlighted trading room until almost dawn, weighing the dangers of remaining any longer at Fort Carrothers.
Griffa decided that she and Young Opothle and Meggi would stay until Jotham came for them. She and her children, and Pleasant, were no darker than the sun-tanned Bluecoats, and none was Cheyenne. “I am less afraid of your Colonel Belcourt than of the war in the Cherokee Nation,” she said. “Jotham does not want us there, with homes being burned and battles being fought everywhere. Bibbs and Wewoka will not go back. They are afraid of being made slaves again. So we will stay here.”
Dane also thought it best for his family to remain at Fort Carrothers until all of Big Star’s Cheyennes reached the Timbers. Then he and his family would join them in the flight to Powder River. By remaining at the trading post they could furnish some food to the helpless Cheyennes in hiding at the Timbers; they at least could risk hunting by daylight. But because of Belcourt’s threat to arrest any Cheyennes found there on his next patrol, they decided to start keeping a watch from the loft room. Through slits in the high walls they could see any movement on the Plains for several miles. If an approaching patrol was sighted, all the full-blood members of the family would conceal themselves in the root cellar.
Old Jim Carrothers had built his root cellar well, its entrance so secret and unhandy to use that Jotham and Griffa never bothered to store anything there. It had no trapdoor. To gain access, a heavy kitchen table had to be moved to one side, and two full-length floorboards, with false wooden pegs in them, lifted at the ends. At daybreak Dane inspected the cellar and found it dry and free of snakes, with more than enough space for his family to conceal themselves in comfort.
Sweet Medicine Woman proposed that Griffa and her children go north with the Cheyennes. “Never,” Griffa replied with a laugh. “In a village of tipis I would be as helpless as a fresh-hatched bird. No, we will stay here.”
And so they began their new daily routines, each member of the family taking turns as lookouts in the loft, Pleasant and Swift Eagle venturing for short distances to hunt what wild game they could find. A day or so later, Meggi excitedly called from the loft that a single Bluecoat was approaching from the east. The horseman was Major Easterwood. He stopped to rest in the trading room, was friendly but sparing of words, and was soon on his way to Denver.
During the next few days several more small parties of Cheyennes made their way safely into the Ghost Timbers, the news of their arrival being brought by Lean Bear, who made frequent night visits to obtain what meat or other rations those in the trading post could spare. Aside from the shortage of food, Lean Bear said, their greatest difficulty was concealment of horses, which were growing in numbers with the arrival of each group of fugitives from the south. He had seen Bluecoat patrols far out on the Plains and he feared they might come closer and discover the horses. If Big Star did not arrive soon, Lean Bear thought, it might be best to start with the women and children for the sandhills.
One afternoon Susa cried out from the loft that a Bluecoat was approaching on foot from the west. Dane walked out to the trail and soon recognized the limping man as Major Easterwood. Saddling a horse, he rode to meet him. The major barely had the strength to mount behind Dane’s saddle. His face was scratched and bruised, his uniform encrusted with drying mud.
“My two wagons of rifles that I was bringing to Fort Starke were ambushed by Indians,” he told Dane.
“What Indians, what tribe?” Dane asked.
“I know nothing of your tribes. Their faces and upper bodies were painted ferociously. Had they not slain my horse so that I was plunged into a ditch and knocked senseless I am certain they would have killed me as they killed at least one of my drivers. When I regained consciousness one of my wagons and its driver were missing. The other wagon was still there, but the driver and both draft animals were dead.”
Taking the two largest horses from the corral and a pony for Major Easterwood, they started back for the site of the ambush. On the way Dane wondered if one of Big Star’s small parties from Sand Creek had chanced upon the wagons and attacked them, but he quickly dismissed the thought. The Cheyennes would have been accompanied by their families, they would not have wanted to be seen, and they certainly would not have been painted for war. He had heard of Oglala Sioux being in the area, but none had come as far as Fort Carrothers.
“You had only the two drivers and no soldier escort?” he asked Major Easterwood.
“I requisitioned a squad,” Easterwood replied, “but the commander at Camp Weld assured me no escort would be needed.”
