On the Border with Crook

by John Gregory Bourke

THE SURRENDER OF “CRAZY HORSE”—SELLING AMMUNITION TO HOSTILE INDIANS—PLUNDERING UNARMED, PEACEABLE INDIANS—SUPPER WITH “CRAZY HORSE”—CHARACTER OF THIS CHIEF—HIS BRAVERY AND GENEROSITY—THE STORY OF THE CUSTER MASSACRE AS TOLD BY “HORNY HORSE”—LIEUTENANT REILLY’S RING—THE DEATH OF “CRAZY HORSE”—“LITTLE BIG MAN’S” STORY ABOUT IT—“CRAZY HORSE” PROBABLY HIS OWN SLAYER—THE EBB OF SIOUX SUPREMACY

On the 6th of May, 1877, shortly after meridian, “Crazy Horse’s” band approached the agency, descending the hills in the following order: First, Lieutenant William P. Clarke, with the agency Indians—that is, “Red Cloud” and his Indian soldiers; next, “Crazy Horse,” at the head of his warriors, having abreast of him “Little Big Man,” “Little Hawk,” “He Dog,” “Old Hawk,” and “Bad Road.” Stringing along behind, for a distance of nearly two miles, came the old men with the women and children, lodges, ponies, dogs, and other plunder. Lieutenant Clarke had gone out early in the morning to a point seven or eight miles from the post to meet the incoming party. “Crazy Horse,” upon learning who he was, remained silent, but was not at all ungracious or surly. He dismounted from his pony, sat down upon the ground, and said that then was the best time for smoking the pipe of peace. He then held out his left hand to Clarke, telling him: “Cola (friend), I shake with this hand because my heart is on this side; I want this peace to last forever.” The principal warriors were then presented, each shaking hands. “Crazy Horse” had given his feather bonnet and all other regalia of the war-path to “Red Cloud,” his brother-in-law, as he had no further use for them. “He-Dog” took off his own war bonnet and scalp shirt and put them upon Clarke in sign of friendly good-will. The most perfect discipline was maintained, and silence reigned from the head of the cavalcade to the farthest “travois.”

When the post was reached, the warriors began to intone a peace chant, in whose refrain the squaws and older children joined, and which lasted until a halt was ordered and the work of turning over ponies and surrendering arms began. An enumeration disclosed the fact that “Crazy Horse” had with him not quite twenty-five hundred ponies, over three hundred warriors, one hundred and forty-six lodges, with an average of almost two families in each, and between eleven hundred and eleven hundred and fifty people all told, not counting the very considerable number who were able to precede the main body, on account of having fatter and stronger ponies. Lieutenant Clarke, in firm but quiet tones, informed the new arrivals that everything in the shape of a fire-arm must be given up, and to insure this being done he would wait until after the squaws had pitched their “tepis,” and then make the collection in person. One hundred and seventeen fire-arms, principally cavalry carbines and Winchesters, were found and hauled away in a cart. “Crazy Horse” himself gave up three Winchesters, and “Little Hawk” two. By what seemed to be a curious coincidence, “Little Hawk” wore pendent at his neck the silver medal given to his father at the Peace Conference on the North Platte, in 1817; it bore the effigy of President Monroe. Some of the other chiefs, in surrendering, laid sticks down upon the ground, saying: “Cola, this is my gun, this little one is a pistol; send to my lodge and get them.” Every one of these pledges was redeemed by the owner. There was no disorder and no bad feeling, which was remarkable enough, considering that so many of “Crazy Horse’s” band had never been on a reservation before. Everything ran along as smooth as clock-work, such interpretation as was necessary being made by Frank Gruard and Billy Hunter; Clarke, however, needed little help, as he could converse perfectly in the sign language. Just behind the knoll overlooking the flat upon which “Crazy Horse’s” village had been erected, every one of the Cheyenne warriors was in the saddle, armed to the teeth, and ready to charge down upon “Crazy Horse” and settle their score with him, at the first sign of treachery.

