I HAVE SPENT THREE YEARS LOOKING FOR THIS! THREE YEARS!!!! Forgive the poor writing. I wrote this for a school project my Freshman year.

***********************

“Little Hill! Little Hill! Come quickly!”

“I’m busy!” Little Hill called back to his brother. He was helping his mother with basket weaving. It was a job for the women but White Bird had no girls to help her, just Little Hill and his older brother, Big Hill. Big Hill raced into camp knocking aside women and warriors alike in his excitement.

“Come! Father has killed a buffalo,” he said tugging Little Hill’s arm causing him to spill the grass he was using for weaving everywhere.

“Ayúštaŋ yo! You’re making a mess!” Little Hill exclaimed. His brother paid no mind and continued tugging Little Hill away from his work.

“Hurry!”

“I come! I come!” Little Hill looked to his mother for approval. She laughed and shooed them away. Little Hill dashed away following his brother. The elders laughed to see the brothers running through camp like a herd of horses, causing mayhem amongst the women. They leaped over fires and dodged around tipis. A horse blocked their way and Big Hill dove underneath while Little Hill launched himself over the back of the horse.

Moments later they collided with Chief Big Foot. Before they could recover he grabbed their shoulders holding them firmly. He looked them each in the eyes long and hard.

“And why might you two be dashing through camp disturbing everyone?” he asked.

“Iron Horse has killed a buffalo, Chief,” Big Hill said. His chest puffed out as if he had killed it himself. Little Hill tried to hide behind his brother. Big Foot’s eyes glinted with amusement. He smiled at the brothers.

“I suppose that is reason enough. Run along but be careful,” he said. Little Hill and Big Hill bowed briefly still overcome with excitement and dashed off no slower than before.

“They will make fine warriors,” Red Leaf said walking up behind Big Foot after the encounter. Big Foot nodded distractedly.

“Yes. I believe they will. Their time for valor may come soon and they will need each other,” he said. Red Leaf sensed something was wrong.

“Chief, you seemed troubled. Is something wrong? Are they not ready?”

“No, Red Leaf. Your brother’s sons are more than ready. There is trouble in the north. Chief Sitting Bull has been killed,” Big Foot said. Red Leaf stiffened.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know for sure. But I do know he was accused of being a supporter of the Ghost Dance. Whoever killed him will be coming for me next and I fear they will not spare my tribe.” Big Foot looked to the circle surrounding a man dressed in a strange shirt with a bird sewn on to the front. He was painted in bright colors. He danced in a slow circle showing the people how to call down their ancestors to vanquish the whites.

“What will we do?”

“Find Iron Horse and gather the elders. I intend to avoid these white-skins and their guns.”

“Yes, Chief.”

Little Hill stood atop a small rise in the earth with his brother. Below them several Lakota Indians were cutting apart the carcass of a large buffalo. Big Hill saw their father, Iron Horse, and let out a war cry and raced down to join him. Little Hill followed more slowly picking his way down the slope.

“Hurry!” Big Hill called. He held a large parcel in his hands. Little Hill came quickly. As he came closer he realized the buffalo was not nearly as large as he had thought. It was old with the horns worn down to stubs and its teeth were mostly gone.

“It’s old and sick,” Little Hill said noticing a broken bone. The marrow was bloody and slimy. Iron Horse nodded his head in approval. His youngest son was very observant.

“Yes, it is old. But it will feed us for a while,” he said. He handed his rifle to Little Hill who held it out at arm’s length. He detested guns preferring to use the traditional longbow. He knew how to handle a gun well, better than most, but he stubbornly refused to use it to hunt.

The warriors finished cutting the meat and carried it back to the camp. Little Hill and his brother raced ahead to tell everyone. The raced through the tall grass trying to outrun the other. They tore through camp shouting.

“A buffalo! A buffalo!” Big Hill shouted. Little Hill echoed him. The younger women laughed at their folly. They were fond of the rambunctious brothers especially Big Hill who sought to make everything exciting. Soon a murmur swept through the people. It had been a long time since they had seen a buffalo so close.

Soon after Iron Horse came bearing the hide of the slain beast and presented it before Big Foot. Big Foot took the pelt and examined it carefully.

“You have proven your worth once again, Iron Horse. This buffalo, though old, will feed our people for a time. A celebration for the life of this buffalo who gave its life to give us life!” A wild cry went up among the Indians. They crowded around Iron Horse touching the pelt.

…

 William reined in his bay horse and dropped from the saddle. He gently patted Sam’s sweaty neck. The horse nicked softly.

“Later, boy. I have to give this to Major Whitside. Then you can have something to eat.” William tied Sam to the post and entered the white tent where Major Samuel Whitside and Colonel James Forsyth were.

They were talking with another man. Only a few years older than William. They looked worried and had their heads close together discussing something. They saw William and broke conversation.

“You must be William,” Whitside said walking over to William and slapping his back nearly knocking him over. “A little scrawny. You have your letters?”

“Yes, sir.” William pulled out a few letters from his pack and handed them to the Major. Whitside thumbed through them frowning.

“Says here you’re only seventeen. You need to be eighteen to enter.”

“I turn eighteen next week, sir. My father sent me early.”

“So he did,” Whitside mused. “You ride, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” William said. Whitside smiled.

“Excellent! We need riders! How well do you ride?”

