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

Then, no more than a few suns after that victory, word drifted in to the agencies of another, even greater fight. It was then Morning Star and the other Old-Man Chiefs decided they could no longer contain the eagerness of their people. They must go north, to join that great village living life in the old way—no more to settle for the white man’s flour and pig meat, his parchment-thin blankets that fell apart with the first hard rain.

What a celebration that had been, all those lodges and the People—starting north to join the others who had twice defeated the soldiers sent out to herd those winter roamers back to the reservations.

Then of an early morning, near a tributary of the Red Paint River,† the young warriors riding out in front of their great procession were attacked by a group of soldiers. Yellow Hair was killed by the long-hair scout called Cody, and the rest of the cavalcade whirled about on their heels, hurrying back toward the agency as many, many soldiers gave chase, nipping at their heels. Fortunate it was that they made it across the boundaries to the White Water Reservation‡ with the women and children, with all the old ones who had been singing of once more seeing life as they had once known it. Now there was sadness, and weeping, and in Yellow Hair’s lodge there was no fire for many nights.

The next time they sought to slip away to the north, Morning Star’s people were much more careful. They did not boast among the layabouts that they were leaving. Those layabouts were satisfied to take the white man’s droppings and betray the People to the white man. To think that the layabouts even sold Noaha-vose, the Sacred Mountain, to the white man! It was not the white man s, and it was not the layabouts’, to sell. It belonged to all of Ma-heo-o’s children.

So that next time Morning Star’s people sneaked off the agency in small groups, leaving at different times, going in many different directions before they met up once more far to the north.

Then at last there was singing. The young and the old—oh, there was much singing. His people, the Ohmeseheso, were on their journey back to their hunting ground, no more to return to the reservation.

They finally reached the northern country not long after the great village had begun breaking up. Too many camp circles, too many bellies to feed, and too many ponies to graze. Turning their faces into the wind, the People left the Ho-ohomo-eo-o, the Lakota bands, to go their own way. For a time, the Crazy Horse people stayed close, many times camping in the same valley, hunting the same ridge, the wolves from both tribes keeping their eyes searching for the soldiers everyone was sure would come. Eventually. The soldiers always came.

Now that Morning Star’s lodges had rejoined the People, three of the Old-Man Chiefs were present. It was good to see Little Wolf again—for he had many stories to tell about the soldier attack on Old Bear’s camp along the Powder River during the Dusty Moon of last winter. And it made Morning Star’s old heart swell to bursting the first time he saw the Sacred Hat lodge that Coal Bear erected at the middle of every camping site.

The All Father had sent Esevone, the Sacred Buffalo Hat, as well as the Sacred Sun Dance, to the People through the Great Prophet Erect Horns. Esevone was the living, life-affirming channel of Ma-heo-o’s

greatest blessings upon all the People. But especially did she bless the women of the tribe. The rest of that summer had been a time of feasting and good hunting, of celebration and dancing. Babies were born, and the old ones closed their eyes to begin their journey to Seana, the Place of the Dead beyond the Star Road. Everyone’s heart was filled, and all were sure it was to be a time of rebirth.

The fourth Old-Man Chief, Black Moccasin, and Two Moons’s band remained with the Hotohkesoneo-o, the Little Star People, who called themselves the Oglalla, throughout the warm months, preferring to camp with the Crazy Horse people. This was a good thing, for all of the Ohmeseheso had long been close to the Hunkpatila. To the village of Crazy Horse the survivors of the Powder River fight had trudged through deep snows, finding open arms, warm lodges, robes, and blankets after the soldiers drove Old Bear’s people into the wilderness.