Man on Two Ponies (11 page)

“We're here to
talk
about a land agreement,” he told them, “not to waste time talking about going to Washington. The Great Father wants you to approve this paper he sends you. If you don't, no telling what Congress might do about your rations.”

Cleveland wearily explained the agreement yet another time, then told them to discuss it and return in the morning to vote.

When the votes were counted the next day, 120 squawmen, mixed bloods, and progressive fullbloods voted in favor, while 282 said no. The Reverend Cleveland's friends had been mistaken.

Jaw set, Pratt took his commission to Lower Brulé, which was across the Missouri. When he learned that the Lower Brulés were also opposed, he changed his tactics but not his brusque manner.

“Pratt sent word to Iron Nation that if the vote on the agreement is favorable, he'll ask the Indian Commissioner to order
all
the chiefs here for a council,” Billy told Jones. “That will be a great honor for these people, so don't be surprised if they say yes.” Jones chewed on his cigar and wrote on his notepad.

“That's strange,” he said. “The Commissioner
has
always been dead set against letting the Sioux get together to discuss anything. It's easier to deal with them separately, so they can't know how the rest
think.”
The vote was 244 in favor, 62 opposed. Jones chuckled. “You figured that one right,” he said.

A week later the delegates began arriving from other agencies
in wagons and setting up tipis. Billy saw Agent Spencer with old Two Strike, Crow Dog, and other Brulé headmen. When
all
had arrived, the commission and chiefs sat under a canvas awning in front of agency headquarters, while the rest crowded around them. Cleveland explained the agreement again. “He could probably recite it backwards by now,” Jones said, knocking the ash from his cigar.

Pratt was next to speak. “You have been brought here to take steps to end the bad conditions under which your people live, and to bring them up to the level of whites,” he told them. “You must not stand in their way. “His tone was harsh.

“Some of you have asked
to
be taken to Washington to see the Great Father,” he continued. “He doesn't want to see any of you until this land matter is settled and settled to his satisfaction.” His voice had a metallic tone. “He considers you chiefs bad
leaders. You have failed to get your people to support themselves by fanning. The Great Father has asked you many times to do these things. His patience with the Sioux is nearly exhausted. He has only to raise his hand, and bad things can happen to you. Don't forget that.” He looked at them coldly, letting his words sink in.

“The government has tried for years to destroy the influence of the chiefs,” Billy told Jones.
“It
hasn't let us have a head chief since Spotted Tail was killed. Now Pratt's blaming the chiefs for everything that's gone wrong.” Jones chewed on his cigar and wrote on his pad.

J. V. Wright, the treaty maker, who had done nothing but yawn frequently for days now spoke. “The Great Father has given you this opportunity to sell some land you don't need,” he told them, “but
all
you do is talk about going to Washington to see him. He knows what's best for you. Why don't you behave yourselves and do as he asks?”

“Why didn't he just call them bad boys and threaten to spank them?” Jones asked, scribbling away.

Pratt arose again. “The time has come,” he said. “The Great Father has asked you to sign this agreement”—he tapped the paper lying on the table—"then to go home and tell your people to sign it.” He held up a quill pen. “Who'll be first to do what the Great
Father
asks?” Not a single Indian came forward. Pratt turned on his heel and stamped away, muttering to himself.

The canvas tipis soon came down as the delegates prepared to return to their agencies. Billy collected his pay then shook hands with Jones, whose face was more freckled than when he arrived.

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “If I ever need an interpreter again I'll call on you.”

Billy rode back to Rosebud in one of the agency's wagons, smiling inwardly the whole way, eager to tell Culver what had happened. The government had sent Pratt to bully the Tetons into selling half their land, but he'd succeeded only in making them more united than before. He felt proud of the Hunkpapas for standing up to Pratt.
Now maybe they 'II realize the Tetons won't sell any land and leave us alone.

Captain Pratt wrote a short, bitter report in which he recommended that the government ignore treaties and seize the Sioux
lands without further discussion. The editor of the
Word Carrier,
a little mission paper, learned what was in the report. He noted that because Pratt had failed he was recommending breaking the Treaty of 1868 and taking Sioux land by force, if necessary. In his anger he vengefully even urged the government to issue bacon to the Sioux instead of fresh beef. The
Word Carrier
quoted a former Sioux agent: “The
ill
effects of a salt pork diet on the health of the Indians is notorious,” he said. “It would be far more humane for the government to issue them arsenic instead of bacon and get the poisoning process over quickly.” Of Pratt's methods of
dealing
with the Sioux, the editor said that “few were good, some were criminal, and most were impractical.”

The Dakota Territory papers continued to blast Pratt for bungling the land agreement. Dakotans, they said, want half of the Great Sioux Reserve and they want it
now.
The government should send
real
men to deal with stubborn Indians, not blustering nonentities like Captain Pratt. The Friends of the Indian, for reasons of their own, also urged the government to reduce the Great Sioux Reserve by half.

Although the government had denied again and again that chiefs had any authority, it now invited the leaders of each Teton tribe to Washington in an effort to salvage the land deal. Because so many newspapers had covered the
Pratt
commission's dealings with the Sioux, many now sent reporters to cover the Washington council in detail. Over the years the Sioux had learned much in their dealings with white officials, and they did most of the talking. The Indian Bureau officials listened patiently, trying occasionally to steer the
talk
to the land sale. The chiefs ignored them, jumping from complaint to demand while carefully avoiding any mention of the land agreement. They rambled on endlessly, while the glum officials squirmed in their seats, crossed and recrossed their legs, stifled yawns, and peeked at their watches in disbelief.