“I’ve been riding since before I could walk, sir. My father owns a horse ranch.”

“Good, good. Well, I suppose we can let the age slide can’t we Colonel?”

“Yes. Assign him to the Seventh Cavalry, Whitside. We could use some good riders,” Colonel Forsyth said. He marked off something on a sheet of paper and wrote something beside it. He looked up at William. “Well, Private William Henry Day, good luck. You will be in barrack seven. Major Whitside, take Private Day to the stables and show him where he will be staying until we move out.”

“Yes, sir,” Whitside saluted. William made a clumsy attempt to copy him bringing a faint smile to the colonel’s face. Whitside turned on his heel and exited. William followed. Outside Major Whitside was admiring William’s horse. He whistled softly.

“That’s a fine horse you got here. What’s his name?”

“Sam.”

“Good name.” Whitside held out his hand palm down for Sam to inspect. Sam sniffed his hand and snorted sending a fine mist flying into the cold December air. Whitside chuckled. “You two will do just fine,” he said. He led William on a brief tour of the camp. Pristine white tents sat in straight rows with dozens of soldiers milling about. They snapped to attention when Major Whitside passed by.

“At ease men. Just giving the new recruit a tour,” Whitside said. The men relaxed and went about their business. William walked nervously behind Whitside guiding Sam who pranced about sensing his master’s agitation.

Whitside showed William the stables, which were little more than logs stacked on top of each other. William eyed the structure sitting precariously on top of itself.

“It’s a little rough. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to keep your horse here. Probably be safer if you kept him close.” Major Whitside said. William nodded tightening his grip on Sam’s reins. They finally came upon a group of tents on the edge of camp.

Dozens of horses stood outside tied to posts with soldiers caring for them. Some trotted back and forth on a lead line held by a soldier. Sam whinnied to a black horse and pawed the ground. Whitside led him to a group of men in blue uniforms sitting around the embers of a dying fire.

“Gentlemen,” Whitside said. The men snapped to attention. “This is Private Day. He’ll be in your regiment. Give him a brief rundown of the camp and what to do and what not to do.”

“Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison. Whitside left and they immediately lost their attentiveness and slumped around the fire again. William stood awkwardly waiting for them to do something. Finally a tall man with curly reddish hair stood up and shook Williams’s hand.

“I’m George Manly.” He pointed to a shorter man with the same color hair as him. “This is my brother Fred.” Fred waved and smiled. “This is Jesse. Watch ou’ for him. He’s no’ so bad once you ge’ to know ‘im but he’s go’ a temper like a wild stallion.” George gestured to a man wearing a Stetson hat. His long black hair was pulled back with a leather band. He scowled at George who ignored him.

“Jack’s over there.” George pointed to another man galloping on a pinto mare just outside the camp. “You’ll like ‘im. He loves his horse more than himself. Cecil is somewhere ‘round here. You’ll know ‘im when you see ‘im. Looks like somethin’ the devil coughed up.”

“What’s your name?” Fred asked.

“William,” William said.

“You from ‘round here?”

“Illinois.”

“Live on a farm?”

“Horse ranch,” William said. Fred whooped.

“Horse ranch! Lookie here boys we got ourselves someone who knows horses! How long you been riding?” Fred said.

“My whole life,” William said. Jesse snorted.

“Put ‘im up against Jack. We’ll see how long he lasts,” he said.

“Ain’t no time for tha’,” George said.

“We got time. Loads of time. We ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Fred said leaning back against a pole. “Besides, the kid looks like a nervous wreck. Let’s see wha’ he can do.”

“C’mon, George. Let ‘im have a go,” Jesse said. George sighed.

“Fine! But only if he wants to,” George said giving William a sideways glance that said don’t. Jesse and Fred stared at him daring William to refuse. William didn’t see any harm in a little horse riding. It was after all what he came here to do. Ride horses into battle. He nodded. Fred cheered and Jesse grinned smugly.

“Fred, go ge’ Jack. Jesse, see if you can find Cecil. He’ll want to see this,” George said. Fred and Jesse took off in different directions. Fred headed for Jack who was guiding his horse in wide figure eights. Fred called his name and waved. Jack saw him and trotted over.

“What’s up?” he asked. His face was brown and leathery from years working in the sun. He wore a brown hat like Jesse’s only it was worn and dusty. William couldn’t place an age on Jack. His eyes were young and he held himself high but his face was aged from sun and wind.

“We go’ someone for you to beat,” Fred said. William ducked his head shyly when Jack looked at him with piercing blue eyes.

“Do you? How much you betting this time?”

“Twenty,” Fred said holding up a wad of cash. Jack eyed him suspiciously.

“That’s a bit more than usual.” he said.

“William here is from a horse ranch. Reckon he knows wha’ he’s doin’,” Fred said grinning. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Do you? We’ll have to see,” Jack said. He spun his mare around and trotted off.

“Does that mean he accepted?” William asked.

“Yep,” Fred could barely contain his excitement until George walked over and knocked him on the head.

“Wha’ were you thinkin’! You’ll lose again an’ then you won’t have any money.”

“I was thinkin’,” Fred rubbed the welt on his head. “Tha’ most guys here don’t ride to well. So if you get a kid who’s been riding his whole life he’s bound to beat Jack.” Fred ducked as George swung at him again.

