Copyright © 1957 by David Humphreys Miller
All rights reserved
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Bison Book printing: 1985
Most recent pridting indicated by the first digit below:
123 456789 10
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Miller, David Humphreys.
Custer's Fall.
"Bison books."
Reprint. Originally published: New York, Duell,
Sloan and Pearce, 1957' .
1. Little Big Horn, Battle of the, 1876. I. Title.
E83.876.M6 1985 9'73.8'2 855874
ISBN 0-8032-3098-2 (cloth)
ISBN 0-8032-8129-3 (paper)
The map on page 40 is reproduced from Custer Battlefield National
Monument--Montana, b^y Edward S. and Evelyn S. Luce, published by the
National Park Service.
Reprinted by arrangement with E. P. Dutton, Inc.
This book is for Jan--
Wicacanteyuhawinyan-- Captures-Everybody'sHeart-Woman
Preface
this book is about a day and a battle and the people who
fought in it. Most of the combatants were American
Indians and the story of the battle from their viewpoint has
never before been told. That is the purpose of this book.
It is a true story—completely factual from the soldiers'
killing of the Indian boy at dawn to the discovery of Captain
Keogh's horse, Comanche, in the final chapter. Fiction no
longer has a place in the reconstruction of the bloodiest
twenty-four hours in the history of the American frontier.
Although set down here in English, rather than the native
Indian language spoken at the time, the words said by the
Indians throughout these pages are direct quotations as
remembered and recounted to me by Indian witnesses. No
guesswork or poetic license has colored these statements.
No other single event in American history ever captured
the public imagination more completely than "Custer's Last
Stand." It came to symbolize all the chivalrous grit and
determination that went into the winning of the West. Even
today, most Americans are familiar with the fact that our
Army once went down to devastating defeat at the hands of
wild Indians. Beyond that, little is actually known about
Custer's debacle by the average citizen.
There have been good reasons for this lack of knowledge.
Few facilities existed in 1876 for the accurate reporting of
vii
Preface
>
historical events as they occurred. A newspaper reporter accompanied
Custer's cavalry, but was killed during the battle.
Had he survived and written about the campaign, days--
possibly weeks--would have passed before his firsthand account
could have reached the public. The fighting took place
in what was then rough remote country, the untamed wilderness
of south central Montana--a vast region known only a
decade earlier as The Great American Desert. No means then
existed whereby news could be sent back to civilization other
than by mounted courier, under conditions of extreme peril.
In a day and age when impartial news-gathering agencies,
such as our modern wire services, were unheard of, current
news was invariably slanted or garbled to suit the editorial
policies of the newspaper publishers. Such was the bias of
the times that, when word of the Custer fight finally appeared
in print, the facts were misconstrued to the extent that Custer
and his troops had been massacred. To this day, the Battle
of the Little Big Horn is known to many as "The Custer
Massacre," although it was in no sense a massacre of unarmed
noncombatants as the term implies, but a pitched
battle between armed antagonists--after Custer had attacked
the Indians.
Adding private interpretations to early accounts of the
battle, the War Department of 1876 did much to con.fuse
the issues and details of Custer's campaign. Today, it is
virtually impossible to get a clear, concise reconstruction of
the Little Big Horn fight from existing military annal;s. A
handful of present-day writers--most notably Colonel W. A.
Graham and Edgar I. Stewart--have done much to clarify
the military viewpoint of the battle. However, a great portion
of the story has remained shrouded in mystery for
viii
Preface
over eighty years. With other sources of information exhausted,
only one untapped lead has remained: the Indians
who fought Custer.
As a friend and adopted son of the Sioux and a lifelong
student of Indian ways, I became interested some twenty-two
years ago in learning their version of various battles with
white men. Somehow, the American history textbooks I had
studied in high school and college never seemed to ring true
when it came to the Indian wars. Knowing the Indians intimately,
I soon realized their side of the story had been glossed
over or ignored completely by historians. Thus, my mission
became clear: it was up to me to uncover information hitherto
unknown to any white man.
Work began in the summer of 1935. Finding out the truth
about the Battle of the Little Big Horn presented the most
challenging opportunity, for much of it could be told only
by the Sioux and Cheyennes who had taken part in the fight.
No white man had survived to tell of Custer's final hour.
My first interview was with Chief One Bull of the Hunkpapa
Sioux, then near ninety years of age. He was a nephew
of Sitting Bull, and had been the Indian leader's bodyguard
and lieutenant during the Little Big Horn fight. We became
good friends and I had many further discussions with One
Bull before his death in 1947. From him I learned much about
early phases of the battle--particularly the Sioux counterattack
against Reno, led by One Bull himself. One Bull's
elder brother, Chief White Bull of the Minneconjou Sioux,
was prominent among the warriors fighting Custer. I knew
him quite well and interviewed him often concerning that
phase of the battle.
Of all Indians who participated in the Custer fight my
ix
Preface
»
closest friend was Black Elk, famed Ogalala Sioux medicine
man, who adopted me as his son in 1939. Associated with me
in producing Indian pageants and ceremonials, he often talked
to me by the hour about that far-off day in 1876 when the
Little Big Horn ran crimson with white men's blood. In later
years another survivor. Iron Hail--known to whites as Dewey
Beard--also adopted me as a son. He was the very last of
the warriors who had fought Custer. I interviewed him on a
number of occasions, the last of which was the summer before
his death in November, 1955. He was ninety-eight.
In all, I interviewed seventy-one aged Indians who had
actually participated in the Battle of the Little Big Horn.
Copious notes were made on their statements, and when possible
I arranged joint conferences with a number of survivors,
who provided reminders and check-points for each other. A
breakdown of the Indian informants is as follows: fifty-four
were Sioux, sixteen were Cheyennes, one was Arapaho. All
were in their eighties or nineties when interviewed. Conversation
with them was carried on in their language, as none of
them spoke or understood English. This resulted in my learning
to talk fluent Sioux and Plains Indian sign language. I
sketched or painted life portraits of every one of these old
warriors.
The last of Custer's Crow Indian scouts, White-Man-RunsHim,
died shortly before I began my investigation. However,
relatives and associates of the scouts provided me with much
information concerning Custer's own actions and words the
day of the battle. Particularly helpful were Little Nest, a
brother-in-law of Crow interpreter Mitch Bouyer, and Pretty
Shield, aged widow of scout Goes Ahead.
It should be understood that among the tribes involved a
Preface
considerable tradition has grown up around the endless details
of the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Although the
Indians never set down these facts in writing--since they
had no written language until recent years--they have handed
them down by word of mouth from generation to generation.
If the Custer fight has carried much symbolical significance
through the years to the white man, it has meant even more
to the Indian. For the Sioux and the Cheyenne, that day on
the Little Big Horn was a true milestone--the high-water
mark of their entire history. Though doomed to suffer cultural
death throes during the Ghost Dance outbreak a scant fourteen
years later, the Sioux and their Cheyenne allies were at
peak strength the summer of 1876. Never before had they
gathered in such numbers. Never before were they more
fiercely determined to follow their age-old way of life.
The Custer tragedy had no earth-shaking consequences
for the majority of white Americans at the time. A4ilitarily,
the engagement was comparatively unimportant. But as an
ugly interruption to the gala centennial celebration in Philadelphia,
it soon assumed outsize importance. A full-scale
military campaign was stepped up against the Sioux and
Cheyennes, putting an early end to their wanderings.
After Little Big Horn the tribes dispersed and never again
were victorious over the white invader. At last the power of
the hoop--the sacred circle of the universe that mythically
bound the Sioux Nation and their allies together--was forever
broken. While the glory of their victory over Long Hair,
as they called Custer, never diminished, the Sioux were finally
a vanquished people.
Indians of that day kept no track of time, and one of the
difficult problems in writing this book has been the accurate
xi
correlation of events according to the time of day they occurred.
Many incidents have been pinpointed by relating
them to the position of the sun in the sky at some particular
moment. Time lapse has also been a complicated factor.
My informants agreed, for example, that the action against
Custer's command occupied the time it took for the sun to
travel the width of the shadow of a tepee pole across the
ground. By actual measurement this turned out to be almost
exactly twenty minutes.
Although the Indians' own story of the Custer fight is true
and complete, it seemed somewhat out of context without
the added background of the chapter called "White Man's
World." The summer of 1876 was memorable in many ways,
perhaps; yet obviously, for both Indian and white man, the
Battle of the Little Big Horn finally overshadowed all else.
david humphreys miller
Los Angeles, California
Contents
PREFACE
vii
SUNUP
3
WHITE MAN'S WORLD
22
MIDMORNING
46
MIDDAY
69
AFTERNOON; RENO
83
AFTERNOON: CUSTER
117
SUNDOWN
159
AFTERMATH
186
THE LEGEND
196
SOURCES
214
In Appreciation
This is the Indians' own story. Had they not passed
long-remembered facts on to me, this book would never
have been possible. For valuable data aside from that
provided by Indians who took part in the battle, I am
much indebted to Chief Ben American Horse and Chief
Howard Bad Bear, both of Pine Ridge Reservation in
South Dakota. Last but by no means least I wish to express
my unending thanks to my mother and father and my
wife, Jan, for their constant faith in a long-term project.
Sunup

the day broke hot and cloudless as morning sunlight
flooded the valley of the Little Big Horn. Scarcely a breeze
stirred anywhere. The weather had been dry for some time,
and the trails were thick with dust.
T
With a moccasined toe. Deeds kicked at clumps of buffalo
grass near the Lodgepole Trail, scattering grasshoppers in all
directions. Then his foot came against something solid. Looking
down, he saw a drab square box--a container unlike anything
used by his people back in the great camp by the river.
Such a rare find called for a closer look. The boy hunkered
down beside the box.
Deeds was barely ten years old. His whole life had been
spent deep in the Hunkpapa hunting grounds, far from the
white men's spreading settlements. Sparked by a growing
boy's naive curiosity, he had not yet learned a warrior's
caution.
The box had dropped in such a way that the lid had been
loosened, yet needed prying to reveal the contents. From the
hide sheath hanging against his slim brown flank Deeds took
the old skinning knife with the bone handle and went to work.
As he pried at the lid, he glanced around, hoping to catch
sight of his older brother. Brown Back was still somewhere
up the divide, rounding up their grandfather's ponies.
As soon as Brown Back came along with the herd, Deeds
3
Custer's Fall
would pick out a favorite mount and help his brother drive the
animals down to the camp. Then their grandfather Four
Horns would give away the ponies and all the personal belongings
of their grandmother.
Deeds still could not believe his grandmother was dead.
She had died before dawn that morning, while the drums of
the all-night scalp dance still throbbed. It was hard to imagine
any camp without his grandmother fleshing hides nearby or
carrying in a load of kindling wood or wild turnips, as she had
done almost every day as far back as he could remember.
Adding to the mystery of death were the solemn words of
Deeds's uncle, Sitting Bull, who .spoke to the family as they
all gathered around the old woman's deathbed.
"Her passing means a great event is about to take place,"
Sitting Bull had announced gravely. "Perhaps my vision of
our enemies falling into camp may soon be fulfilled!"
The grownups, including the sobbing old Four Horns, had
nodded knowingly, while Deeds mutely looked down at all
that remained of his grandmother. A little later Brown Back
had called him away to help bring in the ponies.
The lid came free at last. Inside the box were crumbling
slabs of hardtack bread. The boy brought a flake to his nostrils
and sniffed. The aroma was not at all like that of the fry
bread made by Sioux women. He bit into it, knowing instinctively
he was tasting white man's bread for the first time.
At the sudden clatter of hoofs on the broken trail, Deeds
looked up, expecting to see Brown Back riding toward him
with the herd. Still munching hardtack, he turned quickly,
realizing the hoofbeats came from behind him.
Three white soldiers were riding down on him at a fast
gallop, firing their carbines.
4
Sunup
"He's got the box!" one of them yelled, as shots crashed
through the lazy morning stillness.
The boy Deeds munching hardtack as soldiers approached on trail.
Before Deeds could cry out or run away, a trooper's bullet
caught him full in the chest and brought him down. Still
afoot. Brown Back came running at the crack of gunfire. An
Ogalala youth named Drags-the-Rope followed at his heels.
His ponies, too, had strayed up the divide during the long
night graze. Now he lent a helping hand to his young Hunkpapa
cousins. At a glance he saw he was too late.
Deeds lay dead, an ugly wound through his lungs. Without
dismounting, the soldiers fired at the older boys as they ran
forward. One trooper with stripes on his sleeves seemed to be
giving orders to the other two. Dodging the deadly carbine
fire, Drags-the-Rope found temporary cover and drew on his
training as a warrior's apprentice for a fast decision. Snaking
through the grass to where Brown Back crouched cowering
5
Ouster's Fall
»
and uncertain, he told the Hunkpapa boy to make a run for
the village and spread the alarm.
"I'll hold off the soldiers until you get away!" Drags-theRope
shouted.
And Brown Back leaped and dodged down the slope like
a prongbuck. Once the boy was safely away, Drags-the-Rope
pulled at his long nose and grinned. A little victory yell started
deep in his throat. His thought now was to recover Deeds's
body—if he could. But with the soldiers reloading and firing
continuously, there was no chance of reaching the dead boy.
Drags-the-Rope waited until Brown Back was safely out
of range, then sprang to his feet and ran a fast zigzag course
downhill. If he could reach the distant clump of box elders
that marked the head of Medicine Tail Coulee off to the
northwest, he could follow the dry wash down to the river
and cross directly over into camp. Later, he might guide a
small war party back and show them where to find Deeds's
body.
Ready for anything, he expected at every step to hear the
thunder of hoofs behind him. An old Sioux war cry kept
echoing in his mind: "This is a good day to die!"
But the blue-clad soldiers did not ride him down. And he
felt no impact of bullet against his flesh as he ran. Once he
was out of range, they stopped firing. He glanced over .his
shoulder to see all three of them riding on down the Lodgepole
Trail, the old Indian route across the Wolf Mountain divide
from Rosebud Creek to the Greasy Grass—as the Sioux called
the Little Big Horn. If they kept going, they would run
head-on into the south end of the great village—the end where
the Hunkpapas were camped. Sensing that more soldiers
lurked up on the divide, Drags-the-Rope somehow knew at
6
Sunup
that moment that these troopers had just fired the first shots
of what was destined to be a great battle for Indian and
white man alike.
From the Crow's Nest, a rocky promontory high in the
Wolf Mountain divide, an unseen enemy stealthily watched
the retreat of the two young Sioux.
The Wolf or Little Chetish Mountains, lying between the
valleys of the Rosebud and Little Big Horn Rivers in southeast
Montana, are not properly mountains but rough broken
country gullied and cut by the erosion of wind and water and
time. From precipitous hills and deep narrow gulches in the
divide, the Little Big Horn follows a tortuous course northwest
across undulating prairie to the Big Horn River, some
forty miles away. A rapid stream twenty to forty yards wide,
the Little Big Horn has a pebbled bottom, but soft abrupt
banks. Depending on the width of the channel, the water at
normal stages is from two to five feet deep, shallower at
several natural fords. Rolling grassland gives way here and
there to scattered groves of cottonwood and box elder. Like
the wide sky above it, the valley is broad and open.
An old tribal lookout afforded three Crow Indian scouts
a sweeping view of the entire Little Big Horn basin. Members
of a tribe numerically weak, several Crows had teamed up
with the white soldier-chief, Custer, to deliver what they
hoped might be a mortal blow to their hated foe, the Sioux.
The sun was just up when Hairy Moccasin, lean and wiry
and sharp-eyed, first sighted the pall of smoke that hung
above the great enemy camp twelve or fifteen miles away.
Then Goes Ahead, handsome with his hawk nose and high
pompadour, spotted the Sioux pony herds grazing on hills
7
Custer's Fall r
south of the big village. At this distance the milling horses
looked like tiny maggots crawling on a fresh-killed buffalo
robe pegged out for scraping. Finally, White-ManRuns-Him,
oldest and tallest of the three, suggested that Son-of-theMorningStar--as
the Crows called Custer--should see the
enemy camp for himself.
"More Sioux are in that village than all of Son-of-theMorning-Star's
soldiers have bullets!" he said, getting up
from where the three Crows had crouched through the dawn
hours, and moving down into the pocket of ground where
the other scouts dozed.
Lieutenant Varnum, Custer's Chief of Scouts, had been
napping fitfully for forty-five minutes. He came awake instantly
at White-Man-Runs-Him's touch. With his prominent
nose and bristling mustache, Varnum looked more than ever
like a sleepy old bear. After the Crow had told him in signs
that the Sioux camp had been sighted, the Chief of Scouts indicated
that he should rouse the other scouts. White-ManRuns-Him
first awakened the other three Crows, then the
Arikaras.*
As the Arikaras awoke, they stood up and started to sing
in unison one of their war songs. White-ManRuns-Him
signed to them all to keep silent. These Arikaras were brave
enough, he decided, except when it came to fighting the Sioux.
Then they went to pieces, making a lot of unnecessary noise
just to keep up their courage. Compared to other Plains
tribes they seemed small and wiry and dark-skinned. They
were dirty and careless in their personal habits, and WhiteMan-Runs-Him
failed to understand why Custer had nearly
* Also called Arikarees or Rees.
8
Sunup
forty of them guiding him west from Dakota Territory when
he could have used Crows entirely. Even Custer's favorite
scout was the Arikara Bloody Knife, who was half Sioux and
had a great weakness for the bottle, like other Indians who
associated freely with white men.
An older Arikara named Crooked Horn came up with his
nephew, Red Star. Talking in sign, White-ManRuns-Him
told them the Sioux camp had been sighted. The tall Crow
smiled wryly to see them hurry off, leading the other Arikaras
to high ground from which they could look for signs of the
enemy. Once the routine scouting was done, the Arikaras were
quick to take advantage and gain the credit. Even now
Lieutenant Varnum was ordering Crooked Horn to have
someone ready to ride the ten miles or so back up the trail
to where Custer and his horse soldiers waited. Naturally an
Arikara would be picked to go.
Crooked Horn squinted out across the valley.
"Look sharp, my boy," he told Red Star. "You have better
eyes than I."
Red Star gazed for quite a while until he saw a light blur
that could be smoke rising above the village. The tepees
were hidden by an intervening ridge, but smoke was drawing
out and up. Beyond the blur Red Star saw some dark specks
he thought were ponies.
The famous white scout "Lonesome Charley" Reynolds--
called Lucky Man by the Indians--joined them presently
and looked in the direction of the camp a long time. He took
field glasses from a scarred leather case hung around his neck
and looked again. Finally he put the glasses down and
nodded silently. Reynolds seldom spoke to anybody, then
only a word or so at a time. It was because of a woman, the
9
Custer's Fall
other white scouts said, a Mexican woman far to the south in
the Spanish town of Sante Fe. But nobody knew much more
than that. Reynolds took out a notebook and scribbled something
on a page. Then he tore out the page and folded it and
handed it to Crooked Horn, who in turn passed it on to Red
Star.
"Saddle up your pony, boy," Crooked Horn ordered, then
singled out another Arikara youth. "Bull, saddle your pony,
too. Both of you will take the talking paper to Long Hair
Custer."
They started off downhill. Red Star carrying the note and
feeling his special importance. He paid little attention to
Bull, who was poorly mounted on a runty little horse and
had trouble keeping up. Red Star rode at a steady lope,
glancing back only occasionally to make sure Bull was
following.
Riding up out of a hollow high in the divide a while later,
Red Star was hailed by blue-clad sentries guarding the
soldiers' breakfast fires. He quickly gave the low owl-hoot
signal--although the Sioux and Cheyennes also used the
same call. Then he began turning his horse zigzag, back and
forth, as a sign he had sighted the enemy. Finally he got
down and tied up his pony's tail in a knot, according to the
Arikara custom of preparing for battle. Recognizing him as
a scout, the sentries let him through.
Bob-tailed Bull, Bloody Knife, and Stabbed--the Arikara
leaders--were gathered around a pot of coffee with Long Hair
Custer and Girard, the white man who had raised chickens for
officers' wives at the fort back in Dakota Territory but now
acted as interpreter for the Arikaras. Stabbed got up and
came over to Red Star.
10
Sunup
"My son," he said, "this is no small thing you have done."
It was a great honor, among the Arikaras at least, to have
carried such an important message. Stabbed called out to
the whole column, "Why do you all sleep? Red Star has
come back!"
It was poetic license; no one slept, nor had anyone more
than napped briefly the whole long night. Bob-tailed Bull,
his gaudy uniform with the gold epaulets still resplendent
though soiled and dusty, stood up, and Red Star caught the
trace of a proud smile on his lips. Bloody Knife even left
Custer's side to stride over and ask Red Star what he had
seen.
"We have found the camp," Red Star announced, trying to
keep his voice calm.
Translating for Custer's benefit, Girard handed Red Star
a cup of coffee. Red Star squatted down by the fire and sipped
the coffee slowly. It was up to Custer to ask him what he
wanted to know, so he volunteered nothing. But before anything
more was said, in word or sign. Red Star was aware of
a strange light dancing in Long Hair's eyes. Mounted bareback
on Vie, his white-stockinged blaze-faced sorrel, Custer
had been riding around camp telling his officers what to do.
Without finishing his morning meal, he had left the officers'
breakfast fire as soon as Red Star had signaled the sentries.
Even to those who knew Custer best, his manner now had a
rare excitement.
George Armstrong Custer was thirty-six years old. Celebrated
among whites as the Civil War's "Boy General," later
famed as the West's most noted Indian fighter, he was rapidly
gaining a wide reputation among the red men of the Plains.
The Crows called him Son-of-the-Morning-Star. Less poeti11
Custer's Fall
cally, the friendly Arikaras knew him by his cultivated
trademark: flowing untrimmed locks worn shoulder length
after the fashion of old-time plainsmen. Even some of the
enemy Sioux and Cheyennes had heard of the longhaired
soldier-chief. In each of their tongues he was called Long Hair.
Today, however, as it had been for several weeks, his
thinning blond hair was close-cropped by the clippers of
Lieutenant Varnum. Always vain, he wore the usual broadbrimmed
whitish gray hat to hide his increasing baldness. As
though to compensate for his shorn locks, his mustache was
left full and drooping picturesquely over his thin tight lips,
He was dressed this morning in a plain blue-gray flannel
shirt, open at the throat and bare of insignia, and fringed
buckskin trousers stuck into high jack boots, their spit-andpolish
luster dulled by days of trail dust. In spite of the informality
of the moment, every member of his command
aside from Indian scouts referred to and addressed him as
General--although his present rank was actually that of
lieutenant colonel.
One of his brothers tagged along with him. Captain Tom
Custer was a younger, paler edition of the General--down to
fringed buckskins and flowing mustache. Moody and preoccupied,
he lacked Long Hair's verve. Red Star scarcely wasted
a glance on him, although he watched Long Hair attentively
over the rim of his tin coffee cup.
Long Hair signed to Red Star, asking if he had sighted the
Sioux. The Arikara promptly signed that he had, then reached
inside his tattered shirt for Charley Reynolds's note which he
handed to Custer.
The General slowly read the note and nodded. Grinning, he
indicated his solemn-faced brother and signed to Bloody
12
Sunup
Knife: "Our brother is frightened. His heart flutters in fear of
the enemy. His eyes roll in fright at this news of the Sioux.
Maybe only after we have beaten the Sioux will he become a
man."
Through Girard, Long Hair told Red Star to saddle up.
"We are going back to where the other scouts watch," he
said.
Red Star quickly set down his half-filled coffee cup, kicking
it over in his excitement as he got up. Flinching at the resemblance
of the spilled coffee to dark blood in the dust, he hurried
on to his pony and saddled up. By the time he was ready
Bloody Knife, Bob-tailed Bull, Stabbed, and Girard were all
mounted and waiting. Custer was swinging up from the stirrup,
his orderly having just tightened up the cinch strap of
his McClellan saddle.
They left the camp at a medium pace, the Indian ponies
trotting to keep up with the fast-walking Vie. Red Star heard
a bugle as they passed the outflung sentries. Once along the
way they slowed to rest the horses a little. With Girard interpreting,
Custer was talking to Bloody Knife and Bobtailed
Bull:
"If we beat the Sioux, I will be President of the United
States--the Grandfather. If you Arikaras do as I tell you and
kill enough Sioux for me and capture many Sioux ponies,
I will take care of you all when I come into power!"
Red Star thought. Surely this Long Hair must be a great
chief among the whites. Red Star's own important function in
letting Custer know the enemy camp had been found would
surely not be forgotten when Long Hair became President.
Presently they came to the footpath leading up to the
Crow's Nest and Red Star signed this was the place. They all
i3
Ouster's Fall ,
dismounted, leaving Stabbed to watch the horses, and climbed
the butte until they came to the scouts. Charley Reynolds
walked over and led Custer away to the lookout.
Reynolds indicated where Long Hair was to look, but
Custer saw only the chalk buttes of the ridge that cut off a
full view of the enemy camp. He shook his head. "You're
imagining things, Charley. No sign of a hostile camp that I
can see."
Watching from a few paces away, Girard spoke quietly to
the Arikaras in their own tongue, "Long Hair does not believe
a camp is there."
Reynolds handed Custer his field glasses and again pointed
out the location of the camp. Long Hair looked once more,
finally nodded slowly. "It's possible. You may be right at
that."
White-Man-Runs-Him had waited patiently for a word
with Custer. Up to now, the Arikaras had gotten full credit
for discovering the camp. The tall Crow wanted to let Custer
know that it was he and his brother "wolves" (scouts) who
had first sighted the Sioux. Bringing stocky Mitch Bouyer
along to interpret for him, White-Man-Runs-Him squatted
down behind Custer. Known to the Indians as Two Bodies,
Bouyer was part French, part Sioux, but long ago had married
into the Crow tribe and now served double duty as scout
and Crow interpreter.
"This Indian here wants to know what you think of the
enemy camp," Bouyer began without ceremony.
"If there is an enemy camp out there, they haven't seen
our army," Custer answered. "None of their scouts have seen
us."
Hearing the meaning of Custer's words, White-Man-Runs-
'4
Sunup
Him said, "You say we have not been seen. We saw two young
Sioux a while ago, going fast toward the camp. They were
close enough to see the smoke of your army's breakfast fires."
This was not at all what Custer wanted to hear. "I say
again we haven't been seen," he snapped angrily. "That camp
has not sighted us. I'm going ahead to carry out my original
plan. We'll wait until dark and then march. We'll surround
the camp and hit it from all sides."
"That plan is no good," said White-Man-Runs-Him. "The
Sioux may already have spotted your soldiers, and will report
your coming to the camp."
Custer glared contemptuously at the tall Crow. "I've already
said what I propose to do. I'll wait until dark, then go
ahead with my plan."
Standing, White-Man-Runs-Him said no more. After a
moment or so he silently strode away to join the other Crows.
As he sat listening to Girard's piecemeal translation of all
that was going on. Red Star thought Long Hair's plan was
good and that the Sioux would surely be caught by surprise.
The tall Crow scout apparently did not realize how important
and wise a leader Long Hair was. Still, like the other Arikaras,
Red Star had a strange presentiment of defeat. Too many
signs pointed that way, and even the Arikaras knew that the
"medicine" (power) of the Sioux Chief Sitting Bull was great.
Only a few days had passed since the Arikara scouts had
found the abandoned Sioux sun-dance camp on the Rosebud.
Here, in one of the sweat lodges, lay a long ridge of sand in
which pictures had been drawn. Red Star remembered one
drawing of hoofprints, indicating Custer's horse soldiers on
one side and Sioux warriors on the other; between the two forces were dead soldiers with their heads toward the Sioux.
i5
Ouster's Fall
The Arikaras at once understood this to mean that the Sioux
medicine was too strong for the soldiers and that the whites
would surely be defeated. Beside the drawings were three stones
in a row, all painted red. In sign language this meant that the
Great Spirit would give the Sioux a great victory. Tobacco
offerings tied to painted sticks and other signs showed the
Arikaras that the Sioux were sure of winning. Even if Long
Hair caught the Sioux off-guard. Red Star wondered if the
soldiers could beat them.
A rider on a fast horse clattered to a standstill on the trail
below. A moment later Captain Tom Custer came panting up
the footpath, looking for Long Hair. Red Star pointed toward
the lookout. Long Hair was just coming out and met his
brother in the pocket of ground where all the scouts now
waited. Tom Custer gasped out words.
"They've spotted us! The Sioux know we're marching
against them!"
Long Hair blinked, then frowned. "I don't believe it. You're
getting as jumpy as the Crows."
"No doubt about it, General. Captain Yates found a loose
pack on one of the mules. A box of hardtack was missing from
the pack. Looks like our fine civilian packers had let it go with
a lick and a promise."
"This is no time for joshing!" Long Hair said harshly. "If
this is some kind of prank — "
"I'm not joshing. Yates sent Sergeant Curtis and two men
from F Troop back up the trail to recover the box. They found
it all right—with an Indian kid sitting on it eating hardtack.
Curtis shot the boy, thinking he was alone. Just then two
Sioux bucks ran up over a hill, but they were a little far for
carbines. When Curtis saw they were getting away, he rode
16
Sunup
back on the double and reported to Yates. Yates told Keogh,
and Keogh told me. We sent Herendeen back up the trail to
see how bad it was. I thought you ought to know at once, so
I came on here. Reno's right behind me, bringing up the
column."
They all heard the clopping of hoofs and the din of voices as
the regiment clattered down the trail. Long Hair snorted, his
irritation mounting. "They're making enough noise to alert
every hostile in the territory! Well, I knew the Indians would
have scouts out ahead of us, but I never dreamed others could
trail after us and pick up stuff dropped by our careless
packers!"
At a loss for words, Tom Custer stood silent. Most of the
scouts kept at a safe distance from Long Hair for the moment,
finding suddenly that their weapons and gun belts required
close scrutiny. Lonesome Charley Reynolds opened his rawhide
war bag, and began handing out personal mementos and
other belongings to his Ankara friends. Those out of earshot
took up a murmur of alarm. It looked as though Lonesome
Charley did not expect to get through the coming battle alive.
Hairy Moccasin had remained in the lookout. Now he came
down into the pocket and signaled Mitch Bouyer to come
quick. Back on the promontory the Crow pointed out half a
dozen Indian horsemen crossing the prairie less than a mile
away. Hairy Moccasin drew a forefinger across his Adam's
apple, making the sign for the cutthroat Sioux.
"Lakota," he whispered. It was the word for the Sioux that
both the Crow ai.d the Sioux themselves used.
Bouyer grunted when one of the Sioux began riding his pony
in a tight circle. "He signals he has sighted us," Bouyer muttered.
"I
Custer's Fall
Hairy Moccasin signed no. "Not us. They see the dust made
by the white men--the horse soldiers coming up."
Bouyer nodded, then left the lookout and found Custer.
"A little bunch of Sioux is out there," he told Long Hair.
"Only five or six warriors. The way one is circling his horse,
it looks like they've spotted the soldiers coming."
Custer moved halfway up to the promontory and looked out
across the valley. The Sioux riders had vanished over a grassy
rise. Following Long Hair, Bouyer said excitedly, "They've
started back! Word'11 get to that camp in no time at all. The
Sioux will scatter to the four winds. Don't wait 'til they all
get away--attack now!"
Long Hair's pale blue eyes flashed a cold warning. "You do
the scouting, and I'll attend to the fighting."
Rebuffed by Custer's manner, as much as his words, Bouyer
turned away to join the Crow scouts who were huddled up in
a little group apart from the others.
A white man in buckskins came up the footpath and
stepped into the pocket. It was Scout George Herendeen. Seeing
him, Tom Custer led him over to Long Hair. Herendeen
moved fast, but talked slow.
"Well, don't just stand there, man!" snapped Long Hair.
"What have you got to report?"
Herendeen was unruffled. "War party. General, way it looks.
Fresh sign--and plenty of it."
"Did you get a look at them?" Custer wanted to know.
"I only seen one--an outridin' scout on a ridge a mile off."
But back up the trail, near where the bread box had been
dropped, Herendeen had found plenty of fresh pony tracks
in a ravine off to one side. Less than an hour old, the tracks
18
Sunup
obviously had been made after Sergeant Curtis had caught
the Sioux boy eating hardtack.
"If you ask me. General," Herendeen offered, "we got Sioux
all around us. They're watching every move we make."
"Maybe they're getting set to launch an attack on us," put
in Tom Custer.
Long Hair toyed with the idea, then shook his head.
"Hardly. What's worse, they're likely to slip away from us
entirely. Once they scatter, we're in trouble. Tom, run down
and tell Cooke I want an officers' call as soon as the regiment
comes up. And tell him all members of the command will
stand weapons' inspection without delay. We won't wait for
dark. This means a change of plan: we'll push on today and
strike the hostiles as soon as we can find them!"
As Tom Custer hurried down the footpath. Long Hair
called Lieutenant Varnum over. "Your scouts may see action
long before nightfall. Lieutenant. Have them ready."
Varnum saluted and turned away to find his interpreters.
Long Hair stood alone on the rim of the pocket--a vainglorious
conqueror looking out across the land toward a rendezvous
with destiny, well sensing the drama of the moment,
knowing that here might well be a day to go down in history.
Now the die was cast, his sudden decision firm and irrevocable.
There could be no turning back. It was a reckless gamble
against unknown odds, a quixotic tilting at the windmills of
chance. But Long Hair Custer was a desperate man.
Behind him the scouts stirred with renewed activity. Girard
had already called the Arikaras around him and was relaying
Long Hair's message. At once the Arikaras began preparing
for battle, shedding their dirty garments, stripping down to
breechclouts and moccasins, daubing at their faces and arms
i9
Custer's Fall and
chests with smears of powdered war paint wetted with
spit.
Long Hair Custer looking out over Little Big Horn valley as scouts
prepared for battle.
Young Hawk had a handful of loose eagle feathers, carefully
saved for such an emergency as this. Unbraiding his
hair, he methodically tied the feathers into looping hair
strands. As he worked he sang a little low-voiced war song.
Like the other Arikaras, he expected to be killed and scalped
by the Sioux. At least he would go to his death accoutered
for war.
The Crow scouts quickly gathered what was going on. They
heard Herendeen's story of the pony tracks, then Mitch
Bouyer's translation of Custer's words. Quietly they made
ready for battle. Goes Ahead tied some breath feathers into
20
Sunup
his scalp braid. White-Man-Runs-Him painted sacred whiteclay
stripes down his face. Half Yellow Face, who "carried
the pipe" for the Crows (led them), made a tobacco offering
to the four winds. Seeing the little Crow ceremony. Long Hair
strode over.
"Why are you doing all this?" he asked.
With Mitch Bouyer interpreting. Half Yellow Face respectfully
got to his feet and answered solemnly, "Because you and
I are going home today--by a trail that is strange to both of
us."
Long Hair Custer's face drained of color at this mention of
death. Saying no more, he turned on his heel and walked
slowly back to the rim of the pocket where he stood again for
a long time, looking out across the valley.
21
White Man^s ]/^orld
IT was Sunday, June 25, 1876.
Almost a full century had passed s& . . .
-' 1 ^mce the signing of the
Declaration of Independence, and the:» . r r „.
„,, ., , , , , nation was feeling its
oats. While the great Indian camp on th i, , . , ->. „ ..„
, , , , ." , , , he Little Big Horn still slumbered, whites across the land wen, , . . ,., „
, re awakening jubilant
and tense with excitement over the cw: . ,. i r
bmmg centennial celebration
now less than ten days awa-y, -. . ,,
.... . , y. Cheerfully, citizens
sidestepped the toils of economic depress .,,.., c ,1.
. ., „ , 'ssion left over from the
panic of 73, and proudly rose to the oco . ,. ,
,., .'-.,. ' ^asion of a grand oncem-a-litetime
jubilee.
A rare elation gripped Philadelphia, d, „ , ., ^., ,:
_ , , . " ,' ,_ 1 normally staid City of
Brotherly Love, as the Centennial Expo^ ... ... ,,
„ - - ',,..„ . ^sition set the pace for
all future world fairs. Occupying vast, c <_
, , . . . " . acreage in Fairmount
Park, the fair had gotten off to an ausp ii;> . , . ,,
,_.,-" . ,, icious start on May 10,
when President Grant, accompanied by ti „„ r o i
„ , , . . , ^ ,.' the Emperor of Brazil,
pulled the switch on the gigantic Corli^,. . ,..
, „ , , . , ,° . . 'iss engine which operated
all the machinery of the exposition, ,, , „ , . ,
. - ' , 'tn. Nearly five hundred
acres of mechanical exhibits display ea. .,. ,.
, , , ted everything from a
mowing machine with an unheard-of di» .
, . . ihfferential gear to such
novelties as a typewriter and an automa .,.
„ ., ,„ . ., _, '*atic device for turning
out tailor-made cigarettes. Alexander ,, , n n>
, , , , . ler Graham Bell s improved
telephone was featured prommen , . . . ,
,., , ,,„„.„. .'sntly as the instrument
over which were heard the first intelligi ... , ,
. „- , . ."Jable words ever spoken
through a wire. On the floor of Mac,, ,. .. „ ,
^chinery Hall was also '»^»
22
White Man's World
demonstrated an odd duplicating contraption, called a mimeograph
by its young inventor, Thomas Alva Edison.
Such gadgetry would have been completely wasted on the
Indians camped by the Little Big Horn. Living as they did in
a stone-age culture, they could not have cared less about happenings
in the outside world.
The exposition's most popular exhibit, however, was one
which displayed a minimum of technological achievement.
The Pacific Railroad's replica of a hunter's camp in the Colorado
Rockies drew the largest crowds and the most favorable
comment. The nation's pulse may have quickened in the gala
atmosphere of Philadelphia, but her eyes were dreamily focused
on the West. Perhaps the expansive yearnings of the
populace were a holdover from the era of Manifest Destiny
in the forties and fifties, when people were seized with a determination
"to overspread and to possess the whole of the
Continent which Providence has given us for the experiment
of liberty." In any case, westward expansion and the consolidation
of a preserved Union--nearly sundered by civil war a
decade earlier--took the national spotlight.
A veritable snowstorm of publicity attended the continental
crossing of a passenger train called the Lightning Express. Normally, such a trip required seven days or more. It was the
audacious plan of Henry Jarrett, co-manager of Booth
Theatre in New York City, to take a company of players to
San Francisco by rail in a mere four days. The public breathlessly
read progress bulletins issued by Jarrett at Chicago,
Omaha, and Reno. Setting a record for many years to come,
the Lightning Express achieved the impossible and made the
cross-country jaunt in just eighty-four hours--twelve hours
less than advertised. The nation was a long time recovering
23
Custers Fall
» from what was, until the Battle of the Little Big Horn, the
year's major excitement.
Only a handful of Sioux and Cheyenne warriors had ever
seen an "iron horse"--as they called the awesome locomotive
that thundered across the prairie, belching smoke and hissing
steam. Even wagons were still a novelty to the Plains Indians.
They continued to rely on such time-tested transportation as
half-broken mustangs and pony-drawn travois.
Finished early in the year, the steamer Grand Republic with
its fastidious Victorian decor, miles of Turkish carpet, and
ornate gingerbread woodwork was the last word in riverboat
luxury. One of the last of the floating palaces in the great
fleet of packets plying the Mississippi, Missouri, and other
navigable rivers, she featured currently popular high-pressure
engines in spite of competitors' warnings that her boilers
might explode. An added inducement to a discriminating clientele
was the fact that her staterooms were accessible only
from the public grand salon, thus minimizing the opportunity
for illicit amour among her passengers.
With no reference at all to skin color, white men were first
known to Indians of the upper Missouri and Yellowstone by
their habitual travel on the big rivers. The fact that early
white trappers came by canoe, and traders and settlers followed
later on larger craft, characterised the white race for
some time.
Even histrionics took a western turn. Theater audiences
were still talking about Buffalo Bill Cody's smash stage hit, Scouts of the Prairie, closed in April at the death of the star's
only son, little Kit Carson Cody, in Rochester. Rumor now
had it that the distraught scout-andbuffalohunter-turnedactor
had deserted his wife, Louisa, and two small daughters
24
White Man's World
for parts unknown. As it happened, on the morning of June
25, Cody was far from the footlights, guiding the Fifth Cavalry
up the Dry Fork of Cheyenne River in northwest
Nebraska. Yellow Hand's Cheyennes had "jumped the reservation,"
having suddenly left Red Cloud Agency to join Sitting
Bull on the Little Big Horn. The Fifth was riding hard
to head them off.
Cody's friend and short-time co-star, James Butler Hickok
--better known as "Wild Bill"--had also left the stage under
a cloud. After publicly trouncing an overcharging cabbie in
front of his theater, Hickok had mistaken the enthusiasm of
his New York audience for ridicule and had hurled his sixshooter
at a gallery spotlight, smashing it to bits and
promptly ending an ill-fated performance. It was reliably reported
that he had caught the first train West. On that memorable
Sunday, Wild Bill was leisurely strolling up the dusty
main drag of Deadwood, the Dakota boomtown where later
in the summer he was shot in the back of the head by a cocky
little gun slick named Jack McCall.
Though happily married to a circus performer, Hickok had
ridden into Deadwood a few days earlier with a hard-shooting
mannish pony-express rider named Martha Jane Canary. Her
sobriquet "Calamity Jane" would thereafter be linked romantically
with Wild Bill's own name. On the morning of June 25,
Calamity Jane lay in a Deadwood bagnio, recovering from
illness brought on by exposure during one of her wild rides.
Two years before she had guided Custer's Black Hills Gold
Discovery Expedition, which had opened up western Dakota
to prospecting and settlement. Now she was cursing her luck
for having missed out on serving Custer as a scout against
Indians on the Little Big Horn.
25
Custer's Fall
Throughout the West, citizens were striving vigorously to
live down a reputation for being roughshod and uncultured.
Betterment of self and community through education was a
primary issue. Coinciding with the opening of Baltimore's
Johns Hopkins University back east, the University of Oregon
was set up at Eugene. Countless other institutions of higher
learning sprang up in city after city across the land.
In 1876 Indians had no place in current educational programs.
Three full years would pass before the establishment
of the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania--the first opportunity
for education ever offered to the red man.
A wave of public morality swept across the West as more
and more women asserted their vague yearnings for power
and equality with men. Two ladies in Nevada--pioneers in
the struggle for women's suffrage--Hannah Clapp and Ella
Babcock calmly announced the unheard-of founding of a coeducational college.
Sioux and Cheyenne women in the Little Big Horn camp
might well have laughed at their white sisters' clamor for
recognition in matters with which females were not normally
concerned. Never their husbands' chattel as commonly supposed,
Indian women exerted tremendous influence within
their own sphere of activities. An age-old division of labor
kept both sexes happily occupied and without the white man's
restless urge to reform that which was already long established
by tribal custom.
Like lightning, the new morality struck at Marysville,
California, when the city fathers--prompted by their womenfolk--loaded
an entire bawdyhouse full of prostitutes on a
dray, and reluctantly dragged the building and its protesting
occupants beyond the town limits.
26
White Man's World
By instinct and ancient tradition, the Sioux and Cheyennes
were among the world's most moral people. Violations of the
old accepted pattern were rare simply because they were unthinkably
impractical. Infrequent breaches of the unwritten
code were dealt with harshly and promptly. Promiscuity or
adultery was usually punished by banishment--or, occasionally,
by cutting off the nose of the guilty woman.
Reflecting the trend, popular music had a certain forced
sentimentality that marked it for all time. People the country
over were humming and whistling "I'll Take You Home
Again, Kathleen" or "Silver Threads Among the Gold." A
familiar barroom melody, "How Dry I Am," actually began
as an often-heard hymn, "0 Happy Day," whose author providentially
died before learning of its unholy fate. The westward
look showed up in the plaintive "Home on the Range"
and the risque ballad, "Frankie and Johnnie."
While the valley of the Little Big Horn still resounded with
the steady throb of rawhide drums, the minds of drowsy
scalp dancers echoed simple words: " You may go on the warpath;
when you return among the victors, I will marry you."
The summer social season was highlighted by the opening
of the Grand Union Hotel at Saratoga Springs. With fitting
aplomb, city dwellers flocked to fashionable resorts "where
the days moved in a pleasant round of billiards, sherry cobblers,
and a little gentle exercise such as the schottische." Socialites
were still talking about the wide swathe cut the
preceding winter in New York City by George and Elizabeth
Custer. Although comparative strangers to Eastern society, they had been sponsored by no less a personage than the
prominent publisher, James Gordon Bennett, whose son had
just created a considerable stir at Newport by introducing
27
Ouster's Fall
from India the remarkable game of polo. Lawn tennis was
considered a far more proper recreation, as prim young ladies
rustled across grassy courts in heavy bustles and skirts to
"return their escorts' well-mannered shots." Or, of a Sunday
morning, one might spend a "refreshing hour or so touring the
park in one's most elegant equipage and costume."
Indians always enjoyed visiting the old Sioux camping
place on the Little Big Horn, where there was plenty of good
water, lots of good grass for the pony herds, and plenty of
wood. It was a fine spot for fishing or, if the water ran high,
for swimming. The tribes always had fun there, racing their
ponies and rolling willow hoops and playing hide-a-stick
games.
East and West, it was an era of unchanneled free enterprise.
Widely advertised for American homes were such diverse
items as Rogers' Statuary (at ijSio a grouping) and a
better mousetrap which ingeniously caught mice alive and
theoretically lured other mice to their doom. A concoction
called Sozodont was guaranteed to eliminate "impure breath
arising from catarrh or the use of liquor and tobacco." Mustache
cups and elixirs enjoyed wide popularity among hirsute
gentlemen--of whom there were many. Mrs. J. A. Drollinger
of La Porte, Indiana, advertised a sure cure for the opium
habit, with a "trial bottle absolutely free." The "best, cheapest,
safest fireworks in the country" were offered for the
coming Fourth of July Giant Centennial Celebration by E. I.
Horsman of New York City.
One could buy Sharps's breech-loading rifles or Winchester
'73s for as little as ten dollars in Eastern cities. Colt's sevenshot
revolvers sold for five dollars, while lesser brands could
be purchased for three-fifty.
28
White Man's World
Indians on the Little Big Horn would have given a lot for
a chance to get arms and ammunition for hunting purposes.
Few warriors had firearms. Most of them bad to rely on oldfashioned
bows and arrows to bring down game. Only a do^en
or so men in the entire camp had repeating rifles--Winchesters
or Spencer carbines. A few others owned single-shot Sharps
and Henrys. Mu^le-loaders, even old-time flintlocks, were
actually preferred because ammunition was so scarce. Some
warriors carried cap-and-ball six-shooters and kept bullet
molds and caps and powder horns. Cartridge cases were carefully
saved and reloaded. Phosphorus was soaked off match
heads and used to rebuild rimfire shells. There was no substitute
for makeshift methods. The nearest trading post was hundreds of miles away.
It was an election year and a convention summer. With few
clearcut issues before it other than widespread dissatisfaction
with the Grant administration, the electorate saw the formation
of a number of splinter parties and factions. Encouraged
by the recent proposal in the House for a prohibition amendment
to the Constitution, the Prohibition party had met in
Cleveland late in May. General Green Clay Smith of Kentucky
was nominated for President. The first convention of
the new Greenback party was held in Indianapolis, nominating
New York's Peter Cooper for the chief executive's post.
The Republicans convened early in June at Cincinnati.
With three or four strong candidates to choose from, the delegates
were at loggerheads until Ohio's dark horse, Rutherford
B. Hayes, was finally nominated for President. W. A. Wheeler
was named as his running mate.
The Democrats' convention was not slated until July, but
by early summer their candidate-to-be, Samuel T. Tilden of
29
Ouster's Fall
^
New York, was regarded as a shoo-in favorite for the fall election.
Republicans conceded Tilden would be tough opposition,
although no one dreamed the contest would prove to be the
closest presidential race in history--with Hayes nosing out
Tilden by just one electoral vote.
On no political platform was the Indian problem regarded
as a campaign issue. No Indians were permitted to vote and,
in light of the Army's get-tough policy with recalcitrant red
men. President Grant's once inspired administration of Indian
affairs by peaceful Quakers had proved immensely unpopular.
An almost violent anti-Indian sentiment swept across the
land.
Among best sellers of the day, one greeted with unexpected
enthusiasm for its identification with the American scene,
Mark Twain's classic Tom Sawyer, cast a mixed-blood Indian
as its villain. Whites everywhere were outraged by bloodcurdling
tales of Indian barbarity, both fictional and factual.
A New Mexican rancher named Frank Cody (no kin to
Buffalo Bill) was reported to have been cooked to death on
his own cabin stove by savage Mescalero Apaches. An unnamed
officer, member of the garrison at Fort Selden, New
Mexico Territory, was said to have been bitten to death by a
rattlesnake presented to him in a box by a spurned Indian
maiden who claimed, unjustifiably, of course, that he had
seduced her. A wandering evangelist called Preacher Smith
was found brutally slain by a Sioux war party in Dakota's
Black Hills.
Out of long-standing fear of the red men grew hatred and
contempt. In reprisal for sporadic raiding by other Apache
bands, the Chiricahuas were moved summarily from their
native Arizona mountains to dank marshlands near San Carlos
30
White Man's World
Agency, a mass death sentence for the tribe. When its friendly
chief, Cochise, gave up the ghost late in June, whites in the
territory sniffed "good riddance."
In Oregon a Wallowa Valley Nez Perce Indian was fatally
shot by an encroaching white settler in a trivial dispute over
a fence. Chief Joseph's protest at his tribesman's murder was
greeted with cold disdain by his future antagonist, Biblecarrying,
one-armed General Oliver Otis Howard.
"I'll listen to no more of your drivel," snapped Howard.
"The Government says your tribe shall give up its claim to
lands in Oregon and move to the Lapwai Reservation in
Idaho. Yet you persist in defying the Government. If you
don't move your people away, I'll take the matter into my own
hands and make you suffer for your disobedience."
Other high Army officials were expressing similar contempt
for Indians. Red men had degenerated from a full-scale menace
to a mere nuisance. General of the Army William Tecumseh
Sherman stated that the only protection needed by settlers
against hostile Indians was whisky.
"Kills them like flies," Sherman added.
Reflecting the nation's pulse. Lieutenant General Phil Sheri- clan in Chicago airily coined the phrase: "The only good
Indian is a dead one!" He had already well implemented his
motto by clamoring in the press for wholesale destruction of
the millions of buffalo that roamed the Plains. By early summer
most of the great Southern herd had been ruthlessly
slaughtered by hide hunters, who were already beginning to
look North to the still intact Northern herd.
"Destroy the Indian's commissary, and you'll destroy him,"
Sheridan insisted. The hide hunters were doing their best to
oblige.
3'
Custer's Fall
»
With hide hunting now centered in the Texas Panhandle,
western Kansas--previous headquarters for the industry--
was doing a land-office business in bones. Buffalo bones were
shipped East to button factories, while Indian skulls, used in
making fancy combs, brought as high as $1.25 each in Dodge
City. Local merchants found that arm and leg bones, properly
cleaned and polished, made knife handles "beautiful to behold."
More than one thrifty farmer, taking advantage of the
opening up of five million acres of wheatland by the Kansas
Pacific Railroad, made enough on Indian bones alone to tide
him through the winter. After two years of drought and grasshoppers--"In
God we trusted, in Kansas we busted"--plowing
for old bones paid better than plowing for wheat.
While watching with satisfaction'the passing of the buffalo
--and, consequently, the Indian--from the Southern plains,
homesteaders cast a greedy eye north to the sparsely settled
grasslands of Dakota and Montana. Here lay a vast region
virtually untouched, inhabited only by roving Indian bands
until Custer's discovery of gold in the Black Hills in 1874.
Miners and prospectors were swarming into scattered gold
towns such as Deadwood, but the prairies were wide open.
Land was free for the taking if one conveniently overlooked
treaties with the Indians.
At first, the Army made half-hearted attempts to keep the
whites out of Indian lands. But officers like Sheridan, who
commanded the Missouri Department in which the disputed
area lay, strongly urged a punitive expedition against the
Indians to open up the country to white settlement. Public
opinion was too biased to be ignored. Plans for a campaign
against the Sioux and Northern Cheyennes, main fighting
tribes of the region, were soon under way.
32
White Man's World
The Interior Department, which had nominal jurisdiction
over the Indians, preferred to settle the issues involved without
resorting to a shooting war. Military preparations were
held up during the winter of 1875-76 while the Commissioner
of Indian Affairs, acting on orders from the Secretary of Interior,
ordered Indian agents in the Sioux country to notify
all Indians in the territory that they were expected to come
in to their respective agencies before January 31, 1876. Red
men who failed to comply with this directive would automatically
be considered hostile to the Government and appropriate
action would be taken against them by the War Department.
In a word, the old free life of the Plains Indian was at an
end. The Sioux and Cheyennes would hereafter "walk the
white man's road" and "be lodged on reservations, where they would be maintained at Government expense." Messages were
sent by indifferent agents to various chiefs in the dead of
winter. Ill-timed and ill-advised from the start, the directive
reached few, if any, Indian leaders in the Montana wilderness.
Those chiefs who did hear of it paid little heed to such nonsense.
By age-old practice and tradition, they felt they had
every right to roam unmolested in their ancient hunting
grounds. Furthermore, their right to do so had been guaranteed
by formal treaty with the white man's Government. The
Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 defined their permanent territory
as all the land from the Platte River north to the Canadian
border and west of the Missouri to the Big Horn
Mountains. This area was to belong to the tribes "as long as
the grass shall grow." In the naive Indian mind this meant
forever.
On the morning of June 25, Ulysses Simpson Grant, eighteenth
President of the United States, got up from the family
33
Custer's Fall
»
breakfast table in the White House and slouched away toward
the front of the executive mansion.
"I'll be along in a few minutes, Ulys," his wife Julia called
after him, then launched into her usual Sunday-morning
altercation about food with the official steward. "Beckley,
don't you think we might have a little change of menu? Something
a little more fancy?"
A wry smile tugged at the President's bearded lips. He had
just finished his favorite morning meal of breakfast bacon
and fried apples, washed down with strong coffee. The steward,
he noted, gave his usual urbane answer.
"Madam, we are living at the absolute pinnacle now."
Grant took an after-breakfast cigar from his vest pocket
and licked one end preparatory to lighting up. He found that
as he moved away the sound of Julia's voice receded until he
was standing by one of the tall front windows looking out on
Pennsylvania Avenue. The wide street lacked its usual weekday
bustle, although several carriages and pedestrians passed
on their way to early church services.
These were dark days for Grant. Even his fragrant Havana
reminded him of trouble. The recent capture by Cubans of the
American ship, Virginius, and the savage murder of her passengers
and crew had brought the nation to the brink of war.
Here at home, in spite of the President's soothing, Julia was
in a perpetual fret about their daughter Nellie's marriage to
an Englishman. Mrs. Grant remained unreconciled to the
fact that young Sartoris was a foreigner--even though he did
happen to be the nephew of famed actress Fanny Kemble.
Far more serious was the domestic political situation. The
Republican party seemed doomed to certain defeat in the
coming November elections. A hostile Democratic House of
34
White Man's World
Representatives, angered by Grant's stubborn insistence on a
humane policy toward the Indians among other things, had
already passed an anti-third-term resolution aimed pointedly
at the President, while Democrats everywhere were out for
blood in their attempts to discredit his administration.
As a climax to numerous Reconstruction difficulties in the
South, armed rioting had broken out in South Carolina with
open conflict between whites and Negroes. Grant had been
forced to resort to an unpopular expedient--sending in Federal
troops to restore order. As it was, five Negroes had been
killed.
Of considerable embarrassment to the administration was
a drawn-out House investigation of alleged favors received
while in office by former Speaker James G. Blaine from the
Union Pacific Railroad. Matters were not improved when, in
early June, Blaine had insisted on making an ultra-dramatic
speech in his own defense on the floor of the House, and had
succeeded only in further incriminating himself.
Far worse was the impending impeachment against former
Secretary of War William W. Belknap for malfeasance in
office. Leaks of vast corruption in the War Department had
begun the previous winter with a series of vicious editorial
diatribes against Belknap in the New York Herald. Grant 'was
used to unfriendliness on the part of the press, which usually
pictured him in an alcoholic stupor although he had not taken
a drink since coming into office. But the Herald's attacks indicated
that some undisclosed official source was providing
Publisher James Gordon Bennett with classified information
--ammunition that obviously sparked the Congressional investigation
and impeachment proceedings against Belknap,
Most damaging of all to Grant personally was a Herald 35
Custer's Fall
»
feature article, "Belknap's Anaconda," published March 31,
in which the President's own brother, Orville Grant, was implicated
in the War Department scandals. The article reported
that Orville Grant and Mrs. Belknap, covering up for her
husband, were systematically dividing the proceeds from the
illicit sale of Army supplies intended for military outposts
and Indian reservations. With public attention focused increasingly
on the West, this was political dynamite.
Grant was forced to drop Belknap like a hot potato. In May
he had appointed Ohio's capable Alphonso Tail to fill the
cabinet vacancy. It was too little too late, however, to appease
the critics of the administration. But during the hubbub of
the spring hearings. Grant had uncovered the author of
"Belknap's Anaconda," the unscrupulous master mind behind
nearly all ,of the Herald's allegations. The President was a
little shocked to find that the arch enemy of his family, as
well as his administration, was a former brash Civil War
subordinate, George Armstrong Custer. Grant remembered Custer mainly from the grand review in Washington in June,
1865, after the war. While the victorious Union Army was
passing its commander. Grant, Custer's horse bolted past the
reviewing stand without giving its rider an opportunity to
salute. Grant had never forgotten the obviously intended
slight to his own authority.
On leave in New York City during the winter of 1875-76,
Custer and his wife Elizabeth enjoyed a gala holiday, attending
all the plays and hobnobbing with hero-worshiping
socialites. Highlights of the visit included seeing a revival of
Shakespeare's The Tempest, and watching Joe Jefferson do
his perennial title role in Rip Van Winkle. Not the least of
their social coups was Custer's meeting with powerful James
36
White Man's World
Gordon Bennett. Among other great and influential admirers,
the publisher quickly saw the "Boy General with Golden
Locks" as presidential timber, and soon had Custer aspiring
openly for the Democratic nomination in place of Tilden.
Bennett felt he had a fine chance. It was high time the Democrats
swept into office. But success depended on something
more spectacular than skillful press-agentry or unethical revelations
of War Department secrets. Bennett and Custer
agreed that a golden opportunity lay in the long-promised
campaign against the Sioux and Cheyennes in the West. A
showy victory over hostile Indians would make Custer a
national hero overnight. With public acclaim and a powerful
press to back him, the Boy General might--in spite of his
youth--make the coming Democratic convention in July sit
up and take notice.
During the spring hearings in the House, Custer was called
in to Washington to testify from his post as commander of
Fort Abraham Lincoln, Dakota Territory. It was an order he
did not want to obey. Operations against the hostile tribes
were slated to begin as soon as weather permitted, and Custer
was preparing to take the field as leader of the expedition. He
telegraphed Congressman Clymer, chairman of the House investigating
committee, requesting that he be permitted to
answer questions by deposition. The committee was after big
game, however, and too hot on the trail to permit such laxity.
Custer reluctantly came to Washington and appeared as an
unwilling witness at the hearings.
Fuming to return to his post, Custer testified that post
traders on Indian reservations were paying tremendous kickbacks
out of their fabulous earnings to a man named Hedrick
--a brother-in-law of Secretary Belknap. With Belknap's
37
Ouster's Fall
sanction, Custer charged, these traders were supplying liquor
to Indians in violation of established treaties. Furthermore,
Army garrisons, including his own command at Fort Abraham
Lincoln, were being shorted on rations and other vital
necessities presumably diverted to Belknap's various commercial
enterprises. Deeply involved in these nefarious operations,
he repeated, was the President's brother, Orville Grant.
These rash disclosures very nearly cost Custer his commission.
He soon discovered that his influence in Washington had
evaporated into thin air. Finally realizing his predicament, he
attempted to secure an audience with the President, "in order
to correct certain unjust impressions" about himself. Grant
flatly refused to see him, letting him cool his heels in a White
House anteroom until Custer at last decided to leave the
capital.
The journey back to Fort Abraham Lincoln was far from
smooth. By order of the President, Custer was arrested in
Chicago. It seemed he had departed from Washington without
taking proper leave from the War Department. Only through
the prompt intercession of Custer's personal friend, Phil Sheri- clan , was he permitted to continue on to Dakota Territory.
Back at Fort Abraham Lincoln, he found that General
Alfred H. Terry had been put in charge of the coming Sioux
campaign. Custer was expressly forbidden to accompany the
expedition. Terry, however, was inexperienced in Indian warfare
and wanted Custer along. In 1868 Custer had destroyed
Black Kettle's village of Southern Cheyennes on the Washita
River, Indian Territory, thus earning himself quite a name
as an Indian fighter. Fame as a frontiersman and explorer
followed in 1874, when he led the Black Hills Gold Discovery
Expedition into Sioux lands in Dakota.
38
White Man's World
After eating -humble pie in a series of pleading letters to
Grant, and secu:iring further intercession from Sheridan and
Sherman, Custerr was at last permitted to accompany the
Dakota column commanded personally by Terry. But he
would go in the minor capacity of acting commander of his
old regiment, thee Seventh Cavalry--whose comnnanding officer,
old Colonel SSturgis, was conveniently placed on detached
service.
In violation o:if Sheridan's specific orders, Cusster wheedled
Terry into lettin.ig a newspaper correspondent ac company the
expedition. Pick»:ed to cover the campaign for t he press was
young Mark KeL'llogg, an employee of C. A. Lounsberry, editor
of the Bismarck Tribune and special correspondent for James
Gordon Bennett: of the New York Herald. Neither Bennett
nor Custer was tsaking any chances that history-imthe-making
might go unreconrded.
All through tibe winter and spring restless Fndian bands
were blaming tra'nils across the prairie to join Si'.tting Bull in
Montana. Almost constantly on the move, they pushed west
out of Dakota a-md Nebraska with eyes fixed from the distant
"Shining Mountains" (Big Horns) at the base o'f which their
endless roaming might find surcease. From the Missouri and
the Platte and tKhe Cheyenne, from the Grand amd the White
and the CannonVball, they fitfully kept streaming westward--
crossing the Beltle Fourcbe and the Powder andi the Tongue
and the Rosebudd. Between them and the mountains now lay
only the river thaey called the Greasy Grass--thcat white men
named the Little' Big Horn.
Grand strateggy for the campaign was mapped out by
General Sheridaan at his Chicago headquarters. A threepronged
attack vwas to converge on the Indians where they
39
Custer's Fall
were thought to be massed near the mouth of the Little Big
Horn River. Terry was to strike west from Fort Abraham
Lincoln. General Crook was to push north from Fort Fetterman,
Wyoming. General Gibbon was to move southeast from
Fort Ellis in Montana. All resistance on the part of the Indians
was to be crushed, and the combined military forces
were to escort the red men back to their re-defined reservations.
On paper the plan looked perfect, a soldier's dream.
By the middle of June, the commands of Terry and Gibbon
had trudged across the wild plains from their respective bases
to establish contact at the confluence of the Yellowstone and
Rosebud Rivers. Neither general then knew that the third
arm of the triple attack, under General Crook, had been
chased back into Wyoming with heavy losses after a sharp
engagement on the Rosebud with a large Indian force under
Crazy Horse. The country between Crook and the Yellowstone
swarmed with hostiles, and he had no way of letting
40
White Man's World
Terry and Gibbon know the Indian strength. Confident they
had adequate forces to overwhelm any Indians they might
encounter, Terry and Gibbon proceeded with the campaign
as scheduled in spite of Crook's unaccountable absence. Neither
general thought the number of hostile warriors exceeded
fifteen hundred; working estimates of Indian strength actually
figured at around one thousand.
A council of war was held aboard the Far West, a supply
steamer brought to the military rendezvous from Fort Abraham
Lincoln. Reporting on a reconnaisance up the Rosebud,
Major Marcus A. Reno of the Seventh Cavalry announced
that Arikara trackers had struck a fresh Indian trail that
seemed to lead toward the Little Big Horn. Gibbon, Terry,
and Custer mapped out an enveloping maneuver to counter
possible Indian attempts to disperse and scatter in the inaccessible
Big Horn range.
Terry gave Custer written orders directing the Seventh to
follow up the Rosebud until the Indian trail was struck, then
to follow it across country to the Little Big Horn. Gibbon's
troops, mostly infantry, would simultaneously march upstream
from the mouth of the Little Big Horn. With Custer's
regiment driving downstream, the hostiles would be caught
and crushed between the two forces. The date set for the combined
attack was Monday, June 26.
Knowing Custer was still smarting from his set-to with
Grant and anxious to allow him ample leeway in dealing with
the hostiles, Terry carefully worded his orders to give Custer
more or less a free hand in their execution. However, the Seventh
Cavalry was expected to co-operate to the fullest extent
with Gibbon's column.
4'
Custer's Fall „
On the afternoon of June 22, Custer started off up the Rosebud
at the head of his regiment.
"Don't forget. General, to wait for us," Gibbon called.
"Don't worry. General, I shall wait!" Custer shouted back,
standing in his stirrups and waving his hat in a jaunty farewell.

