Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains - Chapters I-V



CHAPTER I. RED CLOUD 

EVERY age, every race, has its leaders and heroes. There were over sixty 
distinct tribes of Indians on this continent, each of which boasted its 
notable men. The names and deeds of some of these men will live in 
American history, yet in the true sense they are unknown, because 
misunderstood. I should like to present some of the greatest chiefs of 
modern times in the light of the native character and ideals, believing 
that the American people will gladly do them tardy justice. 

It is matter of history that the Sioux nation, to which I belong, was 
originally friendly to the Caucasian peoples which it met in succession-
first, to the south the Spaniards; then the French, on the Mississippi 
River and along the Great Lakes; later the English, and finally the 
Americans. This powerful tribe then roamed over the whole extent of the 
Mississippi valley, between that river and the Rockies. Their usages and 
government united the various bands more closely than was the case with 
many of the neighboring tribes. 

During the early part of the nineteenth century, chiefs such as Wabashaw, 
Redwing, and Little Six among the eastern Sioux, Conquering Bear, Man-
Afraid-of-His-Horse, and Hump of the western bands, were the last of the 
old type. After these, we have a coterie of new leaders, products of the 
new conditions brought about by close contact with the conquering race. 

This distinction must be borne in mind -- that while the early chiefs were 
spokesmen and leaders in the simplest sense, possessing no real authority, 
those who headed their tribes during the transition period were more or 
less rulers and more or less politicians. It is a singular fact that many 
of the "chiefs", well known as such to the American public, were not 
chiefs at all according to the accepted usages of their tribesmen. Their 
prominence was simply the result of an abnormal situation, in which 
representatives of the United States Government made use of them for a 
definite purpose. In a few cases, where a chief met with a violent death, 
some ambitious man has taken advantage of the confusion to thrust himself 
upon the tribe and, perhaps with outside help, has succeeded in usurping 
the leadership. 

Red Cloud was born about 1820 near the forks of the Platte River. He was 
one of a family of nine children whose father, an able and respected 
warrior, reared his son under the old Spartan regime. The young Red Cloud 
is said to have been a fine horseman, able to swim across the Missouri and 
Yellowstone rivers, of high bearing and unquestionable courage, yet 
invariably gentle and courteous in everyday life. This last trait, 
together with a singularly musical and agreeable voice, has always been 
characteristic of the man. 

When he was about six years old, his father gave him a spirited colt, and 
said to him: 

"My son, when you are able to sit quietly upon the back of this colt 
without saddle or bridle, I shall be glad, for the boy who can win a wild 
creature and learn to use it will as a man be able to win and rule men." 

The little fellow, instead of going for advice and help to his 
grandfather, as most Indian boys would have done, began quietly to 
practice throwing the lariat. In a little while he was able to lasso the 
colt. He was dragged off his feet at once, but hung on, and finally 
managed to picket him near the teepee. When the big boys drove the herd of 
ponies to water, he drove his colt with the rest. Presently the pony 
became used to him and allowed himself to be handled. The boy began to 
ride him bareback; he was thrown many times, but persisted until he could 
ride without even a lariat, sitting with arms folded and guiding the 
animal by the movements of his body. From that time on he told me that he 
broke all his own ponies, and before long his father's as well. 

The old men, his contemporaries, have often related to me how Red Cloud 
was always successful in the hunt because his horses were so well broken. 
At the age of nine, he began to ride his father's pack pony upon the 
buffalo hunt. He was twelve years old, he told me, when he was first 
permitted to take part in the chase, and found to his great mortification 
that none of his arrows penetrated more than a few inches. Excited to 
recklessness, he whipped his horse nearer the fleeing buffalo, and before 
his father knew what he was about, he had seized one of the protruding 
arrows and tried to push it deeper. The furious animal tossed his massive 
head sidewise, and boy and horse were whirled into the air. Fortunately, 
the boy was thrown on the farther side of his pony, which received the 
full force of the second attack. The thundering hoofs of the stampeded 
herd soon passed them by, but the wounded and maddened buffalo refused to 
move, and some critical moments passed before Red Cloud's father succeeded 
in attracting its attention so that the boy might spring to his feet and 
run for his life. 

I once asked Red Cloud if he could recall having ever been afraid, and in 
reply he told me this story. He was about sixteen years old and had 
already been once or twice upon the warpath, when one fall his people were 
hunting in the Big Horn country, where they might expect trouble at any 
moment with the hostile Crows or Shoshones. Red Cloud had followed a 
single buffalo bull into the Bad Lands and was out of sight and hearing of 
his companions. When he had brought down his game, he noted carefully 
every feature of his surroundings so that he might at once detect anything 
unusual, and tied his horse with a long lariat to the horn of the dead 
bison, while skinning and cutting up the meat so as to pack it to camp. 
Every few minutes he paused in his work to scrutinize the landscape, for 
he had a feeling that danger was not far off. 

Suddenly, almost over his head, as it seemed, he heard a tremendous war 
whoop, and glancing sidewise, thought he beheld the charge of an 
overwhelming number of warriors. He tried desperately to give the usual 
undaunted war whoop in reply, but instead a yell of terror burst from his 
lips, his legs gave way under him, and he fell in a heap. When he 
realized, the next instant, that the war whoop was merely the sudden loud 
whinnying of his own horse, and the charging army a band of fleeing elk, 
he was so ashamed of himself that he never forgot the incident, although 
up to that time he had never mentioned it. His subsequent career would 
indicate that the lesson was well learned. 

The future leader was still a very young man when he joined a war party 
against the Utes. Having pushed eagerly forward on the trail, he found 
himself far in advance of his companions as night came on, and at the same 
time rain began to fall heavily. Among the scattered scrub pines, the lone 
warrior found a natural cave, and after a hasty examination, he decided to 
shelter there for the night. 

Scarcely had he rolled himself in his blanket when he heard a slight 
rustling at the entrance, as if some creature were preparing to share his 
retreat. It was pitch dark. He could see nothing, but judged that it must 
be either a man or a grizzly. There was not room to draw a bow. It must be 
between knife and knife, or between knife and claws, he said to himself. 

The intruder made no search but quietly lay down in the opposite corner of 
the cave. Red Cloud remained perfectly still, scarcely breathing, his hand 
upon his knife. Hour after hour he lay broad awake, while many thoughts 
passed through his brain. Suddenly, without warning, he sneezed, and 
instantly a strong man sprang to a sitting posture opposite. The first 
gray of morning was creeping into their rocky den, and behold! a Ute 
hunter sat before him. 

Desperate as the situation appeared, it was not without a grim humor. 
Neither could afford to take his eyes from the other's; the tension was 
great, till at last a smile wavered over the expressionless face of the 
Ute. Red Cloud answered the smile, and in that instant a treaty of peace 
was born between them. "Put your knife in its sheath. I shall do so also, 
and we will smoke together," signed Red Cloud. The other assented gladly, 
and they ratified thus the truce which assured to each a safe return to 
his friends. Having finished their smoke, they shook hands and separated. 
Neither had given the other any information. Red Cloud returned to his 
party and told his story, adding that he had divulged nothing and had 
nothing to report. Some were inclined to censure him for not fighting, but 
he was sustained by a majority of the warriors, who commended his self-
restraint. In a day or two they discovered the main camp of the enemy and 
fought a remarkable battle, in which Red Cloud especially distinguished 
himself 

The Sioux were now entering upon the most stormy period of their history. 
The old things were fast giving place to new. The young men, for the first 
time engaging in serious and destructive warfare with the neighboring 
tribes, armed with the deadly weapons furnished by the white man, began to 
realize that they must soon enter upon a desperate struggle for their 
ancestral hunting grounds. The old men had been innocently cultivating the 
friendship of the stranger, saying among themselves, "Surely there is land 
enough for all!" 

