Ashes of Heaven (19 page)

“I will go north with you,” announced Hump, leader of the few lodges of
Mnikowoju
who had resolutely stayed on with the Shahiyela when the rest of the Lakota departed with Crazy Horse. Behind this leader, also known as High Backbone, stood several of the warriors of his clan. “Because I am the only Lakota chief here, I owe it to my people to talk with the Bear Coat myself, to see if his words ring true.”

“Good,” White Bull answered. “And if we are murdered by the Crow People, or if the soldiers take us prisoner, then you must have your people flee with Medicine Bear.”

“Agreed,” Hump replied. “We have chosen to take the same path in reaching this place. My people will stay on that path the Shahiyela have chosen.”

As the only two Council Chiefs still among them, Crazy Head and Old Wolf rode at the head of the procession that left the village behind that morning. Following them were the older, honored warriors: Little Creek and Iron Shirt, Black Bear and Crazy Mule. Behind them rode Two Moon and White Bull, both of them riding on either side of Old Wool Woman. Joining them were White Thunder and Sleeping Rabbit, the great Shahiyela physician. Protecting the rear of the delegation were Hump, his brother Horse Road, and several of their Lakota kinsmen.

This delegation drove their weary ponies as fast as they could through the crusty snow, halting only once at midmorning to water the horses and let them blow. After that short rest, the riders hurried on, anxious to learn if they could come to trust the Bear Coat as Old Wool Woman had … or to know at last if this was nothing more than a
ve-ho-e
trap using the old woman to lure the chiefs into the snare.

If so, White Bull kept assuring himself, at least a few of the People would survive. Medicine Bear and the other leaders would hurry them south, away from the soldier chief's deadly trap. The men could hunt, the women could tan the robes, and their children could grow to become warriors and mothers, knowing the soldiers would eventually come looking for them.

If not that winter, then perhaps in the spring.

If the Bear Coat's word was nothing more than a breath of foul wind, then Medicine Bear and the others left behind in the village would stand little chance of surviving another winter, even if they fled into the fastness of the mountains. Three Finger Kenzie had shown them that. Even in the mountains the
Ohmeseheso
were not safe.

Their survival rested less and less on how resolutely White Bull's people made war against the soldiers, but more and more on how bravely his people could make peace with these strangers who had come to take everything that belonged to them. The land. The rivers and streams. The buffalo.

So many lives lost and still the Northern People hadn't turned the soldiers back. The time had come to talk of surrendering with honor to the soldier chief. Time to make a courageous peace before there were no more
Ohmeseheso
to carry on the names and the old stories and the glory tales of long-ago battles, before no one was left to tell the little ones about the days when the buffalo ran free across the hills and the prairie, when the People rode free with those buffalo.

Before the coming of the
ve-ho-e
and his soldiers.

White Bull reminded his heart he had to believe that the Bear Coat would be a man of honor.

If not, the glory days of the
Ohmeseheso
truly were like ashes on the wind.

Chapter 15

Late in the Big Hoop-and-Stick Game Moon
1877

Old Wool Woman could sense the danger felt by the men around her. Strong in her nostrils, so palpable she could smell it on the wind, it was almost as strong this day as it was when they fought Three Finger Kenzie in the Red Fork Canyon.

These were brave men, she thought as she gazed around at them this cold, clear afternoon. While she alone seemed convinced that all would be good with their going to the Elk River fort, she clearly realized that these
Ohmeseheso
and Lakota chiefs and warriors around her had nowhere near the confidence she had in the Bear Coat's intentions.

Yes, these were the bravest of her people, she reminded herself. The others, even great chiefs like Little Wolf and Morning Star, were nowhere near as brave as these men. Those who led the way south to the White River Agency were taking what they believed to be the easiest path—perhaps to slip into the reservation without alerting the soldiers or the
ve-ho-e
agent. Sly those leaders would try to be.

And those few who had refused to go either north or south but instead rode away with some of the Crazy Horse warrior bands—they simply didn't have the courage it took to make the toughest decisions regarding the future of the
Ohmeseheso.

