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

He waited while the first translations were begun, then continued. “I am here to tell you that your peoples must put aside differences from the past and remain friends with the other bands. We have a job to do, and I hired you to do it. It is most important that when an army goes into battle, we are all in that battle side by side, united in action. So—if you want to fight among yourselves—then you have no place with me. Decide now if you are here to be part of this army.”

He let the many translations finish, the babble of at least eight different tongues rumbling around the crescent where the leaders sat and smoked in their blankets, considering the words of Three Stars. Then Crook continued.

“If, however, it is more important for you to complain and to attack your neighbor, I will take your guns and send you home on foot. You will not have a weapon, you will not have a pony. And you will be every bit as poor as I am going to make the followers of Crazy Horse.”

Firelit copper faces set hard when those words went round that council, words so harsh that Crook wanted to be certain there was no misunderstanding. “I will ask it again—is there any among you who want to complain about the others? Any among you who want to give up your weapons and ponies right now and turn back for your homes?”

This time many of the scout leaders were quicker to speak, rising to their feet to address Crook and the assembly. All turned to the general to announce that they understood the reason for his remarks, promising that they would put aside their petty differences and remain friends with the others for the sake of the war that was to come. It was particularly moving when Three Bears arose, signaled one of his young warriors to follow him, bringing along a prized pony. The two Lakota walked directly to stand before the Pawnee delegation.

He held his hand out to Li-Heris-oo-la-shar

, one of the Pawnee sergeants, who was also known as Frank White. They shook, then Three Bears spoke, telling his old enemy and that council, “Brother, we want to be friends—and as a sign of my sincerity I give you this warhorse. From this day on, your fight is my fight.”

White stood, unbuckling his prized revolver from his waist and handed it to the Sioux war chief. “I too wish to bury the past. We are friends now. We are both warriors, with a job to do. I will fight by your side. Your enemies will be my enemies, and my lodge will be your lodge.”

As much as John Bourke had been around Indians in Crook’s Arizona campaigns against Cochise, wherein the general had enticed one band of Apache to track down another band of Apache, the young lieutenant had never in his wildest dreams believed he would truly see these ancient enemies forging a lasting partnership to fight the last of the hostiles. Although the council took on a dreamlike air of friendly festivity, Crook was clearly pleased with how things had turned out.

After more speeches professing friendship were traded among the Pawnee, Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho, as well as that scattering of Nez Perce, Bannock, and Ute warriors who had come over from the Wind River with Cosgrove’s Shoshone, the general continued, waxing in a most uncustomary eloquence.

“All these vast plains, all these mountains and valleys will soon be filled with a pushing, hardworking population. The game will soon be exterminated. Domestic cattle will take its place. The Indian must make up his mind, and make it up now, to live like the white man and be at peace with him—or be wiped off the face of the earth. Peace is what the white man wants. But war is what the white man is prepared for.”

Every few words, Crook halted briefly while the translators caught up in their many tongues.

“I want to impress upon you that rule by law is not tyranny. You will come to learn that people who obey the laws of their land are those who in turn have the greatest liberty. It is not the white man, but the Indian, who is afraid when he goes to sleep at night, afraid that he and his family might be murdered before morning by some prowling enemy.”

John Bourke watched the way so many of the dark eyes furtively glanced at the other bands.

“You are receiving good pay as soldiers,” Crook reminded them, “and so long as you behave yourselves, and so long as I can find work for you to do, you shall be my soldiers. But you must never spend your pay foolishly. Save every cent of it that you can to buy cows and broodmares. While you are sleeping, the calves and the colts will be growing—and someday you’ll awake and find yourself a rich man. Then you’ll be ashamed to call upon the Great Father for help. When you capture the enemy’s herds in the coming fight, they will be divided among your peoples. They will be yours to keep. Use those captured horses wisely—not for war, but to make a living for your families.”

Around that crescent many of the Indians grunted their approval.