Twenty, The Journey of Crazy Horse

Dust from hundreds of unshod hooves floated up in small swirls to form a choking brown cloud, partially obscuring the riders in the middle and rear of the disorderly mob of sixty or more. Lakota horsemen were nothing new among the rolling hills near the headwaters of the White Earth River. They rode into the hot, late summer afternoon, a procession of horses and stern-faced riders pushed along by circumstances beyond their control and hiding a dark purpose inside the dust.

Nearly a day’s ride to the south was the Running Water. Four or five days’ ride to the east stood the sharply rolling sand hills. This awareness of such familiar landmarks in Lakota territory was of no concern, however, to the mob. If the man at the center of the lead riders had any thoughts not connected to the heaviness of the moment, he gave no indication. His face, burned brown by the sun, appeared more relaxed than those around him, his light-brown hair unbound. His dark eyes were alert and intense, however. Most of the brown-faced, braided men riding near him wore the dark blue uniform coat of the Long Knives, and were armed with rifles and pistols.

Men and horses on either side hemmed in Crazy Horse solidly. On the opposite side rode Touch the Clouds. Directly ahead was Fast Thunder, who had pleaded with him to go back to Camp Robinson and speak to Randall, the man in charge who would listen and speak for Three Stars. Riding in a wagon were Swift Bear, Black Crow, and High Bear. They didn’t have the same feelings about Randall or Three Stars, but couldn’t talk Crazy Horse into staying away. There was nothing else that could be done. After he left Spotted Tail’s agency, the blue-coated riders had met him on the trail and he immediately knew they had been sent to bring him back to Camp Robinson. No one but Three Stars could have given that order.

The mob all around him was expecting trouble from him. The one man to depend on if any trouble started was Touch the Clouds. Swift Bear, Black Crow, and High Bear had sometimes sided with Spotted Tail against him. It was useless to think of fighting because even if they were all on his side they numbered less than the fingers of a hand. What could a handful do against sixty or more? They would be no more than leaves in a flash flood. Nearby was a man who wanted to be his friend, Lieutenant Lee. Next to him was the speaks-white, Louie Bordeaux, the son of old Jim, but perhaps not so trustworthy as his father had been.

To the west far beyond the sandstone bluffs on the edge of the pine-choked ridges waited the Powder River country and the Shining Mountains. Nearly four months had passed since the Crazy Horse people had arrived at Camp Robinson, 900 people in all, with over 1,500 horses. The soldiers had taken their horses first, and then their guns, and then their hope. In four months, the promise of an agency of their own in the north had turned into an impossible dream. He blamed himself partly because he could do nothing. Perhaps if he had learned to be an agency Lakota and put on the defeated smile in the presence of Three Stars and the other soldier leaders, none of this would be happening.

But the soldiers were not the only ones to cause the turmoil of the past four months. The finger of blame could be pointed at many Lakota as well. In fact, they were mostly to blame. The white agents and the army officers fanned the flames of jealousy and let little minds that could not think beyond the moment, and little men, who yearned for recognition and power, do the rest. There was no other way to look at it. In the end, the Lakota defeated themselves. They had the whites outnumbered and out-manned and did nothing. The entire garrison could have been overrun by enough determined Lakota fighting men with a good plan, if they truly wanted to return to living the old way in control of their lands and their lives. Instead, men stepped over each other to betray their own relatives in order to obtain the power handed out by the whites, a power they couldn’t get on their own.

So the disorderly mob of horsemen rode on, and soon the outer buildings of Camp Robinson could be seen. A large group of riders approached, one galloping ahead of the others over a low, grassy rise. It was He Dog. Ignoring dozens of threatening glances, he pushed his way through the front line of riders and took up a position beside Crazy Horse.

Black Shawl was with his father and mother in the Spotted Tail camp, and she would be safe there from whatever trouble might happen at Robinson. Crazy Horse had taken her there the day before. The coughing sickness had weakened her, but the medicine from the post infirmary seemed to be helping. She let herself be taken into the lodge of Worm, who had chosen to be with his wife’s Sicangu relatives.

Black Shawl was one reason Crazy Horse had gone to the Spotted Tail camp, but he had also hoped his uncle could help put an end to this foolishness of lies that turned friends against one another. For a time, He Dog had turned away from him and Young Man Afraid was still angry. Crazy Horse had no intention of accepting the power held out to him by the whites, because he didn’t want Spotted Tail pushed aside as headman of his own agency. But he did want his uncle to speak for him, to use his influence with the whites, especially Three Stars, to convince them that he only wanted to live in peace. But the lies had gotten to Spotted Tail as well, it would seem. Instead of reassurances he threw down scolding words.

