Wind in the Grasses Dancing By T

PROLOGUE

As defined in the Laramie Treaty of 1868, the territory west of the Missouri, stretching as far as the Big Horn Mountains, and from the Platt River, extending northward to the Canadian border, belonged to the non-treaty Indians. Yet in 1874, less than a decade later, George Armstrong Custer, accompanied by over one hundred wagons, led an expedition into the Black Hills of South Dakota, clearly Indian Territory.

To the white man, the Western Frontier was an opportunity for endless expansion, exploration, and homesteading. To the Lakota, these same lands were the home of their ancestors, the place where they stood their lodges, hunted game, offered their prayers, and danced the Sun Dance.

When Custer’s discovery of gold was followed by a swarm of prospectors, this invasion into the Black Hills was an abominable violation of everything that the Lakota held sacred, a symbol of conflict, uncertainty, and broken treaties. In an effort to protect the prospectors from the angered Lakota, the government offered the sum of six million dollars for the purchase of the Black Hills. By autumn of 1875 however, it had become apparent that the Lakota would not negotiate.

On Dec. 12^th, despite the terms of the Laramie Treaty, the government of the United States issued an ultimatum demanding that all non-treaty chiefs bring their encampments to the boundaries of the reservations no later than January 31^st, 1876.

Not all complied. Such noted leaders as Crazy Horse and He Dog of the Oglala; Sitting Bull and Gall of the Hunkpapa; Lame Deer, Hump and Fast Bull of the Minneconjous; several small bands of Brule, Sans Arc, Assiniboins, Yankton, Santee, and Blackfeet Sioux did not surrender. These were regarded as “Hostiles” and considered a threat to the United States of America, and to the development of the western territories.

This is the story of one such warrior, one of thousands who refused to forfeit their freedom, culture and traditions, their ponies and rifles. The Lakota knew this man as Wind in the Grasses Dancing. To the white man, he was Dancing Wind.

CHAPTER ONE

She studied him in return. Raven hair trailed the length of his back, stopping just short of a firm waist. His nose was narrow and sloping. Cheeks were prominent, each painted with two streaks of red. Eyes were dark and trenchant. Above his brow was a thin band of black spanning the width of his forehead. Attached to his crown were two feathers.

Her eyes slid to his chest. With the exception of the scars that marred each breast, his skin was smooth and taut, molding to a tall, lean frame. He was wearing nothing more than a breechclout, leggings of buckskin, beaded moccasins, and a leather belt that held the sheath containing his knife. Its handle of bone had been carved in the likeness of a buffalo.

Her gaze wandered to the wide band of silver circling his upper arm, sliding to the single strand of rawhide hugging his throat. It had been fashioned of bone, blue glass trade beads and…

“A bear claw?” she asked. She reached to touch it. Her fingers barely skimmed its surface, when he snatched her wrist.

“It is my Medicine! It is not in your heart to understand the ways of the Lakota.”

“You judge me too quickly.” Her eyes blazed with fire. She struggled to pull free, but she was no match for the virile strength that restrained her. “Let go of me!”

With his free hand, he clutched the claw in his palm. “This!” he made clear, “Is not some cheap trinket offered by your White Fathers as trade. It is Sacred! As Sacred as the cross, to the white man…”

CHAPTER FOUR

This was to be his fourth Dance, the last in fulfilling his commitment to the Creator… but this summer he was not to dance. Spirit had come to him in a dream. He had witnessed the invasion of the soldiers, of bullets flying, and of so much bloodshed. No! He was not to dance. He was to save his energy for battle, to make ready his Medicine for war.

Yet, the Sun Dance had become like a seed planted in his heart - his life blood, replenishing his spirit, restoring his passion for life.

To not Dance… was like asking the clouds to hold back the rain.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Exhausted after the long march, with his saddle as a pillow, William pressed his back to the hard ground. His hopes of a restful sleep were shattered by the pounding of drums when the Crow and Shoshone rallied through the better part of the evening with their eerie war chants, their shrill howling and singing.

Later that evening the night turned cold and William shivered in his overcoat as a light rain began to fall. No sooner had he drifted to sleep, when the entire camp was awoken at 3:00 a.m. when scouts returned with the news that they had discovered the remains of a fire, believed to be that of a Lakota hunting party. With the heavy fog that had settled on the valley during the wee hours of the morning, Crook allowed a few fires to be built, and each man, one cup of coffee. Horses and mules were saddled, and once again, the weary soldiers were on the march.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Crazy Horse tied the calfskin cape about his neck then unfastened his hair, allowing it to trail the length of his back. His body, he had painted with yellow hailstones as those of his Vision. His cheek he had marked with the white lightning streak of his Thunder Medicine. About his neck hung his Eagle-bone whistle. Behind his ear, half hidden, dangled a small brown stone. After securely attaching the Red-Backed Hawk to his head, from the earth worked by the gopher, he carefully made up his horse Decoy Medicine. Tossing the powder over his pony, he stripped to his breechclout, dusted himself with the Medicine then mounted. At his back, lay his bow and his quiver of arrows. In his hand, and draped across the withers of his horse, lay his Winchester - loaded with bullets that he had recently acquired from the traders.

