Wolf Mountain Moon: The Battle of the Butte, 1877

those who are veterans of war against the wasicu … our hearts will not turn to water!”

They laid their plans quickly, deciding to draw the soldiers out at first light. Decoys would be sent north to lure the Bear Coat’s men over the ridge and behind what the Tse-Tsehese called Belly Butte,^† into the basin below it, where the main body of warriors would rush in from both sides, and as they had done at the Pine Woods Fort,^# they would crush the soldiers in one swift, overwhelming attack.

Decoys were called for, and among all those who volunteered for the honor more than three-times-ten were selected to ride the strongest ponies. Some of the older warriors were chosen to stay behind with the women and children to guard the camp, to hurry the village south if for some reason the battle turned to disaster.

Then, as the anxious crowd grew expectantly quiet, Morning Star looked at Little Wolf, Crazy Horse, Little Big Man, and Hump. “It is time to go,” he said.

Overhead somewhere the great northern star was spinning its path across the sky to mark the passage of the night. They had miles to ride before they would be in position for the coming attack, before the decoys could lead the soldiers into the trap.

“Yes,” Crazy Horse agreed. “Young men and old, all warriors who will ride into the dark guided by the Great Mystery to protect our homes and our families … remember there is no greater honor than to die defending what you hold most dear!”

As the men sprinted to their ponies, accompanied by the rattling clamor of shields, bows, lances, war clubs, and rifles—the noise of more than two thousand voices was deafening as men, women, and children all sang out the brave-heart songs. Although they had little, stripped of nearly everything by the soldiers, the Ohmeseheso had not given up. They had not given in. There was fight enough left in every one of the Tse-Tsehese to defend their people and their land.

He knew that in the great hoop of all things it mattered little how his people would fight when they were wealthy in ponies and weapons, when they were strong and numerous and well fed.

What mattered most was how the Ohmeseheso fought when they had so little that there was nothing left to lose.

It made Morning Star’s tired, wounded heart brave enough to believe that this might well be his people’s finest hour.

His sister was held prisoner by the Bear Coat’s soldiers!

Crooked Nose Woman had gone on a simple journey with Old Wool Woman and the others to visit Tangle Hair’s people, those Dog Soldier clans who stayed close to the Sacred Mountain of Noaha- vose.

And now the soldiers had captured her! Every warrior knew what ve-ho-e soldiers would do to a pretty girl if they caught her. There was no honor among the white man for a Tse- Tsehese rope chastity belt.

Wooden Leg knew he had to do everything in his power to free her and the others.

When the big-throated guns ended their afternoon fight with the soldiers, Wooden Leg did not return to the village with the rest of the warriors when darkness came. Instead, with a few others, he hung back among the brush and the cottonwood and the fog rising off the river as the snow fell harder and harder. Then he crept in across the dry snow—walking a few careful steps through the sagebrush, stopping to hold his breath and listen before proceeding, his eyes peering into the coal-cotton darkness. Far away now he could see the dancing specks of light: many soldier fires.

But between here and there would be many guards. They would be out in the dark. Wooden Leg and the rest could get only so close to the camp before they started to call out to their people.

“Crooked Nose Woman!”

A bullet whined somewhere to his right. A nervous soldier guard, no doubt.

“Crooked Nose—it is your brother!”

Another soldier bullet sang out, this time a little closer.

He slipped off to the right, away from the direction where he had seen the orange jet of flame spew from the soldier’s gun.

Now he was growing desperate. He heard no answer. Were his people already dead?

“Crooked Nose woman—Wooden Leg calls to you!”

“Brother! There are too many!”

“Wimeca yelo! I am a man!” he shouted to her. “I can come rescue—”

“No, Wooden Leg!” came her answer. “Do not risk such a foolish errand. I know you to have the strongest heart. There is no need to prove your bravery to anyone!”

Oh, how his spirit leaped just to hear her voice! “Tell me you are safe!”

“We are safe.”

“The soldiers—did they? Have they … harmed you in any way?”

“No. The soldiers gave us food, and we have a fire to warm the young ones.”

“The children?”

“They have cold feet. Very cold. But there is a good white man looking after them.”

“You are warm and have food?”

“Yes, and Old Wool Woman is here with all of us,” came his sister’s answer.

“I will think of some way to rescue you, Crooked Nose Woman!”

“I am afraid for the rest if the fighting starts, brother!”

“Be strong—and do not be afraid, Sister,” he called out to her, even though his own voice cracked with emotion. “We will not leave this place without you!”

“But the village must flee! The soldiers … they will march and destroy our village again!”

“Do not fear that, Sister,” he told her, trying to make his voice sound as brave as he could make it. “Crazy Horse will bring the others back here come morning. Then we will free you.”

“Go with the wind, Brother!”

There was another shot fired from the soldier guards. “Wooden Leg—are you all right?”

“They did not hit me,” he answered, looking left and right, low along the ground to see if he could make out anything moving across the dimly lit snow. “I will be back for you tomorrow,” he promised.

Her voice called out in a hopeful echo, “Tomorrow.”

“Before the sun rises.”

How very hard it was to tear himself away from the mere sound of her voice.

As soon as another warrior had informed him that his sister had been captured, Wooden Leg had leaped onto his pony and gone to the place where the soldier scouts had surrounded and seized the prisoners. He had followed along that trail, then left his horse behind and crawled as close as he could to the soldier camp. But try as he might, Wooden Leg was unable to see any of his people among all the white men, animals, and wagons. For a long time his heart was so heavy—certain his people had been killed by the Ooetaneo- o^* scouts working for the Bear Coat. Just the way the Ho-nehe-taneo- o^† and the Sosone-eo-o^# scouts had killed women and children in the valley of the Red Fork back in the Big Freezing Moon.

Then the skirmish with the ve-ho-e scouts had started nearby, which brought the soldiers out of their camp with one of their wagon guns. No better time was it for Wooden Leg to fight the white man. After all, his heart was hard and cold, just to think that the soldiers had killed his sister.

At dark the others had retreated back to their village. When the night had turned black, several of his friends had said they would stay behind and join him when he crawled close to the soldier camp. They understood that Wooden Leg had to know for sure. Every warrior has relations. Every man has a family he will defend unto death.

What joy it brought his cold, small heart to hear his sister’s voice call back to him from the night!

By the time Wooden Leg and his loyal friends were racing back toward the village, they heard the sounds of many hooves on the hard, winter-frozen ground. They stopped, listened, hearing the faint snort of many horses in the dark, hearing the muted murmur of many mouths. Then he and the others rode to a low hill to look down on the