A buffalo hunt had been promised. But there had been no hunt and Crazy Horse understood why. First, someone with more power than Three Stars had to say that the Lakota could go chasing buffalo. If given the opportunity, Three Stars reasoned, the hunters would keep going, perhaps all the way to Grandmother’s Land to join Sitting Bull. Added to that, some among the Lakota complained to Three Stars that if Crazy Horse and his young men were allowed to hunt buffalo, then everyone must be allowed. And it was a Lakota who warned that it was dangerous to put guns in the hands of Crazy Horse.

The unorganized procession came to the edge of Camp Robinson. Hundreds of Lakota were waiting, watching the riders approach. He Dog glanced nervously at Crazy Horse. The sun was near the western horizon and sending the shadows long and deep across the town.

Crazy Horse knew that the trouble started long before he had selected a place along Cottonwood Creek for his camp, a short ride from Camp Robinson. It started when someone, perhaps Three Stars, told both Spotted Tail and Red Cloud that bringing in the last band of “wild” Indians would go far to strengthen their own status with the “great father.” Spotted Tail had been the first to make the long trip from the White Earth River, and he had smiled when he said the Lakota at his agency wanted for nothing. Red Cloud had met them along the way on the Powder River. Like Spotted Tail, he had brought gifts. “All is well,” he had said. “Come on in.”

So two men who had made strong reputations in the free-roaming days and had once looked down on agents and soldier leaders with the utmost disdain, were now forced to do their bidding or face losing the power given to them like one gives a toy to a child. After many of the soldier leaders at Camp Robinson came to Crazy Horse with questions about the Greasy Grass fight and the defeat of Long Hair, the two agency “chiefs” sent messages complaining to Three Stars. Perhaps there was no place for another agency “chief.” Crazy Horse thought to reassure his uncle and Red Cloud that he had no wish to be made a “chief” of any kind, but he knew anything he had to say to them would not be regarded as the truth.

But eventually the rumors did fly. It was said Three Stars would make Crazy Horse “chief” over everyone, including Spotted Tail and Red Cloud. To make matters worse, many of the lesser soldier leaders were themselves saying that Crazy Horse - could influence the younger men better than the two older leaders could. Through it all, he had tried to talk to Three Stars about the promise of the northern agency, day after day traveling to Robinson from Cottonwood Creek. He grew more and more frustrated each time the general had other responsibilities to attend to first. White Hat Clark sent a message as if to an impatient child. Three Stars was very busy working hard to care for fifteen thousand Lakota, not to mention some Sahiyela and Blue Clouds, and it was the “great father” who had the power to decide about agencies.

If you want your agency, some of Crazy Horse’s friends said carefully in low voices—for it was hard to know who might be listening—you will have to travel to their place of power where the “great father” lives and speak to him face to face. Of course, they warned, if Three Stars sends you ahead of Red Cloud or Spotted Tail, they will find a way to make it difficult for us while you are gone. They will find a way to take you down when you return.

He had no wish to travel to the “great father” and curry favor from a man he didn’t know. He would be out of place and only something for show, someone to perform for the powerful. Crazy Horse did not wish to be a thing of curiosity. Whites in the east country would see him as the killer of Long Hair and nothing else. And as the old men warned, power does not listen with honest ears to the whispers of the powerless. Furthermore, if there had been truthfulness in the promise of the northern agency, they would be there now. No use to go see the “great father,” they said. Stay and protect us against our own kind.

The mob of riders pushed the crowd aside at the edge of the town. Fast Thunder turned and spoke words Crazy Horse - couldn’t hear. Never had so many people gathered in one place since he had come to Camp Robinson. He grabbed the folded blanket from the withers of his yellow pinto and draped it over his arm. There had not been half this many fighting men at the Greasy Grass fight. There was a strange heaviness in the air like a gathering storm. He glanced toward He Dog, who was suddenly pressed in from both sides and forced to slow his horse. Touch the Clouds, too, was straining to stay close.

The young men had a plan. They would slip away one and two at a time and scatter their leaving over so many days so the soldiers wouldn’t notice their absence. There were nearly ten thousand men between the two agencies, some had heard. Who would miss a few? When enough had gone or all that wanted to had left, then Crazy Horse could slip away in the night and join them at a certain place to be agreed upon, on a certain day. They would have to think of ways to acquire guns and bullets, of course, but that could be done. With enough guns and good horses they could wage war against the whites. They could attack stagecoaches, small settlements, and freight wagons and get the soldiers to chase them out in the open where the big Long Knife horses were at a disadvantage. As a mounted force, the Lakota were much better fighters than the soldiers. Living off the land and without the burden of women and children to protect, they - could show the whites that the Lakota understood that killing was the way to win.