As white men figure dates it was June 24, the eve of battle,
the night before the great fight which Long Hair Custer
wanted. Standing alone on the jutting ridge which, by tomorrow,
would be stained with white men's blood. Sitting Bull
Sitting Bull performing the hanblake oloan, the Sioux prayer for
advance knowledge.
42
White Man's World
raised his hands in supplication to Wakan Tanka, "The Great
Holy Spirit," who always guided the Indian, had brought the
Sioux chief a vision of victory over white soldiers during the
intertribal sun dance on the Rosebud ten days earlier. "Many
soldiers falling into camp," the vision had promised. Although
the Sioux had beaten Crook, Sitting Bull sensed an even
greater victory might soon be forthcoming. Now he prayed
and wailed aloud: "Wakan Tanka, hear me and pity me! I
offer you this pipe in the name of my people. Save them. We
want to live! Guard them against all misfortune and danger,
I beg you. Take pity on us!" Soon Sitting Bull left the lonely
ridge to return to camp. Behind him he had stuck slender
wands in the ground to which tiny buckskin bags of tobacco
and willow bark were tied. Next day Custer's horse soldiers
would knock them over and trample them in the dusty grass.
But tonight--although he did not yet realise Custer was
marching against him--Sitting Bull knew his offerings to
Wakan Tanka would not be in vain.
On the morning of June 25, dry summer heat hung like a
dusty shroud over Fort Abraham Lincoln. From a streaked
window in the commandant's house on Officers' Row, Elizabeth
Custer looked out across the barren parade ground and
tried to visualize the triumphant return of her husband. He
would come through the main guard gate to the north, just
as he had ridden out that day over six weeks ago. When he
returned this time, of course, he would be victorious, riding
on Vie or Dandy, his favorite horses, at the head of the old
Seventh, with the regimental band blaring out the familiar
jubilant strains of "The Girl I Left Behind Me" or the
regiment's own "Garryowen." The band had remained here
at the fort, their gray mounts taken over by E Company's
43
Custer's Fall "
fresh recruits. But they did not play often these days. It
was just as well, Elizabeth thought. She was not sure how
much of their raucous blaring she could take—at least until
"Autie," as she called the General, was safely back.
Elizabeth Custer's nightmare of an Indian warrior brandishing her
husband's scalp.
"It's do or die this time, Libby," Autie had told her that
last day, when the regiment rode out across the dry Dakota
prairie and he had stayed behind with her a final moment
before dashing away to join his command.
Looking out at the shabby weathered buildings of the fort,
Elizabeth's vision blurred with sudden tears. When she wiped
44
White Man's World
them away, the drab parade ground was empty after all.
Then in her mind's eye loomed again the frightful dream
figure of the old nightmare. An involuntary gasp of horror
crossed her lips as she saw once more the terrible naked red
warrior, brandishing aloft the long yellow hair that was, she
knew, her husband's scalp.
Before he left, Autie had patiently tried to quiet her fears,
even going so far as to have Lieutenant Varnum whack off
his shoulder-length curls and run horse clippers over his hair
to make his scalp less worth the taking. For a while the gory
picture was out of her thoughts—until this very day. Though
strangely agitated by the shock of the all too real dream,
which she was later to consider a premonition of the General's
death, Elizabeth Custer could not have guessed that before
the day was done Sioux and Cheyennes would be chanting
kill-songs in which she would be named as Long Hair's
widow.
45
Midmorning
summer had come late to Montana. Late melting snow in
the mountains caused the Little Big Horn to r*un bank
full--wider and deeper than it normally did at -this' time of
year. Where the Indians camped it was some forty yards in
width and deep enough to swim a horse. Here and thiere were
pebbly natural fords where the water ran swift and shallow.
Although the ground was bone-dry a few yards away from
the river, the steep clay banks oo-zed soft with uniseasonal
moisture.
Along the western bank of the Little Big Horn, -fifteen miles
or so from its mouth, the undulating prairie slope»d uy several
feet to a level grassy bench, which provided an idesal camp
site. Beyond it to the west the land rose gradually t«o an upland
plateau nearly two hundred feet above the riv^er. Here
thousands of Indian ponies grazed, tended by a f«ew halfnaked
Indian boys. Off to the south sloughs in the f}a.t: bottomlands
showed where the river had formerly followed a different
course. In the far distance in the southwest rose the hazy
bulk of the Big Horn Mountains, while nearby, up che river,
chalk buttes and bluffs looked ash-gray abovee tlhe dense
growth of green cottonwoods.
The camp extended nearly four miles, north t'-o south.
Hundreds of tanned buffalo-hide tepees were pitclhed in seven
great camp circles, each well over half a mile in (fliarneter. On
46
Midmorning
the outskirts of the tepee circles were temporary brush
shelters and shades of evergreen boughs brought down from
the mountains. Open stretches of prairie were dotted with
fresh-killed antelope hides, pegged out to dry in the sun.
Here and there hobbled horses were grazing, while slinking
dogs lurked around every camp. Nothing was haphazard
about the arrangement of the village. Each tribe camped according
to the order in which it traveled--a pattern never
broken as long as the tribes were together. Ancient custom
governed the placement of each camp circle, the allotted
place for each band within the circle, the location of every
lodge within the band. In this great metropolis of the Plains,
every Indian had a definite address known to everybody else
in the camp.
Located farthest north were the Cheyennes, three hundred
lodges of them, nearly eighteen hundred people. Their place
of leadership in the line of march west from Dakota Territory
had been a courtesy extended by Sitting Bull, who had welcomed
wholeheartedly these hard-fighting allies of the Sioux.
Camped with them were several families of Gros Ventres and
five stray Arapaho warriors, members of related tribes who
spoke a kindred dialect.
Away from the river, just southwest of the Cheyennes, was
the camp circle of the Ogalala Sioux, a branch of the TetonDakota
or Sioux Nation that often lived and fought closer to
the alien Cheyennes than to its own cousin tribes.
On the river was a small irregular camp of Brule or Burnt
Thigh Sioux.
Below the Cheyennes and Brules were the Sansarc Sioux,
another of the seven Teton tribes. With them were about one
hundred and thirty Two Kettle Sioux, also Teton.
47
Custer's Fall
Across a small stream to the south were the powerful
Minneconjou Sioux.
Near them, but away from the river, was the Blackfeet
Sioux camp circle, which included smaller bands of Assiniboins
and Yanktonnai, Yankton, and Santee Sioux.
Back on the river, at the extreme south end of the village,
was the largest camp circle of all--that of three thousand
Hunkpapa Sioux. Their place in the line of march was traditional,
that of rear guard, and so they were the last to make
camp.
The Little Big Horn was a valley of giants that day. Many
great leaders were here to govern the largest Indian encampment
ever seen on the North American continent--upwards
of twelve thousand people, of whom at least a third were
fighting men.
Two of the Cheyennes' "old-man chiefs" were present,
Dirty Moccasins and Old Bear. The tribe's other two oldman
chiefs. Dull Knife and Little Wolf, were not here at
midmorning, although Little Wolf showed up later in the day.
Leading war chiefs were Crazy Head and Lame White Man,
Old Man Coyote and Last Bull.
Big Road and He-Dog led the Ogalalas. Their head chief
was Red Cloud, who had remained peacefully at his Nebraska
agency, although he was represented here by his young
warrior son. Jack. Leading spirit of the tribe, followed by
many warriors throughout the village, was an Ogalala fighting
man not yet made a chief. His name was Crazy Horse.
The head chief of the Brules, Spotted Tail, had also remained
in Nebraska. Among minor leaders present was his
future slayer. Crow Dog.
Spotted Eagle and Fast Bear led the Sansarcs, while Runsthe-Enemy
headed the small band of Two Kettles.
48
Mid-morning
I Lame Deer was head chief of the powerful Minneconj'ous,
-.- whose fighting chiefs included Hump, Fast Bull, and High
Backbone.
Inkpaduta, perpetrator of the Spirit Lake massacre of
Minnesota whites in 1857, led the Santees. Scabby Head was j chief of the Blackfeet Sioux.
B War chiefs of the Hunkpapas were Gall, Crow King, and
Black Moon. Their head chief was probably the greatest
H Indian leader of all time--Sitting Bull.
," A visionary and a healer. Sitting Bull was no ordinary
medicine man. But it was not only his mystical power that
brought red men to the Little Big Horn from every quarter.
Nor was it his courage alone--although he was a brave fighting
chief whose daring and vigor in battle were known to
every Indian in the Northwest. Above all others--even the
reckless Crazy Horse--Sitting Bull stood as a clear, unspoiled
symbol of the old free way of life that the Indian held
sacred and that was passing so fast into oblivion. The example
he set gave him dominion over the entire encampment.
The tribes had no nefarious purpose in gathering on
the Little Big Horn. They were not rebelling against any
authority they recognized at the time, but simply exercising ' ' , their age-old custom of following the buffalo herds northwest
in the animals' annual migration. Scarcity of game, brought
on by the white man's ruthless waste and destruction of the
herds, had brought various tribes and bands into closer
contact than usual.
Pte, the buffalo, gave the Plains Indian all he needed to
exist: fresh meat for immediate cooking, fat and dried flesh
for making pemmican, robes for beds and winter apparel,
tanned hides for leggings and women's garments and tepees.
49
Ouster's Fall
Tough old bull hides could be used for making light bullboats
to cross rivers, or cut into circular shields that would
ward off sharp lances and arrows. Sled runners could be made
from rib bones in winter, fleshing tools could be fashioned
from cannon bones, axes could be made from shoulder blades.
Women scraping hides in the village.
Boiled hoofs produced a fine glue for feathering arrows. Bones
furnished needles, sinew provided thread, horns made ladles
and spoons. Even the tail was useful as a switch for brushing
away flies. No part of a buffalo carcass went unused. Although pte was not technically a deity, he alone--of all animals regarded
by the Indian as brother creatures--was honored by
the Sioux title of respect: "Uncle." Little wonder the tribes
followed the buffalo West; their very lives depended on the
herds.
50
Midmorning
Generosity was a cardinal virtue among the Sioux, ranking
higher than courage. Hospitality on the part of an Indian
could not be denied to another red man. The starving bands
from the prairies to the east were welcomed on the Little Big
Horn with open arms. And so the tribes gathered to form the
powerful hoop--the mythical circle of the universe that
bound the Sioux Nation and their allies together.
Religion played no little part in bringing the tribes and
bands close to one another. Early summer was the time
of the annual sun dance, when the Sioux and Cheyennes
gathered normally to do penance to Wakan Tanka--the Great
Mystery. Only ten days had passed since the year's observance
of the ceremony on the Rosebud, at which Sitting
Bull fulfilled a vow and gave one hundred pieces of flesh
(skin) from his arms to Wakan Tanka. It was shortly after
this painful sacrifice, during the actual ritual of daylong
staring at the sun, that the chief had seen a vision of white
soldiers and enemy Indians falling head-down into the Sioux
camp like so many grasshoppers. And it was then that Sitting
Bull had heard a voice from above, crying, "I give you these
because they have no ears!"
Sitting Bull mulled over his vision. Eight days ago, on the
Rosebud, Sioux warriors under Crazy Horse had badly beaten
the troops of the Gray Fox (General Crook) and had driven
them back to the south with heavy losses. Many Indians
thought the Rosebud victory was a fulfillment of the vision.
But Sitting Bull knew better. He had seen the earless soldiers
and enemy Indians falling into the Sioux camp. The Gray Fox
had not come within twenty miles of the encampment. Although
he had as yet no warning of Long Hair's approach,
Sitting Bull was confidently certain the Sioux would soon win
5i
Custer's Fall
another great victory--perhaps here on the Little Big Horn.
The death of such an important woman as the aged wife of
Four Horns at dawn that morning made the chief wonder if
the victory might not occur that very day.
The Cheyennes were also forewarned that an attack might
come. A tribal prophet named Box Elder (also called Dogon-the-Ridge)
sent a mounted crier around the camp to announce
that everyone should keep horses tied up near his
lodge. "In my dream I saw soldiers coming," Box Elder said.
But few Cheyennes took him seriously. Several howled like
wolves in ridicule--meaning that their prophet was crazy and
no better than wolf bait.
A crier in the Sansarc camp kept warning his tribe that
enemies were approaching. Yesterday, June 24, about noon,
he had gone around the camp circle, shouting, "Soldiers are
coming! They'll be here tomorrow!" But no one got much
excited. The Gray Fox and his soldiers were still running
away, according to scouts' reports, and no one suspected other
soldiers were near.
Throughout the village many people did not even hear the
scattered warnings. Most of them were sleeping late after the
all-night scalp dance celebrating their victory over the Gray
Fox a week ago.
The sun was already high and heat shimmered across the
valley as a small scouting party rode into the Hunkpapa camp
circle at the south end of the village. They had been out for
several days, watching the continued retreat of the Gray Fox
and his troops to the south, and so approached the camp
from the up-river end. Because of throbbing victory drums
in the village, buffalo were scarce in the vicinity. The scouts
52
Midmorning
had been seeking game while they kep)t an eye on the Gray
Fox, but, other than a small band of proonghorn up the valley,
they had sighted nothing. Their leader, lEagIe Elk, guessed the
buffalo herds had been frightened away by soldiers somewhere
in the country, but now he was anxfiious to report to the
chiefs and let other scouts take over the ifutile search for game.
A "wolf," or outriding scout, who often wore a w>olf hide over his head to
mislead his enemies as he watche d them.
Eagle Elk was an Ogalala and, at twenty-five, a veteran
warrior and skillful hunter. His prowess %s a scout had earned
him the reputation of a top specialist. B^ut even he had little
inkling that morning that a column of soJdiers was approaching
the Little Big Horn from the east.
As Eagle Elk and his brother-friend and fellow scout. High
Horse, were crossing the Hunkpapa camp circle, people were
just beginning to stir around. Judging from prone bodies
53
Custer's Fall
visible under the walls of the lodges which were raised for freer
ventilation, many were still asleep. But one old woman was up
and about, cooking meat in an iron kettle. Eagle Elk recognized
her as a friend of his grandmother; the two old ladies
visited back and forth, and liked to help each other. When
Eagle Elk rode near she said something to him, something
the sudden swelling of the wind kept him from hearing. He
motioned High Horse to slow down and when they stopped
the old woman spoke again.
"Attackers are coming!" she said.
"Where are they coming. Grandmother?" Eagle Elk asked.
"Grandson, I said attackers are coming!" And she went on
stirring her kettle.
"Does she know anything?" High Horse asked.
"I know this old woman," Eagle Elk said. "There's something
to what she says, I'm sure of it. I'm going on home to
get ready."
High Horse was a Minneconjou. By different routes, the
brother-friends headed toward their respective camps.
Though not among the revelers. Sitting Bull had been
awake most of the night. He had spent many hours on the
lonely ridge overlooking the village, praying and meditating.
Upon his return to camp, his uncle Four Horns had asked
that he attend his dying aunt. Through the late hours she
sank fast and by daybreak she was dead.
Now, with the morning half gone, the chief sat talking
with friends in the council tepee. Even in everyday clothes
Sitting Bull was an imposing figure. He wore a fringed smoketanned
buckskin shirt, decorated with green porcupine quillwork
and tassels of human hair. His leggings and moccasins
54
Midmorning
were also smoke-tanned, matching the dark color of his shirt.
His long breechclout was deep red. He wore a single eagle
feather upright at the back of his head, although on more
formal occasions he often donned a trail war bonnet made
up of nearly a hundred honor feathers, each representing a
brave deed. With a knife at his belt, he was otherwise armed
only with a buffalo tail--for flies were bad on the Little Big
Horn that summer. Like most of the Sioux and Cheyennes, Sitting Bull parted his hair in the center and wrapped his
long heavy braids in otter skin. As was customary among
the men as they rested in camp, he had his broad face painted
red for good luck. Bu^t most of all, his firm heavy jaw and
piercing gaze lent strength to his features. Not even the little
twist at the left corner of his thin-lipped mouth could take
away from his look of controlled power.
He listened quietly to the small talk of his companions,
while gnawing at his thoughts was a growing conviction
that something momentous--something terrible, perhaps-- was about to take place.
As the morning wore on the village gradually came awake
and stirred into its usual activity. Carrying hoes made of
buffalo bone, many women moved out to the surrounding
hills to dig for wild turnips. Others remained in camp, fleshing
new antelope skins or catching up with their quillwork
and beading. Some of the young men went fishing. It was a
lazy day, and the pace was leisurely. Few people expected
to encounter enemies, in spite of the warnings.
One Bull, Sitting Bull's twenty-three-year-old nephew and
bodyguard, had arisen early to take the family horses to
water at the nearby river. The stock had been picketed close
55
Custer's Fall
visible under the walls of the lodges which were raised for freer
ventilation, many were still asleep. But one old woman was up
and about, cooking meat in an iron kettle. Eagle Elk recognized
her as a friend of his grandmother; the two old ladies
visited back and forth, and liked to help each other. When
Eagle Elk rode near she said something to him, something
the sudden swelling of the wind kept him from hearing. He
motioned High Horse to slow down and when they stopped
the old woman spoke again.
"Attackers are coming!" she said.
"Where are they coming. Grandmother?" Eagle Elk asked.
"Grandson, I said attackers are coming!" And she went on
stirring her kettle.
"Does she know anything?" High Horse asked.
"I know this old woman," Eagle Elk said. "There's something
to what she says, I'm sure of it. I'm going on home to
get ready."
High Horse was a Minneconjou. By different routes, the
brother-friends headed toward their respective camps.
Though not among the revelers, Sitting Bull had been
awake most of the night. He had spent many hours on the
lonely ridge overlooking the village, praying and meditating.
Upon his return "to camp, his uncle Four Horns had asked
that he attend his dying aunt. Through the late hours she
sank fast and by daybreak she was dead.
Now, with the morning half gone, the chief sat talking
with friends in the council tepee. Even in everyday clothes
Sitting Bull was an imposing figure. He wore a fringed smoketanned
buckskin shirt, decorated with green porcupine quillwork
and tassels of human hair. His leggings and moccasins
54
Midmorning
were also smoke-tanned, matching the dark color of his shirt.
His long breechclout was deep red. He wore a single eagle
feather upright at the back of his head, although on more
formal occasions he often donned a trail war bonnet made
up of nearly a hundred honor feathers, each representing a
brave deed. With a knife at his belt, he was otherwise armed
only with a buffalo tail--for flies were bad on the Little Big
Horn that summer. Like most of the Sioux and Cheyennes,
Sitting Bull parted his hair in the center and wrapped his
long heavy braids in otter skin. As was customary among
the men as they rested in camp, he had his broad face painted
red for good luck. Bu,t most of all, his firm heavy jaw and
piercing gaze lent strength to his features. Not even the little
twist at the left corner of his thin-lipped mouth could take
away from his look of controlled power.
He listened quietly to the small talk of his companions,
while gnawing at his thoughts was a growing conviction
that something momentous--something terrible, perhaps--
was about to take place.
As the morning wore on the village gradually came awake
and stirred into its usual activity. Carrying hoes made of
buffalo bone, many women moved out to the surrounding
hills to dig for wild turnips. Others remained in camp, fleshing
new antelope skins or catching up with their quillwork
and beading. Some of the young men went fishing. It was a
lazy day, and the pace was leisurely. Few people expected
to encounter enemies, in spite of the warnings.
One Bull, Sitting Bull's twenty-three-year-old nephew and
bodyguard, had arisen early to take the family horses to
water at the nearby river. The stock had been picketed close
55
Custer's Fall
to the chief's lodge all through the night, so One Bull and
another bodyguard named Gray Eagle turned the herd loose
on the grassy benches west of camp. As soon as the ponies
settled down and began to feed, the two young warriors
returned to the village. Sitting Bull then had only twenty
One Bull bringing the family stock to the river for watering.
head of horses, including buffalo runners, pacers, war horses,
pack horses, brood mares, and colts, but all were choice
animals. As a chief. Sitting Bull was often called upon to
display his generosity, which kept him from getting rich
like other men. One Minneconjou named Wounded Hand,
for example, had accumulated over a hundred horses—one
reason, perhaps, why Wounded Hand was not a chief.
One Bull's brother. White Bull, a Minneconjou, had left
his wife's tepee in the Sansarc camp circle before sunup to
56
Mid-morning
take his horses out to drink and to graze. At twenty-seven,
White Bull was a seasoned warrior--among the bravest of
his tribe. In fact, few Indian fighting men ever equaled his
record of over ninety battle honors. As a matter of precaution,
he always carried his seventeen-shot Winchester
rifle and two full cartridge belts. After seeing that his stock
had drunk their fill, he drove them out north of the camp to
graze, then went back to his tepee for breakfast, returning
to his herd by midmorning. As the sun climbed higher in the
sky. White Bull settled down to watch his grazing animals.
Iron Hail (Dewey Beard), aged seventeen, was also a
Minneconjou. That morning he slept late like most of the
other young people. By the time he awakened the sun was
hot and his mother and aunt had gone out to dig turnips.
Two uncles were also gone. A lone stray buffalo had been seen
way off to the west and they had gone after it. His grandmother
and another uncle were still in the lodge. A younger
brother was herding the family horses on Muskrat Creek
below the Santee camp. While Iron Hail ate breakfast, his
uncle stirred around anxiously.
"When you finish eating," the uncle finally said ominously,
"go help your brother watch the horses. Something might
happen today. I feel it in the air."
Iron Hail obeyed, making a beeline for Muskrat Creek.
Although too young to be full-fledged warriors. Elk Head
and his brother Two Runs had a special reason for family
pride. Their father, whose name was also Elk Head, was
custodian of the sacred Buffalo Calf Pipe of the Sioux Nation.
For countless generations, the trusteeship of the pipe had
57
Ouster's Fall
been handed down from father to son, always within the
same blood line in the Sansarc tribe. The pipe was the most
sacred object to all Sioux. This morning, as usual, it was
wrapped in its special bundle of purifying sagebrush and
hung from a special tripod in a medicine lodge which only
the elder Elk Head might enter. His two sons mounted constant
guard outside, however, within easy earshot of their
father should danger approach.
The history of the pipe was ancient, dating far beyond the
earliest winter count which went back less than a century
and a half. Long winters ago, during a time of great hunger,
two Sansarc hunters once went out in search of game. Buffalo
and elk and deer were scarce. Even pronghorn were not to
be found. After days of fruitless hunting, the young men
were nearly ready to give up and return emptyhanded to
their camp. Great was their surprise when they suddenly
encountered a beautiful Indian maiden, garbed in flowing
white buckskin and carrying a sage bundle. When one of
the young hunters had carnal desire for the maiden and
approached her, a cloud enveloped them both. As it lifted,
the other hunter saw the sacred maiden again, and at her
feet his companion who had had impure thoughts was a bare
skeleton, his flesh eaten from his bones by bloated snakes.
"Behold!" cried the maiden to the good man who remained.
"I am coming to your people, and will bring them something
of great importance. Tell them to prepare for my coming."
The good hunter obeyed and the sacred maiden soon
visited the Sansarc village. To Standing Hollow Horn, who
was then chief of the tribe, she gave solemn instruction.
From the sage bundle she took a pipe.
"With this sacred pipe," she said, "you will walk the
58
Midmorning
Earth, which is your Mother as the Great Mystery is your
Father. The bowl of this pipe is red stone; it is the Earth.
Every step you take upon Her should be as a prayer. The
stem of the pipe is wood, and represents all that grows upon
the Earth. These twelve feathers that hang from the stem
are from the Spotted Eagle, and represent all the winged
things of the air. All things of the universe are joined to you
who smoke this pipe. All send their voices to the Great
Mystery, for when you pray with this pipe you pray for and
with everything!"
Presenting the pipe to Standing Hollow Horn, she said:
"Behold this pipe! Always remember that it is sacred, and
treat it as such, for it will take you to the end of time. I am
leaving you now, but I shall always watch over your people.
At the end I shall return to you again."
So saying, the mysterious sacred maiden walked away, the
people looking after her in amazement. Then before their
eyes a strange thing happened: the maiden suddenly sat
down on the ground, and when she rose she had become a
white buffalo which trotted away over the hill.
Elk Head and Two Runs knew the story well. Though not
permitted to listen directly to religious talks that their
father had with various holy men in the tribe, they had
managed on several occasions to overhear him telling of the
Buffalo Calf Pipe. And while they were not thinking of it
particularly this morning, they remembered well the time two
years ago when the pipe had been brought out for ceremonial
smoking with a white soldier-chief.
The Sansarcs had been camped near the Black Hills that
summer of 1874 when the soldiers came. None of the Sioux
could understand then what the soldiers wanted in their
59
Custer's Fall
country. But it did not seem the soldiers were interested in
building towns or staying very long, so the Sioux made
them welcome. Spotted Eagle and Fast Bear, chiefs of the
Sansarcs, persuaded old Elk Head to arrange for them to
smoke the Buffalo Calf Pipe with the long-haired leader of the
soldiers, a ceremony which would serve the whites as assurance
the Sioux wanted continued peace. It was a fine ritual.
In smoking together, both parties pledged themselves to everlasting
friendship and peace. The old days of war were gone
forever, the long-haired soldier-chief promised, and no soldiers
would ever attack Indians again. The Sioux took him
at his word. But it was not long after that when the soldiers
poked around in the ground and found much yellow metal
considered sacred by white men. Thousands of whites poured
into the Black Hills. The Sioux were shunted aside, even
routed out of their old hunting grounds, so the whites could
dig in the ground for the yellow metal. This time, the Sansarcs
no longer bothered to assure the whites of their friendship,
for they knew the white men did not mean what they
said. Never again did the Sansarc chiefs invite a white man
to smoke with them, but they always remembered that the only white man who ever did was the soldier-chief they called
Long Hair.
Slight and sickly. Black Elk was dead for sleep when his
father woke him at daybreak to help take the family horses
to water and grass. The lad needed more rest than the exciting
night-long kill-talks and victory dances in the Ogalala
camp made possible. Knuckling sleep from his eyes. Black
Elk obeyed his father's orders and uncoiled a long rawhide
rope to tie on one of the ponies.
60
Midmorning
"If we tie one with the long rope, you can catch him easily,
then round up the others," his father explained. "If anything
happens today, bring back all the horses as fast as you
can. Keep your eyes on the camp all the time."
With several other boys watching their horses nearby,
Black Elk settled down for the day. By midmorning, however,
he began to tire of sitting around with nothing to do,
and thought of taking a swim. His cousin offered to stay with
the horses until he got back.
Somehow, Black Elk did not feel just right as he and the
other boys greased themselves with bear fat before plunging
into the water. He felt a little sick, but more than that he felt
strange. He thought of yesterday afternoon, when an old
Ogalala medicine man named Hairy Chin had come to the
riverbank and called him and five other boys into shore from
this same swimming hole. The six boys were promptly enlisted
in a curing ceremony. Though Black Elk, as a medicine
man himself, was later to perform many acts of healing, this
was his first participation in such a ritual.
The patient was a warrior named Rattling Hawk, who had
been shot through the hip in the Rosebud fight with the Gray
Fox eight days ago. People thought Rattling Hawk could
never recover. If he did, he would certainly never walk again.
Then Hairy Chin was called in. Because he had gotten his
power to heal from a dream of a bear. Hairy Chin needed
someone to take the part of bears in the curing ceremony.
Black Elk and his companions were handy and willing.
Black Elk was painted yellow all over his body, and his
hair was tied up to look like a bear's ears. The other boys
were painted red and wore real bear's ears on their heads.
Hairy Chin went all out and wore a complete bear's skin with
61
Custers Fall
»
the head intact. While Hairy Chin walked around on all fours
and sang a sacred song, two girls entered the sick-lodge and
gave Rattling Hawk a cup of water and some sort of herbs,
which he chewed up and swallowed. Then the girls handed
him a red stick. He stood up at once, leaning on the stick.
The boys then began to jump around him, making growling
sounds and pretending to be bears. Then, suddenly, feathers
of different colors began to spill out of the boys' mouths.
Rattling Hawk stirred a little bit and took a step. He hardly
seemed like a sick man any more. He still was not well
enough to fight, but it looked as if he would be able to walk
again and he was past any danger of dying.
For Black Elk it had been a profound experience--one
that he mulled over through the long morning. Somehow it
seemed that because of the strange curing ceremony, something
significant was about to happen.
Young Jack Red Cloud, aged eighteen, hardly dared show
himself around the Ogalala camp circle during the Rosebud
fight kill-talks. By now everyone knew that the son of the
great Ogalala chief had not conducted himself as a warrior
should in the battle with the soldiers of the Gray Fox. Now
he sat in his lodge, sulking, and trying to put the onus of
cowardice from his thoughts. But the persistent picture of
that day on the Rosebud kept coming back. He had made at
least three serious mistakes. First, of course, he had been
foolish to wear his father's long trail bonnet. Any enemy
might know by looking at him that he was hardly old enough
to have won two or three honor feathers--let alone the
hundred in the conspicuous headdress. His foolishness in
wearing the war bonnet and carrying his father's Winchester
62
Midmorning
with the name "Red Cloud" engraved on it (a weapon given
the old chief by the white man's Government) made him fair
game for the Crow and Shoshoni scouts who served the
Gray Fox.
The first thing a warrior must do if his horse is killed, as
any fighting man knows, is to remove the bridle calmly and
coolly before running for safety. Red Cloud's failure to do
so showed the enemy Indians how untried he was in battle.
Running away on foot with the bonnet streaming out behind
him made him a prime target.
The crowning disgrace, of course, was the refusal of the
Crows to kill him after they had grabbed away his war
bonnet and rifle as trophies. Instead of shooting him or riding
him down with their ponies, they had simply struck him with
their quirts--then rode away laughing, while he begged them
to come back and finish him off.
Shamed and brooding, young Red Cloud very nearly joined
four or five lodges of the Ogalalas' Bad Face band that were
starting back toward Red Cloud Agency at midmorning. He
might have to content himself with becoming an agency chief
like his father, instead of a fighting leader like Crazy Horse
or He-Dog. But something held him. Vowing never again to
wear a war bonnet. Jack Red Cloud silently hoped for another
battle--and a chance, perhaps, to redeem his honor.
Five uneasy strangers squatted around the breakfast fire
of their host in the Cheyenne camp at the downstream end of
the village. They were Arapahoes who had slipped away from
their agency at Fort Robinson, Nebraska, to raid their
enemies, the Wind River Shoshonis. Instead of finding Shoshonis,
they had run headlong into a Sioux war party which
63
Custer's Fall
» had disarmed them and brought them in as prisoners to the
Little Big Horn camp. Believing the stray warriors had acted
as scouts for the Gray Fox, the Sioux wanted to kill them at
once. But two Cheyennes, Black Wolf and Last Bull, happened
by and took their part, advising the Sioux not to act
too hastily. The Sioux chiefs decided to wait and ordered the
captives put under tight guard for the night.
Next morning--June 24--the Arapahoes were taken to
the lodge of Two Moon, a minor Cheyenne chief of the Fox
warrior society, one of whose two wives was an Arapaho
woman. Many Sioux followed, aiming cocked guns and
drawn bows at the prisoners and insisting they must be
killed. Women who had lost sons and husbands and brothers
in the Rosebud fight asked for the death of the five Arapahoes.
While the Sioux chiefs mulled it over. Two Moon spoke to
the prisoners through his wife--since few outsiders spoke or
understood Arapaho. After a while. Two Moon turned to the
group.
"These Arapahoes are all right," he assured the Sioux
chiefs. "They are our cousins and allies, and have come
here to help us fight the soldiers if we are again attacked.
Do not harm them, but give them back their property."
The Sioux were still undecided. The prisoners seemed
doomed. One by one, the Arapahoes began to talk for themselves
as Two Moon's wife interpreted for them. Yellow
Eagle, Waterman, Yellow Fly, and Left Hand each spoke at
length, telling of their friendship for the Sioux. Sage (Wellknowing
One) talked last. Tense moments passed as he
sparred for time. Then he remembered something the others
had neglected to mention.
"On Powder River, before the Sioux took us prisoner, we
64
Midmorning
killed a white man--a rancher, I think," Sage told them.
"That Sioux war party must have passed by the burned-out
cabin before they caught up with us."
While the Sioux chiefs pondered Sage's statement, the
leader of the war party recalled the fire-gutted ranch.
"No one scouting for the Gray Fox would kill a white
man," the leader decided.
It was enough. With the flick of a buffalo-tail switch, the
matter was dismissed. The prisoners were released and their
weapons and ponies given back to them. Two Moon took
them into his own lodge where, as his wife's relatives, they
would be welcome. A minor tragedy had been averted.
Two Moon had done all he could to make the Arapahoes
feel at home, Sage later remembered. The Cheyenne subchief
took them all around the camp to meet various leaders. They
even went with him last night to take part in a great victory
dance at the Sansarc camp. But while the Rosebud fight
kill-talks were going on, some of the Sioux treated them like
interlopers and threatened to kill them.
Now, this morning. Two Moon's five guests squatted
around the steaming breakfast kettle. While their genial host
was occupied in cutting up willow-bark tobacco and mending
feathers for a Cheyenne scalp dance planned for tonight, the
Arapahoes cast wary glances toward the Sioux camps and
hoped their captors would not cause them further trouble.
Not far from Two Moon's lodge was the tribal medicine
tepee which contained the sacred Buffalo Head of the Northern
Cheyennes--corresponding to the Buffalo Calf Pipe of
the Sioux as a revered object. Like all the camps, the lodges
were pitched in a great circle open to the east. The medicine
65
Custer's Fall
tepee was along the western edge of the wide space within
the circle, directly across from this gap. Guarding the sacred
lodge was Roan Bear, a Fox warrior.
Cheyenne fighting men on the Little Big Horn were divided
into three warrior societies: Elk warriors. Crazy Head warriors,
and Fox warriors. At this time, the Fox warriors were
on duty as camp policemen. It was up to them to enforce
tribal laws--of which the Cheyennes had many--and to
watch for the approach of enemies. The Sioux had a similar
system.
While serving as guard for the medicine lodge. Roan Bear
was permitted to talk to other warriors. Visiting him at midmorning
were Bobtail Horse, an Elk warrior, and an Ogalala
Sioux named White Cow Bull. The Ogalalas, as well as
other tribes, had been invited to attend the Cheyenne scalp
dance that night. White Cow Bull had ridden over to spend
the day visiting friends in the Cheyenne camp.
Other visitors included a small contingent of Southern
Cheyennes. Their chief was Lame White Man, aged thirtyeight,
who had lived with the northern branch of the tribe
so long he was no longer considered a southerner. Visiting
him were eight Southern Cheyenne warriors and their
families, led by thirty-one-year-old Brave Bear. They stayed
in one big lodge next to Lame White Man's.
With the Rosebud fight fresh in their minds, Brave Bear
talked to Lame White Man this morning of the dread winter
eight years ago on the Washita River far to the south. At
that time soldiers had come to destroy Black Kettle's band
of Southern Cheyennes. There had been no warning of the
surprise dawn attack. A hail of bullets had greeted Black
Kettle's futile attempt to parley with the soldiers. A few
Mid-morning
warriors got away, finally; but Black Kettle lay dead, and
the women and children of the tribe were led away into
captivity at far-off Camp Supply on the North Fork of the
Canadian River.
During the long winter trek officers commanding the victorious
troops forced the younger prettier Cheyenne women,
married and single, to come each night to their tents. Among
the most attractive of all, Monahseetah (Meotzi) was picked
to bed down with the soldier-chief, regardless of the fact that
she was in deep mourning for her dead father. Chief Black
Kettle. Strict Cheyenne morals counted for little with this
soldier-chief. Brave Bear decided, for after they reached
Camp Supply his white wife joined him and Monahseetah
was discarded. Violated as she had been, no Cheyenne man
now would take her as his wife.
"She was a proud woman," Brave Bear told Lame White
Man. "For long months she kept silent as the child of
the soldier-chief grew within her womb. At last, when the
Cheyennes were all together again and the soldier-chief was
talking peace with us, Monahseetah told him she was happy
to bear his child. After that, he shunned her as though she
had the white man's dreaded spotted sickness (smallpox).
"It was then that we chiefs met with this soldier-chief and
smoked the pipe with him, for by now we were all ready for
peace. The soldier-chief solemnly promised he would never
attack us or fight us again. Someone explained to him that
our smoking with him made the peace promise binding on
us as well. The pipe was in my charge that day. It was my
honor to light it first and smoke it last. Looking about me, I
saw from their faces that the hearts of the Southern Cheyenne
leaders were warm with hope. For a moment I, too, felt warm
67
Custer's Fall
toward the soldier-chief and all white men. Then my mind
darkened with thoughts of Monahseetah's disgrace. I took
the dead ashes from the pipe and spilled them on the boots
of the soldier-chief, placing upon him the endless curse of
the Everywhere Spirit."
Brave Bear broke off suddenly as a gangling boy of seven
with light streaks showing in his lank hair crept through the
oval flap of the big tepee and stood blinking in the morning
sun. A moment later a young woman whose face was still
fair to look upon followed. At the woman's silent touch, the
boy turned away to accompany her toward the river, where
they went each day to gather kindling for the breakfast cookfire.
Lame White Man waited until they were out of earshot
before he spoke.
"The boy with Monahseetah now--the lad called Yellow
Bird--he is the son of the soldier-chief who killed Black
Kettle?"
Brave Bear signed yes. "He goes with her everywhere, not
caring to be around full-blooded children. Yet only his hair
shows pale streaks, the light color such as white men often
have. Otherwise, he could well be one of us."
Lame White Man signed agreement. For a while he remained
quiet, for he wondered how his own wife might react
if he told he was thinking of taking a second wife--and that
he was considering Monahseetah, whose name was darkened
by a cloud of white conquest eight years ago. At last he asked
a question of Brave Bear. "Yellow Bird was fathered by the
white soldier-chief?"
"It is so," Brave Bear answered. "The soldier-chief who
had yellow locks hanging to his shoulders, the one we all
called Long Hair."
68
Midday
the sun was straight overhead when Long Hair and the
scouts came down from the Crow's Nest. The horse soldiers
had already finished weapons' inspection. For the second
time that day a bugle blared, sounding officers' call. Since
trumpet calls had not been allowed the last two days, it was
now plain to everyone that Long Hair no longer expected to
take the Sioux by surprise.
The officers gathered around Custer, whose words could not
be heard by the scouts. But they knew the entire command
was getting final marching orders for the day. Presently, the
officers separated to form their companies along the Lodgepole
Trail.
As troopers jangled into a column of twos for the march,
Long Hair's manner betrayed no lack of confidence. His
earlier mood of introspection and doubt seemed to have
vanished. With the return of his customary verve, he was
once again the dashing beau sabreur of American arms. He
had even discarded the shirt of blue-gray flannel in favor
of his old campaign jacket of fringed buckskin with brass
buttons. Under the turned-down collar he sported the bright
blood-red cravat reserved for parades and other formal functions.
Sleek and shiny from an orderly's quick rubdown. Vie
danced under the saddle like a two-year-old colt.
At his side, quiet and observant, was the middle-aged newspaperman,
Mark Kellogg--better known to the Indians as
Custer's Fall
Man-Who-Makes-the-Paper-Talk. The correspondent from
Bismarck had ridden all the way out from Fort Abraham
Lincoln on a little short-legged gray mule that brought many
a smile to Arikara lips. The animal was so small that Kellogg's
feet touched the ground, but for a mule he was fast and
surefooted, and he had no trouble keeping up with the big
chargers of the troopers.
Kellogg traveled light. He had no weapons and his only
gear was an old black leather satchel slung over his shoulder.
One or two Arikaras had gotten close enough a time or two
to see that he carried tobacco and pipes and light clothing
in the bag. Far more impressive was a supply of blank paper
and pencils used by the correspondent to make picture
writing. From Kellogg's scribbling, other white men were
able to read words and whole messages that were sometimes
sent back by runner to Dakota Territory. The Arikaras were
still talking about the dispatch Kellogg sent back yesterday.
They could not have read the words, but Girard had told
them the contents. It had stated:
"We leave the Rosebud tomorrow and by the time this
reaches you we will have met and fought the red devils, with
what results remains to be seen. I go with Custer and will
be at the death."
The Arikaras felt it was a strange way to talk of an impending
victory--even in word pictures. It added to their
growing uneasiness about the coming encounter with the
Sioux. The scouts suddenly became attentive as Long Hair
rode toward them.
"You there," Custer called, "the tall Crow with stripes on
his face."
White-Man-Runs-Him kicked his pony's ribs until the
70
Midday
animal edged forward, Mitch Bouyer coming up behind him.
"You know the country," Long Hair went on. "Go ahead
and look for me and see where I can make a success."
White-Man-Runs-Him looked questioningly at Bouyer
until Custer's words were explained to him in Crow. Then
he smiled faintly. Earlier, Long Hair had rebuked him
sharply, belittling him in the eyes of the other scouts. Now,
here was Custer asking him to show him the way.
"All right," White-Man-Runs-Him agreed. "Tell Son-oftheMorning-Star
I'll show him the way to go over into the
valley."
The tall Crow looked neither right nor left, but led out
the column, kneeing his pony into a lope up the slope of the
divide. The troopers, with Custer and Kellogg in advance,
followed at a sharp trot. Within minutes they reached the
summit of the divide. The valley of the Little Big Horn lay
before them.
A mile or so past the summit, Custer reined to a halt,
signaling the adjutant to draw up alongside for further instructions.
Lieutenant William W. Cooke, Adjutant of the
Seventh Cavalry, came trotting up, patting trail dust from
his luxuriant and normally dark Dundreary whiskers.
The next few minutes were busy ones for Cooke as Custer
sent word to his battalion commanders to divide the regiment
as previously arranged. Presently, Captain Frederick W.
Benteen led his battalion of three troops (or companies) off
to the left of the column. Heading southwest, they were soon
lost to view in rough badlands. No Indian scouts rode with
Benteen, but it was generally understood that his battalion
was to head off any attempt by the Sioux to escape up the
Little Big Horn valley.
7i
Custer's Fall
The rest of the regiment was further divided. Major
Marcus A. Reno and his battalion of three troops were
ordered across the head of a small stream known to the
Crows as Upper Ash Creek (Reno Creek). Captain Thomas
M. McDougall and his single troop held back to act as
escort for the pack train, by which extra ammunition and
supplies were transported. The other five troops remained
on the right bank under Custer's personal command.
72
Midday
As white men tell time, it was seven minutes past noon
when Custer's and Reno's battalions moved out, following
parallel courses and staying within hailing distance across
Upper Ash Creek. White-Man-Runs-Him and the other
Crows were now far out ahead, riding along the right bank.
He and his tribesmen were drawing closer with each hoofbeat
to their home camp in the Big Horns off to the west. They
knew this valley as well as their native mountains, for the
Little Big Horn basin was Crow hunting ground--when the
Sioux and Cheyennes were not around. They intimately knew
every hill and bluff, every lone cottonwood and willow, every
twist and turn of the little winding stream they now followed.
Nearly half a day had passed since Scout Herendeen had
spotted the lone warrior on the ridge and had seen the jumble
of pony tracks in the ravine by the regiment's back trail.
At a half-mile's distance, Herendeen could not have guessed
that the Indian he saw was not a member of a Sioux war
party, but a Cheyenne outrider. Big Crow, scouting the
trail for Little Wolf's band of seven lodges.
Little Wolf was an "old-man chief" of the Northern Cheyennes
and the most respected leader of his tribe. But his personal
following was then small. Seven lodges represented fewer
than forty people, only fifteen of which were men of fighting
age. For many days, the little band had been constantly on
the move, hurrying to join their tribesmen on the Little Big
Horn. Late yesterday afternoon. Little Wolf's scouts had
stumbled onto the soldiers camped on the Upper Rosebud.
With the utmost caution, he had kept his people hidden back
in the hills while the horse soldiers had pushed on through
the night. In the small hours of the morning the band had
73
Ouster's Fall
»
gingerly followed, managing to avoid discovery by the soldiers
only through the most artful cunning.
An Indian outrider giving the alarm.
Although fifty-five, Little Wolf was a fighting leader of unlimited
courage. His prowess as a strategist was unexcelled
in a tribe of great fighters. But he was too prudent a tactician
to venture into conflict with the soldiers he followed, who
clearly outnumbered his little band more than fourteen to one.
He was further bound by his duty as a chief to safeguard the
women and children above all else. Some of his warriors--
young bucks such as Black Horse and Medicine Bull, Big
Crow and Two Birds, and his son. Young Little Wolf--chafed
at the restraint. They repeatedly urged attacking the regimental
pack train which brought up the rear of the column,
but Little Wolf was firm and held them back each time.
Unwittingly, Little Wolf's strategy paid off for the hos74
Midday
tiles in more ways than one. The pony tracks found by
Herendeen were those of Little Wolf's people hiding in the
ravine, not a Sioux war party encircling the column as Herendeen
guessed. And it was Custer's fear that the hostiles were
beginning to flank him in an escape attempt that caused him
to change his tactics and push on for a premature daylight
attack on the Little Big Horn camp.
Keeping well out of sight, yet watching the soldiers' every
move as they marched down Upper Ash Creek, Little Wolf's
Cheyennes cautiously dogged the heels of the column.
The lone Sioux in the burial lodge had come close to dying
as he had lived--on the field of battle. Old She-Bear was a
Sansarc, a brother of Chief Circling Bear. As a warrior under
the aegis of Crazy Horse, fighting genius of the Ogalalas, he
had played a prominent part in the triumph over Crook on
the Rosebud, and had suffered a critical wound--a soldier's
bullet through both hips. Circling Bear's cohorts had brought
him here to the band's temporary camp on Ash Creek, where
he had lingered on for several days. Then, while the life
slowly ebbed from him and most of the band moved on to the
Little Big Horn four miles downstream, only his wife and a
few kinsmen stayed on to the end.
Later on in the day Old Eagle and Two Bears had gone
out to kill a badger. They brought back the carcass and slit
open the belly, after an age-old Sioux custom. Removing the
entrails, they allowed the blood to congeal. Then they propped
up the wounded warrior so he could use the coagulated blood
as a mirror. It was an ancient device for predicting the future.
If a warrior saw a youthful image in the jelled blood, he
would die young. If he saw the reflection of an aged person,
75
Ouster's Fall
he might count on living a long time. Old She-Bear stiffened
perceptibly as he saw himself much as he was—a relatively
young man. As he drew back in dismay. Two Bears stooped
over him. He, too, saw his own youthful image reflected in
badger blood.
Before many hours had passed. Old She-Bear breathed his
last and in the early morning of the new day. Old Eagle and
Two Bears painted the dead warrior's face red, and dressed
him in his ceremonial buckskins. His widow cut off her heavy
braids and gashed her legs with a sharp knife. Her keening
could be heard for over a mile up and down the creek. Once
her husband's body was ready and placed on a cottonwoodlog
scaffold six feet high, she pitched the lodge over him for
the last time.
Using face paint. Old Eagle and Two Bears marked sacred
symbols on the outside of the tepee. They would help to
draw Wakan Tanka's attention to Old She-Bear's departing
spirit and insure its arriving safely in the Last Hunting
Ground. Normally, the process of decorating the lodge for
burial would have taken several hours. But the variety of
clay pigment in the area was limited, so they had to make
out with few colors. The painting and ornamentation were
completed soon after midday, just as Old She-Bear's widow
and her aging aunt were striking the other lodges and loading
their belongings on the pony drags for the move downstream
to the Little Big Horn.
Kse e sewo istaniwe itatane—"Where the Young Girl Saved
Her Brother's Life"—the Cheyennes already called the fight
with the Gray Fox on the Rosebud. It had been Crazy Horse's
victory and a triumph for the Sioux, but their Cheyenne allies
76
Midday
were not without moments of glory. Such as the time, for
example, when the horse of Comes-in-Sight was shot from
under him, leaving the Cheyenne chief helpless in the path
of the Gray Fox's charging Crow scouts. As the Crows
whooped in triumph and came galloping to ride him down,
the tall chief had stood facing them alone, defiantly chanting
his death song. Then, suddenly, Comes-in-Sight's young sister,
Buffalo Calf Road Woman, had dashed out on her fast little
pinto. Before any Cheyenne fighting man could stop her, she
was riding headlong between the opposing warriors. Bullets
spat and arrows hissed all around, as she turned the little
horse and swung low beside her brother to help him up behind
her. The dumfounded Crows stopped dead in their
tracks at such brash courage, while a wild cheer rose among
the ranks of the Cheyennes as Buffalo Calf Road Woman
carried Comes-in-Sight to safety. Aiee, it was a moment to
remember long and well.
The details were fresh in the minds of Little Chief and
White Shield as they sat fishing on the banks of the Little
Big Horn not far from the mouth of Ash Creek. White Shield's
little nephew had been sent to hunt for grasshoppers to be
used for bait, and while the lad chased around through the
tall grass up the bank, the two young warriors talked long
of the courage of Buffalo Calf Road Woman. Not often did
young bucks such as these have occasion to admire a woman
for her bravery. But the sister of Comes-in-Sight had so encouraged
her tribesmen that what had started as a Cheyenne
rout ended as a Cheyenne victory. Instinctively, every Plains
warrior lived and hoped for that supreme moment when
courage and honor in battle stood above all else as a thing of
unsurpassed beauty.
77
Custer's Fall
It was two hours past noon when White-ManRuns-Him
and his Crow companions loped to the top of the low ridge
parallel to Ash Creek and looked down on the lone burial
lodge. Though of an alien and enemy tribe, the tepee's purpose
was plain to the scouts. Even some of the markings on
the outside were similar to Crow symbols. Somewhat in awe,
the scouts headed down the slope to the camp site vacated
minutes earlier by Old She-Bear's family.
While the Crows were looking over the ground which
showed circles of trampled grass where other lodges had been
pitched, the Arikara scouts appeared at the top of the ridge.
All the way downstream they had cautiously held back, letting
the Crows lead the way and risk first contact with the
Sioux. Now, seeing the camp site empty of enemies, they came
whooping down the hill. Behind them Girard called out,
"Long Hair says for you to run!" So they whipped their
horses into a dead run and thundered toward the burial lodge.
"What does it look like we're doing?" Two Strikes shouted
back between war cries.
Two Strikes reached the lone tepee first and struck it with
his quirt. At his heels. Young Hawk rode up and also lashed
at the cowskin cover. Then he dismounted at the tepee's north
side, away from the door flap to the east, and stabbed at the
tepee wall with his knife. Running the blade clear to the
ground, he peered inside, then drew back hastily when he
saw the painted corpse. Red Star rode up alongside and
shouted, "He's coming! Long Hair's coming!"
Young Hawk leaped onto his pony and followed the other
Arikaras into a dry coulee beyond the burial lodge, where they
assembled to wait for Custer. Presently, the horse soldiers
appeared on the ridge and started marching down the slope.
78
Midday
With Girard and Man-Who-Makes-the-Paper-Talk beside
him. Long Hair rode at the head of the approaching column.
The troops were shouted to a halt, but Custer and Girard rode
on past the lone tepee to the coulee. Through Girard, Long
Hair spoke to the Arikaras:
"Boys, I want you to take the horses from that Sioux camp
up yonder. Make up your minds to go straight to their camp
and capture as many horses as possible."
Stabbed turned to harangue the younger scouts. "Obey
Long Hair's words and take many horses," he commanded
solemnly.
"I know you're going to have a hard day of it," Long Hair
went on. "You must keep your courage up, for you'll earn
battle honors today."
Stabbed was rubbing some reddish clay in his fingers. Calling
the young Arikaras around him, he had them lift their
war shirts, one by one, while he spat on the clay and daubed
sacred marks on each brawny chest.
"Father," Stabbed intoned, "I remember your promise to
me this day; it is for my young men that I call upon you--"
His prayer was interrupted by the bugle, sounding the unfurling
of the battle flag. Girard explained the trumpet call
to the Arikaras and tense excitement swept through them as
they made last-minute preparations for battle. The troopers
had reassembled across the camp site. Reno's battalion, its
formation intact, had crossed the stream, and soldiers throughout
both commands were tightening saddle girths and discarding
excess equipment.
Custer sat his horse quietly, watching Bloody Knife put
on the black neckerchief with blue stars that he had given
him. Once the dark cloth was in place, the Ankara scout tied
79
Custer's Fall
the chin thong of his war bonnet under his jaw. Presently,
Mitch Bouyer jogged over to speak with Custer.
"The Crows keep saying you'll find a good many more
Sioux down there than you'll be able to handle," the halfbreed
warned. "The way they put it, there are more Sioux
than all your soldiers put together have bullets."
Custer's eyes flashed. "You going soft on me, Bouyer?"
"Soft?"
"Yellow. Cowardly. Like an old woman. Call it anything
you like."
The half-breed blinked and shook his head. "If we go in
there, we'll never come out."
At his elbow. Bloody Knife made sign talk, saying, "His
tongue is straight. What he says is true."
Long Hair cast a narrow glance at his old favorite. "You,
too. Bloody Knife?"
In answer, Bloody Knife looked up at the sun, signed farewell,
saying, "I shall not see you go down behind the Shining Mountains tonight."
Meanwhile, Girard had ridden over to the crest of a small
knoll overlooking Ash Creek. Until now, the column had seen
only scattered hostiles, mostly outriding scouts. But Girard
suddenly spotted a band of some forty Sioux between the
camp site and the creek, apparently in flight downstream
toward the Little Big Horn. They were members of the
Ogalala Bad Face band, who had started out that morning
toward Red Cloud Agency, then had turned back sharply
upon sight of the soldiers. Taking a second look, Girard
noticed that although the Sioux kept moving, the warriors
who brought up the rear did not seem to be afraid of the
soldiers or much surprised at the sight of them. Girard turned
80
Midday
in the saddle to call out to Custer, "Here are your Indians,
running like devils!"
Long Hair snapped an order to the Arikaras, while his spurs
jabbed Vie into motion, "After them, boys! Charge!"
But not an Arikara left the coulee. Girard came trotting
over, but the scouts stayed motionless as though rooted to the
ground. Custer looked around him in desperation. Mistaking
the returning Bad Faces for the main group of hostiles, he
believed they were slipping through his grasp. Time was running
out, he thought; soon the Sioux would be scattered to
the four winds, all chance of spectacular victory vanished into
thin air. Calling Girard to his side, Custer had words of scorn
for the timorous Arikaras:
"You're supposed to go right on to the Sioux village. I told
you to charge and stop for nothing. You've disobeyed me.
Move aside and let my soldiers pass you. If any of you is
afraid to make a charge with them, I'll take his weapons away
and make a woman out of him!"
Two Strikes shouted back an answer, "Tell Long Hair if
he does the same to all his white soldiers, who aren't as brave
as we are, it will take him a long time indeed."
Most of the Arikaras laughed nervously, refusing to quiet
down until, scowling and silent. Bob-tailed Bull rode back
and forth among them to restore order. But by that time
Long Hair had turned away in disgust. Looking around, he
saw Reno across the camp site. Beckoning to Cooke, Custer
snapped sharp orders unheard by the scouts. After saluting,
the adjutant cantered across to Reno and promptly relayed
the orders:
"The General directs you to go after the hostiles. Major.
Take your battalion and bring them to battle. Charge the
81
Custer's Fall
Indians wherever you find them. The General will support
you with the whole outfit." Then he added, "He further directs
you take the scouts with you."
As Reno led out his battalion at a sharp trot, Girard and
Reynolds and Herendeen followed with most of the Arikara
scouts. Two or three had fallen behind owing to poor mounts
and were bringing up the rear with the pack train and Captain
McDougall's troop. With Girard and the Arikaras were two
mixed-blood Picunnies (Blackfeet), the Jackson brothers,
and Isaiah Dorman, a Negro interpreter who had lived some
years with the Sioux and knew their language.
Bouyer and the Crows, at Custer's suggestion, held back
and did not join the Arikaras and Reno's battalion. Then
Half Yellow Face saw a dust cloud rising and pointed it out.
"The Sioux are running away," he said.
Advised of this. Long Hair ordered Half Yellow Face and
White Swan to go up on the next ridge for a look-see. The
two Crows were confused by Custer's attempt at sign talk.
Misunderstanding his orders, they turned sharply off to the
left and rode after Reno's battalion. Bouyer shrugged, then
led the four remaining Crows up the ridge.
Custer turned his full attention now to his own battalion
of five troops. Following Reno's course, but taking a more
leisurely pace, he moved out at the head of his immediate
command. Soon Reno's battalion was so far ahead it was no
longer in sight. As the tail end of Custer's command passed
the lone tepee, a four-man detail swung out of the column
long enough to set it afire. Glancing back over their shoulders
as they trotted on, the troopers could see the blaze dancing
in the still air a long time as Old She-Bear's burial lodge
went up in flames.
82
Afternoon: Reno

