Without preliminaries, Spotted Wolf said: “We rode in all the directions, making a great round track. We found no sign of any bluecoat soldiers anywhere. The white men in the camp are the only ones in this country.”
Two Crows dismounted. He felt tired and very hungry, and after he sat down he began chewing slowly on his last strip of pemmican. “It is strange there are only three bluecoats in that camp,” he said. “Some of those men have lived with us in our villages in the north. Some are squawmen like the one who is called Sharp Grover.”
“Their hearts have turned against our people,” Spotted Wolf declared. “They would not have come this far unless they were looking for our villages.”
“That is so,” Two Crows agreed. “We must ride and warn our people. If we start now we will be there by the sun’s rising.”
“Our ponies are very tired,” said Spotted Wolf.
“The white men’s ponies are also tired. If we go now there will be plenty of time to protect the women and children.” He stood up, stretched his arms and legs, and then leaped on his pony. The others mounted, and they rode off single file toward the north.
At daybreak they sighted several horses far off, moving parallel with them. Two Crows watched them for a while, then called to his companions: “They are Sioux warriors. Their village is not far from the one of our people.” He urged his pony to a trot, the others following, and the Sioux slowed to let them catch up.
As he neared the Sioux party, Two Crows recognized one of them, a young brave named Running Elk. “Hooee!” Two Crows shouted. “Are my Sioux friends riding to their village on the Arickaree?”
Running Elk replied that they had been riding hard for some time. Yesterday while they were hunting for antelope they had seen soldiers coming, and were hurrying now to warn the Sioux people.
“They are white scouts,” Two Crows told him. “For two or three days we have been watching them. I think they are looking for our villages.”
Within an hour they rode into the Sioux village, the Cheyennes accompanying Running Elk to the lodge of Pawnee Killer, an Oglala war leader. Pawnee Killer was in front of his tepee, brushing dried mud from the coat of one of his horses. He showed no surprise when Running Elk told him about the white men coming. “How many are they?” he asked.
Running Elk was not sure, but he said they raised much dust. Two Crows spoke up: “I counted them in their camp.” He made the sign for fifty.
“They are not many,” said Pawnee Killer. “We can stop them before they come to our village.”
“Only three are bluecoat soldiers,” Two Crows explained. “The others are buffalo men and fur hunters, and are very good at shooting.”
Pawnee Killer’s face was stern. “If the Cheyennes will join us, we will give them a good fight.”
“The Cheyennes will join you,” Two Crows promised. “We are going now across the river to warn our village. If there is fighting, Roman Nose will lead our warriors.”
“Washte! Good, good.” Pawnee Killer swept his hand out, to emphasize his approval.
Already the news was spreading in the Sioux village, and before Two Crows and his Dog Soldiers splashed across the shallow Arickaree, the camp was buzzing with excitement.
When he rode into the Cheyenne camp, Two Crows called to the first old man he saw sunning in front of a tepee: “Old man, go and cry through the camp that white enemies are coming. Tell all the warrior leaders to gather at the lodge of Tall Bull, chief of the Dog Soldier band.”
Without a word the old man set off at a slow trot, his voice shrilling the warning and summons as he circled the ellipse of tepees. In a few minutes the warriors of the six Cheyenne fighting bands—the Fox, Bowstring, Buffalo Bull, Medicine Lance, Chief, and Dog—were gathering around Tall Bull’s tepee. Two Crows and Spotted Wolf took turns telling what they had seen of the approaching enemies, and then Tall Bull added: “Our Sioux allies are preparing to ride out and fight them before they can come to our villages.”
“Ay-ee!” cried Spotted Wolf. “Surely the Cheyenne people will fight at the sides of our friends the Sioux!”
