by J. R. WRIGHT
“If they all decide to go back? Then we will be weak,” Red Cloud protested.
“Never mind,” a warrior next to Red Cloud said in a slightly different dialect. No doubt he was even younger than Red Cloud. “You can count on us for support. And our new neighbor, near the river that bounces (Belle Fourche) in the Paha Sapa, will support you as well. They have promised friendship.”
“Who are you?” Little Thunder demanded, stepping in for a closer look at him.
“He is Tatanka Lyotanka (Sitting Bull), my new friend from the Hunkpapa,” Red Cloud answered. “His father is a great warrior for his people.”
“And this new neighbor in the Paha Sapa, who are they?” Little Thunder asked, anxious to know.
“They call themselves Lakhota.”
“They call themselves Lakhota?” Little Thunder repeated. “We are all Lakhota (friends). But are they of our feather?” He pointed to the scarlet on his war bonnet.
“Yes,” Sitting Bull said. “They are Teton, as we are Teton. But they choose to be called friend since they no longer dwell on the cold prairie to the north.”
“Then we are all Lakhota,” Little Thunder insisted. “Better than Sioux (Snake) that the Cheyenne call us and the white people like to repeat to our face.” He spat to the ground for effect. “They cannot claim that name just for themselves! As of this day, all peoples known as Sioux will be called Lakhota, except those who prefer the name Dakotah or Nakotah,” he decreed as if he spoke for all the Teton and Santee people of yesteryear. But then, since the Grattan affair, he was the most notorious chief of them presently, thanks to Red Cloud spreading the word and uniting them.
“Was this chief of these people that call themselves Lakhota, Brave Fox?” Luke asked knowing full well who they spoke of, but wondering if there was any truth to this offer of support. He doubted it, seeing as Brave Fox was hell bent on living out his remaining time on this earth in peaceful solitude.
“I believe it was Spotted Horse who spoke for the Lakhota,” Sitting Bull answered. “They came to our village looking to buy gun powder, of which we have none to spare until the fur traders from Fort Pierre return in the fall.”
“I see,” Luke responded. “Was there a white boy among them?”
“Boy great spirit. Very smart. Already he speaks the tongue of the white man. He will be very useful when again we must negotiate to save our ever dwindling lands.”
“Yes, he will,” Luke signed in agreement.
The following morning the forty-nine empty freight wagons got underway on the return journey to Fort Laramie. And not too far behind, a group of nearly three thousand Indians were journeying there as well. What kind of hell would he be made to pay for bringing them back, Luke wondered as they traveled? Bordeaux would be happy, he knew. A large part of his business was trading with these people. Indian Agent Whitfield might have some objections. As might Lieutenant Fleming, deceased Second Lieutenant John Lawrence Grattan’s commanding officer. After all, how would it look if he welcomed back the very people that were here when his second in command and twenty-eight additional soldiers were killed, regardless of their guilt or involvement?
To his surprise, however, Colonel Snively was still at Laramie when Luke returned. In fact, seeing the large group of Indians that trailed the freight wagons provoked him to ride out with a small detachment of cavalry for an explanation.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon, Hill.”
“Things changed,” Luke returned. “We never made it to the North Country. At the Cheyenne River I came across the entire Omaha tribe, heading for the Powder River country.”
“Are they hungry too?” Snively asked. “Is that them behind you?”
“No, sir. Those are Brule. The Omaha, I sent back to the Missouri. Best you let me explain from the beginning.”
“I’m all ears, Hill,” Snively glared. “Please do.”
Once he had, Snively was pleased with what Luke had done. “You may have headed off a plains Indian war, Tom. God knows we’re not equipped to handle anything like that militarily. Where do you think Little Thunder went off to? Will he be giving us trouble later on?”
“I don’t know, to both questions. He may join up with the Hunkpapa, although I doubt it. He’ll more than likely go it alone seeing as how he still has near two thousand Oglala with him, over a thousand of those warriors.”
