“Sir,” Finerty said as he came up to Crook. The general turned toward him, a dark shadow in the night. “I suppose we must be about the same business this evening, contemplating and mulling over the events of the past few days while taking the air.”
“This will mean war,” Crook said softly. “Both Indians and farmers were killed outside Wichita. Touch-the-Clouds will certainly consider an attack on one of his closest friends, and on people who went to a lecture hall to hear his words, an act of war.”
“Yes, he will.” Rowland had reportedly said the same thing before departing from St. Louis; the man had been lucky to escape from the hall.
“What I don’t understand,’’ Crook went on, “is what the Council in Washington hopes to gain from acts such as this. All they’ll succeed in doing is turning even more people against them. Sheridan would have found some other way to provoke the Sioux, and we could have carried any ensuing war into Sioux territory.” The Council had recently issued a statement saying that General Sheridan was ailing and had resigned his post, convincing Finerty that Sheridan had probably died while still imprisoned. “Now it’s hard to tell where war will break out first.”
“You’ve been saying,” Finerty said, “that you don’t want war with the Sioux.”
“I still don’t want war with them. Touch-the-Clouds keeps citing the Constitution while the Council seems intent on scrapping that document, which makes it increasingly difficult to regard the man as a barbarian.”
Crook might have been thinking of the chief’s comments on the Tenth Amendment. “Your sacred talking paper speaks of your states and their chiefs. The talking paper says that the Great Father cannot take the powers of those chiefs away from them.” Finerty suspected that the Iroquois orator Lemuel Rowland was responsible for tutoring his blood brother in constitutional law.
“I’m also puzzled,” Crook went on, “as to why I’ve had no orders from General Pope.” Nathaniel Pope had assumed Sheridan’s duties as commander of the United States Army. “I still don’t know if I am expected to ferret out saboteurs or to prepare for war with the Sioux.”
Finerty said, “The Sioux haven’t broken the treaty yet.”
“No, damn it, they haven’t, which makes it even harder to regard them as a potential enemy.” Crook cleared his throat. “This conversation is beginning to turn into an interview, Finerty. You may soon have another story for your editor. Lemuel Rowland has sent a message that he is coming here with a party of Sioux under a flag of truce. Even without orders from Pope, I know what the general would probably expect me to do at this point, what Sherman probably would have ordered me to do if he were still alive.”
“And what is that?” Finerty asked.
“Tell Rowland to inform the Sioux and the Cheyenne that any Indian who doesn’t travel within two months to the reservations allocated to them by the treaty of 1868 will be considered hostile, and will be hunted down by the men under my command.”
“That would be rather harsh, General,” Finerty said. “Given the disorder in government circles, I doubt that the Department of the Interior could get enough food and supplies to the agencies in that length of time to take care of all those Indians, even if they did decide to give themselves up.”
“They wouldn’t all give themselves up,” Crook said. “The Sioux certainly wouldn’t. But the threat of war might drive a wedge through the alliance they have with the Crow and the Arikara. Treachery has its uses in dealing with the Indian, and we could use some Crow and Arikara scouts. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, given that you’ve become something of a partisan of Touch-the-Clouds.”
Finerty drew himself up. “I am a newspaper correspondent, sir.”
“A fact that has never stopped any of you fellows from taking sides.”
Four men came out of a nearby barracks and marched toward the gate, bayonets slung over their shoulders. Finerty supposed that they were going on duty as sentries, and then Crook called out to them. “Lieutenant!” The general stepped closer to Finerty. “I’m posting a guard at your barracks until that delegation of Rowland’s arrives. It’s only for your own protection, Finerty. I wouldn’t want you rushing off to get a story to your editor before the outlines of the story are clear. You see, I still don’t know what I am going to do.”
Finerty let out a sigh.
“Keep this man under guard,” Crook said, “and make certain that he doesn’t get anywhere near the stable or the telegraph.”
The blond man’s name was Gregory Rubalev, or so it sounded to Annie Oakley Moses when he introduced himself in the hotel lobby and asked to speak to Buffalo Bill. His slight accent sounded odd to her ears, almost foreign, although unlike her Frank’s Irish lilt, and she wondered what state or territory he hailed from.
