Long Hair Custer wasn't long idle. He and his bluecoat horse soldiers were on the march again that next summer. This time they struck deep into the heart of Lakota country, into Paha Sapa itself. Here was a place forbidden to wasicuns by both the Fort Laramie treaties, but this wasicun chief cared nothing for the sacred word of the treaty makers. Just as the eagle chief Harney had killed the innocents at Blue Creek, this Custer now violated the Black Hills.
Only a few scattered Lakotas saw the soldiers. Hunters seeking game or boys on vision quests stood scant chance of stopping a bluecoat army. All the Lakotas could do was stare angrily as these thieves came into the sacred country, shooting down the animals and felling the trees. Some dug in the ground or scratched at the streambeds, searching for the yellow powder which turned wasicuns into crazy men. In time the blue-coats turned from the sacred lands.
"Hau!" the Lakotas cried. "Wakan Tanka has driven the wasicuns from our home."
The soldiers had wounded the people deeply, though. Soon enough the true danger came.
Tacante was visiting Hinhan Hota's band at Spotted Tail when word came of wasicun miners stealing yellow rocks in Paha Sapa.
"Surely this can't be!" Tacante exclaimed. "Tell your soldier friends to drive the thieves out, Ate!"
Hinhan Hota frowned gravely.
"We have fought our war, Tacante," the Owl said wearily. "We've suffered and we've died. Haven't you seen the power of the wasicuns? They come along the Platte like summer locusts. You can kill a thousand, and a thousand more will follow. It's for them to do, for them to say, my son. Ask Sinte Gleska of the power he's seen in the great wasicun villages. Ask Mahpiya Luta if he has heart to fight again."
"Paha Sapa is our heart," Tacante argued. "Ate, where will we hunt? Where will our children be born? Here, where there are no trees, where there is only dry grass to eat?"
"It's for the young men to fight," Hinhan Hota muttered soberly. "But think hard, my son. You have a wife and little ones to care for. Remember Blue Creek."
"I remember," Tacante said angrily. "It's because of that I could never live off the wasicuns' presents, turning away from the sacred way."
"It's a hard road you set your feet upon."
"Ah, what's hard, Ate? I can't cut myself off from Wakan Tanka. I am a Tokala, aren't I? It's the difficult thing I am supposed to do."
"Living here will be difficult, too," the Owl declared. "Knowing my son won't come to share the autumn moons in my lodge will be hard. As is growing used to the taste of cow meat."
Tacante bowed his head. He understood. Hinhan Hota also faced a difficult trail. Perhaps, after all, it was easier to fight. Tacante spent little time wondering, for he knew there was but one direction he could take.
He gathered the little ones that afternoon and spoke of making a winter camp in Paha Sapa.
"Ate, we won't go to Hinkpila's fort?" Tahca Wanbli asked. The boy had not yet celebrated his sixth winter on the earth, but he recalled the fine times spent with his aunt and uncle on Platte River.
"No, little one," Tacante said gravely. "We must drive the thieves from our sacred places."
"I, too, will fight," the child vowed, drawing the small knife Itunkala had given him.
"Not this time," Tacante said, hoisting his eldest onto one shoulder and placing a hand on the heads of the two younger boys. "You're small yet. The time may come."
Indeed, Tacante feared it would.
He was dismanding the lodge when Itunkala appeared. The boy was fourteen now, but still short and frightfully thin. His small size was deceptive, though, for there was iron in his grip, and he rode like a whirlwind.
"Brother, you aren't leaving?" the Mouse called.
"Yes," Tacante confessed. "There's much that needs doing."
"You go to fight the wasicun thieves, then?"
"Yes. To guard Paha Sapa for the people."
"The soldiers go to chase the thieves from the sacred land," Itunkala explained. "They take many of the young men of the agency with them to scout. I thought to join them."
"Ah, and who was it who first scratched the streams, who spoke of the yellow powder? Long Hair Custer. Everyone knows now how he rode into Paha Sapa, how he hungers to steal our country."
"I won't scout for them," Mouse vowed.
"It's good, little brother. I wouldn't like to think you put on the blue coat and rode with our enemies."
"Are the wasicuns our enemies again? I've made friends among the trader's sons. There is our brother, Hinkpila, too."
"His heart is turned toward us by his grandmother's blood."
"There are good men among the soldiers."
"Ah, I've seen many brave bluecoats, Itunkala. One I killed. But their chiefs have bad hearts and hungry eyes. We'll fight them again soon."
"Then it's for me to come with you," Itunkala said solemnly. "I've ridden to the buffalo hunt with you, Tacante. I can shoot the bow, and I know hard living."
