THE STORY OF THE CUSTER FIGHT
"You know my bein' with Major Reno is why I'm able t' tell this story,
'cause all th' Old Man's outfit--'Old Man' bein' what we called General
Custer--was wiped out.
"Us soldiers didn't know all th' ins an' outs o' what was goin' on, but
we did know that th' Old Man was a whole lot dissatisfied. There'd bin a
lot o' talk 'bout him havin' gone t' Washington, an' havin' a talk with
President Grant, at which interview, so 'twas said, th' President'd told
him th' first duty of a soldier was obedience, but we didn't know
nothin' 'bout that--whether 'twas true or 'twasn't true. All we knowed
was that he was away a long time, an' when he come back he sure had fire
in his eye.
"General Terry was in command at old Fort Buford, an' when th' Injuns
broke out, he was in command of all th' soldiers in that part of th'
country. General Phil Sheridan was his chief, but we never seen him.
"Well, when the Injuns broke loose, Terry he thought as it was th'
spring o' th' year, it was a good time t' get 'em. So 'bout th' first o'
June, '76, all th' get-ready stuff was gone over, an' all th' good-byes
was said with them as had famblies, an' we was loaded onto th' steamer
Far West, an' headed down th' old Missouri.
"When we got to th' mouth o' th' Yellowstone it was June twenty-first.
We unloaded. An' General Terry says t' our Old Man--don't forget we just
called him that; General Custer was only thirty-eight years old--Terry
says, 'You take your Seventh men an' scout ahead an' let Charlie
Reynolds go ahead o' you.' 'Cause everybody knowed that Charlie Reynolds
savvied Injuns an' Injun ways better'n any white man that ever
lived--him that was known as 'Lonesome Charlie.'
"An' Terry he says t' Custer, our Old Man, 'When you get t' th' Little
Big Horn country you wait for me, as I'm travelin' heavy. I'll be four
days makin' it.'
"An' again says Terry t' our Old Man: 'If you see any Injuns in force,
halt an' stay there till I come up, but don't start any fight unless
they force it on you, an' if they do force it on you, fight on th'
defensive'--which, as you all know, is backin' up. 'Fight on th'
defensive till I come up with you, an' then we'll give 'em hell.'
"Our Old Man he said, 'You bet,' an' we left.
"General Custer he was in command, and Colonel Benteen an' Major Reno
was his officers. After doin' twenty or thirty miles in th' saddle, we
was sure a s'prised bunch o' rookies when we didn't stop. We didn't
stop. No, siree! We kep' right on a-goin'. We didn't stop when we hit
forty miles, nor sixty miles, nor eighty miles. It was ninety miles from
where we left Terry when th' Old Man said, 'Coffee an' biscuits,' an'
believe me, we wanted 'em bad.
"We'd bin in th' saddle for twenty-two hours, an' if you don't think
that's ridin', try it sometime. The hosses was all in. My hoss--'Long
Tom' I called him--he layed down as soon as I off-saddled him, an' stuck
his face into his nose-bag an' eat layin' down. First time I ever seen a
hoss do that.
"Charlie Reynolds, he was ahead, an' he come back an' had a pow-wow
with th' Old Man an' Reno an' Benteen, an' we seen 'em workin' th' field
glasses overtime. 'Course, we didn't know what was bein' said, or what
was goin' on. All we c'd see was that they was mighty excited like. All
except Charlie. He musta had his say an' then stopped--Injun like.
'Cause Charlie, he was just a white Injun.
"I got Lieutenant Hodgson to let me have a peep through his glasses.
After a ride like that, in a Injun country, a regular c'n be quite on
speakin' terms with his officers, an' when I looked through them glasses
what I seed didn't mean much t' me. 'Way off, down by th' river, was
some tepees an' stuff layin' 'round, just like it was a Injun camp.
That's what it looked like t' me, an' that's what I found out afterwards
was what it looked like t' th' Old Man.
"Benteen an' Reno, they wasn't expressin' much opinion, as they was
expectin' t' stay right where they was an' wait devel'pments, like Terry
said they was t' do, but th' Old Man, he said, 'Attack!' An' right there
was where Charlie Reynolds come in.
