Lakota and Shahiyela alike agreed, war chiefs of all the clans stepping forward to follow Crazy Horse and the three Old-Man Chiefs to the center of camp, where they would decide just what to do.
By twilight they had decided there was but one course of action to take. For many suns now they had been slowly retreating up the Tongue River, drawing the Bear Coat’s soldiers farther and farther from their fort. They knew the white man did not fight well far from his source of supplies. So they would be patient and continue to lure the white men farther, and farther.
But with their own people taken captive, they were now forced to change their original plans. Now they must attack, no matter the rugged terrain, no matter the wind and snow.
The first warriors ready before dark would follow the war chiefs north to the soldier camp, where they would attempt to create a diversion and free the prisoners. The rest of the warriors would come along sometime after the moon was high and be ready to fight at dawn.
Dawn … when they would have the soldier camp surrounded.
“You’ll see to this one first, won’t you?” Seamus asked the surgeon. He clutched the small girl across his arms tightly. The child squirmed enough that it was a battle, so afraid of him was she.
Dr. Henry R. Tilton evidently read the seriousness in the scout’s face and looked at the girl’s legs and feet, covered by frozen, icy wool leggings and skimpy moccasins. “Likely she’s got frostbite.”
“This’un’s worse off than all the rest,” Donegan said. “See to her first, I beg you in God’s name.”
Tilton smiled. “Yes. I’ll see to her first. Take her into the tent.” Then he motioned the rest to follow the tall gray-eyed civilian. “Bring the others into the tent too. I’m sure we won’t need to worry about them escaping tonight.”
Donegan ducked through the flaps, went to the lone cot, and laid the girl upon the blankets. She tried to rise immediately, swinging her feet off the cot, but he laid a firm hand on her shoulder, stopping her attempts. With the other hand he motioned the old woman to come over. She limped to the cot and sat down, talking to the child in a calm, soothing voice. Then the woman gazed up at Donegan and nodded once.
Reassured, Seamus turned and ducked out of the wall tent.
“Kelly!” he called out, spotting the chief of scouts.
“Donegan—you up to riding?”
“I s’pose. Set on going after that camp now?” He glanced into the afternoon sky.
“Maybe we can get a fix on where it is before nightfall,” Kelly said. “At least we may end up finding out if these prisoners have any bucks coming along behind them. I’ve some of the rest going with me, but you’re always welcome if you’re up for more saddle work.”
“Count on it,” Donegan answered.
“You think we can get any more news out of those women?”
Seamus shook his head. “Not a chance. Those women are scared, but they’re brave too. Those aren’t just squaws, Luther. Those are wives and mothers of chiefs and warriors. They’re not going to talk to us.”
Kelly turned to one of the Jackson brothers. “William—see that those women and children have all the food they want to eat. Fill ’em to the brim. Maybe we can make all of them warm and happy enough that one, just one, will want to chatter a bit tonight when we get back.”
“I’ll feed ’em my own self,” William replied before he turned away.
Kelly looked determined. “You ready to ride, Irishman?”
“Let’s swing a leg over a saddle, Yellowstone.”
That trip out, John Johnston, Tom Leforge, James Parker, and George Johnson rode along with Kelly and Donegan as the sun eased ever closer to settling behind the Wolf Mountains off to the southwest.
“You know they’re all around us,” Kelly said quietly as the horses plodded through the snow, picking their way among the sage and cedar.
“It’s too late in the day for them to make a go at Miles,” Donegan replied. “But I’d lay a full month of
“A month of
John Johnston guffawed in that affable way of his, reaching over to slap the Irishman on the back of the shoulder. “Always been that sort of fella what’ll play fast and loose with another man’s wages, are you?”
“Long as there’s a pot, I’ll ante up—”
“Look there, by damn!” Parker cried, pointing at the ridge in their front and a little off to their right.
At least a handful of warriors sat atop their ponies, motionless as buckbrush, watching the scouts’ advance.
“Keep your eyes peeled, boys,” Kelly advised. “I’ll bet a month of Donegan’s poorhouse wages those aren’t the only redskins close at hand.”
Despite the fact that they were being watched from the heights, they kept on the trail that would lead them back to the place where they had captured the women and children. At the spot where they had surrounded the Cheyenne, Kelly halted them, dropping to the ground to study the backtrack direction of the captives’ prints.
“Luther,” Seamus said in a quiet voice.
Kelly rose from a crouch. His eyes followed Donegan’s arm, where the other four were all gazing. On the nearby ridge sat at least ten, maybe more than a dozen, horsemen now.
“Never did like me no Sioux sonsabitches,” grumbled George Johnson. “I say we give ’em a hoot and a holler and run ’em off.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and get yourself a scalp,” Parker replied.
“A man can hope, can’t he?” Johnson added. “What say, Kelly?”
“All right,” Luther agreed after a moment’s contemplation. “If they were up to something, I suppose they would have pulled their shenanigans by now. Let’s give that bunch a how-do, then be about our business to find the village they came from.”
“We run them off,” Seamus explained, “why—they might even lead us back to their village, Luther.”
“What are we waiting for, fellas? Let’s give those redskins a little send-off!” Kelly cheered, lunging into the saddle and drawing his carbine out of the saddle boot.
*At the mouth of present-day Post Creek, seventeen miles upstream from the soldier bivouac.
Chapter 27
7 January 1877
In those next few moments Seamus thought it very odd that those mounted warriors stayed put right there atop that ridgeline, the wind scutting past them in sharp gusts, tugging at hair and feathers and horses’ manes. Not a one of the Indians so much as moved an inch—just sat their ponies and watched the white men galloping closer and closer.
If he didn’t know better …
Then the big scar across his back began to itch.
And there wasn’t any time to scratch it.
When the scouts were no more than fifty yards away, one of the motionless horsemen suddenly shouted, at the same time raising a scrap of blanket high overhead at the end of his arm. Before Donegan and the others galloping across the slope below could react, better than fifty warriors burst out of the snow, leaping out from behind every other clump of sagebrush, behind every scrub of oakbrush and cedar. They all had rifles, and most of them already had cross sticks planted in the frozen ground—all the better to hold on a target.
Sweet Virgin Mother of God! he prayed as he sawed the reins savagely to the right, bumping against James Parker’s horse as their animals made the sharp cut on the icy ground the moment the Indian weapons cut
