Ashes of Heaven (The Plainsmen Series)

by Terry C. Johnston

  So when the men gathered the following evening to begin discussing if their camp would continue on south with Lone Wolf and Morning Star who were going in with the Lakota, or if they would start north to surrender to the Bear Coat, the arguments raged once more. As was the custom among the Northern People, every man had his chance to speak—from the Council Chiefs in the front row to the warrior society headmen seated behind them. After much passionate debate, it was once again plain to see that there would be no consensus.

  The chiefs sent a crier through the village to proclaim that they would announce their decision. Antelope Woman joined the others crowding around the council lodge to listen in a hush.

  “Each man is free to decide on his own whether or not he will surrender … and where he will go in to give himself up.”

  So it was that among the small warrior bands gathered there beside the Powder, among the clan relations, inside every family’s lodge, the grave discussions began. Every war chief, leader, and family head had a crucial decision to make. Although he would hear from all those he was responsible for, in the end it was his decision alone to make. By the fourth day it became clear that the wound first suffered by the Ohmeseheso beside Rotten Grass Creek still festered and oozed.

  Little Wolf still smarted from White Bull’s rebuke the previous summer beside the Little Sheep River. White Bull had demanded to know why Little Wolf was not in their camp when the soldiers rode down upon them to that great victory. Now the Sweet Medicine Chief flatly declared that he would never go anywhere White Bull took his family.

  Antelope Woman’s people were once again tearing themselves apart.

  Warrior society by warrior society parted company; clan by clan the Northern People said farewell to one another. Even some family members went their separate ways.

  Old Bear, Little Wolf, and Morning Star—the three Old Man Chiefs—again announced they would continue south to the White River Agency. When Coal Bear learned of their plans, he proclaimed that as the Sacred Medicine Hat Keeper, he would stay with the Sweet Medicine Chief and go south as well. In fact, the majority of chiefs stated they would join the procession south: Black Wolf and American Horse, Black Eagle and Standing Elk, Turkey Leg, Medicine Bear, and White Clay.

  Predictably, most of the warrior society headmen decided to follow those Old Man Chiefs. Five of the seven leaders of the Elkhorn Scrapers, who were still alive after these many moons of bloody fighting, declared they would follow Little Wolf south: Wild Hog and Tall White Man, Plenty Bears, Broken Jaw, and Wolf Medicine.

  In addition, the four Crazy Dog chiefs chose to follow the Sacred Hat Priest to the White River Agency: Red Owl and Snow Bird, Strong Left Hand and Beaver Claws.

  At the end of the discussions the only Dog Soldier Chief living with the Ohmeseheso, Tangle Hair, stated he would follow the majority south so that he could stay with Little Wolf, a warrior whose bravery he greatly admired.

  This exodus left very few who would be turning back for the Elk River to accept the Bear Coat’s offer of good treatment.

  Leading that small group would be several respected men. Among the most notable was Black Moccasin, the fourth Old Man Chief, who decided that he would lead his people north to the Elk River to surrender with his nephew, White Bull. Joining them would be the families of Old Wolf, Crazy Head, and Magpie Eagle. Coming along would be the mixed Shahiyela-Lakota clan of Little Chief.

  Of the Kit Fox warrior society chiefs who had survived a year of devastating warfare, only four chose to journey north to the Buffalo Tongue River fort: Ridge Bear, Wrapped Hair, Sits Beside His Medicine, and Weasel Bear. Among the Crazy Dog chiefs only three elected to surrender to the Bear Coat: Little Creek, Crazy Mule, and Iron Shirt. In those moments just before the procession would start north, Left-Handed Shooter decided that he would join White Bull at the soldiers’ fort. The two of them would be the only Elkhorn Scrapers to surrender at Elk River.

  On that bitterly cold, snowy day the Ohmeseheso again tore themselves apart. A few prominent warriors finally decided they simply couldn’t take their families south to the White River Agency—a place far from the homeland of the Northern People: Brave Wolf and White Wolf, White Elk and Howling Wolf, Sits in the Night and Fast Whirlwind, along with a very sad Walks on Crutches, who was Wooden Leg’s uncle.