eno's command crossed the Little Big Horn shortly after
2:3o p.m., as white men tell time. Custer was a full three-
K
quarters of a mile behind as Reno re-formed his battalion in
thick timber across from the mouth of Ash Creek. Stragglers
looking back caught a last glimpse of Custer as he came up
the stream at the head of his troops. With boyish exuberance
the General waved his hat in his old beloved gesture of confidence,
and no one doubted he and his battalion would be
close behind Reno in the charge down the valley.
Out in front, where the timber gave way to open prairie,
Half Yellow Face tapped Charley Reynolds's arm and pointed.
The Ogalala Bad Faces were ahead and off to the left, but
no longer running. Another smaller band--Old She-Bear's
family--was moving slowly over to the right, skirting the
edge of timber that fringed the river all the way along. Reynolds
called Girard over.
"Someone better tell Long Hair the Sioux are no longer
running," the scout suggested.
Girard found Reno, who sent an orderly back to Custer,
advising him of the change in the behavior of the hostiles.
Reno added in his message that the Sioux might be in greater
force than anticipated.
In a matter of five or ten minutes. Major Reno set up his
attack formation. The Indian scouts under Lieutenants Var83

Custer's Fall
»
num and Hare formed the left front. Two troops, A and M
Companies, rode abreast in columns of fours, while the third
troop, G Company, followed in reserve. Altogether, Reno had
a battle strength of 112 officers and men, and 21 scouts.
Riding some twenty yards in advance, Reno led his detachment
out into the valley at a brisk trot.
.^^'", ',^/^.^
Reno's battalion at the charge.
White Shield's young nephew, Dives Backward, caught
grasshopper after grasshopper for his uncle and Little Chief
to use as fish bait. He grabbed the insects off tall grass stems,
then carried them, one by one, in cupped hands down the
bank. Kept busy, he wondered why it was that the Sioux liked
to catch fish well enough, but seldom ate them. In some ways,
Dives Backward thought, the Sioux were much wilder people
than his own tribe, the Northern Cheyenne.
Just after catching another grasshopper and starting down
the bank with it, the lad heard hoofs rumble on the hard
84
Afternoon: Reno
ground of the flat above. It sounded like thousands of horses
thundering past. Running up the slope. Dives Backward got
his first look at the enemy Arikaras, who had a distinct and
unfamiliar look. One war-bonneted rider, probably Bloody
Knife, caught the boy's eye. Sensing danger at once, he quickly
forgot all about grasshoppers and fish, and clambered down
the bank. "I saw someone wearing a war bonnet go by!" he
shouted to his uncle. "They're looking for someone."
White Shield and Little Chief hurried up to higher ground
to look. By that time the Arikaras had all ridden past, but
soldiers dressed in Army blue were visible through the haze
of dust.
"The camp!" cried Little Chief. "They're going to attack
the camp!"
White Shield agreed, and the three ran back down to the
Little Big Horn. By keeping in the defile of the river, they
hoped to reach the Cheyenne camp circle nearly six miles
downstream.
The Arikaras kept well to the left as Reno's battalion swept
down the valley. The first tepees of the village were visible
two miles down-river, while on high ground to the west the
vast Sioux pony herds earmarked the rugged course the scouts
would have to follow. As the soldiers drove head-on toward
the village, the Arikaras were to swing westward to capture
the horses of the hostiles. In a spurt of speed the battalion
took the gallop, G Company moving up into line with the
other troops. Reno kept his position to the front and center
of the line.
As the valley floor leveled out, a stand of timber jutting
west of the riverbank momentarily cut off Reno's view of the
85
Ouster's Fall
village. Clouds of thick dust added to the detachment's difficulty
in making out its target.
Old Eagle later explained that he and Lone Dog and Two
Bears had sent their women hurrying on ahead with Old SheBear's
widow and the loaded pony drags. Then the young warriors
quickly tied sagebrush clumps to their ponies' tails and
sashayed back and forth many times, raising dust in the path
of the oncoming soldiers. Once, Two Bears rode wide, clashing
headlong into the Arikara scouts. Old Eagle and Lone
Dog scurried off to safety, but Two Bears never joined them.
Like Old She-Bear, he had seen his face reflected young in
badger blood.
Darting toward the milling pony-herd. Bloody Knife rode
far ahead of the other scouts. Swallowed up in a swirl of dust,
he soon came galloping back to the others, herding three Sioux
horses ahead of him.
"Someone take these horses," he shouted to Red Star and
Boy Chief. "One of them is mine."
Then he turned his horse to dash back through the rising
clouds of dust. This time, several of the other Arikaras and the
two Crows followed him.
Among Sitting Bull's visitors in the council lodge after the
midday meal was a prominent young Hunkpapa warrior
named Rain-in-the-Face. Though not yet a chief, Rain-inthe-Face
had a wide following as a fighting leader among the
Hunkpapa and Blackfeet Sioux.
He had a further distinction. Some months previously, an
Army veterinarian and a post sutler had gotten lost from their
command. Lonesome Charley Reynolds had guided a young
Army captain to Rain-in-the-Face's camp near Standing Rock
86
Afternoon: Reno
Agency, where the warrior was arrested by the captain for
the murder of the missing whites. He was taken in chains to
be confined in the guardhouse at Fort Abraham Lincoln.
While troops held the Sioux prisoner, the captain slapped and
kicked him into insensibility. One night, the young Hunkpapa
broke out with several other prisoners and joined the
hostiles. Rain-in-the-Face took a solemn vow, swearing eternal
vengeance against the captain, remembering everything about
his appearance, even learning that he was Tom Custer, the
brother of Long Hair. In all the great camp on the Little Big
Horn, no one, not even Sitting Bull, had a deeper hatred for
the white man than Rain-inthe-Face.
Also in the council lodge that afternoon were Crow King,
Black Moon, chief of the Fox warriors doing camp police duty
that day, and a Blackfoot Sioux chief named Kill Eagle. Conspicuously
absent was Gall, a Hunkpapa fighting chief better
known throughout the tribe for his jealousy of Sitting Bull
than for his courage. Also away from his usual place in the
circle was old Four Horns, alone with his grief since early
morning.
The business at hand centered about Sitting Bull's wily
efforts to persuade Kill Eagle and his band to stay on with
the hostiles. Although the Blackfeet Sioux chief had repeatedly
stated his intention of returning to Standing Rock
Agency, the bitter comments of Rain-in-the-Face about the
white man's road had a telling effect. Numerous presents of
ponies and fine buffalo robes had been received gracefully
enough by Kill Eagle's people, but it was the evidence of the
white man's brutality and injustice that held him and his
twenty lodges on the Little Big Horn. For Sitting Bull, of
course, it was another routine diplomatic coup. Under the
87
Custer's Fall
pall of intense heat that hung over the camp, the crafty head
chief of the Hunkpapas flicked at flies with his buffalo-tail
switch as Kill Eagle decided at last to remain.
At that moment Fat Bear burst into the council lodge. Four
Horns's grandson had stumbled into camp after a full fifteenmile
run across country. Brown Back, returned at last,
brought word of the killing of Deeds by white soldiers! For
long hot hours the wiry lad had dog-trotted over hills and
across ravines to spread the alarm back in camp. Once he
had lain hidden for better than the time it took to run six
miles when a column of soldiers rode past. The sun was high
and hot before he felt safe to move on. By then the soldiers
were between him and the camp. More precious time was lost
when he was forced to make a wide circle to avoid them.
Black Moon sprang to his feet and hurried out to marshal
the camp police upon whom the initial defense of the entire
village might well depend. Sitting Bull followed, limping from
a twelve-year-old wound--a soldier's bullet in his left hip.
One Bull was at the river, tending the family horses after
the midday watering, when he heard shooting at the Hunkpapa
camp. Since camp police did not permit offhand firing,
he recognized the shots as a warning of approaching danger.
In the near distance he saw dust rising, heard the pounding of
iron-shod hoofs. Quickly catching his best pony. One Bull
turned the other stock loose. Well trained, the horses headed
back toward camp as soon as their hobbles were removed.
One Bull raced for the tepee he shared with his uncle.
The camp was in an uproar. Everything was confusion and
noise. While warriors dashed away to catch their ponies,
older men shouted advice at the tops of their lungs. In head88

Afternoon: Reno
long flight, women and children were rushing away on foot
or on horseback toward the north end of the village. All too
often, stumbling children and scurrying dogs got in the way
of the warriors and their plunging mounts. The women had
no time to strike their lodges. Grabbing up babies and clutching
young children to their sides, they hurried off to safety.
Belongings had to be left behind. Old people hobbled away,
leaning on sticks, moving as fast as creaking joints permitted.
Here and there, a lost child stood crying, knuckling
tears from its eyes. As yet, the chiefs had had little time to
organize a defense. In spite of the various warnings, no one
really expected an attack today.
One Bull reached the family lodge just ahead of his uncle.
The young warrior grabbed up his old muzzle-loader and
checked it over quickly. It really was not much of a weapon
for close-in fighting. Just then. Sitting Bull entered the tepee
and abruptly took the old rifle away from his nephew. Handing
One Bull a stone-headed war club, he took his own rawhide
shield from its buckskin case and hung it over the
warrior's shoulder. The shield was not only for protection;
this particular one was a badge of the chief's own authority.
"You will take my place and go out and meet the soldiers,"
Sitting Bull ordered. "Parley with them, if you can. If they
are willing, tell them I'll talk peace with them."
Firing sounded in the near distance as the soldiers kept coming. Bullets whined overhead. As a stray shell splintered
one of the tepee poles above. One Bull glanced up doubtfully.
"What if the white soldiers refuse to talk peace. Uncle?"
"Then go right in. Don't be afraid. Go ahead."
Sitting Bull buckled on his cartridge belt as they hurried
from the lodge. Another bodyguard named Iron Elk had
89
Custer's Fall
caught the chief's war horse, a black stallion with a blaze
face and white stockings. Armed with a .45 revolver and a
'73 Winchester carbine. Sitting Bull leaped on the bare back
of the stallion. Loping to his aged mother's lodge, he helped
the old woman on her horse and saw her safely on her way.
Sitting Bull's war shield.
In front of a nearby lodge, old Four Horns forgot his sorrow
long enough to grab up a bow and arrows, and climb on a
bony roan horse nearly as ancient as himself.
"Hoka Hey!" the old chief shouted out the Sioux call to
battle. When the camp was threatened no leader, however old,
could shirk his duty.
By this time, a number of young warriors had gathered
around One Bull. Raising his uncle's shield high, he led them
out to meet the soldiers.
Peace talk was far from the minds of the soldiers as they
galloped down the valley in battle line with pistols cocked
90
/ Afternoon: Reno
and carbines at the ready. The three troops managed to stay
well abreast during the charge but the Arikaras were ^ar to
the front and left, attempting to cut off the hostile pony herds.
A vast number of horses was being driven back toward
camp by the youths who watched the herds. Even a few
women, who had been out digging wild turnips. joined in the
drive, waving shawls and sticks and hurling earth clods to
keep the horses moving close enough to the village to be
caught by the warriors.
Soldiers in the line opened fire, utterly disregarding the
slight young warrior with war club and chief's shield who
came riding out with his hand raised in the peace sign. Quickly
aware that peace, or even talk of it was out of the question,
One Bull led his warriors out in a counter charge. To his right,
Chief Black Moon rode up with a large body of camp police,
bent on saving a large part of the pony herd now threatened
by the Arikaras.
Several scouts under Bob-tailed Bull and Bloody Knife had. succeeded in cutting out a big bunch of horses and were turning
them back up the valley. Seeing Young Hawk ride up,
Bloody Knife shouted to him:
"What Long Hair wanted is being done! We are taking the
enemy's horses!"
Camp by camp, the alarm spread through the village.
"Chargers are coming! Chargers are coming! "went the warning.
The Hunkpapa crier was hoarse from shouting at the top
of his lungs.
The cry was picked up at the Ogalala camp circle. From
camp to camp, the people could hear the cry going all the
9i
Ouster's Fall
way north to the Cheyennes. Everybody ran to catch horses.
The first thought was to get away.
"Chargers are coming! They are charging!" echoed the cry
again and again.
Bullets rattled like hailstones through the tepee poles in the
Hunkpapa camp. The cowhide lodge covers were peppered
with bullet holes.
"Brave up!" shouted Sitting Bull, trying to be everywhere
at once to see to the camp's defense. "We have everything to
fight for. If we're defeated, we'll have nothing to live for.
It'll be a hard time, but fight like brave men! Brave up! "
The camp defenders stood their ground. A warrior named
White Beard forgot the age-old taboo against talking to his
mother-in-law when he saw her running for safety with a
child dragging after her. He gave her his horse, helping the
little fellow up behind her.
Iron Hawk, a young Hunkpapa, hurried out to the family
horses grazing apart from the main herd close to camp. He
succeeded in roping one before the bunch stampeded toward
the Minneconjou camp. Jumping on the horse he had caught,
he and his older brother finally managed to round up the
spooked horses. Children came up from the river wringing
wet from swimming. An old man hobbled by on a stick and
shouted to Iron Hawk:
"Take courage, boy! Would you see these little children
taken from me like so many dogs? Brave up!"
Iron Hawk hurried to the family lodge and dressed for war
as fast as he could. He had to hold the pony's rope all the
time he was getting ready, and the little horse kept jerking and trying to get away. Between the horse and bullets rattling
all around. Iron Hawk was so shaky it took him a while
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Afternoon: Reno
to braid an eagle feather into his hair. After that he painted
his face red, grabbed up his bow and arrows, hurried out, and
climbed on his horse again--ready for battle at last. A big
party of warriors rode up.
"It's a good day to die!" they yelled.
Iron Hawk was ready for death, too, if it came.
It was blazing hot. Black Elk's cousin had just brought
the horses to water when the alarm went up. Black Elk and
his brother hurried out of the swimming hole, not taking
time to dry themselves with bunch grass or leaves as they
usually did. They felt lucky to have their horses handy at a
time like this. Black Elk's brother leaped on his favorite
mount, a fine sorrel, and loped off toward the Hunkpapa
camp. After he had left, their father rushed up.
"Your brother has gone to fight without his gun. Catch him
and give it to him. Then hurry right back to me."
He had two six-shooters. One was Black Elk's own, a gift
from an aunt. Taking the two handguns. Black Elk singled
out a fast buckskin horse, mounted, and galloped after his
brother.
After Black Elk delivered the revolver, he rode on a way
with his brother. They could see a big dust cloud coming, and
out of the dust were riding blue-clad troopers on their big
chargers. They came shooting at everything before them, but
they kept aiming high. Some of the younger soldiers were so
excited they were shooting straight up into the air. Black
Elk refused to leave when his brother told him to go back.
They made a dash for a clump of timber and brush where
some other warriors were gathering. The soldiers were shooting
at these warriors, but aiming high so that leaves fell on
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Ouster's Fall
them from trees where the bullets struck. Behind them in
the Hunkpapa camp, a new cry went up:
"Take courage! Don't be women! The helpless are out of
breath!"
It was the voice of Gall, fighting chief of the Hunkpapas.
Around him the warriors began to rally. The soldiers were
close now, but coming on more slowly as the Sioux resistance
built up.
In the Ogalala camp a fighting leader flinched at the sounds
of alarm. Unlike his usual self. Crazy Horse was jumpy at
reports of attacking soldiers. Only a week had passed since
he had led his warriors to victory on the Rosebud. Yet somewhere
in the dark of his mind lurked an old silent fear, a barkening back to his early boyhood when Worm, his father,
had tested his courage by forcing him to cut open a snapping
turtle and eat its beating heart raw. Few of his tribesmen
knew of his vulnerability, few guessed the calf of his left leg
bore the scar of an old wound from a fight with the Skidi
Pawnee long ago. People throughout the tribes thought him
bulletproof and impervious to enemy arrows, but Crazy
Horse knew better. The hours of combat ahead called for cautious
preparation if he was to survive and come through
another battle unscathed.
With deliberate care the Ogalala opened a soft buckskin
bag, taking from it the fooling gopher dust with which he
must sprinkle himself and his war pony. Then he got out
the rawhide parfleche in which he kept a small kit of earth
pigments. Selecting yellow ocher, he daubed spittle-wetted
fingers into the powdery pigment, then dotted his lean,
stripped body with protective hail spots. Gradually he regained
his normal composure. Stepping from his lodge, he
94
Afternoon: Re-no
moved lithely across the open camp circle, calling his warriors
around him.
"My friends," he shouted, handsome with his light complexion
and small aquiline nose, "remain cool and fight until
your last arrow and shell are released. Keep in mind that our
women and children will be in great danger if the soldiers
reach our village. As soon as you are mounted, follow me toward
the river. Hiyupo! Come on!"
Suddenly the Sioux onslaught began. The Arikaras forgot
all about taking enemy horses and fell back like leaves before
a high wind. Reno halted his troops. As he did so. Black
Moon's force turned from the rescued pony herd and charged
his left flank. Two troopers failed to hold their skittish mounts
as the howling horde bore down on the line. Frantic with excitement,
the two cavalry horses bolted, carrying their riders
straight into the Sioux charge. The warriors' line simply
opened up to swallow the hapless soldiers in a gaping, dusty
maw which closed in around them.
A few of the Arikaras tried to hold their ground. Bloody
Knife and Young Hawk joined the soldiers at the left of the
line. Bob-tailed Bull was cut off by a whirl of yelping warriors.
He went down under a hail of bullets. The rest of the
Arikaras seemed to have vanished into thin air.
With his left all but enveloped. Major Reno looked to the
rear for Custer's promised support. The rest of the regiment
was nowhere in sight. With every moment, the Sioux horde
ahead of him increased. Here were already more warriors than
Sitting Bull was supposed to have with him. No Indian
fighter, Reno did what seemed to the Sioux a strange thing.
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Custer's Fall
He ordered his troops to dismount, save for every fourth
soldier who held the mounts of three other men. By fighting
on foot, Reno sought to penetrate the stand of timber jutting
out from the river. Even with a trimmed-down force, the dismounted
skirmishers managed to advance for a quarter of an
hour or so. But now the Sioux had not only turned Reno's left
back on itself, they were threatening his rear and might try
at any moment to stampede his led horses--which would be
disastrous for his battalion.
Looking down the valley, Reno still could see no sign of
Custer's five troops, the promised support behind his own
initial attack. The entire valley seemed to be swarming with
hostiles. Already most of the Arikaras had turned tail and were
running for safety back the way they had come. Reno called
Lieutenant Wallace of G Company to his side.
"Send one of the scouts to Custer," he ordered. "If we're
going to get out of here ourselves, we'll need help--and fast."
Wallace cast about for someone to go. Mixed-blood Billy
Jackson was firing offhand at a Sioux rider who kept riding
close. The lieutenant tried hard to talk him into going, but
Jackson waved his hand to the rear, Indian fashion, signing
refusal.
"No man could get through alive," he countered.
With no way to reach Custer or send for help, Reno ordered
the battalion to change front, putting the river at its
rear, the south end of the village on its right. The troops
pivoted on the double, falling back into the edge of the
timber, while the Sioux closed in from all sides. With more
warriors pouring up the valley by the minute, Reno's position
had now become strictly defensive. Further attack on the
. Afternoon: Reno
village was simply out of the question. The battalion was
already outnumbered more than ten to one.
White Bull, watching the family horses out north of camp,
heard the criers yelling the alarm. He leaped on his fastest
horse, a sleek bay, and chased his stock back to the village.
Off to the south the Army blue of the soldiers and the glint
of sunlight on their gun barrels were already visible through
the dust. Confusion had now reached the Sansarc camp circle,
with fleeing women and children running everywhere, young
girls clutching blankets over their heads in bewildered fright,
fat old women panting and sweating to get away. A few very
old people were hobbling away on their sticks, hurrying off
to the safety of the grassy benches to the west toward which
all noncombatants now headed. It was everyone for himself
White Bull saw to it that his wife got away safely, then raced
upriver to join his uncle. Sitting Bull, in the defense of the
village.
White Bull's father. Makes Room, Sitting Bull's brotherin-law,
had his lodge pitched on the north side of the Hunkpapa
camp circle. By the time White Bull rode up, the warriors
had rallied under his brother, One Bull, and Gall. A
brisk battle was in progress with the soldiers, and the Sioux
seemed to be gaining a little ground. The soldiers had dismounted
and were gradually falling back. Forming a line, the
troopers set up a guidon. Then White Bull saw that part of
the troops was falling back again while others stayed near the
guidon.
"Whoever is brave, get that flag!" White Bull shouted.
No one seemed to hear him just then--at least no warrior
volunteered to capture the guidon. Before White Bull, him97

