Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 03 (10 page)

Sitting Bull went with the assault force. Fanning out, they formed a shallow half circle around the Crow herd and started to push the animals, quietly at first, then with yips and shouts as the horses drew closer to the small group of lodges.

The animals bolted, scattering among the Crow lodges as the sleepy warriors spilled out into the open. Several of them were knocked to the ground as the horses rushed past, the Hunkpapas right behind them. Several of the Lakota leaned over to grab picket ropes staking warhorses to the ground, slashing them with a flick of their knives. The startled ponies rushed after the rest of the Crow herd as soon as they realized they had been cut loose.

Gunfire erupted now as the Crow men started to recover from their surprise. Hearing the gunshots and not able to see clearly what was happening, the Lakota contingent on the hilltop charged down toward the Crow lodges. Sweeping through the tiny camp, they gave vent to war cries and fired arrows in every direction, taking care only to avoid their comrades.

Several of the Crows were knocked to the ground by the new assault, and three of them were killed outright. The rest of the warriors scattered, women and children running after them into the darkness toward the river. On a return sweep, the
Lakota stopped long enough to count coup on the three fallen Crows and to take trophies. Two scalps were taken, a hand was severed, and in the ultimate indignity, the genitals of one naked Crow were carted off. One of the Hunkpapa, in a grandstand play, charged toward the retreating Crows and snatched up a woman, catching her just before she was about to plunge into the river. The warrior draped her, kicking and screaming, across his pony and rode off into the dark.

The Crow were too scattered now to mount an effective counterattack, and several of their best war ponies had been driven off with the rest of the herd, so the Hunkpapa knew they were safe from pursuit. Only a foolhardy Crow would dare chase a heavily armed band of Lakota in Lakota territory, and even then, not until sunrise. By then, the Hunkpapa planned to be miles away from the Crow camp.

After an hour of hard riding, they stopped just long enough to rest the horses. The woman was then bound hand and foot and secured to one of the stolen ponies. Her captor, Short Elk, rigged a lariat around the pony’s neck and looped it around his left hand for the rest of the ride.

The next day they posted sentries and rested for a few hours, letting the captured horses graze and watering their own mounts before turning them out to join the others. It was still a long way to the Hunkpapa village, and they wanted to make the rest of the trip in one leg. Sitting Bull watched the woman, who seemed to have gotten used to the idea of her captivity. She made no trouble and was
not molested by any of the warriors. It was Lakota custom to either adopt captives into the tribe or release them in exchange for ransom. Sitting Bull presumed that Short Elk would take the woman into his lodge, since his current wife was well along in her third pregnancy and he had had no luck finding another Lakota woman who would have him.

Late the next afternoon, the shrieking members of the victorious war party rode into camp, circling among the lodges and boasting of their accomplishments. The stolen horses were parceled out among family and friends, after the warriors had picked one or two apiece to keep for themselves. The trophies were put on display and caused a sensation, especially so the severed genitals. These were subjected to disparaging evaluation by the older women, causing the younger women to titter among themselves.

The boys too young to have been on war parties of their own seemed especially interested in the scalps, and they approached with some trepidation, prepared to run should the absent Crow owners suddenly materialize under the disheveled and bloody hair.

Sitting Bull, as was the custom, had sung his own praises, then retired from center stage to let the more experienced warriors have the spotlight. During the animated retelling of events, one of the young women noticed the Crow prisoner and started to whisper to a neighbor in the crowd. Before long, ripples of conversation had spread, and it began to look as if the women were more interested
in the Crow woman than in the achievements of their own men.

Sitting Bull was curious and watched the phenomenon with some bafflement. He moved closer, intending to ask what was going on, but before he had a chance the women broke away from the crowd and rushed toward the Crow prisoner. They knocked Short Elk aside and swept the Crow woman from her pony, dragging her toward the edge of the village.

