Trumpet on the Land: The Aftermath of Custer's Massacre, 1876

Cheyenne in the head. When one studies Cody’s abilities with firearms exhibited throughout his life, it isn’t at all hard to believe he was in fact capable of shooting Yellow Hair in the head. Nonetheless, I’m still uncertain that a hardened plainsman like Cody would chance taking a shot at his enemy’s head, when he had a far bigger target in the Cheyenne’s broad chest.

While no testimony specifically reports that Yellow Hair wore his prize scalp around his neck, I have taken that poetic license with the tale, making the trophy torn from the head of a white enemy just the target Bill uses when he takes deadly aim at the war chief.

And that brings up another interesting question I haven’t been able to answer to my own satisfaction: how the name Yellow Hair, over time, eventually became Yellow Hand. Was it primarily Cody’s mistake when he sent the scalp and warbonnet on to his friend in Rochester, New York? Or was it Baptiste “Little Bat” Garnier who made the error when he translated the war chiefs name for those right there at the Warbonnet skirmish that hot July morning? Or was it some unnamed historian’s attempt to distinguish between this minor Cheyenne war chief and the term the Southern Cheyenne used when referring to George Armstrong Custer (Hiestzi, or “Yellow Hair”)?

All we know for certain is that the warrior’s name was indeed Yellow Hair because, it is believed, he proudly wore the blond scalp of a white man (or woman—accounts differ on the sex of the person who once wore that yellow hair). Despite the fact that the sign reads “Yellow Hand,” any visitor to the Buffalo Bill Museum in Cody, Wyoming, will see for himself not only this most famous scalp of the Sioux War, but Yellow Hair’s feathered bonnet and trailer,his pistol and shield, his knife and blanket, along with the dead Cheyenne’s bridle and quirt.

It is beyond me how anyone can claim Cody ended up with these spoils if he wasn’t the one who stood over the war chiefs body, and if he himself didn’t remove them from Yellow Hair as the Fifth Cavalry began its chase of Little Wolfs band!

By that time, exactly a month after Crook’s stalemate on the Rosebud, the press had already begun its assault on the general and his handling of the campaign to that point. It was the contention of editors both east and west that Terry and Crook would never find the hostiles, that there was little hope of success. While most of the nation’s papers clamored for results in the Sioux War, the New York Tribune went so far as to blame the government’s policy in the Black Hills for the army’s lack of success, also claiming that Sitting Bull had made it clear his Sioux would not return to their reservations until the army drove the white men out of their sacred Paha Sapa.

By early August several Montana newspapers were reporting that the hostile Sioux had offered Canadian tribes an alliance against the whites on both sides of the Medicine Line. While the Canadian Cree, Blackfoot, and Assiniboine refused, the citizens of Montana Territory nonetheless fretted. Reminding his Montana readers that across the border lived more than twelve thousand warriors, the editor of the Deer Lodge New North- West wrote, “If they were to join the tribes now fighting the United States, nothing on this side of the line could prevent them.”

At the same time, the Fort Benton Record received a report from Fort Walsh just across the border in Canada that Yankton Sioux were camped close by and “making mischief.” Clearly the cry was going out: the public wanted something done, and now.

Fearing most that Sitting Bull would cross the Yellowstone and reach Canada, General Alfred Terry had eventually given up all thought of working in concert with the loner Crook. For a week he worked Bill Cody and his forces north but found nothing of the wild bands. On September 3 Terry received word from Crook, then on Beaver Creek, an affluent of the Little Missouri, that the Indian trail he had been following had petered out. To Terry there was little more his men could accomplish without using up the supplies Colonel Nelson Miles’s men would need for the coming winter as they manned the Tongue River Cantonment from which they were to patrol the lower Yellowstone.

On September 5 Terry disbanded his expedition, sent Gibbon’s infantry and Brisbin’s Second Cavalry back west to Fort Ellis and Fort Shaw, then went with the Seventh Cavalry itself as it limped home to a somber Fort Abraham Lincoln draped in mourning.

If anything was to be done now, it would be up to George Crook and his Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition to do it. But first they had to find the Sioux.

