JIMMY HAD BEEN TO RAPID CITY MANY TIMES. SOMETIMES he went with his grandparents and sometimes with his parents. Now and then they all went together. Rapid City was a large town on the northeast edge of the Black Hills. The Black Hills were in the western part of the state. They weren't just hills—they were the only mountains in South Dakota. Actually, they were the only mountains on the Great Plains.
Today, a week after summer vacation had started, he and Grandpa were on the top of Bear Butte. It stood northwest of Rapid City, near the town of Sturgis. The air was cool. They had climbed the winding Summit Trail to reach the top. It was called Bear Butte because from the south it looked like a bear lying on its stomach. It was sacred to the Lakota. It was a special place to pray.
The view was spectacular. To the west were the Black Hills, and to the east were the endless prairies. Jimmy and his grandpa stepped onto the wooden platform at the top. Grandpa Nyles took pictures and then offered pipe tobacco to the four directions.
He pointed southwest, toward the dark line of mountains. "Rapid Creek starts in the hills, flows east, and goes through Rapid City. Then it joins the Cheyenne River farther to the east."
Jimmy nodded. He could not really see the creek, but he followed where his grandpa was pointing. He knew Rapid Creek had something to do with Crazy Horse.
"Crazy Horse was born somewhere along that creek," the old man said. "Somewhere in sight of Bear Butte, according to most stories. So I thought this would be a good place to start our journey."
"You think Crazy Horse stood up here?" Jimmy asked.
"I'm sure he did," Grandpa Nyles replied.
They stayed for a while, taking in the scenery and the fresh air.
"Well," said Grandpa at last. "How about we start back down? We've got a long way to go on this journey."
They drove south from Rapid City and after two hours crossed the South Dakota–Nebraska border. Jimmy had driven to Nebraska before with his dad. They had gone to a town called North Platte, to look at a pickup truck. But traveling with Grandpa Nyles was different. Grandpa told stories about things they saw, like coyotes, crows, a white-tailed deer, and hawks. In a way, it was like watching TV, because he was such a good storyteller.
"A long time ago," Grandpa said as he and Jimmy rode down the highway, "people and animals could understand each other's languages. A person could understand what a hawk said. The hawk could understand people. But things changed. Animals and people don't understand each other anymore. That's sad."
"What changed, Grandpa?"
"Oh, people began to think they were better than anything. Better than animals."
Not long after they crossed the state line, they came to a town called Chadron. From there they continued south. It was a long drive, and eventually they came to a sign that read ASH HOLLOW STATE HISTORICAL PARK. From there they drove north a ways.
"I have a friend here," Grandpa Nyles told Jimmy. "He's a rancher, and he gave permission for us to camp on his land."
Jimmy waved his hand. "Why is it so hilly, Grandpa?" he asked.
"These are the Sandhills. They go a long way to the east," his grandfather said.
They drove across a cattle guard gate in the woven wire fence. For a few miles they followed a worn pasture trail. As Jimmy's curiosity grew, they came to a meadow that was hidden among the low, grassy hills. There were no roads or houses anywhere. Jimmy liked the feeling of being away from everything. Just like the old, old days his grandpa talked about. No houses, no fences, no power poles. It was cool.
"Our first camp," Grandpa Nyles announced. Jimmy eagerly jumped out of the truck.
They had the dome pop-up tent up in no time, and soon Grandpa had a small fire going in the fire pit he had dug. He already had prepared two big slabs of skillet bread—just flour mixed with water. When the skillet was hot, he cooked them. They looked like two big dark pancakes. Soup was heating in a saucepan on a metal grate over the fire. Jimmy was wearing his face-splitting grin again. This was the good life. He even pretended the old pickup was a horse.
"Crazy Horse was here," Grandpa Nyles declared suddenly. "Somewhere in this very area, around 1855. He was twelve or thirteen then, and still called Light Hair."
"Did he live here?"
"No, but other Lakota people did. Our Sicangu ancestors came this far south. Light Hair's birth mother died when he was about four. Later, his father, Crazy Horse, remarried. He had two new wives. They were sisters and Sicangu Lakota. The Sicangu people hunted in this area."
"How could Light Hair's dad have two wives at the same time?"
"Some men did in those days. So the two new wives went to live with their new husband and his children, Light Hair and his older sister. That was in what is now eastern Wyoming."
Jimmy was confused. "So if Light Hair didn't live here, then why are we here?"
"He was here visiting relatives," Grandpa Nyles said, taking the soup off the grate.
"Was it something brave?"
"For sure. He rescued a young woman near here, so she would be safe."
"Rescued her from what?"
