“When these Sioux change from hunting buffalo to hunting scalps or horses, if they can’t find them one place they will another,” complained the whites—some of whom rather coveted the Powder River country for themselves.
“We might just as well go out and fight like we used to,” complained the Crows, “instead of being good Indians, for we don’t gain anything by it if other Indians are allowed to steal from us.”
It was becoming a popular custom among the Sioux for their young men to slip away from the reservation limits, join the free bands, and have a good time until they decided to come into the agencies for supplies.
All in all, matters between the Sioux nation and the nation of the United States were not satisfactory. Before the middle of December it was known at Fort Lincoln that the Government had ordered Sitting Bull and the other bands to come in upon the reservation before the end of January, or to suffer the consequences.
“Huh!” grunted Odell, as the news reached Fort Lincoln, on its way to the various agencies. “That means war.”
“Yes, and likely a winter campaign, too,” chipped in Sergeant Butler of Ned’s company. “Another Washita for the Seventh!”
“Won’t Sitting Bull or Crazy Horse come in, you think?” queried Ned, anxiously.
“Charley says they won’t,” quoth Sergeant Butler, nodding toward the scout.
Charley was sitting in the barracks room, taking things easy, by the stove.
“No, they won’t,” he asserted, calmly. “Why should they? They’re on their own grounds, guaranteed to them by the Government, where they can live and hunt. What’s more, half the Sioux nation will be joining ’em. I’ve got a heap o’ respect for Sitting Bull. He’s the biggest power in the Sioux nation to-day, though he isn’t a chief.”
“Yes, I know him. He’s a short, heavy-set Injun, with a broad homely mug, and brown hair and light complexion pock-marked up. Only Injun I ever saw having brown hair. His Sioux name is Ta-tan-kah-yo-tan-kah. He’s an Unkpapa, and his name as a boy was Jumping Badger, until he counted a coup on a Crow carcass and took his father’s name. He’s not a chief, or son of a chief except a subchief, but he’s the smartest Sioux living. The war chiefs don’t think much of him. His specialty is making medicine and guessing at what’ll happen. He’s a good guesser, too. And he sure can read human character.”