“Jack’s been ridin’ for almost thirty years! William’s been riding for what? Twenty?”

“Seventeen,” William said quietly. Fred’s face paled. He made a silently ‘O’ shape with his mouth.

“You see! He’s not even old enough to be here!”

“I will be next week,” William defended himself. George grunted and walked off muttering under his breath.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Fred apologized to William.

“It’s fine as long as I don’t have to pay.”

“Well, it’s not tha’, Jack’s real good. I thought you were older. I don’ want you to feel bad if you lose.”

“I’ve lost plenty of times, Fred. It’s not a big deal,” William said.

“Well, if you say so.” Fred said. “You migh’ want to warm your horse up. Jus’ set your stuff inside the tent,” he said and walked off after his brother. William gathered all his stuff and set in the only open spot left in the tent. He came outside and mounted Sam.

“How about a race, boy?” William said. Sam snorted. “You’ll get oats in a little bit. Let’s see if we can beat this Jack fellow.” Sam pawed the ground and bobbed his head.

“You’re not too tired are you?’ William asked. Sam snorted as if to say ‘of course not’. To emphasize, Sam strained against his reins trying to run. William laughed.

“Soon, Sam, soon.” William took Sam through various warm ups stretching his legs and loosening his muscles. Word spread that a race was taking place and soldiers began gathering around. William felt Sam wanting to show off but he held him back forcing his horse to take it easy.

“There’ll be time to show off later,” he whispered. Sam twitched his ears. William saw Fred and George walking over to him. He reined in Sam and waited for them.

“You’ll race to that tree over there.” George pointed to a large maple standing alone on the prairie. “Go around it and come back to the fence post. You’ll go all the way around camp and finish back at the fence post. Good luck.”

“Luck won’t help me,” William said. “Just skill and Sam.” William patted Sam’s neck. George allowed a faint smile to show. He shooed William off to the start.   

Jack tilted his head at William in acknowledgement when William rode in beside him. His blue eyes twinkled. His mare danced sideways when Sam brushed against her. Jack raised his eyebrows.

“Stallion?”

“Yeah. Performs better,” William said.

“Pretty calm for a stallion,” Jack noted seeing Sam standing still.

“He’s older. I’ve had him for a few years now.”

“Whoa, Pearl! Settle,” Jack said when his mare nipped at Sam. Sam barely flinched. “Sorry. She’s not friendly around stallions. I hear you live on a ranch.”

“Yeah.”

“Raise horses?”

“Thoroughbreds. Sam’s a mustang though.”

“Good horses. Pearl here is half mustang half appaloosa and faster than Satan on to sin.” Jack laughed. William laughed with him. He liked Jack already. He was kind and curious and William could easily relate to him. But there was something else about Jack. Something deep seated in the older man that Jack found comforting. Like the eye of a hurricane. Calm and peaceful while a storm raged around it.

“Riders set!” someone shouted. Jack and William stopped talking and readied their mounts. “Go!” Jack and Pearl tore away leaving William blinking in their wake. He kicked Sam’s sides and the bay mustang shot away leaving a trail of dust.

The cold wind tore through William’s hair and stole the air from his lungs. He blinked back tears from the sharp cold. Sam’s hooves pounded out a steady rhythm below him. In front of them Jack lay low in the saddle. His hat had fallen off and now hung around his neck by the strings.

William held Sam in check staying just behind Jack. He didn’t want to tire out his horse too fast. They rounded the tree and streaked away again. William could hear shouting as they came closer.

Sam stumbled and slowed. Pearl ran ahead as fast as ever. William urged Sam on. Sam recovered and picked up speed slowly gaining on Jack and Pearl as they raced around the camp. As they came around a tent William could see the fence post.

He loosened the reins a little and Sam picked up speed. Soon he was nose to tail with Pearl. The cheers increased in volume as they neared. Pearl stumbled. A tiny little misplaced step but it was all Sam needed. William gave him the reins and let Sam streak ahead passing the fence post in a blur.

Soldiers surrounded William cheering as he slowed Sam to a halt. For a moment the world was just William and Sam as he patted his horse’s neck and whispered softly in his ear. Jack appeared before them. Pearl was sweating and breathing hard. Jack’s hair was swept back and he was smiling.

“Will, that was some riding there,” he said. “Congratulations.”

“You rode good too,” William said. Jack laughed.

“Boy, I know when I’m outclassed. You have a gift,” Jack said. William felt his face warm despite the cold. He dismounted and staggered under the force of many hands slapping his back. Fred pushed his way to William and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“By the devil! That’s a fast horse!” he said. Sam snorted reminding William he was still hungry.

“Soldiers! Attention!” Major Whitside shouted over the noise. All around William dozens of soldiers snapped to attention. “Now, I am prepared to overlook this disturbance but only because something unexpected has happened.” His eyes swept over the crowd making note of the two horses. Though he couldn’t see their owners he knew exactly who they belonged to.

“Chief Sitting Bull has been murdered.” A collective gasp went up through the crowd. “Some of his tribe has sought refuge with Big Foot in the Miniconjou band. We have word that they are heading to the Pine Ridge Reservation. Pack your things. We ride south at dawn.”

…

Little Hill urged his horse beside his brother’s. Two days ago Chief Big Foot announced they would be leaving and heading to the Pine Ridge Reservation for protection. They fled in the middle of the night leaving many of their belongings behind in their haste to leave.