"He says that th' Injun village was a decoy; that he c'd tell by th'
stuff, th' buffalo robes an' all, that was layin' 'round; that there was
eight thousand fightin' Injuns in that part of th' country, an' that it
was a safe bet that seven thousand nine hundred an' ninety-nine was
layin' right in behind them hog-backs--low hills--a-waitin' for us.
"But th' Old Man was mad. He was out t' do somethin' an' he was a-goin'
t' do it. An' he says, 'You're all wrong, but we're goin' t' attack,
anyhow.'
"An' Charlie he says somethin', an' walks away, an' I seen th' Old Man
starin' an' glarin', an' I says t' m'self, 'When we git back t' th' Fort
it's a court-martial for Charlie, sure.' An' then it all happened.
"Boots an' saddles, an' we that was so all-in we c'd just stretch out
an' groan with tiredness, was up an' on th' move. My hoss, Long
Tom,--an' he was as game a animal as ever lived,--just wavered an'
swayed when I hit th' saddle. Gee, boys! we was sure an all-in bunch!
"Why did th' Old Man do it? How in thunder do I know? He just done it.
I'm supposin' he was sort o' smartin' under them stay-back orders he
had, an' such like, an' just nachally cut th' cable; same as Admiral
Dewey done at Manila Bay, only Dewey, he won out, an' our Old Man--well,
that's th' story.
"But just to digress or switch off, or whatever that big word is, for a
minute. I want t' say that our Old Man, whatever his faults was,--an' I
guess he had a-plenty,--he was game. He was a fighter. He said, 'Come
ahead,' every time: he never said, 'Go ahead,' An' if all th' boys
layin' out there on th' prairie in their graves c'd tell, I'm bettin' my
six-shooter ag'in' what you all know about th' Rooshian langwidge that
they'd say as how th' Old Man died with a sword in one hand an' a gun in
th' other, a-lookin' right into th' sun.
"Well, we made a wide circle--a detower--an' come up ag'in 'way behind
th' village, an' right there th' Old Man made his great mistake. I ain't
blamin' him none, but it sure shows how a big man c'n lose his head just
by bein' crazy mad an' wantin' t' fight. Even th' rookies, what had
seen a lot o' service, knowed that he was makin' himself liable--an' him
a general--t' be called up on a drumhead court-martial.
"There he was, a thousand miles from anywhere, dividin' his force in th'
face of a superior enemy. An' that enemy th' greatest fighters that ever
th' sun shined on. You know we men that fighted Injuns knows what they
was made of. All this talk 'bout Injuns not bein' fighters, an' not
bein' game, an' one white man bein' as good as ten Injuns, makes me feel
like th' organ-grinder Dago what said, 'It makes me sick, an' makes th'
monkey sick, too!'
"Well, to git back. Gee, you fellers'll think I'm a Williams J. Bryant
runnin' f'r President. Notice I said runnin'! No, I ain't tryin' t' be
funny. I just wish I could be. It'd sort o' take th' weight off th'
awfulness of what I remember as what happened, an' what I can't tell
right 'cause I ain't got eddication an' brains enough.
"Th' Old Man, he split us up, him takin' companies C, E, F, I, and L,
givin' Benteen four companies an' Reno three companies. He ordered Reno
t' go t' th' left an' cross th' Little Big Horn an' attack, th' Injuns
from th' rear. Benteen he told t' go straight ahead, an' he himself took
th' right. I was with Reno, an' I saw personal what he was up ag'inst.
We crossed th' Little Big Horn an' went right into what seemed a million
warriors.
"I was right alongside of Lieutenant Hodgson, Lieutenant McIntosh, an'
Doctor De Wolf when they fell, an' I see Charlie Reynolds--he'd refused
t' go with th' Old Man--put up a fight that if I was a artist, an' c'd
draw pictures, I c'd make a fortune puttin' it on paper. He started with
a Springfield, then went to his six-shooter, an' wound up with a knife
before he went down with a bullet through his heart an' at least a dozen
Injuns piled all 'round him. Suicide, I reck'n it was. He knowed he was
right, but he also knowed he'd disobeyed orders, an' he just kept pilin'
right in till he got his.