The Oglalas, as they
had
at every opportunity, brought up the old matter of payment for the ponies General Sheridan's troops had taken from them in 1876. The officials looked at one another. Then, hoping that a conciliatory gesture might get the
talks
onto the right track, they promised to ask Congress to make a generous settlement. The Oglalas smiled.

At that the Tetons from the Missouri River agencies recalled that
General Terry had taken hundreds of their ponies the same year. The money from the sale of those animals had been used to buy them 600 head of stocker cattle, but the officials were unaware of that, so they agreed to tend to the matter. These concessions, far from getting the chiefs to talk about the land sale, opened the floodgates to a torrent of demands based on promises of long ago as well as new things the Sioux wanted, such as a red farm wagon for every family and rice and dried apples added to their rations. And they didn't want money from land sales wasted on schools and farm tools—they wanted to spend it themselves in the trading posts.

At the mention of land sales, the weary officials pricked up their ears. They suggested that the chiefs return home and persuade their people to sign the agreement. The chiefs were indignant. The officials threw up their hands in surrender, and the chiefs were sent back to their agencies.

Billy was elated that the chiefs had remained united and unyielding. The Great Sioux Reserve was still intact.
In
late October, Two Strike and the others arrived back at Rosebud.

“This is only round
three,”
Culver cautioned. “It's way too soon to celebrate.
The presidential election is almost on us, and much
depends on how it
turns
out.” Billy still felt jubilant—first the Pratt commission had been roundly defeated, then the chiefs had stood their ground under pressure from big men in Washington.

In the election in November, Benjamin Harrison won the presidency. “Nothing will happen until he takes office in March,” Culver said, knocking the ash from his pipe. “Then we'll see.”

That winter of 1888-1889, measles struck at all the agencies and hundreds of children died. The widespread grief made the Brulés appear despondent, resigned to a life of sorrow.
Disease is something else the Wasicuns brought us.

Billy read in late February that Harrison planned to appoint Baptist minister Thomas
J.
Morgan as Indian Commissioner, and had instructed him to base his policy on the views of the Friends of the Indian. Morgan promptly attended one of their meetings. “I place myself in your hands,” he told them.

“The brethren must be rejoicing,” Culver said grimly, chewing on his pipestem. “For the Sioux this is the worst news I've heard in a while.”

When Morgan announced what his Indian policy would be, he declared that it had been his “long established conviction that the reservation system is an anomaly that cannot be permitted to continue.” The Indians must be absorbed into the white population as quickly as possible.

“Poppycock,” Culver said. “He's just parroting what the brethren poured in
his
ear.
God
help the Indians.” Billy thought of Pratt's defeat and the stand the chiefs had taken.
What
can
they
do
to
us
now?

Another day Culver handed
him
a paper. “Read this,” he said, tapping a column with his pipestem. “General Crook
has
been in Boston making speeches about Indians. You'll like what he
has
to say.” Billy had heard of Crook, the stem officer who had helped defeat the Teton hostiles and force them onto the reservation.

“The Indian is a human being,” Crook began. “One question today on whose settlement depends the honor of the United States is, 'How can we preserve
him?' “
Billy eagerly read on.
If
the Tetons have a powerful ally like General Crook, that should help them fight off any land sale. “We must not try to force them to take civilization immediately in its complete form,” Crook continued.
“If
they are treated justly, the Indian question, a source of dishonor to our country and of shame to true patriots, will soon
be
a thing of the past.”

It was
hard
to believe, but here was an army officer who had fought and defeated the Tetons, who admitted that Indians are human beings. He wanted them treated justly, and not pushed too
fast,
while those who called themselves Friends of the Indian treated them
like
ignorant children and would force them to change rapidly even if it meant starving them into submission. Billy
read
on.

“I wish to say most emphatically that the American Indian is the intellectual
equal
of most, if not all, the various nationalities we have assimilated,” Crook continued. “He is fully able to protect himself, if the ballot be given, and the courts of law not closed to
him.”

“I never thought I'd hear a white man say anything like that,”
Billy said. “And one who used to fight us. I can't believe he really said that, after hearing what the rest want to do to us. Why don't they listen to him?”

“Crook knows Indians as well as any man, and he says what he knows is true. The brethren are dead wrong, and they listen only to those who agree with them.”

Two mixed bloods and their Brulé wives entered the store. One of the men nodded toward the shelves behind the counter. “Cloth,” he said. “Two yards.”

Billy watched the women to see which of the brightly colored rolls caught their eyes then set both rolls on the counter. He measured and cut the cloth while the two men looked at the Winchesters and Culver refilled and lighted his pipe. The men paid for the cloth and followed their giggling wives to the door.

“What Crook said applied to you,” Culver said, making a jabbing motion with his pipe. “You have a responsibility to him to keep on learning so you can help others adjust, and to prove that Crook and men who agree with him are right about Indians.
If
you were to forget what you've learned and go back to being a blanket Indian like most of the Carlisle boys have done, you'd help prove him wrong. Those who say that Indians can't or won't learn to live like whites and do the things whites do unless they're driven to it would like that. Think about it.”