sending the bold young men here and there—ordering them to whip anyone who attempted to leave the village. If simply cutting cinches would not work, the Kit Foxes were to beat their own people with their bows.
“No one will leave this village tonight!”
Wrapped Hair agreed, raising his voice in the martial call. “We will stay up all night and dance—then defeat the soldiers come morning!”
Last Bull whirled on Crow Split Nose with a cruel sneer, spiting out his words, “Why are you so afraid of the
“I do not care for myself,” the Elk Society leader replied stoically. “I care only for the women and children who will be killed because of your foolishness. I want to get them up where they will be safe when the bullets fly about our heads. We must leave only men in camp.”
“Yes—there will be men in camp!” Last Bull roared.
“Good,” Crow Split Nose said, his eyes gleaming with fury. “Come morning you will know what is to happen to our people. Wait until morning, Last Bull—and your fate will be at your door!”
Laughing off that challenge, the war chief of the Kit Foxes turned to his warriors and once more commanded them to scatter, staying on guard to see that no one fled camp. Once more he waved his arms and the drum began, the songs rising into the cold night air as the hundreds of feet pounded the frozen earth.
It filled Morning Star’s heart with sadness as he watched his own three sons join the dancing.
Chapter 25
25 November 1876
At long last the final company was “up,” closing the file, those last soldiers joining the rest in that gently sloping patch of ground before the entire command once more fell silent between the hulking shoulders of that canyon they would be plunging into momentarily.
They had covered more than twenty-five miles in darkness to stand here on the threshold of attack, listening to the distant voice of that war drum.
Then Mackenzie returned with Rowland and the Cheyenne scouts, coming alive, the colonel animated suddenly—officers old and young clustered around him. He raised himself in his stirrups as his staff came to a halt, fanning out in a crescent around their leader.
“From what our scouts tell us, the Cheyenne are having war dances in at least four locations in that village. Rowland’s men spotted at least three pony herds, and the lodges are pitched on both sides of the creek. Seems they tell me that with all the noise and activity going on, we can advance up the canyon some distance before we would be in danger of alerting the village,” the colonel told the hushed gathering in low tones. “We’ll get into position, conceal the column, and begin the attack at daylight.”
He then went on to order up the companies he believed were most ready to spearhead the first assault into the village, ordering the North brothers to lead their battle-eager Pawnee into the breech in advance of any soldiers—punching through the village and on to secure the Cheyenne pony herd should there be the slightest chance of an enemy ambush.
Then he gave the order of the attack, company by company.
And concluded his terse, clipped instructions by saying, “Gentlemen, inform your battalions of their deployment. I hope to capture the village in a pincers: between one arm formed by the Shoshone and Pawnee, and the other arm by our troops. If all units do as I have ordered, we should surround the village completely, shutting off all chance for the hostiles to escape. With that in mind, remind your men of General Crook’s admonition—that we must do our best to assure the enemy’s capture, especially the lives of the women and children. Spare all noncombatants as we seal off the village.”
Mackenzie arose in the stirrups once more, tugging at the brim of his big black slouch hat, preparing to tear it from his head dramatically. “This is what we’ve prepared for. Let it be us who go and end this war, here and now.”
“It must ache like hell,” Seamus had been speaking in low tones to the lieutenant beside him.
John Bourke was roughly kneading one hand with the other, both of them securely wrapped inside their heavy wool mittens. “Damn, it does.”
“The cold will bother it for the rest of your life, aye?”
“Ever since last winter at the Powder.”
“When you stuffed you hand down through that hole in the ice and plunged it into the freezing water,” Donegan commented. “You gonna be all right to handle a gun with it?”
Bourke tried out a feeble grin in the gray light ballooning behind them as the walls ahead of them echoed the distant drum upvalley, where they watched Mackenzie, Rowland, and the Cheyenne scouts returning, emerging suddenly out of the mouth of the valley. “I can still hold a pistol as good as any man, Irishman. And pull the damned trigger when I have to.”
“Just promise you’ll stick close to me, Johnny,” Seamus suggested. “I’d like to have a man of your caliber at my back.”
The grin became a warm smile. “We have had our backsides hung over a few fires together, haven’t we, Seamus?”
He smiled back at the officer. “And a lot more to come too.”
“And now the Cheyenne.”
“This? Why this morning is just another day at the office for you desk-jockey sojurs!”
“Damn you,” Bourke replied with a grin, then said, “Look at that, will you?”
Seamus turned, finding the morning star brightening the sky behind them in the east. “It’s a good omen, Johnny.”
“Damn right, it—”
Then they both jerked up, finding Mackenzie standing frozen in the stirrups as the entire force of Indian allies fell mute—their medicine songs stopped in midphrase—a hush fallen over the whole of Mackenzie’s column. Stunned into silence as they began to realize that the big drum had been stilled. No longer did they hear any of the fragments of primal songs reverberating down the canyon.
Suddenly many of the weary troopers were coming off the icy ground, leaping to their feet, having lain down next to their horses to sleep, reins tied at their wrists, so exhausted they paid no heed to the deep snow and the subzero temperatures.
Then all was a noisy blur as the men began knocking the white fluff from their coats with tiny billows while the captains and sergeants and corporals hurried through the litany of forming up their units.
In that next instant one of the Sioux scouts kicked his pony savagely, pounding his heels into its flanks, bumping into Donegan’s bay as the Indian shot past the stunned Irishman. Everyone else suddenly speechless with this bold and idiotic act.
“Who the hell is that?” someone cried from the headquarters group.
“Scraper!” Frank Grouard hollered angrily.
“Get that son of a bitch back!” Mackenzie ordered, pulling his revolver and yanking back on the hammer as if he were prepared to knock the brash Sioux out of the saddle himself.
In a flurry of feathers and greasy blankets, rifles held high, two more Sioux scouts dashed past, ordered by Three Bears to head off the young man’s daring solo assault on the village.
“Dumb son of a bitch,” Bourke murmured. “Eager to get in the first coup.”
“Or get himself a name for being the first one to die fighting in the village!” Donegan replied.
“He was just arguing with Three Bears,” Grouard explained as he moved up. “Mad he didn’t get his sergeant’s stripes. So I figure he wants first strike.”
Everything was close to pandemonium as the troops finished dressing their formation, every last man pitching himself into the saddle with great urgency of a sudden, horses sensing what was to come. The allies pressed in upon the colonel and his headquarters bunch—eager to be off to join those three who had disappeared through the
