Four

One fact of life for the Lakota was movement. Clouds, wind, the buffalo—all were in constant motion. Winter, spring, summer, and autumn also lived a never-ending cycle. Life itself moved from infancy, to childhood, to adulthood, and to old age, and all the various layers of life also had a beginning, and an ending.

Like most Lakota boys approaching the age of twelve, Light Hair was a proficient hunter. The game trails and seasonal migration habits of white tail and black tail deer and elk in every region in which the Hunkpatila people pitched their lodges—from the Black Hills to the Powder River country—were common knowledge. Like all hunters, Light Hair learned to sit motionless in a driftwood blind along a creek for the better part of an afternoon waiting for a white tail to move within the effective killing range of his bow, which was as far as he could throw a stone with all his might. He knew to cut the jugular in the animal’s neck and the femoral arteries on either side of the back legs so that the warm carcass would bleed out profusely and so that the fresh meat wouldn’t spoil.

His skill with the bow was approaching the expert level. More than a few grasshoppers on the fly fell to the deadly flick of his arrows. Though he was not much larger than he was at the age of ten, there was the confidence of a man in the way he handled a weapon and in the manner in which his eyes appraised everything around him. More and more there was the stillness of a deep pool. If the taunts of other boys about his light hair touched a nerve, he didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Perhaps it was this characteristic that drew a thin, gangly boy to him, a boy with dark, inquisitive eyes.

Lone Bear and Light Hair became close friends and shared the usual activities of boyhood. They ranged far beyond the encampment in pursuit of adventures small and large as they yearned for the excitement they knew was waiting for them as young men. On their horses they patrolled the perimeters of the camp or hid among rocks on a hilltop to watch for enemies, wishing, almost hoping, that one would appear so they could be the first to spread the alarm, or charge forward to meet the threat.

When no enemies came, they resorted to games like the one called Knocking-Them-Off-the-Horses. Armed with thin willow or driftwood rods and sitting astride their horses, they faced one another, looking for the right opening to poke the opponent hard enough to force him off the horse. More often than not it was Lone Bear who fell to the ground. When they tired of that they would practice the wounded-man-drag. They fell from their horses pretending to be wounded, a long rope attached loosely around their chests and the other end around the horses’ necks. The horse was expected to drag the “wounded man” to safety. Sometimes the horses cooperated and other times they were more interested in grazing in a particularly lush patch of grass.

But their favorite game was imitating a buffalo chase. First one, then the other, would be the “buffalo” and gallop away on his horse from the “hunter” who approached from the right side at a full gallop, a blunt arrow held to the bow string and aimed at the running buffalo. Even in the absence of a real herd thundering across the prairie, the game did present some of the real dangers of a buffalo chase. Uneven ground, unexpected obstacles, or a horse swerving unexpectedly could cause both riders to lose balance and fall. Of course, one tumble from a galloping horse was often enough to motivate the rider to keep his seat the next time, no matter what. Skinned elbows, knees, and faces, not to mention a roll through a cactus patch, were the wounds that turned playful boys into earnest men one game and one small adventure at a time.

There were, of course, other amusements that were not as dangerous. Light Hair and Lone Bear often passed most of a quiet summer afternoon reclining on a grassy slope observing the land and the sky. Such episodes of seeming inactivity had purpose, however, because they provided intimate contact with everything around them that could be detected by any of their senses. It was this kind of connection that enabled a being like the wolf to become part of the land, not simply live on it. While boys didn’t have the wolf’s unimaginably keen sense of sight, smell, and hearing, they nevertheless like the wolf learned to connect with the land. That connection would make them skillful hunters and dangerous warriors. While the dangerous games were the substance of the preparation for the trials that lay ahead of them as the hunters and warriors they would be, moments of quiet introspection and observation would help them to understand why.

Other groups of boys were learning by playing as well, but Light Hair and Lone Bear seemed to be a particularly odd pairing. Lone Bear, with his glistening black hair and dark brown complexion, was the total opposite of Light Hair, with his light brown hair and fair complexion. The others didn’t understand that the remarks and the teasing they hurled at the pair were helping to solidify a friendship that would be ended only by death.

One of those who tried to be especially hurtful with his words was a soft-handed, always ceremoniously dressed boy who was given the name Pretty One by an uncle unhappy with the boy’s bent for fancy clothes. Pretty One was of an influential family with a father skilled in oratory and accomplished as a leader. The boy was certainly aware of his family’s status in the community and it was from that lofty perch, which he somehow perceived as based on his own merits, that he hurled verbal barbs at Light Hair and Lone Bear. Little did the two friends know that the immaculately dressed boy would always be like a bothersome pebble beneath their moccasin soles.

But if Pretty One would be a growing problem, so would a place they had yet to see, a place called Fort Laramie. Lone Bear listened intently as Light Hair described the day he rode with High Back Bone to see for themselves the wagons traveling west along the Shell River. Many of those wagons stopped at Fort Laramie, it was said, and many Lakota were curious about them. There was talk among the old men, many of them suggesting that a closer look at what was happening at Fort Laramie might be wise, and to learn why the Long Knife peace talkers had sent out a call to meet with the Lakota, and others.

