A Cold Day in Hell: The Dull Knife Battle, 1876

Yes, Johnny decided, Sitting Bull was careful not to let his face show much of anything as he sat in council, just as he did sitting here for the first time with a soldier leader since the great war had begun last winter along the ice-clogged Powder River. Clearly the Hunkpapa leader was a man who deliberated on a matter for some time before coming to his decision.

When the pipe had finished its rounds of the small circle and Sitting Bull held it once again, the Hunkpapa chief spoke.

“I point the stem of my pipe to the Great Spirit. He thinks nothing bad of His people. I believe that He is near us and looking down upon us. We are agreeing to keep the peace and smoke this pipe together with you. The Great Spirit is a witness to this peace, but I am afraid you will break it, Bear Coat. My people, when they make an agreement, shake hands and exchange presents. What have you brought with you? My people expect presents in token of this friendship.”

Johnny translated the soldier chief’s demand for Sitting Bull, “Presents? You ask for gifts when your people have stolen everything you can get your hands on and butchered every white man who comes into this country? No presents. To have peace, you must first give back the mules your warriors stole from my wagon trains and promise you will never attack my wagons again.”

The Bull’s dark face was impassive, not registering the slightest show of emotion as he replied, “Tell the Bear Coat I will return the mules when he returns the buffalo his soldiers and wagons have scared off.”

The officer’s eyes visibly narrowed at that rebuke. He asked, “Does this mean Sitting Bull will not return what he has stolen?”

But instead of answering the question directly, Sitting Bull asked another through Johnny: “Why are your soldiers here?”

“I am here because these warriors attacked my wagons when your Indians should have been back at their agency.”

Johnny wagged his head, working to get the question phrased just so. “No, soldier chief—why aren’t the soldiers staying in their log lodges for the winter and leaving the Lakota be, as the soldiers have always done? Instead, the soldiers went to attack the Cheyenne last winter on the Powder. And now Sitting Bull wants to know why you come to his country to attack his villages. Winter is a time of peace.”

“Yes, peace.” The soldier’s cold eyes flicked from the Hunkpapa to the half-breed. “That’s exactly what we should be talking about. My lieutenant here said you told him Sitting Bull wants to talk about surrender.”

Bruguier translated for the chief, then turned back to Miles. “There will be no talk of surrender today. Sitting Bull want to know why the army is here in Lakota country. Why are the soldiers here, scaring away our buffalo, building their log forts, chasing after our villages of women and children?”

“We are here because you are here,” the soldier replied testily, beginning to show some exasperation as he shifted to another knee. “If Sitting Bull and all his people would go home to their agency, we would have no need of chasing after your villages. We would have peace.”

“This is our country. This is our home. You are the stranger here. Sitting Bull wants you to take your soldiers and go back where you came from.”

For a few moments Miles ruminated on what to say next. “This was once your home. True. But long, long ago. No longer are you free to roam it at will. Now you must return to your agency and surrender.”

“Surrender?” Bruguier asked after Sitting Bull asked the question angrily. “Again you talk of surrender?”

“Yes,” Miles repeated. “You told my man the chief said he was ready to surrender. I can offer you no terms but complete surrender: turning over your weapons and your ponies, then moving on to your agency at Standing Rock—”

“Surrender?” Johnny asked again, trying hard to control his voice, feeling the tension suddenly grow very taut in that small circle. He flicked a glance at the eyes of the Old-Man Chiefs as they tried to make sense of why he was not translating what Miles had said. “Sitting Bull has not talked of surrender.”

“W-wait a goddamned minute here,” Miles stammered, his face turning crimson, his eyes glowering slightly as they shot over to one of his soldiers. “But you told my aide that Sitting Bull wanted to discuss terms of surrender.”

With a wag of his head, Johnny said, “No. Your soldier misunderstand. I told him all of these Old-Man Chiefs wanted to be left alone by the army. Some of them wanted to surrender and go back to their agency for the winter if the army was going to make hunting the buffalo hard to do. They would go in. But Sitting Bull? No. No. He has never said he would surrender to you. Not to any white army soldier chief. No, never.”

For a few minutes the crisp autumn air seemed all the more charged with an unspoken electricity as Miles ground his teeth together, staring at each of the Lakota in turn, but reserving his hardest glare for the impassive Sitting Bull and his translator.