Thunder Rolling in the Mountains (8 page)

T
HERE WAS ICE
on the ground and the wind blew hard. We suffered from the cold. The people wanted to rest. The old people said their bones were sore from so many days in the saddle. They wanted to rest beside a warm fire. The women said their children needed sleep. Their eyes were hollow and their gaze was dim. There was no joy in the camp.

Lean Elk stopped the march early. Once more the chiefs met. Their voices grew loud.

"We must keep going," said Lean Elk. "When we cross the Bear Paw Mountains we will come to the Old Lady's country. In three suns I will take us to Sitting Bull."

"We are tired," said Looking Glass. "The old cannot travel at this pace. The children weep with weariness. We have beans and flour. We are in buffalo country. If we travel slow, our young men can kill buffalo."

White Bird got to his feet. "Looking Glass speaks foolish words," he said. "Until we leave this country, we are hunted by Blue Coats."

But White Bird was the only chief who sided with Lean Elk.

Chief Joseph looked around the circle. He looked deep into the eyes of the chiefs. He looked into his heart. "I fear for the lives of the old people," he said. "And I fear for us all. If we go fast, our ponies may wear out. Their hoofs are tender and some limp. If we go slow, we may be caught by the Blue Coats."

"Do not worry about the Blue Coats," said Too-hul-hul-sote. His hand cut the air to show his contempt for the soldiers. "They are at least two days behind us. We can travel slow and stay ahead of them."

"Lean Elk is no chief for us," said Looking Glass. He stood tall and proud. His black hat trimmed with otter fur made him loom over the seated chiefs. "A chief does not wear out his people. A chief does not wear out his horses. Lean Elk should lead us no longer."

Lean Elk stared hard at Looking Glass. His eyes were coals of hot fire. "All right, Looking Glass," he said. "You can lead. I am trying to save the people. You take command. But I think we will be caught and killed."

He walked away from the chiefs and stood alone, a
silent figure in the gathering dark. He stared at the distant Bear Paw Mountains.

Looking Glass led us on short marches toward the star that never moves. We started after the sun rose and stopped before it left the sky. The people no longer muttered.

After four suns we crossed the Bear Paw Mountains. We were close to the lands of Sitting Bull. We traveled through a barren valley with no trees. Sagebrush grew here, but the long grass had frozen and was brown. It bent in the cold wind.

We had been riding for a short while when Swan Necklace came back from the trail ahead. He said that the scouts had killed buffalo. The meat waited for us in a cove beside a stream. The sun was overhead when we reached the grasslands where the meat lay. Looking Glass said we would rest here until morning.

Lean Elk said that we must keep on. This was a bad place to camp. Soldiers could sweep down on us from either side. But Looking Glass said our horses needed more rest. We would stay.

He had chosen a cold place. The wind from the Old Lady's country swept across the land, turning our bones to ice. We had no tipis because we had left all our poles at Big Hole. The children huddled in deep ravines beside the creek while we made shelters with buffalo skins and canvas.

There was no wood but many buffalo chips lay on the ground. They burned well. Soon fires blazed across the camp. We ate roasted buffalo until we could hold no more.

Around the warm fires people said what a good leader Looking Glass was. In less than two suns we would be safe with Sitting Bull. Looking Glass had been right to march slow.

It was a clear cold night. The wind blew hard and the brush stirred along the creek. Many chose to spend the night in the gullies, which were as deep as a standing man.

Swan Necklace walked with me beside the creek. Buffalo robes wrapped us together against the cold. His arm was around my shoulder.

"Do not look so sad," he said. "Soon we will be safe. Then my father will let the marriage go forward."

"When you finish our marriage blanket," I said. It seemed strange to be talking about something besides the Blue Coats behind us.

"That will be soon," he said. He pressed me to him. "I will gather colored earth from the Old Lady's land. It will be a beautiful blanket. We will sleep beneath it in our own tipi."

The words were like honey to my ears, yet I was not at peace. I feared that Lean Elk was right.

A misshapen moon streaked with red rode low in the eastern sky. I wondered if the ugly moon was a warning from the Great Spirit. Was it blood I saw on the rising moon?