"Reno done th' only thing he could do. He retreated back across th'
river, an' got up ag'in a bluff 'bout three hunderd feet high. Reno
Hill, they call it now. An' there we fought for five or six hours, when
Benteen, who'd bin fightin' in th' center, heard heavy firin' over on
his right where Custer was. An' Benteen, he bein' a honest-t'-God Injun
fighter, he knowed that Custer was gone, so he fought his way through to
us, knowin' that we had th' hill behind us.
"An' for three days we kept goin'--not runnin', just standin' an' layin'
down there fightin'. Sure, we stopped firin' at night, but we didn't
stop work. We dug all night long, usin' knives, tin cups, an' plates
instead o' spades an' picks, makin' breast-works; an' then we started
fightin' all over ag'in in th' mornin'.
"Say, boys, I ain't strong f'r prohibition. It'd take me ten years t'
git up nerve enough t' put my foot on a brass rail an' order sody-water
in a drug store, but let me tell you somethin'. On th' afternoon o' that
second day's fightin' there was nothin' on earth to us like water. Th'
wounded was beggin' for it. Oh, boys, they was beggin' for it somethin'
pitiful, an' we that wasn't wounded, our tongues was all swollen an' our
lips was parched till they cracked open. So some of th' boys volunteered
t' go to th' river, an' we took canteens an' camp kettles an' started.
"One of us never come back, an' a lot of us got shot up, but we got
water. Not much, but we got water. I never will forget how I wanted t'
wet my hoss, Long Tom's, tongue, but a wounded bunkie he needed it. That
night we went ag'in an' got some for th' stock, an' it was just in time,
for they sure was dyin' for it.
"Th' fightin' opened ag'in next mornin', an' kept goin' till th'
afternoon. It was th' twenty-seventh o' June, when all at once we seen a
panic start among th' Injuns, an' they began t' stampede, leavin' their
dead all over th' hills. An' Terry come into sight, an' strong men cried
on each other's necks--an' I ain't a bit ashamed t' say that I was one
of 'em.
"When Terry got in, an' congratulatin' an' hand-shakin' was all over,
Lieutenant Bradley he come in, sayin' he'd found Custer, an' we all
dragged ourselves to th' spot.
"There they was, all dead, two hunderd an' sixty-one of 'em. Not one
lived t' tell th' tale. Them that'd bin deployed as skirmishers lay as
they fell, havin' bin entirely surrounded in an open plain. The men in
th' companies fell in platoons, an', like them on th' skirmish line,
lay just as they fell, with their officers behind 'em in th' right
places.
"Th' Old Man, General Custer, was in th' middle, an' round him lay th'
bodies of Captain Tom Custer an' Boston Custer, his brothers, Colonel
Calhoun, his brother-in-law, an' young Reed, his nephew. An' right near
was Mark Kellogg, th' Bismarck Tribune's newspaper man. He wasn't
scalped or touched; just lay as he fell.
"Kellogg savvied Injuns, an' used t' say in his paper, 'Hold on a
minute, let's talk this over,' when all th' long-whiskered grangers,
what had come in from Illinois, would raise a holler, an' want th'
United States soldiers t' kick th' Injuns off th' land what they owned.
An' th' Injuns remembered, even when they was crazy with fightin'. An'
just th' same as they didn't touch th' White Chief, Custer, just th'
same they didn't touch th' feller what shoved a lead pencil an' once in
a while said, 'Give 'em a chance.'
"Did they ever find out how many Injuns was there? Not def'nite, but
near enough. On th' tenth annivers'ry of th' fight th' survivors held a
reunion on th' battle-field, an' bein' as I was line-ridin' for Tracy's
Tumble H outfit at th' time, I sneaked off an' went over.
"They'd done a wonderful thing; somethin' that'd never bin done before,
an' most likely never'll be done ag'in. Dave Barry--him as th' Injuns
called 'th' Shadow Catcher'--was a great friend o' Charlie Reynolds,
Barry speakin' Injun talk, an' bein' adopted into th' tribe, an'
savvyin' Injun ways just th' same as Charlie did. An' Dave wanted t' get
the real dope on th' fight on Charlie's account, an' him bein' also a
close friend of old John Gall, th' chief what led th' Injuns in th' big
fight.
