Butchery of the Mountain Man

CHAPTER THIRTY

[Warrior societies were an important aspect of the life of the Plains Indians. The tribes’ fighting men were divided into distinct units which provided their members with prestige. They fell under two categories, graded and ungraded, and though the warrior societies of the Apsáalooke (Crow) were, theoretically, ungraded, there was, by recognition, a definite graduation among the three societies of the tribe. Those three societies were the Lumpwood, the Fox, and the Big Dog. There was a fierce rivalry between them and, in battle, each society strove to strike the first coup.

There were, in addition, ranks within the individual societies which, while they conferred great honor, also demanded a personal sacrifice or commitment from the warrior upon whom the rank had been bestowed.

The Big Dog Warrior Society gradually emerged as the most prestigious. Members of this society would wear a belt of bearskin, complete with claws. They also daubed their bodies with mud, and rolled their hair into tight balls, imitating bear’s ears. They made a commitment to walk upright straight toward the enemy, never to retreat, and to come to the aid of any tribesman in danger.—ED.]

In the village of Iron Bull

Stone Eagle wore two vertical stripes on his right cheek, one red and one black. The stripes ran from the bottom of his eye to the top of his lip, and they denoted his rank as chief of the warrior society known as the Big Dog Warrior Society. He had asked for a meeting of the council and now all were gathered before the council fire.

Stone Eagle pointed to Whips His Horses, and spoke derisively of him.

“Whips His Horses boasts of his feats,” Stone Eagle said. “But what has he done? He has killed women and children. He has killed men who are not warriors. He has done this while Liver Eater continues to go free, to kill our braves.”

“And what have you done?” Whips His Horses replied, angrily. “You have done nothing!”

“Liver Eater is but one man. I have thought, until now, that one brave warrior would be his equal, but ten have tried, and ten have died. And you,” Stone Eagle said, pointing to Whips His Horses, “you have not even tried. You are afraid to fight Liver Eater, so you fight those who cannot fight back.”

“Whips His Horses has asked a question that must be answered,” Iron Bull said. “What have you done?”

“I have done nothing,” Stone Eagle admitted. “But now I am ready to lead the Big Dog Warriors to find and kill this man who has killed so many of our own.”

“How many will you take?” Iron Bull asked.

“He has killed ten. We will be two for every one that he has killed. We will be twenty.”

“I will be one of the twenty,” Whips His Horses said.

“You are not a member of the Big Dog Society,” Stone Eagle replied.

“Then I will be a member.”

“If you become a member, you must follow me. Do you agree to that?”

“I will also be a leader,” Whips His Horses said. He pointed to his chest. “I am chief of the Fox Society.”

“To be a Big Dog Warrior you must leave the Fox and become a Big Dog. You can be a member, but you will not be a leader,” Stone Eagle insisted.

“I ask the council!” Whips His Horses said. “Hear me. I am chief of the Fox Warrior Society. Is it not fair that if I join the Big Dog Warrior Society that I shall be a chief, equal in authority to Stone Eagle?”

The members of the council discussed it among themselves, then Iron Bull spoke.

“Stone Eagle, would you agree to a test with Whips His Horses to determine if he should be a chief?”

“Yes, I will agree to a test,” Stone Eagle replied.

“Whips His Horses, will you agree to a test?” Iron Bull asked.

Whips His Horses looked at Stone Eagle with an expression of hatred on his face.

“If we are to test, then let it be a final test. Let us fight until the death,” Whips His Horses said.

“Stone Eagle, you have been challenged,” Iron Bull said. “You cannot deny the challenge and remain chief of the Big Dog Warrior Society. What is your answer?”

“I accept the challenge,” Stone Eagle said.

Iron Bull held up both his arms and called out loudly so that all in the village could hear what he had to say.

“Hear me!” he called. “A challenge has been issued, and accepted. Whips His Horses and Stone Eagle are to fight. The fight must be until the death of one. The winner of the fight will be chief of the Big Dog Warrior Society.”

A circle was drawn and the two warriors entered the circle, each armed with a knife. Facing each other warily, they held their arms crossed in front of them, the palm of their left hand open, while grasping the knife in their right hand. They moved around in the circle, first one, and then the other, leaning forward to make, mostly futile, downward stabbing motions with the knife.

On one of his thrusts, Whips His Horses made a slashing cut on Stone Eagle’s arm. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it did bring blood. A moment later Stone Eagle opened a cut on Whips His Horses’ shoulder and now both men were bloodied as they faced each other.

Whips His Horses made another thrust but Stone Eagle stepped aside, then stuck out his foot, tripping Whips His Horses. Whips His Horses fell facedown and dropped his knife. Stone Eagle reached down and grabbed it, quickly, before Whips His Horses could recover. Now, with both knives, he reached down and laid the flat of the blade on the back of Whips His Horses’ neck.