“As long as he stays in the Powder River country away from the trail, I’m not worried.”
“I’ll check on him again. I’m heading back up there as soon as I can gather supplies.”
“You really think that’s necessary?”
“I don’t know what’s necessary, but I’m going up to pay another visit on those Lakhota anyway. May as well be certain Little Thunder is staying put while I’m at it.”
“And those Lakhota have you worried for what reason?” Snively asked.
“It’s personal, sir.”
“Sorry I asked,” Snively responded and reined away to lead his detachment back to the fort. There was something nagging at Tom Hill he’d never quite been able to put a finger on. But whatever that was, he doubted he would ever find out. The man wasn’t forthcoming about his personal life, if in fact he had one. Some people were just loners. He had to respect that.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After giving James Bordeaux an explanation as to why the Brule and some Oglala were back at Fort Laramie, Luke awaited the many questions he knew were forthcoming, as always when he returned from the field. No one kept a firmer finger on the pulse of the Great Plains than did James Bordeaux.
“I don’t blame Red Cloud for what he did,” Bordeaux said. “After all, Grattan was heading for the cannons on the hillside when they brought him down. I believe he had every intention of leveling the village. But it was the carving up of the soldier’s bodies afterward that disgusted me.”
“You went down there?” Luke asked.
“Not right away. The bodies lay there for three days until finally Lieutenant Fleming asked if my people would bury them. After seeing the mutilation, no soldier at the post had the stomach for the job. We identified Grattan by the inscription on his West Point graduation watch. Otherwise he was unrecognizable.”
“So you think I made a mistake bringing those people back here?” Luke asked.
“Not at all! Like I said, the killings were justified. And that’s what I’ll say if there’s an inquiry.”
“You think there will be?”
“In a year or two, maybe.”
“Snively thinks they’ll send for Harney. He’s vacationing in Paris at the moment.”
“Old, Blood and Guts Harney. That’s just who we need out here to turn our world upside down.”
“Snively feels the same,” Bordeaux said. “So what can I do for you? I know you didn’t come here just to chat.”
Luke rubbed his beard. “I guess about fifty pounds of lead and two kegs of black powder ought to do it.”
“Thank goodness they had extra at the fort, or I wouldn’t have any powder on hand, after that break in,” Bordeaux said. “I’m not even going to ask why you’re buying it.”
“It’s for Chaska’s people. But that’s a secret. Bright Moon will be happy to hear I’m going to see him. Just don’t tell her till after I’m gone, okay? She may want to tag along.”
“You can count on it, Tom.” Bordeaux glanced around to see who in the store may be listening. “What else do you need?”
“Don’t suppose you have a fifty caliber Hawken? I let Winter Heart talk me out of the extra one I had.”
“Winter Heart? Of Cola’s people?”
“Yeah. I bumped into the whole tribe up on the Cheyenne, heading for the Powder River country. He had some wild notion, thanks to Red Cloud, there was going to be an uprising. I set him straight. It cost me the rifle to get him to turn around and head home.”
“That crazy old fool. I’m surprised he’s still alive,” Bordeaux said, locking eyes with Luke. “He wouldn’t let me leave the vill
age with Cola until we were properly married, then charged me ten dollars in gold for the ceremony. And that was twenty years ago.”
Luke laughed. “Sounds like Winter Heart.”
“Best I can do is an old converted Kentucky. I haven’t been able to get Hawkens from St. Louis in a while. They’ve become much too popular, I guess. They can’t keep up with the demand, I’m told.” Bordeaux pulled the rifle from beneath the counter and handed it over.
Luke closely looked the battered old rifle over. “How much?”
“Twenty-five. It’s not pretty, but it shoots great. I dropped six buffalo with it down on the Platte there while you were gone. It’s fifty caliber.”
“Well, if it’s all you got, then I’ll take it. Best give me a box of caps and an extra bullet mold.”
“What else?”
“If you shot six buffalo, then you must have jerky?”
“I do.”
