The Heart of Everything That Is by Bob Drury & Tom Clavin

Author:Bob Drury & Tom Clavin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

29

Here Be Monsters

Col. Carrington and his men pushed off from Fort Laramie on June 17, 1866, the day before the peace conference formally ended. The conference was “a disgusting farce and disgraceful swindle,” according to J. B. Weston, an attorney who witnessed the ceremony.

Weston’s analysis contradicted the official report of the Indian Affairs superintendent, who wrote to Washington, “Satisfactory treaty concluded with the Sioux. . . . Most cordial feeling prevails.”

Some head men, weary of constant war, had “signed the treaty” by touching the pen—that is, placing their fingers on a fountain pen held by an army adjutant over their names. They included most of the southern Lakota, the Bear People from the Republican River corridor, as well as Spotted Tail, who had ridden down from his territory south of the Black Hills to also agree to the terms. But most ominously, none of the bolder chiefs had done so.

In fact, during the treaty negotiations, Young Man Afraid of His Horses had warned Col. Carrington that if he dared lead his troops into the Powder River Country, “in two moons the command would not have a hoof left.”

After Young Man Afraid of His Horses made his threat, Red Cloud had risen as the conclave fell silent. “The Great Father sends us presents and wants a new road,” Red Cloud said through an interpreter. “But the White Chief already goes with soldiers to steal the road before the Indian says yes or no.”

Now the great head man’s voice rose to a shout. “I will talk with you no more. I will go now, and I will fight you. As long as I live, I will fight you for the last hunting grounds.”

With that, Red Cloud, Young Man Afraid of His Horses, and several other Lakota leaders stormed out of the fort, saddled their horses, and galloped north. They were joined by many warriors from bands whose leaders had touched the pen.

Red Cloud’s speech was still ringing in Col. Carrington’s ears as he and his battalion set out several days later for the Powder River Country. It was 150 miles to the old Camp Connor, which had been renamed Fort Reno, and beyond that the world as the white soldiers knew it would end. The journey through this edge of the American empire would provide Carrington and his men with a greater understanding of just what they were to face in the months ahead.

The trail to Fort Reno, thick with prickly pear and saltbush, was punctuated by but a few lonely trading posts and ferry crossings. The troop was watched the entire length of the march by Lakota blending into the willows in shady hollows or, concealed beneath wolf skins, lying on high rim rock. Jim Bridger, who picked up Indian signs each day, reported to Carrington, “They follow ye always. They’ve seen ye, every day. And when ye don’t see any of them about, is just the time to look for their devilment.”

The first glimpse of Fort Reno was sobering. Set

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