Flint Necklace told them that Lawyer had signed a treaty and sent 30 warriors with the bluecoats. Smoke was stunned, Widow Bird outraged. “How could they fight beside Soyappos?” she asked.
Smoke rode to the Place of Butterflies, where he found Lawyer living with his wives in a simple skin lodge. The chief greeted him warmly, but Smoke rebuffed him: “How could you send warriors with those bluecoats? Most chiefs refused to sign any treaty!”
Lawyer smiled, beckoned to Smoke to come sit with him. “We will smoke.”
“Answer my question!”
The smile never left Lawyer’s face, though his eyes narrowed. “I sent only thirty men,” he said. “It was a small price to pay to guarantee peace with Soyappos.”
“And guarantee hatred from our friends up north!”
“Who pose no danger to us.” Lawyer reached out, touched Smoke’s elbow. “Come, my friend, smoke with me. We are old friends. Anger has no place between us.”
Smoke glared at him. “Have you heard reports? Have bluecoats defeated our friends?”
“Timothy and I leave tomorrow, to travel north and find out. Ride with us. You will see, I chose a wise course.”
They crossed the Snake and followed the northern trail over rolling hills, through cold, windblown rain. Finally, at the end of the second day, they crested a hill and saw Soyappo tents spread out in neat rows along the Palouse River. When they reached the camp, Colonel Wright walked out to greet them. He shook their hands, introduced them to his officers, extolled the Nimíipuu warriors they had sent, told stories about their bravery. Then he led them to his fire, where they smoked. He fed them fresh beef, from cattle he had brought with him, and served them whiskey. He told them how Cutmouth John had saved him when the Spokans used fire against him, by lighting a backfire, then convincing him to retreat onto the burned ground it left behind.
Smoke hated John, who had guided the Soyappos who murdered Widow Bird’s mother and father. And Wright’s flattery made him uneasy; the Soyappo was working too hard. Before he drank too much whiskey, Smoke excused himself to visit the latrine. On his way back, he found Spotted Eagle and asked what had happened up north. John, who was sitting at his fire with him, grinned and showed him his new rifle. “Soyappos gave us many-shots guns!” he said. “We made Steelheads and Pointed Hearts run like women. Bluecoats burned their wheat and slaughtered their cattle.”
“They hung Chief Owhi’s son,” Spotted Eagle said. “And six Palouse who fought against us. Owhi and nine others are prisoners.”
Smoke felt sick in his stomach. “How did they punish Steelheads and Pointed Hearts?”
“A chief and four men they took from each, to be held for a year,” Spotted Eagle said. “Only if their people behave well and molest no one will they be returned.”
Smoke looked away, tried to control his anger.
“We captured nine hundred horses,” John said. “Bluecoats shot seven hundred! What kind of people shoot seven hundred horses?”
Smoke glared at the simpleton: “Horses you care about! They hung warriors and kidnapped chiefs!”
The next morning Smoke watched a large group of Palouse ride in with their families. Under gray skies, Colonel Wright assembled them for a talk in front of his tent. He gave Spotted Eagle, Lawyer, Timothy, and Smoke seats behind him, with his officers. These Palouse had not been in the battles up north, but Wright told them he was angry with them for attacking Colonel Steptoe last spring. They sat before him on the earth, cross-legged, surrounded by soldiers who stood in blue flannel with their rifles ready.
“You Palouse are a set of rascals and deserve to be hung!” Wright shouted. “Last spring you killed twenty-five of my soldiers! I have made a treaty with the Coeurs d’Alenes and Spokans, but I will not make a treaty with you!”
Smoke stared at Wright in shock. The Palouse warriors who had attacked Steptoe were not even here; they were still up north, where they had fought.
“And if I catch any of you on the south side of the Snake River,” Wright continued, “I will hang you!”
Even Lawyer looked shocked.
“You shall not go into Coeur d’Alene country, nor into Spokan country! Nor should you allow Wallawallas to come into your country. If you do all that I say, and behave yourselves, I will make a written treaty with you next spring. If I do, there will be no more war between us. If you do not submit to my terms, I will make war on you.”