So the encampment moved further south.² For anyone who had never seen a white man, there was a strange anticipation, much like wanting a closer look at a rattlesnake but knowing there could be some danger involved. What were they like, many thought, these people living in wagons?

Fort Laramie was several large buildings and a trading post near the Shell River. Soldiers in blue clothing were everywhere, some carrying the long knives. It was clear that the Long Knives were fond of the strange shape of the square—the wagons were of a similar shape—but the more astonishing fact was the number of whites.

Lone Bear and Light Hair rode to a slight rise north of the fort, warned by Crazy Horse and High Back Bone not to go nearer. But it was a good enough vantage point to see the buildings and the surrounding area. A wide trail led to the fort from the southeast and away to the west. On either side of the main area of activity, which was among the light-colored buildings, and along the trail were what they could only assume were abandoned wagons. They resembled skeletons, most of them stripped down to the frames.

Whites were everywhere, along with their horses, mules, oxen, and cattle. The occasional barking of dogs reached the boys’ ears. South of the buildings they could see the tops of several Lakota lodges. A few Lakota stayed near the fort from the days before the soldiers had taken over, in the days when it was only a trading town. Now, the rumors were, the soldiers had come to protect the travelers along the Shell River trail. They were afraid of the Lakota and the Blue Clouds to the south and the Snakes further to the west. Perhaps that was the reason the Long Knives wanted to meet and talk. The call had gone out as well, it was said, to some who were enemies of the Lakota, such as the Crow and the Blackfeet. Light Hair and Lone Bear sat on their horses and watched the town of white men busy with whatever was part of their everyday lives. The old men were hoping that the whites would keep going west. There was nothing wrong with trading, they said. They had tobacco and coffee and other good items, like butcher knives. Some old Lakota said the good things made by the white men were one thing, but the white men themselves were questionable.

Light Hair and Lone Bear stayed on the hill until the sun sank low and sent shadows from the rolling hills across the gullies and meadows. As the days passed, they grew tired of watching the whites, and there was more talk of the Long Knives’ call for a great “peace” meeting. Peace talks when there was really no war seemed more than a little suspicious to many of the old Lakota who were children when the whites were only occasionally passing through, sometimes lost. Since then their numbers had grown steadily and a man needed only to spend a summer afternoon watching the Shell River trail to feel a cold fear in his belly from the sheer numbers of people traveling west. What if, some asked, they decided to stay?

Lone Bear and Light Hair liked to lie next to the rolled-up sides of the council lodge to listen to the old men talk the evenings away, sometimes far into the night. If there was to be talk with the whites, the Lakota had to make certain their concerns about the wagons on the Shell River trail were heard, some said. Others were more insistent. The whites had to leave, give up Fort Laramie, and stay off the Shell River trail.

The trail had quickly become marked by deep side-by-side ruts from the iron-rimmed wheels of the wagons. Strange-looking, strange-shaped items of wood and some of iron had been discarded along the way, according to some eyewitnesses—not to mention the rotting animal carcasses, and some human graves, too. Something had to be done before the land was killed for good.

When the wagons first began to appear on the trail, they, and the whites in them, were regarded as little more than a curious occurrence. At first, there had been trading of small items such as knives, plugs of tobacco, and cloth. Both sides were understandably nervous and cautious, but there had been no outright conflicts. But when a few Lakota demanded payment to let the wagons pass, the whites’ nervousness turned into fear. And fear always clouded good sense. An old man reminded everyone about the incident when a few outriders from the wagons had opened fire on a few Lakota boys who had wandered closer to have a better look. One of the boys had been killed. Now the Long Knives at Fort Laramie were saying the wagons had to be protected. The Lakota had to allow safe passage or the soldiers would punish any who harmed any person or animal traveling with the wagons. They started the trouble, some of the old men complained, and they threaten us because of it.

But there was another consequence just as troublesome. Because of the yearly human travel along the trail, the seasonal movement of buffalo herds was changing. Buffalo scouts reported that many of the herds no longer grazed in the Shell River floodplain because the grass was trampled or cropped down by the oxen, mules, and horses of the wagon trains. And for two or three springs, though the rains had been good, the grasses didn’t grow as thick along the wagon trails.

Movement was nothing new to the Lakota; it was a constant part of life. Such a thing was normal and reassuring. But not all movement was understandable, or welcome. The buffalo moving away from the Shell River trail was disturbing. These things the old men talked about in the council lodges in the Lakota encampments, and many people, young and old, stayed near to listen. There were no ready answers. Perhaps, one or two would suggest, the buffalo had the answer. Perhaps it was wise to move away from the trail until the wagons stopped coming altogether. The trouble with that, some replied, was that when one thing moved away from a place, something else often moved in.

The consensus that rose like acrid smoke from the council lodges was to listen to what the Long Knife “peace” talkers would have to say.