Lakota Surrender Read Online Free Page A

the men.
    He searched the horses, hunting for his father’s favorite mount. The lifeless body, rolled in a buffalo robe and strapped onto the horse’s back, told its own story.
    Surprise, disillusionment, and anger welled up inside him all at once. He tore through the crowd to his mother’s side, taking her in his arms as he, too, followed the procession.
     
     
    Council was held two nights later. The dead had been placed high in a scaffold. Tahiska had made the structure himself, refusing the help of Wahtapah and another, Neeheeowee, who had just arrived from the distant tribe of the Cheyenne.
    Tahiska had slain his father’s horse, attaching its head and tail on the poles of the scaffold to ensure his father’s spirit would ride, not walk, to the afterlife.
    The seven chiefs had ordered their tepees to be brought together to form a circle large enough to seat one hundred and fifty to two hundred men. The sacred fire leaped high in the center, while in the sky, the moon cast shadows upon the earth.
    After the last meal had been served, all the warriors sat on the ground while hundreds of others crowded around to hear and to see what had happened and what was to be done.
    Normally men as young as Tahiska and Wahtapah were not admitted to the council, but both were included tonight for two reasons: Tahiska had this last year counted two coups, one of which was considered a great coup since he had rescued a friend from a grizzly attack; also, he and Wahtapah had been a part of two successful raids. Plus, it was his father who lay dead upon the hills.
    Hawonjetah, chief of the Minneconjou, lit the pipe, presenting the stem to the north, south, east and west, then to the stars and moon overhead. It was ceremoniously passed, clockwise, to all. Not until the pipe, at last, returned to the chief did anyone move.
    Finally the chief rose.
    “My friends, sons, and brothers. Two of our people have been murdered. My heart is saddened, my spirit is disillusioned, but my anger grows bold over this injustice. We must punish these killers. They must not be allowed to murder again. Listen well, my brothers, for this night, we decide the course of action for our people.”
    The chief returned to his seat while the one from the hunting party rose. He took his place in front of the fire.
    “We were hunting antelope at a place four days’ ride south of here. The game was plentiful and we stayed five days long because our women desire many skins. It was on this fifth day that we heard thunder, but when we looked at the sky, there were no clouds. We heard the thunder again and again but could find no reason for it. Deciding it must be the firesticks of the white man that we heard, we went to investigate.
    “There we saw two white soldiers dressed in blue coats shooting at the wild turkey. One had hair the color of the autumn leaves on the oak tree. His eyes were the color of the summer sky, the hair upon his face was a shade darker than his scalp. The other wore long yellow hair and his face was scarred. These men were not hunting this game to eat, and though thirty or more turkeys lay dead upon the ground, these two would not stop the hunt.
    “We did not make ourselves known, but Tchankee became afraid that these two blue coats could find our camp. We begged him not to announce himself, for it is doubtful these two men would bother our village, but he insisted and broke into the circle of their hunt. Before he could speak, one white man fired upon him. Matoiwa flew out of his cover to help his brother, but he, too, was shot. We hid until the white men left. When we reached our two brothers, they held no life and the white soldiers in blue coats were gone. To follow would have been suicide. So we gathered our dead and came home. I have spoken.”
    The warrior sat down and the second hunter present at the murder rose to speak. His story was much the same as the first, confirming that the two white soldiers had, in fact, committed