Dane was puzzled. “The army always guards shipments of arms with several mounted men,” he said.
“These people are not army,” Easterwood answered dryly. “They wear the uniform, that is all.”
They crossed a rotting bridge over a stagnant creek that turned and ran along the right side of the road. High grass and briers clogged each bank.
“The wagon’s gone!” Easterwood cried.
In the road ahead lay a man and two draft horses without harness. Lying with half its body in the road and half in the brush-bordered creek was Major Easterwood’s riding horse.
“They must have returned for the other wagon,” Dane said, dismounting to study the tracks and other sign. He thought it odd that marks of wagon wheels led off into the creek. He picked up an eagle feather from the dust; it was smeared with red paint. Two or three arrows were scattered here and there. The dead driver had not been scalped.
“Did they use arrows?” he asked Easterwood.
“I don’t recall seeing any, but they may have.” Easterwood pointed into a patch of thick briers that overhung the green-scummed stream. “That’s where I was thrown. Lucky my head was out of the water.”
“How were the Indians dressed?”
“It happened too quickly for me to see them well,” Easterwood replied apologetically. “The nearest one to me wore buckskin leggings, and he had long hair. Black and red paint all over his face and upper body. I think it was he who killed my horse. I fired only a single shot at another who came up out of the brush on foot. He was shooting at the draft horses of the lead wagon. I remember seeing a flash of brass buttons along the sides of his pants. He stumbled and fell back, and then my horse went down and I lost consciousness.”
Dane walked along the edge of the road, kneeled and looked at the cluster of small dark spots in the dust. “If he was about here,” he said, “you must have hit him.”
“Yes, it would have been along here.” They both pushed into the brush. Dane reached the waterline and saw what appeared to be a green plant floating in the scum. He grabbed at it, caught slippery hair in his hand and pulled a human head above the surface. He dragged the body out into the road. The dead man’s white skin bore faint markings of paint, not yet completely dissolved by the water. His sopping black velvet pants had brass buttons on the side.
Major Easterwood bent over to study the face. “I’ve seen this man at Fort Starke,” he said. “He was a junior officer, a white man!”
“Most likely the others also were white,” Dane said.
“Why would they attack their own wagons?”
Dane shook his head. “Maybe to sell the guns back to the army. Maybe to start an Indian scare. Is that not what you said Belcourt and his men want?”
“I can’t believe they would go this far.”
“They may already have reported an Indian attack. All they need is a rumor, and passing stagecoaches will spread it.”
“Perhaps I can put a stop to their deviltries,” Easterwood
said. “Let’s clear the road.” Using their horses they pulled the dead animals into the creek. “Now, if you’ll consent to lend me this pony and one of your horses,” the major continued, “I’ll take the two dead men into Fort Starke and report an attack on the wagons by renegades dressed as Indians.”
42
DANE LIFTED HIS SMOKE-BLACKENED coffeepot over to the rocking chair where Red Bird Woman sat motionless. “Was that the same day you and your sons brought us wagon filled with guns?” she asked.
“That night, it was,” Dane answered.
John Bear-in-the-Water, who had been listening intently, pointed a finger at Dane. “So your sons helped ambush the gun wagons?”
“Don’t go outguessing me,” Dane replied, hanging the pot carefully on its hook over the coals. “You see, after Major Easterwood rode off toward Fort Starke, I went to Sweet Medicine Woman and told her to get everything packed that we could carry on our horses. She did not want to leave her tipi with all of Amayi’s designs and colors on it, but she knew her people had abandoned theirs at Sand Creek. It had to be done.”
“But you lived in same tipi on Powder River,” Red Bird Woman insisted.
“There you go now, like our young Crow friend, trying to get ahead of me,” Dane scolded. “You see, it was in my mind to go to the Timbers and persuade Lean Bear to let me start the women and children north while he and his warriors waited for Big Star to come in. I knew we didn’t have much time left before the Bluecoats would be on us.
