Wolf Mountain Moon: The Battle of the Butte, 1877

Chapter 26

Hoop and Stick Moon 1877

Big Horse became afraid as soon as he saw the first outlying pickets, then some of the wagons, and finally all those white soldiers in their camp. Not afraid for himself, but afraid for Old Wool Woman and the others. If there were soldiers in this country, then they would have their scouts prowling about.

In going to see what the firesmoke was all about, Big Horse ended up wandering down in a maze of coulees, which caused him to go too far by the time he’d worked his way out to the high ground with the exhausted pony. Urging the animal back up to that high divide to the east of the Tongue River Valley, the Ohmeseheso warrior came to the skyline, then immediately dropped to his belly.

Down below in all that snow lay a camp of soldiers.

Now he slid backward, his heart in his throat. Big Horse remounted and stayed as hidden as he could, racing the pony back toward the place where he had left the women to continue on their own while he went to investigate the smoke. Too many heartbeats later he crossed their trail of footprints. Getting down, Big Horse looked closely. The tracks were theirs, both big and small, along with the two ponies with their drags, the whole party trudging ahead through the deep, crusty snow. He wheeled the pony to the right and hurried along their trail.

But Big Horse hadn’t gone far—no more than two short ridges—before he reined up suddenly. Down the slope, three arrow-flights away, he spotted the women and children as they were surrounded by horsemen. Some of them looked to be Ooetaneoo-o, the Crow People, but not all. The way they moved, walked about, most of the riders had to be ve-ho-e scouts for the army. One of them waved his arms, and Big Horse saw Old Wool Woman tuck one of the children beside her and start walking away through the midst of the scouts. Knocked down into the snow by the enemy, young Black Horse scrambled to his feet, stood rooted defiantly a moment, then turned and moved off behind the others.

Moving downriver toward the soldier camp!

Wheeling the pony about again, Big Horse began to pray to the Four Sacred Persons as he took big gulps of the shockingly cold air, his heels pounding the pony’s ribs. Down the side of the ridge, up the slope of another, kicking up cascades of powdery snow, he raced the weary pony toward the Tongue River. Somewhere upstream he would find the village.

The soldiers had camped down the Tongue.

It was plain they had not yet reached the camp of the Crazy Horse Hunkpatila and the Ohmeseheso, wounded by unending warfare.

Big Horse realized he must bring them word.

The soldiers were coming!

As they slowly encircled the women and children, Donegan realized that their prisoners had no idea they had been in any danger. Nor had these people really known where the village was located, much less that there were soldiers in the area. They had been moving along as if nothing but the horrid cold was of any concern to them.

The first woman had her blanket pulled over her head as she helped a young child along beneath an arm. She led the rest, who stayed back with their two ponies, into the head of the coulee and started down its jagged path, a course that would eventually take her to the river. Seamus didn’t like the way the two Crow trackers were inching up on either side of the prisoners, talking privately among themselves. There was something not quite benign about the look on those trackers’ faces. He remembered how furious Miles had been after the Sioux peace delegates had been killed—

“Leforge!” Kelly whispered sharply, waving an arm and ordering the squaw man over.

The squaw man grumbled haughtily, “What do you want?”

“You tell your Crow to stay back from these people. Got that?”

“Stay back?” Leforge growled. “That may be hard. Maybeso those women are relatives of warriors who killed these boys’ relations in battle or raids—”

“I don’t give a damn!” Kelly snapped. “They’re women and children.”

“You heard him,” Donegan added. “Just keep them Crow back, and there won’t neither of ’em need to get hurt. I’ll just make you responsible.”

“Me?”

“One of them prisoners gets cut, gets shot—same’ll happen to you and your Crow,” Seamus snarled. “Count on it, Leforge. Count on it till your dying day.”

Leforge’s eyes followed the Irishman’s mitten as Seamus’s hand went to rest on the butt of one of the big pistols in the civilian’s belt. “What’s a few women to you, anyway? You planning on making one of ’em your blanket warmer tonight?”

