Why?”
Curly shook his head. “I don’t know. I just wanted …”
His father was even angrier now. Curly decided it was better to say nothing of his dream. He got slowly to his feet. His father was already halfway down the hill. Hump tried to hang back, but Curly’s father kept calling to them both.
Maybe it was not a good dream, Curly thought. Maybe I will have another one.
All the way back to camp, he debated whether to tell his father what he had seen, but he knew now was not the time. And judging from the look on his father’s face, maybe that time would never come.
Two days later, Conquering Bear died, and the Brules wrapped the old chief in a buffalo robe, placed him on a burial scaffold, and left for the fall buffalo hunt. Curly had still said nothing, not even to Hump. He was biding his time. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the dream was meant for him, that it was something he had to understand. One day, he knew, he would have to tell his father about it, and let the holy man tell him what it meant.
He would try to understand on his own, to puzzle his way through the meaning the way he puzzled his way through everything else, thinking for himself, learning, always learning. And if that didn’t work, if he was unable to piece together the meaning of the strange visitation, he could ask his father.
But not while his father was in such a mood. Not just yet.
Chapter 7
June 1855
A FTER THE DEATH of Conquering Bear, the Sioux decided that the Fort Laramie area was too uncomfortable. Some of the chiefs still wanted to stay close, in order to get the yearly annuities the government had promised them in the 1851 treaty. But most of the chiefs and warriors called such men Loaf About the Forts or Laramie Loafers. To their way of thinking, the freedom of the plains was preferable to a dependence on handouts.
But they also knew that there would be more soldiers coming. The river of settlers seemed to grow in force each year, and it was only natural to assume that more and more soldiers would come to protect them. So, following the buffalo would serve two purposes—it would allow them to live as they had always lived, and it would also keep them away from the Holy Road. Warriors, especially the young ones, were still fond of raiding the wagon trains, and would make long trips for that express purpose. The chiefs tried to stop them, but since the Sioux had no centralized authority, each man was expected to decide such things for himself.
Curly and his family traveled south, in a bandled by the great Brule war chief, Spotted Tail, who was Curly’s uncle. Their purpose was to attack the Pawnee, steal some horses, and put the Grattan situation behind them.
But when they finally found a Pawnee village, it was deserted. In order to salvage the long trek, Spotted Tail decided to shift his attention to the Omahas. It would not be as rewarding as hitting the hated Pawnee, but it was better than nothing.
When they finally found an Omaha camp, they struck at once. Curly was in the raid, putting himself to the final test as a Sioux warrior. So far, he had hunted animals, but never killed a human being. In the Sioux custom, killing was less important than touching, or counting coup. It was, in fact, a more significant achievement to confront a living enemy and touch him with an extended lance or bow or, best of all, the bare hand. Such a feat would get one’s praises sung in the village. It entitled the warrior to wear a feather in his hair as well—the more coups, the more feathers.
With Hump and Lone Bear, Curly was looking forward to the battle. Hump, being older, had already counted his first coup. Curly hoped to join him soon. He looked up to the older warrior, and wanted to be like him. He was goaded, too, by the vision, which he still kept to himself. He had not even told Little Hawk of his dream.
When the assault began, the Omahas scattered in every direction. They had been taken
Curly shook his head. “I don’t know. I just wanted …”
His father was even angrier now. Curly decided it was better to say nothing of his dream. He got slowly to his feet. His father was already halfway down the hill. Hump tried to hang back, but Curly’s father kept calling to them both.
Maybe it was not a good dream, Curly thought. Maybe I will have another one.
All the way back to camp, he debated whether to tell his father what he had seen, but he knew now was not the time. And judging from the look on his father’s face, maybe that time would never come.
Two days later, Conquering Bear died, and the Brules wrapped the old chief in a buffalo robe, placed him on a burial scaffold, and left for the fall buffalo hunt. Curly had still said nothing, not even to Hump. He was biding his time. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the dream was meant for him, that it was something he had to understand. One day, he knew, he would have to tell his father about it, and let the holy man tell him what it meant.
He would try to understand on his own, to puzzle his way through the meaning the way he puzzled his way through everything else, thinking for himself, learning, always learning. And if that didn’t work, if he was unable to piece together the meaning of the strange visitation, he could ask his father.
But not while his father was in such a mood. Not just yet.
Chapter 7
June 1855
A FTER THE DEATH of Conquering Bear, the Sioux decided that the Fort Laramie area was too uncomfortable. Some of the chiefs still wanted to stay close, in order to get the yearly annuities the government had promised them in the 1851 treaty. But most of the chiefs and warriors called such men Loaf About the Forts or Laramie Loafers. To their way of thinking, the freedom of the plains was preferable to a dependence on handouts.
But they also knew that there would be more soldiers coming. The river of settlers seemed to grow in force each year, and it was only natural to assume that more and more soldiers would come to protect them. So, following the buffalo would serve two purposes—it would allow them to live as they had always lived, and it would also keep them away from the Holy Road. Warriors, especially the young ones, were still fond of raiding the wagon trains, and would make long trips for that express purpose. The chiefs tried to stop them, but since the Sioux had no centralized authority, each man was expected to decide such things for himself.
Curly and his family traveled south, in a bandled by the great Brule war chief, Spotted Tail, who was Curly’s uncle. Their purpose was to attack the Pawnee, steal some horses, and put the Grattan situation behind them.
But when they finally found a Pawnee village, it was deserted. In order to salvage the long trek, Spotted Tail decided to shift his attention to the Omahas. It would not be as rewarding as hitting the hated Pawnee, but it was better than nothing.
When they finally found an Omaha camp, they struck at once. Curly was in the raid, putting himself to the final test as a Sioux warrior. So far, he had hunted animals, but never killed a human being. In the Sioux custom, killing was less important than touching, or counting coup. It was, in fact, a more significant achievement to confront a living enemy and touch him with an extended lance or bow or, best of all, the bare hand. Such a feat would get one’s praises sung in the village. It entitled the warrior to wear a feather in his hair as well—the more coups, the more feathers.
With Hump and Lone Bear, Curly was looking forward to the battle. Hump, being older, had already counted his first coup. Curly hoped to join him soon. He looked up to the older warrior, and wanted to be like him. He was goaded, too, by the vision, which he still kept to himself. He had not even told Little Hawk of his dream.
When the assault began, the Omahas scattered in every direction. They had been taken
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