Crazy Horse had two concerns about the plan: the whites would retaliate by sending families to the south country, to that place called The Nations where people sicken and die, or, if that didn’t stop the raiders, they would start killing their families.

The young men said nothing more about the plan. But some did slip away, it was said, although no one spoke of them or - could remember exactly who they were. At times, it could not be remembered if any young men actually did slip away, especially when the whites were asking.

Fast Thunder turned and pointed toward the soldier commander’s house. The crowd of Lakota with a few soldiers among them flowed around the mounted mob, forcing them to stop. Crazy Horse recognized a few young men far back in the crowd from his camp and many of the angry faces all around him he recognized as well. Someone shouted, “Clear the way!” and the crowd moved back, but not far. Fast Thunder motioned for Crazy Horse to dismount and follow. Crazy Horse wrapped the folded blanket over his arm and dismounted. He Dog and Touch the Clouds had also dismounted and were pushing to get to him, but blue-coated Lakota scouts working for the soldiers moved in to block them.

People still complained and worried when he went off alone to think. The agents and the soldiers always wanted to know where he was every day. Perhaps it was his place to harangue the whites on behalf of the people, but he had never been one to speak long or loudly. Not long ago, that was a good thing for a man of the people, but now it was a weakness in the face of the whites who seemed to think only in large numbers and loud noises.

Showing weakness in front of his friends and relatives was not the thing to do, so he sought the solitude of Beaver Mountain and Crow Butte. Nothing seemed to exist beyond what he could see in any direction. His lands had grown small, it seemed.

The Sun Dance on top of Beaver Mountain had also been a celebration of the victory on the Greasy Grass. Five of his cousins had pierced and tied themselves to the sacred center tree in his honor. It had been a time of hope and remembering. For a few days, they had all felt strong again and some of the old pride returned to the eyes of some of the old ones. For a few days, they put aside the troubles and told stories, and remembered when they were powerful and flourished over the land.

But the worst trouble came when the Nez Perce—who were a mountain people from the northwest and had their own troubles with soldiers—were trying to escape to Grandmother’s Land and were soundly outfighting all the soldiers sent to stop them in the north country. Three Stars had asked for scouts from Crazy Horse’s men, hoping that it would take the edge off their restlessness, especially if Crazy Horse himself would join. They would be paid, Three Stars had said, and given a blue coat to wear and a rifle to carry. Three Stars was so certain Crazy Horse would become a scout that he had a blue coat sent to him with the messengers, a blue coat with the three stripes of a sergeant on the sleeves. And a paper had been signed to give him the pay money.

At the same time, White Hat Clark had taken the coats and rifles from two hundred fifty men from Spotted Tail and Red Cloud, saying he no longer needed them as scouts. Red Cloud was quick to complain, especially since he had not been made a sergeant of scouts. But Grabber—the black man from a land no one knew, and a speaks-white who was the go-between for the soldiers—had something to do with the troubles that followed. In reply to Three Stars’ offer Crazy Horse had replied, “If we take this trail, we will fight until no Nez Perce is left alive.” After the soldier leaders heard Grabber translate his words, they became nervous, and some became angry.

Three Stars also became very angry when Grabber told him Crazy Horse’s answer, and the offer of guns and blue coats and the chance to ride after the Nez Perce was taken back. The old men were glad because the Nez Perce were doing something the Lakota should be doing, they said—fighting for their freedom. Crazy Horse agreed. If he could help the Nez Perce, he would, he said to the old men.

White Hat Clark came one day to scold him for the words he had sent to Three Stars. The words Grabber had turned from Lakota to the white man’s language had only convinced Three Stars that Red Cloud had been right, that Crazy Horse could not be trusted.

It was his new wife, Nellie, herself a speaks-white, who helped him to understand Three Stars’ anger. Grabber, it seemed, had twisted his words, saying: “We will fight until no white man is left alive,” as Crazy Horse’s words.

Crazy Horse was aware that some in his camp were angry with him for taking the offer of a new wife, arranged by White Hat Clark, to help take the edge off his anger over the broken promise of the northern agency. She was the daughter of the trader Joe Larrabee and his Lakota wife. And perhaps she had taken some of the words spoken in his lodge with the old ones and warrior leaders to White Hat, but she had not lied about Grabber.