“I claim coup,” he shouted, and turning his back to Whips His Horses’ prone form, he held both his arms up over his head, his knife in one hand and Whips His Horses’ knife in the other. “I have won!” he claimed, triumphantly.

Whips His Horses got to his feet quickly, then reaching out of the circle, grabbed a lance from one of the warriors who had been watching. With a shout of triumph, he rushed across the circle and thrust the lance into Stone Eagle’s back, doing so with such force that the bloody point came through Stone Eagle’s stomach.

Stone Eagle looked down in surprise, grabbed the lance point, then fell dead.

“Ayiee! It is I who have won!” Whips His Horses shouted.

There was some discussion among the elders of the council, but it was pointed out that the requirement was a fight to the death. And it was obvious that Whips His Horses had met that requirement. He was now the new head of the Big Dog Warrior Society.

“Will you now do as Stone Eagle would have done?” Iron Bull asked. “Will you take twenty warriors to kill Liver Eater?”

“I will do this,” Whips His Horses said.

“Send runners to all the villages,” Iron Bull declared. “Let the word go out to the Gros Ventre, the Piegan, the Lakota, and the Blackfeet, that twenty Big Dog Warriors of the Apsáalooke village of Iron Bull will avenge the death of our brothers!”

Fort Shaw

“What would you have me do about it?” Major Clinton asked the two civilian representatives from Helena. “Wage a full-scale war?”

“But don’t you understand? The Indians attacked three wagons of whites. That is already an act of war,” Babcock, one of the two civilians, said.

“From all that I’ve been able to learn, it was no more than a few renegade Indians,” Major Clinton said. “It wasn’t a full-blown war party. I have four companies of infantry here. And I stress that we are infantry, not cavalry. We are not a mobile force. I can detach one company of infantry and assign them to protect the town of Helena, but I don’t really think the town of Helena is in any danger. Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Babcock said. “Is it true that what has gotten them all riled up is some crazy mountain man who has turned cannibal? He’s actually eating the bodies?”

“From what I’ve heard, he’s only eating their livers,” Major Clinton said.

“Then I think if you can do nothing about the Indians, you should do something about this crazy mountain man,” Jones said. Jones was the other civilian from Helena.

“Do something about the mountain man?” Major Clinton replied. “Do what? What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you find him and kill him,” Jones said.

“Definitely not!” Major Clinton said. “I’m appalled that you would even suggest such a thing!”

“It seems like a pretty good bargain to me,” Jones said. “One crazy white cannibal against the lives of how many more whites will the Indians kill?”

“I’m going to ask you two men to leave this post, now,” Major Clinton said, angrily.

“You’ve got no right to order us off this post,” Babcock insisted. “We have come to seek army protection.”

“You have two choices,” Major Clinton said. “You can leave of your own volition, or I will have you escorted off this post under armed guard.”

“All right, all right, we’re going,” Babcock said. “But I intend to write a letter to the War Department protesting your refusal to protect us.”

“Sergeant Major?” Major Clinton called.

“Yes, sir?” Sergeant Major Porter replied, stepping into Major Clinton’s office.

“See that these”—Major Clinton paused, setting the next word apart from the sentence to show his disdain—“gentlemen . . . are shown safely off this post.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Major Porter said. “This way, gentlemen.”

Major Clinton walked to the front of the headquarters building and stood in the doorway as he watched the two civilians cross the quadrangle toward the gate. Lieutenant Philbin approached him with a salute.

“Do you know what those two men wanted?” Major Clinton asked.

“No, sir, not exactly. I know they were concerned about the people who were killed at their wagons.”

“They wanted me to send the army out to kill Mr. Jackson. The very idea.”

“Yes, sir, well, it might all be beyond our hands anyway,” Lieutenant Philbin said.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“My Indians tell me that Iron Bull is sending twenty of his Big Dog Warriors out to find and kill Jackson.”

“Do you think we should warn Jackson?”

Philbin chuckled. “In the first place, I’m damn sure Jackson already knows that he is the enemy of the Crow right now. In fact, I’m pretty sure he welcomes it. Major, he brought this war on himself, you know.”

“No, he didn’t,” Major Clinton said. “I did, when I sent him and his wife to meet with Iron Bull.”

“If he had just killed the ones who killed his wife and child, that would have been the end of it,” Philbin said. “But he didn’t stop there. He has made a personal war on all the Crow. And, don’t forget, he is eating their livers. That is a slap in the face of every Crow alive.”

“We don’t know that he is actually eating their livers.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he is or not, now,” Philbin said. “The Crow believe that he is, and that’s enough.”