The winter of 1875 was a long one for Lieutenant Tom Allred. Garrison life at Fort Lincoln was designed, he suspected, to test a man’s ability to withstand monotony. There had been very little action. The hostiles were holed up in their winter camps. The snows were so heavy and frequent that most of the fighting was confined to an occasional sortie to rescue an isolated settler attacked by some roving band of Indians. For the most part, the garrison simply waited for spring to come. Once in a while, Squint would get so antsy he couldn’t stand it any longer and he would ride out to hunt. Game was hard to find, but he always managed to come up with something, and at least he would get away from the fort for a couple of days. Tom sometimes accompanied him if he wasn’t scheduled for guard mount or some other detail. The conversation on these occasions generally got around to the coming spring and the prospects of a serious Indian war. This inevitably brought up the subject of Little Wolf. Tom was still unsure about his feelings toward a brother who had abandoned his own race and elected to become a savage. Squint reminded him that the boy had little choice. Still Tom found it hard to sympathize with a man who was regarded as one of the most fearsome savages in the territory. He had not merely taken up Indian ways, he had become one of the Cheyennes’ most infamous warriors.
“You got to remember,” Squint said one day when they had stopped by an ice-covered stream to build a fire to warm by while they ate their midday meal. “’bout the only thing Little Wolf remembers ’bout being white is that your folks sold him to a mule skinner.”
“Granted, and he was only nine or ten, but that’s old enough to know that he’s white and that he has a brother and sisters. I can’t understand how he could forget that.”
“From what I can tell, them Injuns that adopted him was mighty kind to him, better’n your folks I expect. They’re the only real family he had.”
Tom wasn’t comfortable with the topic. He shrugged. “Yeah, I expect so. Still, he didn’t have to turn out to be such a damn savage. Hell, Custer’s put a price on his head. I wonder what he’d think if he knew he was my brother?”
Squint grunted. “I doubt he’d think highly of it. I don’t think I’d let on if I was you.”
“I don’t intend to.”
Squint cocked his head to the side and eyed Tom curiously, a thought just occurring to him. “What do you intend to do if you come face to face with Little Wolf in a fight?”
Tom’s face lost all expression, a faraway gaze in his eyes. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” he said. “I guess I’d kill him.”
“Your own brother?”
“A damn Cheyenne,” he retorted. “I’d kill him.”
Squint looked long and hard at his young friend. “You seem mighty damn sure of that.”
“Brother or not, I’m a soldier, and if he’s decided to side with the hostiles, then I guess I have no choice.”
* * *
The spring of ’76 brought an increase in Indian attacks on the stubborn prospectors still holding out in Sioux territory. Scouts brought back reports that more and more Indians were leaving the reservations now that the winter was over and fleeing to join Sitting Bull. There were reports of large concentrations of Cheyenne and Arapaho in the Sioux camp and there was much talk among the warriors of joining Sitting Bull to make a last great stand against the army.
At Fort Lincoln, preparations were being made for a large-scale expedition into the field. Supplies were brought in from the East as well as fresh horses and ammunition. Captain Benteen had Tom drilling the men every day to smooth off the rust that accumulated after a winter in garrison. At last, orders came down, and Benteen passed the word along to Tom. The plans called for a major campaign to settle the Indian problem for good and all, punishing all the tribes that lived along the Yellowstone. General Terry himself was going to lead a thousand men west from Fort Lincoln. This included Colonel Custer’s Seventh Cavalry. The attack would be three-pronged. They would be joined in the campaign by troops from Fort Fetterman in Wyoming under the leadership of General George Crook, who was pretty well known as an old Indian fighter. From Montana, General John Gibbon was leading a force down the Yellowstone to meet them.
It was going to be a long time spent in the field. Squint was undecided until the last minute about whether he wanted to go on another campaign. He didn’t mind the prospect of fighting Indians—it was the long marches that tired him out. Had it not been for Andy’s persistent badgering, he might have chosen to pack his mule and head for Oregon. Peace and quiet were more on his mind of late, and the thought of a rippling mountain stream far back in the quiet mountains with plenty of fish and game was almost too much to resist. But on that frosty spring morning when the troops moved out toward the west, Squint found himself riding the Appaloosa with Joe on a lead line, Andy on one side and Tom on the other. Once again he was going to war.