By this time several Arapaho warriors who were camped nearby rode in to join the palaver. With them were two white men whose presence always made Two Crows uneasy. He watched the squawmen, wondering as he always did why they had chosen to live with the Indians. One was Nibsi, known by his own people as Black Jack; the other was Kansas, who also called himself John Clybor. Kansas had been one of Yellow Hair Custer’s bluecoat soldiers. After a fight on the Canadian River, an Arapaho woman had found him badly wounded and half-frozen on the prairie. She nursed him back to health, and Kansas had remained with the tribe. Kansas still carried his army bugle, and had taught the Arapaho warriors how to fight like the bluecoats, firing volleys and charging and re-forming at certain sounds of his blaring music.
During the palavering, Nibsi agreed with a few Cheyennes who wanted to send the women and children away and then wait for the white men to come and attack the village. But everyone knew that Nibsi was lazy and not a good fighter like Kansas. Two Crows was pleased to hear Kansas say that they should go and attack the enemies now, and drive them away before they came near the village.
“Kansas has spoken well,” Two Crows said. “We will fight the white men in their way of fighting while Kansas makes them tremble with fear at the sound of his bugle.”
“It will be so,” Tall Bull agreed. “Let us drive in our horses from the prairie and prepare for the fighting.”
In a moment the camp was swirling with excitement, the warriors hurrying off to find their fastest ponies and paint themselves for battle. Two Crows turned to Tall Bull. “I do not see Roman Nose anywhere. I see fighting men of the Medicine Lance band, but not their brave leader, Roman Nose.”
“Have you not heard,” Tall Bull replied, “that Roman Nose’s medicine has been broken?”
Two Crows concealed his disappointment. “I shall go and counsel with him. Perhaps White Bull will help restore Roman Nose’s medicine.”
He found White Bull, the tribe’s greatest medicine man, the one who had made the famous warbonnet which Roman Nose wore in every battle and which everyone knew protected him from flying bullets. White Bull shook his head sadly. He had spoken with Roman Nose that morning, but the warrior had received no sign that would assure him it was time to drive away his bad medicine.
“He must see the coming of the white men as a sign,” Two Crows declared. “Let us go and make him understand.”
Roman Nose was in his lodge, lying on a mat. He arose quickly and made room for his visitors to sit before the dying fire in the center of the tepee. His tepee furnishings were meager, for Roman Nose had never taken a wife; the water spirits had told him he must remain single and live only for the good of his people.
He was very tall, with a broad muscular chest. His black hair fell in braids over each shoulder, and his dark eyes held a fierce look until he smiled, showing strong teeth. “So the white men are sending scouts against us,” he said quietly.
“Yes, they may come before the sun goes over,” Two Crows replied.
“White Bull has told you that my medicine was broken?”
Two Crows nodded, and Roman Nose went on to explain: “When I visited the Sioux camp yesterday I ate bread which their women had lifted from the fire with an iron spoon. The Sioux did not know that my protective power is taken from me when I eat food taken out with anything of iron.”
“They should have used a sharpened stick,” White Bull said.
“You must start a ceremony,” Two Crows suggested, “to restore your medicine.”
Roman Nose shrugged. “I have looked for a sign all this day.”
“Surely the white men coming with guns—” Two Crows hesitated, deferring to the medicine man who was supposed to know more about such things than a warrior.
“Roman Nose has not seen the invaders,” White Bull said. “Yet if he has had a vision—”
“Each night in my slee
p I see them on white ponies.” He sighed. “Even so, the ceremonies to subdue my flesh and restore the power of protection will be long. Three days, four days—and you say the enemy may come before this day’s sun goes over.”
Two Crows restrained his impatience. “Our people are going with the Sioux to stop them before they reach our villages. I must hurry now and make preparations.”
“Wait—” Roman Nose made the sign for sitting, and Two Crows remained where he was. “All summer our people have been gathering here for a great raid against the settlers. This time we must drive them away from our buffalo grounds forever. These white scouts you saw are like gnats worrying a great bull buffalo.”
Two Crows listened, remembering all the palavers of that summer, how Roman Nose and the other leaders had planned for a great raid. At the coming of the full moon after the first frosts they would move eastward in bands of fifty to a hundred, taking their young women and boys to care for the plunder. They would burn all the settlers’ houses, capture their horses, and then ride swiftly north to the Big Horn country where soldiers could not come because of the snow and cold.
