my children. And thus we are all Cheyenne.”
Once Red Eagle finished his story, others began to tell stories as well. If the story was to be a tale of bravery in battle, the one who spoke would walk over to the lodge pole and strike it with his coup stick. Then everyone would know that he was going to tell a story of an enemy killed in battle. In such stories the enemy warriors were always brave and skilled, because that made the warrior’s own exploits all the greater.
Not all stories were of enemies killed in battle. Some of the stories were of hunting exploits, and some told of things that had happened in the time of their father’s father’s father that had been handed down through the generations to be preserved as part of their history.
One of those who spoke little, but of whom many tales were told, was Walking Bear. A few days earlier, Walking Bear had led a war party against a small establishment that consisted of a military stockade, stagecoach station, and telegraph office. The stockade was manned by about fifty soldiers, and when Walking Bear tried a frontal attack against the soldiers, he was driven back by cannon fire and by the long-range fire of the soldier’s rifles. As the soldiers were protected by the heavy timbers of the stockade, Walking Bear was unable to dislodge them, even though he had superior numbers.
Walking Bear tried a few ploys. He sent ten warriors down toward the soldiers to act as decoys, but they were unable to draw the soldiers out. The next morning he sent twenty, and this time the soldiers came out as far as the bridge, but would come no farther.
Some suggested the warriors should slip down at night and set fire to the stockade, but Walking Bear insisted that only cowards fight in such a way. They finally decided that they would try another frontal assault the next day, massing all their numbers. Before they could launch their attack, though, they were surprised to see an entire platoon of cavalrymen ride out of the fort, cross the bridge, then head westward at a trot. The soldiers had come out of the fort to provide an escort for an approaching wagon train.
Elated at their good fortune, Walking Bear mounted all his warriors and they swarmed down on the wagons and the escorting soldiers.
The soldiers reached the wagons, then, in a classic formation, circled the wagons and dug in. The soldiers fought bravely, and Walking Bear’s own brother was killed in the first few minutes of fighting. Angered and grieving, Walking Bear led the Cheyenne into ever-decreasing circles around the wagons, lashing their ponies to make them go faster and faster. Walking Bear was wearing his medicine bonnet and carrying his sacred shield, so he knew that no bullets would strike him.
As the circle tightened closer to the wagons, the soldiers continued their firing until, finally, all the soldiers were out of ammunition. When the soldiers stopped firing, the Cheyenne charged straight for the wagons and killed all the soldiers. They fell upon the wagons in eager anticipation, but were very disappointed by what they found. Though they had hoped for weapons and ammunition, there was nothing in the wagons but bedding and mess chests.
When Walking Bear returned, he told the others in the council that the white men had been taught a lesson and would now obey the treaty they had signed.
“No,” Red Eagle said. “I fear that all you have done is anger the white man so that we will get no beef.”
“You want beef?” Walking Bear retorted, angry that Red Eagle did not respect his story of bravery in battle. “I will get beef for you. I will get all the beef you can eat.”
“How will you do such a thing?” Red Eagle asked.
“Are you an old man that you have forgotten the way of our people? I will get beef the way Cheyenne have always gotten food. I will find it, and I will bring it back. I will not wait for the white man to give it to us, as if we are children, pawing and mewing to suckle at the teat.”
Walking Bear’s words were angry and disrespectful of an old man who had, long ago, earned the respect of all his people. As a result, many who heard the words gasped.
Red Eagle stood up, and pulled his robe about him. He pointed. “Go,” he said. “Leave our village before you bring evil to us.”
“And if I say I do not wish to go, what can you do?” Walking Bear asked. He laughed, a disrespectful, guttural laugh. “You can do nothing, old man,” he taunted. “You are old and weak, and you have no medicine.”
Red Eagle said nothing, but he raised his hand into the air, then made a circular motion with his fingers. Then, there was the whirring sound of wind through feathers. A large eagle suddenly appeared swooping down out of the darkness. He made a pass at Walking Bear’s head, legs extended, claws bared. The eagle raked his claws across Walking Bear’s face, leaving three, parallel, bleeding gashes on his cheek. Then, with a graceful but powerful beat of his wings, the eagle soared back up to disappear in the darkness.
Those who watched the incident gasped and called out in shock and fear, but no one was more shocked or more frightened by what had just happened than Walking Bear himself.
Walking Bear put his hand to his cheek, ran the fingers across the cuts, then held them out to look at the blood, shining darkly in the firelight.
“How…?” Walking Bear started to ask, but he never finished his question.
“Leave,” Red Eagle said again, this time speaking very quietly, but with great authority.
“I will go,” Walking Bear replied. “I am not going because you have ordered me to, but because I can no longer live with men who fear to walk the path of a warrior. Who will come with me?” he asked loudly.
About two dozen young men stood up, standing silently in the night, their eyes shining red from the light of the fire.
Red Eagle looked at all of the young men, then nodded.
“Do you see that the bravest of our people have joined me?” Walking Bear asked.
“Go,” Red Eagle said. “Take your women and your children with you. You are no longer a part of this village.”
“Eeeyahhhh!!!!” Walking Bear shouted, and those who had stood to go returned the shout.
As Walking Bear and those who followed him left the village, their departure was greeted with silence, partly in stunned disbelief over what they were witnessing and partly in grief at losing members of their village.
