Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 03 (13 page)

With renewed hope, the leaders of the war party sent out scouts for the sixth time. The rest of the raiding party continued in a leisurely way along the river, waiting for the scouts to return. It was late in the afternoon before the scouts appeared on the crest of a ridge off to the left and waved their bows excitedly overhead before charging downhill with their news. They had found a village not far away, and the excited warriors began to prepare for the attack.

It was well after sundown before all the men had painted themselves and their war ponies and assembled their weapons. Many of the warriors had medicine rituals they had to perform before each battle, and this delayed their departure still further.

The ride to the Crow village took nearly three hours, and the final approach had to be cautious. There would be sentries posted, particularly
around the large herd of horses, and the dogs that were a fixture of every village might give them away before they got close.

Sitting Bull was one of the planners of the raid, and once the layout of the village became apparent, it was decided to try to cut the Crow herd in half and move off without a battle, if possible. They had come for horses, not blood, and if they could get away without having to loose an arrow, that would make the raid all the more successful.

It was delicate work, moving in and out among the horses. Now and then, the bark of a dog would cause the Hunkpapas to freeze in their tracks, and every man gripped his bow or rifle a little more tightly, holding his breath, hoping they had not been discovered. After an hour, the herd had been cut in two, and the most difficult part was about to begin.

Sitting Bull posted a handful of men between the village and the stolen horses who would give the alarm in the event of discovery. The rest of the warriors nudged the horses into motion. It was tricky getting them to move without stampeding. The thunder of hooves would have awakened the village, but if they were too careful, the escape would take until well past sunrise, when discovery would be inevitable.

Wisely, twenty-five or thirty of the warriors had been left behind, lining the ridge above and behind the village, ready to charge at the first outcry, and the stolen horses were being pushed in their direction. Once the horses were herded over the ridge, the pickets rejoined the main
party and the Hunkpapa started to drive the stolen animals at a gallop. The sky was already turning gray, and it would not be long before the village awakened. In no time at all, the theft would be discovered.

Pursuit was certain, and they wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the Crow village. The farther they managed to get before the inevitable counterattack, the more likely they were to make off with at least some of the stolen animals. But the herd slowed them considerably. The Crows would not take long to catch up to them. Once that happened, a group of men could be sent on with the herd while the rest of the war party held off the pursuit.

It was less than an hour after sunrise when the first war cries from the Crows drifted toward them on the wind. Sitting Bull dropped toward the rear of the herd in time to see the first few Crows break over a ridge about two miles behind. As he watched, several more warriors followed, then still more. He gave the alarm and hastily organized the defense of the Hunkpapa retreat.

The best warriors were at the rear of the Hunkpapa line, while the youngest and least experienced were charged with handling the stolen herd. Choosing high ground, the Hunkpapas formed a line the full length of a long ridge and waved their bows and arrows, daring the Crows to attack them. For several long minutes, the Crows charged on ahead, until they reached the crest of the next ridge.

Deterred by the large war party arrayed before
them, the Crows stopped to consider the best tactics, while the Hunkpapas continued to taunt them, hurling insults not just at the warriors across the valley from them, but at Crows several generations back, as well. More than one of the Hunkpapas dismounted to turn his back and raise his breechclout for the ultimate insult, but the Crow were being cautious. They knew only too well how fierce the Lakota were, and it would not be wise to rush headlong into a battle with so large a war party.

Three Crows, either as provocation or out of impatience, separated from the main band and started down the hill, their horses moving easily through the tall grass. They hurled their own insults at the Hunkpapa, daring them to come down and fight. One of the trio broke away from his companions and dashed among the advancing Hunkpapas, his long warbonnet trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. He struck one Hunkpapa with his bow, then counted coup on a second before one of the Lakotas grabbed the tail of the warbonnet and yanked it from his head.

The second of the trio charged into the fray and killed one of the Hunkpapa warriors before being driven off, and Sitting Bull, angered by the loss of the warrior, challenged the third Crow to combat. He rode straight for the last of the three Crows, who was armed with an old musket.