“I do not understand,” Timothy said. “Their friends in other nations they cannot visit?”
Now Wright demanded that the Palouse turn over to him two men who had killed miners on the Palouse River five moons ago. No one moved. Wright glared at them, his gray eyes as cold as ice. He motioned to his interpreter and the two of them walked forward and squatted in front of the old man who had been his messenger to get the Palouse to come in and talk. They spoke quietly, for a long time. Finally the old man stood up, turned around, and pointed at a young man behind him. Two of Wright’s bluecoats strode into the crowd, their rifles pointed at the man, and two others followed, grabbed him by the arms, and walked him forward. The crowd sat in shocked silence, save for scattered protests from young warriors. The bluecoats who surrounded the crowd leveled their rifles.
When the soldiers had dragged their victim to the front, they tied his arms behind him. Wright turned back to the crowd and demanded the men who stole cattle two months ago from Fort Walla Walla. The Palouse headmen huddled, then turned into the crowd and beckoned to the men, who came forward.
Wright spoke to the soldiers beside him: “Bring out all the prisoners!” Several bluecoats ducked into a large tent and brought out a dozen Indians, including Owhi, their feet in chains and their hands bound behind them.
“Line ’em up!” Wright ordered. “We’re going to show these Palouse I mean business.”
Wright walked in front of the prisoners, picked out two Wallawallas and one Yakama, then turned to the crowd. “These men have killed white men! I will now show you what happens to Indians who kill white men!”
The soldiers dragged the three, plus the Palouse who had been accused of killing miners, to a clump of large pine trees that grew along the river. Smoke rose to his feet, his stomach churning as the soldiers tied ropes into nooses and slipped them over the men’s heads. “This is murder!” he cried.
The soldiers lifted the men up on horses and led them under a large pine. They tossed the ends of the ropes over large tree branches and drew them tight, tying the ends to the tree trunks.
The three prisoners sang their death songs, while the Palouse cried out in anguish. The crowd sat in stunned silence.
Colonel Wright nodded at his soldiers. They slapped the horses, which left the four men swinging and kicking. Smoke watched in horror as they struggled, gagging, gasping for breath.
The four were still struggling when Wright turned back to the Indians: “Now you know that when I speak of hanging, I speak the truth! From now on you will molest no white person who travels through your country! If any of your people commit murder or robbery, you must apprehend them and deliver them up to Fort Walla Walla! To be certain that you do these things, I will keep four of your men and one of your chiefs as prisoners, for one year.”
The Palouse stood and shouted in protest, and the bluecoats raised their rifles. Wright nodded at those who had hanged the prisoners, and they waded into the crowd. They dragged five men out and tied their hands behind them.
“At this time next year,” Wright told the crowd, “if you have behaved well, these men will be returned to you, with no harm done to them. If not, they will be hung. If you revolt, my men will come among you again to make war. And if that happens, I will hang all of you—men, women, and children!”
Women wailed and young men shouted in rage. Smoke could not believe what he had witnessed. His eyes met those of a young warrior, who glared at him, reached up to his neck, and slashed a finger across it.
“See what you have done, with your treaty!” Smoke h
issed at Lawyer.
“I have protected our people,” Lawyer said. “You know we cannot defeat bluecoats. You’ve seen their guns.”
“And when Soyappos want our land, who will fight by our sides?”
FORTY-SIX
August 1862
Smoke squinted, held his hand up to block the afternoon sun. There were animals in the long grass, perhaps a hundred of them. They were not cattle or sheep; their heads were down; he could see only their wide, smooth, gray backs. They did not appear to be grazing; what were they doing? Widow Bird stopped her horse beside his; she held their son Red Bear, who had been born three summers before, in front of her. Little Fire and Echoes on Mountain rode behind.
Calf Shirt nudged his mare and she trotted forward. “Hogs,” he said.
The dogs had smelled them now. They bounded forward, barking, and the hogs looked up and scooted away, bunched together to face them. The dogs walked stiff legged toward them, fur up, sniffing the air, trying to figure out if they were prey.
Smoke frowned. Together they rode forward, at a walk. The ground had been trampled and dug up; the hogs were rooting for camas bulbs.