“Little Hill, father wants us to scout ahead and warn the tribe of danger. I’ll race you over the hill!” Big Hill shot away up the hill. Little Hill followed. They crested the hill and saw a small valley laid out before them.

Big Hill was already scanning their surroundings. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sunlight. His horse, Moves with Thunder, danced sideways nearly throwing him from the saddle.

“I see nothing,” he said after a minute. Little Hill caught sight of smoke. He pointed to the south.

“There! Smoke!”

“Where?” Big Hill asked trying to see what his sharp eyed brother saw. Little Hill adjusted his angle and pointed again. “I see nothing. Are you sure?”

“Sure as the wind is blowing,” Little Hill answered. Sure enough the wind was blowing whipping their long black hair around their faces. The wind blew in their direction bringing the faint smell of wood smoke.

“Do you smell it?”

“Smell what?”

“Smoke,” Little Hill said. Big Hill sniffed the wind.

“No. Come on let’s keep going.” he said touching his heels to Thunder’s side. Thunder trotted down the hill. Little Hill stayed rooted to the spot gazing at the smoke rising in the distant south. He shrugged and followed his brother down the hill.

They searched the valley for signs of danger and found none. Big Hill rode back to the tribe to report to Iron Horse and the chief. Little Hill rode up the other side for a quick look. What he saw froze his heart.

Hundreds of soldiers marched past heading south west straight for Pine Ridge Reservation. Every one of them wore pristine blue coats and carried gleaming rifles. Little Hill lingered too long on the hilltop. Someone shouted and guns went off.

Little Hill spun his horse around as a bullet imbedded itself into his arm like a little knife of fire. He raced down the slope throwing caution to the wind. Soldiers chased him. Little Hill dove for the cover of the bushes pulling his horse, Jagged Foot, down.

By the time the soldiers came over the hill Little Hill was hidden. He lay there panting with his arm bleeding heavily. The soldiers scanned the valley looking for him. A horn blew and they disappeared over the rise.

Little Hill waited until he was sure they were gone then stood up. His head spun from blood loss but he managed to climb on top of Jagged Foot and gallop back to his tribe. It was nearly three miles back and by then Little Hill could barely hold himself up. He had tried to bandage the wound but the blood did not stop.

“Little Hill!” his mother shouted seeing him. She pulled him from the saddle. Little Hill sagged against her.

“White men. On the other side of the valley. We have to stop.” he said as his tribe gathered around him. White Bird pushed them away calling for the medicine man and Iron Horse. Iron Horse came and picked Little Hill up and carried him to the medicine man’s tent.

He set his son on the soft furs and stood by while the medicine man tended Little Hill’s arm. He pulled out a bullet that had stopped deep in his flesh nearly hitting bone and bound the wound tightly. Little Hill had fallen asleep while he worked.

“He will live,” the man said. Iron Horse nodded and went to tell White Bird. She was in near hysterics by the time he came out.

“Calm yourself, woman,” Iron Horse said. White Bird wrung her hands nervously. “He will live.” White Bird nodded a look of relief flashed across her face. Big Hill stood beside her looking ashamed. He refused to meet his father’s eyes.

“Big Hill, look at me.” Iron Horse said. His son reluctantly looked up. “Did you leave your brother?”

“Yes, father.”

“Why?”

“He said he would follow me soon. I didn’t know there were soldiers in the area. I thought he was just looking at some animal tracks like he usually does.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he did decide to look even if it almost killed him. Not knowing if there were soldiers ahead could have cost us dearly. Learn to observe, son. It may save your life and many others.” Iron Horse said. Big Hill hung his head in shame.

“Yes, father,” he said.

“Good. I’m going to get Chief Big Foot. He’ll want to know what happened when Little Hill wakes.” Iron Horse walked off leaving White Bird and her son in front of the medicine man’s tent. After a few minutes he popped out and gestured for them to come in.

White Bird rushed in. She knelt beside Little Hill and gently stroked his forehead. Big Hill stood behind her, watching his brother sleep.

…

William glanced back over the hill the Indian had appeared from. The men who had rode up the hill were coming back down. Major Whitside was riding furiously over to them looking ready to blow their heads off.

William didn’t hear the exchange but he gathered what had happened by the soldier’s faces. Cecil popped up beside him. William jumped shouting in fright. He hated it when Cecil did that. Cecil, true to George’s words, looked like something the devil spit out. In other words he was the most handsome man William knew.

He had blonde windswept hair and deep blue eyes. He had high cheekbones and was always smiling. He was muscular but not over built. Cecil carried himself with an air of easy confidence that made it impossible for anyone to dislike him except for Major Whitside.

“Hey, Will!” he said. “Have you seen my horse?” Cecil asked. His horse was always running off. Cecil spent more time looking for Ghost than he did riding him.

“Over there.” William pointed toward a crowd of people. A white horse was trotting away from them.

“Thanks, Will!” Cecil dashed off and disappeared into the crowd. Jack rode up beside William.

“He lose his horse again?”

“Yep,” William said. Jack snorted.

“Typical. Say, did you hear Colonel Forsyth is taking a band of riders up north?” the older man asked.

“No. Why?”

“Dunno. Something about rounding up a few Indians. He’s leaving in a few hours.”

“What about the Indian they shot?”