Custer's Fall
self, could do anything about it the soldiers fell back again,
taking the guidon with them.
Four miles north, in the Cheyenne camp circle, the people
milled about uncertainly. The alarm had already gone up and
a few families had started for the benches to the west. But
most of the tribe stood around, uneasily watching the tower
of dust rising beyond the Hunkpapa camp. As yet, there was
no sign of the soldiers.
Sage, one of the five Arapahoes, had gone with Two Moon
to help water his host's horses at the river. One by one, the
sweltering animals were swabbed down with cool water. The
men even splashed around in the river themselves before leading
the horses back to camp. Two Moon and his guest both
walked the short distance in order to leave the horses fresh.
Then, suddenly, they saw the dust down at the Sioux camp.
Presently, a Sioux horseman came riding through the Cheyenne
camp at a gallop.
"Soldiers are coming!" he shouted. "Plenty white soldiers
are coming!"
Two Moon ran toward his lodge, picking up the cry, "Nutskavebo! White soldiers are coming! Everybody run for
your horses!"
While the warriors hurriedly prepared for battle, the women
stirred into activity, beginning a mass exodus from the camp.
A few managed to strike their lodges and load them on pony
drags before starting west toward the benches. But most of
the camp circle was left standing. In all the excitement, people
kept running back to get things they had forgotten and left
behind. A few of the oldsters stood dazed and motionless, as
though rooted to the ground.
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Afternoon: Reno
"Hay-ay! Hay-ay!" started the Cheyenne battle cry. Some
of the warriors were ready and massed in a group to wait for
their leaders.
The Sioux horseman came back again and rode around,
shouting to the women, "Get out of the way! We're going to
have a big fight!"
Some of the Cheyennes did not understand his words, but
his meaning was plain enough. Everyone scrambled out of his
path.
Two Moon called the young men around him. "Warriors,
don't run away if the soldiers charge you," he told them.
"Stand and fight them. Keep your eyes on me. I'll stand even
if I am sure to be killed!"
It was a brave fighting talk. With Two Moon leading the
way, the warriors dashed off in a body to the Hunkpapa camp.
Fewer than a handful remained to guard the Cheyenne circle.
Reno's behavior was proving to be a puzzle for Sitting Bull.
The Hunkpapa chief could not figure out why such a small
band of soldiers had come to the very outskirts of the camp,
then had dismounted and fallen back, when only by charging
could they hope to fight their way through the village. Too
shrewd a strategist to underestimate the whites. Sitting Bull
sensed some sort of trap.
"Watch out for a trick!" he warned, riding back and forth
among the Sioux warriors who now held the ground between
the camp and the troops.
In spite of his uncle's warning. One Bull had his hands too
full of fighting just then to think the white soldiers were carrying
out any sort of subterfuge. When the enemy retreated, it
was time to charge. One Bull and Black Moon combined their
99
Custer's Fall
forces and led a charge against the soldiers in the timber.
Almost at One Bull's elbow, Good Bear Boy was shot from
his horse. An instant later Black Moon fell. The chief of the
camp police was dead, but Good Bear Boy was only wounded.
One Bull commanded Looking Elk to rescue him, but Looking
Elk either did not hear or did not care—he paid no heed.
Good Bear Boy was trying to crawl back to the Sioux lines.
With bullets hissing all around him. One Bull halted and
jumped off his horse long enough to pick up Good Bear Boy
and get him on the excited animal. Then One Bull leaped on
the horse's back behind the wounded man. Together, they
rode back to safety.
Shot through both thighs. Good Bear Boy was bleeding
heavily. One Bull and his mount were quickly covered with
the wounded man's blood. Thinking he had reached a safe
place. One Bull got down again, swinging the horse broadside
to the line of fire. Suddenly the horse screamed. A bullet had
struck one hind leg. They were still out in the open, so One
Bull led the horse on toward the Sioux lines until he could
turn Good Bear Boy over to friends who would take care of
him. Then One Bull hurried back into the fight.
In spite of a steadily mounting assault against his position,
Reno had lost only one man aside from the Arikara scouts,
most of whom were dead or missing. Sergeant Heyn of
G Company had been shot through the chest during the
change of front. Now the major saw he was about to lose
another man—through desertion. A trooper was defying orders
to hold fast and was making a run for it through the timber.
"Stop that man!" shouted Reno. "No man leaves this line,
dead or alive, until I give the order!"
100
Afternoon: Reno
White Swan, one of the two Crows with Reno, may have
misunderstood. Or perhaps Bloody Knife, next to Reno, misinterpreted
the major's words as an order for the Crow to
overtake and kill the deserter, and passed it along as such in
sign talk. At any rate. White Swan got up quickly and took
after the trooper. Snaking his way through timber and brush,
it did not take the scout long to run down the fugitive. The
trooper's death cry as White Swan's knife plunged into him
was lost in the din of battle. In a little while, the Crow quietly
resumed his place in the line. Reno had his hands too full to
notice what had happened.
Reno's position in the timber was fast becoming untenable.
Several of his led horses had been hit by flying bullets, and
overwhelming numbers of hostiles now surrounded the timber.
A few, in fact, were already beginning to infiltrate his thinly
held line. There was still no sign of support. Although he was
not close enough to report the fact to Reno, Lieutenant DeRudio
of A Company now saw mounted troops moving
along the bluffs across the Little Big Horn. Even at that distance
he could recognize Custer's buckskin clothing and Adjutant
Cooke's immense whiskers. Lieutenant Varnum also
caught a glimpse of the gray-horse troop marching along the
bluffs, but away from Reno's position. It was not until later
that Varnum remembered the gray-horse troop had been assigned
to Custer's battalion. All this, of course, was unknown
to Reno. His ammunition was getting low, his reserves already
dipped into, and no way of getting through to the pack train
to replenish. Unless he got out of the timber fast, it added up
to disaster. He gave the order to stand to horse. In the noise
and confusion, many failed to hear him.
In the center of the timber was a small clearing of ten acres
101
Custer's Fall
or so, formerly used as a camping place by a Sioux medicine
man. Here, Reno re-formed his command. With Bloody Knife
at his side, the major shouted out the order, "Mount!"
At that moment, a large number of hostiles broke through
the timber, firing point-blank on the troops in the clearing.
In the melee, Reno lost his hat. With frenzied haste, he tied
a white neckerchief around his head to keep the hair out of
his eyes.
The Ankara with the war bonnet had attracted the attention
of the Cheyennes since they had joined in the assault.
Breaking into the clearing with the Sioux, Turkey Legs and
Crooked Nose kept angling for a sure shot at this enemy
"chief." At last Crooked Nose drew a careful bead and fired.
Trooper Lorenz of M Company was first hit. Hollering,
"Oh, my God, I have got it!" he toppled from his mount.
Caught in the same volley was Bloody Knife, less than ten
feet to Reno's right and slightly to his front. The Arikara
was struck square between the eyes, his brains and blood spattering
in Reno's face, bits of feathers dancing crazily for a
moment in the smoke-fogged air.
Completely disconcerted, the major ordered the troops to
dismount, then immediately countermanded with an order to
remount. Giving no further orders, he whirled his horse and
broke through the timber into open plain, the confused
troopers close on his heels. There was no chance to reform
the battalion. In a straggling column they stampeded up the
valley at a dead run, Reno well to the front, his eyes frantically
set on the upstream ford where he and his command
had crossed hardly more than an hour earlier.
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Afternoon: Reno
Hard pressed in the timber, six Indian scouts had their
hands too full to be aware of Reno's withdrawal. Young Hawk
and Goose crawled through thick brush, trying to join Forked
Horn and the two Crows, Half Yellow Face and White Swan
(Strikes Enemy). Already the hostiles had spotted them and
were peppering them with bullets. Giving up their attempt
to reach the others. Young Hawk and Goose made a run for
their horses, tied to trees in the grove. Just after they mounted,
a groan of shocked pain passed Goose's lips. Young Hawk
reined up sharply.
"Cousin, I am wounded," said Goose.
His right arm was badly shot up. Young Hawk hurried to
his side, taking his cartridge belt and buckling it around his
own waist.
"You'd better get down," he told Goose.
Before the wounded man could dismount, his horse was
shot down. Young Hawk propped Goose against a tree, handing
him the reins of his own pony. Seething with hot anger,
Young Hawk stripped off his blue Army coat and prepared
to fight for his own and his kinsman's life.
Off through the trees the two Arikaras saw a duel in progress.
White Swan rode out to face the enemy and a tall
Cheyenne (named Whirlwind) came charging from the hostile
ranks. Running their horses at each other full tilt, the antagonists
fired almost simultaneously. Both men toppled from
their mounts. The Cheyenne lay dead, but the Arikaras could
see their Crow friend trying to crawl back to safety. White
Swan had a bullet through his leg and one hand had been
nearly shot away. Half Yellow Face dashed out to help his
tribesman. A minute later he came creeping through the brush
to find Young Hawk.
103
Custer's Fall
"My friend is being killed," he said. "He is just at the
edge of the timber."
Young Hawk followed him back, the two men crawling
through dense undergrowth until they reached White Swan,
who lay on his back. Taking him by the arms. Young Hawk
and Half Yellow Face dragged the wounded Crow back to
where Goose was sitting with his back against the tree. White
Swan smiled above his pain.
"I am not afraid," he said. "I am glad to be wounded."
Young Hawk felt a quick surge of emotion. He did not
want to see his wounded comrades mutilated by the hostiles,
and decided to get himself killed. He put his arms around the
neck of his horse, saying, "I love you," to the animal. Then
he crawled out to the edge of the timber and stood facing
scores of hostile warriors who knelt ready to shoot. Young
Hawk fired first, receiving a volley of bullets in return. He
was not hit. Seeking a new position, he moved forward to a
pile of dead brush. Behind it he found Forked Horn lying face
down to avoid being shot. Forked Horn scolded him severely
for drawing the fire of the hostiles.
"That is no way to act. This is not the way to fight at all,
to show yourself as a target."
After this scolding Young Hawk lay quiet a long time.
Out in the open the Sioux were trying to fire the grass to
smoke the scouts from their cover, but the grass was too
green to burn. Presently, a Sioux on a gray horse came charging
in close. Young Hawk fired at him, but missed. Then he
jumped to his feet and fired again, killing him. Gradually the
hostile counterattack mounted, sweeping past them on all
sides. 104
Afternoon: Reno
By blood First Lieutenant Donald Mclntosh, commander
of G Company, was as Indian as any of the hostiles he faced.
A Mohawk, he was a member of the Iroquois Six Nations, a
onetime resident of Canada. For many years he had followed
the white man's road. It came to him here on the firing line
plainer than ever, as people of his own race came charging,
that there was no turning back to Indian ways--now or ever.
Too long ago he had cast his lot with the whites, and now he was stuck with them.
Looking over at Lonesome Charley Reynolds and Fred
Girard, he wondered a little at his choice. Reynolds was trying
to get his canteen open for a pull of whisky, and both men
were more interested in that than in fighting Indians. It made
Mclntosh a little bit more proud of his blood. He came close
to wishing the Army had left these poor hostile devils alone.
After all, they had come here first--long before the whites.
Maybe they had a right to the wild land, living simply as they
thought God intended.
Suddenly, he heard a commotion behind him. With alarm
he realized the Sioux were moving in through the timber all
around him. Something had gone wrong. Seemingly without
warning, most of the battalion had withdrawn from its position.
Charley Reynolds yelled something unintelligible and
ran for his horse. Reno's retreat had come off with such alacrity
that Mclntosh and most of G Company had no idea the
rest of the command was quitting the timber. The order to
mount had not even been heard by all the troops and seventeen
men were left behind.
As senior officer of the isolated detachment, Mclntosh in
his slow-poking way debated what to do. Charley Reynolds
was in no mood to wait for him and made a quick dash to
105
Custer's Fall
overtake Reno. His horse had barely left the timber when a
bullet toppled the scout from his saddle. His rifle flew out of
his hands. One foot caught in a stirrup and he was dragged
over a hundred yards by his frenzied mount.
Rallying his men and keeping them well together behind
him, Mclntosh led out at last. At the edge of the timber a
bowstring twanged at close range. The lieutenant's horse
crumpled under him, an arrow through its skull. Mclntosh
darted back into the timber.
"Take my horse. Lieutenant," Trooper McCormick of
G Company offered. "We're all dead men anyway, way it
looks. I might as well be killed afoot as on horseback."
By this time Reno and the battalion were far ahead, already
lost in a blur of dust. The hostiles were rapidly closing in
behind them. But Mclntosh decided to try to break through.
Once more he led out. This time a large party of warriors cut
him off and forced him over toward the river. There on the
banks of the Little Big Horn, Mclntosh was pulled from his
saddle and killed. Most of G Company died with him. A few
troopers broke through to Reno, and a mere handful made
it back to find cover in the timber.
Hundreds of warriors swarmed around the fleeing battalion
like angry gnats. The hostiles needed little urging to take
full advantage of the soldiers' panic. Left behind at first. Lieutenant
Varnum raced forward, trying to slow the rout, knowing
that to run away in a fight with Indians was to invite
disaster.
"For God's sake, men, don't run!"
But the troopers were taking their cue from Reno, far
ahead, and the headlong retreat continued without letup. All
along the way troopers and horses were down. But no one
106
Afternoon: Reno
dared stop to rescue a wounded comrade or pick up a trooper
whose horse had been shot from under him. It was every man
for himself all the way.
By sheer weight °f numbers, the hostiles turned the ragged
column toward fhe river. With the ford hopelessly out of
reach upstream, Reno had no choice but to cross the river and
make for the bluffs on the opposite side. There, at least, he
might make a stand, put up some sort of defensive fight.
There, by somS remote chance, Custer might come to his
rescue.
Reno and the forward troopers looked in vain for a shallow
place to cross. A sharp cut-bank edged the river; it was a
sheer six-foot dr°P to fhe water. The foremost horses refused
to jump until the increasing pressure from behind forced
them over the crumbling brink. Into water four feet deep
plunged Reno a"d his troops in a splashing welter of men and
horses. From both banks of the river, from all sides, the hostiles
poured in ^ deadly fusillade of bullets.
It was as ea$y &s running buffalo. The warriors were all
over the panic'stricken soldiers, chopping down with war
clubs or gun butts, sometimes striking out with lances or
bows or old-fast110"^ coupsticks. Many were the honors won
during the rout °f Reno's battalion. And many were the soldiers
killed_oftc" wlt^ one sharp blow. Eagle-bone whistles
shrilled the victory.
A great cry suddenly went up among the warriors: "Crazy
Horse is coming Crazy Horse is coming!"
And the way opened for a flood of fresh fighters--Ogalalas,
Brules, and Ct^yo""^--under the great fighting leader,
Crazy Horse. ]Vlounted on a buckskin-and-white pinto, the
107
Ouster's Fall
famous Ogalala was stripped down to a breechclout, bare as
usual of war adornment save for the skin of a red-backed
hawk tied in his hair. His body was dotted with pale hailstone
marks, his face streaked with blue lightning. Seeing him, the
warriors massed for a new charge. He was the Invulnerable.
As everyone knew, no enemy bullets could touch him, so
powerful was his medicine. He rode close to the fleeing soldiers,
inviting their fire, shouting encouragement to his followers all
the time.
"Friends, save your ammunition! Make the wasicun (whites) shoot fast so their guns will stick! Then you can
knock them over with clubs! Hoka hey!"
For a while the warriors held their fire. But this was a
phase of the fighting that required no leadership. No one
needed to give orders. No fighting leader needed to challenge
a reluctant enemy. Now, every warrior knew what to do without
being told. Every fighting man did as he thought best. It
was the age-old way in which Plains Indians made war.
A large number of Sioux had already crossed the river
downstream and now came riding up the opposite bank, shooting
back at the soldiers all the way. A few had even plunged
into the river and were swimming their horses toward where
the soldiers were crossing.
One Sioux rider dashed in bravely to grab at the reins of
an officer's mount. The officer (probably Captain French,
commander of M Company) fired his pistol at pointblank
range, and the warrior went down.
The Indians had other casualties as well. Dog-with-Horns
was killed in the running fight. Chased-by-Owls was mortally
wounded. But the soldiers were too preoccupied with getting
across the river to the bluffs to fire accurately.
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Afternoon: Reno
Stripped, his face carefully painted, mounted on his fastest
war pony, a fine roan with a crooked white patch over its left
eye. Eagle Elk rode into the fray. The Ogalala warrior carried
a Winchester repeater that was almost new. Striking out
right and left, he knocked soldier after soldier from their
saddles. It was as easy as killing buffalo cows. He saw one
Sioux wielding a heavy saber, captured from one of the Gray
Fox's troopers during the Rosebud fight. It was probably the
only saber on the Little Big Horn that day, since none of
Custer's Seventh carried sabers in this campaign.
Sometimes a soldier and an Indian would wrestle each other,
each trying to dismount the other, like the old Sioux game
of "throwing-them-off-their-horses." With much practice, the
warriors had every advantage. Even in the water they kept
it up. Occasionally the fighting Indian and soldier would go
under water, then bubble to the surface, finally go under again.
Eagle Elk killed two or three soldiers who were trying to
get across the river. His was one of the better guns, and he
used it with telling effect. He stayed out of the water, however,
for he was looking for his Minneconjou brother-friend,
High Horse. Glancing around, he saw an Arikara scout trying
to get through to the river. (This may have been Stabbed, who
had already been wounded in the timber.) A Sioux jumped
from his horse onto this Arikara. He had a long knife ready,
and when he stood again, it was covered with blood all the
way up the blade. Eagle Elk then saw the Sioux was High
Horse. He was breathing hard and talking crazily.
"I cut off his neck," he kept saying. "I cut off the neck of
that Arikara cur!"
Suddenly a large party of Cheyennes galloped up, chasing
a big cavalry horse straight toward High Horse. The Minne109
Ouster's Fall
conjou reached out and caught the bridle and leaped into the
saddle.
Downstream, near the timber, Indians were setting the
brush afire to drive out the soldiers hiding there. Racing back
that way, Eagle Elk and High Horse saw some Sioux boys
shooting arrows at a soldier who dodged around in the burning
brush. He seemed to have lost his gun, and was trying to
keep from being caught in the flames.
Now that the Sioux were firing the brush. Red Bear and
Little Brave, two of the Arikaras, knew they would have to
leave the timber.
"Let me fire one more shot at the camp," said Little Brave,
over Red Bear's insistence that they get started.
Red Bear held the other's horse, though, as Little Brave
went on foot to fire his one shot. But it seemed now as though
the village were almost empty, that most of the Sioux were
between the timber and the place where Reno was trying to
get the battalion across. At last Little Brave got off his shot
and came running. Mounting, the two Arikaras dashed out together.
They ran headlong into heavy fire from some Indians
on foot. Doubling back fast, they narrowly avoided running
into an ambush. They darted back toward the river. There
they saw about ten troopers in full rout, riding at a dead run
toward Reno. Red Bear saw the soldiers head straight for a
deep cut, a washout of some kind, and plummet headlong
into it.
"Whoa, whoa!" the troopers shouted, trying to control their
mounts. Red Bear guessed it would have taken top riding to
avoid being thrown as the horses fell into the cut. Not waiting
I 10
Afternoon: Reno
to see what happened to the soldiers, Red Bear yanked his
own horse around to keep from falling in, and kept going.
Suddenly Red Bear's horse stumbled and went down, throwing
the Ankara, who picked himself up and chased after the
animal, but could not catch him again. Then a piece of deadwood
caught in the cheek strap of the bridle, and Red Bear
was able to get him this time. Red Bear's left hand had been
hurt in the fall. With the carbine in his right, it was hard to
control the horse now.
Hearing a war cry behind him. Red Bear whipped around
to see a lone Sioux warrior with a face painted half yellow,
half red, bearing down on him. Swinging up his carbine, the
Arikara fired from the hip. The warrior's pony reared up,
throwing the Sioux to the ground. Red Bear did not wait to
see if he had killed the Sioux. He started out again to catch
up with Reno. By this time. Little Brave was nowhere in sight.
With loose reins flying, a riderless horse raced snorting past
Red Bear. The Arikara recognized it at once as the horse of
his chief. Bob-tailed Bull. He saw the front of the saddle was
all bloody. The animal was terrified at the shrill scream of
the eagle-bone whistles, used in battle by the Sioux.
Seeing confusion and fighting ahead. Red Bear turned down
the riverbank and swam his horse to the other side. Five or
six troopers had crossed the river ahead of him and now were
riding through the brush to his left. Up ahead he saw Reno,
his head tied up with a white kerchief, his beard frothy white
with foam, his eyes wild and rolling. The soldiers with the
major aimed their guns at Red Bear, taking him for a hostile.
He kept riding in toward Reno and tapped his chest.
"Scout! Scout!" he shouted in English.
ii i
Custer's Fall
Then Reno kept yelling words. It took Red Bear a while
to understand them.
"The Sioux? The Sioux? Where are they?" Reno kept asking.
And in answer. Red Bear merely pointed down the ridge.
There were, after all, plenty of Sioux in that general direction.
An officer with three stripes (a sergeant) came up to Red
Bear and gave him a handful of cartridges for his gun. He
had an armload of cartridge boxes on his arm and, as he was
passing out bullets, a whole box spilled out on the ground.
Red Bear picked up most of them. He kept loading them in
the carbine and pulling the trigger, firing up at the ridge
where he guessed some of the hostiles were. The officer kept
calling him "John," and for a while he fired every time the
soldier called this name.
Glancing down at the river. Red Bear saw a lieutenant
(Benjamin Hodgson, Reno's adjutant) hit as his mount
leaped down the far bank. The bullet pierced his thigh and
went through the horse, killing it instantly. As his mount
sank under him in the water, the lieutenant struggled to keep
afloat, grabbed at the stirrup strap of a passing trooper, and
let himself be dragged across the river to the near shore. The
trooper tried to help him out of the water but failed. Unable
even to crawl out, the lieutenant drew his pistol and faced
the hostiles--fighting bravely until a shower of bullets cut
him down.
On the riverbank opposite. One Bull killed two soldiers with
his war club. Jumping his horse into the water, the young
Hunkpapa struck another trooper, knocking him from his
saddle with a single blow. Climbing out again. One Bull loped
back to the field of battle, hoping to earn more honors. Only
I 12
Afternoon: Reno
three troopers, probably horse holders, were left and they
were running fast toward the river. In the heat of victory One
Bull let out a war cry and started after them, when he heard
the voice of his uncle. Sitting Bull.
"Let them escape!" shouted the chief of the Hunkpapas.
"Let them live to tell the truth about this fight!"
One Bull obediently turned back. Then his uncle noticed
the blood all over his nephew, the blood of Good Bear Boy.
"Nephew, you are wounded. Go back to camp and have
your wounds treated."
One Bull only laughed, saying he was not wounded. Sitting
Bull was relieved to know his nephew was still in one piece.
But now the Hunkpapa chief had seen the full array of
Reno's forces, dead and running away, and guessed from the
small size of the battalion that Reno's action had not been
the main attack, but a mere diversion. At this very moment,
perhaps, other soldiers might be menacing the village.
"Go back and help defend the women and children," Sitting
Bull told his nephew.
Most of the village was deserted. The women and children
and old people had gathered along the benches west of the
village, where they could look down across the valley and
watch the battle. One Bull did as he was told and joined the
people there.
Meanwhile, as his warriors began stripping the bodies of
thirty-two soldiers and Arikara scouts, Sitting Bull looked
after his own casualties. So far, they had been remarkably
light, although the death of any fighting man was an occasion
for deep sorrow. Seven Sioux and one Cheyenne had been
killed outright, two other Sioux mortally wounded. As opposed
to these losses, Reno had lost nearly half his command
ii3
Custer's Fall
Then Reno kept yelling words. It took Red Bear a while
to understand them.
"The Sioux? The Sioux? Where are they?" Reno kept asking.
And in answer. Red Bear merely pointed down the ridge.
There were, after all, plenty of Sioux in that general direction.
11 An officer with three stripes (a sergeant) came up to Red
Bear and gave him a handful of cartridges for his gun. He
had an armload of cartridge boxes on his arm and, as he was
passing out bullets, a whole box spilled out on the ground.
Red Bear picked up most of them. He kept loading them in
the carbine and pulling the trigger, firing up at the ridge
where he guessed some of the hostiles were. The officer kept
calling him "John," and for a while he fired every time the
soldier called this name.
Glancing down at the river. Red Bear saw a lieutenant
(Benjamin Hodgson, Reno's adjutant) hit as his mount
leaped down the far bank. The bullet pierced his thigh and
went through the horse, killing it instantly. As his mount
sank under him in the water, the lieutenant struggled to keep
afloat, grabbed at the stirrup strap of a passing trooper, and
let himself be dragged across the river to the near shore. The
trooper tried to help him out of the water but failed. Unable
even to crawl out, the lieutenant drew his pistol and faced
the hostiles--fighting bravely until a shower of bullets cut
him down.
On the riverbank opposite. One Bull killed two soldiers with
his war club. Jumping his horse into the water, the young
Hunkpapa struck another trooper, knocking him from his
saddle with a single blow. Climbing out again. One Bull loped
back to the field of battle, hoping to earn more honors. Only
I 12
Afternoon: Reno
three troopers, probably horse holders, were left and they
were running fast toward the river. In the heat of victory One
Bull let out a war cry and started after them, when he heard
the voice of his uncle. Sitting Bull.
"Let them escape!" shouted the chief of the Hunkpapas.
"Let them live to tell the truth about this fight!"
One Bull obediently turned back. Then his uncle noticed
the blood all over his nephew, the blood of Good Bear Boy.
"Nephew, you are wounded. Go back to camp and have
your wounds treated."
One Bull only laughed, saying he was not wounded. Sitting
Bull was relieved to know his nephew was still in one piece.
But now the Hunkpapa chief had seen the full array of
Reno's forces, dead and running away, and guessed from the
small size of the battalion that Reno's action had not been
the main attack, but a mere diversion. At this very moment,
perhaps, other soldiers might be menacing the village.
"Go back and help defend the women and children," Sitting
Bull told his nephew.
Most of the village was deserted. The women and children
and old people had gathered along the benches west of the
village, where they could look down across the valley and
watch the battle. One Bull did as he was told and joined the
people there.
Meanwhile, as his warriors began stripping the bodies of
thirty-two soldiers and Arikara scouts. Sitting Bull looked
after his own casualties. So far, they had been remarkably
light, although the death of any fighting man was an occasion
for deep sorrow. Seven Sioux and one Cheyenne had been
killed outright, two other Sioux mortally wounded. As opposed
to these losses, Reno had lost nearly half his command
H3
Custer's Fall
in dead, wounded, and missing—counting several men still
cut off in the timber. Sitting Bull was willing to let it go at
that. After all, this fight had not been of his choosing. The
whites had come shooting. They had fired the first shot. And
now they had taken the drubbing they deserved for their
foolish aggression. The issue already seemed settled. Now,
perhaps, the soldiers would stop coming to fight the Indians,
and would let them live in their old way, free and undisturbed.
The chief of the Hunkpapas hoped it could be so as he started
back toward the deserted village.
Many of the warriors also seemed willing to let the soldiers
go now that they had been beaten. Only a few bothered to
cross the river and harass Reno's men as they climbed the
bluffs and dug in for a defensive fight. A handful of other
warriors, who happened to have good firearms, sniped away
at the bluffs long-range. But the rush, which the disorganized
remnants of Reno's command clearly expected, never got
under way. While the soldiers dug trenches on the crest of the
bluffs and waited for the worst, the warriors continued to loot
and strip the bodies of their enemies and recount their deeds
of honor.
Black Elk was riding all over, trying to see everything and
share in the excitement and elation of the older warriors. He
was so small and slight that he was often shunted out of the
way before he could see very much. Dead or alive, white
men were still a curiosity to the boy. He was much impressed
by the paleness of their naked bodies, but even stranger was
the hairiness of the white men. Their faces and chests and
arms—sometimes even their backs—were covered with hair.
As he sat his pony, looking wide-eyed all around him, a Sioux
warrior rode up.
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Afternoon: Reno
"Boy, get off and scalp that soldier."
A soldier lay on the ground, kicking and squirming,
wounded but not yet dying. Black Elk obeyed, getting down
from his pony and drawing his knife. The blade was not very
sharp, and the soldier had short hair. He ground his teeth as
Black Elk began to take his scalp. At last, the Ogalala youth
drew his pistol and shot the soldier in the forehead. After
that, the scalping operation seemed easier. Wanting to show
the scalp to his mother, Black Elk jumped on his pony and
rode toward the benches west of camp, where the women and
children and old people waited. On the way he passed through
the Ogalala camp circle. Rattling Hawk, the warrior wounded
at the Rosebud, was sitting up in his tepee, a gun across his
lap. He seemed to regret the fact that he was unable to get
out and fight. He was singing this song as Black Elk rode by:
"Brothers, what are you doing that I can't do?"
Reaching the benches. Black Elk heard all the women singing
and making the high tremolo sound to cheer on their
warriors. His mother made a loud high tremolo just for her
son, when she saw Black Elk's first scalp.
At the edge of the timber a black man lay dying. His
breast was bloody and a gaping wound showed through his
shirt. He was Isaiah Dorman, civilian interpreter for the
Seventh Cavalry, the Negro who had once lived with the
Sioux and knew their tongue. Now, as he sprawled out on the
ground, an old Hunkpapa woman pointed an ancient muzzleloader
at his head, ready to fire at any instant. She was one
of a handful of women who had stayed in the Hunkpa-pa
circle, the first to come out after the fighting let up.
ii5
/ Custer's Fall
I "Don't shoot me. Auntie!" he begged. "I'll be dead soon
/ enough, anyway."
"You're a sneaking cur!" the old woman screamed at him.
"Why did you bring the soldiers here?"
"I only wanted to see this Western country once more before
I died," the Negro explained.
Just then Shoots-Walking, Two Bulls, and several other
warriors rode up, intending to strip the Negro's body.
/ "Don't count coup on me, my friends," Dorman begged.
"You've already killed me. I was shot early in the fighting."
/ At that moment Sitting Bull arrived. He recognized the
Negro as "the black white man"—known to the Sioux as
On A ynpi or Teat.
"Don't kill that man!" the Hunkpapa chief said sharply.
"He is Teat. He used to be a friend of our people."
With that the warriors rode away. Dorman then asked for
water. Sitting Bull got him some water in his own drinking
cup of polished buffalo horn. After he had drunk from it, the
old Negro died.
Leaving Dorman's body there in the brush, Sitting Bull
rode on north through the deserted village. He passed the
abandoned camps, one by one, where skulking dogs prowled,
looking for meat. A few tepees in the Hunkpapa camp were
damaged by soldiers' bullets and burned, but otherwise the
village was intact. Thus assured. Sitting Bull turned the black
stallion sharply to the west and headed for the benches. As
a chief it was also his duty to look after the women and
children, and to see that they made an orderly return to their
lodges. In a little while the camp police would be calling
everyone to go back to his own tepee—now that the fighting
seemed to be over.
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Afternoon: Custer
shortly after the last of Reno's battalion disappeared
from view in the thick timber on the Little Big Horn's
far shore. Long Hair Custer dismounted and knelt a minute
or so in prayer. Mitch Bouyer and the four Crow scouts were
respectfully solemn as they grouped around him. The troops
moved up noisily behind. Then, seeing the General, they
quieted down, and there was no sound except the squeak of
saddle leather and the tinkle of bit-irons. Finally, Custer
stood up and, turning, shook hands with each of the Crows.
"My scout," he said to Goes Ahead, "if we win this battle,
you will be one of the noted men of the Crow Nation. If I die
today, you'll get this land back from the Sioux and stay on it,
happy and contented. If you should die, you'll be buried on
your own land."
He spoke similarly to each of the Crows, then addressed
them as a group, Bouyer translating rapidly.
"I am a great chief," Custer said matter-of-factly, "but I do
not know whether I'll get through this summer alive or dead.
I do not know whether I'll pass through this battle or not.
But if I live, I'll recommend you boys, and you'll be leaders
of the Crows—all of you. My other scouts are worthless. The
Arikaras are like women. But you Crows have helped me find
the enemy. I'll tell you one thing: There will be nothing more
good for the Sioux. If they massacre me, they will suffer. If
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they do not kill me, they will suffer, for they have disobeyed
the orders of the Grandfather in Washington. Now, let's take
a look-see from that near ridge, and find out how the camp
shapes up from there."
Mounting again, Custer let the scouts lead out to the top
of the ridge. From there they could see that the village was
farther away than any of them had thought. They signaled
Long Hair they were moving on ahead. Custer followed, leading
his command along the ridge.
By that time they all saw that Reno's attack on the south
end of the village was well under way. The firing of the soldiers'
guns was so continuous that it sounded like a taut
blanket being torn.
The scouts rode on, beginning now to see glimpses of the
distant lodges through breaks in the timber across the river.
They could make out the great camp circles spread out down
the valley. It was now plain they had been right all along in
warning Custer. Presently, he would see for himself how many
hostiles were arrayed against him.
Spurred by the din of the battle across the river, Custer
speeded up the column, leading it out at a gallop along the
ridge. It was all the small ponies of the Crows could do to
keep ahead of the soldiers. The scouts had to quirt the little
animals constantly to keep them at a dead run. Then they
came to a break in the ridge, where the column halted. While
the Crows rested their mounts, Custer and his brother Tom
rode on past and drew up on a nearby knoll. From this point,
Reno's command was out of sight beyond the timber, although
firing could still be heard up the valley. Looking across the
other way, several hundred tepees were in plain sight, but
most of the village lay hidden behind the dense cottonwood
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Afternoon: Custer
growth along the river. Custer studied the camp a while with
field glasses. The village seemed nearly deserted. A few old
people hobbled about on sticks, dogs slunk here and there--
the usual lazy activity of a hot summer afternoon.
"We've got them!" Custer exclaimed. "We've caught them
napping!"
Slapping his thigh, he turned in the saddle, took off his hat,
and waved it at the troops waiting at the base of the hill.
"Custer's luck, boys!" he shouted. "We've got them. We'll
finish them off, then go home to our station. Come on!"
A hoarse cheer went up among the troopers. It had been a
long hard day and they were all anxious to get the job over
and done. By the watches some of them carried it was just
three o'clock.
Riding from the Reno battlefield toward the benches where
the women and children stood huddled. One Bull was among
the first to see Custer's column on the bluffs across the river.
His first inclination was to gather warriors together wherever
he could find them and lead them through the village to meet
this newest threat. Then he remembered his uncle's orders.
Halfway through the camp, he swung west across the flats to
the benches. Here Sitting Bull already waited on the big black
stallion, the women bunched close around him. One Bull
pointed excitedly toward the bluffs.
"Come, Uncle," he urged, "we must fight these new soldiers."

But the chief raised his hand in a gesture of caution. "No,
I want you to stay here and help me protect these women.
This is the second party of soldiers to march against us today.
More may come. It may be some sort of trap for us, so be
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Ouster's Fall
wary. Nephew." He pointed up the valley to the flat where
Reno had been overwhelmed. "There are plenty of warriors
yonder to take care of these soldiers on the bluffs."
One Bull saw it was so. Other Indian leaders had sighted
Custer's column. Masses of warriors were breaking off from
looting Reno's dead and rushing downstream to face the fresh
danger. The soldiers' strategy was suddenly plain. Having
divided into comparatively small forces, the soldiers had
obviously planned to strike simultaneously at both ends of
the great encampment. Though their timing was somewhat
off, the situation as One Bull saw it was still precarious. This
new band of soldiers stood poised at the head of Medicine
Tail Coulee, which gave on a shallow ford directly across from
the north end of the village. By moving fast down the coulee
and across the ford, the soldiers could drive like a hunting
arrow into the heart of the camp—with time to spare before
the warriors could reach the endangered area.
On the near side of Medicine Tail Coulee, the Crow scouts
found a hilltop from which the whole valley was visible. From
its head the coulee sloped down almost a mile to the ford
across the Little Big Horn. Halting the command at the base
of the hill, Custer galloped up to the crest with Trumpeter
John Martin at his side. From here the General got his first
look at the entire sprawl of the hostile village. With the scouts
and trumpeter he went back down the hill and led the column
on to the head of the coulee, riding grim-mouthed and silent.
From where they left Reno's trail, the command had trotted
or galloped a full three miles. With drawn carbines and
cocked pistols, the troopers waited for the long charge down
Medicine Tail Coulee. Custer turned to his trumpeter.
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Afternoon: Custer
"Orderly, I want you to take a message to Captain Benteen.
Ride as fast as you can and tell him to hurry. Tell him it's
a big village and I want him to be quick, and to bring the
ammunition packs with him."
"Yes, sir." As he turned to go the adjutant, who had been
listening, rode forward.
"Wait, I'll give you a message." He wrote a hurried scrawl
in a little notebook, tore out the page, and handed it to the
trumpeter. "Now ride as fast as you can to Captain Benteen,"
he said. "Take the same trail we came down. If you have
enough time, and there is no danger, come back. Otherwise
stay with Benteen."
Trumpeter Martin was the last white man to see Custer
and his command alive. As he rode away at a gallop, the
Crow scouts flushed out five Sioux horsemen hidden near the
head of the coulee. Lookouts posted along the bluffs, these
hostiles banded together to see what the soldiers would do.
Once discovered, they whooped and fired their rifles and waved
buffalo robes to frighten the cavalry horses. Then they whirled
into the coulee and scurried off down toward the river. Custer
shouted the column into rapid pursuit, the gray-horse troop,
E Company, leading.
Off to one side Mitch Bouyer was talking to Curley, youngest
of the Crows.
"Curley, you're young yet," he said. "You don't know much
about fighting. I advise you to leave us. These five Sioux are
just a decoy. But Son-of-the-Morning-Star will stop at nothing.
He'll take us right into that village, where the Sioux have
thousands more warriors than we do. We have no chance at
all."
--"He handed Curley a pair of field glasses. "Ride back over
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Ouster's Fall
the bluffs a ways, then head east for one of the high points
yonder. Watch a while, and if it looks like the Sioux are besting
us, go to No-Hip-Bone (General Terry) and tell him we
are all killed. Now go!"
The young Crow quickly shook Bouyer's hand, then swung
his bald-faced bay pony around and headed back upstream.
The others raced down the coulee to catch up with Custer.
It was hard going down to the ford. Piles of shale made the
footing slippery for the small horses of the Crows. With the battalion moving at a fast trot, the scouts were hard put to
get ahead of the troopers and come up with Custer. Then they
rode up beside him and moved on with him a way, until he
called out to them above the clatter of the troops descending
the coulee behind him. "You are not to fight in this battle.
Go back and save your lives."
They seemed not to understand, even after hearing his
words. Mitch Bouyer left Custer's side and rode over to them.
"You scouts need go no farther," he explained. "You have
guided Son-of-the-Morning-Star here, and your work is finished.
So you'd better go back to the pack train and let the
soldiers do the fighting."
To White-Man-Runs-Him and Hairy Moccasin and Goes
Ahead, Mitch Bouyer was as much a member of the Crow
tribe as they were.
"Then you must come away with us," Hairy Moccasin
urged. "Your Crow woman. Magpie Outside, is waiting for
you back in our home camp in the Big Horns. And she will--"
He broke off short. From the timber across the river a Sioux
voice called, "Wicanonpa!"
Bouyer turned to listen.
"The Sioux call someone?" Goes Ahead wondered.
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Afternoon: Custer
Bouyer signed yes, and tapped his own chest.
"Wica-nonpa! Two Bodies!" the voice called again. "Go
back or you die!"
"The Sioux have not forgotten me," the half-breed explained
to the scouts. "They tell me to go back--but I cannot."

Without added leavetaking, Mitch Bouyer swung his horse
around and galloped off down the coulee with Custer.
The Cheyenne camp was all but deserted. A bare handful
of oldsters, too feeble to get away under their own power, was
left behind in the shadows of the silent lodges. A few mangy
dogs, sensing danger, cowered at their feet. In one tepee lay
the warrior White Elk, who had accidentally shot himself
through the left thigh in the Rosebud fight. Only four other
fighting men who were able-bodied remained out of nearly
seven hundred. The others had raced off to join the Sioux
in defending the Hunkpapa camp.
Bobtail Horse, an Elk warrior, was also an "elk dreamer,"
and, like most members of his warrior society, had had a
vision of an elk some years earlier, and from this now derived
long life and power as a fighting man. As any Cheyenne knew
--and any Sioux, for that matter--an elk's tooth was indeed
holy medicine, for it endured after all else crumbled to dust.
All afternoon Bobtail Horse had been drilling a hole through
an elk tooth, preparatory to tying it onto a hair ornament to
wear as a battle charm. When the alarm had gone up at the far
end of the village, he had held back--not through any reluctance
to fight, but simply because the charm was not yet
ready. He would have been foolhardy indeed to charge into
battle without it. * ^
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Custer's Fall
At last he drilled through the tooth, using a scrap of white
man's steel to enlarge the hole. Threading it on a rawhide
thong, he attached it to a small hoop decorated with porcupine
quillwork. He then fixed the hoop to his scalp braid, close
to the head. Ready for war, he grabbed up a handful of bullets
and his old muzzle-loader and left the lodge. Striding toward
his hobbled pony, he fiddled with a twenty-foot rope of rawhide,
fashioning a crude bridle to slip over the horse's head.
Suddenly he stopped short. Looking above the tepee tops to
the tumbled ridges across the river. Bobtail Horse could see
most of Medicine Tail Coulee. Down it rode dusty blue soldiers
at a dead run.
"Nutskaveho!" he shouted. "White soldiers are coming!"
The words seemed a hollow echo of Two Moon's earlier
warning; few heard them. From his guard post in front of the
medicine lodge. Roan Bear came running, at his heels White
Cow Bull, the Ogalala, who had stood by him through the
long day. Both had been regretting the circumstances which
had kept Roan Bear at his post when so much excitement was
going on at the far end of the village. Yet this saved the day
for them. With the soldiers obviously bent on attacking the
all but defenseless Cheyenne camp. Roan Bear was justified
in leaving his post in an effort to keep the troops away from
the sacred Buffalo Head in the medicine lodge.
"They're coming this way!" Bobtail Horse warned. "Across the ford!"
While Roan Bear and White Cow Bull caught their hobbled
ponies, a fourth warrior darted out of one of the lodges where
he had been carefully painting his face for battle. Jumping on
his own mount, he quickly joined Bobtail Horse. He was Calf,
Afternoon: Custer
a Crazy Dog warrior, one of a soldier band looked down upon
by the Elks and Foxes as uncouth fighters who lacked responbility.
Crazy Dog or no. Bobtail Horse was glad to have him
on hand.
Just then. Mad Wolf, an older man, rode up on a bony
spavined nag. Though poor, he was known throughout the
tribe for his wisdom. But he was no fighting man. Long years
away from the warpath had made him old and soft.
"My sons," he called out, as they moved at a steady jog
trot to meet the soldiers at the ford, "my sons, do not charge
the soldiers now. They are too many. Wait until our brothers
come back to help."
As he rode along with the warriors, he kept up an incessant
whining about the uneven odds of any clash they might have
with the soldiers. At last Bobtail Horse turned on him. "Only
Earth and the Heavens last long. Uncle. If we four can stop
the soldiers from taking our camp, our lives will matter little."
Mad Wolf was rebuffed and humbled. With bowed head, he
wheeled his old horse back toward camp.
The four warriors rode on. White Shield, hurrying back
from his fishing upstream, joined them with a whooping challenge
to the soldiers who were now almost at the ford. Taking
cover behind a low ridge near the river, the four with guns
opened fire on the troops. White Shield, carrying only a bow
and full quiver, saw a vantage point a few yards downstream
and rode off to the left. The others alternately loaded and /
fired, all of them whooping incessantly to make it sound as if /
a thousand warriors were hidden behind the ridge. Armed
only with antique weapons and fighting courage, these five
men faced two hundred and fifteen. /
Custer's Fall
Even after Custer ordered them to go, the three Crow scouts
were undecided what to do. Climbing the bluff flanked by
Medicine Tail Coulee, they dismounted and fired at the five
Sioux warriors racing ahead of the soldiers. With troopers
clattering almost at their heels, the Sioux plunged into the
ford and splashed across the river at a dead run. The soldiers
reined up at the water's edge, giving the Sioux time to join
the embattled Cheyennes on the far shore. Meanwhile, the
Crows had fired several volleys in the general direction of the
camp, their target well past carbine range. With their repeating
Spencers, they were barely able to spat up dust along the
low ridge behind which the ten hostiles were now concealed.
Three Cheyennes and one Sioux held off Custer's column at the ford.
Goes Ahead looked down and saw the soldiers halted in a
straggling column all the way back up the coulee, although
there seemed little to stop them either side of the river. He
wondered why Custer hesitated. The battalion could easily
126
Afternoon: Custer
ride over the ten hostiles defending the camp. Of course, the
ford was not much as fords went. The near bank was gravelly
and gradual enough, but the opposite side of the crossing was
a good two feet above water level--and miry and precipitous
as well. Perhaps Custer feared that his big cavalry horses with
their iron shoes might slip on rocks in the ford and go down
before they reached that steep bank yonder. Then he realized
that Custer was uncertain as to how many hostiles lay hidden
behind the ridge, and while it seemed unlikely a mere handful
would have the audacity to oppose him, ambushes were routine
hazards in fighting the Sioux. And so Custer waited before
finally giving the order to charge.
At last he turned to shout an order, and the command was
echoed by his officers back up the coulee. Custer led out. Even
in shallow water his horse Vie had a mincing, prancing gait
that had the other mounts trotting to keep up. Mitch Bouyer
rode on one side of Custer, an orderly carrying the General's
battle flag on the other. For a moment there was a lull in the
firing from the hostiles behind the ridge. As the foremost ranks
of troopers took to the water, the Crows heard a frenzied
yelping upstream. Looking up sharply. Goes Ahead saw hundreds
of mounted hostiles coming on fast, streaking through
the cottonwoods that fringed the river. Having whipped Reno,
the warriors were taking a short cut to the ford, racing to
meet the new danger.
"They're coming fast!" cried White-ManRuns-Him.
Hairy Moccasin leaped on his pony and started back upriver.
The ten hostiles on the other side again opened fire,
shooting with pin-point accuracy now that the soldiers began
to ride into closer range. A trooper on a gray horse toppled
127
Custer's Fall
from his saddle, his blood making a dark stain on the swirling
water.
Custer and Bouyer were firing as they advanced, the General
using his favorite weapon, a Remington Sporting rifle
with octagonal barrel. Two English self-cocking Bulldog pistols
were ready in unsnapped holsters at his belt. The troopers
coming up behind were already building up a heavy wall of
gunfire; the air was thick with white gunsmoke as shot after
shot rang out.
Just then, at midstream, the unbelievable happened.
Custer--the great invincible soldier-chief, golden-haired
hero of the effete East, self-styled swashbuckler of the Plains,
Son-of-the-Morning-Star to the Crows, Long Hair to other
tribes--fell, a hostile bullet through his left breast. No Indian,
Crow, Sioux, or Cheyenne, could say whether he died at once
or later, after his men carried him up the ridge from the river.
The wound, in any case, was mortal.
As the troopers splashed to a halt around their fallen commander,
Mitch Bouyer quickly jumped off his horse into
knee-deep water to keep Custer from going under. A moment
later, the orderly with the flag crumpled from his saddle.
A trooper grabbed at the flag and kept it from falling.
The three Crow scouts on the bluff did not wait to see more.
With Son-of-the-Morning-Star down, the fight was already
over. Jumping on their ponies, White-Man-Runs-Him and
Goes Ahead joined Hairy Moccasin, now well out in front,
in a pell-mell dash for safety back the way they had come.
Though a mature man and a full warrior, White Cow Bull
had never before seen or encountered white soldiers. As he
fired from behind the low ridge near the ford, he had very
128
Afternoon: Custer
little idea what to expect from these strange bearded troopers
in blue, so caked with dust they seemed nearly as pale as the
gray horses they rode. He did not know how much longer
he and the others could hang on here between the attackers
and the camp. But a voice kept shouting, "Fight on!" and he
stayed put, firing and loading as fast as he could.
Now he saw one of the soldiers drop into the water. Then
as another white man on a sorrel horse, out in front of all the
grays, fell in midstream, the oncoming soldiers did a strange
thing—they stopped in the middle of a charge. White Cow
Bull could not see all that happened then, for he was kept
busy dodging bullets as the soldiers fired volley after volley
into the ridge. But it seemed as though some of the soldiers
dismounted there in the river and were dragging something
from the water, while others, still mounted, kept shooting.
With gunsmoke hanging thick in the still air, with no letup in
the firing, they fell back to the far bank where the entire troop
dismounted. The troops backed up into Medicine Tail Coulee
also dismounted.
By this time the first of the Sioux and Cheyennes from
upstream were riding up to help out the ten warriors behind
the ridge. As more and more of them reached the ford a great
cry went up.
"Hoka hey! They are going!"
It was true. White Cow Bull saw the soldiers falling back
as though seized with sudden panic. The number of warriors
was increasing every minute, and they were massing for a
countercharge across the ford. But it was something else that
seemed completely to demoralize the soldiers just then—something
that occurred within their own ranks.
129
Ouster's Fall
From his lookout on a ridge a mile and a half east of the
Little Big Horn, young Curley watched the soldiers fall from
their saddles into the river. Even with the field glasses, he
could not tell who they were or much about them. Then he
saw the troopers fall back from the ford and dismount. In no
time at all, the will to attack seemed gone from Custer's men.
As the steadily increasing horde of hostiles swarmed across
the river to surround the dismounted soldiers, the troopers
frantically climbed out of Medicine Tail Coulee and ran on
foot toward higher ground back from the bank. Leading their
mounts and firing at the Indians all the way, the soldiers
reached a little knoll where they tried to make a stand. With
troopers dropping all along the route, it was plain the fight
could end in only one way.
Convinced that Mitch Bouyer's words were soon to come
true—that Custer's men would all be killed—Curley left the
ridge and rode north to look for No-Hip-Bone, the other
soldier-chief.
Soon after the soldiers dismounted and fell back to higher
ground, the tiny holding force behind the ridge was joined
by other Sioux and Cheyennes. Among the new arrivals were
the son of Chief Ice, one of the Cheyenne fighting leaders, and
Yellow Nose, a Ute. Captured as a four-year-old boy by a
Cheyenne war party some eighteen years earlier, he was now
as much Cheyenne as any of his captors. Today Yellow Nose
seemed bent on taking chances, no doubt in an effort to
redeem himself for having lost Spotted Wolf's borrowed shield
on the way from the Rosebud to the Little Big Horn two
days ago.
130
Afternoon: Custer
"Come on!" shouted Bobtail Horse, running to his pony.
"They're running! Hurry!"
He led the way across the ford, the camp defenders now
foremost in the Indian countercharge. White Cow Bull dashed
forward with the others. Riding beside him, the son of Chief
Ice sang out, "Only Heaven and Earth are eternal! I am not!"
As the warriors charged the knoll, the troopers opened such
a heavy fire that the Indians had to fall back. Only Yellow
Nose charged up close to the soldiers. Then he, too, raced back
to safety. The son of Chief Ice was not so lucky. White Cow
Bull saw his horse running away riderless and covered with
blood. The Cheyennes massed for another charge. As Chief
Comes-in-Sight and a warrior named Contrary Belly rushed
in close, fear-crazed troop horses plunged and bolted and
reared, causing their handlers so much trouble that the soldiers
held their fire a moment or so. Just then. Yellow Nose,
charging in again, snatched a company guidon from its place
in the soldiers' line. As he carried it away, he counted coup on
a nearby trooper--striking him with the captured guidon,
thereby proving his courage by riding close enough to his
enemy to hit him without necessarily killing him. A great cry
of approval and encouragement went up among the Indians.
At this, some of the frenzied mounts of the gray-horse troop }broke away from their handlers and stampeded. ,----------__
"The soldiers are running!" a Cheyenne yelled.
But it was not yet so. Though hard pressed from all sides,
the troopers were standing their ground.
In getting out of Medicine Tail Coulee, Custer's command
split into two battalions. Last to go down the coulee, I and L
Companies--both mounted on bay horses--were now farthest
131
Custer's Fall
back from the river in a solid formation of a column of fours.
They scrambled up a ravine toward the main hogback ridge,
a continuation to the north of the bluffs and hills that edged
the river. As senior captain of the detachment. Captain Myles
Keogh was in command.
Under attack since the fallback at the ford, the other battalion--consisting
of F Company mounted on bays, C Company
on sorrels, E Company on grays--moved dismounted
and in echelon formation north along the hogback's western
slope: F as the spearhead of the advance, C as the right or contact
wing with the other battalion, E as the left, holding the
position nearest the river. Captain George Yates of F Company
commanded the maneuver.
The two battalions made a co-ordinated attempt to reach
a high knob on the north end of the hogback ridge (present
location of monument), where they could take up the strongest
available defensive position and make a stand until help
came. As more and more hostiles surged around them, they
found themselves fighting hard for every inch of ground they
covered.
By this time the principal Indian fighting leaders were
coming up, bringing their contingents of warriors into the
fray. Crow King led a big party of Hunkpapas and Blackfeet
Sioux up Medicine Tail Coulee to envelop the smaller
battalion from the east. Gall and a huge horde of Hunkpapas,
Minneconjous, and Sansarcs also used the coulee as an avenue
of attack, keeping a relentless pressure on the soldiers
from the rear. Comes-in-Sight and Brave Wolf led a main
Cheyenne attack along the left flank.
Once on the field of battle, warriors began to fight independently
of their bands and leaders, moving freely as they
132
Afternoon: Custer
pleased. Seeing the enemy, the leaders charged, knowing their
followers would try to emulate them. There was no .time or
need for plotting strategy, no giant trap to be sprung, no
formulation of battle plans. Whether chief or warrior, all any
Indian could do to win war honors and tribal acclaim was to
rush into the fight, strike the enemy, capture the enemy's
horse or weapon, or rescue a friend in danger.
Here, today, were chances aplenty to perform deeds of the
highest valor. For the Sioux and Cheyennes, the battle had all
the excitement of a buffalo hunt, with opportunities for every
fighting man to cover himself with glory.
By this hour the greatest glory hunter on the field slumped,
dying or already dead, his body carried forward in the tortuous
advance by subordinates who dared not leave him to
an ignominious fate. Propped in his saddle or slung across it,
Long Hair Custer was taken along up the ridge by C Company,
his brother's troop. No man lived to say if he ever
issued another order after the hostile slug slammed into his
chest at the ford.
After the Reno fight, many of the Indian ponies were jaded
and a change of mounts was needed with more hard riding
and fighting ahead. Among the warriors who stopped at the
camp to get fresh horses was Pine, a Cheyenne. His aging
father was the only person at the family lodge in the Cheyenne
camp circle. Pine had already killed a trooper and had captured
a carbine and cartridges. The old man was proud of
his younger son.
"You've been brave," he said. "I think you've done plenty
for one day. Now you should take a rest."
133
Custer's Fall
back from the river in a solid formation of a column of fours.
They scrambled up a ravine toward the main hogback ridge,
a continuation to the north of the bluffs and hills that edged
the river. As senior captain of the detachment. Captain Myles
Keogh was in command.
Under attack since the fallback at the ford, the other battalion--consisting
of F Company mounted on bays, C Company
on sorrels, E Company on grays--moved dismounted
and in echelon formation north along the hogback's western
slope: F as the spearhead of the advance, C as the right or contact
wing with the other battalion, E as the left, holding the
position nearest the river. Captain George Yates of F Company
commanded the maneuver.
The two battalions made a co-ordinated attempt to reach
a high knob on the north end of the hogback ridge (present
location of monument), where they could take up the strongest
available defensive position and make a stand until help
came. As more and more hostiles surged around them, they
found themselves fighting hard for every inch of ground they
covered.
By this time the principal Indian fighting leaders were
coming up, bringing their contingents of warriors into the
fray. Crow King led a big party of Hunkpapas and Blackfeet
Sioux up Medicine Tail Coulee to envelop the smaller
battalion from the east. Gall and a huge horde of Hunkpapas,
Minneconjous, and Sansarcs also used the coulee as an avenue
of attack, keeping a relentless pressure on the soldiers
from the rear. Comes-in-Sight and Brave Wolf led a main
Cheyenne attack along the left flank.
Once on the field of battle, warriors began to fight independently
of their bands and leaders, moving freely as they
132
Afternoon: Custer
pleased. Seeing the enemy, the leaders charged, knowing their
followers would try to emulate them. There was no .time or
need for plotting strategy, no giant trap to be sprung, no
formulation of battle plans. Whether chief or warrior, all any
Indian could do to win war honors and tribal acclaim was to
rush into the fight, strike the enemy, capture the enemy's
horse or weapon, or rescue a friend in danger.
Here, today, were chances aplenty to perform deeds of the
highest valor. For the Sioux and Cheyennes, the battle had all
the excitement of a buffalo hunt, with opportunities for every
fighting man to cover himself with glory.
By this hour the greatest glory hunter on the field slumped,
dying or already dead, his body carried forward in the tortuous
advance by subordinates who dared not leave him to
an ignominious fate. Propped in his saddle or slung across it,
Long Hair Custer was taken along up the ridge by C Company,
his brother's troop. No man lived to say if he ever .issued another order after the hostile slug slammed into his
chest at the ford.
After the Reno fight, many of the Indian ponies were jaded
and a change of mounts was needed with more hard riding
and fighting ahead. Among the warriors who stopped at the
camp to get fresh horses was Pine, a Cheyenne. His aging
father was the only person at the family lodge in the Cheyenne
camp circle. Pine had already killed a trooper and had captured
a carbine and cartridges. The old man was proud of
his younger son.
"You've been brave," he said. "I think you've done plenty
for one day. Now you should take a rest."
133
\par Custer's Fall
"} must go and fight the other soldiers now," Pine insisted.
"With this captured gun, I can fight all the better."
"But your horse is played out," the old man argued.
"Then I will take yours—the one hobbled back of the
lodge."
"Your elder brother is already up on that ridge fighting the
soldiers. There are plenty of warriors around to beat them
now. It's not necessary for a man to send both his sons into
battle. And you do not have your eagle-bone whistle or your
shield, my son."
"Get the horse," Pine ordered his father. Then he darted
into the lodge in search of his shield and whistle. Outside, the
old man brought up the horse and waited.
"Now I'm ready." Pine looped the carrying strap of the
shield over one shoulder and leaped on the horse.
"Stay back as far as you can," cautioned his father. "Shoot
from a distance. There's no need to get in too close. Your
brother can ride in ahead of you."
But Pine was already on his way. He passed two or three
other warriors who were hanging back in the camp.
"Come on!" Pine shouted.
"We're not going," one of them said.
Pine rode over to them. He showed them the carbine and
the shiny cartridges. "One can take many things from the
white soldiers after we kill them. They carry much with them.
You'd better come along and see what you can get."
At last they gave in. Pine led the way to the ford, crowded
now with a great throng of warriors going across to fight the
soldiers. Once across, every Indian went his own way, picking
his own route to bring him close to the troops.
As they began to close in around the soldiers, the warriors
134
Afternoon: Custer
dismounted. While riding, they used only a rawhide lariat,
wrapped around the pony's jaw or looped over the head to
^orm a simple bridle. The loose end of the lariat was coiled
and tucked in the warrior's belt, so that if he fell from his
pony, the coil would jerk loose and unwind. Now, as they
got down, the warriors automatically yanked the coils from
their belts and let them drop. With a long rope trailing, no
horse would be hard to catch.
Just north of Medicine Tail Coulee the forces of Crow King
closed in on L Company. In the van of warriors rode Rainin-the-Face,
charging into the fray on a buckskin horse.
Shooting from the saddle, a trooper opened fire. The buckskin
dropped, a bullet through its skull.
A vast flood of warriors came down the valley to join in the
counterattack on the soldiers on the ridge. With four or five
arrows clenched in his teeth. Iron Hawk lashed his pony into
a dead run with the flat of his bow. Another Hunkpapa, Little
Bear, rode abreast of him on a big pinto horse.
"Take courage, boy!" Little Bear shouted. "The Earth is
all that lasts!" ^
Iron Hawk stayed close to Little Bear for a while. Presently
a Cheyenne wearing a spotted war bonnet, a spotted
robe of young mountain lion skins, and a spotted belt joined
them. Then someone shouted:
"He's charging! He's charging!"
The Cheyenne had broken away and was racing up the
hillside alone, straight toward the line of soldiers along the
ridge. The Sioux followed part way, then reined up sharply
in the face of heavy fire. But the lone Cheyenne kept going.
The soldiers were on foot, holding their horses and firing
i35
\par Custer's Fall
steadily, as the Cheyenne charged almost close enough to
touch them. He rode several circles as the soldiers' bullets
spat up dust all around him. Finally he galloped back to
where the Sioux waited in speechless admiration.
"Ah! Ah!" the Cheyenne said.
Then he unfastened his belt and shook a number of spent
bullets out of his robe. He had not been scratched. Iron Hawk
and Little Bear decided at once that he was wakan (holy) and
immune to soldiers' bullets.
Suddenly a cry went up among the Indians, "They're
going!"
Up on the ridge gray cavalry horses were stampeding. Little
Bear's horse reared. Bringing him under control. Little Bear
raced up the slope toward the soldiers. A few yards short of
them, his horse was shot from under him and he went down
in a swirl of dust. A bullet through his leg, Little Bear started
hobbling back down the hill with soldiers shooting at him
all the way. His brother-friend. Elk Nation, breaking away
as was his duty, rode up the slope to take Little Bear up
behind him and bring him back to safety. For even though
he knew he might be killed, Elk Nation was obligated to
attempt a rescue of his brother-friend.
Now a strange thing happened. A whole group of soldiers
started running on foot down the hill toward the Indians.
It was obvious they were so terrified that they did not know
what they were doing. They fired guns into the air and made
meaningless motions with their arms. At first, the Indians
around Iron Hawk fell back, so weird was the performance
of the soldiers. Then someone yelled:
"Hoka hey!"
It was a signal to charge and the warriors rushed in. In no
136
Afternoon: Custer
time at all the soldiers/were all down. Most of them put up
no fight at all but let <?hemselves be killed without a struggle.
A soldier on horseback came riding aimlessly down the
slope. Iron Hawk set an arrow to his bow and let fly. The
arrow penetrated the soldier's chest, part of the shaft protruding
on each side. The soldier screamed, grabbing the cantle of
his saddle. Head down, he rode on until Iron Hawk came
alongside and knocked him from his horse with the heavy
bow. The warrior dismounted and, standing over the prostrate
trooper, beat him to death with his bow. Even after the
soldier was dead, Iron Hawk continued to hit him, shouting, "Hovmh!" with each blow, for now his blood was hot with
the lust for battle.
Nearby, Brings Plenty had unhorsed another trooper and
was killing him with a war club. Almost the entire gray-horse
troop was now wiped out. A few Indian women, mostly
Cheyennes, had already ventured back to camp and were in
the river bottom trying to catch the big gray cavalry horses
as they stampeded down the hillside.
Hemmed in on three sides, with E Company chewed to
pieces, Custer's command was forced along the ridge. What
had begun as an orderly advance under fire was rapidly disintegrating
into a complete rout. L Company was enveloped
by hundreds of massed warriors, most of them Sioux. Caught
in a slight hollow on the eastern slope of the hogback, halfway
between L and the rest of the command, I Company's turn
came next. Three-fifths of the command was now cut off and
threatened with piecemeal destruction.
So far, the leading troops, F and C, had suffered the least
casualties and maintained almost intact formations. Ap'37