Smoke squinted again. His eyes were not as good as they had once been, and long hours in the saddle now left his back stiff and aching. He could see something in the distance, a small building in the middle of the vast Oyaip Prairie. “What is it?”
“A log house,” Calf Shirt said. “A Soyappo’s in front of it, watching us. The hogs must be his.”
Smoke turned in his saddle, motioned to his wife: “Stay here. We will see who these strangers are.”
Red Bear protested; they had kept him so far from Soyappos, to protect him from disease, that he had never seen one. He was an active boy, the joy of both their lives. Marrying and having Red Bear had saved both of them, Smoke felt. The bond between the boy and his mother astounded him—Widow Bird believed he was her first son reborn. Fiercely protective, she shushed him while Smoke and Calf Shirt rode ahead.
The two men rode side by side at a trot. As they drew nearer, Smoke could see that the small log house had a flat roof covered with sod. There was one window and one door, both facing the riders. A small man with thick brown bristles on his face and a dirty white hat stood in front of the door, waiting. When they drew near he walked toward them, and a second man appeared in the doorway. Neither was armed.
Smoke stopped two horse lengths in front of the first man. The Soyappo raised his hat and spoke in English: “Welcome.”
“Good day,” Smoke said. He had no headdress to raise. Like Calf Shirt, he had stripped down to his loincloth in the heat.
The Soyappo spoke again, but Smoke could not follow his words; he had not used English in a very long time. He tried signing: “What is your business here on Nimíipuu land?”
The Soyappo shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out to his sides, palms up. “No understand,” he said too loud, then grinned.
Smoke pointed at the man and summoned what Engish he could: “What you do here?”
The man answered, but again Smoke could not understand. He just stared at the Soyappo, who tried again, still in English. Calf Shirt turned in his saddle, pointed at the hogs, and spoke in Nimíipuutímt: “They ruin camas grounds for our people. This is Nimíipuu land. You must go.”
The man grinned and shrugged again. Smoke pointed at the hogs, then at the man, and shook his head: “Go.”
The man looked down, smiled again, pretended not to understand. But Smoke could see that he did. He said it louder: “You go!”
The man raised his eyes: “No, we stay.”
Smoke considered this prairie a sacred place; his mother and father had met here, and his people returned here every fall to dig camas roots. He decided to try another tack.
He dismounted from his horse, approached the man, offered his hand. The Soyappo looked wary, but shook it. He smelled wretched, as if he had not bathed in weeks. “My father white man,” Smoke said. “Clark.”
“Clark?” His brown eyes, shining out of a ruddy face, showed no understanding.
“William Clark.”
The man repeated it.
“Lewis and Clark.”
The man’s eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose: “Lewis and Clark?”
“My father.”
As it dawned on him, the man broke into a grin.
“Long ago,” Smoke said, the Soyappo words coming back. “Came here. Married my mother.”
The little man turned and said something to his friend, who leaned casually against the doorway, one booted foot crossed over the other. “Well I’ll be damned,” his friend drawled. “They got themselves some Indian pussy, way out here.”
Smoke stiffened. He remembered that word, knew it was disrespectful. He stared at the man in the doorway, who was laughing, stifled an urge to kill him. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the smaller man, and to forestall his anger took out his pipe, which hung in its deerskin case around his neck, and extended it towards the man: “Smoke?”
The man just stared at it. A crow glided behind him and landed on the roof of the log house.
“Smoke?” he asked again.
The small man looked back at his partner, who made a face and shook his head. “No thanks,” the small man said. “I don’t think we’ll join you.”
Daytime Smoke was perplexed. He stared at the grass under his feet, then looked back at Calf Shirt, who still sat his horse, his rifle in its scabbard. “Tell them they must go,” Calf Shirt said. “And take their hogs.”
He nodded, turned back to the man: “You go.” He pointed at the hogs: “They go.”
The man shook his head, his eyes now hard.
Smoke swept his arm to indicate the prairie around them. “Nimíipuu land. Not white land. Many people come. Dig camas.”
The man’s mouth tightened into a grim line: “I guess you ain’t heard. There’s a new treaty.”