“If I know anything about Indians it’s that they’re tougher than nails. I’ve seen one take a dozen bullets and still fight. He’s probably okay.”

“Do you think there’s more?” William asked.

“Kid, where there’s one Indian there’s a whole tribe not far away. My guess is Major Whitside will want to intercept them before long. Pretty soon we’ll be escorting a large band of Indians out of here,” Jack said. A horn bellowed calling the army to a stop.

“Dinner time!” Jack said his eyes lit up. William laughed. Jack was always hungry.

…

Dec. 25th, 1890

Little Hill opened his eyes and groaned. His head hurt and his arm throbbed painfully. Someone jerked beside him. He felt a cool hand touch his forehead.

“Little Hill?”

“Mum?”

“Oh! Thank the spirits you’re alive!” White Bird hugged him carefully avoiding his arm. Over her shoulder Little Hill saw his brother.

“What happened?” Little Hill remembered foggy details but that was it.

“You were shot by the white men and lost so much blood. Your father brought you to the medicine man. You’ve been sleeping almost all day.”

“Where is Big Foot? I have to tell him about the soldiers.” Little Hill tried to push himself up but White Bird pushed him back down.

“He’ll be here soon. Big Hill, go get Iron Horse and Chief Big Foot,” she said. Big Hill left and returned a few minutes later with the chief and Iron Horse. White Bird left. Big Foot stumbled in. He looked ill. His face was pale and his eyes were watery.

“Good to see you on the mend, Little Hill,” he wheezed. Little Hill glanced at his father but Iron Horse gave him a stern glance that said not to mention it.

“Thank you, Chief.” Little Hill started to rise to his feet by Big Foot motioned for him to sit down.

“Tell me what you saw,” he said.

“There were about five hundred troops marching toward Pine Ridge. I was on a hill when they saw me. They shot and I barely managed to get away.”

“Did they follow you?”

“No. I hid until they left,” Little Hill said. “They know I was there though so they will try to find us.”

“We cannot let that happen,” Iron Horse said. Big Foot held up his hand for silence.

“I agree but we must not be rash. I will speak with the elders.” Big Foot left followed by Big Hill. Little Hill looked at his father.

“Chief Big Foot is sick,” he said. Iron Horse nodded.

“His illness will slow our escape. Get some rest. We may be moving by tomorrow,” he said. Little Hill laid back down on the furs and fell asleep.

…

William shivered in his jacket. A cold breeze was blowing from the north bringing with it grey clouds and signs of a blizzard. All around him soldiers wrapped themselves in their coats and waited for the order to ride.

The seventh Cavalry was miserable. They were cold, hungry, and tired. They were down a hundred and fifty men after Colonel Forsyth went north with his troops. Fred and George were arguing about something while Jack and Jesse talked quietly beside William. Cecil was toying with a knife seeing how close he could come to cutting his finger without breaking the skin. Several of his fingers already had cuts.

William pulled his jacket around him tighter and inched closer to the fire. Behind him Sam snorted and nibbled William’s hair. Sam refused to stay with the other horses insisting he be next to William every moment.

“Hey, bud. You cold?” William said. Sam blew hot air on his face. “Guess not.” A horn blew jolting everyone out of their daze. All around him soldiers scrambled to their feet.

“All right! Move out! The Indians are on the move!” Major Whitside shouted over the wind. The seventh Cavalry mounted their horses and as a single being moved west following the path of the Indians.

They hadn’t seen the Indians but there were reports of scouts appearing further west. Major Whitside suspected that the Indians would head west and then south straight into Pine Ridge. He wanted to beat them.

An Indian spy had also told them the Chief Big Foot was sick. A sick chief would slow down the whole tribe. Major Whitside intended to make the most of it so he pushed his men as far as their horses could go hoping to catch up to the Indians.

But they proved to be harder to catch than anticipated. It had been three days since they first saw the Indian on the hilltop. The men were restless and eager to catch them. William thought the whole thing was unnecessary. The Indians hadn’t proved to be hostile so he saw no sense in chasing them down.

William rode up between Jack and Jesse. For a while they rode in silence listening to the groaning soldiers around them. William felt their misery. He hadn’t expected the army to be so dull and cold. His father had told him tales of great valor and bravery.

Now that he was here William wanted nothing more than a warm bed and hot food. He missed his family. His father, mother, and his sister Harriet.

Long hours passed before they halted. Bone weary from fighting the cold William slid from Sam’s back to the frozen ground. Beside him Jack grunted as he hit the ground harder than expected. William undid Sam’s tack and blearily help set up the camp.

Within minutes everyone was either sitting around a small campfire or sleeping in their tents. William was huddled under a blanket desperately trying to keep warm. Frigid air still managed to creep in through the tent flap and through rips in the canvas.

The next day dawned clear and cold. The sun peeked over the horizon spreading weak rays of light across the sky. Suddenly a cry went up among the soldiers. The Indians were flying the white flag!

…

Dec. 27th, 1890

Little Hill watched the white flag fluttering in the wind. A hollow pit settled deep inside him. Chief Big Foot, sick and dying, had ordered surrender. Many warriors had protested saying they would fight the white soldiers.

Big Hill was sullen. Like many of the warriors he wanted to fight, but Big Foot had refused. He said he did not want bloodshed. So they waited. Long hours passed before a scout tore through camp yelling that the soldiers were coming.