  Antelope Woman felt a small but growing measure of happiness as the next few winter days drifted past and the small village plodded on for the Elk River soldier post. She kept thinking of seeing her brother again, imagining him clothed in that blue soldier coat, a ve-ho-e hat pulled down on his braids.

  It surprised her that many of those who were headed north were so critical of White Bull after learning that he had become a scout. A few even talked behind their hands, saying that White Bull was either letting his manhood flesh do his thinking for him now that he had eyes for Twin Woman … or that he was not thinking clearly because of his deep grief at the loss of his son on the Little Sheep River.

  She did her best not to listen to the poison in those whispers, not to notice the way others peered at her with their pitying eyes.

  Antelope Woman still wanted to believe in her brother. Wanted to learn for herself why he had become a wolf for the ve-ho-e soldiers. Why he had joined the enemy.

  ARIZONA.

  Damning Proof—A Witness Against Brigham Young.

  TUCSON, March 28.—The Star prints the following: The following is a correct copy of the original order given concerning the Mountain Meadow massacre. The order, with three affidavits authenticating it was found among the papers of the late ex-Chief Justice John Titus, of Arizona, and formerly chief justice of Utah.

  SPECIAL ORDER: SALT LAKE CITY, April 19, 1857. The officer in command of the escort is hereby ordered to see that every man is well prepared with ammunition and to have ready at the time you see these teamsters, a hundred miles from the settlement. President Young advises that they should all be killed to prevent their returning to Bridger to join the enemy. Every precaution should be taken to see that not one escapes. Secrecy is required.

  By order of General DANIEL H. WELLS.

  JAMES FERGUSON, A.A. General.

  This war had reaped a terrible harvest, Old Wool Woman brooded as the ragged procession cleared a stand of tall cottonwood and moved into the open.

  This war not only left a swath of dead and wounded—not only those who had starved or frozen to death—but it had taken a devastating toll on the spirits of so many of her people. Like a hidden, unseen enemy that had stealthily crept into the lives, hearts, and souls of the Ohmeseheso, this endless war against the white man had changed the People for all time.

  For days after she returned to the village, many had mourned the death of Crooked Nose Woman. It was a bewildering, heart-rending death that touched so many because Crooked Nose Woman was loved by all.

  And in that time of grief, Old Wool Woman thought more and more of how this war with the ve-ho-e had changed those closest to her. Not only Crooked Nose Woman, but her brother-in-law, White Bull.

  Ever since she had returned with the peace delegates, the talk had centered on the despicable thing White Bull had done. People asked how the holy man could have turned his back on everything he had been.

  How could a man who had spent his whole life as a warrior and healer of the People—protecting the Ohmeseheso against the whites, a man whose only son had been killed by the soldiers—now be willing to don a soldier’s uniform, to give his oath and become a scout for those soldiers, to turn his back on all that he once fought for?

  Old Wool Woman was sure this was something White Bull would never be able to explain to their people. Just as her new beliefs were certainly something she could never make others understand.

  In her own heart she felt the rightness of surrendering for the good of her people, to protect the lives of those most helpless in war against the ve-ho-e. Time and time again the white man had shown his willingness to make war not only on the warriors, but on the villag
es of women, children, and old ones.

  Yet there would always be those who believed the Ohmeseheso could fight on and on against the soldiers.

  In her heart, Old Wool Woman knew better. If the Northern People did not surrender, this war might well spell the end of the Tse-Tsehese for all time to come.

  In the mid-distance she now recognized the ridgeline. Old Wool Woman trudged through ankle-deep snow, struggling to catch up to the pony Black Moccasin rode.

  She grabbed the animal’s buffalo-hair halter and pointed. “Beyond those hills lies the soldier fort.”

  “We should be there before dark,” the chief responded.

  “I want to go ahead and see your nephew,” she pleaded. “See that White Bull is all right since we have been away.”