“Mr. Cody ain’t in his room,” Annie told him.
“So the man at the desk has told me.” Gregory Rubalev swept off his black sombrero and bowed first to her and then to Frank Butler. “I salute the famed Butler and Oakley.” The tall blond man glanced from her to Frank, who looked around uncertainly, then got to his feet.
“I saw your demonstration of target shooting today,” Mr. Rubalev went on. “You are one of the best sharpshooters I have ever seen.” He turned back to Annie. “And you, Miss Oakley, are a match for Mr. Butler.”
“She’s more than a match,” Frank said, sitting down again. “Annie’s a much better shot. She won plenty of C-notes from me in contests when she first hooked up with Cody. That’s why I finally joined his show and made Annie my wife and my partner—it’s cheaper than having her betting against me and beating me.”
Annie gazed at Frank gratefully. Technically, she wasn’t actually his wife yet, but she loved him for claiming that she was.
“What are you hankering to see Mr. Cody about?” Annie asked.
“A business proposition, Miss Oakley,” Mr. Rubalev said. He surely is handsome, Annie thought to herself, and a gentleman, too, and hoped that she was not being disloyal to Frank in her mind. “I represent some performers that he might like to hire for his Wild West Show when he moves on to Cincinnati.”
Annie looked at Frank. He was watching Mr. Rubalev. “I don’t know as Buffalo Bill needs any more performers,” Frank said.
“He most assuredly does not need any more sharpshooters,” Mr. Rubalev said with a smile, “since he could hardly do better than Butler and Oakley.”
“And I don’t know as he’s going to Cincinnati right away,” Frank said. “He’s thinking maybe with things the way they are, it might be better to head out west again.”
“The performers I represent,” Mr. Rubalev said, “are trick riders and buffalo herders.”
“He’s got them, too,” Annie said.
“Kiowa, Comanche, and Cheyenne riders?” Mr. Rubalev asked.
Annie glanced at Frank. “He is short of them,” Frank muttered. “Hell, mister, if you got some genuine redskins for the show, he might damn well be interested.” He patted Annie’s hand. “Pardon my language.” She had heard worse from him, and was grateful for Mr. Rubalev’s courtly example; maybe some of his manners would rub off on her man. “But he might have even more trouble taking redskins east now. There’s Union soldiers in Cincinnati now, and they say more may be coming, so—”
“Mr. Butler,” the blond gentleman said, “all I ask for is some time to speak to Mr. Cody.” He unbuttoned his black suit jacket, reached inside his red waistcoat, and pulled out a leather pouch. “A small token of my appreciation for your sharpshooting skills.”
Frank accepted the billfold and peered into it. “Those are mighty fine-looking gold coins, mister.” He took one out and bit it.
Mr. Rubalev smiled. “Given the present situation in the East, I did not think greenbacks would show my appreciation nearly as well, now that their value is fluctuating so greatly.”
“Annie, perhaps you wouldn’t mind to have a little supper by yourself this evening.” Frank stood up. “Rubalev, you can find Mr. C
ody at the Golden Horse saloon, and I’d be pleased to escort you there myself.”
Lemuel had said the words Touch-the-Clouds had asked him to speak, without saying anything about what the Lakota chiefs intended to do. He did not have to tell Crook that the Lakota chiefs had decided to take the warpath. The general would know by now that a war would have to be fought.
Touch-the-Clouds and his brother chiefs were angry. The Lakota considered the recent incidents in Wichita and St. Louis acts of war, even if they did not technically violate the provisions of the Fort Fetterman treaty. Now there were rumors that Washington was finally going to unleash the army upon the Lakota and their allies, to prepare the way for the miners, surveyors, engineers, and settlers who would take their land from them. Lemuel had said all of that, and General Crook had said nothing to deny it.
