Stone Song (57 page)

Despite the acrid tone, it was a fair summary. Almost every headman in the room agreed. Young Man-Whose-Enemies himself did, with a split in his heart. But Young Man-Whose-Enemies had made up his mind to walk the new road, and he would do it.

Young Man-Whose-Enemies did wonder about Woman Dress’ story. These Bad Face brothers and their friends had envied Crazy Horse for
maybe twenty winters. If the whites wanted to run things, they needed to know more about the people.

Still, if the Bad Faces were exaggerating, it probably didn’t matter. Crazy Horse was a problem. Something was going to have to be done. Probably the whites would have him arrested. Maybe Young Man-Whose-Enemies could have his old friend put in an easy kind of jailing, like the one Spotted Tail had all those winters ago. Maybe the jailing would soften Crazy Horse’s heart, as it had Spotted Tail’s.

Young Man-Whose-Enemies felt a vast oppression of misery.

After Red Dog finished, another man or two spoke to Crook in the same vein. The white man heard no dissension.

Crook asked, “So say you all?”

No Indian spoke up. Crook looked straight at Young Man-Whose-Enemies. The headman glanced at Clark, who was staring at him challengingly. The chief looked back at Crook and nodded slightly.

George Crook was not a man who had difficulty making decisions. “Lieutenant Clark, I instruct you to arrest His Crazy Horse at a time and place and in such manner as you deem suitable. You will detain him in the Fort Robinson guardhouse pending further instruction.” He got to his feet. “Now I must go to the railroad.”

Garnett translated the words for the chiefs. Crook tried to translate the expressions on their faces. Relief, for sure. Malicious satisfaction here and there, he thought—these men weren’t any better than anyone else. And genuine regret, he thought, on the face of Young Man-Whose-Enemies.

Yes, it was a damn shame. Crook thought Crazy Horse was a fine man. Crook was honored to have been his rival and under other circumstances would have felt privileged to be his friend. In the last analysis, though, a man who stood in the way of the great river of civilization got washed away. Even the finest man.

He started shaking hands, wishing he didn’t have to. The thought crossed his mind that these were the palms of Judases. As he squeezed hand after hand, he wondered if they had heard what the federal prison of the Dry Tortugas was like.

Crazy Horse looked at Red Feather, waiting.

“Crook has given orders for your arrest,” the young man finally stammered.

Red Feather had rushed to the lodge of his sister Black Shawl and his brother-in-law the sandy-haired man. He’d gotten the news from Billy Garnett.

He told everything. The meeting with Crook and Clark and the agency chiefs. The story told by Woman Dress.

Kill Three Stars? Crazy Horse and Black Shawl looked at each other in amazement. Crazy Horse kill Three Stars? After he gave his word to untie his horses’ tails?

A story passed from three pairs of lips, brother to brother to brother? From Crazy Horse’s old enemy? And Three Stars believed it?

“Arrested,” Red Feather repeated.

Arrested. That was the word the
wasicu
used when they took away your freedom. Sometimes the prisoners came back changed, like Spotted Tail. Usually they didn’t come back at all. Either they were killed trying to escape or they hanged themselves.

The Lakota had talked about it and decided the whites understood perfectly how calamitous being locked up was for a Lakota. Living without being able to face Father Sun in the morning, or see the star people, or the
wakinyan
. Without being able to purify yourself with burning cedar, or invite the spirits with burning sweetgrass, or go to the sweat lodge. Worse than death—life without medicine, life without Spirit.

Crazy Horse felt a painful twist in his chest. He had just gotten Hawk back. Hawk could not live in a jail. If he went to jail, he would lose Hawk forever.

He gave Red Feather a sharp look. “I will never let them arrest me. Tell everyone,” he said low and with an edge in his voice, “I will never let them arrest me.”

Red Feather looked distressed. “There’s worse,” he said.

The Strange Man said simply, “Tell me all of it.”

“Crook went to the railroad. Then Clark and the agency Indians made plans to come against our village, to surround us all so we couldn’t run away, and kill you. Clark said he would give $200 for your scalp.” He paused. “No Water said that would be a brave act, to bring back your scalp.”

Crazy Horse rubbed the scar on his lip with a forefinger. So he would be hurt by his own, like the last time.

