Man on Two Ponies (15 page)

When the Oglalas assembled the next morning, American Horse asked if he could speak about the land agreement, a request the commissioners couldn't refuse. But he talked about the poor quality of the rations issued the Tetons, then turned to the reservation boundaries, spending two hours describing each stream and other landmark in detail. He rambled on about the queer customs and manners of whites, mimicking them as he spoke, to the delight of the Oglalas. Indian police were poorly paid, he said. Ten dollars a month was not enough.

By the time American Horse finished, the day was spent. In the morning he was ready to go again, and he still hadn't exhausted his supply of irrelevant topics to discuss. He complained of the trickery of some Indian traders, and of agents who
had
stolen their annuities and sold them. He mentioned the evil ways of past land commissioners who had lied to the Tetons. Then he went to great lengths to make it clear that he didn't mean the honorable gentlemen on the present commission. They were all big chiefs, he said, and they spoke with only one tongue. Crook smiled a bit grimly at that.

Billy listened, spellbound, aware that American Horse could talk forever without once mentioning the land sale. As the commissioners stiffly walked away that afternoon, he heard Crook wryly admit, “That rascal is a much better speaker
than
any of us.”

On the third afternoon of American Horse's harangue, Warner reached the breaking point and interrupted the Oglala chief. “I have heard of men being talked to death,” he said, “but I had never put much faith in it. Now I know it's possible, and I hope our friend American Horse will not persist in trying to
kill
us with words.” When the interpreter translated this, the Oglalas laughed and hooted. American Horse smiled and resumed his talk.

At the end of the second week, Crook was obviously impatient.
“I must warn you for the last time,” he said, his bushy beard waving in the afternoon breeze, “not to listen to chiefs who obstruct progress, who still live in the past. We are giving you another chance to sign this agreement before it's too late.”

At that American Horse came forward, followed by Bear Nose, who
had
talked to Crook a few days earlier. The commissioners looked startled to see American Horse, fearing he'd start another endless speech. Instead, he picked up the quill pen and held it toward
Three
Stars. “I will sign this, knowing I have done what you tell us
is
best for our people,” he said. Crook quickly recovered his composure and wrote American Horse's name on the paper while the Oglala chief touched the pen. Bear Nose signed next followed by all the men of American Horse's small True Oglala Band. Billy watched unbelieving. By talking so long it appeared that American Horse had discouraged the commissioners into giving up at Pine Ridge without the
required
number of signatures. Then he surrendered. It was incredible.

When American Horse signed, Little Wound hurried
to
Captain Pollock, who was acting agent. “Allow the people to return to their homes,” he asked. “They need to tend their crops and
to
hunt for their cattle.” Knowing the commission had given up on winning over the Oglalas, Pollock agreed.

While the commissioners walked to their tents, Little Wound confronted American Horse. “Why did you do
that?”
he asked angrily. American Horse rubbed his sharp nose and looked embarrassed.

“Last night
Bear
Nose took me to talk
to
Three
Stars,” he admitted. “He told me that we can sign this paper and sell part of our land, or we can refuse to sign and lose all of it. I don't want that to happen. The
talks
made me so
dizzy
I didn't know what I was doing.”

Except for American Horse's True Oglala Band and some of the young men, few fullbloods had signed. Of the older chiefs, only No Flesh
had
touched the pen. Convinced he was dying, he decided
to
make
a last gesture of friendship to the whites. Most of the signers were squawmen, mixed bloods, and Northern Cheyennes. Less
than
half of the men at Pine Ridge had approved the sale.

After two weeks among the stubborn Oglalas, the commission called its last council, but only a few hundred Indians came. Warner
brusquely told them that half of them had signed; those who refused, he said, had turned their backs on civilization. That didn't
appear to hurt their feelings or make them repent.

Crook arose
to
make
his
last pitch. “You have shown little loyalty to the government,” he said wearily. “Many chiefs promised me they wouldn't talk against the sale, but that isn't enough. They should demonstrate their loyalty by signing to show their people what they should do.” No chief came forward. The commissioners shook their heads and headed for their tents. They left a copy of the agreement with Captian Pollock along with money for putting on feasts for chiefs and their bands whenever they agreed to sign.

Since the agreement required a three-fourths vote for approval, the Oglalas had rejected the sale. Billy was elated. When they learned what the Oglalas had done, other Teton tribes would surely follow their example, he was sure. While the commissioners headed for Lower Brulé and Crow Creek agencies, he returned to Rosebud, feeling more hopeful
than
before.

To keep up with the commission's progress, Culver wrote to traders at the other agencies, and they described what happened. Lower Brulé and Crow Creek, small agencies on the Missouri, were under intense pressure from Dakotans who wanted their fertile land. When Crook promised Iron Nation that if the Lower Brutes lost their land they could move to Rosebud, they quickly accepted. This was a promise he was unable to keep, for when the Lower Brutes lost their land the Rosebud Brulés refused to share their reservation with them. Warner went to Crow Creek Agency, while Foster and Crook headed north.

At Cheyenne River the Indians were solidly against the sale, and so they remained through feasts and dances. Miniconju chief Hump had defied the agent by refusing to disband the Akicita, or tribal soldiers, and he used them to preserve his power. The agent, hoping to gain a measure of control over him, named Hump chief of the Indian police, but that only increased his influence and made him even more independent.