White Eagle, sitting with Lemuel, was interpreting his words for Crazy Horse and the other men who did not know English. It had taken Touch-the-Clouds, with a plea that had sounded more like a command, to get Crazy Horse to agree to come here to one of the forts of the Long Knives, but the Lakota had needed him here to impress the Wasichu. The newspapermen who had flocked to Bismarck and Fort Lincoln looking for interviews with chiefs and for invitations to visit Indian camps had not had much luck with the Oglala chief. Crazy Horse did not know their language, had no desire to learn it, was not interested in talking to them, and wanted the white man to leave his people alone to live in their customary way. All of that reluctance on his part had only spurred the reporters to write stories about Crazy Horse that had turned him into an admired, legendary, and mysterious figure; Crazy Horse had, the correspondents claimed, sold a lot of papers.
A war, of course, would sell even more newspapers. Lemuel had not been reassured by the presence of the five reporters who had ridden out with Crook and his officers from the fort to parley outside the stockade. Crook’s steady, calm gaze had betrayed none of his inner thoughts, but Lemuel was certain that Three Star had decided on his course of action even before Lemuel and the five Lakota men with him were in sight of the walls of Fort Kearney.
General Crook was silent for a long time, then said, “If the Sioux and their allies attack anyone outside of their territories, they will be in violation of the treaty. The army will have to protect all of those who rely on our soldiers for protection.”
Lemuel shifted his weight on his buffalo robe. Crook sat on a blanket; the other officers, and the reporters, were still standing with their horses. The reporters wore fur or bearskin coats, as did all of the officers except for Crook. Crazy Horse, who had refused to enter the fort’s walls, was mounted on his horse behind Lemuel, wearing only his hair-fringed shirt and leggings, seemingly oblivious to the cold spring air.
“The Council in Washington has given every indication that it intends to fight a war in the West,” Lemuel said. “If the Lakota abide by the treaty and wait until they are attacked, they have little chance to keep their lands—perhaps no chance at all.”
Crook folded his arms. “We seem to be at an impasse, Rowland.”
“Touch-the-Clouds has no intention of fighting you and your men, General Crook, unless you decide to go to war with him. It would sadden my brother Touch-the-Clouds to see you fight for those who would order not just the slaughter of helpless Indians, but also the killing of their own citizens. It would sadden him to see you become the weapon of men who were not chosen by their people to be their chiefs, but who seized that power for themselves.”
Crook was silent. The newspaper correspondents scribbled on their notepads. Finerty and Strahorn had been assiduous about getting interviews with Touch-the-Clouds, and extravagant in their praise of his fluency in English and his pointed responses to their questions. Lemuel wondered how sympathetic they would remain to the Lakota chief if their editors, and men with enough money to influence what the newspapers published, decided that it might be more profitable to whip up fear and suspicion of the Sioux.
“I do not wish to go to war against the Sioux,” Crook said. “Indian warfare is, of all warfare, the most dangerous, the most trying, and the most thankless, as I found out during my earlier campaigns. In it, you are required to serve without the incentive to promotion or recognition—in truth, without favor or hope of reward.”
Crook paused. Lemuel was suddenly certain that the officer had prepared this speech, and he was speaking slowly and deliberately, presumably so that the reporters would have a chance to write his words down accurately. The reporters probably deeply regretted that they lacked the resources to buy one of Edison’s recording machines.
“Why would such wars be fought?” Crook continued. “Why have we fought such wars in the past? We fought them in defense of the people of our sparsely settled frontier, who have had but little influence in the East, and whose representatives have had even less voice in our national councils. Their foes were men who were as savages when I fought them, men who thought nothing of taking what they could from agencies and then stealing whatever they wanted from helpless settlers. I saw myself as a soldier defending the weak against the strong.”
Lemuel studied the faces of the officers with Crook, but those men were following their commander’s example. He could read nothing of what they thought in their grim countenances and pale eyes.
“Yes, that was my charge,” Crook said, “to defend the weak against the strong, to defend those who live in the West. I must now decide how best to defend them, how to protect them, and who their true enemies are.”