It was slow going until they reached the Yellowstone. There, General Terry loaded himself and his infantry on a steamboat named the Far West and steamed up the river. Custer’s cavalry was sent overland with orders to scout along the way. This suited Custer just fine. He preferred to be out from under the general’s command, so the Seventh continued west to rendezvous with General Terry at the mouth of the Rosebud River.
The weather was getting warmer as the Seventh made its way westward. There was little sign of hostile activity along the way. Squint and Andy stayed away from the column most of the day, but their scouting resulted in nothing worth noting so the column moved along at a rapid pace. All told, Custer employed about forty scouts, many of them Pawnee and Poncas. Some were civilian like Andy and Squint. Custer liked Andy and he often sent for him to scout out in advance of the column. Squint, on the other hand, wasn’t overly fond of the cocky little colonel whose devoted underlings still insisted on addressing their leader as General Custer, his brevet rank in the War Between the States. He was too vain to suit Squint and vanity wasn’t a quality Squint looked for when picking a man to follow into battle. Consequently, he stayed close to Captain Benteen’s troops and away from the front of the column. This way, he was also close to his friend Tom Allred.
Captain Benteen was a rather astute commander with experience in the field. He knew a good scout when he saw one. He also knew of Squint’s opinion of their commanding officer, an opinion not so distant from his own. So, when scouts were discussed or evaluated, Benteen said very little about Squint, preferring to keep his talents anonymous. The result was a happy situation for all involved, including Custer. Squint cared very little for recognition and none at all for promotion. He was secure in the knowledge that he could take care of himself and that all he owed his employers was an honest day’s work. As far as he was concerned, he worked for Benteen. Let somebody else scout for Custer.
* * *
On a warm afternoon in the latter part of June, Andy rode back to the column at a gallop. He pulled up and wheeled in beside Custer. “General”—Andy was not above a little bootlicking now and then—“the Rosebud is about a mile on the other side of that there rise.” He pointed in the direction of a low line of trees in the distance.
“Did you see any sign of General Terry’s forces?”
“Yessir. They’s there all right, camped on the banks. The steamboat’s there too.”
Custer was irritated. Maybe, Andy thought, he wanted to get to the Rosebud first and he was a little agitated because the boat beat his cavalry. The colonel spoke, “Very good, Coulter,” and dismissed him. To his bugler, he ordered, “My compliments to Major Reno and Captain Benteen.”
“Yessir!” the bugler snapped and was off at a gallop to summon the two battalion commanders.
When Benteen rode off to the head of the column, Tom steered his mount over beside Squint’s Appaloosa. They rode along in silence for a few minutes. Up ahead, Andy was waiting. When they caught up to him, he pulled in beside them.
“Won’t be long before supper,” he said. “The Rosebud’s up ahead.”
“That’s why Custer sent for Captain Benteen, I reckon,” Squint said.
“Yep,” Andy replied. “Maybe General Terry will invite us to take supper with him on that there steamboat.”
Tom and Squint laughed. “He might,” Squint said. “Maybe we should bring a bottle of wine for the occasion.”
They made camp on the banks of the Yellowstone, across from the “walk-a-heaps,” as the Indians called the infantry, and soon the night was dotted with small cook fires. The following day they were allowed to relax while Custer went aboard the Far West to receive his orders from General Terry. Tom took advantage of the opportunity to peel off his uniform and take a bath in the river. Squint joined him, but Andy was satisfied to splash a little water on his face and neck, saying that his buckskins fit him about perfect now. If he took them off and got all wet, they might not go back on as comfortably.
The next morning the regiment was ordered to prepare to march again. The scouts had discovered a large Indian trail that led along the Rosebud. From the looks of it, Squint guessed that maybe an entire village had traveled that way. Custer was ordered to take the Seventh and follow the trail. It was the general consensus among the commanders that the end of the trail would, in all likelihood, be a sizable Indian village, maybe even Sitting Bull’s camp. So, at about noon on the twenty-second of June as recorded in Tom’s diary, the Seventh started out along the Rosebud.