Smoke stared at him: “Treaty?”
The man nodded, exaggerating the motion as if Smoke were a child who would not otherwise understand. “A new treaty.”
Smoke translated for Calf Shirt.
“No!” Calf Shirt shouted. He motioned toward the men: “You go, now! Or we kill you!”
The small man’s eyes narrowed. His partner moved, and as Smoke glanced at him he saw the man now had a rifle cradled in his arms. He walked toward Smoke, speaking slowly: “We … ain’t … goin’ … nowhere.” When he reached Smoke he put the barrel in his chest and shoved. Smoke stumbled backward, and in a flash Calf Shirt was off his horse.
“No!” shouted Smoke. “Stop!”
The man pointed the gun at Calf Shirt and grinned. “That’s right. It’s time for you two to run along.”
Smoke glared at him. Could his people have sold their finest camas grounds to the Soyappos? He could not imagine such a thing.
Smoke and Calf Shirt could return tonight and kill them, but a small sliver of doubt had entered his heart, and he knew he must find out the truth before he did anything. He turned his back on the man and motioned to Calf Shirt: “On your horse. We will finish this later.”
The Soyappos watched them as they mounted up. The little one grinned again, doffed his hat. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Clark.”
The one with the rifle laughed.
It was well after dark when they wound their way down through the scent of sage and balsam into the canyon. The night was still warm, and the river moved slowly in the moonlight. The nearest village, at the junction of the Deep Canyon and the Clear Water, was Half Hair’s. As they approached it, Calf Shirt gave a wolf howl, the sign of friends approaching.
While the women set up their tipi and put the children to bed, Half Hair invited the men to smoke, at a small fire that burned in front of his longhouse. He was Twisted Hair’s son, Lawyer’s older brother. The village was quiet, the only sounds murmurs from the longhouse, the high-pitched mating chirp of a male cricket, and the quiet lap of the river.
In time Half H
air laid his pipe aside and asked why they had come. Smoke told him they had returned for the camas harvest, then described what they had found on the Oyaip Prairie.
The old man’s face darkened as he listened. “My brother told people not to go to camas grounds this year, as we are accustomed to,” he said. “He feared conflict with Soyappos who graze their animals.”
“But it is our land!” Calf Shirt said.
The elderly headman said nothing, just gazed out at the river. When he finally looked up, his eyes showed his anguish: “For a long time you have stayed in Buffalo Country. Much has happened.”
“Please, tell us,” Smoke said.
“Soyappos found yellow stones—kícuy—in our mountains. At first, bluecoats stopped them, but there were too many. Soyappos paid our people to help them. I set up a ferry, to bring them across this river. One of them gave firewater to my daughter, then used her.”
Smoke stared at him in shock. “You killed him?”
The chief’s eyes fell to his feet. “My brother said if I did, war would start. There were too many Soyappos already.”
“More than our warriors?” Calf Shirt asked.
“Many more than all our people combined.”
Smoke gaped at him: “Did Soyappos hang this man?”
Half Hair stared bleakly at the river. “No.”
“We should find him and kill him,” Calf Shirt said.
“What he did is common today. Soyappos get drunk, shoot Nimíipuu, and nothing is done.”
Smoke could not speak; anger choked him.
“Lawyer signed a treaty allowing Soyappos on our lands north of Clear Water and Road to Buffalo, for fifty thousand of their silver coins,” Half Hair said.
Calf Shirt glanced at Smoke: “That is why we found Soyappos on your camas grounds.”
The old man nodded. “But they are still our lands. Soyappos have no right to let their animals ruin our camas grounds. Only to dig for yellow metal.”
“We will kill their hogs!” Calf Shirt said.
Half Hair gazed at him with troubled eyes. “Hear me out. Next Soyappos built a town at Meeting of Waters. No treaty allowed this, and Lawyer tried to stop it, but they built it anyway. Today they have three villages, and there are more people in each one than in our entire nation. Some of our people are becoming rich helping them, wearing their clothes, building wooden lodges. Reuben says we should let them come, because we will be rich. Others drink their firewater, gamble with them, lose everything. You know Cutmouth John?”
The Coming Page 32