“Give me ten pounds. And some of those dried apricots again. They’re pretty good, and they keep me regular.”
“That’s the idea,” Bordeaux said. They both laughed.
After one of Cola’s great breakfasts and more nagging from Bright Moon, Luke headed back for the Powder River country. He and Bordeaux did a fine job of hiding the kegs of black powder under buffalo robes on the chestnut. Such things left exposed out on the open prairie was just inviting trouble. Besides, it was against the law to supply the plains Indians with weapons or ammunition. But then, of course, the fur traders did it regularly, anyway. The fact that it was illegal, and law abiding merchants like Bordeaux refused to do it, merely gave them reason to charge more. Often ten-fold of what a white person would pay elsewhere.
As it turned out, Luke didn’t have to go to the Powder River country to find out where Little Thunder and his followers had gone. He crossed their trail even before reaching the Cheyenne River, and it was heading east. Litter from the issued commodities, empty barrels and meal bags, told Luke the trail was no doubt Little Thunder’s, heading for his old hunting grounds in the canyons of central Nebraska territory. There his people would surely be safe from the Cheyenne to the west, but what of General William S. Harney, if he should go looking for him at some point down the road?
Luke entered the Paha Sapa three days later and almost immediately took to the higher hills, away from the heavily traveled valley trail. It would be slower going and harder on the mule and horse, but a whole lot safer, he reckoned. Up there among the pines, he not only would be harder to spot, but could keep an eye on what was happening below.
When Luke reached the Belle Fourche River six days later, he followed it east a short distance to Little Man Creek, then walked the animals up it until he came to the Lakhota village, which was readily evidenced from a goodly distance by all the children frolicking in the shallow water.
Not changing the slow, but steady pace, Luke continued through the camp to the glares of many who stopped what they were doing to watch him pass. “Ahu poh,”(Dawn) was heard like a delayed echo from each group passed, until he reached the center of the village. There he climbed down from the calico mule, went to the chestnut, and cut the ropes holding the pack. Everything he had brought spilled out on the ground: the kegs of powder, the bundles of lead bars, and several bags of corn meal, used to hide the outline of the powder kegs under the buffalo robes.
That being done, Luke remounted the mule, reined around, and rode out slowly, just as he had come in. At the edge of the camp he kicked the mule to a lope and pointed her toward the valley trail he was familiar with from his first visit here when he took away Bright Moon.
The thunder of hoofbeats he expected to hear about now so far had not materialized. What kind of village allows a relative stranger to ride in and out of their camp without someone putting up a fuss? The least one should expect is kids attempting coup, but there hadn’t even been that. He was glad. Those coup sticks hurt.
His elation over making a clean getaway soon came to an end, however, when on the narrow trail ahead suddenly appeared a small hunting party of young bucks with several deer draped across their horses. Fortunately one of them was Chaska, who halted the others from loading their bows. “Woh wah ghwah wasichu!” (White man comes in peace) he shouted.
“Tom Hill!” he shouted, happy to see him, and rode up unafraid. “Bright Moon, how is she?”
“She is fine,” Luke said. “After all these months, I’m surprised you have not come to see her.”
With that, Chaska lowered his head. He then looked around and waved the others on past them. Once they were out of sight around the bend, he said sadly, “Old chief make Chaska marry another. He say I must, if Chaska ever expect to be chief someday.”
“Bright Moon won’t take that bit of news well,” Luke said, before his attention was diverted to the thunder of hoofs over rocks that suddenly began echoing through the hills. “I’ll meet you at the cave!” he said and rode away as fast as the mule could carry him.
Up a quarter mile he circled high above and from there saw Spotted Horse, along with a dozen braves, communicating with Chaska. He wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said, but it seemed peaceful enough. Especially when they all turned, without urgency, and walked their ponies back toward the village.
At the cave the following afternoon, after riding most of the night, Luke felt it best he took the animals inside. He didn’t know how long he would need to wait for Chaska, but thought it wise they not be out, at least in daylight, just in case other hunters should happen by.