For two days the column followed the trail along the river until it abruptly left the Rosebud, leading west toward the Little Big Horn valley. After a brief rest period, Colonel Custer signaled the troop to move out. Squint, at Andy’s insistence, was scouting far in advance of the column. Andy had a strange feeling in his gut about the trail. For one thing, it was evident that a lot of Indians had passed that way. Add to that the fact that they didn’t seem to care that they were leaving a broad trail to follow. Finally, the trail was leading straight to the Little Big Horn valley where there were reports that Sitting Bull might be encamped. For these reasons, he borrowed Squint from Captain Benteen. He had a feeling he didn’t like about this expedition, and he wanted Squint’s experience and savvy to help him scout.
The two of them rode ahead, keeping a distance of two to three miles between themselves and the column behind. There was a quiet between them that they both felt. Squint couldn’t put his finger on it, but something told him that big trouble waited ahead of them. There was no physical sign. It was more like catching a faint aroma of sulphur just before lightning strikes.
“If I recollect, the Little Big Horn oughta be on the other side of that ridge,” Squint said, as they crossed a little saddle of land with a small stream cutting across it.
“I think you’re right,” Andy agreed. He glanced up at the late afternoon sun, which was sinking lower now. “Looks like maybe that ridge might be a good place to camp for the night. Whaddaya think?”
“Good a place as any. We got time enough to look around a little to make sure.”
When they were satisfied the ridge would provide a safe area to make camp, they rode back to meet the column and advise Colonel Custer of their recommendation for a campsite. The column settled in for the night, pickets were set and orders were given for a cold camp. This brought the usual groans and complaints. The men had ridden hard for two days and a hot meal would have gone a long way toward lifting morale.
* * *
On another river, some distance from Squint and Andy, Little Wolf watched a long blue line of soldiers in the distance, threading its way along the banks of the Tongue River. Their progress was slow due to the walk-a-heaps in the column. There were many mounted soldiers, but they could go no faster than those on foot could walk. This concept of war was puzzling to the Cheyenne. Did the army have so many soldiers but not enough horses? It made no sense to the Cheyenne Dog Soldier to go into battle on foot when a man on a horse could strike with the swiftness of the wind and cover more ground in a day than a man on foot could cover in three. As the column moved closer, Sleeps Standing moved quietly in beside Little Wolf and knelt behind the low bushes that shielded them from the army’s sight.
“There are many soldiers. These must be the soldiers the messenger warned us of, from the south.”
“Yes,” Little Wolf replied. “They follow the river but I don’t believe they know where the great Sioux village is. I think they are just searching for any band of Indians to kill.”
Bloody Claw left his position near the rim of a deep gully and made his way over to them. “There are too many. We are few. We must go back to the village and tell the others. We will need many braves to fight the soldiers.” As he spoke, he looked around him at the thirty or so Cheyenne warriors scattered in ambush, awaiting the soldiers. “We must report the presence of the soldiers to Two Moon.” He looked directly at Little Wolf as though he expected him to question his decision.
It amused Little Wolf that Bloody Claw still felt he was in competition with him for the position of leadership of the small band of Cheyenne warriors. “You are right, Bloody Claw. A battle with that many soldiers would be foolish for the few of us.”
“We must warn Two Moon,” Bloody Claw repeated.
Little Wolf watched the line of soldiers intently for a few minutes longer. Then he spoke again, “Perhaps Bloody Claw would like to give these blue coats a welcome to our hunting grounds before we leave to tell Two Moon.”
Thinking that Little Wolf was challenging his bravery, Bloody Claw quickly responded, “Yes, we can hide ourselves on both sides of the river and ambush them.” He thought for a moment then added, “We will have to send a messenger back to warn Two Moon since the soldiers are so many—they will surely kill us.” His eyes flashed with the fierce intensity of a man willing to give up his life for his people.
“Yes, it is a good day to die but there will be other good days. Would it not be better to kill some of the soldiers and then all of us will go back to warn Two Moon? Then we can return with our brothers and kill more soldiers.”
“You have a plan?”
Little Wolf rose to his feet, still sheltered by the clump of laurel he had crouched behind. He pointed toward the column of soldiers, now close enough that he could see the end of the long line. “Look, see how the horse soldiers and the wagons ride in front of the soldiers on foot? The walk-a-heaps look tired from eating the dust of the horses. If we keep all our warriors on this side of the river and wait until the horse soldiers and the wagons pass, then we could strike the walk-a-heaps from the side, before the horse soldiers at the rear could come to their aid. We will strike swiftly and then be gone before the horse soldiers can react. Then, when we tell Two Moon of the soldiers, we can also tell him that we have spilled blood and counted coup.” He paused while he waited for Bloody Claw’s reaction. “Do you approve?”