Sitting Bull carried his shield. The sturdy buffalo-hide covering of the shield could deflect arrows well enough, but it was useless against bullets. Sitting Bull had his own gun, an old muzzle-loader,
and dismounted because he was still not used to firing from horseback. Charging ahead on foot, running full tilt, he saw the Crow drop to one knee and aim the musket. Sitting Bull in turn dropped down to hide behind his shield as the Crow fired. The musket ball passed through the shield and was deflected by its wooden frame, then pierced Sitting Bull’s foot at the toes and passed all the way through along the length of the sole and out the back of his foot.

Ignoring the pain, he got to his feet and, knowing that it would take time to reload the musket, limped toward the Crow, who was desperately trying to pour powder into his flintlock’s muzzle. Sitting Bull closed in on him as he stuffed a patch and ball into the muzzle and yanked the ramrod loose. Sitting Bull took aim with his own gun and fired, catching the Crow in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground. Leaving his gun in the grass, he limped the last few yards and drew his knife, plunging it into the Crow, who was trying valiantly to get to his feet.

Sitting Bull hadn’t known it, but his adversary was an influential chief. He realized the man’s importance only when he glanced toward the rest of the Crows. They had seemed on the verge of charging, but had now broken up into small groups, as if uncertain what to do. In another moment, with one final war cry, they turned tail and disappeared over the ridge and were gone.

Sitting Bull limped back to his horse and climbed onto its back, trying to ignore the pain
in his foot. Like his father and grandfather, he was a healer, and he knew the wound needed looking after. He had some herbs for a temporary poultice, but the foot needed the ministrations of a more experienced medicine man. The pain was excruciating, but it was a small price to pay for the fine horses they had acquired. He would deal with the consequences of the wound when he had the luxury of time. Now it was time to get home.

Yellowstone River Basin
1857

T
HE HUNT HAD BEEN GOOD.
The buffalo had been plentiful, and the stores of meat were more generous than they had been in many winters. The women were working feverishly on the hides, tanning them, adding decorative quillwork, and painting them. The parfleche bags were full of pemmican because the late summer harvest of berries had been heavy.

But the warriors were restless. Sitting in the lodges in front of the fire made a man lazy. You could spend the time making arrows, but what good were arrows if you didn’t use them? Even making a bow, which took more time, was not enough to fill the long winter. With the hunt behind them, and the long, sluggish winter days not that far off, it seemed like a good time to send a war party against the Hohe.

One night, sitting around the fire in the Strong
Heart Society lodge, Stands-at-the-Mouth-of-the-River raised the issue, his listeners attentive. “We have not gone on the warpath against the Hohe in a long time,” he said. “If we leave them alone indefinitely, they will no longer fear us at all. Already they are coming into our hunting grounds and taking buffalo.”

There was a chorus of assenting “Hows!”, and Stands-at-the-Mouth looked at his comrades with a slight smile. “I think maybe we should remind the Hohe that we are here, and that Lakota land is for Lakotas, not for Hohes.”

Again the chorus agreed. The Hohe, also called Assiniboin, were fairly closely related to the Lakota. Their language was quite similar to Lakota, and it did not take much for a Hohe to understand a Lakota—or vice versa. There were legends about the relationship, some suggesting that the two peoples had once been one, but if that was so, it was long ago now, and made no difference. They were enemies now, and enemies had to be kept at a distance, no matter how close they once might have been.

Stands-at-the-Mouth took the long deerskin bag he had been cradling across his knees and unlaced the rawhide thong holding the flap closed. Pulling it away, he extracted an elaborate pipe, its mouthpiece carved, its shaft painted in bright colors. Tilting the long deerskin bag, he dumped a smaller leather pouch in his lap, opened it, and pulled out a few pinches of tobacco. As the
blotahunka,
or war leader, it was his responsibility to prepare the war pipe and over-see
its ritual circulation among those warriors who wished to join the war party.

