“Sergeant Lucas!” Tom called. “Get a squad together—move out to protect the general! Left flank!”
The crowd buzzed with alarm as they recognized Custer striding across the icy, windblown prairie alone.
“Johnson! Grab a squad and cover Autie’s right flank! Jump to it, man!” Tom yelled.
Romero eased behind Tom to whisper in an ear. “If that is Little Robe out there, the general has nothing to fear.”
“Why? ’Cause he was such a good guest of ours?” Tom snarled. “Doesn’t mean the rest of those bastards won’t take Autie prisoner, maybe even slit his throat if they get the chance.”
“Little Robe’s an honorable man.”
“He may not have much say about it, what with them sonsabitches ready to guy any one of us!” Tom shouldered Romero aside. “That’s not
Out on the frosty prairie, Custer stopped, waiting for the chiefs to walk the last few yards between them. Wearing his famous smile, he made sign. “Little Robe! It is good to see you!”
“Yellow Hair! They told me you lead the soldiers. It brings my heart joy to see you!”
They shook hands, touched each other’s breast. Little Robe gestured to the warrior beside him. “This is my friend, Slips Away. He came to meet the Yellow Hair. He is a wise and honorable man.”
The tall warrior presented his hand. At the same time, Little Robe turned, announcing to the rest of the warriors gathering behind him, “My brothers! This is truly a day of rejoicing. Here stands the great soldier chief, Yellow Hair!”
That name sent a shock wave through the fifty, each straining for a glimpse at the destroyer of Black Kettle’s village.
“I invite Little Robe and his warriors to eat at Yellow Hair’s lodge!” Custer said.
The old chief stood dumbfounded. He smiled. “You speak Cheyenne now!”
“Yes, I have a very good teacher.”
“The girl?”
“Monaseetah.”
“Daughter of Little Rock,” the old chief replied. “I remember her as a skinny girl, all bone and legs. She has grown much?”
Custer chuckled. “Yes. She has grown much in those summers since last you saw her. She has a son, born two moons ago.”
“Lo, the winters pass so quickly when you are an old man—with only dreams to warm you at night!”
“Come, Little Robe. There is much for old friends to talk over.”
The chiefs finely chisled face lost its smile. “Let us go to your lodge to discuss these matters as friends.”
By the time Custer led the delegation to his tent, everything was in order as he had sent Tom ahead to prepare. The tent flaps were tied back so the entire interior was exposed. Several cottonwood trunks had been dragged up for seating. Little Robe selected twelve of his number to accompany him into the tent itself while the rest arranged themselves outside, where they could observe the council.
“Moylan, see that the mess sergeant gets the rest of last night’s venison and turkey over here on the double. Fire the coffeepots and bring lots of sugar. We have important guests to feed!”
After the introductions came a meal supplemented with Custer’s favorite, wild onions, then the lengthy smoking of the pipe among the thirteen Cheyenne in his tent, and finally Custer’s council got under way.
“My soldiers stare eye to eye with Cheyenne warriors, Little Robe. This is dangerous. Tell me how we can help each other, old friend.”
“Once more Yellow Hair comes to the heart of the matter without delay. It is good to hear you talk of helping our people. I want to put an end to this trouble, so my people can return to the way we have lived for a long, long time.”
Custer said, “Life for us both is changing. Never will it be the same again. We can’t stop the flow of history. It is as the river. No dam will ever hold the rushing waters of destiny.”
“Does Yellow Hair tell his old friend that honorable men have no say in the writing of history?”
“That is not what I’m saying. We can change the course of history—move the river a little this way, perhaps a little the other way. But we cannot stop the flow of destiny.”
“Yes, Yellow Hair. We both know men who have used that river of time for their own selfish ends.”
“It is my wish that we can put this talk of war to rest. History will remember us for that, old friend.”
“Sadly, I disagree with you, Yellow Hair. History remembers only the wars. History forgets those who work for peace. They are ground underfoot.”
Custer fell silent. Then he said grimly, “I understand. All too well. Because you believe in the cause of peace, you must answer to Medicine Arrow. But together, you and I are stronger than he. You must help me help your people. I ask you now for the sake of the Cheyenne nation—do you have the two white girls in your camp?”
Little Robe’s eyes never flinched, nor wavered from Custer’s steady gaze. Around the old chief ignited an electricity as the other Cheyenne resented Yellow Hair’s challenge.
“Yes,” Little Robe answered. “They are in my camp.”
“Above all Cheyenne, Little Robe is an honorable man. I expect no less than the truth from a friend. My respect grows for your courage in the face of enemies!” Custer’s eyes slewed over the hostile warriors.
“Cheyenne!” Custer flung his voice at the angry crowd. “It is a brave man who speaks the truth when all about him are afraid of his words.”
While many young warriors murmured haughtily, Custer turned back to Little Robe. “Tell me how I am to get the girls back alive and not be forced to use my mighty hand against your people.”
Little Robe shook his gray head. “It is a question I have asked myself many times. Before the first snows of last winter came to this land, I tried to buy the girls from their owner, the one who captured them in the land to the north. Once they were mine, I could take them to soldier chief Hazen. Many times I offered to buy them. As I raised the price I would pay, so too he increased his resistance to me.”
“Little Robe sees justice in freeing the girls to Yellow Hair?”
“One man cannot own another,” the chief answered. “Other tribes own slaves. Even you white men buy many black-white men. My heart tells me that when we possess another man, does that not make us a little less worthy before the eyes of the Everywhere Spirit?”
“You speak true of the white men, old friend. One reason the men from the south pulled their council fires away from our Grandfather in Washington City was they did not want to give up their slaves. Across four summers I fought those men who believed it right to own another human. Now I am prepared to fight your warriors who believe it’s right to enslave these two women.”
“You are just in asking for them. We should return the women to their families. Likewise, the Washita captives belong with the Cheyenne people. When will you free them?”
Custer was shocked at the surprise question. “I will tell you what rests in my heart. The captives stay with me only until the white women are freed and your people return to the reservation.”
“I will trust to the word of Yellow Hair.”
“Yellow Hair is honored by that trust, Little Robe. It is rare for a man to trust his enemy before he pays heed to the council of his own people.”
“As long as there is breath in my body, I will work to release the captives to you. Know, too, that there are many in the villages who object to giving the women back to the soldiers without paying the owner for their loss. But I have given my word.”
“I am here to do what is right,” Custer said. “Yellow Hair would be without honor to pay for the two girls. It would show that one man can buy another. No, Little Robe. You tell your chiefs that Yellow Hair will pay only with blood—his own, if he has to—but only with blood if he pays anything for the lives of the girls. Go to your camps and tell those who would not return the captives they should begin their death songs now. Tell them to think of the wailing in their lodges. Children without fathers. Wives without husbands.”
Little Robe creaked to his feet as Custer rose.
Custer looked down at the chief. “Tell your people that there will be much crying and wailing in Cheyenne lodges if your young men test the might of my hand.”
Little Robe nodded. “Yellow Hair has spoken what rests in his heart. Now, this old man must go change the