Ouster's Fall
proaching the knob at the north end of the hogback, the two
companies had almost reached it when a full thousand
Ogalalas and Brules under Crazy Horse charged up out of
a deep ravine that encircled the end of the ridge. Minutes
earlier. Crazy Horse had crossed the Little Big Horn farther
downstream to head off any attempt of Custer's men to
escape to the north or make a successful defense on the knob.
Another powerful force of Indians--Cheyennes under Two
Moon--circling the end of the ridge by way of the ravine,
swarmed up over the crest of the ridge to strike the soldiers
from their exposed flank on the uphill side. The envelopment
of Custer's command was now complete. Having brought the
soldiers to a standstill, the Indians held back from further
massed mounted charges which might well prove costly to
themselves and settled down to long-range sniping at the
contained foe. Getting off their ponies, many warriors carefully
worked their way on foot up the gullies and ravines,
taking full advantage of every twig of available cover. By
simple attrition, they began to thin out the ranks of the
soldiers.
Only a daring few among the Indians continued to fight on
horseback. Soldier Wolf, a Cheyenne, stayed mounted through
most of the fight. Among his own tribesmen his daring was ,
unsurpassed. Fighting the troopers nearest the crest of the
ridge. Soldier Wolf rode straight at a soldier who aimed his
carbine at the Cheyenne and would have shot him dead had
the weapon not failed to discharge. Seeing the trooper was
having mechanical difficulty with the carbine, Soldier Wolf
simply rode him down. Wheeling his horse, the warrior
charged the same soldier again. By this time the man had
regained his feet and was trying desperately to fire his gun.
138
Afternoon: Custer
The trigger merely snapped, a faint click in all the uproar.
Now Soldier Wolf leveled his own gun at the soldier and
fired, killing at last an enemy he had first given ample
opportunity to kill him.
Courageous as he was. Soldier Wolf's performance was not
mere derring-do. As every Indian who knew him was aware,
he never went into battle without his special protective charm
—one well known to the entire Cheyenne tribe. On Soldier
Wolf's left breast today was tied the tiny figure of a man,
a four-inch-high cutout of deerskin with bits of buffalo wool
for hair. So great was the power of this war medicine, that its
wearer could never be touched by an enemy bullet unless the
charm itself was hit. As the Cheyennes all knew, in battle
the little rawhide man became the real Soldier Wolf.
Always in the thick of the fighting. Sitting Bull's elder
nephew White Bull was all over the field, jerking soldiers from
their horses, counting one, coup after another. As part of Gall's
following, he had stopped only once to unsaddle his horse and
strip off his leggings so as to fight better. With Has-Horn, Iron
Lightning, Shoots-Bear-as-He-Runs, and two Cheyennes, he
rode up Medicine Tail Coulee. They all joined a horde of
warriors in the pursuit and encirclement of L Company which
was bringing up the rear of the fleeing battalions.
The Indians kept up a constant fire. Two soldiers fell from
their horses. The other troopers opened such an intense fire
from their saddles that the Indians were forced back. While
the soldiers halted and dismounted to fight on foot, White
Bull rode around to the south, then east of the surrounded
troop. As the Indians momentarily held back, a few soldiers
tried to break through to reach I Company, similarly cut off,
139
Custer's Fall
but farther up the ridge. Spotting the running troopers. White
Bull charged across their line of flight, the soldiers firing at
him all the while. No bullet found its mark and White Bull
circled back to his friends.
"I won't turn back this time!" he shouted to his comrades.
He charged at a dead run between the scattered troopers,
many warriors following. This broke the spirit of the L Company
survivors. They no longer tried to keep formation but
ran to join I Company. Indian marksmen dropped them right
and left along the way.
One mounted trooper was badly hit. As he swayed in the
saddle. White Bull dashed forward to strike him with his
quirt, thus counting a first coup. Jumping from his horse, he
grabbed the soldier's cartridge belt and pistol. A Sansarc
named Did-Not-Go-Home struck the dying soldier for a
second coup. White Bull leaped on his horse and galloped on.
The whole ridge had become a dusty sea of struggling men
and horses. The warriors rode around the little knots of surrounded
soldiers like water swirling around rocks.
Few troopers, however, were actually killed by mounted
Indians. The largest number of casualties, by far, were those
inflicted on the soldiers by Indian marksmen hidden in every
little gulch and ravine and behind every patch of brush around
the ridge. Many whites were shot in the back or side. While
their hands were full defending themselves against mounted
charges, the soldiers often exposed themselves to long-range
gunfire from a totally unexpected quarter.
The Indians were not without a minor share of mishaps.
One Sioux stumbled away from the ridge toward a nearby
gulch. His lower jaw had been completely shot away. Another
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wounded Indian, an Ogalala named Long Elk, was riding
around with bright blood gushing from his mouth. He seemed
to know he was soon going to die, but he was too weak to keep
on fighting.
Dives Backward, with some other Cheyenne boys, stayed
close to a Sioux wearing a war bonnet who kept firing at the
soldiers from a sagebrush clump near the north end of the
ridge. The Sioux would look up a moment, then fire, then
duck down behind the brush. Apparently he did not move fast
enough. Once, when he had his head up, a soldier's bullet
caught him square between the eyes. His legs and arms jerked
spasmodically a while before he died. Dives Backward quickly
crawled back down to a little ravine, then jumped to his feet,
and ran to safety.
In the heat of the battle Left Hand, one of the Arapahoes,
mistook a wounded Sioux for a Crow or Arikara scout serving
the soldiers. Riding him down, the Arapaho thrust his
lance through the Sioux's chest, killing him instantly. Several
of the slain warrior's comrades saw what had happened, came
running up to try to take Left Hand's horse away from him.
They were ready to kill him for killing their friend. Left
Hand rode away fast to another part of the field. As he rode
up the ridge, a soldier lying on the ground handed his gun to
the Arapaho. Left Hand did not kill him, leaving that to some
Sioux following after him. Then Left Hand went back and got
the cartridge belt off the dead trooper.
At the peak of the fighting the warriors noticed a pretty
Ogalala girl named Walking Blanket Woman riding among
them in full war dress such as a man would wear. Her brother
had been killed in the Rosebud fight and now she carried his
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war staff and fought as hard as any male warrior. Riding into
battle, she sang:
"Brothers, now your friend has come! Brave up!
Brave up! Would you see me taken captive?"
While it was rare for a girl to fight, Walking Blanket
Woman was out to avenge her brother's death, since there
was no longer a man of fighting age in her family. Catching
sight of her, Rain-in-the-Face shouted to all the warriors
within earshot:
"Behold, a brave young woman rides with us! Let no warrior
hide behind her!"
A bugle blared on the ridge. The surrounded troopers of
I Company, with a few survivors from L, were about to
attempt a break-through to reach the rest of the command.
Soldiers who still had horses quickly mounted. Among the
Indians it was also a signal for action.
White Bull now found himself next to Crazy Horse, widely
known among the tribes as the bravest of all Sioux. With sheer
bravado. White Bull dared Crazy Horse to lead a charge.
When the Ogalala refused. White Bull led the charge. His
horse having played out, one trooper was left behind after the
other soldiers broke through. White Bull promptly picked him
as a target. Crazy Horse followed close behind White Bull.
Seeing the Indians coming up behind him, the trooper twisted
in his saddle to fire his carbine at them. But White Bull was
too fast for him, grabbing his blue coat and jerking him from
his horse. The soldier fell screaming to the ground. Crazy
Horse counted a second coup. White Bull had already outdone
the famous Ogalala fighting leader.
A few soldiers still fought on foot in this sector, having
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been unable to join in the break-through with those who still
had horses. One soldier with a carbine kept turning from side
to side, threatening any Indians who advanced toward him.
While other warriors kept their distance. White Bull dashed
straight in at this soldier. When the soldier fired at him, he
simply dodged aside, the bullet narrowly missing him. The
next moment White Bull rode him down with his pony. A
second coup on the fallen trooper was counted by a Minneconjou
named Bear Lice.
Now most of the soldiers were in a struggling mass on the
north and west slopes of the hogback ridge. Aside from these,
only a scattered trooper here and there was alive.
One soldier, bleeding heavily from a lance wound in his left
thigh, kept fighting on alone, a pistol in one hand, a carbine
in the other. No Indian could come close to him. Coming up
behind him unseen. White Bull rode him down. Following on
White Bull's heels. Brave Crow struck the man for a second
coup.
Halfway down the slope of the hogback toward the river,
about forty soldiers of C Company mounted their sorrel
horses and broke out of encirclement. Charging west, they
came galloping toward the deep gulch held by most of the
Cheyennes and many Ogalalas and Brules. The Indians fell
back, drawing them on. When the troopers reached a low
ridge just vacated by the Indians, they halted and dismounted.
Down in the gulch. Lame White Man, the Southern
Cheyenne chief who had to fight because he had no sons,
rallied the warriors.
"Come on!" he shouted. "Now we can kill them all!" «43
Custer's Fall
Working their way carefully up the low ridge, the Indians
closed in for an attack. Suddenly the soldiers went crazy. Instead
of firing at the attacking Indians, they began shooting
at one another and at themselves. Before any warrior could
charge them, all but four were dead.
These four remounted and tried to escape back the way
they had come. Three of them were easily overtaken and
killed by the pursuing warriors. The fourth broke away and
galloped up the river. A handful of Indians kept after him,
although his sorrel horse was fast and long-winded and kept
well out ahead. At last only three warriors were left in pursuit.
Two were Cheyennes--Old Bear and Kills-at-Night. The other
was a Sioux. They raced on, trying hard to bring their quarry
to bay. But the soldier kept lashing his horse, making him go
faster.
The Sioux fired several times at the white man, but missed
him. Old Bear also fired, thinking he had hit his fleeing target.
But the soldier was well out ahead.
Suddenly the soldier drew his revolver. Instead of turning
to shoot at his pursuers, he jerked his gun arm up to his head, 11(11 pulled the trigger, and fell dead from his horse. According to
available records this may have been Lieutenant Harrington
of C Company, whose body was never identified.
By this time many of the Indians were arming themselves
with captured guns, much prized as the spoils of battle. However,
bows and arrows continued to be in greater favor for this
sort of fighting. To fire a gun, an Indian had to jump up and
expose himself as he fired. Arrows, on the other hand, could
be shot in a long high arc to fall on the soldiers and their
horses. With arrows sticking in their backs and rumps, the
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cavalry horses bolted and plunged every which way, knocking
soldiers aside and contributing greatly to their demoralization.
Added to this was the fact that the Indians largely stayed
concealed, while the soldiers were exposed on the open hillside.
Low on the western slope of the ridge a handful of soldiers
fighting on foot held out in a shallow ravine. Past them swept
a turmoil of mounted Indians and stampeding cavalry horses.
Though the afternoon sun was bright, the valley seemed dark
as evening from dust and gunsmoke. These soldiers presented
a solid phalanx against frontal attack, and Indian sharpshooters
could not see them well enough to pick them off.
Eagle Elk and his brother-friend High Horse rode up on
the ravine without warning. It was not the best place to choose
for a fight, but neither warrior was inclined to turn back.
Eagle Elk lashed out with his quirt at High Horse's pony and
shouted:
"It's a good day to die! Brave up, brother! Hoka hey!"
And the two brother-friends charged straight in. Riding
with his knees. Eagle Elk clubbed his rifle and struck at-the
soldiers with his gun butt. High Horse was slashing right and
left with his long knife.
With aimed carbines, two soldiers rushed out at them.
Then, when the warriors were almost on top of them, they
fired straight up in the air and went down under the Indian
ponies' flying hoofs.
Just then three mounted soldiers rode in on the warriors'
flank. As his pony reared and wheeled, Eagle Elk struck out
at one of the troopers with his gun butt, knocking him from
his saddle. The trooper's gun flew out of his hands. High
Horse leaped onto another soldier with his knife ready. A shot
was fired at point-blank range. The third soldier had fired, but '45
Custer's Fall
had already gone down in the dust. High Horse and his antagonist
were struggling on the ground, rolling around in the
dust. Eagle Elk jumped down from his horse and tried to
hold him quiet, but the animal reared and jerked on the reins,
pulling his owner back. By the time Eagle Elk got back to
High Horse, his brother-friend's knife was across the soldier's
throat and blood was pumping from the soldier's jugular vein.
Eagle Elk pulled High Horse away, but he had suddenly
gone limp. Blood came out of wounds in his back and chest.
He was dead. Eagle Elk's pony jerked away at the smell of
death.
Eagle Elk carried High Horse's lifeless body on his back
and took it to a hill apart from the field of battle. There Eagle
Elk wept freely in his sorrow. Then a fierce anger swept over
him. He only wanted to kill many soldiers, then die.
"My brother," he cried, "look back as you go. I am following.
Look back and wait for me, for I'll be coming soon."
Running back into the fight. Eagle Elk saw four cavalry
horses, tied together in fours by their reins, running in a tight
circle and rearing and yanking at one another. After getting
one loose. Eagle Elk mounted and dashed into the dust cloud
that told him where the fighting was thickest. He looked now
for soldiers to kill, wanting them to kill him. Cavalry horses
were breaking away from their holders, and other warriors
were chasing after them. But Eagle Elk wanted no horses now.
He only wanted killing. Time after time he rode into a shrinking
knot of soldiers, flailing out with his gun butt until none
were left standing. He had little idea how many he may have
killed--but even that mattered but little, as long as he was killing.
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Meanwhile, the troopers up the hill were letting their horses
go. Quite a number of mounts had already been shot by the
soldiers themselves as well as by the Indians, and their carcasses
were used as crude barricades behind which the troopers
lay prone and partly shielded. But now the horses that were
turned loose ran in all directions--bays, sorrels, grays--and
many Indians stopped fighting long enough to chase and catch
them. The cavalry horses were big and strong, capable of
hauling travois with far heavier loads than the scrubby little
cayuses could drag.
Just east of the surrounded soldiers White Bull left the side
of Crazy Horse to make a lone charge through the troopers.
With no cover anywhere at hand, he bent low over his pony's
neck, passing to within three or four yards of the firing
soldiers. Though bullets whistled all around him, he came
through unscathed. After that charge, he grabbed at the reins
of a fine big sorrel cavalry charger. But under heavy fire, his
own horse was suddenly hit, shot through the head and chest.
White Bull was now afoot. Dauntless as ever, he ran toward
the soldiers to engage them in hand-to-hand combat.
One soldier, attempting a bluff, aimed his gun at White Bull
as if to fire. But as the young warrior dashed toward him, he
hurled the weapon at him without firing. At close quarters, the
two men grappled in a fierce, well-matched struggle. The soldier
almost got White Bull's gun away from him. Using his
quirt, the warrior lashed out at the white man's face, forcing
him to let go. When the soldier made another grab for the
gun. White Bull again lashed him back. With his fists, the
soldier pounded away at White Bull's head and shoulders,
then suddenly grabbed at the warrior's long hair and jerked
his face close in an attempt to bite off his nose. White Bull
i47
Custer's Fall
yelled for help. Crow Boy and Bear Lice came running, but
their frantic pummeling fell largely on White Bull, rather
than on the enemy. Finally, the warrior yanked free of the
soldier's grasp and struck him down with his rifle butt. As
the spoils of war, he took the soldier's carbine and cartridge
belt. A Hunkpapa named Hawk-Stays-Up counted second
coup on the soldier.
Feather Earring, a Minneconjou, lay concealed behind a
clump of sagebrush pumping bullets into the dwindling circle
of soldiers up the hill. From time to time he moved about,
changing his hiding place so the soldiers would not detect it
by the gunsmoke from his rifle. His brother, Dog-with-Horns,
had already been killed by the white men, and Feather Earring
was fighting mad. Firing from long range, he could not
be sure how many he had killed. As the resistance of the soldiers
began to wane, he moved up closer to their barricade of
dead horses, shooting almost constantly.
Only once did he turn back. Five gray cavalry horses with
empty saddles came running toward him. He spent a few
minutes herding them on down the hill and across the river.
Then, on the other side, he noticed they were badly shot up
and trembling from their wounds. Chances were, they would
soon die. So he let them go and turned his attention back to
the soldiers on the hill.
On his way back up the slope, he came upon two bodies.
One was a dead Sioux. The other was a soldier, but Feather
Earring could see no wounds on him. It looked as though he
were still breathing. Feather Earring called to a young Sioux
with a bow and arrow, and showed him the dead Indian.
"Your grandfather has been killed by that soldier lying over
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there. I don't think he's dead. As I don't want to waste a
bullet on him, you'd better shoot him with an arrow."
The warrior obligingly shot an arrow into the soldier, who
had been playing dead all the time and now jumped to his feet
with a scream of pain. He ran a few steps before a second
arrow killed him.
With captured weapons and ammunition, as well as his
own. White Bull was helping to make it hot for the soldiers.
Aiming for the heart with every shot, he was in on the final
phase of the battle, having hidden in a ravine down the slope
toward the river. Without warning, some soldiers seemed
ready to give up their hillside defense. A squad of ten troopers
jumped to their feet and came charging straight at White
Bull's position. Only White Bull and a Cheyenne stayed in the
ravine to face them. Of two soldiers in the lead. White Bull
shot one who was already wounded and bleeding at the mouth.
The Cheyenne took care of the other. Rushing forward. White
Bull counted first coup on one, but was beaten to the other
by the Cheyenne. Each warrior got a second coup on the
other's kill.
The eight other soldiers kept coming on, firing until they
forced the two Indians out of the ravine. Grabbing up one of
the dead soldiers' guns. White Bull scrambled up the wall of
the ravine. On the hillside above, he stumbled and fell. His
leg was numb, and his ankle was swelling painfully. He found
there was no wound, his ankle was only bruised. He realized
he had been hit by a spent bullet. But he was unable to walk.
Crawling into a shallow draw, he lay waiting until the end of
the battle.
The last survivors of C and F Companies made their stand
in a dwindling knot on the hillside. Under a hail of arrows and
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|| || bullets, their strength was fast decreasing. They fell one by
one, their bodies slumping across those of dead comrades.
With little shelter from enemy fire, many of them sold their
lives dearly, fighting on bravely to the end.
Shrilling the challenge with eagle-borne whistles and war
cries, a large party of warriors charged these soldiers. A Cheyenne
named Bearded Man led them, getting almost within the
soldiers' lines before they cut him down.
Two soldiers of F Company were shot dead near the top of
the ridge by Sage and Left Hand, Arapahoes fighting under
the Cheyenne subchief, Two Moon. No soldier was now left
standing. Desultory fire from the dead-horse barricade had
fallen off to a few scattered shots. With Indians shooting on
all sides it was hard to tell how many soldiers were still able
to fire a gun.
Hundreds of older men and young boys on horseback
watched the end of the fight from surrounding hills, keeping
far enough away to be safely out of gun range of any soldiers
who remained alive. Behind them, many women were coming
up to look on, sensing the battle was almost over and feeling,
no doubt, a little of the importance of the day's happenings.
A swell of excitement surged through the onlookers when on
the north slope of the battle ridge a tall soldier jumped to his
feet and ran across a little gulch toward the high knob to /
the north. Perhaps he thought some of his comrades might be
alive there, still holding out, or that the gulch beyond the
knob might provide him with an avenue of escape. He stopped
short when he saw hundreds of warriors still in the gulch.
Standing there on the hillside, he put his revolver to his head
and pulled the trigger. A moment later, a Cheyenne boy
named Big Beaver raced his pony up the hill from the gulch,
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jumped down to grab the soldier's pistol and cartridge belt,
then leaped back on his pony and galloped off in triumph to
a nearby hill.
Across the crest of the ridge a Sioux had crept up close to
the barricade of dead horses and was grappling with one of the
surviving soldiers. The Indian was clearly getting the best of
the white man and had a knife poised above his chest, ready
to stab. Knowing he was doomed, the soldier cried for mercy.
"John! Oh, John!" he sobbed, as the Sioux stabbed him.
The name was commonly used by frontier whites to address
any male Indian, but from that time on it became the
warrior's proper name. He considered he had fairly earned it
on a field of battle.
Way down the hill near the river a soldier with stripes on
his sleeves--Sergeant Butler of L Company, most of which
had been wiped out earlier--struggled to his feet in spite of
serious wounds. Standing out on a little knoll, he began shooting
at Indians all around him. He seemed determined to go
down fighting. A number of warriors dashed to the attack,
eager to accommodate him, for such a brave antagonist might
well bring on a fine display of courage among them. For a long
time he stood there, holding the Indians at bay singlehanded.
Then, when it looked as though they might have to let him
go, he was dropped by a long-range bullet. No other white
man showed such fierce fighting courage that day. Truly, of
all the soldiers, he with the stripes on his sleeves was the
bravest.
The warriors were crazy with excitement. One Indian lay
dead on his face.
"Scalp that Arikara!" went the cry. Everyone took the dead
man for an enemy Indian scout. A Sioux jumped off his pony
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and quickly scalped him. Then he turned him over and saw
he had made a terrible mistake. The dead Indian was Chief
Lame White Man, the Southern Cheyenne. Nearly forty, he
was old for a fighting man, but had been forced to fight because
he had no sons of fighting age. The Sioux, saddened by
this unforgivable error, stole off, saying no more about the
matter. A short time later, a Cheyenne named Wooden Leg
found the body and soon many Cheyennes knew Lame White
Man had been killed and scalped by their Sioux allies. They
were doubly grieved because now Monahseetah and Long
Hair's son. Yellow Bird, were again unwanted in the lodge of
any man.
A similar predicament arose when Little Crow, brother of
Chief Hump of the Minneconjous, took the scalp of Bearded
Man, also mistaken for an Arikara scout. Swallowing his
pride, and with much ceremony, Little Crow later presented
the scalp to the dead warrior's mother and father.
Elsewhere on the field, the brother of Chase-inthe-Morning,
an Ogalala, was found horribly wounded. Black White
Man, the warrior in question, had been shot down through the
shoulder, the bullet lodging in his left hip. His curious wound
was due to the fact that he had been hanging from the neck
of his pony when hit. There seemed little anyone could do
for him, so terrible was the wound and so intense the pain.
The warrior's father was so angry about it that he and some
other Sioux butchered a dead soldier as they would an animal.
But although the meat looked edible, no one was seen to eat
of it.
Black Elk was among hundreds of boys who rode down
from the hills to shoot arrows into the soldiers. By this time
only a handful of whites was still alive and kicking, and all 152
Afternoon: Custer
the soldiers were down. Black Elk shot an arrow into the
forehead of one soldier. After he stopped quivering, the boy
rode on. Another soldier was stuck full of arrows but was still
squirming a little. Black Elk got down and began to remove
his blue coat. Then an older man came up and pushed the
boy away, taking the coat for himself. But Black Elk saw
something bright and shiny fastened to the soldier's belt and
got it. It was gold and round and very pretty. Since it had a
long chain on it. Black Elk hung it around his neck as a charm.
At first it made a strange ticking sound, but finally it stopped.
It was a long time before the young Ogalala learned how to
wind it up and make it tick again.
Another boy, younger than Black Elk, asked him to scalp a
soldier for him. After taking the scalp and handing it to the
little boy. Black Elk watched him scamper off to show it to
his mother. By this time a great mass of women had swarmed
up "Battle Ridge" to look at the dead soldiers and see whether
any of their own men were among the Indian casualties. As
they came on, they were singing victory songs and sounding
the tremolo.
The stench of blood was strong in the still air. While warriors
stripped the uniforms from the dead soldiers, several
mounted Indians with lances rode around jabbing their spear
points into the left thighs of the naked bodies. In this fashion
the fallen enemies were officially counted dead. Here and there
along the ridge, warriors were administering the final coup de
grace by firing the soldiers' own pistols at their heads at pointblank
range.
Two fat old women were laughing as they stripped a
wounded soldier. Once he was naked, they started to cut off
his genitals with their knives. Suddenly, inexplicably, he was '53
Custer's Fall
on his feet. Convulsively, he lunged at his tormentors. A third
woman heard her companions shouting for help and ran up
to shove her own knife into the soldier, killing him at last.
Warriors all around laughed loud and long to see the soldier
playing dead, then trying to fight the two fat women.
Among the bravest of the soldiers was a big man with a
stubby black beard and long mustaches which curled up at the
ends. Several Cheyennes, including Turkey Legs, had ridden
him down toward the end of the fight. He had acted much as
the leader of the soldiers might have been expected to act,
although the white metal bars he wore had little meaning to
the Indians--they assumed the captain's insignia was some
sort of personal medicine. His body lay among those part-way
down the slope, near the barricade of dead horses.
Amazingly he seemed to come to life right before their eyes.
He propped himself up on one elbow and looked around him
as though he had just arrived from another world. Looking
about with a wild expression on his face, almost like that of a
madman, he gripped a pistol in his right hand.
A courageous Sioux warrior ran forward, grabbed the revolver
out of the white man's grasp, then turned it on him
and shot him through the head. The Cheyennes mustered up
enough courage after that to strike and stab him until they
were all sure he was dead. He was the last man of Custer's
command to be killed on the ridge. This brave man may well
have been Captain Myles Keogh, gallant Irish soldier of fortune,
former papal guardsman and Civil War hero.
Not far from this spot lay the body of a soldier whose
sweeping side whiskers at once caught the attention of the
sparse-bearded Indians. So luxurious was the growth of beard
covering all of the dead man's face save only his chin, that '54
Afternoon: Custer
Wooden Leg who was leading his horse among the dead
stopped and "scalped" the dead soldier's cheek.
"} have a new kind of scalp," he announced proudly to his
companion. He tied the strange scalp to an arrow shaft and
carried it about as he wandered on among the bodies. Lieutenant
Cooke, Custer's adjutant, had had such a beard.
A cry went up all around as a horseman rode through the
crowd still watching from the hills. It was Sitting Bull on his
great black stallion, his face grave, his manner not at all that
of a victorious conqueror, but rather that of a father concerned
about the well-being of his children.
"Are they dead--all ?" he asked.
And from those near him came the answer: "Yes."
"All right, let's go back to our camp. Take nothing belonging
to the soldiers. Leave everything here. Hiyupo! Come on!"
As Sitting Bull started back toward camp, many Indians--
Hunkpapas, Blackfeet, Yanktonnais--followed J Dead horses
and troopers of Reno's command left near the south end of
camp were beginning to bloat and smell in the heat of the
afternoon. Women belonging to bands from that end of
the village were already rigging up temporary shelters on the
grassy benches west of the bottoms. So there was much work
to be done getting things straightened around. Furthermore,
the wounded had to be taken care of and the dead laid to rest.
In spite of Sitting Bull's warning, hundreds of Indians
stayed on Battle Ridge, looting the bodies of the soldiers,
stripping off the uniforms, taking the weapons and ammunition.
A few responsible fighting men remembered the remnants
of Reno's command surrounded on the bluff upriver and rode
off in that direction to renew the siege.
All this time the Indians had no idea who commanded the
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Custer's Fall
soldiers they had been fighting. Even by name. Long Hair
Custer was known only to a scattered handful. Aside from a
few leaders, most of the warriors thought it was the troops of
the Gray Fox come to fight them again. Inconsistent with this
idea was the fact that these soldiers had Arikara Indians fighting
with them, indicating they might have come from Dakota
Territory where the Arikaras lived in earth-mound villages
along the Missouri River. Crook's forces, on the other hand,
had come north from the direction of Wyoming; he had had
both Shoshonis and Crows as his allies. And so now the people
wondered. ...
In thick timber on the banks of the Little Big Horn near the
Brule camp, Woman-Who-Walks-with-the-Stars wandered,
looking for stray cavalry horses. Since the now dead soldiers
on the ridge had turned their mounts loose, many of the
thirsty chargers had been rambling through the brush, trying
to get to water. As the wife of Crow Dog, ranking Brule chief
in the village, Woman-Who-Walks-with-the-Stars well knew
the value the big sturdy horses would assume now that the
fighting was over. During the kill-talks and honor giveaways
which were sure to follow such a great victory, nothing would
add more to her husband's prestige than gifts of fine horses
to chiefs of other tribes.
Suddenly a flash of dusty blue caught the woman's eye.
There in a thicket close to the water crawled a man--a uniformed
white soldier. Badly wounded, he was struggling
through the undergrowth to get to the river's edge. As he
inched along over the ground, the woman saw he was carrying
a carbine. For some reason he was trying to get back
across the river, though he seemed at times too weak to crawl
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any farther. Every so often he was forced to stop creeping
and lay panting a while until he could build up strength
again. At last he was near enough to the water to push his
carbine over the bank. While he lay prostrate, weary from this
last exertion, Woman-Who-Walks-with-the-Stars picked up a
Crow Dog's wife killing the last of Custer's command.
heavy branch of deadwood. For a moment she watched the
soldier curiously. White men always seemed strange with their
hairy faces and bodies and their pink skin. She found herself
wondering what their women were like, for she had only seen
pioneer women at a great distance, when they were cloaked
i57
Custer's Fall
in mother hubbards and sunbonnets hid their faces. Perhaps
some white woman loved this very soldier. A strange tenderness
swept over Crow Dog's wife.
The soldier stirred a little. Dragging himself along again,
he slipped over the bank's edge and plunged into hip-deep
water. Watching him, the softness left the eyes of WomanWho-Walks-with-the-Stars.
After all, the soldiers had come
attacking. Women, even children, would not have been spared
by them, for had not entire Cheyenne families been wiped out
by the soldiers in the south? It was always the whites who
were the aggressors, seeking to destroy Pte, the sacred buffalo
uncle of the Sioux, crowding the Indians out of the land
Wakan Tanka had given them. Taking a tighter grip on the
driftwood club, Woman-Who-Walks-with-the-Stars moved
swiftly to the river's edge, where the soldier now saw her for
the first time. Stark terror widened his eyes. A hoarse scream
started in his throat. But his cry was lost under the loud crash
of driftwood about his head and shoulders. In a little while he
sank beneath the surface as the woman kept striking at the
roiled water where his head had been.
It was slightly past midafternoon. Less than a half-hour
had passed since Custer's fall at the ford. During that brief interim,
the two hundred fifteen members of his command had
been wiped out to a man.
Sundown
Now that the fight on the ridge was over, wounded warriors
began making their weary way back toward camp,
leaving the field to curious youngsters or women bent on
venting their sorrow for slain warriors on the bodies of dead
soldiers. Ever since his injury by a spent bullet. White Bull
had waited patiently in his small shallow hollow for the battle
to end and help to come. At last Has-Horns spotted him and
rode over to help him up on his own horse, then led him across
the river to the new makeshift camp of the Hunkpapas on the
flats west of the bottoms.
Here Makes Room soon saw to it that White Bull lay down
in the shade of a tent fly, and sent word for Sitting Bull to
come quickly. When his uncle showed up, White Bull played
down the "wound." It really was nothing at all, he explained
over and over again. But when Sitting Bull bade him stand
on the injured leg with his full weight he could not. In no
time, the chief of the Hunkpapas had applied powdered sage
and other curatives to the injured ankle and had it wrapped
in the shed wool of a buffalo bull.
"You should be more careful. Nephew," warned Sitting
Bull. "Sometime you might take one chance too many."
White Bull smiled proudly above the obvious pain of his
swelling ankle and called for his horse. After he ate a bite, he
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insisted he would ride over to take another look at Battle
Ridge where so many whites had been slain.
Sitting Bull moved on to look after other Indian casualties.
Of these there were surprisingly few: nine Sioux and twelve
Cheyennes reported killed on the ridge, with another two or
three dying of wounds. While the day's fighting was not over,
thirty-two warriors had been killed altogether, counting those
slain in the bottoms. Joining the families of the Indian dead
in their grief, Sitting Bull said solemnly, "My heart is sad
for our fallen warriors--and those white soldiers who fell before
us. This night we shall mourn alike for our own dead
and those brave white men lying up there yonder."
For all his sorrow the chief of the Hunkpapas knew his
fighting men had scored a great victory. To the chief of the
white soldiers--whoever he might be--such losses must be
staggering. Thirty-odd troopers lay dead in the bottoms.
Using cut willow sticks to tally the enemy dead, subchiefs
appointed to the task had counted one hundred ninety-seven
soldiers' bodies on the ridge alone. Others were known to be
scattered through the brush along the river. The Indians had
delivered a devastating defeat to the armed forces of the
Grandfather in far-off Washington. Such an overwhelming
triumph brought jubilant smiles to the faces of all save those
in actual mourning. Yet Sitting Bull's countenance remained
grave.
"They compelled us to fight them," was all he had to say
about the victory over the soldiers--even though it meant
fulfillment of his vision.
A vague shadow already clouded his sense of well-being
about the success of his warriors. Somehow, he could not help
thinking, more soldiers must eventually come. A day of reck160

Sundown
oning, a day of reprisal, lay ahead. The people here on the
Little Big Horn would do well, he thought, to steel themselves
against that time.
It was close to four o'clock when Forked Horn, Young
Hawk, Goose, Half Yellow Face, and White Swan prepared
to leave the timber where they had been cut off after Reno's
retreat to the bluff across the river. Another Ankara, Red
Foolish Bear, joined them.
"My grandson," Forked Horn said to Young Hawk, "you
have shown yourself to be the bravest of us all. The flag on
that bluff over there is where the white soldiers are holding
out. We must try to reach them. It is up to you to lead us
there."
Remembering Long Hair's instructions to them to avoid
being mistaken by the soldiers for Sioux, Young Hawk cut
a willow stick and tied his white handkerchief to it. He led
the way across the river to the bluff. They made slow progress.
Goose was mounted on the horse of Red Foolish Bear,
who went on foot. They had put White Swan on another horse,
and Half Yellow Face brought up the rear. The hostiles
seemed to have left only a few marksmen around "Reno Hill,"
where Reno's depleted command were digging entrenchments
against an expected renewed assault in force. As the scouts
climbed the bluff, the soldiers fired over their heads at the
distant hostiles. A few yards from the top. Young Hawk's
horse was shot down. Scrambling to his feet and still carrying
the white flag, the Arikara ran on to safety. Seeing Peaked
Pace (Lieutenant Varnum), Young Hawk solemnly shook his
hand. The chief of scouts told him in signs that Bobtailed
Bull and Bloody Knife were dead.
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Meanwhile, Half Yellow Face, making his way uphill,
waved in the vanguard of Captain Benteen's battalion.
Though their fruitless reconnaissance had failed to flush up
a single hostile, Benteen's three troops were bone-weary from
hours of wandering in rough badlands. Still, to the beaten
remnants of Reno's battalion, they were a welcome sight and
their arrival was cheered from the bluff. Not all of Reno's men
had gained the summit, and more came straggling up the
steep embankment as Benteen's command rode up. Half Yellow
Face stared enviously at one G Company survivor who,
though wounded, came striding up the bank proudly swinging
a fresh Sioux scalp. This white man had had better luck getting
a battle trophy than any of the Indian scouts.
Looking off downhill toward the mouth of Ash Creek, Half
Yellow Face saw three or four Arikara scouts chasing a little band of captured Sioux ponies upstream. They yelled, "Ota Sioux! Ota Sioux!" Ota was the Sioux word for "plenty" or
"many." To the Crow it seemed funny to hear these Arikaras
using the enemy's language. By this time most of the Arikaras
who survived were already on their way back to their earth
lodges on the Missouri. Not many of them were brave enough
to stay and fight for the soldiers.
As leader of the six Crows who had accompanied the Seventh
Cavalry, Half Yellow Face prided himself on his choice
of men. It had taken time and care, he reflected, but he had
picked the best of the Crow "wolves" for this duty. He wondered
what was happening to the four who had ridden off
with Two Bodies and Son-oftheMorning-Star.
All this time the hostiles kept the soldiers pinned to the
bluff with long-range fire. It was plain they had left only a
small holding force here, while the big masses of warriors had
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Sundown
galloped off down-river--perhaps to fight Son-ofthe-MorningStar.
Strangely enough, no firing came from the east. The way
seemed open to ride off in that direction, if the soldiers wanted
to get away.
But the soldiers apparently were determined to stay here
on the bluff a while. They were digging at the hard, sun-baked
soil with knives and tin spoons and mess kits. All the horses
had been led to the center of the oval-shaped entrenchments
and tied together in groups of four.
Meanwhile, sharp bickering had broken out among some
of the officers as to whether or not they should follow Custer's
trail down-river and try to find him. The whereabouts and
fate of Custer and his command were still unknown to the
rest of the regiment.
Major Reno refused to look for Custer. It had been up to
the General to support his own initial charge, he argued. He
and the remnants of his command seemed completely demoralized,
Half Yellow Face thought. Once, during the most heated
part of the argument, Reno whipped out his revolver to fire
at half-hidden Indians a thousand yards away--nine hundred
yards past effective pistol range. Varnum, too, was in bad
shape. Almost in tears, he seized a trooper's carbine and
blazed away at the distant hostiles. Coolest and calmest of
the officers was Captain Benteen. It was soon apparent to
Half Yellow Face that he rather than Reno was now in actual
command. Reno's authority, in fact, was fast slipping.
A heavy volley of gunfire sounded off to the north where
Custer had gone. The officers peered off in that direction, trying
to see what was going on, but it was too far away and too
much dust and gunsmoke lay between to see much of anything.

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"Jesus Christ!" exploded Varnum. "What does that mean?"
"Custer!" said Captain Weir, commander of D Company
in Benteen's battalion.
"We ought to go down there." Lieutenant Edgerly turned
to face his superiors.
"If Reno won't take the command, are you willing to go
with D Company alone?" asked Weir.
"I am," Edgerly answered.
Weir strode off to get permission from Reno. He and Reno
spoke heatedly, then Weir rode north accompanied only by his
orderly. Supposing permission had been granted for D Company
to follow, Edgerly followed with the troop.
It was after five o'clock before Captain McDougall and the
pack train reached Reno Hill. Reinforced by some 24,000
rounds of ammunition in the packs, Reno got up enough
courage to follow D Company's advance, unauthorized though
it was. But he had many wounded. They could not be left
behind and six men were needed to carry one. So progress
was painfully slow. Benteen actually led the advance with a
trimmed-down battalion of three troops--H, K, and M Companies.