"You're young."
"Yes, and small," Itunkala admitted, staring at his twiglike legs. "But you said you, too, were small, and I will grow."
"Then go and speak of it to our father," Tacante advised as he stripped the buffalo-hide covering from the lodge. "Know that you're welcome to come, but I find no dishonor in a man who chooses to stay."
"Yes," the Mouse said, knowing Tacante spoke of Hinhan Hota.
By the time Tacante had arranged the poles into a pony drag for the children and collected his horses, Itunkala had returned.
"Ate says I leave his heart cold and empty," the Mouse said. "I'm old enough to choose my path. I go with my brother."
Tacante gazed back at the gap in the camp circle left by his dismantled lodge. Tasiyagnunpa stood there, gazing sorrowfully at her departing sons. And grandsons. For a moment Tacante thought to leave Hehaka and the boys in his mother's care, but who would strike his lodge to follow a warrior who left his own children behind? And what safety was an agency camp? Black Kettle was on treaty land, after all.
Tacante wasn't the only Lakota who journeyed to Paha Sapa that autumn. As he erected his lodge in an ancient camp on the southern edge of the hills, he saw a band of black-faced warriors in the streambed below.
"Hau, Lakotas!" Tacante cried.
"Hau!" a light-skinned warrior answered. Even now there was a red-tailed hawk tied in his hair.
"Sunkawakan Witkotkoke, you, too, have come to fight the wasicuns," Tacante called as he hurried down the hillside.
"Hau, it's Tacante!" Waawanyankahowled. Hokala and Sunka Sapa were there as well, together with twenty young Oglalas.
"Now we'll punish these thieves!" the Horse promised as he greeted Tacante warmly. "Already we've killed three. Come, bring your lodge to the camp."
"Yes," Hokala urged."Sunlata grows anxious to show you our son."
Tacante howled loudly, for a birthing was always a good omen for any undertaking. Hokala and Sunka Sapa helped break down the lodge, and soon Tacante was following Sunkawakan Witkotkoke again. The little ones rode along behind one of their uncles, and Hehaka slapped her buckskin mare into a fast trot. Soon she'd be among her sisters.
One surprise remained for Tacante. He expected a small circle of lodges. Instead Wanbli Cannunpa's entire band was there, together with many young Oglalas and Sicangus from Red Cloud and Spotted Tail agencies. Boys of fifteen and sixteen could scarcely remember the desperate fighting at Powder River. Their hearts were full of warrior songs, and they were eager to follow Hokala, the Tokala lance bearer, of Sunkawakan Witkotkoke, the Oglala strange one. Now that Tacante was there, too, they sang brave heart songs. Strong medicine would ride at their side.
Tacante's heart warmed to know Hehaka was among her family once more. Eagle Pipe would not ride to battle, but he knew how to keep a camp in order, and the little ones would be safe under the watchful eye of their grandfather.
That was a comfort, for the soldiers soon tired of chasing the miners from Paha Sapa. It was foolish to try, one bluecoat told Tacante. Once among the wasicun villages, the thieves were set free.
"We'll punish them," Tacante swore.
It was a grim business, and dangerous, too. The wasicun miners carried rapid-firing Winchesters like the one Hinkpila had given Tacante. Many were good shots, and often a reckless young man charged a wasicun camp and was shot dead. Sunkawakan Witkotkoke drove bands of wasicuns from the hills as he might have driven hares from a thicket.
Tacante preferred caution. These thieves didn't deserve the brave heart fight. No, it was best to catch the miners off alone or perhaps eating their food.
Tacante and Hokala took several young men with them one morning. Waawanyanka, always the keen-eyed one, had spotted miners digging along a nearby stream. The Heart watched carefully as two hairy-faced wasicuns kept guard with rifles as several barebacked companions scooped sand out of the stream with flat tin pans.
It's a bad day for you, wasicuns, Tacante thought as he stared at his black-faced companions. Hokala silently pointed to the right-hand guard, and Tacante chose the one on the left. He then signaled Itunkala and the other young men to wait.
Tacante and Hokala dismounted and wove their way through the tall pines toward the stream. They were still many paces away when an old man suddenly shouted and tossed his pan in the air. He held a large yellow rock in his hand. The guards rushed down to the stream to join the crazed wasicuns.
"Ayyy!" Hokala cried, jumping atop his man and killing him with a single knife thrust.
"Ayyy!" Tacante answered, raising his rifle and shooting the other guard through the back of the head.
Now the young men screamed and charged the stunned miners.