“G’won now!” Kelly ordered with an emphatic gesture of his arm. “Get up there and tell your Crow to stay back and not harm these—”

“Don’t see why you two are so all-fired mad about nothing what’s happened,” Leforge said, shaking his head.

Kelly urged his horse forward until it was directly opposite the squaw man’s. He planted a mitten on Leforge’s arm and kept it there while he said, “I just remember that it was your Crow who killed those five Sioux right there at the post. That’s what I call murder.”

“Them two better not touch no women and children today,” Donegan warned, turning to let his glare rest on the Crow scouts. “Or I’ll see to it all three of you don’t make it back to where Miles has raised his camp.”

For a moment Leforge didn’t budge in the saddle, didn’t utter a word; then Kelly suddenly turned his horse, wheeling away. He whispered instructions to Donegan and to Johnston as they split up. Kelly went forward while the other two went left and right. Behind Donegan and Johnston rode James Parker and George Johnson, along with the two Crow scouts, while Leforge followed Buffalo Horn at the rear of the procession.

As soon as Kelly moved toward the women, Donegan could see he began to gesture to the prisoners, making sign.

“They’re Cheyenne,” Kelly declared now that the squaws and children had stopped, clustering together with their two ponies the way a covey of quail would cower, looking all about them, seeing the ring of horsemen slowly coming in.

“Keep them Crow back!” Donegan warned Leforge.

Kelly turned to find Half Yellow Face urging his pony into a lope toward the Cheyenne women. Whirling his horse, Luther kicked it into a gallop, heading on a collision course for the Crow tracker, bringing his rifle to his shoulder. A scant ten feet from the chief of scouts, Half Yellow Face reined up sharply, holding aloft his yard-long coup-stick, shouting and cursing the white man in his own tongue.

“I’ll drop this son of a bitch if he tries me again like that,” Kelly said.

“He’s just wanting to count coup on them Cheyenne,” Leforge explained sheepishly. “Not do ’em no harm.”

Donegan patted the butt of his pistol, saying, “Just keep them back and there’ll be no trouble.”

“I don’t think you understand Injuns,” Leforge spat at Donegan.

“I understand enough to tell you that there’ll be three Crow widows singing their mourning songs tonight if either of these boys hurt one of our prisoners.”

By the time Kelly got turned around again so he could talk with the women, they were crying out in fear, the children wailing pitifully. Slowly the scouts continued to tighten the wide ring around their prisoners until they halted their horses just feet from the captives. This close to the Cheyenne, Old Bear leaned forward, stretching as far as he could, and slapped one of the younger women on the back of the head with his stick, singing out joyfully as he sang his war song.

“Keep an eye on both of ’em for me, Seamus,” Kelly ordered.

“I’ll drop the first one of ’em hurts a woman or so much as looks cross-eyed at one of them young’uns,” Seamus growled, mad enough now that he pulled his pistol and cocked it—just as Half Yellow Face whacked his coup-stick on the shoulder of the old woman who had been leading them all across the snowy prairieland.

None of the scouts could speak Cheyenne, but they did get the old woman and the rest started off down the coulee toward the river. Kelly motioned Buffalo Horn up to the front of the march with the old woman, where the Bannock made the prisoner understand they were being taken to the soldier camp. Once there, they would be fed and have a fire for warmth, and have no reason not to feel secure.

Donegan glared at Leforge’s Crow as he asked the Bannock, “Buffalo Horn—you tell them they’ll be safe with us?”

“Yes. I tell.”

“Good. If these Crow do anything to hurt our prisoners—I’ll let you have the first Crow scalp we’ll lift.”