  Black Moccasin’s eyes softened in the winter light. He turned to look behind him in that procession of winter-gaunt ponies, a scattering of travois holding what little they owned, and all those men, women, and children tramping through the snow on frozen feet.

  Cold vapor steaming from his lips, the Old Man Chief called out, “Antelope Woman! Come here!”

  It took no time for the younger woman to lunge up through the icy drifts to reach Old Wool Woman’s side.

  Looking down from the back of his pony, Black Moccasin told her, “I think you will want to go ahead with Old Wool Woman now.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, looking at her old friend.

  Old Wool Woman smiled. “I am in a hurry to see White Bull.”

  “Oh, yes!” Antelope Woman cried, throwing her arms around Old Wool Woman. “Take me with you!”

  Turning to gaze up at the chief, Old Wool Woman asked, “It is all right that we run on ahead of the others?”

  Black Moccasin tipped off the back of his pony and landed on the crusty snow, which whimpered beneath his thick winter moccasins. “Here,” he said, handing the single buffalo-hair rein over to Antelope Woman. “Take my pony and go see my nephew for yourselves. See that he is safe, and tell him I want him to come out to meet us before we reach the soldier fort.”

  Old Wool Woman sputtered at this great honor, “R-ride … your pony?”

  With the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile, Black Moccasin said, “Get up there, both of you! Go now to bring my nephew back along this trail to see us.”

  Bending slightly, the Old Man Chief interlocked his fingers and made a step of his hands. When Old Wool Woman set a snow-crusted moccasin in his palms, he raised her onto the bare back of the pony. Then he helped Antelope Woman to climb up behind her.

  “Tell my nephew his family is coming!” Black Moccasin called after the two women as they set off.

  At times the weary pony lurched clumsily on the uneven, icy ground. But on they lumbered down the Buffalo Tongue, into that gap splitting the last of the low hills, then rode onto the flat bottomland. Smoke struck her nose. Columns of wispy gray ghosts rose in the distance against the cold sky. Then Old Wool Woman could hear the faraway voices muffled among those winter skeletons of the grand trees, the ring of axes from a wood-cutting crew.

  When she reached the outlying guards surrounding the soldiers’ camp, a handful of the ve-ho-e rushed up. Old Wool Woman halted her pony. Although she did not understand the words spoken loudly to her by one of the white men, she could see they recognized her. Impatiently, she nodded her head and smiled when the soldier waved the women on.

  One by one the curious white men turned, stopped what they were doing, and stared in fascination as the two women reached the outskirts of the muddied tents and log lodges. From side to side they turned, their eyes searching for White Bull. Old Wool Woman recognized many faces among them. Then at one of the doorways she saw Little Chief appear. He turned and yelled at those inside.

  White Bull appeared at the door, squeezing himself out through the narrow gap beside Little Chief.

  “My brother!” Antelope Woman chirped in excitement. “He looks so handsome in his soldier uniform.”

  Lunging across the trampled snow, White Bull raced for them. In a matter of breaths the women were standing on the ground with him, all three hugging at once, tears running down Old Wool Woman’s face.

  “I was afraid,” she admitted as she touched her brother-in-law’s face.

  “The Bear Coat is a man of his word,” White Bull said. “I am his scout. No harm will come to me here.”

  “I was still afraid.” She whimpered it this time. “You are still one against many.”

  His eyes looked into those of his sister. “The Bear Coat asked me to lead him against the Lakota who won’t surrender.”

  Antelope Woman pulled back from him and swallowed hard. “You are going to lead the soldiers to find our friends?”

  “The war is over,” he explained. “Now it is time to make a good peace. I want to lead the Bear Coat’s soldiers so that I can save some lives.”

  “How can you save lives by leading the soldiers to the camps of our friends?” Antelope Woman asked.

  “The soldiers will go after the Lakota with or without me,” he explained. “If they go without me, there will be many dead. But if I lead them to the camp of our friends, maybe I can convince the Lakota to give up instead of sacrificing their lives in a war they have already lost.”

  “Your uncle is coming at the head of the march,” Old Wool Woman said, gripping White Bull’s forearm affectionately. “He wants you to ride out there to meet him.”