It was a great honor to be chosen by the council as the Lakota’s new Chieftain, but he also knew, that with this honor had come an enormous responsibility to the People. He remembered his duties as a Shirt-Wearer…

Crazy Horse refused to give up the fight. Whirling his pony in a tight circle, he raised his rifle and shouted to his warriors, "Be strong! This is a good day to die!" Shrilling the Lakota War Cry, he spun his mount and charged the oncoming soldiers, his calfskin cape and his long brown hair trailing behind him. Not a warrior there could witness his bravery without rushing forward to accompany him. Dancing Wind, Red Badger, and Prairie Dog sprung to their ponies, joining in the fight with Black Bear, Good Weasel and Kicking Bear.

Heavy hooves pounded the dust as they boldly advanced on the soldiers, chasing them wildly with swift arrows, war clubs, lances and empty guns, knocking them from their horses and driving them like a herd of buffalo to slaughter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

While Red Badger was tending to Dancing Wind, Prairie Dog and Moonbean rode in the direction of the Hunkpapa circle to inform Otter that they would be accompanying Dancing Wind to Beaver Man’s cabin. They rushed to the south end of the village, laughing and singing, boasting of the victory at the Greasy Grass… until they drew near the outer circle of lodges.

It was the first time that Prairie Dog had seen the Hunkpapa camp since the alarm had been sounded. He and Moonbeam had been in the northern part of the village gathering the horses, and helping the women and children to the safety of the hills. They had not joined in the actual fighting, until the warriors were rushing upstream to attack the soldiers that were descending the coulee.

They could now see that the southern end of the village was in shambles. Tattered lodges stood with their hides, blackened and riddled with holes. Billows of smoke ascended to the sky. Lodgepoles were splintered and smoldering while anxious women doused them with water. Kettles and paunches were scattered in the ashes. Tripods were burning in the flames. Dogs feasted where racks of meat had fallen to the dust. Women were keening over their dead. Others were seeing to the wounded. It was heartening.

In the midst of the commotion, Prairie Dog anxiously slid from his pony, dropped his reins and rushed to where Feather-In-The-Storm was tending to his wife’s mother. A shadow fell upon the old Hunkpapa’s features. His expression was grim. His eyes, somber. “She is not here,” he murmured. “We have not seen either of our daughters, since before the soldiers… Yellow Fawn is searching…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Red Badger released the blade from Brandon’s throat when his eye caught sight of William inching toward his pistol. There was no mercy spared as firm hands grasped the man’s boots and dragged him across the jagged stones on his belly. “You are a fool, white man!” he spat in Lakota. Large fingers curled in the mass of blond as William’s head was jerked back. A sharp blade was wielded, pressed to his throat. A slow trickle of scarlet traced a line to the fine hairs of William’s chest.

“No!” Dancing Wind hissed. “He is mine! I should have killed him on the Rosebud.”

Red Badger nodded. He slipped his knife into its sheath, and with his full weight behind him, he thrust his heel into the small of William’s back, driving him into the dirt until he shrieked aloud, spitting pieces grit from between his teeth. As a last measure, Red Badger picked up the Colt revolver, turned it in his palm, then cuffed William in the temple.

William fell to the side, his fingers pressing the warm stickiness that seeped from his temple, then to the scratch at his throat. When his eyes turned to Amber, he began to sob. “Oh God!” he cried. “God, forgive me!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Tell me!”

There was urgency in Dancing Wind’s voice, and Daniel’s heart went out to him. The Black Hills were Sacred. They were the very heart of the People. There would be no gentle way of telling him. Slowly he lifted his eyes and placed a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “The Black Hills have been sold to the whiteman…”

“It can not be!”

“It is true, Dancing Wind… ”

Fire sparked in the black pools of the warrior’s eyes. He jerked free of Daniel, and took a step back. “Lies!” he charged. “White man’s lies!”

Daniel felt the sting as though he himself had sealed the bargain. After all, he was a white man, a symbol of betrayal. Of every nasty deed that had been done to the People…But there was nothing to be done. It was over… The selling of the Black Hills was the selling out of the Lakota, of the People.

Suddenly as though Daniel had spoken his thoughts aloud, Dancing Wind’s eyes dimmed. The scorn faded, and the dark pools reflected his pain. “You know this to be true?” he asked.

“Yes… And there is more.”

Dancing Wind’s eyes brimmed with uncertainty.

“The Government…” Daniel drew a sharp breath. “The Government is demanding that the People surrender to the Agencies. If you do not comply, they intend to starve those living on the reservations until they have forced each of you to surrender.”

A shadow descended over Dancing Wind’s features. His eyes became as a whirlwind, ever changing and unpredictable. Challenging and destructive. “Curse the white man!” he spat. “I will not go to their reservation. Never! Let them gun me down if that is the way of it!” He turned suddenly, and shot in the direction of his lodge to gather his belongings. But his feet could not carry him quick enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“If I were Lakota, you would not be leaving me behind.”

“You are not Lakota! You have never been hunted by the soldier’s guns. You have never stood in bitter temperatures, in snows as deep as a pony’s belly with a baby at your breast. No shelter or robes to protect you… Children have died in their mother’s arms! I have seen these things! And I am powerless to protect you against them.” His eyes flashed. His pain was genuine. No less than her own.

She crossed the room to their bed. Strong hands reached for her, pulling her down beside him. She fell into his arms, and cried desperately. “When will you be going?”

“In two suns,” he choked.