Not far from Reno Hill they were joined by the three Crow
scouts who had been with Custer at Medicine Tail Coulee.
Goes Ahead, White-Man-Runs-Him, and Hairy Moccasin had
circled wide to avoid hostiles, had seen Weir and D Company
only in the distance. Now they intended to cross over to the
Rosebud and go back up to the Yellowstone, but Benteen
ordered them to stay with the command.
Half Yellow Face seemed glad to see his tribesmen, and
White Swan showed them his wounded hand. But no one
164
Sundown
would believe their story of Son-of-the-Morning-Star's fatal
wounding at the ford, so they said little more about it--even
to Half Yellow Face. None of the soldiers wanted to believe
that Custer was dead.
Within an hour, the command reached Weir and D Company
and took position on a high point along the crest of
bluffs that edged the river, a point later known as Weir's Peak.
Joined by D Company, Benteen's battalion was quickly
engaged by hostile warriors returning in triumph from Battle
Ridge. Benteen prepared to stand fast and fight as hundreds
of eager warriors swarmed to the attack. Then frantic orders
came from Reno to fall back. Slowly retracing its steps, the
entire command retired under mounting pressure to Reno Hill.
During the withdrawal, Edgerly saw a D Company trooper
lying wounded on the ground. Edgerly promised him he would
form a line and return to rescue him presently. But once in
line of skirmish, Edgerly was forbidden by Captain Weir to
go back for the man. The trooper was left to his fate as the
withdrawal continued.
Iron Hawk was one of many hundreds of Sioux and Cheyenne
fighters who met the column and turned it back upriver.
With his fellow warriors, he did his share of picking off soldiers
and cutting off those left behind. At all costs, the Indians
placed themselves between the camp and the attackers, but
these soldiers from the hill were hardly more numerous than
those just wiped out on Battle Ridge. Once again there was
the thrill of the chase, the excitement of swift pursuit and
flashing encounter with an enemy who was anything but
indifferent.
The soldiers fell back slowly at first, fighting stubbornly
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but steadily retreating. Although the retreat never developed
into a complete rout, such as the day's two previous engagements
had turned out to be, it was plain enough that the troops
could go in only one direction--east. Strangely, they would
not keep going eastward although the way lay clear and
unobstructed as the war chiefs had commanded it should be.
The soldiers had every chance to get away if they so desired.
Instead, they stopped again on the hill where they had already
dug trenches. This time the Indians closed in from all sides.
But it was not the way the Plains tribes liked to wage war.
Fighting from trenches or other fixed positions had little part
in their brand of battle. Dug in as they were, the troops could
not be hurt much there.
Iron Hawk found cover down by the river. Soon he found
that he had an excellent hunting blind as well, for soldiers were coming down to the riverbanks unarmed, equipped only
with buckets. Indian boys came out of hiding in the brush
and threw mud and stones in the faces of the soldiers, chasing
them into the water, where Iron Hawk easily picked them off.
His swollen ankle dangling. White Bull rode around Battle
Ridge looking for the saddle and leggings he had left there
during the big fight. Finding them at last in a clump of brush,
he called to his kinsman Bad Soup (or Bad Juice) to come
help him saddle up. Once this was done, he and Bad Soup rode
slowly over the field, telling each other the honors they had
won.
A good many women and young boys were systematically
looting the bodies of the soldiers from which warriors had
already stripped the best clothing. White Bull managed to
find two pairs of dusty blue breeches with yellow stripes down
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Sundown
the legs. He saw no mutilation of the enemy corpses taking
place, but here and there were scattered heads and arms and
legs of the would-be conquerors. Such cutting up of a dead
enemy was routine in Indian warfare—none could well come
back from the Spirit Land to fight again if his body lacked
a gun hand or trigger finger or eyes with which to see his foe.
The dead soldiers of Custer's command being stripped by the
victorious Indians.
White Bull's biggest find was a buckskin jacket with long
fringe on it. Searching the pockets, he discovered fresh-cut
curls of long yellow hair. He showed it to Bad Soup, who
quickly made a close examination of the dead white man who
had worn the jacket. Bad Soup was quite wise about things
pertaining to the whites, for he had spent much time around
Fort Abraham Lincoln back in Dakota Territory.
White Bull also looked at the now naked body of the white
man, trying to remember him during the fighting. One white
man in buckskins, whose hair had been short, stood out in the
still-fresh details of the battle. He had fired a pistol twice at
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White Bull, missing him both times. Then White Bull had
shot him dead. He could not be sure if this was the same man
or not. He looked at the wounds on the pale body. One bullet
had struck the man's left breast, inflicting what was almost
certainly a fatal wound. Another bullet hole showed in the
left temple. Dark with powder burns, it could have been
inflicted by some warrior after the fight as he made sure all
the soldiers were dead. The man's features were composed and
calm, not contorted as the faces of so many other soldiers
were. He had not been scalped; the hair on the crown of his
head was too thin to count for much as a trophy.
For a while Bad Soup stood there looking down at the body.
Finally he said, "That man there was Long Hair Custer. He
thought he was the greatest man on earth, but he lies there
now."
That was the first anybody knew that it was Custer himself
they had been fighting. White Bull and Bad Soup moved on,
telling other warriors that Long Hair had been chief of the
soldiers they had wiped out on the ridge.
Accompanied by her aunt Mahwissa, the sister of the dead
Black Kettle, Monahseetah wandered idly over the field. Tagging
at their heels, the little light-haired Yellow Bird followed.
Scattered over the ridge, the carcasses of some seventy
cavalry horses and two Indian ponies lay bloating in the heat.
Soon they would get fly-blown and the stench would be too
great on Battle Ridge for the people to come near. Mahwissa
was already complaining of the heavy odor which clung in
the warm still air.
A few live horses still limped downhill toward the river,
their wounds obvious even at a distance. The women needed
168
Sundown
only a glance to assure them that the hopelessly injured animals
were not worth bothering with.
Another horse stood head down, unable to move. Under
the dust and blood, he appeared to be a claybank gelding--
he was later identified as Comanche, Keogh's mount, supposedly
the only living thing left on the field. His saddle had
twisted under his belly and Monahseetah thought for a moment
of taking the gold-edged blue saddle blanket. But it was
mostly spoiled by bloodstains. Yellow Bird shouted at the
horse and threw an earth clod his way, yet the animal would
not move over.
Nearby, a circle of dead horses and a pile of naked white
bodies showed where the white troops had made a valiant
stand. A Sioux warrior was engaged in cutting off the first
joint of a dead soldier's finger. The two women moved closer
and suddenly there was an exclamation of grief that halted
the warrior.
"Ohohyaa!"
The Sioux looked up sharply as he heard the name--
"Ouchess." Once in a council meeting Black Kettle had
called the great white conqueror by that name. It meant
Creeping Panther and was a name long unspoken by the
tribesmen.
Now standing above the body, Mahwissa had recognized in
the dead soldier with the missing finger joint that same
soldier-chief who had killed Black Kettle and wiped out the
Southern Cheyenne camp on the Washita so many years ago.
This had been the handsome dashing soldier who had once
taken her niece and left her so that she could never have a
Cheyenne husband. This was the father of little Yellow Bird.
Mahwissa motioned the Sioux away. "He is our kinsman,"
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Custer's Fall
she told him in the sign language, and he moved off, grinning
over what he considered a grisly joke. He knew that sometimes
Indian women cut off the genitals of a fallen foe, believing
that by so doing greater fertility would come to the tribe.
He looked back over his shoulder, thinking he would catch
the two women busy at such a task.
"Only one thing will we do," said Mahwissa, taking a bone
sewing awl from her belt. Bending over Custer's body, she
forced the sharp end of the awl into each ear of the corpse,
jabbing deep.
"So that Long Hair, the Creeping Panther, will hear better
in the Spirit Land," she said by way of explanation. "He must
not have heard our chiefs when they warned him if he broke
his peace promise with them the Everywhere Spirit would
surely cause him to be killed."
Monahseetah gazed in silence at the naked pale-skinned
body she had once loved. Now, here in the dust and blood
and stench, she felt nothing but loathing for the soldier-chief
who had come to kill her people and had himself been slain.
Of far more interest than Long Hair's remains to the people
generally were several other bodies on the field. One was that
of a soldier who also wore buckskin clothing, later thought
to have been Captain Tom Custer. Once his head had been
cut off and his clothing stripped from the body, bright red
and blue picture writing was found all over his chest and
arms. One such picture was of an eagle with outspread wings.
Since the eagle was the supreme creature of the animal world
and the most exalted symbol of the Plains tribes, many
Indians believed this man had been the great chief of the
soldiers. This was, of course, before it was learned that Long
170
Sundown
Hair had been the soldier-chief. Later, someone stabbed the
body of this man with a lance so that the entrails oozed out,
an attempt no doubt to count a coup on the supposed dead
leader of the soldiers.
Across the river, where Reno had advanced on the Hunkpapa
camp, elders, women, and children alike were examining
the body of their onetime Negro friend. Teat (Dorman, the
interpreter). For years many of them had known him as a
woodcutter for Major Galpin, the trader at Fort Yates,
Dakota Territory. His Christian name, Isaiah, had sounded
so much like a^inpi, the Sioux word for teat or nipple, that
Dorman became known among the tribes as Teat. Now, with
the clothes stripped from him, the wasicun sapa or black white
man was more fascinating than ever. Added interest was created
by the fact that his legs from the knees down were peppered
with tiny pistol balls. In bringing him down, his slayers
had fired buckshot into his shins and ankles.
Reno's dead, having fallen closer to the village, were mutilated
more than Custer's. Generally speaking, they had been
regarded as a greater threat to the camp, and nearly all the
bodies bristled with arrows, shot into them after death by
small boys. Many were minus hands and feet and heads, with
numerous stabs and slashes on limbs and bodies, done largely
by enraged weeping women relatives of warriors who had
been killed. Using hatchets and sheath knives, the women
had completely dismembered several corpses.
Among the grim trophies was the head of an Arikara scout,
cut off and carried to the new camp in the bottoms by two
young Hunkpapa sisters who swung their grisly prize between
them as they walked, each girl firmly gripping a bloody
braid. The distinctive side part in the graying hair of the
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Ankara's head caused considerable comment. Membership
in a certain tribe was indicated by hair style among other
features. While Crow men wore their hair cut short over the
forehead, the rest standing in an erect ruff, the Arikaras merely
combed their locks to one side or another. The Sioux and
Cheyennes, on the other hand, usually parted their hair in the
center, letting it hang in braids or loose hanks at the sides.
The excited girls proudly showed the head to their mother
who was half Ankara.
"Aieee!" the woman gasped in horror. "It is my brother
Bloody Knife, who long ago became an Ankara. He and Chief
Gall have feuded hard and long, and now Gall has killed him
at last!"
But few people believed that Bloody Knife had been killed
by Gall, since that Hunkpapa leader had not been among
those Sioux warriors led by One Bull through the timber and
into the clearing where the Arikara scout had been shot and
the rout of Reno's men had begun. In any case, it was unlikely
that any individual enemy could have been recognized
in all the confusion and dust and gunsmoke, and it was not
until after the fight that it was learned that the Indians who
accompanied the soldiers were Arikaras.
Another head that attracted much attention was that of a
trooper with many gold teeth in his mouth. The Indians could
not understand how or why the man had covered his teeth
with the shiny yellow metal and assumed it was part of the
soldier's special and personal medicine.
Various military insignia, from a captain's bars to a corporal's
stripes, were thought by most of the Indians to be personal
battle charms rather than indications of rank. Many of
the officers, including Custer, wore no insignia and had been
172
Sundown
dressed in buckskin clothing, which made the Indians think
they were scouts rather than leaders.
No mutilation was performed on the last man killed on
Battle Ridge, for when the corpse was stripped a tiny Agnus
Dei was found hanging around the dead man's neck. This
was at once believed to be some powerful charm which might
bring harm to anyone who further disturbed its wearer, who
was none other than Captain Myles Keogh. '
During the fight, nine guidons and flags were captured, but
the biggest medicine of them all was Custer's battle flag.
Indians quickly sensed its special importance when they recalled
that the soldiers had taken great pains never to let it
touch the ground.
Rising Sun, a Cheyenne, was puzzled by a flat round metal
object with glass on one side of it which he had taken from
a dead trooper. The glass face had queer marks on it that
seemed to move. Peering at it closely, he suddenly beckoned
his comrade Red Fox.
"This thing is alive!" he said, certain that he had found
some new sort of soldiers' medicine. He held it to his ear,
listening to the tick-tick-tick sound it made. Then he handed
it to Red Fox for him to hear. Other Indians came around and
Rising Sun let them all listen, but at the same time he decided
to keep it for his own battle charm. Presently, he listened to it
again, but now it made no sound.
"This is not good medicine, after all," he said. "Now it is
dead." He threw it from him, hurling it as far as he could.
Another soldiers' medicine object behaved better, although
it made no tick-tick sound. It was larger than the thing found
by Rising Sun and had a little fluttering arrow in it which
always pointed north. By late afternoon there was beginning
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Custer's Fall
to be talk of other soldiers coming from the north up the
valley so Little Shield, also a Cheyenne, decided the object
might be useful. Later he gave it to High Walking.
Field glasses had an obvious use, but jointed muzzle-cleaning
rods carried in the wooden stocks of captured carbines
puzzled the Indians for some time. Several such weapons
whose cartridges were caught in the breech were deliberately
thrown away in the Little Big Horn as unusable, for the warriors
had no way to extract the spent shells.
The leather parts of captured bridles were kept, but the
steel bits were thrown away. The McClellan saddles were
passed around among the older men. A new use was found
for the soldiers' boots. Since Indians had low, flat arches they
could not wear the white men's footgear. Cutting off the feet
of the boots, they carefully saved the leather uppers for
moccasin soles and pouches.
Another Cheyenne, Yellow Weasel, found a bugle. For a
while he tried to get sound from it. He let other warriors try
and they all puffed and blew with no success. When another
captured bugle sounded from one of the Sioux camps, a
Cheyenne said, "The one the Sioux have is good. Yellow
Weasel might as well throw his away since it is no good."
But Yellow Weasel kept trying and finally succeeded in
making loud squawking noises on his bugle.
Many soldiers had been carrying leather packages containing
sheets of green paper with pictures on them. Some of them
were kept by the finders, while some were given to children
who enjoyed looking at the pictures. A seven-year-old Cheyenne
boy named Spotted Hawk used one such sheet as a
saddle blanket for a toy rawhide horse. But most of the bills
were discarded as worthless bits of paper. Few Indians on the
i74
Sundown
Little Big Horn realized the green papers had any value. Even
had they known, it could have meant but little to them that
the Seventh Cavalry had received two full months' pay since
leaving Fort Abraham Lincoln and so had carried some
twenty-five thousand dollars into battle.
A far more significant discovery from the Indians' viewpoint
was made by Wooden Leg, a Cheyenne, when he found
a soldier's canteen half full of some liquid that definitely was
not water. After sniffing the metal bottle, a more knowledgeable
Sioux said, "Whisky."
Other such bottles were found scattered over the field and
some Indians drank the contents. Many tried to drink but
quickly spat out the fiery liquor. Bobtail Horse took a big swig
from Wooden Leg's canteen, got violently sick, and vomited.
The Indians suddenly had an explanation for the weird behavior
of the soldiers--they had been made crazy with this
drink. At last it was clear why the soldiers had attacked the
great camp with an inadequate force, why they had hesitated
at the ford and committed other tactical blunders, and why
so many of them had fired in the air and waved their arms
wildly and finally killed themselves rather than die fighting
as brave men should. Several Indians wise to the ways of
whites insisted that not enough whisky was gone from any of
the bottles to make a white man crazy, but the idea persisted
nevertheless. By early evening most of the people were convinced
that the soldiers' downfall had been due to the white
man's mm wakan--"holy water."
Sitting Bull was gravely concerned because his people had
flagrantly disobeyed his orders not to mutilate or loot the
dead soldiers. His immediate band had taken nothing, but
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Custer's Fall
others obviously had gone all-out in acquiring the spoils of
battle. All through the village, Indians were saying to each
other:
" got a soldier gun."
" got three horses."
" got a saddle."
" got tobacco."
" got whisky."
No man could have controlled all the Indians on the Little
Big Horn. Any conformity other than to age-old tradition
was out of the question. Individuality, not regimentation, was
the Indian way. Yet Sitting Bull gathered the leaders together
at the new camp in the bottoms. Angrily, he spoke:
"Since you have taken the spoils, henceforth you will covet
the things of the white man. You will be at his mercy and will
starve at his hands. Someday his soldiers will crush you.
Indians! There are no Indians left but me!"
Humbled and contrite, the leaders left the informal council,
the earlier smiles of victory faded from their faces. With some
relief they turned to investigate a fresh outbreak of excitement
beyond the Sansarc circle where a large number of
Sioux had surrounded a band of Indians just arrived in camp.
"Kill them! Kill them all!" some Sioux were shouting.
But others were saying, "Wait! We must be sure!"
Above the tumult a Cheyenne voice cried, "I had nothing
to do with the soldiers! I am all Indian. I am Cheyenne!"
Hearing Cheyenne speech. Wooden Leg and a Southern
Cheyenne elder. Yellow Horse, hurried to the Sansarc camp
to find Little Wolf and his seven lodges of people in extreme
danger. The most respected of the Cheyenne old-man chiefs,
Little Wolf had never mingled much with the Sioux and did
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Sundown
not know their language. Now the Sioux were ready to kill
him and all his band for having--so they thought--led the
soldiers to the Little Big Horn.
Yellow Horse and Wooden Leg made their way through the
crowd until they were at Little Wolf's side. As the chief's kinsman,
young Wooden Leg was directed to do the talking.
Yellow Horse called out, "Wait until this young man talks to
Little Wolf. Then he will tell you what is said."
"Have you been with the soldiers?" Wooden Leg asked.
"No, foolish boy," Little Wolf answered angrily. "Do I
look like a crazy man ? I have seven lodges of people with me
--women, children, old men. They have all their property
with them, their tepees, their packs, everything. I have few
warriors. Does anyone think that is the way to join up with
the soldiers and help them? No part of me is or ever was
white man. I am all Indian. I am willing to fight anyone who
says 1 am not."
Wooden Leg, who spoke Sioux, explained Little Wolfs stand
to the Sioux warriors gathered around. Although much grumbling
followed, it was agreed that the newcomers could join
their relatives in the Cheyenne camp. Good feeling all around
came when Little Wolf's people doled out gifts of sugar and
coffee, brought all the way from their Nebraska agency. Such
commodities were scarce on the Little Big Horn. From Little
Wolf the other Indian leaders first learned that the soldiers
they had beaten were from the northeast and apparently were
not the Gray Fox and his men, after all.
Throughout the village people were preparing hasty burials
for the slain warriors, all of whom were dressed in their finest
war clothing and had their faces painted in bright ceremonial
colors. The remains of the Cheyennes were loaded on pony
177
Custer's Fall
drags and taken out into the neighboring hills or gulches,
away from camp sites or main travel lanes. Hidden in sheltered
coves in out-of-the-way coulees, the bodies were wrapped
in buffalo robes and covered with piles of rocks to keep the
coyotes away. Mourners stayed close to the graves to grieve.
The greatest ceremony attended the burial of Chief Lame
White Man. Many people went along and the war chief's
entire family stayed behind to mourn through the night.
Having a different way of disposing of their dead, the Sioux
designated certain lodges as burial tepees and left them standing
in the Hunkpapa circle when the move was made to the
new camp site in the bottoms. Scaffolds were erected inside
the lodges and the bodies laid out on them, after which the
tepees were completely abandoned by the live inhabitants.
Some twenty bodies, a majority of the Sioux casualties, were
placed side by side in one large burial lodge on the old Hunkpapa
camp site.
People in the nearby Blackfeet Sioux circle, where no
deaths had occurred, were looking over a captured horse. The
animal, a prancing sorrel with blazed face and white stockings,
was proudly displayed by Walks-Under-the-Ground, a
Santee. To all who would listen he insisted he had slain the
"head man" during the fight on the ridge. After the battle had
ended, the Santee claimed, he had found the horse tied by the
reins to the wrist of the dead soldier-chief. Few actually believed
Walks-Under-the-Ground since there were already
conflicting claims as to who had killed the soldier-chief--as
well as to just which white man had been the leader. But none
could deny that the sorrel with the mincing gait was a mount
worthy of any chief, Indian or white.
On a quiet hilltop beyond Battle Ridge a lonely warrior
178
Sundown
sat and wept beside the body of a fallen comrade. After all
the soldiers were dead and no more killing was to be done,
Eagle Elk had returned to the place where he had left High
Horse's body, remaining there until the sun hung low over the
mountains off to the west. Then at last he rose and slung the
body of his brother-friend across the soldier's saddle on the
captured cavalry horse. Walking slowly, he led the horse back
to the Minneconjou circle to deliver the body to his brotherfriend's
father. Back in his own lodge in the Ogalala camp he
would take no food when the family gathered for the evening
meal. Turning into the shadows, away from the light of the
cookfire, he wept silently.
With each passing minute the soldiers on Reno Hill found
the thirst more unbearable. One detail after another crept
down the bluff by way of a deep gulch, then sprinted across
an open space to reach the water's edge. Iron Hawk shot a
soldier as he straightened up after dipping water up with a
bucket. The trooper pitched forward, face down in the river.
Iron Hawk waded in after him, striking him with his bow
until he was dead. Then he dragged the body ashore downstream.
In the man's pockets he found only worthless bits of
green paper and several pieces of metal money. Iron Hawk
saved the metal discs but tore up the paper and threw it away.
Inside the oval of trenches on top of the bluff three of the
Crow scouts hunkered down near the pack mules, waiting for
the sun to set. Only Half Yellow Face and White Swan stayed
in the trenches and kept fighting for the soldiers. But, as the
other scouts well knew, shooting at an all but invisible enemy
out there in the growing dusk was useless indeed. Now that
Captain Benteen had seen to it that they got good soldiers'
179
Custer's Fall
guns White-Man-Runs-Him, Goes Ahead, and Hairy Moccasin
began to think of trying to get through the hostiles to
reach their own people.
"We should get away from here before the Sioux charge us,"
said White-Man-Runs-Him, although there was little chance
that the hostiles would storm the bluff before morning. The
three Crows were well aware that no warrior of the Plains
liked to fight at night, for in darkness he might go unrecognized
by the Great Mystery in the event of his death.
Signing agreement with White-Man-Runs-Him, the other
two Crows got up to go.
"Where d'you think you're going?" asked the head packer.
White-Man-Runs-Him cunningly answered him in signs:
"We are going to get water."
The head packer promptly handed each of them a flat,
canvas-covered canteen to fill down at the river and bring
back to the thirsty packers. Without saying anything to Half
Yellow Face the three Crows left the bluff. Instead of going
down to the river for water, they threw away the flat canteens
and cut across Ash Creek, following it upstream until they
reached the divide. Four Sioux wolves had been sent out here
to watch for more soldiers. One of these Sioux scouts was
lagging behind the others. He rode a gray horse and led a
sorrel mule that somehow had gotten away from the pack
train. Goes Ahead stalked the Sioux and killed him. The mule
broke away but the gray horse got tangled up in his trailing
jaw rope and Goes Ahead caught him. Giving the horse to
White-Man-Runs-Him, Goes Ahead bent over the dead Sioux
and took his scalp. The three Crows took turns riding the
captured horse until they reached the pine trees along the
summit of the divide. Swinging northwest, they circled wide
180
Sundown
to come out on the Big Horn River, the enemy Sioux and
Cheyennes far behind. They crossed the river and pushed on
west toward the Crow village on Arrow Creek. Ahead of them,
beyond the shining mountains, the setting sun sank slowly--
looking like a great blood-red shield in the cloudless sky.
Darkness settled over the Little Big Horn valley, but the
soldiers on Reno Hill did not sleep in spite of their weariness.
Long hours after sundown the hostiles ringing the bluff kept
up a sporadic fire, still making it hot for the troopers in the
trenches. Varnum gathered the remaining scouts together to
tell them that a message was to be carried through the night.
Eldest of the surviving Arikaras, Forked Horn acted as their
spokesman. He agreed to lead the scouts through the hostile
lines. Since he was wounded. Goose was not to go. The two
Crows would also stay. Half Yellow Face to look after the
wounded White Swan.
"All you others will carry the same message,'^ Varnum told
the Arikaras. "You will carry word to the Grandfather in
Washington, in order that everyone in the land will know
what has happened here. You'll ride troop horses, they're
faster than your ponies."
"The troop horses wear iron shoes," Forked Horn complained.
"They will run better if the iron shoes are taken off."
"I'll get the farrier to work right away," promised Varnum.
"Now each of you is to ride hard and pay no attention to any
of the others. It'll be every man for himself. Maybe one of
you will get through. If any of you are shot, pull out the
paper message and leave it on the ground where other soldiers
can find it when they come."
Then Varnum gave each of them a piece of paper with
181
Custer's Fall
writing on it. Goose refused to be left behind. "If my cousins
are killed, I too wish to be killed."
Varnum consented. At last they were ready. In the group
were Goose, Forked Horn, Red Foolish Bear, Young Hawk,
and a white sergeant. Stealthily, they worked their way
through the darkness down the ravine to the river. Just as
escape seemed certain the hostiles opened fire. Young Hawk
and Goose fired into the black night, seeing nothing. Then
they all saw it was no use and clattered back up the hill. No
one tried to get through.
Varnum shook his head wearily. Half Yellow Face stood at
his elbow.
"Perhaps my three Crows went on to bring help," the Crow
leader suggested. "Maybe that is why they have not come
back."
Varnum shook his head hopelessly, saying nothing.
In the late night hours, the three Crow scouts were heard by
camp sentries at the tribal village on Arrow Creek. Crow
warriors were roused from sleep and sent out to meet them.
In the darkness the scouts were mistaken for Sioux and the
Crow warriors charged them fiercely. Goes Ahead had to shoot
two of their horses before they realized their error. The
proximity of the hostiles on the Little Big Horn made everybody
jumpy that night.
It was not a happy homecoming. Certain that Half Yellow
Face and White Swan had already been wiped out with the
remaining soldiers on Reno Hill, the three scouts reported
them dead. One of Goes Ahead's wives. Pretty Shield, a niece
of Half Yellow Face, joined her family in mourning. Relatives
of the supposedly dead scouts gave away all their horses and
182
Sundown
clothing and gashed their heads and arms and legs until they
were covered with blood. All through the night the keening
of the women was terrible to hear. Mingled with the names of
Half Yellow Face and White Swan was that of Son-of-theMorning-Star.
One by one, the Crow people wandered off
alone, chanting the dreadful mourning song and weeping.
Few slept in the great village on the Little Big Horn. In
every quarter was unusual stir and activity. Acting as selfappointed
heralds, old men rode through the camps singing
old brave-heart songs, calling out to the warriors: "Brave up!
Brave up!"
In the Ogalala circle, Kit-Fox warriors, acting as camp
police, rode all around singing:
"/ am a Fox.
I am supposed to die.
If there is anything difficult,
If there is anything dangerous,
It is mine to do."
Big fires danced high in the darkness as each mourning
family burned its lodge and the dead warriors went up in
flames. The keening of the women was a continuous wail
during the night, as those related to the dead hacked off their
hair, gashed their heads and the calves of their legs, or lopped
off their own fingers to show their sorrow. Male relatives
dressed in rags. Sioux men in mourning cropped their hair at
the jaw line, while Cheyenne males let their normally braided
hair hang loose.
A few agency Indians, mostly Santees and Yanktons, got
drunk on the whisky found in the soldiers' canteens and fired
183
Custer's Fall
volleys of captured bullets at the stars. Distant firing could
be heard upstream from the bluff where a night guard kept
the entrenched soldiers surrounded. The Indians there did not
hope to hit anything in the dark, but kept shooting long after
sundown to keep the soldiers from trying to escape. All
through the long night hours warriors kept coming and going
from the bluff as the guard was frequently changed.
Nowhere in the village were scalp or victory dances held
this night, for the success over the soldiers could not be celebrated
until all mourners had given formal consent--normally
after a waiting period of four days. But here and there
were spontaneous paeans of triumph. Proudly, the people were
saying over and over to one another:
"Wicunkasotapelo! We killed them all!"
Once during the dark hours sudden terror again gripped
the camp. "Soldiers are coming!" went the cry. Looking from
their lodges, the people saw troops in uniform bearing down
on the village. A bugle blared a raucous charge. A wild scramble
began to save belongings and get away. Women shrieked
and old men shouted advice to the warriors. Dogs barked in
a frenzied renewal of the afternoon's excitement. Just as
pandemonium reached a peak, those in the camp got a closer
look at the soldiers. They were all laughing, grinning Indians!
A large band of mischievous young warriors had dressed
themselves in captured uniforms to "attack" the camp--all
in fun.
After that, everybody relaxed but sleep was now out of the
question. People gathered in little groups to recite the events
of the long day. It seemed a long time since the death of Four
Horns's aged wife in the Hunkpapa camp had foreshadowed
a day of victory.
Some of the warriors started making up kill-songs. Soon 184
Sundown
the people picked up the words and their shrill voices echoed
up and down the valley, singing the new kill-songs all through
the night:
"Long Hair has never returned,
So his woman is crying, crying.
Looking over this way, she cries.
"Long Hair, horses I had none.
You brought me many and I thank you.
You make me laugh!
"Long Hair, guns I had none.
You brought me many and I thank you.
You make me laugh!
"Long Hair, let go your guns.
You are not man enough to do us harm.
You make us laugh!
"Long Hair—where he lies nobody knows.
Crying, they seek him everywhere.
He lies right over here."
The spoils of battle
185
Aftermath
'ext morning before dawn—the watches of the soldiers
on Reno Hill read two o'clock—the Indians resumed the
fight around the bluff. At daylight a fresh band of warriors
took over, and the men who had been watching the soldiers
through the night went back to camp. A number of people
came out from the village to look on. Among them was young
Black Elk and his mother from the Ogalala camp. The woman
Hi K: was mounted on a mare with a small colt. Every so often the
colt wandered out ahead, then came scurrying back each time
a shot was fired.
There was little to see. The soldiers were now dug in
securely and only the horses and mules in the center of the
oval entrenchments were visible. Most of the animals were
dead.
Across the river were thick berry bushes. Round Fool, an
Ogalala youth, kept running around the bushes. Black Elk
asked him what he was doing.
"A white soldier is in those bushes," said Round Fool.
Peering closer, Black Elk saw a man trying to hide in the
thick brush. He had apparently been there all night, unable
to reach the soldiers on the bluff. Black Elk and some other
boys began shooting arrows at him. He crawled around in the
undergrowth, trying to dodge the swift arrows. Once he cried
out in pain, indicating that an arrow had found its mark.
186
Aftermath
Presently the boys set fire to the dry grass around the busies
and the soldier came rushing out. A warrior shot him dead,
From his lookout on a nearby hilltop. White Cow t^ull
looked down into the trenches on the bluff and watched (he
soldiers crouching there. A good shot, the Ogalala warrior ag
among many marksmen harassing the troops with long-ra^ge
fire. During the night it had rained a little and the troops
were huddled together against the morning chill. Then, as rhe
sun climbed high and the dry heat of the day settled over ^he
bluff, the soldiers moved around more and White Cow B^n
was able to pick off his share of the enemy. Using a buffalo
White Cow Bull sniping at Reno's besieged command.
skull to rest his rifle on, he killed one soldier. Trooper Jon, es
of H Company, as he tried to remove his heavy overcoat. K^e
shot another trooper in the foot—or so he thought un^ii
he saw the man hobbling about with only the heel of his bo^ot
187
Custer's Fall
shot away. He wounded at least two others. Several soldiers
kept firing at his hilltop, but their carbines lacked sufficient
range to reach him.
It soon became clear to the Ogalala that the troops had
another problem on their hands, one even more urgent perhaps
than Indian gunfire--water. Since yesterday the soldiers had
had no chance to replenish their water supply except once,
when a detail of seven men had made it down to the river
and back. The rain had not helped them much. As the morning
on the soldiers were obviously getting more and
more desperate.
Finally one trooper urinated in his tin cup and drank from
it. He seemed to go crazy there in the trenches. Suddenly he
climbed out and ran down the hill toward the river. White
Cow Bull fired at him, missed. Another Sioux marksman
brought him down.
Both sides had plenty of ammunition. Reno had all of
24,000 rounds brought up by the pack train. The Indians had
some 10,000 rounds taken yesterday from dead soldiers. Delighted
with their captured weapons, many warriors had never before used breech-loading guns and were highly pleased with
the shiny new cartridges.
But they soon grew weary of this static style of fighting.
About midmorning a large party of warriors stormed the
trenches from the steep south slope toward the river. Without
a twig of cover they charged up the bluff. Long Robe, a
Sans pounds rc, got close enough to strike a trooper with his coupstick.
As he started back down, he was shot dead by the soldiers.
His comrades were unable to recover his body. (His fall
is indicated by a marker on the present battlefield.)
Had the Indians carried out a co-ordinated charge on the
188
Aftermath
bluff from all directions, there is little doubt but that the
entire Seventh Cavalry would have been wiped out. The besieged
troopers could not have retreated--they had no place
to run. Reno, Benteen, and other survivors of the regiment
owed their lives to the arrival on the scene at midday of Sitting
Bull, who ordered the warriors to stop shooting.
"Henala! Enough!" he shouted. "Those soldiers are trying
to live, so let them live. Let them go. If we kill all of them,
a bigger army will march against us."
Knife Chief, an Ogalala, relayed Sitting Bull's commands
to the fighting leaders. As he moved along the line passing
the word. Knife Chief was shot through the body by a soldier
who rose up and fired from the trenches. Taking the wounded
Ogalala with them, the warriors withdrew and went back to
the village. Thirsty, tired, ready for a rest, they were glad to
leave off fighting for a while. The Battle of the Little Big Horn
had ended.
That afternoon the women began to strike their lodges and
load their belongings on pony drags for an announced move
to the south. After a brief nap. White Bull rode north with
Many Lice, a Sansarc, to scout the rumored approach of more
soldiers from the north. These new troops had camped for
the night at the mouth of the Little Big Horn, some twelve
miles away. Mostly infantry, they now came marching slowly
upriver. This was Gibbon's column, nearing the appointed
rendezvous with Custer almost a half day behind schedule.
Charging into the soldiers' herd of pack horses, the two warriors
ran off seven head, then hastened back to alarm the
camp.
By the time they got back the entire village had moved.
189
Custer's Fall
Only a few tepees were left standing. These were lodges of
mourning families who had abandoned and left behind everything
they owned. The warriors pushed on, following the broad
trail and catching up with the people some distance to the
south.
That night the great caravan stopped a few hours to rest
without setting up lodges. Next day they traveled on up the
Little Big Horn valley, halting during the afternoon about
two miles below the mouth of Lodge Grass Creek in the
shadows of the Big Horn Mountains.
Here the Indians held their great victory dance. No other
warrior had a record equal to that of White Bull for bravery
and daring. All told, he had counted seven coups--six of them
firsts--and had killed two men in combat, captured two guns
and twelve horses, was wounded in the ankle, and had had his
horse shot from under him. Bursting with pride, wearing both
pairs of soldiers' breeches given him by his son. Makes Room
made up a special honoring song for the occasion:
"White Bull, whenever there is something going on
You are always out in front.
This makes me very proud of you."
For the Sioux and Cheyennes it was the last such celebration
for many years to come. The tribes soon learned their
triumph over Long Hair Custer had indeed been hollow. By
smoke signal and moccasin telegraph, word came from the
agencies that an angry Government was stepping up military
operations against them. Through an uneasy summer the
people followed the buffalo herds, drying meat against certain
famine on the reservations to which they knew they must go.
190
Aftermath
Keeping endlessly on the move, they stayed only a skip and
a jump ahead of reprisal.
Early in September the first retaliatory blow fell at Slim
Buttes, Dakota Territory. A large camp of Ogalalas, Brules,
and Minneconjous, drifting back to their agencies, was taken
by surprise in a dawn attack. Badly outnumbered, their leader
American Horse (or Iron Shield) mortally wounded, the fighting
chiefs suffered a sharp defeat at the hands of their old
adversary. Gray Fox Crook. In the vanquished camp the
soldiers found three Seventh Cavalry horses, a gilt-starred
swallow-tailed guidon from I Company, and Captain Myles
Keogh's gauntleted gloves--proof enough to the Gray Fox
that his defeated foes had been in on the big kill at Little Big
Horn.
In November Colonel Ronald McKenzie struck Dull Knife's
village of Cheyennes on Willow Creek in Montana. Though
innocent of participation in the Custer fight, these defeated
Cheyennes served their tribesmen as a sharp warning of the
Government's long arm of retribution. Still only a minor chief
of Fox warriors. Two Moon meekly surrendered to Army
authorities and overnight became--at least in the eyes of the
Government--head chief of all Northern Cheyennes. When
they in turn submitted. Little Wolf and Dull Knife and their
bands were punished for alleged participation in the Battle of
the Little Big Horn with deportation to the Southern Cheyenne
agency in Indian Territory. Three years later, faced with
certain extinction through disease and starvation in the south,
the gallant Northern Cheyennes fought their way fifteen hundred
miles northward to win at last the right to stay on
unmolested in their Montana homeland.
Late in 1876 the Sioux met their share of reverses. At
191
Custer's Fall
Standing Rock Agency Kill Eagle, the Blackfeet Sioux chief
detained on the Little Big Horn by Sitting Bull, was thrown
into prison. Gall and Crow King, still the principal Hunkpapa
fighting leaders, were granted amnesty for their repudiation
of Sitting Bull. White Bull was forced to surrender his captured
guns and horses to soldiers at Cheyenne River Agency.
Crazy Horse submitted to a life of unaccustomed inactivity
at Red Cloud Agency, where, less than a year later, he met
death under a soldier's bayonet. Backed by puppet chiefs
and well oiled with rotgut whisky, Red Cloud sold out his
people by selling the sacred Black Hills to the whites. Unscrupulous
land commissioners, hungry for the mineral-rich
territory, persuaded Red Cloud to "touch his pen" to the
agreement without going through the usual formality of securing
approval from three-fourths of all adult Sioux males.
Thoroughly disgusted with such deterioration of tribal
government and tradition. Sitting Bull decided to take his
immediate following to Grandmother's Land (Canada) where
he hoped to find sanctuary. Accompanied by One Bull and
other faithful members of his band, Sitting Bull arrived in
Canada early in 1877 for a four-year sojourn, during which
the United States Army never ceased in its efforts to force
or persuade him to return to American soil. Once a party of
Sioux-speaking Cheyennes, now serving the Government as
scouts and headed by Bobtail Horse, who had held off Custer
at the ford, crossed the international boundary to try to talk
Sitting Bull into coming back with them. Wily as ever, the
Sioux chieftain steadfastly refused, parrying countless naive
attempts to make him submit. In the end it was the threat
of starvation alone that forced Sitting Bull to give in. He
surrendered with one hundred eighty-seven loyal followers
, 192
Aftermath
at Ford Buford in July, 1881, a little over five years after
Little Big Horn. Confined at a Missouri River agency for two
years, disillusioned and embittered at the Government's refusal
to feed his people. Sitting Bull was finally rescued from
life imprisonment by perennial showman Buffalo Bill Cody,
then running a Wild West Show. With Rain-in-the-Face and
other warriors who had fought at Little Big Horn, the chief
became a national celebrity as the Indian who had wiped out
Custer.
Meanwhile, white hide hunters were finishing off the last
of the great buffalo herds that once roamed the northern
plains. Vast ranges in Montana and Dakota were filling up
with Texas longhorns as the buffalo gradually disappeared.
In the turmoil and excitement of an expanding empire, the
once hostile red men were all but forgotten. Their game herds
gone, their rations of Government beef sadly inadequate, the
tribes languished and starved.
Then, in 1890, the Sioux again felt a little of the old power
and glory they had known that far-off day on the Little Big
Horn. Indian holy men preached a strange doctrine which
advocated a return to the free life of the past. An obscure
Paiute soothsayer, Wovoka, from distant Nevada, had taught
them the rudiments of a new religion--half-Christian, halfpagan.
Once again, they promised, the plains would be black
with buffalo. Those beyond the grave would return to instruct
the living in a tremendous revival of ancient customs. Great
cracks would open across the face of the earth to swallow up
the white men and their hated brand of civilization. All this
would surely come to pass if the people would dance with
ghosts and sing the eerie drumless chants.
And so the Ghost Dance flourished briefly. A chief to his
193
Ouster's Fall
fingertips, always a vehement champion of self-determination
for the Sioux, Sitting Bull became nominal leader of the cult.
Although there is some question as to whether or not he subscribed
entirely to the new belief, he forcefully insisted that
the Indians be left alone to live and believe as they wished.
During his wide travels with Buffalo Bill, he had discovered
such basic liberty to be universally enjoyed by other Americans.
It seemed simple justice to extend it to established wards
of the Government, the Indians.
Frightened whites in Nebraska and the Dakotas felt otherwise.
The Army was called in to occupy the Sioux reservations.
A vindictive agent conspired with Indian police to have
Sitting Bull murdered and fourteen years after Little Big
Horn the aging chief was killed in a short pitched battle with
his assassins. Two hundred miles away on Wounded Knee
Creek, South Dakota, the reorganized Seventh Cavalry waylaid
Big Foot's peaceful band of Minneconjous and exacted
fearful vengeance for Little Big Horn in a blood bath in
which two hundred and twenty men, women, and children
perished.
In numb bewilderment the Sioux turned lamely to follow
the white man's road. The old way had vanished sharply soon
after Little Big Horn. Now even the dream of the old life was
ended. The power of the sacred hoop of the universe--which
had always bound the people together with earth and sky--
was broken forever.
A seventeen-year-old warrior at Little Big Horn, Iron Hail
(Dewey Beard), a Minneconjou, paid full price for the Sioux
victory when the Seventh Cavalry came charging again at
Wounded Knee. Under the soldiers' rifles and Gatling guns,
he was twice wounded, saw his father, mother, two brothers,
194
Aftermath
sister, wife, and child killed. Notwithstanding such reverses,
he eventually married again and found a fine life of peace
for himself and his new family. In later years he became
prominent as a leader among a dwindling, aging group of
warriors who had fought on the Little Big Horn. With the
death of Sitting Bull's deaf-mute son, John, in May, 1955,
Iron Hail became the last survivor—Indian or white—of
Custer's Last Stand. He died that November.
Portrait sketch of Iron Hail (Dewey Beard), last survivor of the Battle of
the Little Big Horn.
195
The Legend
guster's last stand assumed legendary proportions
almost as soon as news of it reached the white man's
world. A myth nearly as imaginative as Homer's Odyssey was
in the making as fiction swiftly intertwined with fact. An
adulatory press had already built Custer into such a heroic
figure that earliest reports of his death were not generally
believed. Only a few seasoned military campaigners read the
truth in the ugly message.
In some mysterious way Crow and Shoshoni scouts serving
General Crook in northern Wyoming--a full hundred miles
south of the Little Big Horn--got wind of the tragedy the
very afternoon it occurred. Puzzled by the scout's sullen manner,
Crook took advantage of his honorary membership in
one of their warrior societies to quiz them in detail. Acting
as spokesman. Plain Bull, a Crow, made the startling statement:

"Long Hair Custer, Son-of-the-Morning-Star, and all his
soldiers, every one, were killed this morning on the Little
Big Horn!"
Crook knew that Plain Bull would not deceive him, and
that he had somehow known what had happened on Little
Big Horn. But neither Plain Bull nor any of his tribesmen
ever divulged how word had reached them.
Miles away in the opposite direction, traveling north from
196
The Legend
the Little Big Horn, the young Crow scout Curley followed
down Tullock's Creek to the Yellowstone River the nigh^ of
June 25. Seeing a friend across the river next morning, he
waved and talked sign to Tom Leforge, a squaw man living
with the Crows and serving General Terry as a guide through
the region. Reading Curley's gestures, Leforge was the f^rst
white man to get a direct "eyewitness" account of Cust^r's
defeat.
Moving on, Curley reached the mouth of the Little ^3ig
Horn the following afternoon, June 27. He was spotted by
three crewmen from the Far West, fishing a mile upriver fi}prn
^'5^-
Curley bringing news of Custer's defeat to the steamer Far West.
where Terry's supply ship rode at anchor. Unable to understand
Crow or sign talk, the men waved the scout on tow^ rd
the steamer. Minutes later he appeared opposite the boat ,pn
the Little Big Horn's east bank, wearing a black white mail's
shirt, a cloth about his head, and moccasins.
197
11
Custer's Fall
His manner seemed dejected as he strode manfully up the
gangplank, but white men on the boat soon discovered his
harrowing adventures, as interpreted by squaw man George
Morgan, had not impaired his appetite. That Curley told a
straightforward account of the battle as he saw it or guessed
it to have happened cannot be questioned. At seventeen the
simple Crow youth was far too naive to have imagined many
embellishments. He made it clear from the beginning that he
had done nothing himself--that he had not actually taken
part in the fight and had seen only enough of the battle to
realize what the inevitable outcome must be.
That very day, perhaps, on the deck of the Far West, Curley
unwittingly became a "survivor" of the Last Stand. In the
retelling, his simple repetition of Bouyer's message to Terry
made him not only an active participant in the fight, but one
who had narrowly escaped with his life to bring news of it
to the outside world. Overnight the modest Crow youth became
a hero. Muggins Taylor, a scout, left in a flurry of
excitement on a hard three-day ride to carry Curley's story
to Bozeman and Fort Ellis.
Meanwhile, after fencing with the hostiles' rear guard
through most of the afternoon and night of June 26, Gibbons
and his infantry column arrived at the scene of the battle.
Next day Reno, Benteen, and the other survivors of the
Seventh Cavalry were rescued from Reno Hill and the dead
of Custer's and Reno's commands were given a hasty slipshod
burial in the flinty soil of Battle Ridge. Custer's body
was carried, with the wounded soldiers of Reno's and Benteen's
commands, by two-horse litters back down-river to the Far West. No cavalryman lived to report on the destruction
198
The Legend
of Custer and his command, so Curley's story remained the
standard accepted account of the battle.
His words distorted by white interpreters who put trite
pseudo-Indian phrases in his mouth, Curley was finally quoted
as saying that Custer was the last man to be slain on Battle
Ridge where "he stood like a sheaf of corn with the ears fallen
all around him."
The other three Crow scouts who had ridden with Custer
could have refuted Curley's story, for they had been far closer
to the action, had seen Custer fall, and had stayed a while
longer near the doomed command. Now, however. Goes
Ahead, White-Man-Runs-Him, and Hairy Moccasin were in
disfavor with Seventh Cavalry survivors for having "deserted"
Reno Hill the evening of June, 25, although their duty
to the soldiers had ended with their location of the enemy
village that morning. They were a long time getting back in
the Army's good graces. Hero of the hour, Curley was whisked
off to Washington to be wined and dined and feted as the
"sole survivor of Custer's Last Stand." Significantly, as the
Army's guest he was given no chance to return to his people
before leaving for the nation's capital. The authorities were
taking no chances on having their growing legend watered
down by more authentic accounts.
Two Crow scouts other than Curley also carried word of the
Custer battle to the whites. Neither was attached to Custer's
command. They had been guiding Gibbon's column upriver
from the Far West's anchorage. Their garbled accounts contributed
to one of the many dark mysteries surrounding Little
Big Horn--the question of Custer's suicide. Arriving at Fort
Rice, Montana, a day or so after the fight. Speckled Cock told
members of the garrison:
'99
Ouster's Fall
"Big battle lost. Son-of-the-Morning-Star shot himself."
Horned Toad rode on with Speckled Cock to Fort Abraham
Lincoln, where he was heard by several officers' wives nearly
a week before the return of the Far West.
"Speckled Cock and me, Indian scouts. Just come. Rode
ponies many miles. Ponies tired, scouts tired. Custer shoot
himself at end. All dead. Speckled Cock and me good Indians.
No lie!"
When Custer's widow screamed and fled the room, the
scouts said no more. Army authorities never permitted publication
of the story.
Later, a report was issued by Lieutenant James Bradley,
Seventh U.S. Infantry, who discovered Custer's body. With a
bullet hole in the left temple, and a similar wound in the left
breast or side, the corpse had not been mutilated according to
Indian custom. Bradley reported that the wounds, either of
which might have been fatal, had been next to impossible
to locate. Custer's face had, in death, a calm, untroubled expression,
like that of a man asleep, the report read. Various
officials privately feared that this was a calculated attempt
to spare the feelings of Mrs. Custer.
Significantly, the General's remains were never opened to
view after removal from Battle Ridge. Seasoned frontiersmen
read between the lines of local accounts and sensed possible
suicide in the fact that Custer had not been mutilated--at
least according to the report. For it was common knowledge
throughout the West that Plains warriors inflicted considerable
posthumous mutilation on the body of an enemy-- save
only when the enemy was seen to have taken his own life. After Custer's death by his own hand, they reasoned, any of
his subordinates, or Bradley himself, might have wiped away
200
The Legend
black powder burns or other traces. Needless to say, any
such opinions on the part of Indian scouts or other Army ^ -personnel were squelched immediately before the press or the
public might learn of them.
In spite of James Gordon Bennett's elaborate nationwide
preparations to cover Custer's operations in the field, newspapers
across the country were scooped by Montana's tiny Helena Herald in a fabulous Fourth of July Extra. Outraged
citizens turned from a long-awaited centennial celebration to
read in horror of the defeat and partial destruction of the
nation's crack military unit. Even more shocking was the
death of Custer, pumped by the press into demigod proportions.
As fast as limited means of communication would
permit, news of the tragedy spread across the land.
Advised by telegraph from Bozeman, the Virginia City
(Montana) Madisonian brought out a Little Big Horn Extra
on July 6. That same morning, the Tribune and Associated
Press correspondent in Bismarck roused from bed to get firsthand
accounts from survivors on the newly arrived Far West. Next day every newspaper in the land flashed broadside editions
covering all aspects of the tragedy. Legend has it--
unreliably--that the Sioux City (Iowa) Journal actually had
news of the event some four days earlier, having picked it up
from distant smoke signals deciphered for the night editor
by friendly members of the nearby Omaha tribe. The saddened
night editor thereupon proceeded to get roaring drunk
with his Indian comrades, while the account of the fight, so
the story goes, got buried in a stick of local news where it
remained unseen until months later.
All along the line, various editors added fantastic embellishments
to the original account until fact became indistinguish201
Custer's Fall
able from fiction. Curley was quoted as saying that hundreds
of hostiles had been killed by Custer and his men before they
finally went down. One story had Curley wrapped up to his
eyebrows in a captured Sioux blanket and skulking around
the battlefield trying to persuade Custer to grab another
Sioux blanket and escape with the scout. On that hot day of
June 25, any blanket--Sioux or otherwise--would have been
as conspicuous as a suit of armor!
One remarkable variation of the story line had Curley
holed up in the carcass of a dead horse until the fighting was
over, at which time he made a stealthy getaway.
In the light of the Army's anti-Indian policy, it was not
surprising that the Battle of the Little Big Horn should ^ sooner or later be referred to as "The Custer Massacre,"
though in no way did the facts qualify it as a slaughter of
unarmed noncombatants. Nevertheless, the designation, with
its implied bias against Indians, was found useful by whites
throughout the country and quickly came into common usage.
Custer quickly became a revered martyr, mourned across
the nation by a hero-worshiping public. Frustrated in life as
a power-hungry opportunist, Custer in death personified an
almost sacred memory. His remains were taken to West Point,
where they were buried with full honors. Throughout the land
the legend flourished. Artists and poets turned their talents
to the dedicated task of eulogizing Custer and preserving for
posterity the high drama of the Little Big Horn.
Although it was indeed unpopular to dispute such a patriotic
myth, particularly in a centennial year, a few men in
high office had the courage to convey their convictions to the
public. Still titular commander of the Seventh Cavalry, old
Colonel Sturgis announced that "Custer's luck has back202