The older wasicuns immediately splashed across the stream in a frantic effort to lose themselves among the thick trees beyond. One escaped. Two others were cut down by arrows. A younger wasicun threw Sunk-manitu Tanka, the Wolf, from his horse and fought to capture the fleeing animal. Tacante gave a howl and fired his rifle again. The wasicun fell sideways, clutching his side. Wolf fell on the man and put an end to him.
Of the miners, only a few boys remained. Three were scarcely as old as Itunkala, and two others had yet to grow whiskers on their chins. All five fell to their knees and pleaded for mercy.
"Was Uncle Ben made us come," a youngster sobbed. "We knew this was Injun country, but they said we could get rich. Lord help us!"
The boys were frozen in terror by the sight of the Lakotas scalping their companions.
"Tacante, what do we do with them?" Itunkala asked.
The other young men were equally confused.
"They're young," Tacante said. "Perhaps they'll learn."
"My brother, who died at Blue Creek, never had a chance to learn," Hokala argued. "Wasicuns only learn when they are dead."
Tacante looked deeply into his bad-hearted friend's eyes. They both knew, handed Winchesters, these same boys might easily slay a Lakota. Still, it was a bright day, and Wakan Tanka had given a victory into Tacante's hands.
"We'll do as on the stolen road," the Heart declared. "Take their clothes, their shoes, all their belongings. Leave them to walk naked from this place."
The young men laughed at the thought, but Hokala objected.
"They will come back," Badger complained.
"Then they'll die," Tacante said. He then translated his decision, and the young wasicuns stared fearfully at the surrounding warriors.
"We'll freeze, if we don't starve first," a red-haired boy answered for his friends. "It's thirty, forty miles. Can't expect us to walk all that way naked."
"It's for you to choose," Tacante said, drawing his knife from its sheath. "We can end the pain."
The redheaded youngster stared hard at the sharp blade of the knife. He then slid his suspenders off his shoulders and dropped his trousers. The others followed his example, and soon there were five naked wasicuns splashing along the stream, their pale, skinny bodies drawing laughs from men who moments before might have brought their death.
"I'll watch them," Hokala said as Tacante turned toward his horse. "I, too," Sunkmanitu Tanka added.
"Then you should take the wasicun rifles," Tacante declared, motioning for Itunkala to hand over the prized guns. "When we find their horses, you shall have the pick."
"Hau!" Wolf shouted.
"Next time I decide," Hokala said, grabbing the offered rifle and turning away.
Winter fell on Paha Sapa early that year, and the cold sent most of the thieves hurrying back to the towns springing up on the fringe of the hills. The snows were deep, and many of the Lakotas camped in Wanbli Cannunpa's village left for the agencies. Sunka Sapa and Waawanyanka both had small ones not used to hardship. They departed. Tacante remained, though it tore at his heart to see his children shivering in their elk and buffalo hides when the icy wind swept down from the north. Often the Heart huddled with one or the other of the boys, filling their ears with brave heart tales or stories of Coyote or Rabbit. Itunkala sometimes blew his flute or sang in his gentle, soft voice.
"It's not so cold," Cetan Kinyan whispered as he clung to his father's side.
No, Tacante told himself. No pain was great when shared.
Spring promised better days. As the snows melted and the cottonwoods and willows greened, game returned. Men set out in threes and fours to shoot deer and elk. Tacante often brought plump geese or fat squirrels for the kettle. Then one morning Itunkala brought grave news.
"Sunka Sapa will not ride with us to hunt the buffalo," the Mouse explained.
Tacante felt an icy dart stab his heart. Always the Black Dog had been at his side, whether hunting or fighting bluecoats. Itunkala's contorted face told of grave news.
"Where?" Tacante asked.
"On Goose Creek," Itunkala explained. "Sunkawakan Witkotkoke is there now."
Tacante mounted his horse and rode off at a gallop. It was a half day's riding to Goose Creek, but Tacante crossed the hills and streams in half that time. What he saw there blackened his heart. The remains of Sunka Sapa's lodge lay in ashes. The small charred skeleton of his daughter lay wrapped in a buffalo hide. The Dog lay beside the creek, his body stripped and many bullet wounds attesting to the fight put up. Pehan, whose grace had earned her the name Crane, had been dragged into the underbrush. Her head had been crushed with a rock, and the killers had cut a ring from her hand.
"I had only a buffalo hide," Sunkawakan Witkotkoke said, pointing to Sunka Sapa. "I would have covered him."
"It's for me to do," Tacante said, laying his coat over his bloody friend. "Did they leave a trail?"
"A good one," the Horse said, pointing to muddy tracks in the creek. "Your brother will gather a war party. For this, many will die."