With great difficulty, Crook obtained the signatures of squawmen and mixed bloods, for Hump's tribal soldiers and Indian police broke up several councils to prevent anyone else from signing. Crook sent to nearby Fort Bennett for Major George M. Randall
of the 23rd Infantry. The Miniconjus had reason to remember and fear Randall, and his presence in uniform made them cautious and prevented Hump from going too far.

Ordering the Indians to remain at the agency until enough had signed, and leaving Randall and the agent to collect more signatures, Crook and Foster went on to Standing Rock on July 26.
In
two weeks of heavy pressure, Randall and the agent secured the necessary signatures.

At Standing Rock, Grass immediately informed the commission that the Hunkpapas were
all
opposed to selling any land. There was plenty of land for whites east of the Missouri, he said. Let them settle there. The commission was acting unfairly, he added, by leaving a copy of the agreement with each agent and telling him to get more signatures after the commission had gone on. He had heard that at the other agencies white men and mixed bloods were paid for every signer they brought in.
If
that was fair, then the commissioners didn't need to come at all. They could send copies to each agent and say, “Get it signed.” The Hunkpapas hooted at this. He knew the commissioners were honorable men, Grass concluded, but it was not right to leave copies of the agreement with men the Tetons didn't trust. Crook looked embarrassed.

This time Agent McLaughlin favored the agreement and used his influence to promote it. The commission, employing its usual methods, soon had mixed bloods promoting the sale. To frighten the fullbloods, Foster announced that the commission already had the necessary three-fourths vote from other agencies, so it didn't matter what the Hunkpapas did. That wasn't true, but it convinced many fullbloods that if the agreement was approved and their names weren't on it, they would be denied the benefits that signers would receive. Then McLaughlin privately told Grass that if he and his people failed to sign they would lose their land without compensation. He had no authority to say that, but it probably would have proved true. Grass, who trusted McLaughlin, surrendered.

On August 3, just as the commission was preparing for the Hunkpapas to come forward and sign, Sitting Bull arrived with a large number of warriors and demanded to be allowed to speak. McLaughlin took Grass by the arm and led him to the table to start the signing.

Whooping and shrieking war cries, Sitting Bull's men pushed through the crowd toward the table. McLaughlin
grabbed
the agreement to prevent them from destroying it. The police and others pushed Sitting Bull's men back, while they howled and brandished Winchesters. The signing continued amid pandemonium.

The commission departed a few days later, and soon announced that it had 130 more Sioux votes than required. Few whites questioned its figures or its methods of obtaining the signatures. Only Dr. Bland condemned the commission, charging it with misconduct, fraud, bribery, and intimidation, but no one in the East listened. The Friends of the Indian congratulated the commission on its good work in behalf of the Sioux and the nation. Washington officials were greatly relieved that the Sioux had heeded the advice of their old friend General Crook.

The land agreement negotiations left all of the Tetons dazed and angry, wondering how their united opposition to the sale had been manipulated into a large majority in favor. When they recovered from the shock, non-signers called signers traitors, insisting that as soon as the sale was confirmed their rations would be cut. The signers hotly denied that, pointing to
Three
Stars' assurances.

About the time the commission announced that the agreement had been approved, what the Sioux had
feared
most occurred. Agent Spencer came to Culver, clutching a letter in his hand and looking agitated. “It's from Commissioner Morgan,” he said in a voice that broke. “He says he has discovered some hocus pocus at all the agencies. He says the Sioux have been cheating the government, and he's going to reduce the beef ration here by two million pounds a year. Immediately.”

Culver put down his pipe. “My God,” he said. “They'll starve to death.”

“There's nothing I can do about it,” Spencer said, wringing his hands. “I've got to follow orders.”

“Hollow-Horn-Bear and a lot of others told us this would happen as soon as they got the land,” Billy said. “They could barely wait until the commission got off the Reserve. Three Stars' promises didn't mean much after all.”

“Don't blame Crook for this. It's certainly not his doing. Let's give
him
a chance to straighten it out.”

Billy shook
his
head, while Spencer looked from one to the other,
his mouth opening and closing.
“After what Crook said about Indians, I thought he was our friend,” Billy said. “Then he tricked us out of our land, and now they've cut our rations. Some friend!”

“You'd better explain to the Commissioner in the strongest language that these people don't have enough to eat now,” Culver told Spencer. “Beef is their mainstay, poor as it is. Starve 'em
and
any kind of illness will be fatal.” Spencer left, slapping the letter against his left hand.
He
has
good reason to be upset.
Spencer didn't have to worry for long; on the commission's recommendation, George Wright replaced him as agent that same week.

At the next ration day the Brulés looked shocked at the small amount of beef they received. “Where's the rest?” they wanted to know.

“That's all there
is,”
Wright told them. “I'm sorry. Commissioner's orders.”

The Brulés were outraged at the signers, at the commission, but especially at Crook. “You are fools and dupes,” the non-signers shouted at those who
had
approved the sale. “They're paying you like they always have when we've been foolish enough to do what they want.” The land sale had split the Brulés into hostile camps. The ration cut brought them to the verge of bloodshed.
No matter what they promise, no matter what Crook said
about
treating us fairly, the whites want to destroy us. There's no hope for us. Soon they'll be back for the rest of our
land.

One afternoon a few days later Short Bull came to the trading post with a letter in his hand. He was a small, sharp-faced man who
had
been a famous warrior; at forty-five he was a medicine man and a leader of the nonprogressives. Known for his generosity, he was respected and popular. Like other nonprogressives, he'd always ignored Billy. Now he showed
him
the letter. “You can read it for me?”