That night I lay awake worrying about the soldiers. I heard the ponies moving about. They were restless. I was restless, too. I trembled at the thought of what the morning might bring.

T
HE MORNING AIR
was cold with a hint of snow. Clouds gathered in the sky. We began to pack our things. Some people sat by their fires. They chewed on buffalo meat from last night's feast. Bending Willow was in the arms of Deer Woman, having her morning milk. Children played games beside the stream with sticks and balls of mud. We were happy with the thought that in two suns we would be in safe country.

Scouts rode into camp, their braids flying behind them. "Buffalo!" they shouted. "Stampeding buffalo!"

Only one thing would stampede the buffalo: Blue Coats. The soldiers were near. I hurried but my fingers would not obey me. The knots in the rawhide that held the skin shelter remained fast.

"Do not hurry!" said a voice. Looking Glass rode by our shelter. He went from one end of the camp to the other, saying, "Go slow! We have much time."

I slowed down. My fingers began to work again.

A short while later I heard a shriek.

It came from young Joseph, who was across the stream. He pointed at a bluff behind us. There, outlined against the morning sky, sat a warrior on a spotted horse. On his head was a war bonnet of eagle feathers. It was a Cheyenne who scouted for the Blue Coats.

Young Joseph splashed through the icy water. He came out of the stream with his teeth chattering. He had lost his moccasins and wore only a shirt. I wrapped him in a buffalo robe with pushed him into a gulch.

The sound of galloping horses grew loud. All the Blue Coats in the world must have been on the other side of the rise. I looked up to see soldiers riding down upon us, Blue Coats on horses spread out in two wide wings that circled the camp. They were led by Cheyenne scouts.

People were running in every direction.

My father ran toward the herd. "The horses," he called. "Save the horses."

Warriors grabbed their rifles and got into gullies and behind rocks. Hoof beats and gunfire made it hard to hear.

Through the line of Blue Coats stampeded our horses, their eyes wild, their manes streaming. My father rode with them. He had no gun, no bow. There
were white soldiers on every side of him. I held my breath. With a burst of speed he reached us and jumped from his horse. Blood coursed down the side of his horse, but it was not the blood of my father. His guardian spirit rode with him.

Chief Joseph caught a pony as it raced by. Handing me the reins, he said, "Flee, daughter. Ride to the north. Go to Sitting Bull."

He ran to help others.

I stood with the reins in my hand. Bullets flew around me. I looked for Deer Woman, but she was not there. I looked into the gully. Young Joseph crouched at the bottom. Beside him knelt a women who was great with child.

I motioned for them to climb out. "Here," I said. "Ride for Sitting Bull. Now!"

Young Joseph pushed the woman on the horse and climbed up behind her. I slapped the pony and it bolted off.

I saw many people grabbing horses and riding away. A woman rode by on a gray horse. A Cheyenne rode up, hoofs pounding, and grabbed her bridle. He fired his pistol. The bullet struck her in the back and she fell to the ground.

Caught in a rain of bullets, horses screamed and died. I looked around for another pony, but the horses had gone. I was trapped.

I leaped into the gully. Bullets passed over my
head. I could not look out. I hoped that Bending Willow and Deer Woman were safe.

I heard war cries and gunfire above me. The war whoops of our warriors mingled with the shouts of the white soldiers. Then the fighting moved away.

A warrior rolled over the edge and into the gully beside me. He landed heavily in the dirt. It was Swan Necklace. Blood covered his left arm. He had a gun in each hand.

"Keep them loaded," he said. He tossed me one of the guns and a pouch of bullets. "We have pushed the Blue Coats out of our camp. Now we will fight to the death."

All that day we fought pinned in the gully. The Blue Coats fired at us from behind rocks. Some shot from behind their dead horses. We were too busy to talk but our eyes spoke for us.

When the shadows fell, the firing died away. Now and again a lone rifle barked. Without the sun the air grew even colder. Some of us were wrapped in robes, but like Swan Necklace, our warriors were stripped for battle. They fought without leggings. They had no shirts and most had no moccasins. Wearing only breechcloths, they shivered in the cold.

Snow fell silently over the land. In the gathering darkness I peered over the edge of the gully and saw bodies strewn across the plain. Children cried with cold and fear and pain.