Red Cloud was a modest and little known man of about twenty-eight years, 
when General Harney called all the western bands of Sioux together at Fort 
Laramie, Wyoming, for the purpose of securing an agreement and right of 
way through their territory. The Ogallalas held aloof from this proposal, 
but Bear Bull, an Ogallala chief, after having been plied with whisky, 
undertook to dictate submission to the rest of the clan. Enraged by 
failure, he fired upon a group of his own tribesmen, and Red Cloud's 
father and brother fell dead. According to Indian custom, it fell to him 
to avenge the deed. Calmly, without uttering a word, he faced old Bear 
Bull and his son, who attempted to defend his father, and shot them both. 
He did what he believed to be his duty, and the whole band sustained him. 
Indeed, the tragedy gave the young man at once a certain standing, as one 
who not only defended his people against enemies from without, but against 
injustice and aggression within the tribe. From this time on he was a 
recognized leader. 

Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse, then head chief of the Ogallalas, took council 
with Red Cloud in all important matters, and the young warrior rapidly 
advanced in authority and influence. In 1854, when he was barely thirty-
five years old, the various bands were again encamped near Fort Laramie. A 
Mormon emigrant train, moving westward, left a footsore cow behind, and 
the young men killed her for food. The next day, to their astonishment, an 
officer with thirty men appeared at the Indian camp and demanded of old 
Conquering Bear that they be given up. The chief in vain protested that it 
was all a mistake and offered to make reparation. It would seem that 
either the officer was under the influence of liquor, or else had a mind 
to bully the Indians, for he would accept neither explanation nor payment, 
but demanded point-blank that the young men who had killed the cow be 
delivered up to summary punishment. The old chief refused to be 
intimidated and was shot dead on the spot. Not one soldier ever reached 
the gate of Fort Laramie! Here Red Cloud led the young Ogallalas, and so 
intense was the feeling that they even killed the half-breed interpreter. 

Curiously enough, there was no attempt at retaliation on the part of the 
army, and no serious break until 1860, when the Sioux were involved in 
troubles with the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. In 1862, a grave outbreak was 
precipitated by the eastern Sioux in Minnesota under Little Crow, in which 
the western bands took no part. Yet this event ushered in a new period for 
their race. The surveyors of the Union Pacific were laying out the 
proposed road through the heart of the southern buffalo country, the 
rendezvous of Ogallalas, Brules, Arapahoes, Comanches, and Pawnees, who 
followed the buffalo as a means of livelihood. To be sure, most of these 
tribes were at war with one another, yet during the summer months they met 
often to proclaim a truce and hold joint councils and festivities, which 
were now largely turned into discussions of the common enemy. It became 
evident, however, that some of the smaller and weaker tribes were inclined 
to welcome the new order of things, recognizing that it was the policy of 
the government to put an end to tribal warfare. 

Red Cloud's position was uncompromisingly against submission. He made some 
noted speeches in this line, one of which was repeated to me by an old man 
who had heard and remembered it with the remarkable verbal memory of an 
Indian. 

"Friends," said Red Cloud, "it has been our misfortune to welcome the 
white man. We have been deceived. He brought with him some shining things 
that pleased our eyes; he brought weapons more effective than our own: 
above all, he brought the spirit water that makes one forget for a time 
old age, weakness, and sorrow. But I wish to say to you that if you would 
possess these things for yourselves, you must begin anew and put away the 
wisdom of your fathers. You must lay up food, and forget the hungry. When 
your house is built, your storeroom filled, then look around for a 
neighbor whom you can take at a disadvantage, and seize all that he has! 
Give away only what you do not want; or rather, do not part with any of 
your possessions unless in exchange for another's. 

"My countrymen, shall the glittering trinkets of this rich man, his 
deceitful drink that overcomes the mind, shall these things tempt us to 
give up our homes, our hunting grounds, and the honorable teaching of our 
old men? Shall we permit ourselves to be driven to and fro -- to be herded 
like the cattle of the white man?" 

His next speech that has been remembered was made in 1866, just before the 
attack on Fort Phil Kearny. The tension of feeling against the invaders 
had now reached its height. There was no dissenting voice in the council 
upon the Powder River, when it was decided to oppose to the uttermost the 
evident purpose of the government. Red Cloud was not altogether ignorant 
of the numerical strength and the resourcefulness of the white man, but he 
was determined to face any odds rather than submit. 

"Hear ye, Dakotas!" he exclaimed. "When the Great Father at Washington 
sent us his chief soldier [General Harney] to ask for a path through our 
hunting grounds, a way for his iron road to the mountains and the western 
sea, we were told that they wished merely to pass through our country, not 
to tarry among us, but to seek for gold in the far west. Our old chiefs 
thought to show their friendship and good will, when they allowed this 
dangerous snake in our midst. They promised to protect the wayfarers. 

"Yet before the ashes of the council fire are cold, the Great Father is 
building his forts among us. You have heard the sound of the white 
soldier's ax upon the Little Piney. His presence here is an insult and a 
threat. It is an insult to the spirits of our ancestors. Are we then to 
give up their sacred graves to be plowed for corn? Dakotas, I am for war!" 

In less than a week after this speech, the Sioux advanced upon Fort Phil 
Kearny, the new sentinel that had just taken her place upon the farthest 
frontier, guarding the Oregon Trail. Every detail of the attack had been 
planned with care, though not without heated discussion, and nearly every 
well-known Sioux chief had agreed in striking the blow. The brilliant 
young war leader, Crazy Horse, was appointed to lead the charge. His 
lieutenants were Sword, Hump, and Dull Knife, with Little Chief of the 
Cheyennes, while the older men acted as councilors. Their success was 
instantaneous. In less than half an hour, they had cut down nearly a 
hundred men under Captain Fetterman, whom they drew out of the fort by a 
ruse and then annihilated. 

Instead of sending troops to punish, the government sent a commission to 
treat with the Sioux. The result was the famous treaty of 1868, which Red 
Cloud was the last to sign, having refused to do so until all of the forts 
within their territory should be vacated. All of his demands were acceded 
to, the new road abandoned, the garrisons withdrawn, and in the new treaty 
it was distinctly stated that the Black Hills and the Big Horn were Indian 
country, set apart for their perpetual occupancy, and that no white man 
should enter that region without the consent of the Sioux. 

Scarcely was this treaty signed, however, when gold was discovered in the 
Black Hills, and the popular cry was: "Remove the Indians!" This was 
easier said than done. That very territory had just been solemnly 
guaranteed to them forever: yet how stem the irresistible rush for gold? 
The government, at first, entered some small protest, just enough to "save 
its face" as the saying is; but there was no serious attempt to prevent 
the wholesale violation of the treaty. It was this state of affairs that 
led to the last great speech made by Red Cloud, at a gathering upon the 
Little Rosebud River. It is brief, and touches upon the hopelessness of 
their future as a race. He seems at about this time to have reached the 
conclusion that resistance could not last much longer; in fact, the 
greater part of the Sioux nation was already under government control. 

"We are told," said he, "that Spotted Tail has consented to be the 
Beggars' Chief. Those Indians who go over to the white man can be nothing 
but beggars, for he respects only riches, and how can an Indian be a rich 
man? He cannot without ceasing to be an Indian. As for me, I have listened 
patiently to the promises of the Great Father, but his memory is short. I 
am now done with him. This is all I have to say." 

The wilder bands separated soon after this council, to follow the drift of 
the buffalo, some in the vicinity of the Black Hills and others in the Big 
Horn region. Small war parties came down from time to time upon stray 
travelers, who received no mercy at their hands, or made dashes upon 
neighboring forts. Red Cloud claimed the right to guard and hold by force, 
if need be, all this territory which had been conceded to his people by 
the treaty of 1868. The land became a very nest of outlawry. Aside from 
organized parties of prospectors, there were bands of white horse thieves 
and desperadoes who took advantage of the situation to plunder immigrants 
and Indians alike. 

An attempt was made by means of military camps to establish control and 
force all the Indians upon reservations, and another commission was sent 
to negotiate their removal to Indian Territory, but met with an absolute 
refusal. After much guerrilla warfare, an important military campaign 
against the Sioux was set on foot in 1876, ending in Custer's signal 
defeat upon the Little Big Horn. 

In this notable battle, Red Cloud did not participate in person, nor in 
the earlier one with Crook upon the Little Rosebud, but he had a son in 
both fights. He was now a councilor rather than a warrior, but his young 
men were constantly in the field, while Spotted Tail had definitely 
surrendered and was in close touch with representatives of the government. 