Sitting Bull could no longer restrain himself and moved into the crowd. He was surrounded by other warriors, most of whom wore the same baffled expression. Short Elk was jumping up and down, trying to make himself heard. He was aptly named, being no taller than most of the women, so he was having some difficulty getting their attention.

“What’s happening?” Sitting Bull asked One-Horned Elk.

“They say they know the Crow woman. They say she is loose, that she has no morals.”

“How do they know that?”

“Blue Eagle Woman told them. Remember two years ago she was taken by the Crows? They held her for nearly a month before we were able to get her back. She says the Crow woman went from lodge to lodge, sleeping with every Crow who would have her. The women think she will do the same thing here, if Short Elk is allowed to keep her.”

“But what business is it of theirs? If Short Elk wants to keep her, it is up to him.”

“They won’t give him the chance,” One-Horned Elk said. “Watch.”

The woman was swept away now, beyond the edge of the camp. The chattering Hunkpapa women dragged her by the hair, kicking and clawing at their legs as she tried to break free. Near the river, they hauled her upright and proceeded to lash the prisoner to a cottonwood.

The women fanned out then and disappeared into the brush along the riverbank. They reappeared with their arms full of dry branches. Sitting Bull couldn’t figure out what they were intending to do until one of them ran back to the camp, returning with a burning brand. Now he knew they were planning to burn her alive.

Chewing on his lower lip, he tried to decide what he should do. It was not his right to interfere. Lakota society didn’t work that way, and anyway, he was too young for anyone to pay attention to. If he had been older, with more coups, more authority, perhaps he could have reasoned with them. But he knew he didn’t have enough of either, so he didn’t try.

Instead, he paced back and forth, more and more upset at what was about to happen. The Crow woman seemed to understand now, too, and she started screaming insults at the Lakota women, spitting at any of them who came within range. The woman with the brand waited nearby while her allies yelled insults. Once, she feinted with the torch, sweeping it in under the Crow woman’s nose and singeing her hair in the process. The stink of burning hair reached all the way to where Sitting
Bull was standing, and it nearly turned his stomach. He had killed his share of Crows, but that was in battle. That was different somehow. This wasn’t right. He knew it, but didn’t know how to prevent it from happening. Once, he thought to cry out to the women to stop, but his voice caught in his throat.

He continued to pace as he saw the torch tossed on the heap of bone-dry branches. The flames jumped and sparks drifted upward on the current of heated air. The Crow woman screamed as the flames began to lick at her legs. The smell of singed buckskin filled the air as the fire started to burn her dress.

Sitting Bull could stand it no longer. He took his bow from his shoulder and fitted an arrow to the string. Without a second’s hesitation, he drew the bow full, until the arrowhead nicked his knuckle, and let it fly. He was noted for his marksmanship, and his skill served him and the Crow woman well. The arrow pierced her heart, killing her instantly.

The women fell silent, turning to see where the arrow had come from. Sitting Bull stared at them, daring them to say something, but the women, cowed and ashamed now, could not look at him, They stared at the ground and one by one slunk away. The flames climbed higher as Sitting Bull turned his back and walked up into the hills. He had to get away, to be alone, to think about what he had witnessed, to try to understand it. But he knew he could not.

Yellowstone River Valley
1851

S
ITTING BULL WAS GAINING
greater prominence almost daily. Every time a war party went against the Crows or the Assiniboin or the Arikara, he went along. And there was hardly a time when he came back without another coup.

His prominence as a warrior was now matched by his increasing reputation as a composer and singer of songs. His studies with Four Horns and Black Moon continued to deepen his awareness of the great mysteries that surrounded the Lakota on every side.

If anything, as a young warrior of twenty he was even more fascinated by nature and its complexities than he had been as a boy of five. He never missed an opportunity to watch the world around him. Nothing escaped his attention—not a single leaf floating on a current of air, not an ant stumbling its lonely way through the grass, not
the solitary howl of a wolf at midnight. The more he knew, the more he wanted to learn.

