Reap the Whirlwind Read Online Free Page A

three nights straggling north to reach his village.
    As the first of Two Moon’s and Old Bear’s clans approached the outer ring of brown lodges, the voices of his own people began to ring out:
    “Shahiyena—come eat in my lodge!”
    “Shahiyena! Come, make yourselves warm in my blankets and robes!”
    “Come, Shahiyena, all that I have I offer to you!”
    Such a reception had sent a thick ball of sentiment high into his throat—to see how his people opened up theirhearts to these who had been driven into the cold and snow by the soldiers of Three Stars Crook.
    “Crazy Horse.”
    Without turning, he had known that voice the moment it called out his name there in the midst of the noisy celebration of those Shahiyena and Hunkpatila once more among warmth and security.
    Slowly he had eventually turned, his eyes misting. “He Dog,” he had whispered.
    At long last Crazy Horse beheld the face he had feared he would never again see.
    That night, and for three more, the warriors of He Dog and Little Wolf told of the battle on the Powder River, argued on what now to do. But there was no longer any talk of returning to the agencies. Never again would they try the white man’s way.
    The
wasichu
called the Indian in to the agencies, at the same time it sent out the white soldiers against them.
    What was the price of a slab of the white man’s greasy
kukuse?
What was the price of one of those thin, threadbare blankets, or a bag of moldy flour, or a few head of some skinny beef that never came when it was promised?
    Was that price the blood of their women and children on the snow?
    “If so, then this is a price we will never pay!” He Dog had shouted, his voice reverberating from the firelit lodgepoles.
    “It seems the soldiers wish to make war on the Shahiyena,” one of the old Lakota had argued. Others nodded or grunted their agreement. “The soldiers attacked a Shahiyena camp. We know of no Miniconjou, no Sans Arc, no Blackfoot or Hunkpapa village attacked by soldiers. I think we should give the Shahiyena what we can: food, clothing, blankets, and lodges. Then let them go on their way.”
    “Yes,” another voice assented. “The soldiers must be looking for the Shahiyena.”
    So it had made the heart of Crazy Horse soar when He Dog had stood suddenly, glowering at all the small-hearted among them.
    “I for one will not send the Shahiyena on their way!”he had bellowed over their heads. “I for one will stand beside the warriors of the Shahiyena and fight the white man. When he sends his soldiers against any band wintering in these hunting grounds, he sends his soldiers against us all!”
    There had come a great commotion of muttering and argument.
    But then Crazy Horse had stood, to take his place alongside He Dog. To stand and be counted among the resistance.
    “The Shahiyena came this far north only to hunt for meat and to visit us,” the Horse said, wanting to whip them with his words just the way a man would lash a pony with his rawhide quirt. “They are like cousins. Let any man among you tell me these Shahiyena are not like our own family.”
    No one had dared speak. The war chief’s words had begun to shame them, to sting as they landed about that war council.
    And in the end, that ring of warriors, old and young, had decided to march north to the Chalk Buttes where the Hunkpapa of Sitting Bull camped. These Hunkpapa numbered more than any of the other seven lodge fires of the Lakota nation. Surely the Hunkpatila should visit with the Hunkpapa and seek the wisdom of the great medicine man on so weighty a subject as forming an alliance with the Shahiyena.
    “We will go north to counsel with Sitting Bull,” they decided.
    “And remember,” Crazy Horse had told them with a smile on his face, “remember what Sitting Bull told our families and relations still on the reservations before last winter.”
    The heads had nodded, and there had been much murmuring among that war council.
    “He told them all to