Bloody Claw could hardly disapprove unless he could offer a better plan. “Yes, I think it is a good plan. Where do you think we should wait for them?”
Little Wolf looked down toward the river. The ideal place would be at the bend of the river where the steep bluffs would dictate a change of direction away from the river in order to traverse them. Judging from the distance between the cavalry and the infantry, there would be several minutes’ time when the foot soldiers would be out of sight from those ahead. They could do a lot of damage in that several minutes’ span. “There,” he said.
Bloody Claw looked toward the spot pointed out by Little Wolf. “Yes,” he said. “That is the place I would have picked. Come. We must be ready.” He signaled the warriors. Little Wolf turned to go to his horse and found Sleeps Standing smiling at him. As they exchanged glances, Sleeps Standing nodded and winked.
The attack was swift and took the marching soldiers completely by surprise. Bloody Claw’s Cheyennes struck at the belly of the column of infantry, killing several soldiers and wounding many others before the cavalry was aware of the action. Upon Little Wolf’s suggestion, rifles were not used in the initial assault so the first casualties went down before a single shot was heard. When the soldiers began firing in defense, then the Indians used their rifles to return fire. By the time the rear guard galloped up to join the battle, the Cheyennes were already disappearing beyond the bluffs.
When they returned to the village, Bloody Claw and Little Wolf went to the tipi of Two Moon to report their encounter with the army troops. Two Moon listened intently as the two warriors reported the army strength and line of march.
“So it has begun,” Two Moon stated softly when Bloody Claw had finished with his account of the battle. “This is the great war that has been coming for a long time. I think this war will be the one that turns the white man back from our lands forever. Our warriors are ready to fight. We will show the soldiers that we will die before we give another grain of sand to them.” He looked at Little Wolf as he added, “If the soldiers are as many as you say, we will need many warriors to fight them.”
That night, Two Moon sat in council with Crazy Horse, the war chief of their allies, the Sioux. Crazy Horse was inflamed when told of the soldiers marching up the Tongue River. “I will bring my warriors and we will fight the soldiers together. We will flood the river with their blood!” After a long discussion, it was decided to meet the advancing army at the head of the Rosebud where the lay of the land would favor the expert Cheyenne and Dakota horsemen on their fleet and nimble ponies.
The next day was spent in preparation for battle. Little Wolf carefully applied bands of red and black paint on the Medicine Hat pony. In the morning, he would paint his own face with the same colors in the striped design he favored, a pattern that started on the bridge of his nose and ran across his cheeks to the tip of his earlobes. This day he cleaned and oiled his rifle and inspected his bow and arrows to make sure everything was in order. This done, he felt ready to go into battle. He would rest to preserve his strength after he had offered a prayer to Man Above and asked that he should be strong and fight well.
“Come, my friend. We will go to my tipi and rest and eat.” Sleeps Standing placed his arm on Little Wolf’s shoulder. “Perhaps you might sleep apart from Morning Sky tonight. My wife’s sister wishes you would let her keep you warm.”
Little Wolf smiled. He knew Sleeps Standing worried about his physical needs, needs he himself had denied since his wife’s death. “The days are warm. I have felt no need to keep warm at night.”
Sleeps Standing was exasperated. “The summer nights may warm the outside of your body. A man must also warm the inside. This is not good that you deny your body of its needs.”
Little Wolf waved his friend’s protests aside. “Come, we will eat and rest. Do not worry about the inside of my soul.”
After they had eaten the meat and corn cakes that Sleeps Standing’s wife, Lark, and her young sister, Rain Song, had prepared for them, the two warriors sat before the fire and talked for a while. Inside the tipi, the women put away the cooking utensils and prepared the beds for sleeping. The sky had almost shed the last flickers of daylight and soon the camp would be clothed in darkness.