The Legend
fired"--actually a mild criticism in light of his natural bitterness
over the fact that his son, a lieutenant, had died on Little
Big Horn.
President Grant went further in castigating Custer in an
interview with New York Herald representatives at Long
Branch in September, published that month in the Army and Navy Journal. In part he said: "I regard Custer's massacre
as an unnecessary sacrifice of troops brought on by Custer
himself."
While Grant's statement only added to his own unpopularity,
the Army was forced to admit that some confusion
regarding Terry's orders to Custer had existed and that
Custer had failed to wait for Gibbon to join him in the
planned attack on the hostile village. Overnight a fierce and
prolonged controversy began to rage. The public violently
took sides and the slaying of General Custer became a cause
celebre.
Badly needing a scapegoat to keep Custer's name clear,
high-ranking Army officials led by General Phil Sheridan carelessly
allowed Major Reno to bear the onus of having failed
to come to Custer's rescue. The fact was conveniently overlooked
that Reno could hardly have done better than he did
in getting the remnant of his command to a defensible position
on the bluff. Adding to Reno's difficulties were widely
circulated reports, mainly from disgruntled civilian packers,
that he had been drunk the afternoon and night of June 25.
Threatened with disgrace, Reno demanded an official investigation
of the facts. In the spring of 1879 a Court of Inquiry
sat in lengthy session in Chicago's old Palmer House, reviewing
the battle from testimony presented by all available
survivors of the Seventh Cavalry. Reno was eventually cleared
203
Ouster's Fall
of willful disobedience of orders, but the taint of cowardice
and dishonor clung to his name until his death several years
rater in a Washington hospital.
One aspect of the battle which most disturbed the heroworshipers who concocted the legend was the breakdown of
Seventh Cavalry strategy at Little Big Horn. Custer was
known to have been an excellent tactician by all existing
standards. An excuse for his defeat at the hands of mere
savages must somehow be devised. Among the propounders
of the legend, certain graduates of West Point between 1846
and 1850 recalled a cadet of unusual appearance nicknamed
Bison. Supposedly from the western borders of Missouri,
Bison's age and description—even his sallow skin—came close
to matching that of Custer's archfoe. Sitting Bull. At once
the authorities circulated a rumor to the effect that Sitting
Bull had acquired a superior knowledge of strategy at West
Point! Grist for the mill of legend, nothing could have been
further from the truth. Until long after Little Big Horn, Sitting
Bull did not set foot east of Dakota Territory and would have
had little to do with a military academy if he had. Still the
story persisted that the chief of the Hunkpapas must have
had formal military training in order to out-general Custer.
An outgrowth of this popular idea was a common belief
that Sitting Bull had been advised throughout the battle by
a number of half-breeds and former Confederate officers, still
set as ever on whipping the Federal Army. Seeing distant
Indians in uniforms taken from dead soldiers, several troopers
on Reno Hill had been fooled into thinking the hostiles had
made allies of deserters from the ranks of the Army. Such

tales were, of course, utterly preposterous. No white man
fought on the side of the Indians at Little Big Horn and none
204
The Legend
were staying in the great village. Not even squaw men and
mixed-bloods who belonged to the tribes had ventured there
that season in light of the unusually strong anti-Indian sentiment
among whites. Participation by whites in Indian affairs
at that time of year was further unlikely because of rigid religious
taboos among the Indians themselves. Their sun dance
had just been held and whites could have no part in it, for
it served each tribe of the Plains as an annual renewal of
fertility and productivity.
Some writers suggested that Sitting Bull himself was a
French half-breed, thus accounting for his unusual capability
as a strategist as well as for his skin tone which to many
observers seemed light for an Indian. Here again were pure
fabrications. Sitting Bull was a full-blood Sioux who spoke
only his native tongue.
Released from confinement at his agency in Dakota, Sitting
Bull was taken East in 1884 by Colonel Alvaren Alien who
exhibited the chief among the waxworks at the Eden Musee
in New York. Next season, Buffalo Bill Cody made Sitting
Bull an important part of his Wild West Show and began
touring the country. Though billed as "Custer's killer," the
aging chief was too affable by nature to be convincing as the
villain of the Custer legend. Doing his best to exploit the
situation, Cody had his picture taken with Sitting Bull and
sold thousands of souvenir photographs captioned, "Enemies
in '76, Friends in '85."
Touring with Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull was not invited to
join Seventh Cavalry survivors in observing the tenth anniversary
of the battle at Little Big Horn. Already an unofficial
national shrine, the Custer Battlefield had been visited a
number of times during the intervening years by various mili205
Custer's Fall
tary men, including several burial and reburial expeditions.
However, no accurate reconstruction of the fight had yet been
possible since much of the action had been seen only by Sioux
and Cheyenne participants. The Army prevailed upon the
Indian Department to allow one of the former hostile leaders
to come to the Little Big Horn on June 25, i886.
Constantly seeking to destroy what remained of Sitting
Bull's power and prestige among his own people. Agent James
McLaughlin at Standing Rock Agency, Dakota Territory,
sent Gall to represent the Sioux. In many ways it was an
unfair choice. Gall was still a bitter rival of Sitting Bull and
a tool of the Government's policy of breaking down the traditional
forms of tribal authority by setting up puppet chiefs.
McLaughlin was touting him as the true leader of the Northern
Sioux.
At the Little Big Horn reunion Gall did his best not to disappoint
his backers. Although no competent interpreter was
on hand to translate his words. Gall managed to convey in
signs and a few words of English the distinct impression that
he, himself, had actually been master strategist as well as
commander in chief of the Indian forces. His own military
genius had whipped Custer, he stated, not that of Sitting Bull
or Crazy Horse or any of the other leaders. His listeners failed
to realize that it was then bad form for any warrior to discuss
the exploits of another. With complete disregard for the estabPIMI
lished customs of his people. Gall went on to deride Sitting
Bull, claiming that the chief, who was then too old to lead
fighting men, had skulked in his tepee, "making medicine,"
and had run away in terror as the battle progressed.
Further significant inaccuracies grew out of Gall's state' ments. He claimed that Custer had never brought his troops
206
The Legend
down Medicine Tail Coulee to attack the village by way of
the ford. Instead, he said, Custer's command had kept well to
the east, following the high ground all the way to Battle
Ridge. Completely misled, Benteen, Godfrey, and other Seventh
Cavalry officers present assumed that their earlier and
more accurate ideas of Custer's movements had been entirely
wrong. Not until years later, when other Indian informants
told their versions of the battle, were the facts made straight.
But this was long after Gall's erroneous testimony and an
analysis based upon it by Godfrey had been accepted as final
authority by the general public.
Of the Crow scouts, only White Swan was present at Custer
Battlefield that day in 1886. Bitter over his wounds, for which
the Government had never compensated him, he contributed
little to what was already known.
For ten years an intense controversy had raged within the
Crow tribe over the stories newspapermen had put into Curley's
mouth when the Army had taken him to far-off Washington.
Upon his return, the other scouts--knowing how untrue
his stories were--called him a liar and made him a laughing
stock in the tribe. Yet to the whites, Curley was still a hero.
Few outside the Crow tribe dared refute the statements attributed
to him. It was years later, after the turn of the century,
before historians decided to consult Goes Ahead, White-ManRuns-Him,
or Hairy Moccasin. By that time they had drifted
into outspoken feuding with Curley and his faction, a rift that
never healed until Curley and White-Man-Runs-Him, last of
the scouts, died in the 1920's.
Uncertain how the truth might be received after so many
years of erroneous belief, White-Man-Runs-Him, Hairy
Moccasin, and Goes Ahead never told their entire story to
207
Ouster's Fall
a white man. After the death of White-Man-Runs-Him in
1929, Goes Ahead's widow. Pretty Shield, did what she could
to set the record straight. She knew the scouts' story nearly
as well as they, for on many occasions she had covered every
inch of Custer Battlefield with her husband. In light of other
Indian testimony, her convincing arguments now help to
explode much of the Custer myth.
Among the Sioux and Cheyennes, White Cow Bull, Bobtail
Horse, and other defenders of the ford agreed in later years
that the soldiers halted in mid-charge, halfway across the
river, when a white leader in buckskins was shot from a sorrel
horse. Had this been any officer other than Custer he would
have been left behind in the ford. Only Custer's body would
have been carried by the troops as they fell back.
The fact that they fell back at that point was in itself conclusive.
The sharp switch from offensive to defensive tactics
indicated something had gone drastically wrong. Indians at
the ford insisted that the soldiers' charge down Medicine
Tail Coulee could have swept on into the village and might
have won the battle for the whites. Only one solution is clear:
when the troops halted in midstream, Custer was no longer in
command!
Aside from the confusion arising from Gall's testimony,
early attempts to get accurate stories on the battle from the
Sioux and Cheyennes were beset with numerous difficulties.
After their surrender to the Government most of the former
hostiles were reluctant to say too much about their part in the
Custer battle for fear of added reprisal. Out of a sense of
enforced diplomacy, many Indians answered leading questions
in a way calculated to satisfy their interrogators--at
times regardless of the truth. A few, like Gall, went out of
The Legend
their way to deceive the whites. Claiming to have been head
chief of all Cheyennes at Little Big Horn, Two Moon later
made light of the fact that he had not told the truth.
"I do not think it wrong," he said to fellow tribesmen, "to
lie to the white men."
The disparity among various Indian versions of the battle
made it all the easier for the hero-worshipers to perpetuate
the Custer legend. A substitute for Sitting Bull as Custer's
slayer turned up unexpectedly at an exhibit of "wild Indians"
at Coney Island in the late eighties. Delving into a sullen
Sioux warrior's arrest and imprisonment by Tom Custer some
fourteen years earlier, writer Kent Thomas got Rain-in-theFace
drunk and with him concocted a cheap publicity story
in which the warrior said he had cut out Tom Custer's heart
and eaten it. It made fine copy. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
used it as the basis of his epic poem, "The Revenge of Rainin-the-Face."
Taking full dramatic license, Longfellow wrote
in part:
" 'Revenge!' cried Rain-inthe-Face,
'Revenge upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair!' "
But in the popular concept of the affair, it was Long Hair
Custer, rather than his less colorful brother, who was cast as
the object of the warrior's vengeance. People across the land
accepted Longfellow's verse as historical fact. Later Rain-inthe-Face
vigorously denied having killed either of the Custers
or having performed such mutilations on their bodies as the
poem described. In the dust and turmoil of the battle, he
explained emphatically, it had been impossible to distinguish
209
Custer's Fall
one soldier from another and, like most of the hostiles, he had
not known until days later that it was Custer they had been
fighting. Nevertheless, the public largely accepted Rain-inthe-Face
as Custer's killer.
In self-defense Rain-in-the-Face himself finally laid the
onus of having killed Custer on Hawk, a young Cheyenne who
later accompanied Sitting Bull to Canada and never returned.
Few people were convinced, and on his deathbed in 1905
Rain-in-the-Face "confessed" to a missionary, Mary C. Collins,
that he thought he had killed Custer, having been "so
close to him that the powder from my gun blackened his
face."
During early kill-talks soon after the Custer battle, various
warriors claimed credit for having killed Long Hair. One of
them was Red Horse, a Minneconjou. Another was Flat Hip,
a Hunkpapa. Another of the same tribe, Little Knife, announced
that young Brown Back, brother of the slain boy
Deeds, had shot the soldier-chief. The two sons of Inkpaduta
(Scarlet Top), chief of the Santees, also asserted they had
been in on the kill. Among the Santees, however, the claim of
Walks-Under-the-Ground, parading around on Custer's horse,
carried more weight. Fast Eagle, an Ogalala, said that he and
another warrior had pinioned Custer's arms at the end of the
fight while the girl warrior, Walking Blanket Woman (later
known as Mary Crawler), stabbed Long Hair in the back.
Since Custer's body bore no visible stab wounds, few Indians
believed her victim had been the soldier-chief. However, she
was afterward permitted to take a man's part in all war
dances. _^
Although White Bull of the Minneconjous never made
formal claim to the slaying of Custer, he was convinced until
( 210
The Legend
his dying day in 1947 that he had killed Long Hair after the
soldier-chief had fired twice at him and missed. Because of
his deep misgivings as to what might happen to him, he
divulged his belief to only one or two trustworthy whites who
J<ept his secret as long as he lived.
The Cheyennes had conflicting ideas on which of their
warriors might have slain Custer. Far from being conclusive
as to who did the killing. Two Moon, Harshay Wolf, and
Medicine Bear each claimed to have counted coup on his body
though none of them remembered seeing him fall.
For years Indian claimants to the distinction were considerably
inhibited by fear. They never knew when rumor
alone might bring the Army's swift vengeance. And so, many
participants in the battle kept silent, not daring to share
secrets with younger, more civilized members of the tribe.
Through a confusion of claims, the mysterious identity of
Custer's slayer became more obscure than ever. Strangely
enough, none of the five warriors who faced Custer at the
ford--one of whom almost certainly fired the fatal shot--ever
came forward to say he was the slayer of Long Hair.
Long after the Sioux and Cheyennes learned of the remarkable
esteem in which Custer had been held by the whites,
several warriors insisted they had planned to capture him.
Flat Iron, a Cheyenne, stated that such a plot was foiled by
Two Moon who had an old grudge against Custer and so killed
the soldier-chief before he could be "rescued." Flat Iron
blamed the failure on Two Moon's greediness for battle
honors. Spotted Rabbit, a Minneconjou, claimed that he had
dashed unarmed into the thick of the fighting, hoping to capture
Long Hair alive, when his horse had suddenly been shot
from under him. Such tales rate little credence since no Indian,
21 I
Glister's Fall
as far as is known, recognized Custer or knew he was on the
field until after the battle.
Portrait sketch of Brave Bear, honorary slayer of Long Hair Custer
(from Rodman Wanamaker photograph).
The tribes eventually found the question of "Who killed
Custer?" as perplexing as it had long been to the whites.
With characteristic wisdom, the Indians settled the matter
once and for all in September, 1909, when wealthy Rodman
Wanamaker of Philadelphia gathered chiefs and warriors from
eleven tribes to take part in a last great Indian Council on the
Little Big Horn. Confident such an inducement would bring
212
The Legend
out the truth at last, the prominent Philadelphian offered a
sizable cash reward to be prorated among those present provided
some warrior could prove himself the slayer of Custer.
For days the chiefs deliberated in secret council. None of
them knew for sure which warrior had done the killing. And
yet a generous reward for all of them was now at hand. The
tribes were starving and the need of the people was too desperate
to be overlooked. Simple prudence dictated a solution.
After lengthy palaver, the record of one elderly war chief
was brought up for discussion. It seemed made to order for
the purpose. He had been on the Washita when Custer had
destroyed Black Kettle's village; he had spilled pipe ashes
on Custer's boots during the Panhandle peace conference; he
had taken an active part in the great fight on the Little Big
Horn.
At council's end, the sturdy old chief mustered all his
courage and came forward to accept Wanamaker's tempting
largesse to his people--after which he expected to be shot by
the whites. For, having found him eminently qualified, the
council had unanimously elected Chief Brave Bear of the
Southern Cheyennes to bear the honorary distinction of having
slain Long Hair Custer. To the tribes the matter of the
Little Big Horn was closed.
213
Sources
I have been over the battlefield many times with various
Indians who were veterans of the battle. Among these oldtimers
were One Bull, White Cow Bull, High Eagle, and
Dewey Beard, all Sioux; and Turkey Legs, Limpy, Bobtail
Horse, Young Two Moon, and Young Little Wolf, all
Cbeyennes.
Sunup
The story of the killing of Deeds by Sergeant Curtis and
his detail was told to me by Drags-the-Rope in 1939, when the
old warrior was eighty-one years old. Additional data concerning
the death of Four Horns's aged wife was given me
by One Bull, Kills Alive, White Bird, and other old-time
Hunkpapas.
The story of the Crow scouts throughout this book is derived
from interviews with the following members of the Crow
tribe in south-central Montana:
Bad Man (aged
105 in 1939 when
interviewed) ... Cousin of Scout Hairy Moccasin
Bull-Over-the-Hill Son of Scout White-M an-Runs-
Him
214
Sources
Bird Horse ..... Cousin of Scout White Swan
White Bear ..... Kinsman of Scout Curley
Little Nest ...... Brother-in-law of Mitch Bouyer
Pretty Shield .... Widow of Scout Goes Ahead
Plain Bull ...... Scout with Crook in 1876
Mountain Sheep . Scout with Crook in 1876
Yellow Brow .... Scout with Gibbon in 1876
The Crows called themselves Upsaroka or Absaroka, after a
fork-tailed bird similar to a magpie. Early mountain men
translated the tribal name as Crow People and so they have
been known ever since. Two main tribal divisions existed:
River Crows and Mountain Crows. All the above informants
belonged to the latter group, who lived mostly in the Big
Horn Mountains.
The story of the Arikara scouts came largely from Jerome
Good Elk of Fort Berthold, North Dakota. He was a member
of Varnum's Arikara detachment at Little Big Horn. Additional
data was found in 0. G. Libby's "The Arikara Narrative
of the Campaign Against the Hostile Dakotas," published
by the North Dakota Historical Commission. Like their kinsmen
the Pawnees, the Arikaras were mortal enemies of the
Sioux and Cheyennes, who called them Corn Indians because
of their habit of living in semi-permanent earth-mound
villages and following agricultural pursuits. They were particularly
despised by the Sioux who considered farming an
especially degrading occupation. A small tribe like the Crows,
the Arikaras were among the first Indian groups to provide
scouts for the United States Army operations in the upper
Missouri River region.
Long hair was sacred to most Indians. A warrior took great
215
Ouster's Fall
pride in its cultivation and length and protested if anyone
tried to touch it. During religious ceremonies, priests and
other participants wore their hair loose and unbraided in order
to derive greater spiritual power from the ritual. Hair culture
reached a peak among the Crows, some of whom let their hair
grow to the astonishing length of fifteen feet! Those who
lacked long locks often spliced hair taken from dead enemies
onto their own. To all tribes--friendly and hostile--Custer's
Indian name and normally shoulder-length tresses conjured
up more than usual respect.
The men of all Plains tribes were warriors by profession.
War was considered the noblest of pursuits, the only one an
adult male might follow. From earliest youth, boys were
taught that no pleasure equaled that of the joy of battle.
Success in war brought universal respect and admiration. Far
from being a bitter fate, death in combat was regarded as a
glorious end. No higher reward existed than the wholehearted
applause of the tribe for a victorious warrior.
Among other occurrences which the Arikaras found disturbing
was an unseasonal snowstorm on June i, while the expedition
was marching west through Dakota Territory. Drifts a
foot deep delayed the column's progress for nearly two days.
The blizzard was regarded by the scouts as an unfavorable
omen. Even more upsetting was the dismantlement of a Sioux
scaffold grave in an abandoned hostile village at the mouth
of Tongue River. Isaiah Dorman, Negro interpreter, was
ordered by Custer to strip the Indian corpse and dispose of it
as best he could. Isaiah threw the body in the river. Since he
was later seen fishing there, the superstitious Arikara whispered
that he was using bits of the Sioux corpse for bait!
The killing of enemies brought a large measure of comfort
216
Sources
and consolation to those whose kin had been killed by members
of the hostile tribe. A warrior who had thus lost a relative
might "carry the pipe" and ask other fighting men to help
him assuage his grief by raiding the enemy. If his friends
smoked the pipe with him, they committed themselves to
assist him and temporarily acknowledged his leadership. Often
the basis for a war party, this was the manner in which Half
Yellow Face enlisted Crow scouts for the Little Big Horn
campaign. Among the Crows the carrier of the pipe always
wore a magpie tail in his hair to show that until the mission
was accomplished he had the status of chief and would perform
no menial tasks. Those who led a number of successful
war parties often became fighting leaders for the tribe.
White Man's World
The year 1876 is remembered by the Sioux as Pehin Hanska
ktepi--when "they killed Long Hair (Custer)." Spanning an
unbroken period of 147 years, the Sioux winter count recorded
in picture writing on buckskin the outstanding event
of each year, beginning in 1759, ending in 1906. Years were
divided into "moons," corresponding to the months of the
white man. Each year began in August, "the time the berries
ripen." Since Plains tribes lacked a method of reckoning specific
dates, June 25 is simply remembered as having occurred
at "the time the ponies are fat."
Among the foremost tribes to welcome whites to the upper
Missouri, the Crows first called the white man Beta-awkawahcha--"Sitsonthe-water,"
owing to the fact that early
trappers traveled by canoe up the big rivers. Years later, the
217
Custer's Fall
Crows adopted the Cheyenne term, "yellow eyes"--Mastachuda in Crow, Veho in Cheyenne. To the Sioux the white
men were always Wasicun--meaning literally, "You can't get
rid of them."
Among the Sioux and Cheyennes, women usually ruled the
camps. They owned the tepees and furnishings, and many of
the horses as well. The men generally did pretty much as the
women wanted. Since men were normally more conservative,
the women acted as a spur. The rank of a family depended as
much upon the sensibility and morality of its womenfolk as
it did upon the generosity and bravery of its men. Adding to
the influence of Indian women was the fact they outnumbered
the men nearly two to one. Leading a violent existence, the
average warrior's life expectancy was short. Polygamy was
logical and practical. The sorority of wives was usually desirable
and harmonious. Often sisters by blood, a man's wives
provided a close-knit family life dominated by the eldest or
first-married wife, called "the sits-beside-him-wife" because
of her place of honor in the lodge. Never a chattel, an eligible
girl was considered a gift to a prospective husband, who naturally
felt obligated to return the favor--usually in ponies--
to the girl's father. Only rarely were marriage pacts concluded
without the wholehearted consent of the bride. Although
young men were expected to philander, young women were
watched closely by their elders. Feminine chastity was highly
prized and absolutely required for most religious ceremonies,
such as the annual sun dance. Buffalo hunting would inevitably
be poor if the maidens of the tribe were not virtuous.
From puberty until marriage, a small protective rope, knotted
around the waist and passed down between the legs with each
end wrapped around a thigh, was worn by a young woman.
218
Sources
Though confining, the rope permitted the wearer to walk
freely, even to ride horseback. It was always worn at night
and when the girl went abroad alone. Almost never violated,
the protective rope's removal by a man made him subject to
death at the hands of the girl's relatives.
A grandmother held an honored position in the family.
Since the wife or wives were often busy with tasks about the
camp, small children were gently disciplined and watched over
by the grandmother. Even after death her spirit was believed
to help them always, and, as they grew older, they might pray
to her for guidance or aid in recovering lost objects.
Nose bobbing or nose splitting was extreme measures in
punishing adulterous women. After such punishment, however,
a woman might resume married life. I knew one such
ancient woman--a Blackfoot--who had outlived six husbands after losing her nose! Seldom resorted to, the Sioux and
Cheyennes had a simple method of divorcing faithless wives.
At a dance or other public gathering, the cuckolded husband
threw a small stick in the air and shouted, "There goes my
wife! I throw her away! Whoever gets that stick can have
her!" Sometimes he might add, "A horse and my wife go with
that stick!" If the stick happened to hit a bystander, he might
be kidded for wanting the disloyal woman. The "throwaway"
ceremony was usually a keen disgrace to the wife and her
paramour, who sometimes sought to save face by paying the
injured husband the original price of the wife in ponies.
Carlisle Indian School was established in the fall of 1879
by Captain R. H. Pratt in a converted cavalry barracks.
Around a nucleus of sixty Sioux boys and twenty-four Sioux
girls, mostly from families that had been at Little Big Horn
in 1876, Pratt managed to build an institution of learning
219
Ouster's Fall
for Indians that later was world-famous for its unbeatable
football teams and All-American athletes.
The tribes at Little Big Horn enjoyed a wide variety of
amusements and games. A favorite pastime among men and
boys was sham fighting, using moist clay, thrown from the
ends of four-foot switches, for weapons. At night, burning
coals were added to the clay and hurled as balls of bright
fire. "Arrow mark" consisted of throwing rather than shooting
arrows, the first arrow thrown setting the mark for the
contest. Kicking matches were somewhat like sham fights and
were sometimes intertribal or between various warrior societies.
A player could sit down suddenly if he wanted to avoid
being kicked. Wrestling, a favorite of the Cheyennes, was an
attempt between two players to swing the other off his feet.
The stick-and-hoop game was similar to hockey. The hoop
was made of slender willow rod. (Cheyennes named the white
man's wagon after the hoop used in this game which greatly
resembled the wagon's wheels.) Both men and women loved
the hand game, moccasin game, or hide-a-stick game--all
similar guessing contests upon which the Indians bet heavily.
Gambling frequently assumed tremendous importance during
any of these games and some men even gambled away their
wives. Women particularly enjoyed a sort of football game
in which they used only their feet to keep a deerskin ball filled
with antelope hair off the ground as long as possible. This was
occasionally modified by the women throwing the ball at each
other and using sticks to keep the ball from hitting them.
Another women's game was throwing sticks. Played on a
course of smooth ground, willow sticks six feet long and tipped
with elkhorn were hurled underhanded and made to slide a
long distance.
220
Sources
While scouting for the Fifth Cavalry on July 17, 1876,
Buffalo Bill Cody helped the soldiers turn back some eight
hundred Cheyennes from Red Cloud Agency who were seeking
to join Sitting Bull in Montana. In a famous duel at
Warbonnet Creek in northwest Nebraska, Cody sought out
and killed Hay-o-wai--Yellow Hair, popularly known as
Yellow Hand, young fighting chief of the band. Having just
gotten news of the Little Big Horn disaster, Cody scalped the
young chief with the cry, "First scalp for Custer!" Demoralized
at the death of their leader, the Cheyennes fled back to their
reservation. The regiment hotly pursued them, but failed to
catch or kill any more of them. So widely publicized were
Cody's heroics that he later re-enacted the duel regularly in
his world-famed Wild West Show.
Data on the white man's world of 1876 was gathered largely
from periodicals of that era. Among other sources I consulted
the New York Herald, Harper's Weekly, Leslies', Godey's, and Scribner's Magazines, The Century Magazine, and various
small-town newspapers. Certain quotes pertaining to
social highlights in the i870's are from Life. Material on
President Grant was taken from his Memoirs and various
biographies. Much information on Custer and his activities
at Fort Abraham Lincoln was given me by the late First
Sergeant Charles Windolph, formerly of the United States
Seventh Cavalry and the last white survivor of the Battle of
Little Big Horn. At my urging, he joined in several unofficial
reunions with Indian survivors of the battle. He died in Lead,
South Dakota, in 1950, aged 98,
Another natural feature which attracted the tribes to Little
Big Horn was the large cottonwood growth native to the
valley. These trees not only provided unlimited firewood but
221
Custer's Fait
also furnished "cottonwood ice crea^1'" a ^"^ ge^tinous
sap obtained by peeling away the o^1' bark of a tree and scraping the exposed surface. It was ^"sidered a great delicacy
by Plains Indians.
According to the greatest Indian e^™^' fewer than half of all warriors at Little Big Horn (^ or were able to ^ possession of any sort of firearm dur-^S the battle- since the armament carried into the fight by t^ seventh cavalry was considerable-a repeating carbine ^nd a P^01 for ^Y trooper, a revolver or two for ever-V officer-there is little
doubt the soldiers began the battle ^th ^^ flre P0^In
the upper Missouri country be^" ^ and I860' a quarter of a million buffalo were slaughtered annually by
whites. J. A. Alien, author of The ^menca^ B^. Living
and Extinct, says: "The total killed between ^° and '875
cannot have been less than 2,500,0°° annually!" By 1889
only 541 animals remained alive, though the buffalo has
since made a comeback under Fede^' care- the destruction
of a remnant band of two bulls, a cov^ and a calf at Lost park'
Colorado, in 1897 marked the killing °f the last Mi^ wild
stock in the United States.
On the night of June 24, Sittii^ Bun was sm^ the heyokan lowan, or thunder song, and ^"Sthe hanbleoklake. a prayer for advance knowledge. W words were S^6" to me by One Bull to whom Sitting Bull ^msdf had later "^P^d them. The chief was heard that ni^ in the sansarc ^P across the river from the lonely ridg^ where ^^"S Bul1 ^P1 his vigil. Gathered in Elk Head's ^e were ^Y Horse'
Horned Antelope, Bear Ribs, Fou< Bears' an(l Elk Head- Young Elk Head and Two Runs told me in '939 that they had
222
Sources
heard both Sitting Bull's song in the distance and the talk
of the men discussing the solitary ritual. An Indian believed
that to smoke was to pray. A portable altar, the pipe was a
combination of important symbols. The pipestone bowl represented
the Mother Earth. The wooden stem represented all
growing things. Red porcupine quillwork was a symbol of
magic power. By mingling his breath with sacred tobacco and
divine fire, the smoker (i.e., the worshiper) put himself in tune
with the universe.
The story of Elizabeth Custer's nightmare came from an
account by Walter David Coburn as told to him by Major
Will A. Logan, onetime staff officer with Gibbon and a member
of the regular garrison at Fort Abraham Lincoln in 1876.
A favorite pastime among officers and their ladies at Fort
Abraham Lincoln was the playing of charades. The General
and his wife were particularly avid fans of the game, and,
while the Custers were in garrison, musicales placed a lame
second in popularity.
Midmorning
As Plains Indians generally did not count above a thousand
and felt no honest person needed higher figures, it is difficult
to get accurate Indian estimates of the number of people
camped at Little Big Horn the day of the Custer fight. My
informants all agreed, however, that the following divisions
and tribes were represented, in part or entirely:
teton-dakota--main western division of the Sioux Nation:

Hunkpapas or Cutthroats
223
Custer's Fall
Sihasapas or Blackfeet (not to be confused with the
Blackfeet tribe of Montana and Alberta) Minneconjous or Those-WhoPlantbythe-Water Ita^ipchos or Sansarcs, sometimes called No-Bows Sichangus or Brules, sometimes called Burnt-Thighs Oohenonpas or Two Kettles Ogalalas or Those-WhoStandinthe-Middle
(Common usage has mixed Sioux, French, and English
names in designating the tribes throughout this book.)
santee-dakota--southeastern division of the Sioux Nation:

Mdewakantons
Wahpekutes
yankton-assiniboin--northern division of the Sioux Nation:

Yanktcmnais
Yanktons
Assiniboins
(All Sioux call themselves Allies, which in their speech is Lakota among the Teton tribes, Dakota among the Santees, Nakota among the Assiniboins and Yanktonnais. Sioux is a
French contraction of the Chippewa word Nadowessioux-- meaning "enemy." The name has stuck, however, and the
Allies have long been known to the whites as the Sioux.)
cheyenne nation:
Northern Cheyennes
Southern Cheyennes
(Cheyennes call themselves Tsististas--"the people"--but
have long been known by their common name which was
224
Sources
given them by the Sioux: Sha-hi-ye-na--"red talkers," i.e.,
people of alien speech.)
arapaho nation :
Northern Arapahoes gros ventres nation :
Atsinas or Big-Belliesofthe-Prairie.
In addition, families and individuals from various other
Plains tribes were present. No record of them exists, as most
of them hurried back to their respective agencies after the
battle.
Loose political units, the tribes were divided into clans,
phratries or bands, tiyospaye--a Sioux word for "extended
family groups"--and families. The usual unit for traveling
and camping was the band.
Indian life at Little Big Horn was well ordered but complex.
People lived in the public eye and there were few secrets.
What concerned one, concerned all. Polygamy was common,
but few men had more than four wives and the usual number
was two. Multiple wives were generally sisters. A husband
had first claim on his first wife's younger sisters. Occasionally,
extra wives were captives but no stigma was attached to
them. Marriages could be dissolved without ceremony. Young
men married at twenty-five or as soon as they had distinguished
themselves in war. Girls sometimes married at puberty.
A young girl at puberty had her whole body painted red by
her grandmother. Naked, covered only with a buffalo robe,
she stood over a low smudge fire made from sage and juniper
needles, letting the purifying smoke bathe her painted body.
She stayed in a separate lodge for four days during which
she ate no meat. If the camp moved, she rode a mare. Young
225
Custer's Fall
people from childhood up were advised by their grandparents,
who also gave them their original names. There was an effective
overlapping of generations which bound the tribes closer
together than would otherwise have been possible.
Courting lasted anywhere from one to five years. It was
done under a blanket. A couple usually walked long distances,
talking not of love, but of camp news and tribal affairs, and
the man wrapped his blanket around the girl. He did not
propose to the girl himself, but asked for her hand in marriage
through an intermediary--usually an older man mutually
respected by the families involved. Sometimes the couple
exchanged rings made of metal or bone after the manner of
whites. Medicine men were consulted to provide love potions
or aphrodisiacs with which the youth might tempt the girl.
Spruce gum was a favorite. A white-tailed deer's tail, carried
on the windward side of the girl's lodge so she could catch
the scent, was also highly rated. Flashing a looking glass in
the girl's eyes often had good effect. Flageolets or cedarwood
flutes produced dulcet tones known to have considerable influence
on girls--particularly at night, when the eager suitor
stayed up long after dark, inspiring the girl with his music.
The favorite courting time was when a girl performed her
regular tasks of fetching water or firewood and could be
encountered along some quiet camp trail.
Once married, there was no set rule on where the couple
should live, although the tribes were basically matrilocal.
In-law taboos protected everybody from possible friction or
disharmony within the family. Modesty prevailed throughout
most Indian lodges. A man might strip down to his breechclout
for sleep or battle, but a woman stayed covered from
shoulder to shin save during her morning bath with other
226
Sources
women at the river. The first part of a camp to be set up was
a tripod in front of the lodge from which was hung the shield
of the owner. A favorite wife or daughter was given the honor
of carrying this shield and placing it on the tripod except
when she was menstruating. At such times the women stayed
completely away from all sacred objects. If a menstruating
woman happened to visit the lodge of a shield owner, he was
forced to arrange an immediate purification ceremony with
his medicine man, who permeated the shield and holy objects
with sage smoke. Sometimes "medicine bundles" of sacred
objects were also hung on the tripod. Great care was taken
in arranging such bundles, as it was thought the power of the
medicine would be impaired if it touched the ground.
The size of a lodge was governed by the number of horses
a family had to haul it. The larger the lodge, the larger the
poles had to be. Two horses were required to drag large poles,
another to haul the buffalo-cow-hide cover. The poles were
arranged in a rough cone, twenty-two poles in a large tepee,
sixteen in a small one. Poles on the windward side were
slightly shorter than the others, so that the floor space of the
lodge was not a true circle. Two poles controlled the wings or
the smoke flaps. The covers varied, but usually consisted of
eighteen cowskins for a large tepee, eleven for a small one.
The fireplace was a rectangle, longer east to west than north
to south, or a crude half-moon with stones ringing its edge.
It was dug in the center of the oval floor. Furniture in the
lodge consisted of decorated dew cloths, hung from the poles
around the tepee, behind which was handy storage space;
backrests of willow sticks hung from tripods; mattresses of
willow rods; and mats of bulrushes or loosely woven tule.
Painted rawhide parfleches were used for storage, as well as
227
Custer's Fall
soft deerskin bags for small objects. No pottery was made by
these tribes, and the only basket was a. tiny one of split strands
of yucca or buffalo grass used in the Cheyenne seed game. The
woman of the lodge always lighted the fire. Smoldering ashes
were often carried long distances packed in buffalo dung.
Mountain mahogany leaves were scattered on the floor to keep
away lice and bedbugs. They had a pleasant aroma.
The man of the family had the place of honor at the rear or west side of the lodge, the entrance always facing east.
Youths and boys shared the space to his left. Women and girls
kept to his right. If the family had an old woman, she stayed
in her place as keeper of the entrance. No one, male or female,
crossed the space between the man of the family and the fireplace.
A visitor, entering the lodge, kept to his right and took
the space just to the owner's left. It was not etiquette for an
outsider to go to that part of the lodge occupied by his host's
womenfolk.
If a small boy were in the family, it was his job to cut
tobacco, light pipes, carry messages, and tend the livestock.
When an Indian smoked, he prayed and meditated. Smoking
was always an important ceremony in which the host smoked
first, then passed the pipe to the first visitor on his left, who
in turn passed it until it reached all adult males present. The
man farthest left then handed it back all the way around to
the host. The men felt it was unlucky to touch anything with
the stem of the pipe and held it straight up and down with the
bowl toward the ground. The pipe had great power and if
thrust between disputers would stop any argument.
The disciplining of children was mild. The usual way of
securing obedience from a child was to frighten him or splash
228
Sources
him with water. Ridicule was often the most effective deterrent
to misbehavior. Beating, or even slapping, was rare.
Indians considered it wrong to resort to corporal punishment
and thought white parents treated their offspring like enemies
when they struck them. Children were allowed to learn their
own lessons without parental restraint. A crawling baby learned
by experience how to get warm beside a fire without getting
burned. A six-week-old child often learned how to swim before
he had his ears pierced and could handle himself in water
before he could walk. All babies were taught never to cry.
No lesson in tribal life was more important, for Indians lived
by the axiom that no single person should endanger the people,
that no individual should lure an enemy or drive away game
by unnecessary sound.
In adult life crime was rare. Since most property was communally
owned, theft was almost unknown. Stealing horses
from an enemy tribe was, of course, honorable, but stealing
from one's own people was almost unthinkable. Murder was
seldom committed. The only motive for it was to get another
man's wife, and this could usually be accomplished with far
less risk. One guilty of murdering a tribesman was banished
from the tribe for four years or forever, according to circumstances.
The tribes recognized four cardinal virtues:
Generosity--Bravery--Moral Integrity--Fortitude
Four sins were regarded as unpardonable:
1. To permit anyone to go hungry;
2. To lose one's eldest son in battle;
3. To permit the baby of a dead mother to cry from hunger;
4. To return alone from war after one's comrades have all
been slain.
229
Custer's Fall
In his dream of soldiers coming. Box Elder claimed, the
word was brought to him from the maiyun (spirits) by wolf
messengers whose language he fully understood. Box Elder
got his power from his father. Blind Bull, who told him he
would not die in battle but from old age. He always seemed
to know far in advance what important events were going to
take place. After predicting the occurrence, he took part in
a raid against the Pawnees and captured four of their women.
True to his father's prognostication, he died of old age in
1885. Box Elder's story was told to me by Black Wolf, a
Cheyenne medicine man, whose own exploits appear elsewhere
in this book. The principal medicine man in the Cheyenne
tribe at the time of the Custer fight was Charcoal Bear. He
was not, however, a prophet like Box Elder. Cheyenne medicine
men had developed an elaborate pharmaceutical system
to cure various ailments. Among many other items they used
alum root for treating diarrhea; niggerhead root for toothache;
wallflower tea for cramps and stomach trouble; daisy tea for
stomach pains and rheumatism; blazing-star root for heart
trouble and lameness; umbrella wart for swellings and broken
bones (used externally only); and horsemeat for colds and
fevers. A certain root which grew only in the southern Black
Hills was well known to all the tribes as a love medicine and
aphrodisiac. Wars were fought in earlier times to control the
area in which this root was known to flourish.
Crazy Horse's chieftainship may have been held up by his
tribesmen for moral reasons. Having entered into a loveless
marriage pact arranged in 1865 by his parents with Black
Robe Woman, Crazy Horse stole away the wife of Subchief
No Water the following fall. No Water tracked down the illicit
lovers, shot at Crazy Horse, the bullet grazing the great war230

Sources
\par rior's cheek. Only the prompt intervention of Crazy Horse's
friend, Touch-the-Cloud, saved his life. No Water's wife
returned to her husband, but numerous other affairs followed.
Shortly before the death of Black Robe Woman from tuberculosis,
Crazy Horse took a second wife, a half-breed French
girl named Nellie Laravie. (These little-known facts were
told me by relatives of Crazy Horse now living at Pine Ridge
Reservation, South Dakota.)
The buffalo seemed to serve no end of purposes to the
Indian. While performing the hanblecheyapi, i.e., "crying for a
vision," young men stood barefooted on the skull of a buffalo
and faced the sun constantly from sunrise to sunset, without
food or drink, and with only four brief rest periods all during
the day. If by nightfall no vision had come, the seeker was
compelled to take the heavy skull to a nearby river, plant it
on the bottom, and stand on it in chest-deep water all through
the night.
According to Eagle Elk, scouts generally smeared themselves
with white clay and wore animal skins to make them
look like wolves. Yellow Brow told me that the Crows and
Cheyennes often wore white cloths with feathers attached to
serve the same purpose. In winter, deerhides smeared with
clay or white trade blankets were worn by scouts with separate
cloths around their heads. Weapons could be cunningly concealed
under such covering so that no telltale glints of sunlight
on gun barrels would betray their owners.
The description of Sitting Bull was given to me by his
nephews. One Bull and White Bull.
Individual exploits told throughout this book were given
to me by the warriors themselves in various interviews between
1935 and 1955. (See master list of Indian informants.)
231
Custer's Fall
The Sioux winter count is complete only for a period of
147 years, from 1759 to 1906. However, earlier records in
picture writing exist. One such document, according to the
American Museum of Natural History, indicates that the year
of the arrival of the Buffalo Calf Maiden was 1540. Among
other things, the Maiden predicted the coming of horses to
the Sioux people. Oddly enough, 1540 was the year in which
the Spanish conquistador Coronado brought the first horses
across the Plains.
Later a famous medicine man in his own right. Black Elk
told me of a number of methods used in the art of healing.
Each medicine man had his own unique procedure. Some used
rattles to drive out evil influence. Some fanned away the illness
with eagle wings. Others sucked out stones, feathers, live
lizards, or colored field mice--all believed to have caused sickness
or injury. Buffalo hair was universally accepted as having
great healing properties, its use dating back to the arrival of
the Buffalo Calf Maiden. Gourd rattles were thought necessary
when much blood was lost. Although few healers knew
how to cure a rattlesnake bite. Black Elk told me of a Cheyenne
medicine man named Bull Head who cured snake bite by
eating rattlesnake meat. This was also said to be successful
in treating bullet wounds. No medicine man who tried to cure
a horse ever ate horseflesh or shot at a horse, tame or wild.
The sweat lodge was universally used in healing ceremonies.
Any illness might be cured by bathing the patient in the purifying
smoke of a fire made from sweet grass, sweet pine,
juniper needles, pulverized mushroom or toadstool, and powdered
bitterroot. Purification was always a preliminary to
healing. If a boy happened to throw an earth clod against the
lodge of a medicine man, he had to be purified immediately
232
Sources
to avoid bad luck all around. There was usually much wiping
with sagebrush all over the boy's hands and arms, lest the lad
be struck by lightning.
Although amputation was never practiced--death was considered
preferable--Indian healers were good bone setters,
using rawhide splints and parfleche casts which provided traction.
One month was usually sufficient to allow for a broken
bone to mend.
Sacred stones were sometimes rolled around on a sick person's
body to locate the exact nature of the ailment. Such
stones were called tunkan--short for Tunkasila, meaning
"Grandfather," as the Sioux sometimes called God. They were
carried in pouches made of antelope ears and were otherwise
used to predict events or locate distant objects. (They were
small polished fragments of native brown sandstone.)
Both the bear and the wolf were thought to have strong
curative powers, hence many medicine men used the heads
and hides of these animals in their ritual. Some medicine men
had the power to kill merely by looking at a person. Others
used a flicker's tail as a dart and threw it deep inside the body
of an enemy. If nothing was done at once to "remove" the
tail, severe illness would result. Usually the enemy begged for
immediate treatment.
Medicine men preached certain stringent taboos among the
people: all were forbidden to point at a wolf with a knife blade
(the wolf was considered supernatural and friendly); the loss
of a finger might result from pointing at the sun, moon, or
an individual star; women were forbidden to handle the body
of a golden eagle, lest they get patches of pale skin (one transgressor,
Pipe Woman, a Southern Cheyenne, became spotted
all over when she touched a golden eagle); women were for233