He gazed directly at Lemuel, then at Crazy Horse. “The white men in the East are like birds,” Crook continued, keeping his eyes on Crazy Horse. “They hatch out their eggs every year, and they claim that there is not enough room in the East for them, and so they must go elsewhere to build their nests, and they long to come west. For years, they came out west and saw that the Indians had a big body of land that they were not using, and so they said, ‘We want the land.’ They took what land they wanted, and they will keep taking it, and now I see that there are men in Washington who will not stop even after they have all of the land of the Indians. They will take it from others. They will take it from anyone who dares to stand against them and say that they are not our true leaders.”
Crook lowered his voice. “I fought for the Union,” he murmured. “I believed that I fought for a just cause, and that it was right to bring the secessionists back into the Union, by force if necessary, even at the fearful cost in blood that we paid.” He looked toward Lemuel once more. “You also fought for the Union. It was just to free those who were once slaves, and to pay the price of their freedom in blood. But now, instead of a government that is redeeming the blood that was shed by seeking justice, I see a growing despotism. I see men who have punished the South, but who have done little to seek justice for all who live there. I see people in the West who have no voice in Washington. I am no longer so certain that the Union must be preserved by force. Perhaps it would be better to allow the various communities of this vast and diverse land to go their separate ways, to govern themselves, until they freely choose a Union again. Perhaps the Constitution for which I fought now lives in the hearts of those who do not look to the tyrants in Washington who have claimed to be the Constitution’s protectors. And perhaps we cannot expect our people to reunite as a Union until they have leaders who are more worthy to govern them.”
Hope leaped inside Lemuel. He will not fight, he thought, he will stand aside and do what he can to protect the Western settlements while the Lakota go to war.
“I have spoken to my officers of my decision,” Crook went on, “and told them that in the absence of any other authority in the West, I now consider myself in command of the Department of the Platte and the Department of the Missouri, while General Terry, commander of the Department of Dakota, has acknowledged me as his commanding officer. General Sherman is dead, and I have reason to believe that he never was part of the cabal that used his name. General Sheridan is said to have resigned his
command, but I believe that he must have resigned it some time ago, because he would never have agreed to take orders from the man who now calls himself the Acting Commander-in-Chief.”
Crook stood up. “The Plains Indians are not a threat to our liberty at present. It is the regime in Washington that threatens the West now. I will not go to war against Touch-the-Clouds and his allies as long as they do not threaten the settlers in the West.”
It seemed to Lemuel that everyone present was holding his breath. We won’t have to fight Crook, he thought.
“But I will fight once more to preserve what I now consider to be the true spirit of America. I will fight to protect our Western communities. I will fight as the ally of Touch-the-Clouds if he will help in ridding us of the tyranny now trying to rule us.”
Lemuel caught his breath. White Eagle was still translating those words as the newspapermen leaped onto their horses. They galloped toward the stockade entrance, Finerty in the lead.
“General,” Lemuel said, “if those men get any messages out, we will lose the element of surprise.”
“You underestimate me, Rowland.” Crook stood up, smiling as he looked down. “They won’t be allowed to send their dispatches—at least not until they can do our cause the most good.”
TWENTY
“Here is how it will be,’’ White Eagle said to Dancing Girl and Yellow Bird. “We will board the Wasichu paddlewheel boats with our horses. Some of us will go down the river to Omaha, and the rest of us will go on to St. Joseph, where more warriors from Kansas will join us.”
Dancing Girl, sitting outside the talking wire tepee, watched as her father made a long line in the dirt to indicate the Missouri River. “The men with Crazy Horse will ride east from Omaha on the Iron Horse trail, behind Four Eyes Roosevelt and his men. They will go to Chicago, where men who are enemies of the chiefs in Washington now hold the Iron Horse trails, and then continue east from there. The rest of our warriors will go to St. Joseph and ride the Iron Horse east with Touch-the-Clouds and the rocket-arrow warriors.” He made more marks in the dirt. “Bear Coat Miles and his soldiers will follow the men going east from Omaha, with Laforte and a company of buffalo soldiers to their rear. I will be in St. Joseph, with Touch-the-Clouds and Morning Star Brother Rowland, and Three Star Crook will be at our rear with his Blue Coats.”
Climb the Wind: A Journey Into Another Past Page 41
