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

Then, while Mackenzie was conferring with Crook at Fort Laramie for his march over to this northwestern corner of Nebraska bent on unhorsing and disarming the bands—a time consumed in requesting Winchester magazine arms for his men, a request the quartermaster corps never approved—the jumpy agent suddenly telegraphed his growing anxiety when those two troublesome bands under Red Cloud and Red Leaf just up and moved some twenty-five miles away from the agency, camping in the vicinity of Chadron Creek.

When Major George A. Gordon of the Fifth Cavalry, the commander at Camp Robinson, ordered the bands back, the stubborn chiefs turned a deaf ear to the soldier chief. From the rebellious camps there was even some grumbling talk of war, which made Crook fear the bands were preparing to flee north in whole or in part. Unknowingly, the Indians had just handed Sheridan, Crook, and Mackenzie the ideal raison d’être for the coming action. Now the Fourth could move.

Only problem was that, to Donegan’s way of thinking, the government and the army were in cahoots once more to make the tribes out to be the villains—just as they had schemed to do almost a year before when they had ordered the wandering bands back to their reservations or suffer military action. Once more the white officials were dealing with the tribes using two faces: on the one hand, Washington had dispatched its blue-ribbon commission to treat with the reservation Sioux to sell the Black Hills; while the other hand was dispatching army units to impoverish those very same reservation bands.

This morning’s action against Red Cloud’s and Red Leaf’s runaways had been specifically designed by Sheridan, Crook, and Mackenzie to cripple, if not geld, that peace commission.

As well as designed to strengthen the military’s hand before Crook’s army marched north into the teeth of winter to capture Crazy Horse once and for all.

* Black Sun, Vol. 4, The Plainsmen Series.

* Dying Thunder, Vol. 7, The Plainsmen Series.

Chapter 13

23 October 1876

Trouble at Red Cloud Agency;

CHEYENNE, October 21.—Advices from Red Cloud Agency on the 20th are as follows: Immediately after the commissioners left the agency, recently, the Indians moved and camped about twenty-five miles away, sending in only squaws and a few bucks on issue days to draw rations. They were so far away that no information could be had as to their movements and doings, and doubtless many of them were off on raiding and plundering expeditions. Word was sent to them by Captain Smith, acting United States Indian agent, to come into the agency. To this they paid no attention. Meanwhile General Crook and several of his staff arrived there, and word was immediately sent to these Indians that no more rations would be issued till they came into the agency where they belonged and remained. Yesterday was issue day and very few Indians were present. Red Cloud was present, but none of his band, and he refused to receive rations. The ultimatum sent them will not be receded from in the smallest degree, and unless it is complied with trouble is anticipated. Lieutenant Chase, with 1,000 cavalry, left Fort Russell yesterday to intercept the raiding parties operating in the vicinity of the Chug.

He heard a dog barking, snarling, growling somewhere at the south side of camp, where the pony herd was grazing.

It was black in Red Cloud’s lodge. But looking up to the junction of the eighteen poles, the Oglalla chief could see the paling of the sky. Dawn would come soon. Perhaps the dog had nosed some wild animal out early to find its breakfast.

Then a second dog took up the warning, and quickly a third. Suddenly dogs were barking throughout camp.

Throwing his robes aside as his wife sat up beside him, her eyes wide with fear, Red Cloud yanked on the furry buffalo-hide winter moccasins and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. At the doorway he grabbed a belt of cartridges and looped it over his shoulder, then took into his hand the cold iron of the Winchester repeater that stood ready against a frosty pole.

By the time he ducked his head from the canvas cover and stood upon the old snow that crackled beneath his feet, many of the men in the village were emerging with their weapons. Dogs raced here, then there, as the forms emerged out of the frosty mist hanging like shreds of old, dingy canvas among the leafless trees bordering Chadron Creek.

Men on horseback! Most of them the Scalped Heads—Pawnee. Long had they been wolves for the soldiers.

Behind the Scalped Heads came mounted soldiers, their horses snorting great jets of steam from their nostrils, bobbing their heads, pawing the ground, eyes saucering with fright as the white men fought to maintain control of their animals there among the foreign smells of the village.

A cold rock in his belly told Red Cloud that the Oglalla’s ponies were already in the hands of these Pawnee.