But the inevitable end was near. One morning in the fall of 1876 Red Cloud 
was surrounded by United States troops under the command of Colonel 
McKenzie, who disarmed his people and brought them into Fort Robinson, 
Nebraska. Thence they were removed to the Pine Ridge agency, where he 
lived for more than thirty years as a "reservation Indian." In order to 
humiliate him further, government authorities proclaimed the more 
tractable Spotted Tail head chief of the Sioux. Of course, Red Cloud's own 
people never recognized any other chief. 

In 1880 he appealed to Professor Marsh, of Yale, head of a scientific 
expedition to the Bad Lands, charging certain frauds at the agency and 
apparently proving his case; at any rate the matter was considered worthy 
of official investigation. In 1890-1891, during the "Ghost Dance craze" 
and the difficulties that followed, he was suspected of collusion with the 
hostiles, but he did not join them openly, and nothing could be proved 
against him. He was already an old man, and became almost entirely blind 
before his death in 1909 in his ninetieth year. 

His private life was exemplary. He was faithful to one wife all his days, 
and was a devoted father to his children. He was ambitious for his only 
son, known as Jack Red Cloud, and much desired him to be a great warrior. 
He started him on the warpath at the age of fifteen, not then realizing 
that the days of Indian warfare were well-nigh at an end. 

Among latter-day chiefs, Red Cloud was notable as a quiet man, simple and 
direct in speech, courageous in action, an ardent lover of his country, 
and possessed in a marked degree of the manly qualities characteristic of 
the American Indian in his best days. 



CHAPTER II. SPOTTED TAIL 

Among the Sioux chiefs of the "transition period" only one was shrewd 
enough to read coming events in their true light. It is said of Spotted 
Tail that he was rather a slow-moving boy, preferring in their various 
games and mimic battles to play the role of councilor, to plan and assign 
to the others their parts in the fray. This he did so cleverly that he 
soon became a leader among his youthful contemporaries; and withal he was 
apt at mimicry and impersonation, so that the other boys were accustomed 
to say of him, "He has his grandfather's wit and the wisdom of his 
grandmother!" 

Spotted Tail was an orphan, reared by his grandparents, and at an early 
age compelled to shift for himself. Thus he was somewhat at a disadvantage 
among the other boys; yet even this fact may have helped to develop in him 
courage and ingenuity. One little incident of his boy life, occurring at 
about his tenth year, is characteristic of the man. In the midst of a 
game, two boys became involved in a dispute which promised to be a serious 
one, as both drew knives. The young Spotted Tail instantly began to cry, 
"The Shoshones are upon us! To arms! to arms!" and the other boys joined 
in the war whoop. This distracted the attention of the combatants and 
ended the affair. 

Upon the whole, his boyhood is not so well remembered as is that of most 
of his leading contemporaries, probably because he had no parents to bring 
him frequently before the people, as was the custom with the wellborn, 
whose every step in their progress toward manhood was publicly announced 
at a feast given in their honor. It is known, however, that he began at an 
early age to carve out a position for himself. It is personal qualities 
alone that tell among our people, and the youthful Spotted Tail gained at 
every turn. At the age of seventeen, he had become a sure shot and a 
clever hunter; but, above all, he had already shown that he possessed a 
superior mind. He had come into contact with white people at the various 
trading posts, and according to his own story had made a careful study of 
the white man's habits and modes of thought, especially of his peculiar 
trait of economy and intense desire to accumulate property. He was 
accustomed to watch closely and listen attentively whenever any of this 
strange race had dealings with his people. When a council was held, and 
the other young men stood at a distance with their robes over their faces 
so as to avoid recognition, Spotted Tail always put himself in a position 
to hear all that was said on either side, and weighed all the arguments in 
his mind. 

When he first went upon the warpath, it appears that he was, if anything, 
overzealous to establish himself in the eye of his people; and as a matter 
of fact, it was especially hard for him to gain an assured position among 
the Brules, with whom he lived, both because he was an orphan, and because 
his father had been of another band. Yet it was not long before he had 
achieved his ambition, though in doing so he received several ugly wounds. 
It was in a battle with the Utes that he first notably served his people 
and their cause. 

The Utes were the attacking party and far outnumbered the Sioux on this 
occasion. Many of their bravest young men had fallen, and the Brules were 
face to face with utter annihilation, when Spotted Tail, with a handful of 
daring horsemen, dodged around the enemy's flank and fell upon them from 
the rear with so much spirit that they supposed that strong reinforcements 
had arrived, and retreated in confusion. The Sioux pursued on horseback; 
and it was in this pursuit that the noted chief Two Strike gained his 
historical name. But the chief honors of the fight belonged to Spotted 
Tail. The old chiefs, Conquering Bear and the rest, thanked him and at 
once made him a war chief. 

It had been the firm belief of Spotted Tail that it was unwise to allow 
the white man so much freedom in our country, long before the older chiefs 
saw any harm in it. After the opening of the Oregon Trail he, above all 
the others, was watchful of the conduct of the Americans as they journeyed 
toward the setting sun, and more than once he remarked in council that 
these white men were not like the French and the Spanish, with whom our 
old chiefs had been used to deal. He was not fully satisfied with the 
agreement with General Harney; but as a young warrior who had only just 
gained his position in the council, he could not force his views upon the 
older men. 

No sooner had the Oregon Trail been secured from the Sioux than Fort 
Laramie and other frontier posts were strengthened, and the soldiers 
became more insolent and overbearing than ever. It was soon discovered 
that the whites were prepared to violate most of the articles of their 
treaty as the Indians understood it. At this time, the presence of many 
Mormon emigrants on their way to the settlements in Utah and Wyoming added 
to the perils of the situation, as they constantly maneuvered for purposes 
of their own to bring about a clash between the soldiers and the Indians. 
Every summer there were storm-clouds blowing between these two -- clouds 
usually taking their rise in some affair of the travelers along the trail. 

In 1854 an event occurred which has already been described and which 
snapped the last link of friendship between the races. 

By this time Spotted Tail had proved his courage both abroad and at home. 
He had fought a duel with one of the lesser chiefs, by whom he was 
attacked. He killed his opponent with an arrow, but himself received upon 
his head a blow from a battle-axe which brought him senseless to the 
ground. He was left for dead, but fortunately revived just as the men were 
preparing his body for burial. 

The Brules sustained him in this quarrel, as he had acted in self-defense; 
and for a few years he led them in bloody raids against the whites along 
the historic trail. He ambushed many stagecoaches and emigrant trains, and 
was responsible for waylaying the Kincaid coach with twenty thousand 
dollars. This relentless harrying of travelers soon brought General Harney 
to the Brule Sioux to demand explanations and reparation. 

The old chiefs of the Brules now appealed to Spotted Tail and his young 
warriors not to bring any general calamity upon the tribe. To the surprise 
of all, Spotted Tail declared that he would give himself up. He said that 
he had defended the rights of his people to the best of his ability, that 
he had avenged the blood of their chief, Conquering Bear, and that he was 
not afraid to accept the consequences. He therefore voluntarily 
surrendered to General Harney, and two of his lieutenants, Red Leaf and 
Old Woman, followed his example. 

Thus Spotted Tail played an important part at the very outset of those 
events which were soon to overthrow the free life of his people. I do not 
know how far he foresaw what was to follow; but whether so conceived or 
not, his surrender was a master stroke, winning for him not only the 
admiration of his own people but the confidence and respect of the 
military. 

Thus suddenly he found himself in prison, a hostage for the good behavior 
of his followers. There were many rumors as to the punishment reserved for 
him; but luckily for Spotted Tail, the promises of General Harney to the 
Brule chiefs in respect to him were faithfully kept. One of his fellow-
prisoners committed suicide, but the other held out bravely for the two-
year term of his imprisonment. During the second year, it was well 
understood that neither of the men sought to escape, and they were given 
much freedom. It was fine schooling for Spotted Tail, that tireless 
observer of the ways of the white man! It is a fact that his engaging 
personal qualities won for him kindness and sympathy at the fort before 
the time came for his release. 