“But first we must kill these gnats, as you call them,” Two Crows interrupted sharply.
“With a thousand braves against fifty of them, they will run or die. Remember my counsel—do not fight them in the old way of our people, with every man fighting on his own, trying to count coups and show his bravery. Let all our warriors and their allies form in solid lines and ride over them in one charge. Not one white man will be left alive.”
Two Crows nodded. “That has been decided by the soldier societies. The Arapaho squawman, Kansas, will blow his bugle for us.”
“Go, then. It will be nothing.” Roman Nose showed his teeth in a slow smile. “Now I must begin the ceremonies so my medicine will be strong again when the full moon comes. Then we will show the white men they can not take our buffalo land or run their iron horses across it.”
The morning was growing late when Two Crows left Roman Nose’s lodge. Everywhere around the camp, horses and men were swarming. At his father’s tepee he was pleased to find that his sisters had brought in all his horses, and were busily assembling his battle trappings—his warbonnet, rifle, shield, lance, hand ax, and medicine pouch.
He went inside, changed his dusty buckskins for his finest clothing, rebraided his hair carefully, and then painted his face—the lower half with red ochre, his forehead with two circles of black to represent two crows. Into his beaded war bag he put an extra pair of moccasins, a mirror, and his medicine pouch, which contained sacred seeds, an owl feather, and a small yellow plume from his grandfather’s pipe. Taking the bag and his short-barreled muzzle-loader, he went back outside to decide which of his six horses he would ride.
After examining the animals carefully, he told his sister to put his buffalo-hair war bridle on Bay-With-Star-On-Forehead. “He is the fastest and most sure of foot, but as he tires easily I will ride Gray-Speckled Horse until it is time for charging the enemy.”
In a minute the horses were ready. Two Crows’ father and his sisters came up to him in turn, placing their heads against his chest in farewells. He looped his war bag over his shoulders, mounted the gray, and rode off, leading Bay-With-Star-On-Forehead.
With Tall Bull and White Horse, he went on swiftly to the Sioux village. Several hundred warriors were scattered in bunches outside the tepee ring. Some were still making war preparations; others were coming in from hunts and scouts. The Cheyennes rode up to Pawnee Killer’s lodge, and Tall Bull asked the war leader when the Sioux warriors would be ready.
“Many are ready now. When are the Cheyennes coming?”
“Two or three hundred will soon be here,” Tall Bull replied. “That many more will come when runners bring in our hunting parties.”
Not long afterward, a band of Sioux scouts came galloping in from the south. They had seen the white men, but said they were not moving toward the villages. “They ride straight toward the setting sun,” the scout leader said.
Pawnee Killer smiled grimly. “They’re following our old trail. When they come to the Arickaree they will know our villages are here to the north.”
“If that is so,” Two Crows said, “we will not fight them today but tomorrow.”
“At the next sun’s rising,” Pawnee Killer declared. “By that time we can have a thousand Sioux and Cheyennes all around them.”
“We will need some scouting parties to search out their night camp,” Tall Bull suggested.
Two Crows spoke up eagerly: “I will go with eight or ten Dog Soldiers.”
“Ride along the east side of the river,” Pawnee Killer told him. “I will send Running Elk along the west bank. When you know where the soldiers are camped, light a signal fire. As soon as the blaze is high, scatter it quickly.”
Early that afternoon, Two Crows started out with his little band of Dog Soldiers, riding in a southwesterly direction up the Arickaree. After a few miles, they began approaching each rise with caution, a few warriors dismounting and running ahead through the grass until they could see across to the next elevation. They were in no hurry. Two Crows was especially careful with his led pony, for he wanted it to be fresh for the morning fight.
Late in the day they sighted two white scouts off to the west, riding in an opposite direction. Two Crows and his Dog Soldiers watched from a plum thicket until the scouts made a wide circle and turned back toward the southwest. “They are looking for fresh trails,” Spotted Wolf guessed.