Little Wolf stared into the dying flames of the fire and it made him sad. He remembered sitting in front of Morning Sky’s cook fire as she cleaned up after the meal and prepared their bed for sleep. It had been a long time since she shared his bed and his life but it didn’t seem like that long. Maybe it was because whenever his thoughts were not occupied with fighting or hunting, they were almost always filled with memories of his wife. She was just a girl really, no more than a few years older than Rain Song when she was taken from him. As he thought of her, he could feel the rage building up inside him again, and he could visualize the images of the two murdering buffalo hunters who took her life. Their execution at his hand had not been enough to satisfy his desire for revenge. No matter how many raids he made against the white man, nothing seemed to dull the fire that burned to punish them for the wrongs committed against him and those he loved. Then his thoughts turned to the cavalry officer who had spared Morning Sky’s life and whom he, in turn, had spared on the riverbank that day. Squint Peterson claimed the lieutenant was his brother Tom. Maybe it was true. The memory of his brother was no more than a foggy image of a child. Try as he might, he could not bring the child’s face into focus. The thought of having a brother in the other world, before Spotted Pony adopted him, troubled his mind. He was glad that the soldiers he would fight the next day were coming from a fort in the south and not from Fort Lincoln. He would not have to worry about coming face to face with the officer tomorrow.
“It is time to sleep,” Sleeps Standing announced and stood up. Little Wolf got to his feet also and the two friends walked to the edge of the clearing to empty their bladders before retiring. When they returned to the tipi, the women had spread the soft buffalo robes along the perimeter of the tipi, Sleeps Standing and Lark’s on one side and two separate robes on the other side, as usual.
Sleeps Standing pulled his buckskins off and crawled in beside his wife. They whispered softly to each other and Little Wolf heard a soft giggle from Lark. Her sister was already in her bed. Little Wolf made himself comfortable and turned his back on his friend and his wife as a courtesy to them. He felt a sadness on this night, more so than usual, and he felt his loneliness. Soon, however, he drifted off to sleep.
Deep in sleep, he felt Morning Sky come to him. He could feel the warmth of her young body as she slipped gracefully under the light fur cover of his bed and pressed close up against his back. He turned to face her and she came eagerly into his arms. He felt the smooth curves of her back and hips and he could feel the surge of fire ignited deep within him. He pulled her close to him, pressing the length of her body tight against his until it seemed her body melted into his. She kissed his neck and chest and he could smell the smoke of the cook fire in her hair. Suddenly he stiffened. This was not a dream! It was not Morning Sky but Rain Song who had come to him in the darkness of the tipi. Rain Song, feeling his hesitation, sensed the cause of it.
“Please, let me love you,” she whispered. Had it not been dark, he would have noticed the tears in her eyes. “Please, tomorrow you go into battle. Let me love you tonight.”
The thought flashed through his mind that this was wrong. But it was extinguished in an instant, overpowered by the stronger flame of desire. He pulled her to him again and they became as one. There were a few moments of awkwardness, since this was her first time, but he was patient and gentle in his passion, and they soon found fulfillment in each other’s arms. Before the sun rose, she slipped quietly from his bed and returned to her own.
* * *
The Medicine Hat fairly danced in the bright sunlight of the morning. Little Wolf had to hold the pony hard as the combined forces of Two Moon’s Cheyennes and Crazy Horse’s Lakotas rode out to meet the advancing soldiers. Riders and horses were painted for war and the blood was running high for the prospect of battle. It was a little more than a half day’s ride to the place where they would wait for the blue coats and the young braves were anxious, darting about the line of riders like honeybees. Little Wolf and Sleeps Standing, having fought many times before, rode patiently behind Two Moon. They would contain their excitement until the time it was needed. In the meantime they rode side by side, silent for a long while because Little Wolf was deep in thought. Finally he broke the silence.
“My friend, I feel I have brought shame to your tipi.”
Sleeps Standing smiled for he knew what was troubling his friend. “Do not speak of shame. I do not care to hear any confessions today. Today is a day of honor. We will talk of shame and other things tomorrow.”
“No. I must tell you this now. Who can say who will be here tomorrow to talk of these things.”
“I know what troubles you. Rain Song came to your bed last night.” He laughed as he added, “I know this because I told her to.”
“You sent her?” Little Wolf was appalled. “But I violated her. She was a virgin and I have shamed you for she is in your care.”
“You bring nothing but honor to my tipi.” Sleeps Standing was more than a little amused at the genuine contriteness of his friend. “It is time for you to take another wife and Rain Song is a strong young girl. She will be good for you.” He grinned widely at Little Wolf, who was evidently too stunned to reply. “Besides, if I wait for you to do something, she may be too old to give you sons.”
