Joseph M. Marshall III (28 page)

Amazingly there were no casualties among the decoys, except for one who was blown off his horse by the concussion of the earlier howitzer round. He remounted and joined the fray. (Big Nose was killed in the subsequent battle.)

Crazy Horse and his decoys pulled out all the stops. Amazingly they were able to lure the column of eighty soldiers nearly five miles. Just as amazingly, the warriors waiting in ambush attacked only when the signal was given. These factors were a consequence of the dynamic leadership of the young Crazy Horse and his mentor, Hump. True victory is rarely achieved without it. Both of them, as well as the older leaders, realized there was a bigger purpose at hand than winning one battle. They were defending their territory and their way of life against an imperialistic enemy.

The Battle of the Hundred in the Hand was a turning point for Crazy Horse. His leadership obviously shaped the eventual outcome and lifted him head and shoulders above other fighting men. It forever identified him as a man who could inspire others. But just as important, he learned something about the enemy. The soldiers were an extension of a people who were willing to exterminate whatever obstacles lay in the path to their objective. Defeating them would require nothing less.

Non-Indian historians and writers are fond of postulating the observation that Crazy Horse wanted to emulate the “superior” tactics of the soldiers. But the Lakota, in their own environment, had the superior tactics and were better trained as fighting men. Crazy Horse realized that the definition of warfare was different for soldiers and the society they represented. Therefore tactics were not the issue, methodology was. The soldiers fought to inflict as many casualties as possible and thereby reduce their enemy’s numbers. However, like many indigenous people of the Plains, the Lakota, while realizing that war was often part of human interaction, regarded it as a proving ground and not always necessarily a means to achieve national objectives or an instrument of policy. To put it bluntly, Crazy Horse realized that the only way to defeat the soldiers was to kill them as opposed to dazzling them with feats of courage. Warfare of attrition was the whites’ own methodology and it would be necessary to use it against them in order to successfully defend Lakota lives and territory.

But in spite of the victory at the Battle of the Hundred in the Hand, Crazy Horse was not yet in a position to broadly affect the thinking of the older leaders. And when the forts along the Bozeman Trail were abandoned, many of those older leaders regarded it as a victory, a direct consequence of military action. However, the fact of the matter was the Bozeman Trail was no longer necessary as a route to the Montana gold fields. A rail line to the north along the Yellowstone (Elk) River shifted the U.S. government’s focus and Red Cloud and the Oglala were allowed to think they had won a war. When the whites ceased to be a consistent presence in the Powder River region, the Lakota shifted their focus as well: out of sight, out of mind. Crazy Horse stayed in the north, refusing to go near Fort Laramie and relieved at not having to see or contend with white people on a regular basis.

As much as Crazy Horse wanted to avoid contact with whites, however, Fort Laramie and the Oregon Trail were still both unwelcome intrusions because they meant the whites were not going away. As much as he and the people who flocked to him hung on to their own nomadic, hunting life, there was always much discussion about the whites overall. News flowed constantly from the Lakota camps near the fort and the trail, so the northern camps were never out of touch. It was during this period that Crazy Horse made a critical error in judgment in his personal life. He tried to take another man’s wife.

Black Buffalo Woman, Red Cloud’s niece, was the love of his life. Politics, however, influenced her choice for a husband. She married No Water only because he was also of an influential family and their union enabled a broader influence and a stronger political power base. Crazy Horse was, of course, heart-broken. In time the wound seemed to heal, but, as is often the case, a true love is never completely forgotten. A few years later when the opportunity arose, Black Buffalo Woman followed her heart and left her husband. Lakota women could make such a choice because societal norms allowed it, but in her case a jealous husband did not.

Crazy Horse had put himself in harm’s way many times as a fighting man. But he probably never came as close to dying as he did when No Water showed up with a borrowed pistol and shot him in the face. It was No Water’s intention to kill Crazy Horse, and he thought he did. The subsequent furor brought several factions to the brink of bloodshed. On one side some wanted to defend No Water and on the other some wanted to avenge Crazy Horse. To prevent any violence, Crazy Horse gave up the love of his life for the second time.

Those who were jealous of him were quick to influence the old men leaders to strip him of the position of Shirt Wearer. Crazy Horse willingly gave up the shirt, but the status he had achieved circumvented the loss of influence. Many people, though not totally overlooking his mistake, still regarded him as a strong leader and remained loyal to him. It was a lesson not lost on him. Never again did he put his own desires above the needs of the people. That was yet another example for others to follow.

True leadership is rarely the consequence of election, appointment, dictatorship, or inheritance. Good leadership overall is much too critical to be left to elected politicians, monarchs, managers, administrators, supervisors, and directors. Having authority does not make anyone a leader. True leadership is exercised when someone performs a necessary or critical task and accomplishes an objective, thereby setting an example. Leadership by example, then, is the truest and most effective kind. We are more likely to follow someone who has done it before he or she asks or tells
us
to do it. Most of us will never face the daunting task of leading men and women into combat, but we will likely have the opportunity to set an example. We may not carry titles such as president, governor, mayor, general, or even chief, but we can be leaders simply by demonstrating that effort can be made, tasks can be accomplished. Furthermore, setting an example means that one has the benefit of firsthand experience. Personally, I would rather follow someone who has been through the swamp than someone who has only a map as a guide.