"Now, Barry he persuaded--nobody knows how he done it--he persuaded John
Gall t' go along t' this reunion. An' then, as if one miracle wasn't
enough, he pulled another. By golly, he got th' old man t' make a talk.
Boys, it sure was some picture, on that June evenin', t' see that Injun
when th' blanket fell off his shoulders, standin' like one o' them
bronze statutes, with th' settin' sun a-hittin' him. I sure never will
forget it. Old Gall, he pointed here an' there, showin' where
Rain-in-th'-Face was, an' where Crazy Hoss was, an' where Crow King
was--an' all th' rest of th' other chiefs.
"An' then Barry, who was interpretin' for th' old Injun, asked him
quiet-like, in th' Injun lingo, 'How many of you was there, John?' An'
th' old Injun he paused like, while every one waited t' hear, an' then
he pointed to th' ground, an' said some Injun words. An' Barry, he said
in that quiet, firm, even voice o' his'n, 'We were like the blades of
grass on the ground.' So you see what th' old Seventh was up ag'inst,
boys.
"A mighty funny thing happened after th' talk. You all know Will Curley.
He's s'posed t' be th' only survivor of Custer's men. No, I ain't sure
he is. How should I know? I wasn't there, I was with Reno, two miles
away. Well, th' bunch sorta interduced, or tried t' interduce, Old John
t' Will Curley.
"Will Curley had somehow got himself a brand-new Stetson, in celebration
of th' occasion, an' when Barry said, in Injun talk, 'John, this is Will
Curley,' Old John he never moved a muscle, but his eyes looked like
forked lightnin'. You know, Curley is a Crow--th' perpetual enemy of th'
Sioux--an' in addition t' that, Curley he was a scout for th' whites.
Old Gall he walked slowly over t' Curley, with a walk that made me think
o' nothin' else on earth but a painter, an' when he got t' Will he
paused, with everybody holdin' their breath t' see what'd happen, an'
then it did happen!
"Th' old man reached out an' took that brand-new Stetson off Will
Curley's head, an' shook it an' knocked it on all sides, an' put it on
his own head an' walked away. Insultin'!--all I c'n say is, if it ever
happened t' me, it'd be my dyin' wish that I'd have a gun in each hand."
* * * * *
A few moments of silence followed the old cow-puncher's story. In
reciting this page from the book of his life he had lost thought of his
surroundings, but now he remembered, and seemed startled at having
talked so much. He retired within himself, his eyes taking on an
introspective look as though, as one of the boys expressed it, "he was
tellin' stories t' himself."
He paid no heed to the comments the men made on his story of the Custer
fight. It had impressed them because it had rung true. The comments were
made in murmurs or whispers. As Injun had sat during the tale he sat
now; stolid, expressionless. Now and then Whitey stole a look at him. In
his mind Whitey was connecting the old puncher's story with the one
Injun had told in the bunk house at the Bar O, and with what Bill Jordan
had said afterwards; that Injun had revealed the start or source of the
greatest Indian fight the country ever knew.
It had been a hard day, and one by one the men dropped off to sleep,
until only Whitey and the old puncher were left, he rolling an
occasional cigarette, and living in that past which the events of the
night had brought back to him. Whitey realized this, and had to admit
that it was a pretty exciting place in which to live. And he wondered if
the old puncher would like to have another page in his book of life; a
sort of explanatory page, like the key in an arithmetic.
It was almost dark in the tent. Only one lighted lantern hung from a
pole. And in low tones, so as not to disturb the sleepers, Whitey told
the old man the story of Injun's mamma's brother and his friend the
scout; and of the White Chief, and the dance, and the arrest and the
escape; and of Injun's father's resolve that "we fight heap!"
The old puncher didn't know who these Indians were of whom Whitey was
talking, but he listened politely at first and interestedly at last. And
when Whitey had finished the story, he added, "Injun's uncle was old
Rain-in-the-Face, and he was a great friend of Charlie Reynolds, the
scout."
Then Whitey crept off to bed, and allowed the old man to figure out in
his mind--as Bill Jordan had done--the start of "the doggonedest Injun
fight this country ever knowed!" And far into the night the old
cowpuncher thought of this other page, added to the book that was to
entertain him as he went down the steeper side of the hill of life.