One day some Indian horse thieves of another tribe stampeded the horses 
and mules belonging to the garrison. Spotted Tail asked permission of the 
commanding officer to accompany the pursuers. That officer, trusting in 
the honor of a Sioux brave, gave him a fast horse and a good carbine, and 
said to him: "I depend upon you to guide my soldiers so that they may 
overtake the thieves and recapture the horses!" 

The soldiers recaptured the horses without any loss, but Spotted Tail 
still followed the Indians. When they returned to the fort without him, 
everybody agreed that he would never turn up. However, next day he did 
"turn up", with the scalp of one of the marauders! 

Soon after this he was returned to his own people, who honored him by 
making him the successor of the old chief, Conquering Bear, whose blood he 
had avenged, for which act he had taken upon himself the full 
responsibility. He had made good use of his two years at the fort, and 
completed his studies of civilization to his own satisfaction. From this 
time on he was desirous of reconciling the Indian and the white man, 
thoroughly understanding the uselessness of opposition. He was accordingly 
in constant communication with the military; but the other chiefs did not 
understand his views and seem to have been suspicious of his motives. 

In 1860-1864 the Southern Cheyennes and Comanches were at war with the 
whites, and some of the Brules and Ogallalas, who were their neighbors and 
intimates, were suspected of complicity with the hostiles. Doubtless a few 
of their young men may have been involved; at any rate, Thunder Bear and 
Two Face, together with a few others who were roving with the warring 
tribes, purchased two captive white women and brought them to Fort 
Laramie. It was, however, reported at the post that these two men had 
maltreated the women while under their care. 

Of course, the commander demanded of Spotted Tail, then head chief, that 
he give up the guilty ones, and accordingly he had the two men arrested 
and delivered at the fort. At this there was an outcry among his own 
people; but he argued that if the charges were true, the men deserved 
punishment, and if false, they should be tried and cleared by process of 
law. The Indians never quite knew what evidence was produced at the court-
martial, but at all events the two men were hanged, and as they had many 
influential connections, their relatives lost no time in fomenting 
trouble. The Sioux were then camping close by the fort and it was 
midwinter, which facts held them in check for a month or two; but as soon 
as spring came, they removed their camp across the river and rose in 
rebellion. A pitched battle was fought, in which the soldiers got the 
worst of it. Even the associate chief, Big Mouth, was against Spotted 
Tail, who was practically forced against his will and judgment to take up 
arms once more. 

At this juncture came the sudden and bloody uprising in the east among the 
Minnesota Sioux, and Sitting Bull's campaign in the north had begun in 
earnest; while to the south the Southern Cheyennes, Comanches, and Kiowas 
were all upon the warpath. Spotted Tail at about this time seems to have 
conceived the idea of uniting all the Rocky Mountain Indians in a great 
confederacy. He once said: "Our cause is as a child's cause, in comparison 
with the power of the white man, unless we can stop quarreling among 
ourselves and unite our energies for the common good." But old- time 
antagonisms were too strong; and he was probably held back also by his 
consciousness of the fact that the Indians called him "the white man's 
friend", while the military still had some faith in him which he did not 
care to lose. He was undoubtedly one of the brainiest and most brilliant 
Sioux who ever lived; and while he could not help being to a large extent 
in sympathy with the feeling of his race against the invader, yet he alone 
foresaw the inevitable outcome, and the problem as it presented itself to 
him was simply this: "What is the best policy to pursue in the existing 
situation?" 

Here is his speech as it has been given to me, delivered at the great 
council on the Powder River, just before the attack on Fort Phil Kearny. 
We can imagine that he threw all his wonderful tact and personal magnetism 
into this last effort at conciliation. 

"'Hay, hay, hay! Alas, alas!' Thus speaks the old man, when he knows that 
his former vigor and freedom is gone from him forever. So we may exclaim 
to-day, Alas! There is a time appointed to all things. Think for a moment 
how many multitudes of the animal tribes we ourselves have destroyed! Look 
upon the snow that appears to-day -- to-morrow it is water! Listen to the 
dirge of the dry leaves, that were green and vigorous but a few moons 
before! We are a part of this life and it seems that our time is come. 

"Yet note how the decay of one nation invigorates another. This strange 
white man -- consider him, his gifts are manifold! His tireless brain, his 
busy hand do wonders for his race. Those things which we despise he holds 
as treasures; yet he is so great and so flourishing that there must be 
some virtue and truth in his philosophy. I wish to say to you, my friends: 
Be not moved alone by heated arguments and thoughts of revenge! These are 
for the young. We are young no longer; let us think well, and give counsel 
as old men!" 

These words were greeted with an ominous silence. Not even the customary 
"How!" of assent followed the speech, and Sitting Bull immediately got up 
and replied in the celebrated harangue which will be introduced under his 
own name in another chapter. The situation was critical for Spotted 
Tail -- the only man present to advocate submission to the stronger race 
whose ultimate supremacy he recognized as certain. The decision to attack 
Fort Phil Kearny was unanimous without him, and in order to hold his 
position among his tribesmen he joined in the charge. Several bullets 
passed through his war bonnet, and he was slightly wounded. 

When the commission of 1867-1868 was sent out to negotiate with the Sioux, 
Spotted Tail was ready to meet them, and eager to obtain for his people 
the very best terms that he could. He often puzzled and embarrassed them 
by his remarkable speeches, the pointed questions that he put, and his 
telling allusions to former negotiations. Meanwhile Red Cloud would not 
come into the council until after several deputations of Indians had been 
sent to him, and Sitting Bull did not come at all. 

The famous treaty was signed, and from this time on Spotted Tail never 
again took up arms against the whites. On the contrary, it was mainly 
attributed to his influence that the hostiles were subdued much sooner 
than might have been expected. He came into the reservation with his band, 
urged his young men to enlist as government scouts, and assisted 
materially in all negotiations. The hostile chiefs no longer influenced 
his action, and as soon as they had all been brought under military 
control, General Crook named Spotted Tail head chief of the Sioux, thus 
humiliating Red Cloud and arousing jealousy and ill-feeling among the 
Ogallalas. In order to avoid trouble, he prudently separated himself from 
the other bands, and moved to the new agency on Beaver Creek (Fort 
Sheridan, Nebraska), which was called "Spotted Tail Agency." 

Just before the daring war leader, Crazy Horse, surrendered to the 
military, he went down to the agency and roundly rebuked Spotted Tail for 
signing away the freedom of his people. From the point of view of the 
irreconcilables, the diplomatic chief was a "trimmer" and a traitor; and 
many of the Sioux have tried to implicate him in the conspiracy against 
Crazy Horse which led to his assassination, but I hold that the facts do 
not bear out this charge. 

The name of Spotted Tail was prominently before the people during the rest 
of his life. An obscure orphan, he had achieved distinction by his bravery 
and sagacity; but he copied the white politician too closely after he 
entered the reservation. He became a good manipulator, and was made 
conceited and overbearing by the attentions of the military and of the 
general public. Furthermore, there was an old feud in his immediate band 
which affected him closely. Against him for many years were the followers 
of Big Mouth, whom he had killed in a duel; and also a party led by a son 
and a nephew of the old chief, Conquering Bear, whom Spotted Tail had 
succeeded at his death. These two men had hoped that one or the other of 
them might obtain the succession. 

Crow Dog, the nephew of Conquering Bear, more than once taunted Spotted 
Tail with the fact that he was chief not by the will of the tribe, but by 
the help of the white soldiers, and told him that he would "keep a bullet 
for him" in case he ever disgraced his high position. Thus retribution lay 
in wait for him while at the height of his fame. Several high-handed 
actions of his at this time, including his elopement with another man's 
wife, increased his unpopularity with a large element of his own tribe. On 
the eve of the chief's departure for Washington, to negotiate (or so they 
suspected) for the sale of more of their land, Crow Dog took up his gun 
and fulfilled his threat, regarding himself, and regarded by his 
supporters, not as a murderer, but as an executioner. 