Tacante drew his knife and began slashing willow limbs to make a scaffold. There were rocks nearby. Sunka Sapa always liked high places. So did the girl he'd named Wanahcazi, Yellow Flower. But as he worked, Tacante found himself slashing not willow bark but wasicun throats. He stumbled to the creek and stared at his wild-eyed face. It might have been Hokala demanding the deaths of the boy miners. Badger wouldn't be the only one to speak for killing now.
Tacante finished the scaffolds that afternoon. Hehaka and her sisters bathed the bodies and dressed them in the finest garments possessed by the band. Finally Wanbli Cannunpa spoke prayers, and Tacante danced, hoping whatever power he possessed might salve the tortured souls of his slaughtered relatives.
For three days the Lakotas mourned. On the fourth Sunkawakan Witkotkoke led a dozen warriors along the trail of the killers. The faces and hands of the Lakotas were blackened with ashes. It would be a bad heart raid, and much blood was certain to be shed.
The Horse was little changed. He sang warrior songs and urged the sharp-eyed boys to watch for sign. Tacante and Hokala rode on relentlessly. They'd seen in Pehan's silent face her sisters, and the burned child might have been their own.
The wasicuns might have escaped had rain come to Paha Sapa. Many times their trail grew faint, but the rocky ground told its tale, and the Lakotas at last came upon a party of wasicuns gathered around a cook fire.
"It's a good day to die," Hokala declared as he filled his new rifle's magazine.
"A bad day to be a wasicun," Itunkala added as he pointed out three children skipping flat rocks across a pond.
"We kill them all," Hokala growled, angrily turning to Tacante.
"Even them?" Itunkala asked, pointing to the children.
"Is Flower forgotten?" Hokala barked. "All!"
"All," Tacante echoed, hardening his resolve.
The Horse then screamed out a war cry and led the charge. The dozen Lakotas spilled out of the trees and fell upon the surprised miners like a cyclone. Rifles exploded, and lances struck hard. A woman screamed as Hokala fell upon her. Itunkala raced to cut off the fleeing children, two boys and a girl. They stumbled into the pond, then gazed up silently as Mouse notched an arrow.
"My face is black with death," Itunkala chanted, but he could not release the arrow. Tacante struggled to free himself from the grasp of a huge, red-bearded wasicun who was wearing the silver ring Sunka Sapa had given Pehan.
"Billy, run!" the red-beard shouted.
Tacante managed to turn his knife and cut into the big-bellied thief. The wasicun screamed in agony as the blade penetrated deeper, opening him up like a gutted deer. Tacante pulled back as the dying giant rolled away.
"Papa!" one of the boys shouted as he raced from the pond.
Tacante turned toward the frightened child, but three quick shots from a revolver downed the boy. The Heart didn't glance toward the shooter. He didn't want to know who had spared him the task.
Hokala took charge of the other two little ones. The Badger grimly covered their faces with his big hands and stopped their breathing.
"It was for me to do that," Itunkala said when Tacante reached the pond. "But they were so small."
"It's good you couldn't blacken your heart to them," Tacante declared. "Soon I fear we'll all have bad faces, and there will be no softness left."
As the brothers gazed back at their companions angrily slashing the corpses, they shared a muffled moan.
It wasn't possible, as Hinhan Hota had warned, to stem the flood of wasicuns pouring into Paha Sapa. More and more of them came. Mutilated bodies only made them quicker to fire at the first sign of a bronze-skinned rider.
Word came that the wasicuns were sending chiefs to Mahpiya Luta's agency to make peace. Sunkawakan Witkotkoke and Wanbli Cannunpa agreed such peace talk should be heard, and the camp was packed up.
Red Cloud spoke for most of the Lakotas when the peace commissioners offered to buy Paha Sapa.
"Why buy what you are already stealing?" he asked.
Others declared the land was already lost and suggested asking a high price.
But when the warriors gathered, angry voices rose,
"What of the treaty?" some cried.
"You steal our land again and again, kill the buffalo, and now you speak of peace when we fight back?"
Sinte Gleska, Spotted Tail, rode forward to urge calm. His was a voice to be heard, for he, too, had fought as a brave heart youth. Now he had seen too many things to dream of winning a war against the wasicuns.
"Ah, we can never sell the heart of the earth!" Hokala shouted.
"Hau!" the Oglala Little Big Man cried. "It's a good time to begin a war!"
Begin? Tacante asked himself. When did the fighting stop? He'd been born in a time of trial, and it had never ceased.
Blue-coated soldiers now lined up to protect the peace speakers, and it seemed more blood would stain the earth. But again Sinte Gleska spoke, and peace prevailed at Red Cloud Agency.