“But that plan is off for tonight,” Red Feather added. “Colonel Bradley forbade it. They will come tomorrow. For all of us, Billy Garnett said.”

“Who intends to come against us?” asked Crazy Horse.

“Red Cloud, Little Wound, American Horse, Yellow Road, No Flesh, Big Road, No Water, and Woman Dress,” said Red Feather. “And Little Big Man.” He added this last name with shame.

Crazy Horse looked at his young brother-in-law, waiting.

“Young Man-Whose-Enemies-Are-Afraid-of-His-Horses,” the young man finally added.

Crazy Horse nodded his head. His friend from childhood. His companions
in last winter’s fights. His old comrade in war.
Well
, he said to himself,
maybe they are coming to prevent trouble, or an accident
.

He noticed Hawk. Though the news was awful, unbearable, Hawk was gathering her spirits. Hawk was perhaps even eager. He smiled. He had lost nearly everyone, but not his spirit guide. She was ready to go to war with him.

He thought for a while. He signaled Black Shawl to sit beside him. Nellie was off visiting her father. “We will leave in the morning,” he said. “We will go to Touch-the-Sky at Spotted Tail Agency, just the two of us.”

To Red Feather he added, “Tell everyone I go alone, not inviting the people of the village to come. Tell everyone.” He felt satisfaction. He was done with being a headman. Now he was simply a warrior again.

From out in front No Water saw two rider shapes just as they disappeared behind a distant ridge. Crazy Horse and Black Shawl, surely. No Water signaled the twenty-five warriors behind him, and they sprinted after the pair.

It was a grand day. This morning agency Indians had marched out hundreds strong toward Crazy Horse’s camp from Fort Robinson, with almost every important leader except He Dog, the force of all the Oglala turned against the Strange Man. Never had No Water felt such vindication.

And though a few of Crazy Horse’s warriors slowed them up with a smoke and a talk, the march was unopposed. The camp was breaking up as people ran to their relatives in other villages. Then the marchers found out Crazy Horse was already running for his two uncles at Spotted Tail Agency.

Running like an old, tired bull, No Water thought, chased by many hunters on fast horses.

Clark had given No Water permission to take twenty-five scouts after Crazy Horse and bring him back, or bring his $200 scalp back.

And now they had almost caught up.

No Water hand-whipped his pony hard. He would ride up alongside the old bull and bring him down.

Uphill, downhill, across the flats, up again, No Water didn’t seem to be gaining much. His scouts were strung out behind him now. He smiled grimly. No Water was far bigger than most of them, more for a pony to
carry. But if they weren’t willing to push their ponies as hard as he did, he would get the $200.

He trotted his pony uphill at a slant. The beast wouldn’t go straight up. It was wheezing. No Water wasn’t close enough for a shot yet, even a shot with almost no chance. He wondered why he wasn’t gaining faster.

He had heard that Crazy Horse had gopher medicine, something he used to confuse his enemies. But No Water wasn’t confused at all. He had never felt clearer, or happier, in his life. So that medicine wasn’t working.

He had also heard a story about Crazy Horse’s name. One story was that the name meant “Horse Spirited in Battle,” another that it meant “Horse Magically Obedient.” But No Water had heard a third story, that the name meant “Spiritless Horse.” Crazy Horse’s ancestor had gotten that name by learning to ride a traveling horse so skillfully that he got every hint of energy from it, leaving it alive but sucked dry of spirit.

No Water was more interested in Crazy Horse’s blood than his horse or its spirit. But maybe the Strange Man did have the ability to get everything out of a pony.

At every ridge top No Water searched the country ahead for the sandy-haired man and his wife, and saw them only occasionally, too far ahead. He had noticed that Crazy Horse did not run the horses uphill but walked them, and ran them downhill hard. Maybe that was part of the secret.

But secrets would do the Strange Man no good today.

No Water could not bring himself to shoot his horse. He was so angry at it that he wanted it to suffer. Clearly it was never going to get on its feet again.

He looked down the White Earth River. Somewhere ahead Crazy Horse and Black Shawl were riding toward Spotted Tail and now would get away.

Probably someone else would get the Strange Man’s scalp. It made No Water want to vomit.