Such was the end of the man who may justly be called the Pontiac of the 
west. He possessed a remarkable mind and extraordinary foresight for an 
untutored savage; and yet he is the only one of our great men to be 
remembered with more honor by the white man, perhaps, than by his own 
people. 



CHAPTER III. LITTLE CROW 

Chief Little Crow was the eldest son of Cetanwakuwa (Charging Hawk). It 
was on account of his father's name, mistranslated Crow, that he was 
called by the whites "Little Crow." His real name was Taoyateduta, His Red 
People. 

As far back as Minnesota history goes, a band of the Sioux called Kaposia 
(Light Weight, because they were said to travel light) inhabited the Mille 
Lacs region. Later they dwelt about St. Croix Falls, and still later near 
St. Paul. In 1840, Cetanwakuwa was still living in what is now West St. 
Paul, but he was soon after killed by the accidental discharge of his gun. 

It was during a period of demoralization for the Kaposias that Little Crow 
became the leader of his people. His father, a well-known chief, had three 
wives, all from different bands of the Sioux. He was the only son of the 
first wife, a Leaf Dweller. There were two sons of the second and two of 
the third wife, and the second set of brothers conspired to kill their 
half-brother in order to keep the chieftainship in the family. 

Two kegs of whisky were bought, and all the men of the tribe invited to a 
feast. It was planned to pick some sort of quarrel when all were drunk, 
and in the confusion Little Crow was to be murdered. The plot went 
smoothly until the last instant, when a young brave saved the intended 
victim by knocking the gun aside with his hatchet, so that the shot went 
wild. However, it broke his right arm, which remained crooked all his 
life. The friends of the young chieftain hastily withdrew, avoiding a 
general fight; and later the council of the Kaposias condemned the two 
brothers, both of whom were executed, leaving him in undisputed 
possession. 

Such was the opening of a stormy career. Little Crow's mother had been a 
chief's daughter, celebrated for her beauty and spirit, and it is said 
that she used to plunge him into the lake through a hole in the ice, 
rubbing him afterward with snow, to strengthen his nerves, and that she 
would remain with him alone in the deep woods for days at a time, so that 
he might know that solitude is good, and not fear to be alone with nature. 

"My son," she would say, "if you are to be a leader of men, you must 
listen in silence to the mystery, the spirit." 

At a very early age she made a feast for her boy and announced that he 
would fast two days. This is what might be called a formal presentation to 
the spirit or God. She greatly desired him to become a worthy leader 
according to the ideas of her people. It appears that she left her husband 
when he took a second wife, and lived with her own band till her death. 
She did not marry again. 

Little Crow was an intensely ambitious man and without physical fear. He 
was always in perfect training and early acquired the art of warfare of 
the Indian type. It is told of him that when he was about ten years old, 
he engaged with other boys in a sham battle on the shore of a lake near 
St. Paul. Both sides were encamped at a little distance from one another, 
and the rule was that the enemy must be surprised, otherwise the attack 
would be considered a failure. One must come within so many paces 
undiscovered in order to be counted successful. Our hero had a favorite 
dog which, at his earnest request, was allowed to take part in the game, 
and as a scout he entered the enemy camp unseen, by the help of his dog. 

When he was twelve, he saved the life of a companion who had broken 
through the ice by tying the end of a pack line to a log, then at great 
risk to himself carrying it to the edge of the hole where his comrade went 
down. It is said that he also broke in, but both boys saved themselves by 
means of the line. 

As a young man, Little Crow was always ready to serve his people as a 
messenger to other tribes, a duty involving much danger and hardship. He 
was also known as one of the best hunters in his band. Although still 
young, he had already a war record when he became chief of the Kaposias, 
at a time when the Sioux were facing the greatest and most far-reaching 
changes that had ever come to them. 

At this juncture in the history of the northwest and its native 
inhabitants, the various fur companies had paramount influence. They did 
not hesitate to impress the Indians with the idea that they were the 
authorized representatives of the white races or peoples, and they were 
quick to realize the desirability of controlling the natives through their 
most influential chiefs. Little Crow became quite popular with post 
traders and factors. He was an orator as well as a diplomat, and one of 
the first of his nation to indulge in politics and promote unstable 
schemes to the detriment of his people. 

When the United States Government went into the business of acquiring 
territory from the Indians so that the flood of western settlement might 
not be checked, commissions were sent out to negotiate treaties, and in 
case of failure it often happened that a delegation of leading men of the 
tribe were invited to Washington. At that period, these visiting chiefs, 
attired in all the splendor of their costumes of ceremony, were treated 
like ambassadors from foreign countries. 

One winter in the late eighteen-fifties, a major general of the army gave 
a dinner to the Indian chiefs then in the city, and on this occasion 
Little Crow was appointed toastmaster. There were present a number of 
Senators and members of Congress, as well as judges of the Supreme Court, 
cabinet officers, and other distinguished citizens. When all the guests 
were seated, the Sioux arose and addressed them with much dignity as 
follows: 

"Warriors and friends: I am informed that the great white war chief who of 
his generosity and comradeship has given us this feast, has expressed the 
wish that we may follow to-night the usages and customs of my people. In 
other words, this is a warriors' feast, a braves' meal. I call upon the 
Ojibway chief, the Hole-in-the-Day, to give the lone wolf's hunger call, 
after which we will join him in our usual manner." 

The tall and handsome Ojibway now rose and straightened his superb form to 
utter one of the clearest and longest wolf howls that was ever heard in 
Washington, and at its close came a tremendous burst of war whoops that 
fairly rent the air, and no doubt electrified the officials there present. 

On one occasion Little Crow was invited by the commander of Fort Ridgeley, 
Minnesota, to call at the fort. On his way back, in company with a half-
breed named Ross and the interpreter Mitchell, he was ambushed by a party 
of Ojibways, and again wounded in the same arm that had been broken in his 
attempted assassination. His companion Ross was killed, but he managed to 
hold the war party at bay until help came and thus saved his life. 

More and more as time passed, this naturally brave and ambitious man 
became a prey to the selfish interests of the traders and politicians. The 
immediate causes of the Sioux outbreak of 1862 came in quick succession to 
inflame to desperate action an outraged people. The two bands on the so-
called "lower reservations" in Minnesota were Indians for whom nature had 
provided most abundantly in their free existence. After one hundred and 
fifty years of friendly intercourse first with the French, then the 
English, and finally the Americans, they found themselves cut off from 
every natural resource, on a tract of land twenty miles by thirty, which 
to them was virtual imprisonment. By treaty stipulation with the 
government, they were to be fed and clothed, houses were to be built for 
them, the men taught agriculture, and schools provided for the children. 
In addition to this, a trust fund of a million and a half was to be set 
aside for them, at five per cent interest, the interest to be paid 
annually per capita. They had signed the treaty under pressure, believing 
in these promises on the faith of a great nation. 

However, on entering the new life, the resources so rosily described to 
them failed to materialize. Many families faced starvation every winter, 
their only support the store of the Indian trader, who was baiting his 
trap for their destruction. Very gradually they awoke to the facts. At 
last it was planned to secure from them the north half of their 
reservation for ninety-eight thousand dollars, but it was not explained to 
the Indians that the traders were to receive all the money. Little Crow 
made the greatest mistake of his life when he signed this agreement. 

Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the cash annuities were not paid for 
nearly two years. Civil War had begun. When it was learned that the 
traders had taken all of the ninety-eight thousand dollars "on account", 
there was very bitter feeling. In fact, the heads of the leading stores 
were afraid to go about as usual, and most of them stayed in St. Paul. 
Little Crow was justly held in part responsible for the deceit, and his 
life was not safe. 

The murder of a white family near Acton, Minnesota, by a party of Indian 
duck hunters in August, 1862, precipitated the break. Messengers were sent 
to every village with the news, and at the villages of Little Crow and 
Little Six the war council was red-hot. It was proposed to take advantage 
of the fact that north and south were at war to wipe out the white 
settlers and to regain their freedom. A few men stood out against such a 
desperate step, but the conflagration had gone beyond their control. 