Grandpa Nyles looked at the low hills around them, covered with tall grass. A slow, lazy wind was making them wave. Like they were dancing together. A look came into Grandpa's eyes. Jimmy could not tell where he was looking. But he was definitely seeing something. It was his storytelling face.
"Well, let me tell you the way it was, why Light Hair rescued that young woman… ."
The way it was—1855
Light Hair and several other Lakota boys galloped their horses over hill after hill. It was exciting to feel the wind against their faces. It was a warm early-autumn day in the Moon of Leaves Turning Color. "Moon" was the Lakota word for month. The Lakota did not number the years. For other people it was 1855.
They were in what is now western Nebraska. Hunting had been their task for the day. They were going back to the village, having shot one antelope and one deer with their bows and arrows. That would feed several families. At the top of a hill they stopped. They did not want to exhaust their horses.
Light Hair patted his horse's neck. He was slender, with two long braids that were dark brown, not black like coal, like the hair of the other Lakota boys. His skin was not deep brown, either, like his companions'. He was not pale, just noticeably less brown, though everyone was a shade browner from being constantly in the sun.
He looked east toward where the village was. Little Thunder was the headman there. Light Hair was here on a visit with his two Sicangu mothers' relatives. It had been a good summer. When autumn was over, he would go back to his own village. That was to the west, north of the Shell River and east of the Medicine Bow Mountains.
Something caught his eye. At first it looked like a flock of birds. Then Light Hair realized it was smoke, blowing in the breeze. It was near the village. He pointed, and everyone saw the long, dark wisps.
"It's a grass fire!" White Bear said. He was fourteen and tall for his age. "Come on! We have to warn everyone!"
The riders took off at a gallop. Up one slope and down another, they raced for the village. Light Hair and his fast bay horse pulled far ahead. Grass fires were dangerous, especially in the autumn. Grass and shrubs were dry and burned fast.
Just west of the village he pulled back on the single rein to stop his horse. From a low hill he saw the village. It was a sight he would never forget.
The village itself was burning! Lodges, lodgepoles, and meat racks—everything seemed to be on fire. Several horses were running away from the billowing smoke and yellow-orange flames. For a moment, Light Hair did not know what to do. Then he leaned forward and kicked his horse into yet another gallop. Exhausted or not, the horse responded willingly. Light Hair was glad. There was trouble ahead, and perhaps people were hurt.
At the distance of a long bowshot from the village, the scene was terrifying. The ground was scorched black where the flames had passed. Every buffalo-hide lodge was burning or had already been turned into a pile of ashes. Horses and dogs were running about in fright and confusion.
As he approached the village, Light Hair saw bundles on the ground. His companions caught up to him. They all stopped and stared. It was all they could do. None of them had ever seen a village burning. They were shocked into not moving.
"The wind isn't strong enough to move a fire that fast through the entire village," someone said.
"What shall we do?" asked one of the boys.
"Help anyone we can find!" shouted Light Hair, and he kicked his horse into a gallop once again. The other boys hesitated a moment before they followed him.
Light Hair and his bay horse soon reached the edge of the village. The horse was afraid of the flames. Or perhaps it was the stench of burned and burning things. It was then that Light Hair saw that the bundles on the ground were people. He was sick to his stomach. At the sight of a burning pile of clothing, the horse jumped sideways. Light Hair was caught by surprise and fell off. Clinging to the rein, he jumped to his feet. The smoke and stench were too much for the horse. He pulled away from Light Hair and galloped off.
White Bear arrived, a frightened, horrified look on his face. "There are people on the ground, not moving!" he called out.
Yellow Eyes joined them, his horse skittish as well. "I saw people walking," he said, pointing to the north. "Some women, and men on horses, on that hill."
Looking through the swirling haze of smoke, they all saw dark shapes in the distance.
"Long Knives!" hissed White Bear. "Long Knives with guns!"
The boys looked at one another. Fear and confusion were on all their faces. The Long Knives were the soldiers of the white people. Last year they had attacked a Sicangu village near Fort Laramie. Long Knives everywhere were known to shoot at any Lakota, alone or in a village. Here they had probably started the fire.
"Go see," said Light Hair. "If they are Long Knives, see what is happening. Don't let them spot you! I'll see if there are any of our people still here."
White Bear and the other boys rode hesitantly down into the valley. There they could stay out of sight. Light Hair watched them forlornly for a moment. Long Knives were known to attack any Lakota—man, woman, or child. They were mean people—if they were people at all.