As the soldiers came trudging along through the mud, weeks behind them, the warrior bands had already reached the traditional camping grounds they had been visiting for generations. Here beside the Mashtincha Putin (what they called Rabbit Lip Creek), they raised their lodges at the foot of those long gray bluffs dappled with jackpine. The Sioux term for the geographic feature, Paha Zizipela, translates to “thin (or “horizontal”) butte”—as a snake is thin and moves horizontally, in the sense of the buttes running north-south. These buttes are indeed long (fifty miles) and very thin (less than four miles in width).

The exact number of Miniconjou in that village has long remained a source of controversy. At the time of the battles Frank Grouard told Mills and Crook the village contained two hundred occupants. Anson Mills later stated that he learned from the captives that the village comprised “two hundred souls, one hundred of whom were warriors.” Yet this ratio of warriors to other occupants seems unusually high.

However, when we apply the 1855 Thomas Twiss method of counting (whereby it was determined there were two men of fighting age for every lodge—“fighting age” determined as men from their midteens to their late thirties), we find a much more likely figure of seventy-four warriors in that camp that Mills attacked at dawn.

Still, that figure might seem a little high to those knowledgeable in the Plains Indian culture. By applying Harry H. Anderson’s computations (7 Indians per normal-sized lodge, of which 1.29 are warriors), we come up with a village population of some 260 Miniconjou and 48 warriors. When you add to those 48 any boys eager to defend their families, as well as older men and a few women who would stay behind to fight—one can see how Captain Mills just might arrive at an estimate of 100 combatants he faced on the morning of September 9.

While we can verify that Crook’s combined forces numbered just shy of 2,000 men, historians have disagreed as to the number of warriors Sitting Bull led against what the Sioux believed would be only 150 pony soldiers—those who attacked at dawn with Anson Mills. Estimates range anywhere between 600 to 800, although a few winters later Sitting Bull himself would say that he had led a thousand warriors back to attack Three Stars. No matter if he did have that many—the Sioux were still up against two-to-one odds when they tried to make it tough on Crook’s retreating army.

Rumors had long existed that the soldiers had killed their warrior captives before pulling away from the village. Four years after the battle Charles King himself made note of those rumors in his Campaigning with Crook, as did Don Rickey, Jr., in Forty Miles a Day on Beans and Hay. But National Park Service research historian Jerome A. Greene maintains that, “There is no substantiating evidence for the charge made fifty-nine years later by a deserter from Crook’s expedition that the captured warriors were shot to death by the troops before the command left the battlefield.”

After interviewing Sioux participants in the Battle of Slim Buttes, as well as some of their relatives, author Stanley Vestal reported that the Miniconjou losses were ten killed and two wounded. According to the Ricker Papers, Red Horse claimed seven were killed and four wounded, while a third Sioux reported the dead as three men, four women, and one infant—eight total.

What we can be even more certain of is the fact that the Sioux were fired up, furious beyond words when they returned to the site of their decimated, burned-out village after driving off the stragglers at the tail end of Crook’s column retreating to the south. Aware that the warriors in the hills—as well as Crook’s prisoners later to be released— had watched the soldiers bury their dead, we can have little doubt that the Sioux did in fact dig up the graves of White, Wenzel, and Kennedy, and so too the hole where the surgeons had buried Von Leuttwitz’s leg. The warriors and squaws in mourning would almost certainly have taken out their rage and grief not only on those dead bodies, but on that amputated limb.

Of great interest to me was the discovery of all that money and those articles taken from Custer’s dead at the Little Bighorn fight. In his reminiscences Frank Grouard declared that soldiers combing through the lodges prior to their destruction found more than eleven thousand dollars. This, most would agree, is simply too grand a figure. John Finerty reported to his readers that Crook’s troops recovered nine hundred dollars. The real amount is likely to be somewhere in between, a figure closer to that given by the Chicago newsman. Allowing for a bit of pilfering here and there, one might believe there was easily twelve hundred dollars or more to be recovered in that village.

But more so even than that cash, what piqued my interest was the discovery of those ghostly relics. Just as one writer of that time stated, to come across the letters written to and by the Custer dead must have been like hearing faint, eerie voices whispering from their shallow graves beside the Greasy Grass. A matter of weeks later