There were many mixed bloods among these Sioux, and some of the Indians 
held that these were accomplices of the white people in robbing them of 
their possessions, therefore their lives should not be spared. My father, 
Many Lightnings, who was practically the leader of the Mankato band (for 
Mankato, the chief, was a weak man), fought desperately for the lives of 
the half-breeds and the missionaries. The chiefs had great confidence in 
my father, yet they would not commit themselves, since their braves were 
clamoring for blood. Little Crow had been accused of all the misfortunes 
of his tribe, and he now hoped by leading them against the whites to 
regain his prestige with his people, and a part at least of their lost 
domain. 

There were moments when the pacifists were in grave peril. It was almost 
daybreak when my father saw that the approaching calamity could not be 
prevented. He and two others said to Little Crow: "If you want war, you 
must personally lead your men to-morrow. We will not murder women and 
children, but we will fight the soldiers when they come." They then left 
the council and hastened to warn my brother-in-law, Faribault, and others 
who were in danger. 

Little Crow declared he would be seen in the front of every battle, and it 
is true that he was foremost in all the succeeding bloodshed, urging his 
warriors to spare none. He ordered his war leader, Many Hail, to fire the 
first shot, killing the trader James Lynd, in the door of his store. 

After a year of fighting in which he had met with defeat, the discredited 
chief retreated to Fort Garry, now Winnipeg, Manitoba, where, together 
with Standing Buffalo, he undertook secret negotiations with his old 
friends the Indian traders. There was now a price upon his head, but he 
planned to reach St. Paul undetected and there surrender himself to his 
friends, who he hoped would protect him in return for past favors. It is 
true that he had helped them to secure perhaps the finest country held by 
any Indian nation for a mere song. 

He left Canada with a few trusted friends, including his youngest and 
favorite son. When within two or three days' journey of St. Paul, he told 
the others to return, keeping with him only his son, Wowinape, who was but 
fifteen years of age. He meant to steal into the city by night and go 
straight to Governor Ramsey, who was his personal friend. He was very 
hungry and was obliged to keep to the shelter of the deep woods. The next 
morning, as he was picking and eating wild raspberries, he was seen by a 
wood-chopper named Lamson. The man did not know who he was. He only knew 
that he was an Indian, and that was enough for him, so he lifted his rifle 
to his shoulder and fired, then ran at his best pace. The brilliant but 
misguided chief, who had made that part of the country unsafe for any 
white man to live in, sank to the ground and died without a struggle. The 
boy took his father's gun and made some effort to find the assassin, but 
as he did not even know in which direction to look for him, he soon gave 
up the attempt and went back to his friends. 

Meanwhile Lamson reached home breathless and made his report. The body of 
the chief was found and identified, in part by the twice broken arm, and 
this arm and his scalp may be seen to-day in the collection of the 
Minnesota Historical Society. 



CHAPTER IV. TAMAHAY 

There was once a Sioux brave who declared that he would die young, yet not 
by his own hand. Tamahay was of heroic proportions, herculean in strength, 
a superb runner; in fact, he had all the physical qualities of an athlete 
or a typical Indian. In his scanty dress, he was beautiful as an antique 
statue in living bronze. When a mere youth, seventeen years of age, he met 
with an accident which determined his career. It was the loss of an eye, a 
fatal injury to the sensitive and high-spirited Indian. He announced his 
purpose in these words: 

"The 'Great Mystery' has decreed that I must be disgraced. There will be 
no pleasure for me now, and I shall be ridiculed even by my enemies. It 
will be well for me to enter soon into Paradise, for I shall be happy in 
spending my youth there. But I will sell my life dearly. Hereafter my name 
shall be spoken in the traditions of our race." With this speech Tamahay 
began his career. 

He now sought glory and defied danger with even more than the ordinary 
Indian recklessness. He accepted a personal friend, which was a custom 
among the Sioux, where each man chose a companion for life and death. The 
tie was stronger than one of blood relationship, a friendship sealed by 
solemn vow and covenant. Tamahay's intimate was fortunately almost his 
equal in physical powers, and the pair became the terror of neighboring 
tribes, with whom the Dakotas were continually at war. They made frequent 
raids upon their enemies and were usually successful, although not without 
thrilling experiences and almost miraculous escapes. 

Upon one of these occasions the two friends went north into the country of 
the Ojibways. After many days' journey, they discovered a small village of 
the foe. The wicked Tamahay proposed to his associate that they should 
arrange their toilets after the fashion of the Ojibways, and go among 
them; "and perhaps," he added, "we will indulge in a little flirtation 
with their pretty maids, and when we have had enough of the fun we can 
take the scalp of a brave or two and retreat!" His friend construed his 
daring proposition to be a test of courage, which it would not become him, 
as a brave, to decline; therefore he assented with a show of cheerfulness. 

The handsome strangers were well received by the Ojibway girls, but their 
perilous amusement was brought to an untimely close. A young maiden 
prematurely discovered their true characters, and her cry of alarm brought 
instantly to her side a jealous youth, who had been watching them from his 
place of concealment. With him Tamahay had a single-handed contest, and 
before a general alarm was given he had dispatched the foe and fled with 
his scalp. 

The unfortunate brave had been a favorite and a leader among the tribe; 
therefore the maddened Ojibways were soon in hot pursuit. The Sioux braves 
were fine runners, yet they were finally driven out upon the peninsula of 
a lake. As they became separated in their retreat, Tamahay shouted, "I'll 
meet you at the mouth of the St. Croix River, or in the spirit land!" Both 
managed to swim the lake, and so made good their escape. 

The exploits of this man were not all of a warlike nature. He was a great 
traveler and an expert scout, and he had some wonderful experiences with 
wild animals. He was once sent, with his intimate friend, on a scout for 
game. They were on ponies. 

They located a herd of buffaloes, and on their return to the camp espied a 
lonely buffalo. Tamahay suggested that they should chase it in order to 
take some fresh meat, as the law of the tribe allowed in the case of a 
single animal. His pony stumbled and threw him, after they had wounded the 
bison, and the latter attacked the dismounted man viciously. But he, as 
usual, was on the alert. He "took the bull by the horns", as the saying 
is, and cleverly straddled him on the neck. The buffalo had no means of 
harming his enemy, but pawed the earth and struggled until his strength 
was exhausted, when the Indian used his knife on the animal's throat. On 
account of this feat he received the name "Held-the-Bull-by-the-Horns." 

The origin of his name "Tamahay" is related as follows. When he was a 
young man he accompanied the chief Wabashaw to Mackinaw, Michigan, 
together with some other warriors. He was out with his friend one day, 
viewing the wonderful sights in the "white man's country", when they came 
upon a sow with her numerous pink little progeny. He was greatly amused 
and picked up one of the young pigs, but as soon as it squealed the mother 
ran furiously after them. He kept the pig and fled with it, still 
laughing; but his friend was soon compelled to run up the conveniently 
inclined trunk of a fallen tree, while our hero reached the shore of a 
lake near by, and plunged into the water. He swam and dived as long as he 
could, but the beast continued to threaten him with her sharp teeth, till, 
almost exhausted, he swam again to shore, where his friend came up and 
dispatched the vicious animal with a club. On account of this watery 
adventure he was at once called Tamahay, meaning Pike. He earned many 
other names, but preferred this one, because it was the name borne by a 
great friend of his, Lieutenant Pike, the first officer of the United 
States Army who came to Minnesota for the purpose of exploring the sources 
of the Mississippi River and of making peace with the natives. Tamahay 
assisted this officer in obtaining land from the Sioux upon which to build 
Fort Snelling. He appears in history under the name of "Tahamie" or the 
"One-Eyed Sioux." 