The crowd moved like the swirling waters of a sudden bend in a stream and Crazy Horse lost sight of Fast Thunder as well as He Dog and Touch the Clouds. Lieutenant Lee was suddenly in front and pointing off to the left. A strong hand grabbed his arm just above the elbow. “Go that way,” a voice behind him said. It might have been Little Big Man in his blue soldier coat.

They stopped north of Camp Robinson and camped for three days, where they feasted and danced and knew the last taste of life without the whim of the white man hanging over them. It was a strange time, as if they were moving from the sunlight into shadow. At the place where sunlight and shadow meet, it is often difficult to see clearly either way. The sunlight seems too bright and the shadow too deep.

In no hurry to put their feet on the new road that awaited them, they broke camp leisurely and finally started toward Camp Robinson when the sun was well past its high point in the sky. Above the soldier town, they were met by White Hat Clark leading a small column of horse soldiers and Red Cloud with a few of his headmen. Clark and Red Cloud led them down into the valley.

His uncle Little Hawk, Big Road, He Dog, and Little Big Man—all dressed in their finest—rode with him, Little Big Man most defiant of all. Behind them came the fighting men, perhaps 150, then the long line of people, some walking, most riding, women holding the lead ropes to the travois horses, dogs and older children still playful even on this day.

This land was not unknown to the Crazy Horse people. Many had traveled this way before, often camping in this very valley with their Sicangu relatives. Off to the east a few days’ ride was the sandstone bluff where he had spent the night and dreamed his vision.

The soldier town was not as big as other white-man settlements. As they reached the outer edges, the blue-coat soldiers - could be seen, numbering just a few, among the hundreds of Lakota waiting to see them. Then his warriors began to sing a greeting song and the people behind them joined until it seemed everyone was singing. A song of greeting and peace, a hope lifted to the Grandfather that this new road would not be too difficult.

They followed White Hat past the fort, past all the watchers—both Lakota and white—to an open flat beyond the fort. Crazy Horse saw No Water and Woman’s Dress among the men riding with Red Cloud. When they stopped, White Hat told them they must give up their horses. There was surprise and grumbling among the warriors, but when Crazy Horse turned over his yellow pinto to the soldier in front of him, all was quiet, and a little at a time the horses were taken. The women worked fast to unhitch the drag poles from the travois horses.

The warriors talked low among themselves as they watched the horses being led away by soldiers and Lakota men wearing blue coats. Other Lakota, including Red Cloud, waited on their horses and watched. This was a new feeling for the Crazy Horse - people. A Lakota warrior without his horse was like sunrise without sunset.

Next, the lodges were pitched, and as the women worked, several white men walked among the people counting and marking on the papers they carried. White Hat Clark went to Crazy Horse and spoke through two men, Grabber and one called Garnier, both speaks-whites. The weapons were to be taken next, White Hat said. There was a silence as before when the horses were taken. And, as before, Crazy Horse was the first to give his rifle to White Hat. One long, silent, angry moment later, the warriors began to lay down their weapons.

It was a time, that first afternoon at Camp Robinson, many - people remembered and talked about often. But, of course, it was not a good remembering. Almost in the same breath they wondered how it was up north and if the elk in the Shining Mountains would be fat this year.

The soldier commander’s house was off to the right, in the direction Fast Thunder had disappeared. Suddenly Crazy Horse was being taken to another place. Perhaps Three Stars and Randall were waiting elsewhere. The surge of the men all around them wouldn’t let him turn.

He was astonished, though not surprised. Many Sahiyela fighting men had been sent away to places where the whites imprisoned their enemies. Spotted Tail had been held in a place called Leavenworth. From there, he had returned with a new fear of the whites. Perhaps they wanted to send him away so that he would change his way of thinking as well, suggested his young wife. First, they wanted to send him to dance for the “great father.” Now they wanted to send him away to a place at the end of their world—all because they thought he wanted to kill Three Stars. Perhaps it was Grabber’s words put in his mouth by Red Cloud.

There would be trouble. Soldiers were coming for him, it was reported, with wagon guns. If trouble started in the Cottonwood camp, too many people could get hurt. He had seen what those wagon guns were able to do. His new wife had a place in her father’s lodge, but Black Shawl would have no one if they came for him. So he decided to take her to the Spotted Tail camp. There, he could ask his uncle for help as well.