Little Wolf’s brain was under assault by the many confused thoughts this shocking turn of events had loosed. He didn’t trust himself to speak for a long time until he had sorted some of his own feelings out. “I do not want a wife,” he finally pronounced although with some hint of doubt in his tone.
“You need a wife and now you have found one. Cheer up. Now we will be more than friends. We will be brothers!”
Little Wolf did not appreciate the humor Sleeps Standing found in the situation. He felt he had been tricked. He let the matter go for the moment but they would talk more on the subject after the battle.
Once in place, they waited. Two Moon sent Little Wolf and Sleeps Standing downriver to scout with a small party of Dakota braves. They were to establish a position several miles distant and wait there for the soldiers to appear. Once they spotted the advancing troops, they were to ride back and alert the main body of warriors.
Their vigil was not a lengthy one, for the advanced scout for the cavalry came into view within an hour after they had tethered their horses and began their wait. The Sioux scouts rode back to tell the others to get ready while Little Wolf and Sleeps Standing stayed long enough to make sure the column was intact and had not split forces. It would not do for their warriors to set up an ambush only to find that half of the troops had detoured and attacked them from another direction. The advance guard was within five hundred yards of the two Cheyenne warriors when they slipped along the river and spurred their ponies back to their waiting comrades.
* * *
Little Wolf watched as the army scout reined his horse to a halt and sat looking around him, first to the left and then back to the right. A Shoshone, Little Wolf thought. He should be fighting the soldiers instead of helping them. The Shoshone took his time, trying to see everything in the area around him. He sniffed the air as if trying to pick up a scent. Then he walked his horse slowly down to the water’s edge and sat looking at the river for a long time. There was nothing to be heard but the distant cry of a lone hawk and the rustle of a slight breeze in the treetops along the riverbank. In a short time the first line of soldiers appeared, in a column of twos, their horses at a walk. The scout signaled to them to come ahead and he pushed his horse into the river and started across. Little Wolf slid back further into the bushes and waited. As he had guessed, the scout’s path would bring him to pass within a few feet of the bushes he hid behind. He waited until the scout had passed his hiding place and then, like a great cat, he sprang to his feet and, running as fast as he could, hurled himself upon the scout’s horse behind the unsuspecting Shoshone. The scout never had a chance to utter more than a hoarse grunt as Little Wolf’s hand clamped tight over his mouth while the other hand slit his throat. He let the dead man slide to the ground. A young Sioux brave was there at once to roll the body out of sight. Little Wolf jumped to the ground and handed the reins to the young Sioux who quickly led the horse down behind the bluffs where their own horses were being watched by the boys of the tribe.
As the first soldiers splashed across the shallow river, Little Wolf ran, crouching to keep from being seen, along the ridge of the bluff to a position beside his friend Sleeps Standing. On either side of them, the Cheyenne warriors of Two Moon lined the ridge, waiting for the soldiers to cross the river. On the other side of the crossing, Crazy Horse’s Lakotas lay in wait. The first of the column had reached dry land when Crazy Horse stood up and screamed his war cry. It was followed immediately by the sound of the riverbanks exploding in a hail of gunfire. The forward troopers were cut down, some as they tried to retreat to the river, their horses screaming as they were hit by the rifle slugs, sending them tumbling headlong and sliding along the sandy shore. The blue coats caught in the middle of the river struggled to control their hysterical mounts while trying to draw and fire their carbines.
Little Wolf fired again and again until his rifle jammed and he was forced to put it aside and use his bow. By this time, the troopers had managed to withdraw and fall back to a low bluff on the far side of the river where they established a defensive position. From there they returned fire and, after the initial minutes of the battle, effected a stand-off with the combined Indian forces. There were many soldiers and they attempted to re-form and advance upon the Indians. But on this day, the Indians were as great in number as their enemy, and each advance was met with such resistance that the army was finally forced to fall back along the way they had come in order to regroup.
When the soldiers pulled back, Crazy Horse again stood up on the top of the ridge and raised his war whoop. This time his cry was followed by the yells and whoops of his excited warriors and they shouted insults after the retreating troopers. Even though neither side had conquered the other, this day was clearly won by the Cheyenne and the Sioux. They had stopped the invasion of the troops from Fort Fetterman. Feeling victorious, they returned to their villages on the Little Big Horn. There would be singing and dancing that night.