Always ready to brave danger and unpopularity, Tamahay was the only Sioux 
who sided with the United States in her struggle with Great Britain in 
1819. For having espoused the cause of the Americans, he was ill-treated 
by the British officers and free traders, who for a long time controlled 
the northwest, even after peace had been effected between the two nations. 
At one time he was confined in a fort called McKay, where now stands the 
town of Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. He had just returned from St. Louis, 
and was suspected of exciting his people to rebel against British 
subjects. His life was even threatened, but to this Tamahay merely replied 
that he was ready to die. A few months later, this fort was restored to 
the United States, and upon leaving it the British set the buildings on 
fire, though the United States flag floated above them. Some Indians who 
were present shouted to Tamahay, "Your friends', the Americans', fort is 
on fire!" He responded with a war whoop, rushed into the blazing fort, and 
brought out the flag. For this brave act he was rewarded with a present of 
a flag and medal. He was never tired of displaying this medal and his 
recommendation papers, and even preserved to the end of his life an old 
colonial stovepipe hat, which he wore upon state occasions. 

The Sioux long referred to the president of the United States as 
"Tamahay's father." 

The following story is told of him in his later days. He attempted one day 
to cross the first bridge over the Mississippi River, but was not 
recognized by the sentinel, who would not allow him to pass until he paid 
the toll. Tamahay, who was a privileged character, explained as best he 
could, with gestures and broken English, that he was always permitted to 
pass free; but as the sentinel still refused, and even threatened him with 
his bayonet, the old Indian silently seized the musket, threw it down into 
the waters of the Mississippi and went home. Later in the day a company of 
soldiers appeared in the Indian village, and escorted our hero to a sort 
of court-martial at the fort. When he was questioned by the Colonel, he 
simply replied: "If you were threatened by any one with a weapon, you 
would, in self-defense, either disable the man or get rid of the weapon. I 
did the latter, thinking that you would need the man more than the gun." 

Finally the officer said to them, "I see you are both partly wrong. Some 
one must be responsible for the loss of the gun; therefore, you two will 
wrestle, and the man who is downed must dive for the weapon to the bottom 
of the river." 

Scarcely was this speech ended when Tamahay was upon the soldier, who was 
surprised both by the order and by the unexpected readiness of the wily 
old Indian, so that he was not prepared, and the Sioux had the vantage 
hold. In a moment the bluecoat was down, amid shouts and peals of laughter 
from his comrades. Having thrown his man, the other turned and went home 
without a word. 

Sad to say, he acquired a great appetite for "minne-wakan", or "mysterious 
water", as the Sioux call it, which proved a source of trouble to him in 
his old age. It is told of him that he was treated one winter's day to a 
drink of whisky in a trader's store. He afterwards went home; but even the 
severe blizzard which soon arose did not prevent him from returning in the 
night to the friendly trader. He awoke that worthy from sleep about twelve 
o'clock by singing his death dirge upon the roof of the log cabin. In 
another moment he had jumped down the mud chimney, and into the blazing 
embers of a fire. The trader had to pour out to him some whisky in a tin 
pail, after which he begged the old man to "be good and go home." On the 
eve of the so-called "Minnesota Massacre" by the Sioux in 1862, Tamahay, 
although he was then very old and had almost lost the use of his remaining 
eye, made a famous speech at the meeting of the conspirators. These are 
some of his words, as reported to me by persons who were present. 

"What! What! is this Little Crow? Is that Little Six? You, too, White Dog, 
are you here? I cannot see well now, but I can see with my mind's eye the 
stream of blood you are about to pour upon the bosom of this mother of 
ours" (meaning the earth). "I stand before you on three legs, but the 
third leg has brought me wisdom" [referring to the staff with which he 
sup- ported himself]. "I have traveled much, I have visited among the 
people whom you think to defy. This means the total surrender of our 
beautiful land, the land of a thousand lakes and streams. Methinks you are 
about to commit an act like that of the porcupine, who climbs a tree, 
balances himself upon a springy bough, and then gnaws off the very bough 
upon which he is sitting; hence, when it gives way, he falls upon the 
sharp rocks below. Behold the great Pontiac, whose grave I saw near St. 
Louis; he was murdered while an exile from his country! Think of the brave 
Black Hawk! Methinks his spirit is still wailing through Wisconsin and 
Illinois for his lost people! I do not say you have no cause to complain, 
but to resist is self-destruction. I am done." 

It is supposed that this speech was his last, and it was made, though 
vainly, in defense of the Americans whom he had loved. He died at Fort 
Pierre, South Dakota, in 1864. His people say that he died a natural 
death, of old age. And yet his exploits are not forgotten. Thus lived and 
departed a most active and fearless Sioux, Tamahay, who desired to die 
young! 



CHAPTER V. GALL

Chief Gall was one of the most aggressive leaders of the Sioux nation in 
their last stand for freedom. 

The westward pressure of civilization during the past three centuries has 
been tremendous. When our hemisphere was "discovered", it had been 
inhabited by the natives for untold ages, but it was held undiscovered 
because the original owners did not chart or advertise it. Yet some of 
them at least had developed ideals of life which included real liberty and 
equality to all men, and they did not recognize individual ownership in 
land or other property beyond actual necessity. It was a soul development 
leading to essential manhood. Under this system they brought forth some 
striking characters. 

Gall was considered by both Indians and whites to be a most impressive 
type of physical manhood. From his picture you can judge of this for 
yourself. 

Let us follow his trail. He was no tenderfoot. He never asked a soft place 
for himself. He always played the game according to the rules and to a 
finish. To be sure, like every other man, he made some mistakes, but he 
was an Indian and never acted the coward. 

The earliest stories told of his life and doings indicate the spirit of 
the man in that of the boy. 

When he was only about three years old, the Blackfoot band of Sioux were 
on their usual roving hunt, following the buffalo while living their 
natural happy life upon the wonderful wide prairies of the Dakotas. 

It was the way of every Sioux mother to adjust her household effects on 
such dogs and pack ponies as she could muster from day to day, often 
lending one or two to accommodate some other woman whose horse or dog had 
died, or perhaps had been among those stampeded and carried away by a 
raiding band of Crow warriors. On this particular occasion, the mother of 
our young Sioux brave, Matohinshda, or Bear-Shedding-His-Hair (Gall's 
childhood name), intrusted her boy to an old Eskimo pack dog, experienced 
and reliable, except perhaps when unduly excited or very thirsty. 

On the day of removing camp the caravan made its morning march up the 
Powder River. Upon the wide table-land the women were busily digging 
teepsinna (an edible sweetish root, much used by them) as the moving 
village slowly progressed. As usual at such times, the trail was wide. An 
old jack rabbit had waited too long in hiding. Now, finding himself almost 
surrounded by the mighty plains people, he sprang up suddenly, his 
feathery ears conspicuously erect, a dangerous challenge to the dogs and 
the people. 

A whoop went up. Every dog accepted the challenge. Forgotten were the 
bundles, the kits, even the babies they were drawing or carrying. The 
chase was on, and the screams of the women reechoed from the opposite 
cliffs of the Powder, mingled with the yelps of dogs and the neighing of 
horses. The hand of every man was against the daring warrior, the lone 
Jack, and the confusion was great. 

When the fleeing one cleared the mass of his enemies, he emerged with a 
swiftness that commanded respect and gave promise of a determined chase. 
Behind him, his pursuers stretched out in a thin line, first the speedy, 
unburdened dogs and then the travois dogs headed by the old Eskimo with 
his precious freight. The youthful Gall was in a travois, a basket mounted 
on trailing poles and harnessed to the sides of the animal. 

"Hey! hey! they are gaining on him!" a warrior shouted. At this juncture 
two of the canines had almost nabbed their furry prey by the back. But he 
was too cunning for them. He dropped instantly and sent both dogs over his 
head, rolling and spinning, then made another flight at right angles to 
the first. This gave the Eskimo a chance to cut the triangle. He gained 
fifty yards, but being heavily handicapped, two unladen dogs passed him. 
The same trick was repeated by the Jack, and this time he saved himself 
from instant death by a double loop and was now running directly toward 
the crowd, followed by a dozen or more dogs. He was losing speed, but 
likewise his pursuers were dropping off steadily. Only the sturdy Eskimo 
dog held to his even gait, and behind him in the frail travois leaned 
forward the little Matohinshda, nude save a breech clout, his left hand 
holding fast the convenient tail of his dog, the right grasping firmly one 
of the poles of the travois. His black eyes were bulging almost out of 
their sockets; his long hair flowed out behind like a stream of dark 
water. 