Little Hill mounted Jagged Foot and rode out with a group of Indians to meet them. Big Hill had disappeared. Little Hill rode beside his father and Red Feather. One of the elders came with them as Big Foot was too weak to be out in the cold for long. Five warriors rode behind them.

They met a band of soldiers halfway between the camps and exchanged greetings. The elder, Many Wings, spoke.

“Our Chief, Big Foot, is unable to meet with you today. I will speak on his behalf.”

“Major Whitside will see you now,” one of the soldiers said. They turned and rode into their camp. Iron Horse and Many Wings had no choice but to follow. They rode between many white tents. Soldiers stared at them and some cursed them.

Little Hill spied a brown haired soldier on a bay horse and their eyes met. He was younger than the men surrounding him. Little Hill guessed he was no older than himself. The soldier held his gaze until Little Hill rode off.

Before long they stood outside a tent larger than the rest. Iron Horse motioned for them to stay outside and went in with Many Wings. They were in there for a long time. Jagged Foot shifted and stamped his hooves.

Iron Horse stormed out followed by Many Wings who looked angry. They mounted their horses and without waiting for their companions to follow left. They returned to their camp and went to Big Foot immediately.

“What did they say?” Big Foot wheezed and burst into a fit of coughing.

“They want to escort us! To the reservation!” Iron Horse exclaimed.

“And they shall,” Big Foot said calmly. “We do not have the numbers to refute them. Even if we did we cannot. They have more guns than we do.”

“You will let them destroy us!”

“No, Iron Horse. They will help us. They will take us safely to the reservation. I will speak with them.”

“You cannot!”

“Do not misjudge me! I have strength yet,” Big Foot said silencing Iron Horse. “They will help us,” Big Foot said quietly. He closed his eyes dismissing them.

…

Dec. 28th, 1890

The Indians were sullen. William rode amongst them nervously, having rarely been in such close contact with them before. Looking around him William noticed an Indian no older than him riding a horse with jagged white markings on his hooves. The Indian boy wore a simple shirt and leggings and his long hair hung loose framing angular cheeks and hollow eyes. His arm was bandaged.

He seemed to be looking for someone because he kept glancing up and searching the faces of other Indians. William watched him before riding up next to him. Sam sniffed the strange horse curiously.

“Who are you looking for?” William asked. The Indian jumped and spurred his horse forward but William caught his horse’s reins. “I won’t hurt you. My name is William.”

“Little Hill.”

“Who are you looking for?” William asked. Little Hill hesitated not sure if he could trust William. He was, after all, an American soldier but Little Hill sensed something else about him, something more innocent than the other soldiers.

“My brother,” he said deciding to trust William.

“Is he missing?”

“No,” Little Hill said glancing up again. William followed his gaze but he didn’t see anyone he knew other than Cecil chasing his horse down again shouting. Several Indian children laughed and ran after him unaware he was the enemy.

“What’s your brother like?”

“He looks like me only bigger,” Little Hill said. “The soldier with the sun on his hair is foolish.”

“Cecil? How?” William asked. Little Hill pointed to Cecil surrounded by a crowd of children touching his hair and patting his clothes.

“His horse is getting away.” Little Hill said calmly watching Cecil’s horse, Ghost, running off. William laughed.

“Ghost will come back. He always does.”

“The name fits him. Though if he were an Indian horse he would be named Spirit.”

“Why?”

“Spirits are free beings and cannot be tamed. Like Ghost, you may control one for a time but in the end they will leave. They are our ancestors not our slaves.”

“What of the Ghost Dance? I’ve heard it summons your ancestors to give back your land,” William said. Little Hill snorted.

“The wishful thinking of a blind man. Our ancestors may be powerful but I believe this is our fight as does my father. Our ancestors cannot take our land back for us alone. They need us as much as we need them no matter what Yellow Bird says. He says he is a prophet but he is a medicine man and medicine man he should stay.”

“You sound as if you do not trust him.” William said. Little Hill shook his head.

“I trust his healing. I was shot by soldiers a few days ago and he healed me.”

“You were the one on the hill!” William exclaimed. He had suspected Little Hill was but he was still surprised. “They followed you and said you had disappeared.”

“I hid. It’s not hard to hide from white men. You are blinder than bats to not see me or Jagged Foot.” Little Hill touched his horse’s neck gently. Sam swung his head over and sniffed Little Hill’s hand. “What is your horse’s name?”

“Sam. I live on a horse ranch back in Illinois. My father raises Thoroughbreds for races but Sam’s a Mustang. I wanted a horse good for long distance. We haven’t lost many races,” William said. Sam whinnied hearing his name.

“What is the East like?” Little Hill asked. William was surprised at his question. Little Hill seemed curious by the way he looked at William with a tiny glimmer in his eyes.

“Well, I don’t live far East but it’s different, tamer, not as free.” William liked the open spaces of the West with so much room to run and endless skies, wind ripping through his hair. Ever since arriving in the Dakotas William felt more alive than at home even when racing.

William told Little Hill all about life at home from the annual races, to school, he even told him about his family. Little Hill mostly listened but every now and then made a quick comment comparing Indian life to William’s. He had quit looking for his brother and watched William with rapt attention.

William asked Little Hill about his life. As he spoke William began to see the Indians surrounding him in a different light. He began to see them for who they really were not the biased opinions of war generals who couldn’t wait to rid the land of the so called “heathens”.

