Reno shouted orders, getting his three companies, A, G and M, in line and moving. He had eleven officers and about a hundred and twenty-five troopers. He also had the scouts, which he found out of the ordinary. Even Bloody Knife was with his column. Strange of the general to part with his favorite scout, Reno thought He also had a surgeon, Henry Porter, an assistant surgeon, James DeWolf; Fred Gerard, the colonel’s personal interpreter, which was also strange; and Isaiah Dorman, the only black man in the entire outfit, a scout with much experience on the plains. And he had Bouyer, the half-breed and his medicine in a bag. The only scouts staying with Custer were Lonesome Charlie Reynolds and four Crows. That fact made Reno wonder that he might indeed be the main thrust and Custer would support him. But years of working with the general told Reno that that simply couldn’t be. Custer would never delegate himself to a supporting role m an event as big as what this was looking to be. Maybe Custer was simply tired of the death chants of the Arikara scouts.
Reno galloped to the front of his column. He could look to his right across the small creek and see Custer’s command riding in parallel. That gave him some hope. They were just a stone’s throw away from each, well within mutual supporting position. Reno glanced to the rear. The only sign that the pack train was following was a distant patch of dust.
Bouyer was riding to the left front of the column, ranging toward the bluffs that were about a mile away in that direction. The columns rode for several miles like that, occasionally breaking into a trot, then Reno noticed Custer gesturing. There was no mistaking it. Custer was directing him over to the north side. Reno felt a tremendous rush of relief. They were rejoining the regiment, at least what they had here.
Reno splashed across the creek. He could see that Custer was standing at a lone teepee. Reno rode up as both columns came to a halt. Custer was inspecting the structure. Reno dismounted and followed his commander into the teepee. A dead Indian lay within. Reno glanced at him-he’d been shot and Ute wound had soured.
Who shot him? Was Reno’s first thought. Had the Indians made contact with some other column of soldiers, or was this the result of infighting between the Indians themselves? Custer still hadn’t said a word. He was simply staring at the dead man, surprisingly subdued for some reason. Then the general turned and stalked from the tent, Reno following.
Reno noticed that Bouyer had ridden up while they were in the tent. The scout was talking to Bloody Knife, motioning at the tent, but Reno couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Burn it,” Custer snapped. The Crows set to that task quickly.
Custer walked up to Bouyer and Bloody Knife. ‘’Who killed that Indian?”
“Hard to say, major,” Bouyer replied.
Custer was fidgeting with his red bandana. His eyes were darting about. He pulled out his watch and checked the time, shaking his head. “We’re wasting daylight.”
Bouyer chuckled. “General, I wouldn’t be worrying about nightfall if I was you.”
“You aren’t me.”
The Ankara scouts were painting themselves for battle. The two columns were milling about when yelling and several shots were heard to the east.
“There go your Indians, brother!” Tom Custer was pointing.
One of the Crow Scouts was on a knoll to the east and he was gesturing back.
“After them!” Custer ordered the Ankara scouts.
Reno watched with amazement as the scouts ignored the general and continued putting on their paint. Custer’s arms flew as he signed at the Arikara, and there was no doubt in Reno’s mind about the threats inherent in those gestures even though he didn’t understand the exact meaning of what Custer was conveying. The scouts began moving.
Custer wheeled about and grabbed his adjutant, Cooke, by the collar and talked rapidly. He then swiftly walked to his horse and mounted.
Reno stood there, still among the action swirling about him.
“It’s begun.”
Reno turned to Bouyer. “Who exactly are you, and why are you here?”
“You ever get caught in a strong stream while trying to cross it?” Bouyer asked, instead of answering.
“What?”
“A strong current that just grabs you and pulls you along. You can’t get out on either side. You fight and fight, but finally the water wins and you just let it take you where it takes you.”
Reno wanted to ask the scout what the hell he was talking about, but Custer’s column began to move as Cooke came over for the second time with more orders.
“You are to move forward as rapidly as possible across the river, and once you are in position, you are to charge the Indian camp from the south. You will be supported by the whole outfit”
“Where is Custer going?” Reno demanded as he watched the other column move to the north.
“We will be on your right We will support you.” Cooke · yelled as he turned to burry after the Seventh’s commander.
It was a good day to be alive, Crazy Horse thought as he sat under a tree and watched the ponies eat grass. Never had he seen so many horses in one place. There were almost as many in number as the great buffalo herds he had hunted in his younger days. But the big herds were gone now, another legacy of the white man’s encroachment on the land.
Crazy Horse was not technically a chief, nor did he wish to be one. He was a “shirt-wearer,” a renowned warrior. Among his people, bravery was the number-one requirement of a warrior, and Crazy Horse had that in plenty.
Crazy Horse could sense his “brother” approaching from me southeast, which was strange because that was the direction of the Rosebud, and they knew Three Stars had run away, back toward Fort Fetterman.
Crazy Horse could not believe that the white man was still coming. But the reservation Indians who had arrived in the last several days had given conflicting reports of columns of soldiers. Some said they were to the east in the valley of the Rosebud. Others said they were to the north, near the Yellowstone.
Despite the defeat suffered by Three Stars, there were others still coming, and Crazy Horse knew that was the curse for his people. They would always keep coming. And he was on the banks of the Greasy Grass. Where his mother had foretold he would meet his “brother.”
For the last time, Crazy Horse vowed to himself.
There had to be hope, though. There had to be. Crazy Horse was a warrior, but he also knew that if there was no hope, then warriors would not fight well. The fight on the Rosebud had shown them all something. It had been most difficult for Sitting Bull to cajole all the various tribes and war leaders into accepting a common plan, coordinating the activities of all the warriors. Finally, after many hours of pleading, and with the weight of Sitting Bull’s visions and Gall’s rank as war chief, they had managed to get all the warriors to the Rosebud in the middle of the night and positioned.
Crazy Horse had to wonder though, how much his ‘’brother’s’’ arrival with the strange clear skulls had influenced things. Even Crazy Horse knew they were powerful medicine.
Still, for the first time in history, the entire Sioux nation had fought as one and the result had been a victory, sending Three Stars reeling south. But there were still white men coming, and there was still his mother’s vision, which had not been fulfilled.
Soldiers were falling into camp. Crazy Horse stood up and looked about. There was only one direction from which soldiers could fall into camp. That was to the east, on the other side of the Greasy Grass, where high bluffs overlooked the camp.