Lone Bear shook a groggy Curly awake.
“I saw the present you left for mother,” he said excitedly. “Tell me about it.”
Curly was dragging, his long night finally taking its toll. “It was nothing,” he answered his younger brother as he stretched and yawned.
Hump woke up with more energy. “Nothing?” he said. “We faced a whole tribe of soldiers on the Holy Road.”
Lone Bear listened, his eyes growing wide as Hump continued his story. Curly added nothing as Hump weaved a story with practiced ease. The soldiers were many. The guns were big. Lone Bear never stopped to think that with all the paraphernalia of a soldier’s camp, their loot was a simple cooking pot! Hump was like a second big brother to him, not to be questioned.
When Hump neared the end of his story, Curly broke in. “Lone Bear, fetch Fleet for me.” Lone Bear looked confused. Fleet was only a few yards away and would surely come with a whistle, but he dutifully followed his brother’s order.
With Lone Bear distracted, Curly nudged Hump. “I was waiting to hear the part about the doll,” he said.
“I was getting to it,” Hump answered with no embarrassment, knowing that warriors had bragging rights to even the smallest victories.
Soon all the boys were on horseback, riding freely on the plains around the camp. At first they rode for speed. Then they turned to tricks, ducking low on either side of their horses. When all the boys were duly impressed, the older boys looked for a new audience and began riding closer and closer to camp.
The young girls of the camp were busy with chores, preparing food, washing and mending clothing and tents, and looking after the youngest and oldest members of the tribe. The boys’ antics were an entertaining sideshow. The mothers would wait as long as they could before interfering. “Pay attention to your work,” they chided. The girls responded with obedience but stole a glance whenever they could.
When they tired of this pastime, the younger boys rode to the bank of the river flowing by the encampment. The horses needed rest and water but that would not stop the boys’ fun. They dismounted and left their horses to drink and graze. They grabbed sticks from the bushes and scooped up some mud from the river bank.
Each boy took a position along the river and began flinging mud from the end of their sticks, aiming at the others. With each successful strike a boy would run up to his victim and touch him with the stick.
Curly and Hump joined the younger boys by the river but they stayed put, watching from horseback. Last year, they had played this game with the others, but somehow, today, following their night’s adventure, it seemed like child’s play.
“Look at Lone Bear,” Hump said as the younger boy rushed to touch another boy with his stick. “He is counting more coup than any of the other boys.”
Curly had spent much of his childhood listening to the warriors returning from battle with tales of “counting coup.” Touching a fallen enemy would transfer the enemy’s power to the victor.
“Lone Bear will be a great warrior someday,” Curly answered with pride.
“Like his brother,” Hump added.
“Like his father,” Curly replied.
“Your father is not a warrior,” Hump said. “Has he ever counted coup on an enemy?”
Curly would have been offended had this comment come from anyone but Hump. Hump hung his head, recognizing that his words stung in a way he had not intended.
“Some warriors draw strength from touching their enemies in defeat,” Curly said. “Our father has not taught us this. Our father has found strength elsewhere.”
Hump did not know how to answer. He knew Curly’s father well. He was a quiet man, known throughout many tribes for his wisdom. It would be easy to ridicule him for not fighting and not taking revenge on his enemies. But Crazy Horse had always been different. Hump could see that his friend Curly had many of his father’s traits. He regretted his remark deeply.
“Still, Lone Bear shows promise,” he concluded.
The sound of approaching horses brought all fun to an end. Curly and Hump, still on horseback, motioned to the boys to come away from the river to higher ground. The boys quickly obeyed. All horses were left to roam as the boys hid in the grass. It was unsettling to look down at their homes where their mothers and fathers were facing imminent danger. They felt helpless.
Soon the horses came into sight. Several dozen cavalrymen stopped near the edge of camp. A wagon carried a large gun. One soldier rode ahead to the center of camp with another rider, not in uniform.
“Who is that man with the soldier?” Hump asked Curly in a whisper.
Curly had seen this man many times near the fort and at the trading post.
“It is Wyuse. He is a half-breed. He has no dealings with us. He lives with the white man.”
The boys watched as Conquering Bear, their tribal leader, came to meet the soldiers. They could not hear what was being said, but Conquering Bear led the soldiers to a tipi. He looked inside but nothing seemed to be happening. Conquering Bear, the soldier, and Wyuse walked back and forth between the tipi and the troops several times. They could see that Conquering Bear was losing patience. Wyuse and the soldier walked away toward the awaiting troops.
Suddenly the boys heard the loudest noise they had ever heard. It was like a hundred gunshots. A percussive roar filled the air. For a brief moment all fell quiet. In seconds, every warrior in the village appeared. Arrows flew. All the soldiers lay dead. Wyuse screamed and ran, ducking into the nearest tipi.
The respected tribal leader, Conquering Bear, was lying in a pool of blood.He was the village’s only victim.
The ensuing rage was instantaneous. The boys watched as warriors dragged Wyuse from his hiding place to the center of camp. Each took a turn kicking him until he lay still. The braves walked away, leaving the body of Wyuse only a few yards from where Conquering Bear still lay. All attention was turned toward their fallen leader.
Slowly, the boys emerged from their hiding places. They walked to the center of camp unnoticed by their elders who were busy caring for their chief. The oldest boys, Hump and Curly included, took turns filing silently past the body of the dead half-breed, lifting their breechcloths in disdain.
+ + +
No one needed to say a word. It was clear to even the smallest child that something terrible had just happened and that their adults had no more power to control events than they had. Curly and Hump stood with their friends who only moments before had been reveling in youthful exploits. Now they could do little more than watch with rage growing inside them. The blast of a single gun had changed everything.
The village seemed to be paralyzed. But it was quickly coming back to life. The men of the village gathered around their tribe’s fallen leader, Conquering Bear. The women brought a buffalo robe and spread it on the ground.
Four warriors carefully lifted his bleeding body and laid him on the robe. One man stood over Conquering Bear, chanting a healing song.
As they watched their fathers and uncles carry Conquering Bear to his tipi, the boys broke their silence.
“Conquering Bear will die.” Hump voiced what each boy feared.
The boys felt invisible. They were left alone to watch their own village as if it were a colony of ants rebuilding after a heavy foot destroyed the hills and tunnels that had been built with care.
Soon there was new activity. The women began taking down the tipis. “We are running,” Curly said with resentment.
He knew the routine. More soldiers would be coming with more guns and more anger. The village, peaceful and happy only minutes before, now faced danger. The sound of the gun had probably been heard as far as the trading post.