Morning Star was sure they were under attack the moment the first shouts were raised late in the afternoon. But as it turned out, the alarm was only a lone rider, racing a weary, lathered pony through the snow up from the bank into the outskirts of the village.^*

The horseman was howling like a wolf—that eerie warning cry. Four times he stopped, pointing his tired pony to the four winds to greet the Sacred Persons dwelling in each of the cardinal directions, and each time he howled at the top of his lungs. When he got close enough, he started to yell.

“The soldiers are coming!”

Women began to scream—both Lakota and Shahiyela. Children darted for their mothers. Then several of the war leaders hollered above the tumult for calm. No guns were being fired nearby. The camp guards had not raised an alarm of attack. Nothing more than a solitary rider come across the river.

Men began to gather about the lone horseman, helping him as he pitched off his pony, all of them asking questions of the man at once. Then Little Wolf and White Bull, Crazy Horse and Black Moccasin, were there with Morning Star to confront the rider.

Morning Star asked, “You are Big Horse?”

“Yes,” the man gasped. “I am of Two Moon’s people.”

The chief held out his personal pipe and said to Big Horse, “Touch my pipe, and on its honor swear that you will tell me the truth.”

The exhausted warrior wrapped his fingers around the long stem of the pipe and said, “I swear that I will tell you the truth of what my eyes have seen.”

Then Crazy Horse shoved his way into the group, anxious, asking, “Where are these soldiers you are yelling at us about?”

Big Horse pointed, licking his cracked lips. “Down the river less than a half day’s ride.”

“The Bear Coat,” Crazy Horse snarled, making it sound like a curse. “But he is coming slower than I had hoped.”

Then Big Horse lunged for Morning Star. “They have taken prisoners!”

Morning Star gripped Big Horse’s wrists. “P-prisoners?”

“Our people!” Big Horse replied, and that started the women and children wailing all the more around that circle of men. “Lame White Man’s widow. And Old Wool Woman. Children are with them—”

“The women gone to Tangle Hair’s camp at the base of the Sacred Mountain?” Little Wolf asked, his voice rising.

“Yes,” Big Horse said, nodding. “The soldier scouts captured them. I saw the scouts taking them to the soldier camp.”

“Who are these scouts?”

Big Horse turned to He Dog to answer. “Some are Crow People, but most are ve-ho-e”

“It does not matter,” Little Wolf snarled. “Ooetaneo-o or white man—we must get our people back!”

A loud roar erupted from the crowd.

“I call for a war council!” Morning Star shouted.

Lakota and Shahiyela alike agreed, war chiefs of all the clans stepping forward to follow Crazy Horse and the three Old-Man Chiefs to the center of camp, where they would decide just what to do.

By twilight they had decided there was but one course of action to take. For many suns now they had been slowly retreating up the Tongue River, drawing the Bear Coat’s soldiers farther and farther from their fort. They knew the white man did not fight well far from his source of supplies. So they would be patient and continue to lure the white men farther, and farther.

But with their own people taken captive, they were now forced to change their original plans. Now they must attack, no matter the rugged terrain, no matter the wind and snow.

The first warriors ready before dark would follow the war chiefs north to the soldier camp, where they would attempt to create a diversion and free the prisoners. The rest of the warriors would come along sometime after the moon was high and be ready to fight at dawn.

Dawn … when they would have the soldier camp surrounded.

“You’ll see to this one first, won’t you?” Seamus asked the surgeon. He clutched the small girl across his arms tightly. The child squirmed enough that it was a battle, so afraid of him was she.

Dr. Henry R. Tilton evidently read the seriousness in the scout’s face and looked at the girl’s legs and feet, covered by frozen, icy wool leggings and skimpy moccasins. “Likely she’s got frostbite.”

“This’un’s worse off than all the rest,” Donegan said. “See to her first, I beg you in God’s name.”

Tilton smiled. “Yes. I’ll see to her first. Take her into the tent.” Then he motioned the rest to follow the tall gray-eyed civilian. “Bring the others into the tent too. I’m sure we won’t need to worry about them escaping tonight.”