“Darkness had just settled down when I heard the thumping of a slow-moving wagon across that stream from our tipi. At first I thought it was a Bluecoat patrol. Sometimes if they were in no hurry they’d burden themselves with a wagon. But in a minute or so, Pleasant and Swift Eagle came splashing across on foot. They were both grinning like raccoons with a secret.
“ ‘Come over here and have a look,’ Pleasant called when he recognized me in the dusk.
“Pulled up under a tree across the stream was the wagon, and hitched to it were the boys’ riding horses. Pleasant lifted the canvas covering. The wagon was filled with wooden boxes of rifles and ammunition.
“I don’t remember what I said to them, but it must have been a string of those old oaths I’d learned from Creek Mary. You see, like John Bear-in-the-Water here, my first thought was that my boys had been a part of that ambush. But it wasn’t what it seemed to be. Pleasant and Swift Eagle were out hunting along the Lodgepole, with a little wooded slope between them and the stage road, when they heard gunfire popping over the rise. They crawled up in the high grass to the crest and saw the last part of the shooting. They were close enough to hear the attackers quarreling over whether they should abandon the wagon with the two dead horses. It was plain enough to Pleasant and Swift Eagle that the men in buckskins and feathers, with faces and bodies painted like no tribe they’d ever seen, were white men instead of Indians. Soon after the attackers rode away with the one wagon toward Denver, the boys saw Major Easterwood pull himself out of the briers. They waited until he limped on out of sight toward Fort Carrothers, and then they rode down to the trail.
“When they discovered that the abandoned wagon was filled with rifles, both agreed that the weapons were just what the Cheyennes at the Ghost Timbers needed to defend themselves. And so they took the harness off the dead team and hitched their horses to the wagon, hauled it along the bed of the shallow creek for a ways, and hid in a thicket until sundown.
“After Pleasant explained how they’d got the wagon, and was showing me the rifles, he grew very excited. ‘They’re Springfields,’ he said. ‘Same as the Union soldiers used at Elkhorn Tavern. And a good supply of cartridges and percussion caps.’ He lifted one of them from a box he had broken open. ‘I’ve fired four shots a minute with a gun like this. If we can get them to the Ghost Timbers, our warriors need not fear the Bluecoats.’
“ ‘We’ll take the guns tonight,’ I said.
“Before we left I told Sweet Medicine Woman to expect me and the boys back late on the following night, bringing the women and children with us, and for her to be ready to go. ‘Through tomorrow’s daylight, you and the girls stay inside the trading post.’ I warned her. ‘If you sight Bluecoats in any direction, hide in the root cellar.’
“ ‘Little Cloud is going with you?’ she asked anxiously.
“ ‘We’ll need him to ride guard for the women and children,’ I said, but I did not tell her we also might need him to defend the gun wagon if we ran into a night patrol of Bluecoats.
“With Bibbs’s help, we fastened gunnysacks around the wagon tires, hoping this would soften the sounds of the turning wheels and also confuse any trackers who might be looking for sign at next daylight. Pleasant took the lead, I drove the wagon, and Swift Eagle and Little Cloud rode far out on either side
“Because of our late start, by the time we neared the Ghost Timbers the trees were already black shapes against the brightening eastern sky. I lashed the wagon team into a faster pace and Pleasant rode in ahead to tell the Cheyennes of the prize we were bringing them. Very soon, then, Lean Bear and his Dog Soldiers came galloping out to meet the wagon, shouting cries of victory and shaking their lances.
“The camp was already astir because of the arrival earlier in the night of Big Star’s party from Sand Creek. We at once held a family reunion, Pleasant rushing to find Rising Fawn, and Big Star and Bear Woman embracing their grandsons, questioning them at length about their mother and sisters, and scolding me for not also bringing them from Fort Carrothers.
“Big Star had been the last to leave Sand Creek, and he was worried because the party ahead of him had not yet come in. ‘War Shirt is the leader,’ he said. ‘All are Fox Soldiers with their families, some of them riding two on a pony.’ Being a Fox Soldier myself, most of War Shirt’s men were like brothers to me, and I knew they were the craftiest of the Cheyennes at throwing pursuers off the scent. Unless they’d run into bad luck, I was sure they’d reach the Timbers.