The Jack now ran directly toward the howling spectators, but his marvelous 
speed and alertness were on the wane; while on the other hand his foremost 
pursuer, who had taken part in hundreds of similar events, had every 
confidence in his own endurance. Each leap brought him nearer, fiercer and 
more determined. The last effort of the Jack was to lose himself in the 
crowd, like a fish in muddy water; but the big dog made the one needed 
leap with unerring aim and his teeth flashed as he caught the rabbit in 
viselike jaws and held him limp in air, a victor! 

The people rushed up to him as he laid the victim down, and foremost among 
them was the frantic mother of Matohinshda, or Gall. "Michinkshe! 
michinkshe!" (My son! my son!) she screamed as she drew near. The boy 
seemed to be none the worse for his experience. "Mother!" he cried, "my 
dog is brave: he got the rabbit!" She snatched him off the travois, but he 
struggled out of her arms to look upon his dog lovingly and admiringly. 
Old men and boys crowded about the hero of the day, the dog, and the 
thoughtful grandmother of Matohinshda unharnessed him and poured some 
water from a parfleche water bag into a basin. "Here, my grandson, give 
your friend something to drink." 

"How, hechetu," pronounced an old warrior no longer in active service. 
"This may be only an accident, an ordinary affair; but such things 
sometimes indicate a career. The boy has had a wonderful ride. I prophesy 
that he will one day hold the attention of all the people with his 
doings." 

This is the first remembered story of the famous chief, but other boyish 
exploits foretold the man he was destined to be. He fought many sham 
battles, some successful and others not; but he was always a fierce 
fighter and a good loser. 

Once he was engaged in a battle with snowballs. There were probably nearly 
a hundred boys on each side, and the rule was that every fair hit made the 
receiver officially dead. He must not participate further, but must remain 
just where he was struck. 

Gall's side was fast losing, and the battle was growing hotter every 
minute when the youthful warrior worked toward an old water hole and took 
up his position there. His side was soon annihilated and there were eleven 
men left to fight him. He was pressed close in the wash-out, and as he 
dodged under cover before a volley of snowballs, there suddenly emerged in 
his stead a huge gray wolf. His opponents fled in every direction in 
superstitious terror, for they thought he had been transformed into the 
animal. To their astonishment he came out on the farther side and ran to 
the line of safety, a winner! 

It happened that the wolf's den had been partly covered with snow so that 
no one had noticed it until the yells of the boys aroused the inmate, and 
he beat a hasty retreat. The boys always looked upon this incident as an 
omen. 

Gall had an amiable disposition but was quick to resent insult or 
injustice. This sometimes involved him in difficulties, but he seldom 
fought without good cause and was popular with his associates. One of his 
characteristics was his ability to organize, and this was a large factor 
in his leadership when he became a man. He was tried in many ways, and 
never was known to hesitate when it was a question of physical courage and 
endurance. He entered the public service early in life, but not until he 
had proved himself competent and passed all tests. 

When a mere boy, he was once scouting for game in midwinter, far from 
camp, and was overtaken by a three days' blizzard. He was forced to 
abandon his horse and lie under the snow for that length of time. He 
afterward said he was not particularly hungry; it was thirst and stiffness 
from which he suffered most. One reason the Indian so loved his horse or 
dog was that at such times the animal would stay by him like a brother. On 
this occasion Gall's pony was not more than a stone's throw away when the 
storm subsided and the sun shone. There was a herd of buffalo in plain 
sight, and the young hunter was not long in procuring a meal. 

This chief's contemporaries still recall his wrestling match with the 
equally powerful Cheyenne boy, Roman Nose, who afterward became a chief 
well known to American history. It was a custom of the northwestern 
Indians, when two friendly tribes camped together, to establish the 
physical and athletic supremacy of the youth of the respective camps. 

The "Che-hoo-hoo" is a wrestling game in which there may be any number on 
a side, but the numbers are equal. All the boys of each camp are called 
together by a leader chosen for the purpose and draw themselves up in line 
of battle; then each at a given signal attacks his opponent. 

In this memorable contest, Matohinshda, or Gall, was placed opposite Roman 
Nose. The whole people turned out as spectators of the struggle, and the 
battlefield was a plateau between the two camps, in the midst of 
picturesque Bad Lands. There were many athletic youths present, but these 
two were really the Apollos of the two tribes. 

In this kind of sport it is not allowed to strike with the hand, nor catch 
around the neck, nor kick, nor pull by the hair. One may break away and 
run a few yards to get a fresh start, or clinch, or catch as catch can. 
When a boy is thrown and held to the ground, he is counted out. If a boy 
has met his superior, he may drop to the ground to escape rough handling, 
but it is very seldom one gives up without a full trial of strength. 

It seemed almost like a real battle, so great was the enthusiasm, as the 
shouts of sympathizers on both sides went up in a mighty chorus. At last 
all were either conquerors or subdued except Gall and Roman Nose. The pair 
seemed equally matched. Both were stripped to the breech clout, now 
tugging like two young buffalo or elk in mating time, again writhing and 
twisting like serpents. At times they fought like two wild stallions, 
straining every muscle of arms, legs, and back in the struggle. Every now 
and then one was lifted off his feet for a moment, but came down planted 
like a tree, and after swaying to and fro soon became rigid again. 

All eyes were upon the champions. Finally, either by trick or main force, 
Gall laid the other sprawling upon the ground and held him fast for a 
minute, then released him and stood erect, panting, a master youth. Shout 
after shout went up on the Sioux side of the camp. The mother of Roman 
Nose came forward and threw a superbly worked buffalo robe over Gall, 
whose mother returned the compliment by covering the young Cheyenne with a 
handsome blanket. 

Undoubtedly these early contests had their influence upon our hero's 
career. It was his habit to appear most opportunely in a crisis, and in a 
striking and dramatic manner to take command of the situation. The best 
known example of this is his entrance on the scene of confusion when Reno 
surprised the Sioux on the Little Big Horn. Many of the excitable youths, 
almost unarmed, rushed madly and blindly to meet the intruder, and the 
scene might have unnerved even an experienced warrior. It was Gall, with 
not a garment upon his superb body, who on his black charger dashed ahead 
of the boys and faced them. He stopped them on the dry creek, while the 
bullets of Reno's men whistled about their ears. 

"Hold hard, men! Steady, we are not ready yet! Wait for more guns, more 
horses, and the day is yours!" 

They obeyed, and in a few minutes the signal to charge was given, and Reno 
retreated pell mell before the onset of the Sioux. 

Sitting Bull had confidence in his men so long as Gall planned and 
directed the attack, whether against United States soldiers or the 
warriors of another tribe. He was a strategist, and able in a twinkling to 
note and seize upon an advantage. He was really the mainstay of Sitting 
Bull's effective last stand. He consistently upheld his people's right to 
their buffalo plains and believed that they should hold the government 
strictly to its agreements with them. When the treaty of 1868 was 
disregarded, he agreed with Sitting Bull in defending the last of their 
once vast domain, and after the Custer battle entered Canada with his 
chief. They hoped to bring their lost cause before the English government 
and were much disappointed when they were asked to return to the United 
States. 

Gall finally reported at Fort Peck, Montana, in 1881, and brought half of 
the Hunkpapa band with him, whereupon he was soon followed by Sitting Bull 
himself. Although they had been promised by the United States commission 
who went to Canada to treat with them that they would not be punished if 
they returned, no sooner had Gall come down than a part of his people were 
attacked, and in the spring they were all brought to Fort Randall and held 
as military prisoners. From this point they were returned to Standing Rock 
agency. 

When "Buffalo Bill" successfully launched his first show, he made every 
effort to secure both Sitting Bull and Gall for his leading attractions. 
The military was in complete accord with him in this, for they still had 
grave suspicions of these two leaders. While Sitting Bull reluctantly 
agreed, Gall haughtily said: "I am not an animal to be exhibited before 
the crowd," and retired to his teepee. His spirit was much worn, and he 
lost strength from that time on. That superb manhood dwindled, and in a 
few years he died. He was a real hero of a free and natural people, a type 
that is never to be seen again.