People began to crawl across the ground, keeping flat so the soldiers would not see them. Warriors came in from the rocks and hollows. They brought news. The news was not good.

Many were dead. Three of our dead were women, and the rest were warriors. Some of our greatest warriors would fight no more. Brave Ollokot, my uncle, was dead. He had fought from behind a rock, where he had killed many Blue Coats. But when he rose to fire his rifle, he was struck in the forehead. Too-hul-hul-sote was dead. His body lay on the field in front of the Blue Coats, where we could not retrieve it. Lone Bird was dead. Lean Elk was dead. These last two deaths were bitter, because the bullets that killed them did not come from the Blue Coats but from our own warriors who mistook them for Cheyenne scouts.

We buried our dead, those we could reach. As we did at Big Hole, we dug shallow graves in the sides of the gullies. There was no time for a proper burial. We shoved them into the holes and covered them with earth.

We had plenty of buffalo chips but did not start fires. The light would give the Blue Coats an easy target. We shared cold buffalo and cakes of camas root. I did not eat, nor did most of the other women. We gave the food to the children first, then to the warriors.

We had gone all day without water. Two by two,
we crawled to the stream. We tied buffalo horn cups to rawhide and let them down into the water. When it was my turn I gulped the icy water. It was sweeter than honey to my dry throat.

No one slept that night. With camas hooks and knives we dug deep trenches to shelter our people. Above the trenches, on the low bluffs, we dug shallow rifle pits for the warriors. We used pans to throw the dirt out of the holes we dug. As I dug with my camas hook I wondered if we would ever be safe.

M
ORNING CAME
but the sun hid its face. The cold wind was thick with falling snow. Between our camp and the soldiers the snow was so deep that I could not make out the bodies that littered the frozen ground.

With first light the shooting began. Soon the air was filled with smoke from rifles and I could no longer see the falling snowflakes. Through the mist I saw flashes of guns.

That day while the warriors fought, we dug tunnels in the damp earth with our knives and camas hooks. By nightfall we could scoot on our stomachs from one sheltering gully to the next.

I crept through the tunnels until I found Deer Woman. She and Bending Willow were safe. I swept Bending Willow in my arms and held her close. She waved her small fists and gurgled with laughter. My sister had been on this earth for four moons. I thought that she might not live to see another moon.

I gave Deer Woman the buffalo meat I had not eaten. She needed food to make milk for my sister.

That night I stayed in the gully with Deer Woman and Bending Willow. We sat with our backs against the dirt wall. Our hearts were heavy and we talked little.

I slept briefly, but mostly I thought of our beautiful valley, of its blue lake and its wandering streams, its mountain peaks and sheltering valleys, its tall trees and green meadows. I thought I would never see it again.

When the sky grew light the battle began anew. By now those who could escape had reached Sitting Bull. Word passed through the tunnels that he would surely send a war party of Sioux to help us. If help did not come soon, we would be beaten. Our warriors were careful to shoot only when they saw a careless Blue Coat, but our bullets would not last forever.

The rifle fire from the soldiers died away. It became a war of sharpshooters. But the soldiers' big cannon spoke all day. It threw bursting shells into the air. Pieces of metal rained down on us and we held buffalo hides above our heads to keep them off.

Some time after midday the soldiers stopped firing the cannon. A great quiet spread over the plain.

I heard shouts and climbed onto a heap of buffalo skins so I could look over the edge of the gully. The snow had stopped and I could see across the plain. My heart caught in my throat. A white flag waved above
the camp of the Blue Coats. It was the sign for truce.

A voice called, "Colonel Miles wants to see Joseph."

My father did not trust the soldiers. He sent Tom Hill, a Ne-mee-poo who could speak the white man's words, to talk with the Blue Coats.

Before the sun had crept the width of a lodge pole, Tom Hill called for my father. The colonel would meet Joseph in the space between the two camps.

My father left his rifle pit. With two warriors he walked toward the soldiers' camp. Several Blue Coats walked toward him. General Howard was not with them. One of the officers had silver birds on his shoulder. It was Colonel Miles. Tom Hill walked beside him.