After carefully packing the bowl of the pipe, tamping the tobacco with a fingertip, adding another pinch and pressing in into the bowl, he returned the pouch to the deerskin bag, then leaned forward toward the fire. He found a suitable twig, a bright-yellow flame at its end, and touched the flame to the bowl, sucking once, then again, then a third time. Each time, the flame all but disappeared as it was drawn down into the bowl of the pipe. Rich smoke started to swirl art und Stands-at-the-Mouth as he puffed until he was sure the pipe was lit. Tossing the twig back into the fire, he raised the pipe overhead, then brought it down toward the earth. He completed the ritual offering by pointing the pipe to the four points of the compass. Then he said, “I think we should leave in two days. Those who want to join me should smoke the war pipe.”

He handed the pipe to his neighbor on the right, who raised it overhead, took a puff, and passed it on. Slowly, the pipe made its way around the circle of the Strong Hearts. Not all of them smoked, but most did. The Strong Heart Society claimed some of the most respected warriors in the entire Lakota nation as members. Not only the Hunkpapas, but the Oglala, the Sans Arcs, the Miniconjou, and the other divisions of the Lakota had several warrior societies. The Kit Foxes, the Crow Owners, and the Plain Lance Owners were as respected as the Strong Hearts, and many of the finest warriors belonged to more
than one. These societies provided the policing that had to be done, and they were quite necessary because a society as democratic as the Lakota was always perilously balanced on the fine line between individual autonomy and total anarchy.

It was an honor to be asked to belong to any of the societies, but being a member of the Strong Hearts was a special challenge. Each man wore a special sash into battle, identifying him as a Strong Heart, and when fighting on foot, the custom required him to wear a picket line which he would stake to the earth as the battle began, knowing that he was not to remove it or sever it until the battle was won. And then, only his friends or relatives could pull up the stake.

Membership was not accorded lightly. And the courage of the warriors who were members of the society was well known not just among the Lakota, but among their enemies as well. Occasionally, the mere sight of a picketed Strong Heart was enough to break off an engagement as the enemy warriors realized what they were up against and thought better of the warpath on that particular day.

Sitting Bull was a member, and he wore his sash proudly. When the war pipe reached him, he puffed without hesitation. Light Hair was expecting their first child and he was restless, feeling as if his days on the warpath might be curtailed once the baby arrived. His foot was still troubling him, even now after more than a year. His speed was gone, and he still walked with a limp that he was
beginning to think might be permanent. Like many men facing fatherhood for the first time, he was scared, and felt the need to assert himself in some way that would allow him to control a life that suddenly threatened to be beyond his ability to influence it.

The pipe made the rounds, and when it had come full circle, Stands-at-the-Mouth was well pleased. He had a war party comprised of some of the most outstanding of all Hunkpapa warriors. Sitting Bull by this time was widely known among all the Lakota not just as a warrior but as a composer of songs and a skillful medicine man. He exemplified the four cardinal virtues among his people—courage, fortitude, generosity, and wisdom. There wasn’t a man in the tribe who did not consider it an honor to take the warpath with him, and some highly regarded warriors had been known to withdraw from a war party upon learning that Sitting Bull would not be along.

Going against the Hohe was a special undertaking; perhaps because the two tribes were so closely related, they reserved their most intense enmity for each other, much as family members upon having a falling out seem to hate each other more than anyone else ever could. For whatever the reason, a war party going against them was likely to be well attended.

On the morning of the second day after the smoking of the war pipe, already painted for the warpath, the warriors assembled and Stands-at-the-Mouth, as the war leader, led them away
from camp and headed north toward Assiniboin country.

It was another two days before they found the Hohe, and when they did, the small enemy raiding party was taken by surprise. The Hohe ran for their lives, driving their mounts into and across a shallow lake. The water slowed their escape and allowed the Hunkpapa to catch up to them.

For a while, the water was whipped up by the floundering horses of both sides, and then by the churning arms and legs of warriors from both war parties as the attack broke down into hand-to-hand combat.