Leaders are in every walk of life, waiting for the opportunity to unlock the intangible characteristics that will set them apart, if but for a moment. But having had that moment, one will always know that one can be a leader when the need or the occasions warrants. Once a leader, always a leader, because we can only be true to what we are and have done.

Long ago a hunter heard strange noises somewhere on the prairie. He cautiously searched for the source, pausing to listen to growls and roars of pain and rage, and to the sound of trees and shrubbery apparently being torn apart. Then there was silence. Curious, the hunter continued to search until he came to a scene of mayhem and death.

A grizzly bear and a badger lay dead. The ground, trees, and grasses all around them showed signs of a great struggle, a battle to the death. But it was the dead combatants that fascinated the hunter. The badger’s jaws were still clamped to the bear’s snout; thus they were locked together forever. The hunter could only surmise that, although the bear had shredded the badger’s body, the smaller animal did not relinquish his hold. In turn, the badger had torn out the bear’s eyes and inflicted deep wounds on his head, causing the bear to bleed to death.

The hunter walked away, impressed by the tenacity of the badger and vowed to emulate him. To the very last the badger had remained true to what he was.

Part IV

The Road to Camp Robinson

Seventeen

He found her scaffold at the top of a little hill overlooking a small valley north of the Big Horn River. That he was on the borderlands of the Crow did not concern him. He stopped at the scaffold, no higher than his chest. The buffalo-hide bundle tied to the top of it was so small. From the support poles hung a dew-claw rattle, a small wooden hoop, and the stuffed deer-hide doll with a face painted on it.

Death was not new to him. He’d been taught that it was part of life and that sooner or later everyone dies, as his mother had. Lone Bear, High Back Bone, and Little Hawk were gone, too. Men died in battle sometimes—and he was not surprised that they were gone, or at the way they had died as fighting men. But the bundle atop this scaffold was a harder reality. It was a reality that challenged the goodness in life. He fell across it and wept uncontrollably.

Days passed. There was thunder, some wind, and a little rain. When he could no longer stay awake, he slept beneath the scaffold curled up under a robe. He ignored hunger and thirst. Worm had told him a kind of coughing sickness, unknown before the whites came, had taken her. Though he had tried, he - could find no medicine to help her.

Finally, when no more tears would come, Crazy Horse took his leave.

The news that awaited him fanned his anger even more. Soldiers had gone into the Black Hills—a large contingent, according to the sketchy reports from a few Lakota who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A group, friendly to the whites, had been watching the column of wagons and soldiers when they were attacked. One of the Lakota was killed and another wounded. They somehow managed to escape to tell their story.

The Black Hills in the hands of the whites was the culmination of one of the worst Lakota fears. It was for the gold—so much so that the whites deliberately sent a large and well-armed column of soldiers. But there was another equally galling fact that gnawed at Crazy Horse: the Lakota were not in a position to throw up any significant resistance.

Lakota fighting men should have been there to attack in force. Every man in camp would have followed Crazy Horse, but they would have suffered heavy losses because they had few bullets and little powder. Soldiers were always well armed, and now the advantage of numbers was on their side. So they were able to travel through the Black Hills along their “Thieves Road” in relative safety to accomplish whatever task they were sent in to do. Every Lakota knew the soldier’s task was to find the gold, something the whites had always been willing to die and kill for.

A few visitors from the agency brought word that confirmed this news. But the soldiers weren’t alone. Behind them came the miners.

News of gold in the Black Hills had spread through white towns to the east, the visitors said, faster than a wind-whipped prairie fire. The feeling among the Loafers was that the Black Hills were lost and nothing could be done. So many gold-hungry whites were coming into the Black Hills that there weren’t enough warriors to keep them out.

Crazy Horse mulled over all the disturbing news and the implications for the future of the Lakota as he sat secluded in his lodge, a pile of brush outside the door to show he did not wish to be disturbed. The gashes across Black Shawl’s forearms had not yet scarred. She would always mourn, as he would. She was coughing less and had more of an appetite. She knew that he was preparing to leave again.

Black Shawl fixed a meal for them and prepared the dried meat he would need to take along. He carefully inspected enough arrows to fill two quivers and counted his few bullets. Sometime after they had eaten, he took her hairbrush and gently brushed her hair, though it was not as long as it once was. In mourning for their daughter, she had to cut it to her shoulders. She accepted the gesture in the same spirit that it was given. From his paint bag, he prepared a little mixture, and, with the tip of his finger, colored the part down the middle of her head. He had painted it red. Tomorrow, after he had gone, she would walk among the people and they would see the coloring and know that she was a woman greatly loved. But for the coming night, they would hold off tomorrow and sleep beneath the soft, comforting buffalo robe. They would hold each other close, perhaps pretending there were no troubles in the world.