  With worry in his voice, he asked, “What of the rest of my family?”

  “Every one of your relations came north,” Old Wool Woman replied, squeezing his arm. “Your wife and children. They are very near.”

  His face brightened. “Did you bring a big group?”

  Old Wool Woman shook her head. Sadly she apologized, “Our group is even smaller than before.”

  He stared at the crusty snow beneath his feet. “Most followed Little Wolf and Morning Star.”

  This time Antelope Woman tried to explain, “So many decided to stay with the Medicine Hat Priest—”

  “It does not matter,” he said, looking up at them and bravely trying to smile. “I am happy you are here. Come with me while I go tell the Bear Coat that my family is drawing near.”

  When the soldier chief heard the news, he turned to one of his young soldiers and said something that sent the man from the room.

  Turning to Big Leggings, Old Wool Woman asked, “Where is he going?”

  The half-breed said, “Miles just told that soldier to catch up eighteen of the white man’s spotted buffalo from their herd.”

  “What for?”

  “For White Bull to drive south when he goes to meet your people,” Bruguier explained. “It is the Bear Coat’s welcome gift.”

  “Eighteen,” she repeated the words in Lakota.

  Then she began to raise fingers for her brother-in-law, one at a time. When she held up the fingers of both hands before him, she realized she did not have enough. So she added in the fingers of another hand, but that was still not enough. It took three more from the other hand!

  “Eighteen!” they all repeated together, joy sweeping over them.

  White Bull quickly shook hands with the soldier chief and hurried for the door. Turning to the half-breed, he roared, “I’m going to take those spotted buffalo to my uncle and my people, myself! Tell the Bear Coat that I will be back tomorrow morning … bringing in the all of those who are coming to surrender!”

  Chapter 24

  Early April

  1877

  BY TELEGRAPH

  BLACK HILLS.

  Crazy Horse Coming In.

  DEADWOOD, April 5.—Crazy Horse and 1,500 warriors encamped north of Bent Butte creek last night on their way to Spotted Tail agency. They are in a destitute condition and anxious for peace. They state that Sitting Bull will accept no terms of surrender and is making for the British possessions.

  The cold, spring breeze teased the loose waves of hair that surrounded Samantha’s pale, dr
awn face that early morning as she and her husband stood against the porch railing at the front of officers’ quarters. She wore a look he had come to recognize through so many farewells, so many painful partings. It hadn’t gotten any easier. That first time he and Sharp Grover reined away from the old scout’s homestead down on the Staked Plain,* he could understand why she might convince herself that he wasn’t ever coming back.

  But he had.*

  And he had given Sam a ring before he said goodbye the next time, marching off on Crook’s Powder River campaign† that cold winter of 1876. Seamus came back to her a second time, and a third after Crook finally tired of trying to corner the hostiles through a spring campaign that eventually fizzled out as the fickle spirits of earth and sky conspired that autumn.# After returning to her- arms from the army’s grand winter campaign with Ranald Mackenzie’s Fourth U.S. Cavalry,@ Seamus figured Samantha ought to know that he would ride through hell itself to return to their simple, unadorned life together.

  But this morning, unlike so many before, there was not the clamor and clatter of regiments and supply trains, teamsters and troopers and foot soldiers setting off on campaign. No, this morning Fort Laramie went about its normal business as Seamus Donegan prepared to set his life adrift again upon the winds of fate … alone.

  “I have something for you before you go,” she said quietly, looking up at him with those red-rimmed eyes of hers.

  “I thought you gave that to me last night,” he bent to whisper in her ear. “And again this morning too.”

  Samantha’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted left and right to assure herself no one heard him. “You are so naughty, Mr. Donegan!”

  “Only with my wife, Mrs. Donegan.”

  He watched her stuff a hand into the pocket gathered beneath those pleats at her waist, there under that muslin apron she had knotted around herself. Sam pulled out a small box, wrapped in a wrinkled butcher paper he knew she must have talked out of Collins at the trading post, and secured both ways with three colors of her knitting yarn for a makeshift ribbon.