But these who rode behind Crazy Head and Old Wolf toward the Elk River post were the bravest of any simply because they dared take a chance on peace for the good of their people. Easy it was to run away until they were surrounded like the white man's spotted buffalo. Easier to keep on fighting until there were no more Shahiyela left. Easiest to close one's eyes and keep on starving until hunger claimed every last one of your relations.

She sat up a little straighter and took a deep breath of the cold air, thankful the sun had appeared today after so many gray days in a row, strung together like knots on a rope—

Magpies burst into flight, rising from the trees to her right, up ahead along the west bank of the river. Startled by the sudden movement, some of the ponies shied as the shadows flitted low overhead. Great jets of steam issued from the horses' round, flaring nostrils, as the men brought them under control.

Then Old Wool Woman saw two riders appear out of the cottonwoods ahead.

Old Wolf threw up his arm, halting them. The rest of the delegation clattered up on either side of him and Crazy Head, arrayed in one broad flank should trouble prove unavoidable, should treachery raise its ugly head as it had for Packs the Drum and four others the last time peace-makers came to this place.

On either side of her American horse streamed in Hump's Lakota warriors, hurrying to fill the gaps on that line of courageous men, to take their places on the solid phalanx that arrayed itself in front of the enemy.

“It's the half-breed called White!” shouted White Bull.

“Is it a soldier with him?” Sleeping Rabbit asked.

With a flat hand shading his eyes, White Thunder answered, “I cannot tell for sure—but he does not ride like an Indian.”

Old Wool Woman shaded her eyes as well and gazed at the distant riders who had frightened the magpies into flight. Bruguier pushed back the front brim of his hat to expose more of his face, then raised the arm high in greeting. He called out her name in Lakota.

“Big Leggings!” she cried, with the relief of a mother welcoming her son who had gone off to face much danger. Old Wool Woman urged her big horse between the ponies ridden by Two Moon and Crazy Mule, then halted in front of that wide line of men, waiting for the half-breed and his companion.

“The rest of the village stayed behind?” Bruguier asked when he had come to a halt before her.

“Yes,” she answered in Lakota. “Have you been to the fort and seen the Bear Coat?”

“Yes, yes,” he answered, flush with renewed excitement. “The soldier chief wants you all to come talk with him. It will be safe. No soldiers will harm you.”

“Are we far?” White Bull asked Old Wool Woman, who translated.

“No, not far,” the half-breed assured them. “Tell the chiefs and these warriors that the Bear Coat wants them to dress up in their finest war clothes before they reach the fort.”

“War clothes?” Iron Shirt asked after Old Wool Woman translated.

Crazy Mule demanded, “Why would we wear our war clothes if we are going in to talk of peace?”

“Big Leggings says the white man wants us to wear the clothes for a grand show,” she explained. “The Bear Coat told the half-breed that he will put his soldiers in two lines when we get to the fort. We will ride between the lines of soldiers. The soldier chief will come out to shake hands with some of you then.”

“Be sure to tell the chiefs they must choose a few of their number to ride forward and shake hands with the Bear Coat,” Bruguier reminded her.

As soon as Old Wool Woman explained the request to the others, there arose some nervous mumbling about that demand: fresh in their memories were the five ambushed by the Crow People scouts. She could tell the men around her were growing more fearful of a trap.

“There is nothing to fear from the soldier chief,” she tried to assure them. “Those who volunteer will ride forward to meet the Bear Coat in the middle and shake hands.”

Turning back to look at the half-breed, Old Wool Woman watched something gray cross his face.

“I believe I should tell you something important,” Bruguier disclosed. “The soldier chief owns two horses. If he rides out to meet you on the white one, it means he will talk of peace. But if the Bear Coat comes out to meet you on the roan—that is his war horse.”

For a moment she didn't know how to explain that to the others, these Shahiyela leaders who were looking at her, waiting for her to translate the half-breed's words. Would this bit of news ruin every hope she had been nursing for so long? Had she come this close to the Elk River fort with these men the Bear Coat sent her to bring back, only to learn that the Bear Coat might yet be a man who held war in his heart? Had she been deceived? Had she been made a fool?