So they rode away at a high lope. The watchers from Red Cloud rode away with news of their leaving, and down the trail, a group of riders led by No Water took after them. Crazy Horse took the lead rope of Black Shawl’s horse. With his uncle Little Hawk’s method he had used many times before, he let the horses walk up the hills and then ran them down slope. They outdistanced No Water and his men who pushed their horses without stopping until they killed two or three, it was said.

At Spotted Tail, Crazy Horse hurried to the camp of Touch the Clouds where all was in uncertain turmoil. The women were striking their lodges and preparing to find safe places to hide, and the men were making ready for a fight. Word of trouble and fighting to come—Lakota against Lakota—had traveled quickly from Camp Robinson. When No Water appeared, a few of the younger Mniconju charged out to stop him and turned him away. He and his exhausted horses could do no more than head for the lodge of Spotted Tail himself.

Lieutenant Lee, the soldier leader in charge at Spotted Tail’s agency, sent word that Crazy Horse must come to the soldier house. Crazy Horse rode out with Touch the Clouds and White Thunder, followed by Mniconju and Oglala. Spotted Tail and over a hundred of his young men met them on the trail. Lee arrived with Black Crow and Louie Bordeaux and was frightened seeing that he was between the Mniconju and Oglala on one side and Spotted Tail’s Sicangu on the other. There were shouts and threats hurled back and forth and weapons were brandished, until Crazy Horse raised a hand and a silence slowly fell over the gathering. Lee, now very frightened, told Crazy Horse that he must return to Robinson and make it good with the soldier leaders there.

Spotted Tail waited and then spoke. It was far past the time to learn to live with the whites, he admonished. But there was no room for troublemakers at his agency. The sharp, scolding words were much like those the agents and soldier leaders often threw at the Lakota. Crazy Horse said nothing, then told Lieutenant Lee he would be ready to leave in the morning because he had to see to his sick wife first.

He and Black Shawl spent the night in the lodge of Touch the Clouds. She sat up at every noise to his quiet assurances that young men were positioned all around outside to prevent trouble. Through the night, he sat against a willow chair, listening. There was movement all around, and voices, too. Young men came to the door—earnest, stalwart young men who were the next generation of warriors.

So the night passed and the morning came. When the sun arose, he hurried to the soldier house to speak to Lieutenant Lee, to assure him that he had not changed his mind and was ready to speak with Randall to make things good. So, with Touch the Clouds, Swift Bear, and Black Crow along, they started out for Camp Robinson.

The first group of blue-coated Lakota met them along the trail. They said nothing and formed a wide half-circle around Crazy Horse and the others. Further on, more blue-coated Lakota arrived and now they became a mob of more than sixty. It was then that Crazy Horse knew there was trouble.

Fast Thunder was lost in the crowd. So, too, were He Dog and Touch the Clouds. All around was the noise of running and scuffling as if men were pushing each other. Crazy Horse was pushed toward a square house made of logs, a strange place for Randall to be. Before he could help himself, he was through the open doorway. There was a bad smell. A man with dark hair and braids rose from a corner. Then he saw the iron bars.

He spun on a heel and saw a man—Little Big Man—blocking the opening. Crazy Horse shoved the shorter man aside and tried to push past but almost immediately felt Little Big Man grab both his arms from behind. With a great effort, he pulled himself free and reached into the opening of his blanket for the knife. Outside, there were shouts of both soldiers and the Lakota.

The man, the Oglala warrior who had ridden into battle with him, stood fast. Perhaps it was the blue coat of the soldier that had turned his heart. With a sudden swipe, Crazy Horse slashed the arm of the coat and immediately blood flowed, and Little Big Man jumped back. With a step, Crazy Horse was outside and there was movement everywhere. More hands grabbed at him from either side, brown hands holding him fast. The strident voice of a soldier yelled.

From the middle of the confusion came a soldier, thrusting with the knife at the end of his rifle. Those near him heard Crazy Horse gasp and saw his knees begin to wobble. Brown hands were still holding his arms even as the soldier withdrew the long knife.

He was covered with a red blanket on the floor of the post surgeon’s office. Opening his eyes, he tried to focus on the form above him, his father, Worm. Touch the Clouds sat cross-legged on the other side, head down. The room was dim, lit by a single lamp.

Crazy Horse had protested when the men who carried him in tried to lay him on a cot, and so they lowered him to the floor. The surgeon gave him medicine to sleep and take away the pain. Touch the Clouds had been alone with him for much of the evening until Worm had arrived. Together, they had watched the slight rise and fall of the wounded man’s chest and listened to his shallow breathing. So they had waited, the powerful warrior and the skilled healer, and neither could do anything to fight against death, or to fight for the life of the man on the floor.