The ledge running behind the roaring waterfall was only about three feet wide. Luke decided to try the mule first, since she was surer of foot. He tied the chestnut to a tree and held the mule close as he sidestepped the ledge. She took it in stride, without so much as a flinch. He took her back across and in again, to show the horse, looking on, how it was done. Now it was time the easily excited chestnut took her turn. She, too, followed him across without a hitch, but with a bit of nervous uncertainty on the wet surface, as a mist from the roaring fall drifted over it.
With the two safely inside, Luke took them back into the darkness of the cave, where he unburdened and tied them to a spindle rock protruding from the floor. Once he had given them each a ration of oats, he spread his bedroll nearer the fall and settled in for a nap. Surely Chaska would not arrive for hours, if not days, depending on when he could slip away from the village unnoticed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Finally, on the fourth day, Chaska came, but not the way Luke had expected him to arrive. He appeared from the back of the cave.
The sudden stirring and the horrifying sounds emitted by the animals brought Luke to his feet, too late for the chestnut, but just in time to head off the mule, who was heading for the daylight at the mouth of the cave. But of course by this time, the horse had already passed. In her agitated state she had not attempted to slow for the turn onto the ledge, but rather charged headlong into the fall. Luke, busy with the mule, glanced just in time to see her dropping from sight. Obviously she had plunged to her death, onto the rocks near a hundred feet below.
As Luke stood in dismay for what had just happened, Chaska spoke from behind.
“Tom Hill!”
“Where in hell did you come from?” Luke whirled about to face the familiar voice in the darkness, while clutching the halter of the calico mule. “You just killed my horse!”
“Come from above, a small hole at back of cave. That is how Chaska discover cave. Fall in hole by accident,” he said. “Good way to come, bad way to leave.” He smiled broadly, coming into the light without mention of the horse that had just gone through the fall.
Once he had retied the mule, securely this time, Luke turned back to Chaska, more than a bit perturbed. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He was thinking of when Chaska had mysteriously appeared at the base of the cliff, near the trout pool, as he was taking Bright Moon away.
“Sorry,” Chaska then said, looking deeply grieved. “Did n
ot know horse in cave. Will Tom Hill ever forgive?”
Feeling bad now for scolding him, Luke decided to let the matter drop. “For the horse, yes, I will forgive you. But what of Bright Moon?”
“How is Bright Moon? I miss her.”
“She is sad because you did not come, as you promised you would. Her heart, though, is filled with happiness, because she carries your baby.”
“Bright Moon carry Chaska’s baby?” He became excited.
“She will have it before the year is out.”
“Bring her here! I must be with her.”
“Has Brave Fox changed his mind?”
“Old chief not change mind. Make Chaska marry Hehaka Kitala (Little Elk). Spotted Horse get her from his wife’s people, the Dakotah.”
“Does this mean you no longer want Bright Moon?” Luke was dismayed and confused.
“Want Bright Moon more than ever. When old chief die tell Little Elk to go, take Bright Moon for woman. Our son be chief someday, not son of Little Elk.”
“Is Little Elk with child too?”
“Baby will come in winter. Bad time for baby.”
“What if Bright Moon’s baby is a girl? Will you still want her back?”
“Have son second time. Name girl baby Bree-Anne,” Chaska said.
“What did you say… the name, what was it?” Luke was quick to ask, his heartbeat quickening.
“Bree-Anne, white mother’s name.”
‘How can that be?’ was the first thought that came to Luke’s mind. If Breanne was pregnant when taken by the renegades, she could not have given birth before fall, and he had gathered her dead body many months before then.
“What else do you know about her?”
“Only that father white?”
“Who told you about your white mother?”
“Brave Fox visit with mother often before she go away with Tanglute.”
“Red Beard,” Luke repeated in English. That could be Beaver Charlie? My god, could Beaver Charlie have gone up there and rescued her after returning from that rendezvous at Woodhole, fourteen years ago? This he needed to find out.