Donegan ducked through the flaps, went to the lone cot, and laid the girl upon the blankets. She tried to rise immediately, swinging her feet off the cot, but he laid a firm hand on her shoulder, stopping her attempts. With the other hand he motioned the old woman to come over. She limped to the cot and sat down, talking to the child in a calm, soothing voice. Then the woman gazed up at Donegan and nodded once.

Reassured, Seamus turned and ducked out of the wall tent.

“Kelly!” he called out, spotting the chief of scouts.

“Donegan—you up to riding?”

“I s’pose. Set on going after that camp now?” He glanced into the afternoon sky.

“Maybe we can get a fix on where it is before nightfall,” Kelly said. “At least we may end up finding out if these prisoners have any bucks coming along behind them. I’ve some of the rest going with me, but you’re always welcome if you’re up for more saddle work.”

“Count on it,” Donegan answered.

“You think we can get any more news out of those women?”

Seamus shook his head. “Not a chance. Those women are scared, but they’re brave too. Those aren’t just squaws, Luther. Those are wives and mothers of chiefs and warriors. They’re not going to talk to us.”

Kelly turned to one of the Jackson brothers. “William—see that those women and children have all the food they want to eat. Fill ’em to the brim. Maybe we can make all of them warm and happy enough that one, just one, will want to chatter a bit tonight when we get back.”

“I’ll feed ’em my own self,” William replied before he turned away.

Kelly looked determined. “You ready to ride, Irishman?”

“Let’s swing a leg over a saddle, Yellowstone.”

That trip out, John Johnston, Tom Leforge, James Parker, and George Johnson rode along with Kelly and Donegan as the sun eased ever closer to settling behind the Wolf Mountains off to the southwest.

“You know they’re all around us,” Kelly said quietly as the horses plodded through the snow, picking their way among the sage and cedar.

“It’s too late in the day for them to make a go at Miles,” Donegan replied. “But I’d lay a full month of your wages that they’ll be eye to eye with us for bacon and biscuits by first light.”

“A month of my wages?” Kelly snorted. “Will you listen to that!”

John Johnston guffawed in that affable way of his, reaching over to slap the Irishman on the back of the shoulder. “Always been that sort of fella what’ll play fast and loose with another man’s wages, are you?”

“Long as there’s a pot, I’ll ante up—”

“Look there, by damn!” Parker cried, pointing at the ridge in their front and a little off to their right.

At least a handful of warriors sat atop their ponies, motionless as buckbrush, watching the scouts’ advance.

“Keep your eyes peeled, boys,” Kelly advised. “I’ll bet a month of Donegan’s poorhouse wages those aren’t the only redskins close at hand.”

Despite the fact that they were being watched from the heights, they kept on the trail that would lead them back to the place where they had captured the women and children. At the spot where they had surrounded the Cheyenne, Kelly halted them, dropping to the ground to study the backtrack direction of the captives’ prints.

“Luther,” Seamus said in a quiet voice.

Kelly rose from a crouch. His eyes followed Donegan’s arm, where the other four were all gazing. On the nearby ridge sat at least ten, maybe more than a dozen, horsemen now.

“Never did like me no Sioux sonsabitches,” grumbled George Johnson. “I say we give ’em a hoot and a holler and run ’em off.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and get yourself a scalp,” Parker replied.

“A man can hope, can’t he?” Johnson added. “What say, Kelly?”

“All right,” Luther agreed after a moment’s contemplation. “If they were up to something, I suppose they would have pulled their shenanigans by now. Let’s give that bunch a how-do, then be about our business to find the village they came from.”

“We run them off,” Seamus explained, “why—they might even lead us back to their village, Luther.”

“What are we waiting for, fellas? Let’s give those redskins a little send-off!” Kelly cheered, lunging into the saddle and drawing his carbine out of the saddle boot.

^*At the mouth of present-day Post Creek, seventeen miles upstream from the soldier bivouac.