Free Bill Dugan by Crazy Horse Page A

will freeze to death.”
    “Your warriors have been raiding the Holy Road,” Harney said. “Some of your men attacked a mail train and killed several innocent civilians.”
    “I know about those things, and I have tried to stop them, but …” He shrugged. “You have your wild young men, just as I do. You know what it is like to try to break them, to put a bit in their mouths.”
    “You mean Lieutenant Grattan, don’t you?” Harney asked. He’d read the report filed by Fleming, and by Fleming’s successor, Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman. “You mean you are not to blame for failing to control your young bucks, and I am not to blame for the mistakes my young soldiers make, don’t you?”
    Little Thunder nodded. “It is hard to be a chief.
    You must try to make your people see the right thing, but there is just so much you can do to make them behave the way they should. When they do, you receive praise, and when they do not, you are blamed. I am blamed, and I accept it. But these people here with me, they have bothered no one. They have attacked no whites, stolen nothing except horses from the Crows and the Pawnees, which is what we have always done.”
    Harney was getting nervous. The scout from Cooke was overdue, but he dare not move on the village until he was certain Cooke was deployed.
    “I don’t want any of your people hurt, but you should have thought of that before now, Chief. You know that Agent Twiss said any Sioux north of the Platte will be considered hostile. That means you and your people are to be considered hostile.”
    As he waited for the chief’s reply, he saw the dust cloud of a rider approaching at a full gallop. Crossing his fingers that it was Cooke’s scout, he excused himself and moved aside to wait for the rider. It was indeed Cooke’s messenger. Everything was ready. He was in place and waiting for the expected retreat.
    Harney spurred his mount back toward Little Thunder. The chief watched him closely, as if he suspected something.
    “I came here to fight you, Chief. Those are my orders,” Harney told him. “And I mean to follow them to the letter.”
    “But there is no reason to fight. We will go in when we are ready.”
    “No, now, that isn’t the way it’s going to be. I came to fight and you must fight.”
    Little Thunder looked at Spotted Tail, who shook his head as he listened to the interpreter’s words. As their meaning sank in, he let the white flag fall to his side, turned his horse, and headed back toward the village at a gallop.
    Little Thunder looked sadly at Harney. “I will fight if I must, but …” He couldn’t finish, turned slowly, and rode back toward the camp.
    Harney waited patiently until Little Thunder was almost at the edge of the village, then gave the order to charge. His men moved ahead with fixed bayonets. The field pieces opened up, showering explosive shells into the middle of the camp. Suddenly, like a hornet’s nest poked with a sharp stick, the place came alive. Sioux were everywhere, running in every conceivable direction. Most of them were women and children.
    The advancing troops waited for the artillery to let up, then charged ahead, firing their rifles, stopping to reload, then charging ahead again. Over and over, they fired in ranks, leapfrogging and laying down an incessant hail of fire.
    As Harney expected, most of the Sioux scattered. Unused to organized fighting, they were helpless in front of Harney’s onslaught.
    Those who ran up the draw behind the village fell under Cooke’s guns. Many of the Indians tried to climb up the steep face of the bluff to get at Cooke’s men, but the artillery was brought to bear, and shell after shell thundered into the scrambling warriors.
    It was over as suddenly as it had begun. The village was a shambles. Most of the tipis had been destroyed. Systematically torched, they spewed smoke into the sky until a pall hung over the battlesite. The campground was littered with dead and dying Sioux, many