Two of his scouts topped the hill behind and came to the man standing beside the dying horse.

No Water yelled at them until the younger dismounted and gave the leader his pony.

As No Water disappeared over the next hill, he heard the gunshot that ended the life of his worn-out mount. He grinned.

No Water saw the man and woman ride fast into the camp of Touch-the-Sky, Crazy Horse’s uncle. There was not much to be done now. He sat
his borrowed horse until some of his scouts came up. When they saw mounted warriors sprinting out of Touch-the-Sky’s camp toward them, they hightailed it for Spotted Tail Agency.

The messenger said Burke, the commanding officer at the military post at Spotted Tail, wanted Crazy Horse right away.

Amazing. Since he had come in to an agency, four moons ago, Crazy Horse had been dealing with
wasicu
who sent for him, instructed him to go somewhere for a talk, or told him where his village could or could not camp. Now Burke simply sent for him. Right away. Such was the road he gave up the hunting life for.

When everyone understood he was a warrior and not a headman anymore, he would not be ordered around. Or at least when he was living far from
wasicu
. Choice, your own direction, was a funny thing.

For now he would cooperate. He left his wife in his
ate
’s lodge and rode in to see the commanding officer, Burke, and the agent, Lee, who was another soldier and under Burke’s command. He rode under the protection of a Mniconjou escort led by his uncle Touch-the-Sky.

At the fort Burke and Lee met them. With the
wasicu
were several hundred warriors led by Spotted Tail. The warriors acted prickly, and Crazy Horse smiled to himself at this. He was protected by an uncle on his blood mother’s side and maybe threatened by one on his other mothers’ side. Could there be a question of whether Crazy Horse was safe in his uncle’s village and in his father’s lodge?

He had no chance to talk to Spotted Tail privately. Burke and Lee made everyone sit down outside to talk. And his talk was simple: Crazy Horse had to go back to Fort Robinson tomorrow.

The Mniconjou broke into a hubbub at this. Crazy Horse was pleased—they remembered that he was not only a guest but a relative. When he raised his hand, they fell silent.

“I come in peace,” he said. They could see he had come alone, with no fighting men and without his village, just one man with his wife. “I want to live here with my relatives.”

He looked across the circle at Spotted Tail. His uncle was the head chief here. His father and mothers had moved their lodge here to live near Spotted Tail, who was their brother. Crazy Horse no longer was sure who his uncle was, the man who knocked thirteen soldiers from their saddle at the Blue Water or the man who played at
wasicu
politics to get ahead. So he was making the oldest and most honored claim to sanctuary: “I come here to live with my family.”

At last Spotted Tail spoke up. “My brother, you have roamed like a fire in the north. You are of the Oglala.”

You are one of them, not one of us Sicangu! From his uncle. Crazy Horse searched Spotted Tail’s face but saw nothing personal there, only the relentless amiability of the politician.

“The Oglala people are yours. Something good should happen to you with them. Instead you have run away like a wolf with its tail between its legs.”

Crazy Horse was only half-listening now. His mind began to flood with pictures of his uncle from memory.

“This is my band,” Spotted Tail went on. “I do not want anything bad to happen to you here. Therefore, I give you a fine horse as a gift. I want you to take this horse and go back to your people, the Oglala. You will listen to me and do as I say.”

Crazy Horse’s mind snapped into the present.
You will listen to me, you will do as I say
.

You are of the Oglala, not my people
.

You are not welcome in the camp of your mothers’ people the Sicangu, or your birth mother’s people the Mniconjou
.

Most of all,
You will listen to me, you will do as I say
.

His mind rocked up and down with memories like waves in a lake. Spotted Tail’s face as he explained that the white men don’t understand choice. Spotted Tail as he rode bullet-proof toward the warriors of the Two Circle People, and did it again. Especially Spotted Tail on the day he came back from crying for a vision, his mind made up to throw his life away. Crazy Horse saw again the fun on the face of the doomed man who wanted to singe Flat Club’s bottom, and the laughter and tears when it worked.

He looked across at this Spotted Tail, who had somehow usurped his uncle and onetime teacher. Spotted Tail’s face changed. The political smile disappeared, and a stony indifference replaced it. Crazy Horse knew there was nothing more for him there.