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

“The first is that you pay me the two hundred dollars before I begin my ride.”

Mackenzie turned to Crook, asking, “Is that possible, General?”

Finally Crook nodded. “Anything is possible. Yes, Mr. Donegan—I can have that arranged. But why would you want to carry that much—”

“That’s the second condition,” Seamus interrupted.

“Yes?” Mackenzie asked, more curious than ever before.

“I’m not going to carry that money on me,” Donegan replied. “I want you to issue my pay to me, but see that it is sent with your next courier to Fetterman, and on down to Laramie.”

It was Mackenzie who asked, “To your wife?”

“No,” he answered. “Not yet. Send it to Colonel Townsend—with my instructions that he is to hold it in secrecy for Samantha … to guard it safely until I send him word upon my return to this outfit that he can turn it over to my wife … or …”

“Or?” Crook asked.

“Or … Colonel Townsend can give it to my wife and son … when he informs them that I’ve been killed in the line of duty.”

Epilogue Big Freezing Moon 1876

THE INDIANS

Spotted Tail and His Band.

ST. JOSEPH, December 2.—Spotted Tail, now chief of the Sioux nation, and the ninety-six Sioux braves sent to examine the Indian territory, with a view to the removal of the Sioux nation there, passed through the city this afternoon homeward bound in charge of Col. A. G. Boone and Dr. J. W. Daniels, of the Sioux commission, and disbursing agent Major Howard. They have been five weeks from home. The St. Joe Herald’s interview say the delegation took wagons at Wichita, 424 miles through the territory, to Muskogee, on the M.K.&T. road, driving twenty-five days. At Ockmulgee two chiefs of the Creek nation made speeches, and Spotted Tail replied. The Indians say nothing, being under bonds to those at home to say nothing until their return. The commissioners say they see the Indians are pleased with the country, and think, if the right men are sent to treat with them, the whole of the Spotted Tail and Red Cloud agencies, 2,000 in number, will move to the territory without trouble in the spring. The Indians liked their trip.

After meeting up with Wooden Leg’s group of hunters, the People crossed the Tongue River* and continued down the low ocher benches along the east bank to the mouth of Otter Creek, where they made their cold camp that night.

As the sun came up the following day, Morning Star had the scouts lead the people north by east along Otter Creek into the rising hill country. Sleep and walk. Sleep and walk again. Day after terribly cold day.

Upon reaching the forks of Otter Creek the scouts took the weary, hungry people over the low divide to Box Elder Creek.† It was on this day that the weather turned milder than it had been in a long, long time. For many days now Wolf Tooth had been wearing his frozen coat. Ever since the time when the People had emerged from the mountains and the young hunters had killed the first buffalo, Wolf Tooth had been wearing what he had cut from the soft underbelly of the cow’s hide. Slashing a hole for his head, he had draped the green hide over his naked body to stay warm. But long ago the cold air froze the skin solid, so stiff Wolf Tooth could not get himself out of the hide. Not until today—when at last the temperature rose enough that, with the help of two friends, the old warrior could struggle out of his heavy, icy prison.

At long last, eleven suns after the fight with the pony soldiers and their Indians, the advance scouts came galloping back, yipping in excitement, to the head of the march where Morning Star, Little Wolf, and the other chiefs came to a stop, new snow nearly reaching their knees.

“What is it?” Morning Star demanded of the three excited young men who came skidding to a halt nearby.

“Have you seen more soldiers?” Little Wolf asked. “No!” one of the young scouts answered joyfully. “There! Beyond that hill! We have seen the Crazy Horse people!”

As word shot back through the cold stragglers, the old men began to sing once more the strong-heart songs, and the women trilled their tongues in joy. Once more Ma-heo-o had delivered His People from the hand of disaster.

Hurrying to the crest of that low hill where he could smell woodsmoke, Morning Star peered down, his limbs stiff and wooden with cold. Below, along a bend on the east side of Beaver

Creek, among the leafless cottonwoods where they would be sheltered from much of the winter’s cruel wind, sat the lodges—smoke rising from their crowns of poles. Already there were a handful of young Oglalla warriors and sentries headed their way through the deep snow, and dark, antlike forms of the Lakota people emerged from their lodges below, coming out to see what had caused all the excitement among the camp guards.

“Come, Morning Star,” Little Wolf said quietly as he came alongside, tugging on his old friend’s elbow. “Let us go tell Crazy Horse that the ve-ho-e soldiers have attacked us again.”