“Crazy Horse’s” warriors were more completely disarmed than any other bands coming under my observation, not so much in the number of weapons as in the pattern and condition; to disarm Indians is always an unsatisfactory piece of business, so long as the cowboys and other lawless characters in the vicinity of the agencies are allowed to roam over the country, each one a travelling arsenal. The very same men who will kill unarmed squaws and children, as was done in January, 1891, near Pine Ridge Agency, will turn around and sell to the bucks the arms and ammunition which they require for the next war-path. At the very moment when Crook was endeavoring to deprive the surrendering hostiles of deadly weapons, Colonel Mason captured a man with a vehicle loaded with metallic cartridges, brought up from Cheyenne or Sidney, to be disposed of to the young men at Spotted Tail. As with cartridges, so with whiskey: the western country has too many reprobates who make a nefarious living by the sale of vile intoxicants to savages; this has been persistently done among the Sioux, Mojaves, Hualpais, Navajos, and Apaches, to my certain knowledge. Rarely are any of these scoundrels punished. The same class of men robbed the Indians with impunity; “Spotted Tail” lost sixty head of ponies which the Indian scouts trailed down to North Platte, where they were sold among the stock-raisers. The arrest of the thieves was confided to the then sheriff of Sidney, who, somehow, always failed to come up with them; possibly the fact that he was the head of the gang himself may have had something to do with his non-success, but that is hard to say.

“Crazy Horse” took his first supper at Red Cloud Agency with Frank Gruard, who had been his captive for a long time and had made his escape less than two years previously. Frank asked me to go over with him. When we approached the chief’s “tepi,” a couple of squaws were grinding coffee between two stones, and preparing something to eat. “Crazy Horse” remained seated on the ground, but when Frank called his name in Dakota, “Tashunca-uitco,” at the same time adding a few words I did not understand, he looked up, arose, and gave me a hearty grasp of his hand. I saw before me a man who looked quite young, not over thirty years old, five feet eight inches high, lithe and sinewy, with a scar in the face. The expression of his countenance was one of quiet dignity, but morose, dogged, tenacious, and melancholy. He behaved with stolidity, like a man who realized he had to give in to Fate, but would do so as sullenly as possible. While talking to Frank, his countenance lit up with genuine pleasure, but to all others he was, at least in the first days of his coming upon the reservation, gloomy and reserved. All Indians gave him a high reputation for courage and generosity. In advancing upon an enemy, none of his warriors were allowed to pass him. He had made hundreds of friends by his charity towards the poor, as it was a point of honor with him never to keep anything for himself, excepting weapons of war. I never heard an Indian mention his name save in terms of respect. In the Custer massacre, the attack by Reno had at first caused a panic among women and children, and some of the warriors, who started to flee, but “Crazy Horse,” throwing away his rifle, brained one of the incoming soldiers with his stone war-club and jumped upon his horse.

“Little Hawk,” who appeared to rank next to “Crazy Horse” in importance, was much like his superior in size and build, but his face was more kindly in expression and he more fluent in speech; he did most of the talking. “Little Big Man” I did not like in those days; principally on account of his insolent behavior to the members of the Allison Commission at this same agency, during the summer. In appearance he was crafty, but withal a man of considerable ability and force. He and I became better friends afterwards, and exchanged presents. I hold now his beautiful calumet and a finely-beaded tobacco bag, as well as a shirt trimmed with human scalps, which was once the property of “Crazy Horse.”

As it is never too soon to begin a good work, Mr. Thomas Moore, the Chief of Transportation, was busy the next morning in teaching the Sioux squaws how to make bread out of the flour issued to them, which used to be wasted, fed to their ponies, or bartered off at the trader’s store.

Mingling as we were with chiefs and warriors who had been fighting the Government without intermission for more than a year, and who had played such a bloody part in the Custer tragedy, it was natural that we should seek to learn all we could to throw light upon that sombre page in our military annals. I cannot say that much information was gained not already known to the public. The Indians appeared to believe that from the moment that Custer divided his forces in presence of such overwhelming odds, the destruction of the whole or the greater part was a foregone conclusion. A picture of the battle-field was drawn by one of the Indians present in hostility, and marked by myself under his direction. In some of the villages indicated there were portions of several bands.

This is the exact language of “Horny Horse”: “Some lodges came out from Standing Rock Agency and told us the troops were coming. The troops charged on the camp before we knew they were there. The lodges were strung out about as far as from here to the Red Cloud Agency slaughter-house (about two and a half miles). I was in the council-house with a lot of the old men, when we heard shots fired from up the river. The troops first charged from up the river. We came out of the council-house and ran to our lodges.

“All the young bucks got on their horses and charged the troops. All the old bucks and squaws ran the other way. We ran the troops back. Then there was another party of troops on the other side of the river. One half of the Indians pursued the first body of troops (i. e., Reno’s); the other half went after the other body (i. e., Custer’s). I didn’t see exactly all the fight, but by noon, all of one party (i. e., Custer’s) were killed, and the others driven back into a bad place. We took no prisoners. I did not go out to see the bodies, because there were two young bucks of my band killed in the fight and we had to look after them.