“Let us go over behind that ridge,” Two Crows replied. Screened by low lines of lulls that paralleled the Arickaree, they moved on upstream, and not long before dark sighted the white scouts less than a mile across the river. They were going into camp. Here the stream was only a trickle in a sandy bed, with occasional pools of still water. The white men had stopped near one of these water-filled basins which lay below a small island. Horses and mules were picketed close together, and sentinels were posted on all sides as though they feared an attack.
“Soon it will be dark,” Two Crows said. “We must gather grass and twigs for a signal fire.”
On a rocky ledge east of the ridge they collected a pile of dead grass and then went in search of greasewood. After everything was ready they rested on the ridge, watching the white scouts until darkness fell. As soon as the stars were bright, Two Crows lighted the dry grass. It flared up, burned without smoke for a minute, and then spread to the greasewood. Black smoke poured skyward, and then all the greasewood burst into a high brilliant flame.
“Stamp your moccasins on the embers,” Two Crows said. When this was done he told the others to mount and ride a short way back toward the villages. Then he crept up the ridge and looked toward the enemy camp, listening. He heard excited voices, probably the outer guards. One of them was shouting a cry of alarm.
11
Major George (Sandy) Forsyth
September 16–17
MAJOR FORSYTH WAS RECLINING against a saddlebag, pipe in his mouth, when he heard the call from the outer sentries. For a moment he saw the tip of the signal flame clearly above the hills to the east, and then it was gone.
Sharp Grover’s voice drawled out of the darkness: “They’re telling the warriors back in the village exactly where we are.”
“I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that now,” Forsyth replied.
“Not a thing, Major, except sleep with one eye open and our Spencers in reach. Remember I told you before sundown that hostiles are thick all around us, and if they aim to fight us they’ll do it just before next sunup.”
Late that afternoon they had camped there on the grassy swale along the Arickaree, and after Grover and Beecher had combed the area they recommended that guards be doubled and that horses and mules be hobbled and picketed close together. Forsyth had issued an order to that effect, and he also ordered that all remaining rations—beans, bacon, and hardtack—be dumped into the cooking pots. From now on, he had told the scouts, they wou
ld have to live off what game they could find.
While this makeshift stew was cooking, he walked with Grover, Stilwell and Donovan across the dry bed of the Arickaree to a narrow island, a sandbar that ran parallel with the camp site. A slender cottonwood stood like a sentinel at the north end, and small alders and willows fringed the edges. A scattering of plum shrubs and grass as tall as a man covered most of the interior. Forsyth judged the island to be about a hundred yards long and fifty yards wide.
“Nothing here would stop a bullet,” Grover commented. “But we could make a stand if we had to.”
“I hope we don’t have to,” Forsyth replied. “If there is an attack I’m counting on our seven-shot Spencers to drive them off. They couldn’t stand up against our withering fire.”
“A small raiding party couldn’t, no, sir.” Grover gazed off into the twilight toward the north. “Trouble is, Roman Nose and Two Crows, they’re learning to fight us different from the old way. If they come, they’ll come in full force.”
Returning to the camp, Forsyth had worked out a defense plan. Each man was to sleep with his boots on near his horse, and at the sound of any alarm he was to fall in, rifle ready, beside his mount and await orders.
As darkness fell they had eaten the last of their rations, swallowed a weak brew of coffee, and extinguished all fires. Forsyth had lighted his pipe with a coal, and was still talking with Grover and Beecher when the Indians’ signal fire streaked the sky above the river. Grover’s gloomy predictions depressed but did not alarm him. A few minutes after the signal flash he walked around the camp. The air was frosty already, and the men not on guard duty were rolled up in their blankets back to back for added warmth.
When Forsyth returned to his saddlebag, he could not sleep. He wished that he could read from his volume of Dickens, but any kind of light was out of the question. He lay for a long time listening to the snuffling of the horses and the snoring of some of the scouts, and the faraway wail of a coyote—that might or might not be a coyote. Two or three times during the night he flung off his blanket and made a slow circuit of the guards. None reported seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary.