feet. "He was at Sitting Bull's camp. He saw the whole thing. But back then people didn't say too much about what they saw, right, Lala? Because the army was saying Sitting Bull was like a criminal or something."
The old man nodded. "My grandfather was a young man that time," he said, putting the time into perspective by way of the generations of their relatives. "Early twenties, had a cabin not too far from here. My grandmother was young then, too, and she liked to go to the mission church they had over to Little Eagle. Back then, I think there was only one. But Iron Thunder had started in with the Ghost Dancing the summer before. People were gettin' together secretly, more and more all the time, sayin' they had a new religion now. They was all tryin' to dance back the buffalo and the dead relations, the way different ones were sayin' they learned to do in a dream."
"Turned out it didn't work," Ben flatly pointed out.
"No harm in tryin', they said." Dewey smoothed the felt strip across his knees and set the pipe atop it, laying the bowl in his palm. "They were supposed to try farming, and that sure wasn't workin'. That year it was so dry, they were eatin' mostly dust for every meal, they said.
"So Iron Hammer was out to Sitting Bull's camp that time with some of the Ghost Dancers. It was almost winter, but no snow yet, so they'd make this big circle and dance, shoulder to shoulder, and sing the songs. Sitting Bull, he wasn't one to stop nobody from dancin', even if he wasn't gonna take to it himself. And the truth was, he didn't put much stock in it. He'd had some powerful dreams himself, and lotta people looked up to him.
"But the Indian agent, Major James McLaughlin, he was tryin' to get the people to sign another agreement to give away most of the land they had left. Sitting Bull was talkin' against it, so McLaughlin wanted him dead. Arrested was what he said." Dewey shook his head. "Dead was what he meant.
"McLaughlin sent his Indian policemen out to Sitting Bull's camp really early that frosty morning. Most everyone was still asleep in their blankets, and the place was real quiet. The police had some troopers ready to back 'em up, just a couple miles away, so they went in the cabin, got the Old Bull up, and took him outside. They said he was their prisoner and they was gonna take him up to the agency at Fort Yates.
"But that quick, the Ghost Dancers were there, wantin' to know what was goin' on. Pretty soon somebody brought up a rifle and said they wasn't takin' the old man anywhere, and all hell broke loose. The two policemen who shot Sitting Bull, they got shot, too. And the police killed Sitting Bull's boy. The soldiers came ridin' in, saved what was left of their hand-picked Indian police, and the people camped there, they all scattered.
"After that, Iron Hammer and some of the other ones thought the army would come lookin' for them. My grandma was gonna have a baby, and that baby was my father. So she stayed with her missionary friend. A white woman, like your mother," he told Anna solemnly.
He looked at the pipe, turning it in his hands as he spoke quietly. "Grandma never went to Wounded Knee. She used to say that the way some tell it, havin' a baby could kill you, but it could save you, too. Her husband left her behind to have the baby, and he rode down to Cherry Creek to join up with Big Foot's camp." He raised his head, spoke to Anna first, then Clara. "We're gonna be ridin' to Cherry Creek, too. And we'll be meetin' up with the riders from Cheyenne River, and some from Pine Ridge."
"And cameras from the damn TV stations," Ben grumbled.
His father nodded. "We want those people to tell the story."
"So Iron Hammer was with Big Foot and the Minneconjou people on the journey to Wounded Knee," Clara said, tugging on the story's loose end.
Dewey nodded again. "The army was tryin' to break up the Ghost Dancing, and there were certain ones that were on the Indian Bureau's list of troublemakers, like Sitting
The old man nodded. "My grandfather was a young man that time," he said, putting the time into perspective by way of the generations of their relatives. "Early twenties, had a cabin not too far from here. My grandmother was young then, too, and she liked to go to the mission church they had over to Little Eagle. Back then, I think there was only one. But Iron Thunder had started in with the Ghost Dancing the summer before. People were gettin' together secretly, more and more all the time, sayin' they had a new religion now. They was all tryin' to dance back the buffalo and the dead relations, the way different ones were sayin' they learned to do in a dream."
"Turned out it didn't work," Ben flatly pointed out.
"No harm in tryin', they said." Dewey smoothed the felt strip across his knees and set the pipe atop it, laying the bowl in his palm. "They were supposed to try farming, and that sure wasn't workin'. That year it was so dry, they were eatin' mostly dust for every meal, they said.
"So Iron Hammer was out to Sitting Bull's camp that time with some of the Ghost Dancers. It was almost winter, but no snow yet, so they'd make this big circle and dance, shoulder to shoulder, and sing the songs. Sitting Bull, he wasn't one to stop nobody from dancin', even if he wasn't gonna take to it himself. And the truth was, he didn't put much stock in it. He'd had some powerful dreams himself, and lotta people looked up to him.
"But the Indian agent, Major James McLaughlin, he was tryin' to get the people to sign another agreement to give away most of the land they had left. Sitting Bull was talkin' against it, so McLaughlin wanted him dead. Arrested was what he said." Dewey shook his head. "Dead was what he meant.
"McLaughlin sent his Indian policemen out to Sitting Bull's camp really early that frosty morning. Most everyone was still asleep in their blankets, and the place was real quiet. The police had some troopers ready to back 'em up, just a couple miles away, so they went in the cabin, got the Old Bull up, and took him outside. They said he was their prisoner and they was gonna take him up to the agency at Fort Yates.
"But that quick, the Ghost Dancers were there, wantin' to know what was goin' on. Pretty soon somebody brought up a rifle and said they wasn't takin' the old man anywhere, and all hell broke loose. The two policemen who shot Sitting Bull, they got shot, too. And the police killed Sitting Bull's boy. The soldiers came ridin' in, saved what was left of their hand-picked Indian police, and the people camped there, they all scattered.
"After that, Iron Hammer and some of the other ones thought the army would come lookin' for them. My grandma was gonna have a baby, and that baby was my father. So she stayed with her missionary friend. A white woman, like your mother," he told Anna solemnly.
He looked at the pipe, turning it in his hands as he spoke quietly. "Grandma never went to Wounded Knee. She used to say that the way some tell it, havin' a baby could kill you, but it could save you, too. Her husband left her behind to have the baby, and he rode down to Cherry Creek to join up with Big Foot's camp." He raised his head, spoke to Anna first, then Clara. "We're gonna be ridin' to Cherry Creek, too. And we'll be meetin' up with the riders from Cheyenne River, and some from Pine Ridge."
"And cameras from the damn TV stations," Ben grumbled.
His father nodded. "We want those people to tell the story."
"So Iron Hammer was with Big Foot and the Minneconjou people on the journey to Wounded Knee," Clara said, tugging on the story's loose end.
Dewey nodded again. "The army was tryin' to break up the Ghost Dancing, and there were certain ones that were on the Indian Bureau's list of troublemakers, like Sitting
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