: The Dull Knife Battle, 1876

“There’ll be some good come of them going along, Seamus,” she said quietly. “Of that I’m certain.”

He gazed down into the red face of that sleeping infant, saying, “I certainly hope so, love.”

“All the good we do will one day be victorious,” Sam explained, hopeful his coming and going would one day be at an end. “At long last we are finally treating the friendly Indians better than we have cajoled and coddled the stubborn ones who mean us no goodwill.”

“Ah, how right you are, pretty one!” he answered. “Too long the agents have been cowed by the belligerent chiefs and haughty warriors, trying to win over the hostiles with gifts and pleadings, while the agency bands have been neglected as they come close to starving, given only thin blankets with the arrival of every winter.”

“What did Crook have done with all those ponies Mackenzie captured?”

“The North brothers and their Pawnee are bringing them over—likely should get here tomorrow. The stronger ones the quartermaster will turn into remounts for the campaign.”

“I pray to God you won’t have to eat another horse as long as you’re with Crook’s army.”

“My pretty—somewhere south of Slim Buttes, I vowed I’d only sit on a horse from now on—swearing on my mother’s grave that I’d never again take a bite out of one!”

She laughed softly in that way of hers that made his heart leap an extra beat, ever since that first night he had laid eyes on her down in the panhandle of Texas. Looking down at the infant now, he saw so much of the boy’s mother in the child’s face—the kindness, the openness to expressing a wide tapestry of emotions, a ruddy glow that could come only from an earnest spirit.

Seamus continued, “After seeing to the quartermaster’s needs, Crook will give the scouts their pick of the rest. And what’s left will be sold on the market for what they’ll bring.”

“You said they were all a pretty sorry lot.”

“Aye, Sam—they’ve already had a tough go of it this fall—and the real weather hasn’t even poked its head over the hills to the north.”

“And the guns? What about all the weapons Mackenzie’s men took from the Sioux?”

“They’ve been put under lock in a warehouse at Camp Robinson. Crook’s not sure yet what he’ll do with all the guns: whether he’ll come up with a value for them and pay the Indians, or give them back to the Indians who prove they can remain our allies against the hostiles in the Powder River country.”

She pulled the blankets up under her chin. “Weapons were taken from all the tribes?”

“No. Red Cloud’s Bad Face band was surprised to find out that the Arapahos and the Cut-off Sioux of Spotted Tail were allowed to keep their guns.”

“It wasn’t the first surprise Crook’s given them,” Sam added. “And I sure hope it won’t be the last.”

“Listen to you,” Seamus marveled. “Talking just like a soldier’s wife.”

“Well, I am, aren’t I?”

He grinned at her. “I suppose you are at that, Sam.” Then his eyes came back to rest on the infant cradled across his left arm as Samantha struck a lucifer and lit the solitary oil lamp in the darkening room as twilight began to fade. “The more I’ve thought about things ever since riding with Mackenzie into those camps, I find myself in agreement with what Crook wrote to Sheridan after he had his meeting with the chiefs at Camp Robinson.”

“What did the general say to Sheridan?”

“That old Red Beard said he feels that Mackenzie’s success is the first gleam of daylight we have had in this whole business. So now we must get about the matter of putting to rest what’s left of the hostile bands.”

Disarming the Indians at

Standing Rock.

THE INDIANS

Latest from Standing Rock.

ST. PAUL, October 26.—The Pioneer Press has a special from Bismarck which says: “General Terry was still at Standing Rock last evening. He had succeeded in disarming and gathering in the ponies of all the Indians at the agency, but he believed the Indians have most of their arms, as they had a day’s warning and only about two hundred stands have been found, including shot guns and revolvers. A large number of ponies will yet be brought in and about six hundred have already been surrendered. The Indians seem to take kindly to the removal as they come to understand it, but some were at first disposed to resist. General Terry informed them that the property would be sold and the proceeds invested in cattle and such things as would be most useful for them. None outside of General Terry and those immediately connected with him have any idea as to where he will go next, whether to Cheyenne or to strike the hostiles.

* * *

Now that the government had stolen back the Black Hills, all that remained undone was this nasty business of trespassers.

There were those back east and among the political pundits who said all that was needed was a campaign to herd the winter roamers back onto their shrinking reservations. At the same time, there was also a hue and cry that what was still needed most of all was a crushing defeat for the enemy—a loss so devastating that the hostile bands would have no choice but to return to their agencies in abject humiliation. After Powder River, after the Rosebud, and especially after the burning ignominy of the Little Bighorn, what many in the army wanted most of all as October waned was to whip the enemy holdouts—whip them soundly, whip them once and for all.

The summer campaign that hadn’t fizzled out until autumn was underway had been decidedly indecisive. Although the winter roamers had been hit and their confidence wounded, nonetheless Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, and the other holdouts remained free and unpunished. There had been but one solution when Sheridan called Crook and Mackenzie to Laramie in September: a winter campaign. Once again the army would attempt to fashion the cold into an ally.

So it was that upon his return to Fort Laramie, George Crook went about putting the finishing touches to prepare for what he was now calling the Powder River Expedition. For the most part, the trials of 1876 had all but used up the forces of the Second, Third, and Fifth cavalries. In their place the general now outfitted six troops of Mackenzie’s Fourth. With new mounts and a healthy sprinkling of fresh recruits popularly known in the press as “Custer’s Avengers,” Crook also called into service four companies of the Third and Fifth—a total of 28 officers and 790 horse soldiers.

Colonel Richard I. Dodge was placed in charge of 33 officers over some 646 infantry and artillery troops (who would be fighting as riflemen). Tom Moore and 65 packers would once more lead their famous pack train north, again attempting to keep tight rein on more than 400 obstinate mules, which would carry the cavalry’s supplies once Mackenzie cut loose from the main column for the attack. In addition, more than 200 teamsters were in charge of a train of 7 ambulances and 168 wagons, which would transport the column’s supplies north to the Reno Cantonment on the Powder River. From there Crook planned on striking out, swift and hard, once his scouts learned the whereabouts of Crazy Horse.

This time into the field the old Red Beard would utilize mercenaries from six tribes: 48 Pawnee riding under the North brothers; 151 Sioux, some 90 Cheyenne, and Arapaho, all of whom had joined up after the Red Cloud confiscation; and in the last month Crook had sent a wire to the Wind River Reservation hoping to again convince chief Washakie to send his Shoshone and allied Bannock warriors. In just the last week word telegraphed from Camp Brown assured Crook that Tom Cosgrove and his eager warriors would meet the column on the march.

Besides, Crook had already dispatched Captain George M. “Black Jack” Randall north along the west side of the Big Horn Mountains to again convince the Crow they should enlist in the army’s struggle. Reports had it that the tribe would be sending two hundred of their best warriors to rendezvous with the expedition at or near the Reno Cantonment, if not by the time Crook reached Pumpkin Buttes.

In all, there would soon be nearly twenty-two hundred men marching north to stalk Crazy Horse.

“You’ve no business bringing him out into this cold,” Seamus scolded Samantha, halting her at the bottom landing there at the front door of Old Bedlam. Outside on the parade, all was a ruckus of men and horses, wagons and mules. “I can say my farewells to you both right here—inside, where it isn’t so bloody cold.”

She looked up at his face with those eyes of hers and said, “If this truly is a son of yours, Seamus Donegan,