Her lips quivered slightly as she reluctantly translated.

“The Bear Coat will ride his war horse to take us prisoner!” Iron Shirt shrieked in dismay and anger.

“He called us here in peace,” White Thunder bellowed, “but once we are close enough that we can't turn back, he speaks to us of war!”

“Big Leggings!” Old Wool Woman shouted in the midst of the growing uproar. “Is this talk of the two horses true?”

“The Bear Coat has two horses,” Bruguier affirmed. “I have seen them with my own eyes so I wanted these chiefs to know. The soldier chief rode the roan when he went after Sitting Bull's village last autumn. Again when he came down the Tongue after the Crazy Horse village”

“But did the Bear Coat say you were to tell us about his horses?”

As she spoke the words in Lakota, Old Wool Woman watched the half-breed's eyes twitch. The way a man might attempt to hide a flinch.

“The soldier chief owns these two horses and he could ride either one—”

She interrupted, “Did the Bear Coat himself tell you that he might ride out to meet us on his war horse?”

Without speaking, Bruguier shook his head sullenly. “No, he did not mention the horses when he told me he would talk with the chiefs. He told me if they surrender to him, there will be peace. If they do not surrender, there will be war.”

“What did this one say to you?” Black Bear Shirt demanded of Old Wool Woman.

She explained what the half-breed said in Lakota, then added, “It is the same message the Bear Coat asked me to bring to you myself. If you want to talk of surrender, you can come to his fort and he will talk peace with you. But if you do not want to surrender, he will put his soldiers on the trail of our village.”

“Until he drives us onto the Lakota agency at White River!” Little Creek argued.

“No,” White Bull said calmly. “Perhaps if we surrender to the Bear Coat in this northern country, the soldier chief will give us our own agency in our own land.”

Crazy Head declared, “This must be. If we are to surrender to the soldier chief, he must give us our own agency on our own lands—where we will always be close to the bones of our grandfathers.”

“Tell the half-breed we will follow him to the soldier fort,” White Bull instructed Old Wool woman. “Tell him we come to talk to the Bear Coat about surrender, to talk about an agency in our own country.”

This was the ninth day of their journey north from the valley of the Little Sheep River. Too long a trip only to turn around and flee now. Too great a distance, so deep the cold. So little to eat, so little warmth. So very much to hope for. A white horse or a roan horse. Surrender and peace rode one animal while war and desolation would ride the other. Old Wool Woman's heart was in her throat as the delegation followed Bruguier and the stranger north those last steps to the Elk River.

It wasn't long before she smelled fires, heard the distant ring of axes as wood was being chopped. Thin veils of smoke stained the winter blue sky. Then she spotted the first soldier ahead. He turned to shout at the clearing beyond him, waving a small piece of cloth tied on the end of the long knife attached at the muzzle of his rifle.

More soldiers appeared, stopping to stand and stare as if incredulous, disbelieving.

Old Wool Woman watched many of these chiefs and warriors stiffen, their faces set stoically for what now confronted them, as they slowly rode into the arms of the enemy.

A horn blared in the distance as she spotted the tops of those wooden lodges and canvas tents where she and the other prisoners were held, where the soldiers lived, where the Bear Coat told her he was offering peace to her people. Many of the soldiers were shouting now, mixing their voices with the clatter of metal striking wood and the thump of hundreds of feet pounding the hardened, snowy ground.

Of a sudden a flood of soldiers appeared in front of the
Ohmeseheso,
streaming left and right as some of the
ve-ho-e
shouted orders. In their long, buffalo-hide coats and big fur hats, pulled down over their ears, the soldiers were forming themselves into what appeared to be a battle line.

While Crazy Head and Old Wolf and the others slowed their gait slightly, they did not halt, despite this display of warlike might from the Bear Coat's soldiers. Closer and closer their ponies slowly carried them toward the log lodges, toward the tall pole where the soldier chief had hung his medicine symbol with its stars of white and its bars of red. Toward that line of
ve-ho-e
standing stiffly, each one clutching a rifle with its long knife attached—those weapons pointed at the sky and ready for war.