“Big Star, of course, was pleased by the windfall of Springfield rifles, and he took charge of distributing them and the ammunition to the best shots among the warriors. He then called a council and it was decided that if War Shirt did not come in by nightfall we would start north, leaving only the Dog Soldiers to wait for the overdue party. The council was just breaking up when one of the lookouts in a tall tree shouted a warning. With their new Springfields, the warriors hurried to the brush-covered sandpits. Some of the women gathered the children into dugouts, while others ran to the horse herd back in a willow thicket to keep the animals quiet.
“Swift Eagle and I joined Big Star and my brother-in-law Yellow Hawk behind the gnarled roots of a huge cottonwood. Two small dust clouds were rolling toward us across the plain.
“ ‘War Shirt and his Fox Soldier people!’ Yellow Hawk cried. ‘Bluecoats behind them!’
“I shaded my eyes and tried to count the pursuing soldiers. Fifty or sixty at least. And they were fast closing the gap on War Shirt’s small party, many of whom were riding double. They were my brothers, the Fox Soldiers, and I rose to my feet, wanting to ride to help them.
“About that time Lean Bear came bounding over to Big Star, begging the chief to send the Dog Soldiers out to save War Shirt. I added my words to Lean Bear’s pleas. We had guns as good as the Bluecoats and we were better fighters. We could drive the soldiers away and then start for the north.”
“Oh, but I remember that day,” Red Bird Woman interrupted, and she began rocking back and forth with such agitation that she spilled coffee in the lap of her spotted dress. “A strange feeling come over me when I saw Lean Bear running back to the horse herd with Dog Soldiers. He looked big and handsome that day, shouting and laughing, but something was raging in his eyes, something I never saw before in Lean Bear’s eyes. I ran to give him my medicine bag for protection, but he had his Dog Soldier sash and rattle and quirt. He was gone galloping like a ghost, waving his new rifle like it was more medicine than he ever carri
ed before.”
“We were all a little foolish that day,” Dane said. “I saw Pleasant and his wife, Rising Fawn, go racing out side by side from the willows, with Little Cloud close behind them, and then Swift Eagle and Yellow Hawk and I, we all ran for horses. Red Bird Woman let me have her sorrel mare.
“The Dog Soldiers were singing their song of battle as they rode out. The same thought must have come to all of us when we saw the flashing sabers of the Bluecoats pursuing our brothers and their families. What right did the Bluecoats have to drive us from a country that the Maker of Breath gave us before the coming of the whites? By what right did they tell us we could not go where we pleased over our land rich in grass and buffalo?”
43
AS SOON AS LEAN Bear was clear of the Timbers, he signaled his Dog Soldiers into a V-formation. He rode at the point like the head of an arrow flying toward a low flat-topped rise that lay between the Bluecoats and War Shirt’s hard-pressed little band. Strung out behind the Dog Soldiers were warriors of other soldier societies. Lean Bear halted his men on the rising ground, quickly forming them into two ranks facing the oncoming Bluecoats, and motioning the other warriors to fall in behind. When he saw that War Shirt’s people were wheeling in confusion, he ordered some of the warriors in the rear to ride and escort them into the Timbers. Among those he sent were Yellow Hawk and Swift Eagle. They were reluctant to leave the war party, but Lean Bear was the war chief, and no one questioned his command.
The Bluecoats slowed their horses, the four platoons forming front into line at the command of a black-mustached captain. Far behind them was a smaller dust cloud, a mountain howitzer bouncing over sagebrush and grass hassocks like a live monster pursuing the frenzied horses that gave it motion. The captain’s rapid commands, echoed by hoarse-voiced sergeants, reminded Dane of the barking of quarrelsome dogs. Second and third platoons! As skirmishers! March! Prepare to fight—on foot! Into line! First and fourth platoons! Halt! The clanking metal, the creaking leather, seemed unnaturally loud on the heavy morning air as the men in the center of the blue line dismounted and formed into ragged squads. They moved awkwardly, uncertain of what they were doing, and the Cheyennes could smell their fear.