His insatiable curiosity left him little spare time. And there were occasions when it seemed that he was every bit as much the object of curiosity for others as the world was for him. As a renowned warrior, he was considered a good catch by the young Hunkpapa women of marriageable age. As a member of an influential family that included chiefs and holy men as well as great warriors, his desirability was considerably enhanced. Everyone knew that he was destined for great things. He was famous throughout the Lakota nation for being the fastest runner anyone had ever seen, and he never missed an opportunity to demonstrate his great speed … especially when someone was willing to bet a horse or a buffalo robe.

And those footraces, in which only Crawler could come close to catching him, were run under the admiring gaze of the young women of the village. More than once, after leaving an opponent in the dust, he would stand at the finish line with the young women gathered around, congratulating him.

As busy as he was, he had not failed to notice that one young woman seemed more than fleetingly interested in him, and he was flattered by her attention. Light Hair was considered a real prize, and more than one suitor for her hand had been sent packing. It was not that the marriage gifts the warriors offered were insufficient, either. No amount of bartering between the would-be husband and her family made any difference. Light Hair
knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was Sitting Bull.

He was beginning to think that maybe he wanted Light Hair, too. Like the other young men, he would occasionally wrap himself in a blanket, leaving little but his eyes exposed, and pull a prospect under the blanket for a few minutes of conversation. Light Hair knew that he was special and hoped that he would realize that she was his for the asking. But she was not going to compromise her reputation to win him, either. Lakota courting customs were clearly defined, and one flouted them at great risk. As the daughter of a chief, Light Hair was not prepared to take that risk, because it was not just her own reputation that would be tarnished, but that of her family as well.

She had been watching Sitting Bull for more than six months before he finally invited her under his blanket. They stood there talking quietly, Sitting Bull clearly nervous and not saying much. She didn’t want to seem pushy, but neither did she want to waste an opportunity that, for all she knew, might not come again any time soon.

“Maybe we could take a walk,” she suggested.

Sitting Bull seemed baffled by the suggestion. “A walk? Why?”

“Maybe your tongue will loosen if there are not so many people watching us so closely,” she said.

Sitting Bull conceded the truth of her observation with an embarrassed smile. “I can sing better than I can speak,” he explained.

“I never noticed,” she said. “You didn’t seem to
have any trouble talking to Pretty Door a few days ago.”

“She is easy to talk to.”

Light Hair bristled. “And I’m not?” she demanded, making as if to pull the blanket aside and leave him standing there.

“No, no, I don’t mean that you’re not easy to talk to. I just meant that …”

“Well, what
did
you mean?” She had the hook set now, and she was not about to cut him loose easily. He would have to fight to spit it out.

“I, uh … I just meant that it’s easy to talk when it doesn’t matter.”

“Is that supposed to mean that talking to me matters more? Or does it mean that the less it matters, the less you say?”

Once more, Sitting Bull squirmed uncomfortably. It was not going nearly as well as he had hoped. And Light Hair was not doing anything to make it easier for him.

She tapped him on the chest. “You are such a fast runner, but right now you don’t seem fast at all. You seem like you have turned to stone.”

Sitting Bull just bobbed his head. This woman was worse than any Crow war party. She made him feel like a five-year-old again. And for a moment, he wished he were. It was a lot easier to get a girl’s attention by chasing her with a dead fish or pulling on her braid than it was to be standing there alone together, the whole world shut out by the blanket.

Light Hair was beginning to think that she had pushed him too hard, and decided to make it up to
him. “I was just playing,” she said. “Trying to make you less sure of yourself.”

“You managed that quite well,” Sitting Bull acknowledged.

“Maybe we will do this again, when you have more to say,” she suggested.

Again, all he could do was nod his head. When she pulled away from the blanket, it was left dangling from one shoulder, and he felt suddenly naked. He saw that the other courting couples were watching him, and he turned away, wrapping the blanket around himself again, and stalked off to Jumping Bull’s lodge where no one could see how flustered he was.