Light Hair reluctantly looked around at the burned village. The only people he saw were on the ground. None of them were moving. He went from one to another, a sick feeling in his stomach. Some of the bodies were small children. All the while, acrid smoke swirled around him. Suddenly he heard a faint cry. He stopped and listened, and it came again. He followed the faint whimper, and it led him down the long slope. Finally he came to a bank. Beneath an overhang he saw someone under a covering of grass and twigs. It was a young woman. He recognized her. She was a Cheyenne woman who was married to a Lakota man. She was weeping softly.
Her name was Yellow Woman. Light Hair touched her on the shoulder. She looked at him with a tear-streaked face.
"I know you," she whispered to Light Hair.
"What happened?" he asked softly.
"Long Knives came," she sobbed. "They shot people. My husband is … He's gone." She wept again. "So is my baby." She pointed to a small mound of dirt under the bank.
Light Hair helped Yellow Woman finish covering her baby.
She sat staring at the small mound. "I hid in a cave along the river with some others. We waited until the Long Knives left and then came out. Some of our people fled that way," she said, pointing northeast. "Maybe they got away—I don't know. I stayed to find my husband and bury my baby."
Soft hoofbeats startled them.
It was White Bear. "Long Knives are taking women and children north," he told them somberly. "We will follow them."
Light Hair nodded and pointed at Yellow Woman. "I will help her," he said.
"Good," replied White Bear. "Then we will see you later. Watch out. There may be more Long Knives."
"You, too," warned Light Hair.
Then White Bear was gone. It did not take long for the sound of hoofbeats to fade away.
"What shall we do?" Yellow Woman asked, her voice like that of a small girl.
"Maybe we should follow those people who went northeast," he suggested. "We can find their trail."
After catching his horse, Light Hair tied drag poles to the bay. On the frame he put Yellow Woman, who was again sobbing softly. Leading the horse and keeping a sharp eye out, he took them northeast. It was not hard to find foot- and hoofprints in the grass and soil, as well as the imprints of many drag poles.
Light Hair looked back at the burned-down village. He wanted to cry because there was nothing he could do for those who were left behind. There were many bodies scattered over the scorched ground.
At sundown Light Hair made a cold camp with no fire to show their presence in the dark. He shared what little food he had with Yellow Woman. At dawn they began traveling again and did not stop until they came to a small creek, where they drank and watered the horse.
They kept traveling through the day. Soon they came into a very hilly area of the prairies, with tall grass and sandy soil. Yellow Woman had stopped weeping, but she was silent most of the time. Light Hair managed to shoot a rabbit with his bow and arrow. He risked a fire to cook it and was glad. The fresh food strengthened them both. They continued on, and at sundown he smelled smoke from a distant fire. The next day they were spotted by lookouts from a camp hidden among the sandy hills.
It was a sad and somber camp. Most of the people were glad to see Light Hair and Yellow Woman. Some didn't react at all. There were wounded and injured people among those who had fled. Light Hair was glad to find Spotted Tail, his uncle, among them. He was the overall Sicangu leader. One of the men told Light Hair how fiercely Spotted Tail had fought. He had knocked down at least ten Long Knives before he was shot and seriously wounded. But he would get well. Spotted Tail was a strong and tall man, a powerful warrior. Light Hair's mothers were Spotted Tail's sisters.
Light Hair stayed in the camp for two days. When Yellow Woman no longer cried herself to sleep, he decided to leave. He wanted to go home, to his own family. He was sure they would have heard of the attack by now. Light Hair wanted his father and mothers to know he was not hurt. He was told the camp would move farther east in two days. Two more days would give the wounded time to rest and heal.
Yellow Woman did not want him to leave, yet she understood that he must.
"I will never forget you and what you did for me," she said with tears in her eyes.
"Light Hair was only a few years older than you when this happened," Grandpa Nyles said to Jimmy.
"So did he go home?" Jimmy wanted to know. "And what happened to the women and children who had been taken captive?"
"He did go home, and he told his family what had happened," Grandpa Nyles said. "It wasn't the last time he stayed with his mothers' relatives, though. As for the captives, well, the Long Knives kept them for a while, then let them go."
Jimmy was sad and angry. "Why did they attack our people?"
"To punish them for something they didn't do," said Grandpa Nyles.
"What?" Jimmy was confused.
"That is another story about Light Hair," promised the old man. "That will come later in our journey. Now it's time to put out the fire and turn in."
The next morning Jimmy and his grandpa drove south and got on Interstate 80 going west. After a few hours they crossed into Wyoming and arrived in Cheyenne. They stopped for a bite to eat and to put gas in the truck, and then they went north on Interstate 25. At the exit for a town called Guernsey, they turned east.