Custer's Fall
bidden to burn owl feathers, lest they become deaf (the only
remedy for which was the difficult feat of removing owl
feathers from the sufferer's ears by the medicine men).
Before a battle, warriors often came to the medicine man to
be painted and have sacred songs chanted over them while
special painting was done. Blue clay was frequently used to
daub a fighting man's body and face with protective symbols.
The story of Jack Red Cloud's humiliating experience during
the Rosebud fight was told to me by two of Crook's Crow
scouts. Plain Bull and Mountain Sheep, who had been among
the lad's attackers. Various Ogalala Sioux informants grudgingly
admitted that such an incident had occurred. Although
it was 1940 when I learned the facts and sixty-four years had
passed since the event took place, the old-timers still got a lot
of satisfaction out of having bested the son of Red Cloud. The
ancient hostility between Sioux and Crow has disappeared
only recently with the passing of the last old warriors who
once engaged so fiercely in intertribal warfare.
The Arapahoes' story was told to me in 1939 by Sherman
Sage, one of the five stray warriors. Black Wolf, a Cheyenne,
later corroborated his part in the incident, although like several
other Cheyennes he was under the impression that there
had been six Arapaho visitors rather than five.
The Buffalo Head or Buffalo Hat (Issiwun) was kept in a
painted lodge, colored red above--representing day, black
below--representing night. Other Cheyenne and Sioux lodges
were occasionally painted, but generally only if they belonged
to a chief or war leader, or were used for some special purpose.
Sometimes a chief put his name on the outside of his
tepee in picture writing or indicated a dream symbol from
which he hoped to derive greater power.
234
Sources
The famous "medicine arrows"--mahuts--were not at Little
Big Horn, as they belonged to the Southern Cheyennes. The
two tribes were actually one people, having split into two sections
about 1830. Frequent intercourse was maintained between
them. In 1876 Southern Cheyennes were on their way
north to fight beside their kinsmen when soldiers met them in
the upper Powder River basin in central Wyoming and turned
them back.
Only three of the seven Cheyenne warrior societies fought
at Little Big Horn. One, the Bull Soldiers (or Red Shields),
consisted largely of elderly men who were past fighting age
and stayed out of the Custer battle. Absent altogether were
the famous Hotamitanio, "Dog Soldiers," primarily a Southern
Cheyenne organization. Many of the Crazy Dogs, one of
which was the warrior Calf, were closely associated with the
Sioux and intermarried with them.
The Sioux had an even more elaborate system of warrior
societies. Scattered through all tribes of the TetonDakota
were the akicita or "soldiers," such as the Kit Foxes, Crow
Owners (referring to a special type of dance bustle). Badgers,
White Marks, Bare Lance Owners, Owl Feathers, White Horse
Riders, and Strong Hearts (famous for their unique ermineskin
horned bonnets worn only in battle). The Silent Eaters,
of which Sitting Bull was a member, were more or less confined
to the Hunkpapa tribe. Designed primarily as a fighting
group, each society fought as a unit whenever possible. Each
had its own chiefs, heralds, or criers, and coterie of four
virtuous young women.
A certain society was selected every spring by the tribal
chiefs to act as camp police until fall. It was their function
235
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to preserve order during camp moves, to see that rules of the
buffalo hunt were obeyed, and to punish all offenders or lawbreakers.
The fighting leaders of the tribes, Sioux and Cheyenne
alike, were usually chiefs of the warrior societies.
Another type of organization, completely mystical in character,
was the dream society, made up of men who shared the
same or similar dream of one animal from which they derived
power. Principal of these were the elk and buffalo. The elk
provided sexual power and long life. Elk dreamers usually
carried a small rawhide circle representing the universe and
went around giving elk teeth to newborn babies as tokens of
good luck. Buffalo dreamers believed their totem provided
great protective power. Bits of shed buffalo hair were used
as charms. One such charm, dyed a deep red, was used in later
years--after Little Big Horn--by Sitting Bull. As dreams of
either animal were always desirable, men studied their favorite
of the two, hoping to induce a dream and thus become
eligible for membership in the society of their choice. A dream
imposed certain obligations on the dreamer. Failure to fulfill
them usually resulted in the dreamer being struck by lightning.
He first had to announce his dream to the tribe, then
secure whatever supernatural aid was indicated, finally arrange
his life so as to be completely in accord with the vision.
The greatest possible supernatural power was acquired from
dreams of thunderbirds. Although no Thunderbird dream
society existed, the dreamer was under heavier obligation. The
least infraction of the conditions of the dream exposed him
to extreme ridicule by the lowest element in the tribe, the heyoka--"joker" or "contrary." Pseudo-sacred, often an assistant
or apprentice to a medicine man, the heyoka expressed
joy by sighs and groans, sorrow and pain by laughter, had
236
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to wear the poorest of garments and suffer public humiliation
as a professional buffoon.
The story of Monahseetah and Custer's son, Yellow Bird,
was told to me by several Cheyenne informants including
Black Wolf, Little Chief, Rising Sun, and Dives Backward of
the Northern Cheyennes; and Eagle Nest and Yellow Eyes,
both Southern Cheyennes. Additional data concerning the
Washita campaign and Brave Bear's peace conference was
given me by Hunting Horse, Kiowa Indian scout who served
Custer. (Hunting Horse died in 1956, aged 107.) In his My
Life on the Plains: Or Personal Experiences with Indians, published in 1874, Custer recalled the pipe ceremony with the
Southern Cheyennes as "an amusing experience." He added
that when he bound himself in smoking the pipe never again
to take up arms against the Cheyennes, he was certain "the
Cheyennes would never have surrendered to him had they any
idea how I really felt."
Midday
The material on Mark Kellogg appeared in AP--the Story
of News, by Oliver Gramling. The Arikara reaction to ManWho-Makes-the-Paper-Talk
was provided by Jerome Good
Elk, one of the Arikara scouts.
Custer, who fancied himself as something of a correspondent,
wrote an article for the magazine Galaxy at the base camp
two miles below the mouth of the Tongue.
The question of the actual time of the fight has long been
a source of considerable disparity between white and Indian
accounts of the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Nearly all
237
Custer's Fall
Indian informants agreed that the heavy fighting against
Custer's command ended shortly after noon, although they
had no exact method of determining the hour. Survivors from
Reno's and Benteen's commands insisted it was somewhat
after 4 p.m. according to their watches. Happily, it seems both
sides were correct. The fact that the soldiers' watches indicated
it was after 9 p.m. at sundown proves that the Seventh
Cavalry was still operating on Chicago time, although they
were then nearly three modern time belts away from the
Windy City.
The story of Little Wolf's cautious maneuvering was told
to me by his son, young Little Wolf, an old man when I interviewed
him in 1946. Many details were substantiated by Two
Birds, another ancient member of the old Little Wolf band.
According to Old Eagle (also known as Amos Clown), who
told me about the death and burial of Old She-Bear, only a
chief or chief's relative was left in a lodge when he died. Any
ordinary dead person was dressed in his or her finest, then
removed through the side of the lodge, never through the
entrance. Sometimes if a dead chief already lay in a tepee,
other warriors might be placed on scaffolds within the same
lodge, as later happened at Little Big Horn. People in mourning
had a choice: they could go into prolonged mourning, or
they could get it over with in a hurry by gashing their heads
and legs and whacking off their hair (among Sioux and Crows)
or unbraiding it and rubbing dirt and ashes into it (among
the Cheyennes). Prolonged mourning usually involved "keeping
the spirit" of the dead for several months or a year, then
"letting the spirit go" at a formal ceremony. During this time
the mourners could not hunt, go to war, or share in social
activities, but they dressed in their plainest clothing and
Sources
stayed as much as possible out of the public eye. They often
kept a "spirit bundle" or a cottonwood "spirit post" dressed
in the clothing of the deceased with a face painted on it.
A child's spirit bundle was more often kept than that of an
adult, and usually bits of the youngster's hair, purified with
sweet grass and shed buffalo wool, was the basis of the bundle.
The spirit post of a child was generally much smaller than
that of an adult.
Old Eagle told me the story of Old She-Bear and Two Bears
seeing their reflections in badger blood. Few warriors had the
courage to use this hair-raising method of looking into the
future. Old Eagle assured me that he had been most careful to
look in another direction while this was going on.
Buffalo Calf Road Woman was not the only woman fighting
in the Rosebud battle. Plain Bull, Mountain Sheep, Pretty
Shield, and other Crows told me that one hundred fifty members
of their tribe fought under Chief Plenty Coups on the
side of the Gray Fox, and that one was a woman and another
was a hermaphrodite. (Among all Plains tribes, hermaphrodites
were thought of as a source of good luck around a camp
or, occasionally, in a war party.) The Crow girl warrior was
The Other Magpie, whose brother had been killed by the
Sioux. Courageous as well as pretty, she wore a woodpecker
skin on her head, painted her forehead yellow, and rode a black
horse. The hermaphrodite, Finds-Them-and-Kills-Them, normally
wore woman's dress, but changed to warrior's clothing
before riding into battle. During the fighting. Bull Snake,
a Crow warrior, was badly wounded and shot from his horse.
Finds-Them-and-Kills-Them and The Other Magpie dashed
in and managed with a coupstick to bring down the Sioux war239

Custer's Fall
rior who was threatening Bull Snake's life. Singing a shrill
war song, Finds-Them-and-Kills-Them killed the Sioux. The
Other Magpie took his scalp, which she cut up into many
pieces. Later, the pieces were passed out among women of the
tribe to be tied to willow poles and waved during the scalp
dance.
According to Jerome Good Elk, Lieutenant Varnum's detachment
of scouts included four Sioux married to Arikara
women, who had come out from Fort Abraham Lincoln to
guide the expedition and interpret should the need arise. They
played a negligible part in the battle, and nothing is known
of their individual exploits at Little Big Horn. They were:
White Cloud, Buffalo Ancestor, Red Bear (not to be confused
with the Ankara scout of that name), and Caroo.
Afternoon: Reno
The fishing incident was related to me by Dives Backward
and Little Chief. White Shield's account appears in George
Bird Grinnell's Fighting Cheyennes. It is interesting to note
that in Cheyenne the word for fish line is no-nun-o, meaning
a trap or device for catching something. It also means rainbow,
for in the poetic Cheyenne mind the appearance of a
rainbow at the end of a storm meant the rainbow had trapped, the thunder and rain.
Cheyennes were the only Plains Indians who normally ate
fish, due, perhaps, to the fact that they had once lived in permanent
riverside villages. Each tribe had certain food taboos.
No Indian would eat mice, rats, moles, muskrats, owls, or
frogs. The Crows would not eat snakes or dogs, although dogs
240
Sources
were sometimes eaten ceremonially by the Sioux. Most tribes
would not eat turtles.
There is some evidence that several Sioux women out digging
turnips were killed by the Arikara scouts. Gall, a Hunkpapa,
later said that his two wives and three children were
slain by the Arikaras during their attempt to capture the hostile
pony herd; but Red Horse, a Minneconjou chief, claimed
to have been out with the women and reported no casualties
among them. In the light of various misstatements made by
Gall, this part of his story may well be in error. George Herendeen,
white scout with Reno, was quoted in a Bismarck communique
published July 8, 1876, in the New York Herald, as saying, "Our men did not kill any squaws, but the Ree
[Arikara] Indian scouts did. The bodies of six squaws were
found in the little ravine...." None of my Indian informants
ever mentioned any casualties among the women at Little
Big Horn and it is doubtful whether any were killed.
Usher L. Burdick's short biography of Rain-inthe-Face
states that the warrior had not been harshly treated during
his confinement at Fort Abraham Lincoln, that he and the
Custer family became good friends, that he was visited almost
daily by the General and Mrs. Custer. In later years, Rain-inthe-Face
was said to make frequent inquiries about the health
of Mrs. Custer and "whether or not she had a new chief."
Although he may have taken a solicitous interest in Mrs.
Custer long after the battle, there is every indication that,
in 1876, he was intensely bitter about what he felt was an
entirely unjust punishment.
This council was described to me by One Bull, Kills Alive,
and several other Hunkpapas. Kill Eagle, who was anxious to
convey to the whites the impression that he and his band had
241
Custer's Fall
been kept unwilling prisoners in the hostile camp, later denied
having even seen Sitting Bull the day of the battle. His
account was the first one gotten from any Indian who had
been in the village at Little Big Horn and was included in a
story datelined Bismarck, D.T., September 23, 1876, which
appeared the next day in the New York Herald.
Like Kill Eagle, a number of Indians were undecided about
joining Sitting Bull. Less uncertain was Black Bull, a Blackfeet
Sioux medicine man and a sworn enemy of Sitting Bull
since the day when at a council meeting he had made light of
the whites' attempts to take Indian lands and had facetiously
suggested that the Sioux get a big scale and sell earth to the
white men by the pound. While the tribes were streaming out
of the agencies to join Sitting Bull, Black Bull remained in
Dakota Territory to help protect the lives and property of his
white friends who lived along the Cannonball Trail leading
west to the Little Big Horn. A ranch belonging to the Tuttle
family, parents of a newly born son, lay directly in the path of
the restless hostiles. In desperation the Tuttles turned to Black
Bull whom the hostiles thought to be "bad medicine" and
shunned like the plague. Unable to be everywhere at once,
Black Bull acted fast. In spite of his firm belief that having
his picture taken would deprive him of his soul, the medicine
man galloped into Bismarck, had his tintype taken, and hastened
back to give the Tuttles his tiny photograph to hang in
their cabin window. From that time on, the hostiles, seeing
Black Bull's likeness staring at them, hurried on their way
without further delay.
Drags-the-Rope reached camp after Brown Back's arrival,
having made a wide circle along the divide as far as the headwaters
of Tullock's Creek, then cross-country to Medicine Tail
Sources
Coulee, which he followed down to the ford and across into
the village. He told me that, since he could report having seen
only three white soldiers, no one in the Ogalala camp seemed
at all worried until the alarm went up a few minutes later.
He joined Crazy Horse at that time, fighting near the Ogalala
leader through most of the battle.
Sitting Bull's attempt to arrange a parley with the soldiers
through his nephew was related to me by One Bull himself.
Other informants substantiate the little-known fact that the
warriors were to fight back only if the soldiers forced them
into it. In 1941 Feather Earring told me, "If Long Hair had
wanted to come up and talk with us, we had all agreed ahead
of time we would have surrendered and gone back to our
agencies with him."
The mother-in-law taboo was the most stringent of several
behavior customs designed to prevent possible friction within
the family. Men, the warriors particularly, were forbidden to
look at or speak to their in-laws save for sisters-in-law, with
whom the Indian males had a unique relationship. Regarding
her as a potential wife, a man often made semi-obscene jokes
with his sister-in-law, might even raise her dress and expose
her in public. She was encouraged to retaliate in kind. Conversation
with other in-laws was strictly prohibited and messages
had to be relayed through a third person or, if none was
around, an inanimate object. Sioux babies were delivered by
the prospective mother's mother-in-law but no direct communication
could pass between the two women. Brothers and
sisters seldom spoke directly to each other after reaching
puberty. In all aspects of tribal life, Indians believed that
close living demanded a lack of overfamiliarity.
243
Custer's Fall
Lieutenant Mclntosh's father was said to have been a storekeeper
in Washington State at the time of his son's death.
Red Bear's story was passed on to me by Jerome Good Elk.
Much of it also appears in the Ankara Narrative.
Black Elk always said he was thirteen years old that summer
of 1876. However, he was slight and sickly, and Plains
Indians usually reckoned age by development and accomplishment
rather than years. Accomplishment alone would
have rated him much older than thirteen, for he had already
had an important vision and had performed feats of valor
prior to that time.
Isaiah Dorman was among the few Negroes known to the
Sioux. The Crows had long had a mulatto squaw man, Jim
Beckwourth, living among them, but he was unknown to the
hostiles.
Afternoon: Ouster
For whatever it is worth, Custer once made the following
immodest estimate of himself: "I am not impetuous or impulsive.
I resent that. Everything that I have ever done has been
the result of the study that I have made of imaginary military
situations that might arise. When I become engaged in a
campaign or battle and a great emergency arises, everything
that I ever heard or studied focuses in my mind as if the
situation were under a magnifying glass and my decision was
the instantaneous result. My mind works instantaneously but
always as the result of everything I have ever studied being
brought to bear on the situation."
Roan Bear eloped with another man's wife the year after
244
Sources
the Custer fight, then sent the cuckolded husband a pipe by
a respectable old man. The husband sent back word to Roan
Bear that he wanted to eat a woolly dog, thus expressing his
contempt for his faithless wife and amiably settling the matter.
Had the husband been a chief, according to Black Wolf,
he would have been compelled to overlook the offense
altogether.
The fight at the ford was described to me by White Cow
Bull and Bobtail Horse, both of whom lived to be quite old.
Custer's fall at mid-river was witnessed simultaneously by
White Cow Bull and the three Cro}v scouts, although White
Cow Bull did not know Custer's identity at the time. The
account of the Crows was passed or> to me by Pretty Shield,
widow of Goes Ahead, with whom I had my first interview in
1940 when she was almost eighty-two years of age. Publicized
earlier, Pretty Shield's accurate account could make little dent
in the Custer myth until corroborated here by the hostiles'
side of the story.
Yellow Nose and his mother were both captured by the
Cheyennes in 1858. The story was told to me by Dives Backward,
whose father (of the same n^me) had been a member
of the war party making the capture. No stigma was attached
to captives, and female prisoners were often taken as wives
by their captors. The mother of Yellow Nose was not content
in her new situation, however, and, leaving her son behind,
finally escaped.
The various companies or troops engaged in the battle are
referred to in some accounts according to the names of their
commanding officers. C Company was Tom Custer's command ;
F Company, George Yates'; I Company, Myles Keogh's; and
L Company, Calhoun's. E Company, Smith's command, was
245
Custer's Fall
the famous gray-horse troop which gallops ghostlike through
nearly all Indian accounts of the fight. These large handsome
band horses were easier for the hostiles to follow through an
action than the more nondescript bays and sorrels of other
troops. "Company," incidentally, was the official designation
of the unit until 1883 when the terms "troop" and "squadron"
replaced "company" and "battalion." The word "troop," however,
had been in common use for some years prior to that
time, even before 1876. Officers generally rode horses the same
color as the mounts of their men. Trumpeters rode grays.
Adjutant Cooke's mount was almost white.
Brilliant planning played little part in Indian warfare. Staff
level operations, or any type of high strategy, brought no
honors. All any Indian leader could do was to set the pace
for his followers.
In spite of oppressive heat, no Cheyennes fought naked at
Little Big Horn, although a dozen or more Sioux were stripped
down to the breechclout. Among all Plains tribes the breechclout
was a symbol of manhood. Even more important to
Indian males was the "G string," a slender cord tied around
the waist and never removed after puberty. (It could be
adjusted to fit an expanding waistline.) Buckskin leggings
had a "fork" cut in the side, a flap from the calf to the
ankle, the use of which is unknown. War shirts were decorated
with colored porcupine quillwork or beaded strips and were
usually heavily fringed. In accord with an age-old custom
of dressing in one's finest clothing when faced with possible
death, no warrior rode into the fight until he felt he looked
his best. Some of them believed much advance preparation
was necessary, but this did not affect their fighting courage
once they were in the battle. About fifteen Cheyennes wore
246
Sources
eagle-feather war bonnets, of which ten had long trails, while
some forty Sioux wore similar feathered headgear. In every
war bonnet worn, each feather represented a brave deed performed
in battle. (Crown bonnets consisted of about thirty
such feathers, but trail bonnets, which might have as many
as a hundred, never had fewer than seventy.) Unless all
feathers were earned by the wearer, other warriors might
snatch the bonnet off his head. Several Sioux and one Cheyenne
wore headdresses made from the mane and horns of
buffalo bulls. One Sioux had a bearskin headdress, and Sun
Bear, a Cheyenne, wore a war bonnet with a single buffalo
horn projecting from its center.
Pine's experience with his father was related to me by Pine
himself in 1940.
Part of this Cheyenne's immunity to lead can be explained
by the fact that nearly 20 per cent of the regiment's total
strength was made up of recruits, divided among the troops.
These green soldiers were new to any sort of warfare, let alone
the specialized training that went into Indian fighting. They,
as well as more seasoned troopers, did not even get target
practice before leaving Fort Abraham Lincoln!
Left Hand's mistake was described to me by Sherman
Sage, one of the Arapaho's warrior companions.
The story of Walking Blanket Woman was told to me by
Black Elk. Also known as Mary Crawler, she died in 1936.
The mass suicide of C Company was described to me by
Black Wolf, Pine, Limpy, Bobtail Horse, Rising Sun, Red
Fox, and Dives Backward--all Northern Cheyennes. Wooden
Leg, also a Cheyenne, described the same incident to his
friend, Dr. Thomas B. Marquis.
Aged thirty-eight. Chief Lame White Man was therefore
247
Ouster's Fall
close to the forty-year mark at which warriors among the
Sioux and Cheyennes were compelled by custom to retire.
Other tribes, such as the Crow, had no such age limit, and
Washakie, chief of the Wind River Shoshonis, once went on
the warpath at the age of seventy-five. Any man who had a
son in the battle was not expected to fight, but each family
in the village was required to furnish at least one warrior in
the common defense.
The suicide of the escaping officer led some Sioux and
Cheyennes into believing later that he might have been Long
Hair Custer. The story of Custer's suicide, however, seems
to have sprung from other sources.
"Brother-friends" were invariably closer than blood brothers,
who often stayed somewhat aloof from each other because
of age differences. The brother-friend relationship called for
unlimited loyalty and was the normal pattern of Indian
friendship.
"Counting coup" or striking the enemy was the basis of
all Plains Indian warfare. It was far more important for a
warrior thus to prove his courage than to kill the enemy outright.
For the last there was no reward unless he also struck
him. Weapons used in counting coup were lances, war clubs,
bows, quirts, or gun barrels. Sometimes a warrior carried a
special coupstick for the purpose. Bent at one end somewhat
like a shepherd's crook, it carried no sharpened point or blade.
If he had no weapons, a man might strike his enemy with the
flat of his hand. Fists were seldom used. Among the Cheyennes,
as many as three warriors might strike the same enemy
and earn battle honors. The first warrior usually shouted, "Ah haih! I am first!" so there could be no argument about
his having been first to touch the enemy. The Sioux and the
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Sources
Arapahoes allowed four coups on one enemy. Coup claims
were carefully ironed out during kill-talks after a fight.
The word "coup," meaning blow in French, was applied to
the Indian custom of striking an enemy by early FrenchCanadian
trappers. A warrior who had counted a first coup
was entitled to paint his face black with buffalo blood mixed
with cottonwood buds or rye-grass ashes. Black was the color
of victory. Signifying the end of hostilities, it meant that revenge
was accomplished on the enemy and that the war spirit
now lay dead like burned-out coals. One who had counted a
second coup might unbraid his hair and wear it loose for a
while, but he could not paint his face black. A warrior who
had killed an enemy after striking him could wear an erect
eagle feather in his hair. One who had struck the enemy without
killing him wore the feather in a horizontal position but
with equal honor. A wounded warrior often painted his
"honor" feathers bright red or notched them according to the
number of wounds received.
At one time the Sioux took enemy heads. Prior to the arrival
of whites on the Plains, they and the Cheyennes had learned
the more refined art of scalping from Indians farther east who
had been taught how to do it by the British during the French
and Indian Wars. Scalps, however, were mere trophies and
did not represent battle honors. Normally they were kept only
a short time, until the scalp dance had been held to celebrate
a victory or successful raid. It was customary for warriors
upon their return from battle to give scalps to their womenfolk,
who would sew them to small willow hoops which they
tied to long poles. After drying them properly in the sun,
the women would wave them proudly during the scalp dance.
Sometimes bits of enemy hairs were saved to fasten onto war
249
Ouster's Fall
shirts or to braid into a person's own locks to make them
seem longer.
Sitting Bull's warning to his warriors against looting was
told to me by his nephew, White Bull, who nevertheless took
two pairs of soldiers' breeches which he later gave to his
father. Makes Room.
Woman-Who-Walks-with-the-Stars actually did better at
Little Big Horn than her husband, Crow Dog, who succeeded
only in capturing three badly shot-up cavalry horses. Her
story was told to me in 1941 by Hollow Horn Eagle and
Brave Bird, both Brule survivors.
Mitch Bouyer may also have been killed down by the river
toward the end of the battle. Sherman Sage, Arapaho warrior
in the fight, told me in 1939 that a man in a calfskin vest and
a soldier with a bugle and a carbine escaped from the ridge
and got down to the river, reaching the west bank before the
Sioux and Cheyennes found them. Bouyer, it was said, begged
the Indians to kill him, which they eventually did. His body
was thrown into the river along with that of the bugler. The
story rings true, for the Arikara scouts knew Bouyer as Manwith-a-Calfskin-Vest
rather than as Two Bodies, and it is
probable he was wearing such a garment the day of the fight.
My Indian informants have agreed unanimously that no
man of Custer's command escaped them. Nevertheless, stories
of Custer survivors have been legion. As recently as the early
1950's, grizzled old characters have been brought out of
obscurity to tell hair-raising tales of escape--even on television.
Such claims have been supported by extremely thin
evidence, if any. However, it is true that the bodies of at least
six members of Custer's command were never recovered. They
were Lieutenants Sturgis, Porter, and Harrington, Dr. Lord,
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and two enlisted men. Captain Benteen described, in a letter
to his wife dated July 4, 1876, the finding of Porter's and
Sturgis's clothes in the deserted village, implying that these
men were taken captive and tortured to death. Scout Herendeen's
statement, made on July 7, 1876, reads; "The heads of
four white soldiers were found in the Sioux camp that had
been severed from their trunks, but the bodies could not be
found on the battlefield or in the village." All Indian accounts
deny categorically taking prisoners or inflicting torture on
living enemies at Little Big Horn. The Sioux recall that one
trooper on a runaway horse galloped quite a distance through
the village before he was brought down, but he was one of
Reno's command. If any of Custer's men got away, the
Indians never admitted it, and no authentic "survivors" ever
returned to the white man's world.
In August of 1876, General (then Captain) E. S. Godfrey
discovered the carcass of a Seventh Cavalry horse at the
mouth of the Rosebud River, some miles from Little Big Horn.
Shot in the head, the animal had apparently been killed for
meat. Its saddle leather had been cut away, possibly to be
used in fashioning a crude raft. A carbine had been found near
the carcass, indicating a white man had ridden the animal, for
no Indian would have abandoned such a valuable weapon.
No trace of the rider was ever found. Willis Rowland told me
in 1940 that, some years after the battle, he and another
Cheyenne had found human bones fifteen miles east of the
battlefield. He concluded they were those of a trooper who
had been clubbed and stripped and left for dead by the Sioux
but had regained consciousness and wandered away into the
badlands to die of exposure. In 1926, a week before the fiftieth
251
Custer's Fall
anniversary of the Custer fight, a Crow Indian named High
Medicine Rock came across a man's skeleton a mile and a half
southeast of the battlefield. Buttons, bits of rotted cloth, and
an old Seventh Cavalry carbine saddle boot identified the
bones as those of a stray trooper, while a Sioux arrowhead
imbedded in the neck vertebrae showed how one of Custer's
soldiers had met his end.
Sundown
The story of Sitting Bull asking his people to mourn for
the dead soldiers was told to me by One Bull, the chief's
younger nephew. White Bull was more the vigorous man of
action, while One Bull, no less courageous, seemed to have
deeper insight into matters pertaining to tribal government.
Both nephews later became chiefs in their own right--One
Bull of the Hunkpapas, White Bull of the Minneconjous.
Among other charges later leveled against him, Reno was
accused of having slapped a civilian teamster, of having been
drunk during the afternoon and night of the siege, and of
proposing that all able-bodied survivors make a run for safety,
leaving the wounded behind on Reno Hill. None of these
charges was substantiated during the Reno Court of Inquiry
in 1879. (See "The Legend," p. 196.)
Had Reno chosen to leave the bluff and take his command
back the way they had come, no Indian would have stood in
his way, according to all Indian informants who fought
around Reno Hill. By that time, the warriors felt they had won a sufficient victory to convince the soldiers of their foolishness
in attacking the village and most of them felt the
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survivors should be allowed to warn other troops out of the
area.
In later years White Bull became convinced that he had
killed Long Hair. He told me in 1939 that he was the warrior
who had slain the soldier-chief and that I was the first white
man to whom he had confessed. Although the facts of his story
were well known to other Sioux, many of whom substantiated
his claim, I felt compelled at the time to follow the wishes
of his son, James, who feared that publication of the story
might result in harm coming to the old man.
Within Army circles and in the press, the horse Comanche
enjoyed lasting fame until his death in 1891. Widely known
as "the only living thing found on the battlefield of the Little
Big Horn," the claybank gelding was actually one of several
badly wounded animals discovered by First Lieutenant Henry
Nolan of the Seventh Cavalry, acting quartermaster on General
Terry's staff. Nolan was a member of an advance party
led by First Lieutenant Bradley, who was scouting the Custer
battlefield three days after the fight and discovered the dead
bodies of Custer's command. Unable to move under his own
power, Comanche was taken down-river to the steamer Far
West and was returned to Fort Abraham Lincoln where he
finally recovered from his wounds. Never ridden again, draped
in black and with boots set backward in the stirrups of his
saddle, the little horse was an important part of all regimental
ceremonies. After his death at Fort Riley, Kansas, Comanche's
body was mounted and exhibited at the Columbian Exposition
in Chicago, in 1893. It is now in a glass case in the
rotunda of the natural science building on the campus of
Kansas University.
Bloody Knife, who was half Sioux, was not the only tie the
253
Ouster's Fall
hostiles had with the Ankara tribe. The father of Two Moon,
Cheyenne fighting leader, was a full-blooded Ankara.
Plains Indians have had a long-standing belief, probably
inspired by missionaries, that whisky is the root of all the
white man's evil. For many years Indians were prohibited by
Federal law from buying and drinking alcoholic beverages.
This law was derived from early treaties in which, at the
request of the signing chiefs, stipulation was made that no
liquor was to be brought into Indian territories by whites.
Oddly enough, this was long one of the few provisions of the
treaties which the white man's Government kept. Considered
discriminatory, the anti-liquor law for Indians was repealed
in 1953. Although now free to drink outside their reservations,
many Indians still attribute Custer's downfall to the effects of
alcohol. It is true that until noon of June 23, 1876, sutler
James Coleman sold whisky and grog to Seventh Cavalry
troopers on the deck of the Far West, and that they all presumably
rode up the Rosebud with full canteens bubbling
with liquor. It is doubtful, however, that much remained by
the afternoon of the 25th or that even a canteenful would have
gotten a hard-drinking trooper drunk.
As far as is known, a complete list of Indian casualties at
Little Big Horn has never before been published. Sioux names
were provided by White Bull, One Bull, Kills Alive, Feather
Earring, Black Elk, Iron Hawk, High Eagle, Iron Hail (Dewey
Beard), Eagle Bear, and White Cow Bull. Cheyenne names
were given to me by Black Wolf, Rising Sun, Pine, Red Fox,
Limpy, Bobtail Horse, Eagle Nest, Little Chief, Dives Backward,
and Willis Rowland. A breakdown of the casualties is
as follows:
254
Sources
Indians killed in bottoms fighting Reno's command:
3 Hunkpapas:
1 Two Kettle:
2 Sansarcs:
i Ogalala:
i Cheyenne:
Swift Bear, White Buffalo, Long
Road
Chased-by-Owls
Two Bears, Standing Elk
White Eagle
Whirlwind
8 Total
Indians killed at the bluff fighting Reno's command:
i Sansarc:
1 Hunkpapa:
2 Total
Long Robe
Hawk Man

* * *
Indians killed on the ridge fighting Custer's command:
2 Hunkpapas:
3 Sansarcs:
4 Ogalalas:
2 Minneconjous:
11 Cheyennes:
Rectum (Guts), Red Face
Long Dog, Elk Bear, Cloud Man,
Kills-Him
Many Lice, Bad-Light-Hair,
Young Skunk, Black White
Man
High Horse, Long Elk
Left Hand, Owns-Red-Horse, Black
Cloud, Flying By, Bearded Man
(Mustache), Swift Cloud, Noisy
Walking, Limber Bones, Hump
Nose, Black Bear, Lame White
Man

255
22 Total
32 Grand Total Indians killed
Custers Fall
That night of June 25, 1876, was particularly harrowing for
four men of Reno's command. Cut off during Reno's retreat
to the bluff, they were left surrounded in dense brush. Sergeant
O'Neill of G Company had attempted to escape with his troop
commander. Lieutenant Mclntosh, but had dashed back into
the brush after his horse was shot from under him. Presently,
he had found Lieutenant DeRudio of A Company. Later the
two men located Billy Jackson, one of the mixed-blood Piegan
scouts, and Fred Girard, interpreter for the Arikara scouts.
All four lay breathless under a scattering of leaves and sticks
while Sioux women poked through the underbrush, picking up
their dead and wounded. Tense moments passed as the women
stripped and mutilated the bodies of fallen soldiers. Tortured
by intense thirst, O'Neill's discomfort was increased by a
bloody nose. Only after dark were they able to crawl through
the thicket and make their way to the riverbank. One by one,
they drank hastily from Jackson's slouch hat. Jackson and
Girard, who had ponies tethered in the brush, went to find
them. They finally abandoned the animals when an Indian
war party rode near. Moving upstream in the darkness, the
scout and the interpreter rejoined Reno on the bluff without
further incident. DeRudio and O'Neill, however, ran headlong
into the war party. DeRudio fired twice, O'Neill once, before
they turned and ran several hundred yards downstream. The
desperate men plunged through neck-deep water to reach a tiny
island, only to discover themselves in the middle of a shallow
ford. Soon a column of troops rode up in the darkness, led
by a rider in a buckskin jacket. Thinking they must be Custer's
command, DeRudio shouted, "Hey, Tom Custer!" The
troops whirled and answered with shrill war cries. To their
horror, the two soldiers saw that the "troops" were Indian
256
Sources
warriors in captured uniforms. From their uneven ranks a
raucous bugle sounded, blaring out a savage challenge no
trooper ever heard before, as the hostiles charged. DeRudio
and O'Neill poured eight shots into the massed chargers,
heard splashes as two Indians fell or jumped into the water.
The uniformed Indians answered with a volley, then swirled
away in the darkness. Taking what cover they could, the two
soldiers waited grimly for them to return to the attack. It
never came. By five o'clock on the afternoon of the next day,
the twenty-sixth, after an agonizing day and a half of terror,
the two exhausted men crawled out of hiding and stumbled
upstream until they reached Reno Hill and comparative
safety.
This kill-song, celebrating the victory over Long Hair, was
taught to me by Black Elk, Iron Hawk, and High Eagle in
1947.
Aftermath
Sergeant Charles Windolph was lying beside Trooper Jones
when he was killed in the trenches on Reno Hill. The soldier,
the heel of his boot shot away, was within a few yards of
Windolph's own position. Benteen highly regarded Windolph's
talent with firearms, and had placed him with other sharpshooters
at the outer perimeter of Reno's defenses. By a quirk
of fate, he happened to be opposite White Cow Bull's position.
Although Windolph and White Cow Bull never met, so far as
I know, both men told me their separate stories which I have
here correlated.
The story of the wounding of Knife Chief was told to me
257
Custer's Fall
by his son, Andrew Knife, who is still living at Pine Ridge
Agency, South Dakota.
After 1876, the Sioux and Cheyennes held no victory dance
until Armistice Day, November 11, 1918.
Plains Indians enjoyed an almost pure democracy. The will
of the people controlled the chiefs, and every adult male had
a voice in the affairs of the tribe. No council was held in secret
and all within earshot might hear everything that was said.
For those who were not present, mounted criers later announced
all important decisions of council. Land cession was
one of several tribal matters in which a three-fourths majority
vote was required. Red Cloud's signing of the nefarious Treaty
of 1877 without the consent of his people was indicative of
the growing deterioration of old tribal forms and customs.
After years of fierce struggle to win for his people the right
to live in their native Montana, Little Wolf suffered deep
personal tragedy. When one of his wives was seduced by a
warrior named Starving Elk, Little Wolf shot him dead. Under
Cheyenne tribal law, a chief was not permitted to take offense
at such an injury, and no Cheyenne could take the life of
another lest the sacred arrows be blooded. Before the council
could take action. Little Wolf voluntarily accepted his punishment--permanent
banishment from his people. Renouncing
all rights as a chief, he was "thrown away" and never again
ate or smoked with his tribesmen. In 1892, the Northern
Cheyennes named Sun Road as Little Wolf's successor.
When the Hunkpapas crossed into Canada in 1877, old Four
Horns went on ahead of Sitting Bull and became known as the
actual leader of the tribe. According to One Bull, however,
Four Horns's capacity was strictly that of a civil leader,
whereas Sitting Bull was still fighting leader and head chief
258
Sources
of the Hunkpapas as long as he lived. Not all of Sitting Bull's
band returned with him in 1881. On November 12, 1056, Julia
Lethbridge died at Fort Qu'Appelle, Saskatchewan, at the age
of ninety. She was believed to be the last direct follower of
Sitting Bull in Canada.
Black Elk became a high priest of the Ghost Dance in
1890-91. Along with Kicking Bear and Short Bull, he was a
foremost leader of the movement. In later years he traveled
with Buffalo Bill Cody and finally became a lay reader in the
Catholic Mission near Pine Ridge Agency. A haranguer during
the Ghost Dances, Iron Hawk never fully accepted any of
the white man's ways. Both men took the spirit trail in 1950.
Among those slain at Wounded Knee on December 29,
1890, was a small group of Sitting Bull's Hunkpapas who had
fled their reservation. Standing Rock, after the murder of
their chief. They joined Big Foot and his Minneconjous in
time to be slaughtered by a vindictive Seventh Cavalry.
The Legend
Curley never told his complete story to a white man. In
1913, while going over the Custer Battlefield with E. A. Brininstool
and an agency employee named Squires, the former
scout seemed ready at last to tell his tale. Squires unaccountably
began to tease Curley about his trip to Washington right
after the Custer fight. Curley set his jaw and no amount of
coaxing could ever get him to tell his story to a white man
after that. What is known of Curley's own version comes
largely from Russell White Bear, a Crow Indian and Curley's
kinsman. Curley died in 1923.
259
Ouster's Fall
One prominent proponent of the theory that Custer committed
suicide was Colonel Richard Irving Dodge. In his book, Our Wild Indians, published in 1883, he wrote: "Custer's body
was found unscalped and unmutilated. My knowledge of
Indians convinces me that he died by his own hand."
The Sioux City Journal incident has been preserved for
posterity by John Edward Hicks in his Adventures of a Tramp
Printer.
Variants of the Curley story have him cowering in the
carcass of a buffalo instead of that of a horse.
Contributing to Reno's final downfall was his seduction of
a fellow officer's wife in the early i88o's, an incident which
resulted in his being cashiered out of the Army for "conduct
unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman."
The story of Bison, the curious West Point cadet, was found
in W. Fletcher Johnson's Red Record of the Sioux, published
in 1891.
A number of whites and mixbloods, largely of FrenchCanadian
descent, lived among the hostile tribes as squaw
men and traders. William Rowland, according to his halfCheyenne
son Willis, had run away from home as a youngster
to join the Cheyenne tribe. Nick Genneiss and Baptiste (Big
Bat) Poirier were old fixtures in the Sioux Nation by 1876.
Frank Grouard, a Sandwich Islander thought by the Indians
to be a mixblood, had long association with the Sioux. Frank
Huston, a former Confederate officer and "unreconstructed
Reb" as he called himself, had lived among the hostiles since
the end of the Civil War. Although Huston later admitted to
having been on his way to Little Big Horn and was fifty miles
away at the time of the Custer battle, none of these men were
actually in the hostile village the day of the fight. Indians
have insisted no whites or mixbloods were then with them.
260
Sources
Buffalo Bill Cody made an effort to "rescue" Sitting Bull
before McLaughlin's Indian police could assassinate the aging
chief. The agent was wise to Cody's failing and saw to it that
the showman-scout was drunk under the table with the help
of a relay of co-operative Army officers from the nearby garrison
at Fort Yates. In his cups, Cody never made it to Sitting
Bull's camp and the chief was killed according to plan.
Several burials and reburials of dead soldiers at Custer
Battlefield make the location of many of the present markers
all but meaningless. There is still some question as to the
place where Custer's body was found. Bradley's report indicates
that it was lying on top of other soldiers' bodies somewhat
down the west slope of the hogback ridge. White Bull's
account substantiates this location. The Cheyennes, on the
other hand, were in disagreement. Only Weasel Bear remembered
seeing Custer's body on the west slope. Other Cheyennes,
including Two Moon, Harshay Wolf, and Medicine Bear, all
of whom claimed to have counted coup on the body, insisted it
had been lying on the east slope, a hundred paces or so from
the present monument. A story of questionable authenticity
has been told for years among the Cheyennes about how a
number of them, having recognized Custer's body, moved it all
the way upstream to Reno Hill, then sought to open communication
with Reno by means of a white flag. At Reno's refusal
to parley, the Indians had then carried the body all the way
back to where they had discovered it! Although the tale otherwise
defies credence, it might explain two possible locations
for Custer's body if the warriors who had moved it back and
forth forgot its exact placement.
Goes Ahead's three wives, all sisters, were Standing Medicine
Rock, Pretty Shield, and Two Scalps. Pretty Shield,
261
Custer's Fall
though the second to marry the scout, considered herself his
great favorite and was the only one of the three to bear him
children. At all tribal functions she rode his war horse and
carried his shield, among the Crows the privilege of the favorite
wife.
After Little Big Horn the hostiles had good reason not to
trust the white man's sense of justice. Like Sitting Bull,
Inkpaduta led his Santees across the border into Canada, for
he well remembered the public hanging of thirty-eight of his
tribesmen at Mankato, Minnesota, on December 26, 1862,
after the abortive Little Crow uprising.
Among the nobler attempts to immortalize Custer was John
Greenleaf Whittier's "On the Little Big Horn."
Bradley's report on the finding of the dead at Custer Battlefield
mentions that "Tom Custer's belly had been cut open
and entrails were protruding." Although "no examination was
made to determine if his vitals had been removed," this cursory
look at a decomposing corpse was considered enough
evidence upon which to base the myth that his heart had been
cut out and eaten.
The amount of Wanamaker's reward to the "Indian Who
Killed Custer" was never publicly disclosed, but the Cheyennes
say it was a thousand dollars in cash and enough fresh
beef to feed all the bands represented at the Last Great Indian
Council.
Until his death in 1932, at the age of eighty-seven. Brave
Bear never had much to say about his honorary distinction
as the Slayer of Custer. His one and only statement on the
Custer fight was: "I was in the Battle of the Little Big Horn.
The Indians called the General 'Long Hair.' It is a fight I do
not like to talk about."
262
Sources
INDIAN INFORMANTS
*(all
are now deceased)
ARAPAHOES
northern arapaho (enrolled at Wind River Agency,
Wyoming)
Sherman Sage
ARIKARA
arikara (enrolled at Fort Berthold, North Dakota)
Jerome Good Elk
CHEYENNES
northern cheyennes (enrolled at Lame Deer, Montana)
Bear Comes Out
Black Wolf
Blind Man
Bobtail Horse
Dives Backward
Limpy
Little Chief
Little Head
Pine
Rising Sun
Strange Owl
Turkey Legs
Two Birds Walking Bear
Weasel Bear
Wolf Road
Young Little Wolf
Young Two Moon
263
Ouster's Fall
southern cheyennes (enrolled at El Reno, Oklahoma)
Eagle Nest
Yellow Eyes
SIOUX
blackfeet (enrolled at Standing Rock Agency, North
Dakota)
Standing Bear
brules (enrolled at Rosebud Agency, South Dakota)
Brave Bird
Coffee
Crazy Bull
Elk Thunder
Grass Rope (enrolled at Lower Brule Agency, South
Dakota)
High Bald Eagle
Hollow Horn Eagle
hunkpapas (enrolled at Standing Rock Agency, North
Dakota)
Bear Soldier
Belt
Black Bear
Callous Leg
Care Moccasin
Feather Earring
Iron Hawk f enrolled at Pine Ridge Agency,
John Sitting Bull 1 South Dakota
Kills Alive
Kills Pretty Enemy
Looking Horse
Male Bear
One Bull—hereditary chief
One Elk
White Bird
White Horse
Walking Hunter
264
Sources
minneconjous (enrolled at Cheyenne River Agency, South
Dakota)
Bear Stop
Bull Eagle
Ghost Dog
Iron Hail (Dewey Beard) [enrolled at Pine Ridge
Agency, South Dakota] ,
Little Skunk
White Bull--hereditary chief
ogalalas (enrolled at Pine Ridge Agency, South Dakota)
Black Elk
Blue Horse
Comes Again
Drags-the-Rope
Eagle Bear
Eagle Elk
Fools Crow
High Eagle
Holy Rock
Kills-a-Hundred
Little Warrior
Long Commander (Fast Hawk)
Moves Camp
One Feather
Pemmican
Red Paint
Sitting Eagle
Straight Forehead
White Cow Bull
White Eagle
sansarcs (enrolled at Cheyenne River Agency, South
Dakota)
Butcher (Afraid-of-Him)
Did-NotGo-Home
Elk Head
Old Eagle (Amos Clown)
Two Runs
265
Custer's Fall
INDIANS OTHER THAN INFORMANTS
MENTIONED IN BOOK
ARIKARA INDIAN SCOUTS
Bear's Eyes
Black Fox
Bloody Knife
Bob-tailed Bull--chief
Bull-inthe-Water
Bush
Crooked Horn
Forked Horn
Good Face
Goose
Horns-in-Front
Little Sioux
Long Bear
One Horn
Owl
Red Bear
Red Foolish Bear
Red Star
Running Wolf
Scabby Face
Soldier
Stab (Stabbed)
Two Strikes
Young Hawk
CROW INDIAN SCOUTS
Curley
Goes Ahead
Hairy Moccasin
Half Yellow Face--leader
White-ManRuns-Him
White Swan
HOSTILES
arapahoes
Left Hand
266
Sources
Waterman
Yellow Eagle
Yellow Fly
blackfeet Sioux
Kill Eagle
Scabby Face
cheyennes
Brave Bear--chief *'
Buffalo Calf Road Woman
Calf
Lame White Man--chief
Mad Wolf
Mahwissa
Monahseetah (Meotzi)
Roan Bear
Two Moon--chief
hunkpapas
Black Moon
Brown Back
Crow King
Deeds
Gall
Rain-inthe-Face
Sitting Bull--chief
minneconjous
Fast Bull
High Backbone
Hump
ogalalas
Big Road
Crazy Horse
Jack Red Cloud
Walking Blanket Woman (Mary Crawler)
santees
Inkpaduta (Red-on-Top)
Walks-Underthe-Ground
/
ORGANIZATION AND STRENGTH TABLE OF
GENERAL CUSTER'S SEVENTH U.S. CAVALRY, JUNE 25, 1876
On June 25, 1876, about 12:00 noon, on the slopes of the low divide between the valleys of the Rosebud and
Little Big Horn Rivers, in the State of Montana, the Seventh U.S. Cavalry, Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer
commanding, was halted while Custer split his regiment temporarily into three combat groups and a pack train,
in furtherance of his reconnaissance-in-force mission, to locate and pin down the Indians reported to be assembling
in unknown strength.
The four separate elements of the command, with the names, rank, and unit assignments of the officers; the
fate in store for each; and the strength of each troop as represented on the pre-battle rosters + of the regiment,
are shown in the following table.

BATTLE
ASSIGNMENT

FATE
OF
OFFICER

June 2526
BATTLE
STRENGTH
PRESENT
June 25, 1876
NUMBER
KILLED WOUNDED
All
Officer Enlisted Officer Enlisted Ranks

* George A. Custer
(Brevet Major General)
* William W. Cooke
(Brevet Lieut. Colonel)
"' Thomas W. Custer
* Henry M. Harrington
* Algernon E. Smith
* James G. Sturgis
HEADQUARTERS and HQ. DETACHMENT
Lieut. Colonel Comdg. Officer K 2
ist Lieut.
Captain
2d Lieut.
ist Lieut.
2d Lieut.
Adjutant
K
THE CUSTER BATTALION
Troop "C" K
Troop "C" M
Troop "E" 1 K
Troop "E" 2 M
30
6o
53
i6
36
37


* George W. Yates
* Myles W. Keogh
(Brevet Lieut. Colonel)
* James E. Porter
* James Calhoun
John J. Crittenden
Dr. G. E. Lord
William Van W. Reily
Captain
Captain
ist Lieut.
ist Lieut.
2d Lieut.
Asst. Surgeon2d
Lieut.
Troop "F"
Troop "I"
Troop "I"
Troop "I" 3 Troop "I" * attached
Unassigned
M
K
K
K
K
1	61
2	49
2	57
36 None
36 2
44


*Thomas B. Weir
(Brevet Lieut. Colonel)
* Winfield S. Edgerly
* Frederick W. Benteen ^Brevet Colonel)
Frank M. Gibson
* Edward S. Godfrey
* Marcus A. Reno
(Brevet Colonel)
* Benjamin H. Hodgson
* Myles Moylan
* Chas. C. DeRudio
* Donald Mclntosh
George D. Wallace
* Thomas B. French
* H. R. Porter
TOTAL BATTALION
THE BENTEEN BATTALION
Captain Troop "D" S
2d Lieut. Troop "D" S
Capt. Comdg. Troop "H" S
ist Lieut. Troop "H" S
Captain Troop "K" S
TOTAL BATTALION
THE RENO BATTALION
Maj. Comdg. Troops "A," S
"G," "M"
2d Lieut. Adjutant 7 Captain Troop "A'
ist Lieut. Troop "A'
ist Lieut. Troop "G'
ist Lieut. Troop "G' 8 Captain Troop "M '
Surgeon
9	2805 11
2	40
2	46
i	4'
5	136e
i8o
2	47
2	44
'	55
20
'6
29
8 14
13 2 12 10






BATTLE
June 2526




FATE
STRENGTH
NUMBER



BATTLE
OF
PRESENT
KILLED WOUNDED



ASSIGN
OFFIJune
25,
i8y6



All

NAME
RANK
MENT
CER
Officer Enlisted
Officer
Enlisted
Ranks
J.
M. DeWolf
Acting Surgeon

K
i
I



* Chas. A. Varnum
2d Lieut.
Comdg.
s
i







Indian Scouts9






* Luther R. Hare
ad Lieut.
Comdg.
s
i
. ^
..
Indian Scouts 10


* George Herendeen
* Charley Reynolds
* Fred Girard
* Isaiah Dorman
* Billy Jackson
* Bobby Jackson
* Trios. M. McDougall
Edward G. Mathey
Civilian Courier
Civilian White Scout
Civilian Interpreter
Civilian Interpreter
Civilian Scout
Civilian Scout
TOTAL BATTALION
THE PACK TRAIN
Captain Comdg.13 S
ist Lieut. 2d. in corn- S
mand 14
TOTAL TRAIN
TOTAL STRENGTH OF REGIMENT
19 Indian Scouts "
14612 3 33 26
45 15 None
(84)16 ..
2 (129)
29 officers and 14 233 65
637 enlisted men "


+ Custer may have made oral transfers and reassignments at the divide; if so, no record exists
K--Killed
M--Missing and unidentified, presumed killed
S--Survived
Normally assigned to: 1 Troop "A" 2 Troop "M" 3 Troop "C"
4 Attached from 20th Infantry
6 Strength of 280 men was reduced to approximately 214 before reaching Custer Field, by details to pack train
messengers, and losses en route.
6 Reduced to approximately 120 officers and men by details to pack train.
Normally assigned to: 7 Troop "B"
8 Acting Engineer officer, normally assigned to Troop "G"
Normally assigned to: 9 Troop "A" "Troop "K"
11 6 Scouts left to forage for Indian ponies
12 Actual strength, about 112 after details to pack train and other losses.
Normally assigned to: 13 Troop "B" " Troop "M" 16 Troop "B"
16 Men in charge of troop packs, i NCO and 6 privates from each of 12 troops, 6 civilian packers
17 Exclusive of scouts and civilians
* Mentioned in this book