They talked until the horn blew to halt the traveling companies. Little Hill bowed from atop his horse and spun off to find his family and William went to find his friends. They were busy setting up the tents when William appeared.

Jesse stormed over and grabbed the front of William’s shirt and brought his face in. William struggled trying to break free.

“You done givin’ all the army’s secrets away?” he shouted.

“I didn’t do anything!” William protested. Jesse wrapped his free hand around William’s throat.

“What were ya doin’ then?” Jesse squeezed William’s throat until he couldn’t talk.

“Leave him alone, Jesse,” Jack said pushing Jesse off William. He let go and William collapsed on the ground coughing. “He didn’t do anything.” Jesse pushed himself off the ground and swung at Jack who blocked the attack sending Jesse spinning.

“You’ve seen what happens when someone gets friendly with an Indian rat! Or did you already forget General Custer?” Jesse accused Jack.

“Yes, I know what can happen and I haven’t forgotten General Custer. Leave the boy alone or I’ll report you. He’s done no harm,” Jack said helping William to his feet. Jesse stalked off muttering angrily under his breath.

“Let him go.” Jack said when Cecil tried to go after him. “He’s forgotten this isn’t Little Big Horn.”

“You were there?” William said when he recovered.

“Aye. Jesse was a close friend of Custer.”

“Did you know him?”

“He was my friend,” Jack said. “Don’t worry about it William. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Jack was going to say more but a soldier raced in nearly running them over.

“We’re keeping the Indians here until Colonel Forsyth arrives with back up.”

…

December 29th, 1890

Little Hill stood by himself as the white soldier disarmed him taking his bow and knives away and stuffing them roughly into a sack. He flinched when the man began to pat him down looking for more weapons. Satisfied he turned to the Indian next to Little Hill and proceeded to remove his weapons.

  The soldier tried to grab Black Coyote’s rifle away from him but the deaf Indian would have none of it and pulled his rifle back. The soldier shouted at him demanding he hand the gun over but Black Coyote refused. Little Hill glanced nervously over to where the sick and dying Chief Big Foot held conference with several generals.

The scuffle escalated and the soldier repeatedly thumped Black Coyote over the head with his closed fists while the Indian held tightly to his weapon. Little Hill saw that Black Coyote didn’t understand the order to give up his weapon.

“Stop!” he yelled grabbing at the soldiers arm. “He can’t hear you!”

“Get off me!” the soldier shouted, while he was distracted Black Coyote took the opportunity to break free but his finger slipped and accidentally he pulled the trigger firing the rifle. Little Hill flinched as the gun went off next to his ear deafening him momentarily so he couldn’t hear the next few moments of confusion as soldiers shouted and Indians yelled.

A small group of Indians guided by Yellow Bird brandished forth hidden rifles, Big Hill among them. For a moment nothing happened, then chaos. The soldiers atop the hill fired upon the Indians. Bullets tore into flesh and blood sprayed wetting the half frozen ground.

A bullet grazed Little Hill’s cheek and he dropped to the ground as more whizzed by dropping Indians like rain. He watched as a woman holding a child was shot down at point blank even as she held a hand up in surrender.

The soldier aimed at Little Hill but just before he could fire blood erupted from his throat, he gave a strangled cry clawing at the wound as he fell. Little Hill looked up and saw his brother running toward him.

“Little Hill! Come! Bullets cannot harm me!” But even as he said that half a dozen bullets peppered his chest, dark blood spread across the fabric. Little Hill screamed and raced toward him and caught his brother’s head just before he hit the ground. His eyes were glazed and overly bright with pain.

“No!” Little Hill yelled pressing his hands against the bullet holes trying to stop the bleeding but it kept coming. Big Hill’s eyes fluttered weakly his breathing coming in ragged gasps. “Don’t die!” Little Hill pleaded.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Big Hill gasped. He shuddered and lay still his eyes still gazing into Little Hill’s unmoving. Tears ran freely down Little Hill’s face further wetting his brother’s blood soaked shirt. Bitterness for the white soldiers filled him and consumed him. He grabbed the rifle only to find it had been snapped in half when Big Hill fell.

Lurching wildly he got to his feet and looked around him and saw the dead bodies of women, children, old men, and Indian warriors alike sprawled out on the ground. Chief Big Hill lay a little ways away curled in a loose ball clutching his stomach.

Little Hill raced over and knelt next to him. Big Foot looked up and smiled weakly at the young man above him. He reached out a bloody hand and pressed it against Little Hill’s heart.

“Find the survivors. Lead them,” he said and coughed.

“I can’t! I’m not even a warrior!” Little Hill protested. Big Foot gazed tiredly at him, staring at the bloodstain on his chest from where he had pressed against Big Hill.

“You are now, Bleeding Heart,” he said letting his hand fall away and closing his eyes. The sound of gunshots faded as the soldiers chased the Indians far and wide. Big Foot gave a great shuddering breath and moved no more.

Little Hill staggered to his feet again feeling as if his heart had been ripped out and he left to bleed forever. He saw a hundred feet off his father, Iron Horse, sprawled dead across the body of his mother. He couldn’t move, couldn’t force himself to breathe as his world crashed in around him. His family lay dead and his tribe shattered.

