Massacre of Eagles

“How we goin’ to pin it on ’em?”

The first man chuckled, then kneeling down he pulled Many Buffalo’s hunting knife from its sheath.

“You want to see how I pin the note on? Watch,” he said.

He drove the knife through the note, pinning it to Many Buffalo’s chest.

“Haw!” the second man said. “I don’t reckon that note’s goin’ to blow away.”

White Deer knew that her father was already dead, but it was all she could do to keep from crying out when she saw the knife plunged into his chest.

“What about the squaw?”

“What about her?”

“We just goin’ to leave her there?”

“What do you want to do, bury her?

“No, nothin’ like that. I was just wonderin’.”

“Leave her. When they find her, the old man, and the buck we killed, they’ll know we mean business.”

“Yeah. If this don’t teach ’em a lesson, nothin’ will.”

“Let’s go.”

White Deer continued to lie unmoving for a long moment after they left, still terrified that they would come back. She waited until the sound of hoofbeats could no longer be heard before she raised her head. The first thing she saw was the pony of her husband. When she saw the pony of One Feather, she knew that if the pony was without a rider, One Feather must have been killed as well. She also knew that Quiet Stream had driven the wagon away with her children and she could only hope that they were still alive.

Painfully, laboriously, saddened by the deaths of her father and husband and worried about her children, White Deer managed to mount the pony and ride away. After a ride of well over an hour, she reached the house of Chris Dumey, a settler that she knew, and experienced a great sense of relief at her salvation.

She stopped in front of the house and stayed on the pony by a great effort because she was still losing blood.

“Help!” she called. “Please, I have been shot! Mr. Dumey, please help me!”

The door to the house opened just a crack, and a man thrust a shotgun through the opening.

“Get out of here Injun,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Mr. Dumey, it is me, White Deer! I have been shot. I need help,” White Deer said.

“If you don’t get now, you’re goin’ to get shot again,” Dumey said. “Now get!” He shouted the last two words, and thrust the gun forward dramatically.

Somehow the fear helped her overcome the dizziness and White Deer slapped her legs against the side of the pony and raced out of the farmer’s yard.

She passed at least three other settlers’ homes on her way back to the village, and even though she also knew the people who lived in those houses, she gave them a wide berth.

It was dark by the time she returned to the village, and because Quiet Stream had already made it back safely with word of the attack, the entire village was in an uproar.

“We thought you were dead,” High Hawk said.

“Where is One Feather?” Big Hand, the father of Quiet Stream and One Feather asked.

“He is dead,” White Deer said. “So is my father. I don’t know where my children are. I don’t know where Quiet Stream is.”

“I am here, White Deer,” Quiet Stream said. “Your children are safe.”

Although she had managed to stay conscious during her long arduous ride back home, knowing now that her children were safe, White Deer quit hanging on. She passed out from her wounds, and she was picked up and carried into her tipi where the bullets were removed from her body, and a poultice put over each of the two bullet wounds.

Big Horn Basin

It was two hunters from the Crow village who found the bodies of Many Buffalo and One Feather the next day. Constructing a travois, they brought the four back to the village. They had found a piece of paper on Many Buffalo’s body, pinned to him by his own knife.

The rest of the village wept and shouted in anger at the brutal slaying.

“Here are some paper words,” one of the two Indians said.

“Show the paper words to Running Elk,” one of the villagers said. “He has been to the white man’s school, he can read the paper words.”

Running Elk was as angry and aggrieved as all the other villagers, but he was pleased that he had been chosen to read the paper words. He read the words aloud, in English.

“We kilt these Injuns because they did not stay where they belonged. We will kill all Injuns who do not stay where they belong.”

Because not everyone understood him when he read the note in English, Running Elk translated it for them.

Now the people became painfully aware of the situation. The paper words made it clear that the earlier murders, like these, were not merely the isolated incident of one or two whites. It was an organized movement,