Someone moved at the edge of his vision and he swung around prepared to die waiting for the bullet to tear into his heart but nothing happened. A young soldier stood no more than twenty feet away aiming his rifle at Little Hill’s chest. Little Hill noted that he was shaking violently and the right side of his head was coated in blood, he appeared to be missing an ear.

Little Hill saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes and he lowered his rifle.

“Little Hill?” William said gazing into the wild eyes of the Indian who jerked when he said his name. Soldiers shouted drawing near. William recognized George’s yell. “Run!” William said. Little Hill didn’t move. “Get out of here! They’ll kill you!” Little Hill, galvanized into action leapt away like a dear and disappeared into the thick smoke that filled the air.

“William!” George shouted. “William! Where in the blazes are you?”

“Here!” William shouted back. George ran up next to him looking rattled but okay.

“Good Lord! What happened to you?” he exclaimed seeing William’s ear, or lack thereof. William grimaced.

“Friendly fire,” he said simply. George frowned. “Where’s Fred?”

“Jesse was shot. Fred’s with him.”

“Jack?” William asked hoping the older soldier he’d come to see as a second father was all right.

“Alive and well. He found Sam,” Sam had reared when the fight began throwing a very surprised William from the saddle and bolting. William relaxed a little and the force of what had just occurred set in. How many people had died? How many had he killed?

The battle had lasted only an hour, if that, and as the smoke cleared William began to see the true horror of what had happened. Hundreds of Indians lay dead and, William guessed, about twenty-five soldiers.

This was no battle. He thought. This is slaughter. George must have seen his stricken face because he wrapped an arm around William’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s get that ear looked at.” he said. William allowed himself to be led numbly away from the carnage. At some point he became aware he was gripping his rifle until his knuckles turned white and only when his hand began to cramp did he loosen his hold.

Three hours later William sat on a cot next to Jesse with a white cloth wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The sun had set and a blizzard howled outside while the injured, soldiers and Indians, huddled inside the white canvas tents. The dead Indians had been left outside without proper burial.

William was exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes open as she listened to Jesse groan beside him. The surly cowboy had taken a bullet that blasted away a good portion of his shoulder. The doctor had come in an hour earlier and within twenty minutes Jesse’s arm was gone. William felt sorry for him knowing how much it would cost the black haired soldier.

William slowly drifted into a deep sleep despite the cold while all around him soldiers prepared to bury the Indians in a few days. In all nearly three hundred Indians died including their Chief, Big Foot, who lay among them somewhere.

…

 Five Years Later…

“William!” his mother called. William looked up from his work, he had been brushing his horse Sam, and his long hair fell away from his face revealing a large hole on the right side of his head where he had lost an ear in the massacre at Wounded Knee Creek, he quickly jerked his head covering the gaping hole again.

“Yes, mother?” he said dropping the brush and walking out to where his mother waited at the barn door. He grinned when he saw her.

“Won’t you let me cut your hair? You used to be so handsome without it so long.” she sighed. William shook his head. He let his hair grow long to cover his missing ear, he disliked the stares people gave him when they saw it. But what he did like was that people tended to avoid him. His longer hair gave him a rakish look that wasn’t to be trusted. They all had known him since he was young but after three years in service to the army he was a different man.

“What did you want, mother?”

“There’s someone here to see you. He’s in the house,” she said. William noticed she looked worried. William nodded and quickly walked up to the house. Inside standing dead center on the floor was an Indian. He had a bow strapped to his back and two knives at his belt, he wore his long black hair in a loosely tied braid, and a long thin scar ran across his cheek. He nodded once at William who stood in shock.

“Little Hill?” he exclaimed recognizing his dark brown eyes filled with so much grief. William could hardly believe the same Indian he had befriended just before the massacre was still alive. Little Hill nodded and spoke. His voice was hoarse from little use the past five years.

“I am called Bleeding Heart now, because my heart bleeds for my people killed by the white men.” For several moments William could say nothing then he found his voice.

“How did you survive?” he asked. Bleeding Heart gave him a thin smile.

“It wasn’t hard. Soldiers have poor eyesight. It’s a wonder they could hit anything,” he half joked. “I was hoping to find you here. I have nowhere to go. My people are dead or scattered across the reservations and I cannot stand to live that life. Big Foot told me to lead my people. But how can I lead them when they are gone?”

“I can’t tell you but I can offer you a place to live. It’s not like what you had but it’s better than what you have now,” William said. Bleeding Heart nodded.

“I’d like that.”

***********************

This is a historical fiction based loosely off the events that transpired before and during the Massacre at Wounded Knee where three hundred Indians were killed on December 29th, 1890 on the Lakota Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota. It is not known exactly what prompted the massacre, perhaps a gun accidentally firing, or a cannon going off, or an argument over relinquishing weapons. Whatever the cause, the Wounded Knee Massacre remains one of the most tragic events in the fight against Indians and Americans.

Disclaimer: as this is a fictitious work, the events are portrayed as I interpreted them to have happened. This means you cannot use this as a source as it is mostly inaccurate and meant to be something fun. It's also a school project, so I don't recommend trying to use it as a reliable source. If you want to know more about the Wounded Knee Massacre by all means look it up. Again, this is a fictitious work and the portrayal of all characters has been altered to fit the storyline; this includes the real people: Black Coyote and General James W. Forsyth among them.