One of the wittiest and shrewdest of the Sioux chiefs was American
Horse, who succeeded to the name and position of an uncle, killed in
the battle of Slim Buttes in 1876. The younger American Horse was born
a little before the encroachments of the whites upon the Sioux country
became serious and their methods aggressive, and his early manhood
brought him into that most trying and critical period of our history. He
had been tutored by his uncle, since his own father was killed in battle
while he was still very young. The American Horse band was closely
attached to a trading post, and its members in consequence were inclined
to be friendly with the whites, a policy closely adhered to by their
leader.
When he was born, his old grandfather said: “Put him out in the sun!
Let him ask his great-grandfather, the Sun, for the warm blood of a
warrior!” And he had warm blood. He was a genial man, liking notoriety
and excitement. He always seized an opportunity to leap into the center
of the arena.
In early life he was a clownish sort of boy among the boys--an expert
mimic and impersonator. This talent made him popular and in his way a
leader. He was a natural actor, and early showed marked ability as a
speaker.
American Horse was about ten years old when he was attacked by three
Crow warriors, while driving a herd of ponies to water. Here he
displayed native cunning and initiative. It seemed he had scarcely a
chance to escape, for the enemy was near. He yelled frantically at the
ponies to start them toward home, while he dropped off into a thicket
of willows and hid there. A part of the herd was caught in sight of
the camp and there was a counter chase, but the Crows got away with the
ponies. Of course his mother was frantic, believing her boy had been
killed or captured; but after the excitement was over, he appeared in
camp unhurt. When questioned about his escape, he remarked: “I knew they
would not take the time to hunt for small game when there was so much
bigger close by.”
When he was quite a big boy, he joined in a buffalo hunt, and on the way
back with the rest of the hunters his mule became unmanageable. American
Horse had insisted on riding him in addition to a heavy load of meat and
skins, and the animal evidently resented this, for he suddenly began to
run and kick, scattering fresh meat along the road, to the merriment of
the crowd. But the boy turned actor, and made it appear that it was at
his wish the mule had given this diverting performance. He clung to the
back of his plunging and braying mount like a circus rider, singing a
Brave Heart song, and finally brought up amid the laughter and cheers
of his companions. Far from admitting defeat, he boasted of his
horsemanship and declared that his “brother” the donkey would put any
enemy to flight, and that they should be called upon to lead a charge.
It was several years later that he went to sleep early one night and
slept soundly, having been scouting for two nights previous. It happened
that there was a raid by the Crows, and when he awoke in the midst of
the yelling and confusion, he sprang up and attempted to join in the
fighting. Everybody knew his voice in all the din, so when he fired his
gun and announced a coup, as was the custom, others rushed to the spot,
to find that he had shot a hobbled pony belonging to their own camp.
The laugh was on him, and he never recovered from his chagrin at this
mistake. In fact, although he was undoubtedly fearless and tried hard to
distinguish himself in warfare, he did not succeed.
It is told of him that he once went with a war party of young men to
the Wind River country against the Shoshones. At last they discovered
a large camp, but there were only a dozen or so of the Sioux, therefore
they hid themselves and watched for their opportunity to attack an
isolated party of hunters. While waiting thus, they ran short of food.
One day a small party of Shoshones was seen near at hand, and in the
midst of the excitement and preparations for the attack, young American
Horse caught sight of a fat black-tail deer close by. Unable to resist
the temptation, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and sent it through
the deer’s heart, then with several of his half-starved companions
sprang upon the yet quivering body of the animal to cut out the liver,
which was sometimes eaten raw. One of the men was knocked down, it is
said, by the last kick of the dying buck, but having swallowed a few
mouthfuls the warriors rushed upon and routed their enemies. It is still
told of American Horse how he killed game and feasted between the ambush
and the attack.
At another time he was drying his sacred war bonnet and other gear
over a small fire. These articles were held in great veneration by the
Indians and handled accordingly. Suddenly the fire blazed up, and our
hero so far forgot himself as to begin energetically beating out the
flames with the war bonnet, breaking off one of the sacred buffalo horns
in the act. One could almost fill a book with his mishaps and exploits.
I will give one of them in his own words as well as I can remember them.
“We were as promising a party of young warriors as our tribe ever sent
against any of its ancestral enemies. It was midsummer, and after going
two days’ journey from home we began to send two scouts ahead daily
while the main body kept a half day behind. The scouts set out every
evening and traveled all night. One night the great war pipe was held
out to me and to Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses. At daybreak, having met
no one, we hid our horses and climbed to the top of the nearest butte to
take an observation. It was a very hot day. We lay flat on our blankets,
facing the west where the cliff fell off in a sheer descent, and with
our backs toward the more gradual slope dotted with scrub pines and
cedars. We stuck some tall grass on our heads and proceeded to study the
landscape spread before us for any sign of man.
“The sweeping valleys were dotted with herds, both large and small,
of buffalo and elk, and now and then we caught a glimpse of a coyote
slinking into the gulches, returning from night hunting to sleep. While
intently watching some moving body at a distance, we could not yet tell
whether of men or animals, I heard a faint noise behind me and slowly
turned my head. Behold! a grizzly bear sneaking up on all fours and
almost ready to spring!
“‘Run!’ I yelled into the ear of my companion, and we both leaped to our
feet in a second. ‘Separate! separate!’ he shouted, and as we did so,
the bear chose me for his meat. I ran downhill as fast as I could, but
he was gaining. ‘Dodge around a tree!’ screamed Young-Man-Afraid. I took
a deep breath and made a last spurt, desperately circling the first tree
I came to. As the ground was steep just there, I turned a somersault
one way and the bear the other. I picked myself up in time to climb the
tree, and was fairly out of reach when he gathered himself together and
came at me more furiously than ever, holding in one paw the shreds of
my breechcloth, for in the fall he had just scratched my back and cut my
belt in two, and carried off my only garment for a trophy!
“My friend was well up another tree and laughing heartily at my
predicament, and when the bear saw that he could not get at either of us
he reluctantly departed, after I had politely addressed him and promised
to make an offering to his spirit on my safe return. I don’t think I
ever had a narrower escape,” he concluded.
During the troublous times from 1865 to 1877, American Horse advocated
yielding to the government at any cost, being no doubt convinced of the
uselessness of resistance. He was not a recognized leader until 1876,
when he took the name and place of his uncle. Up to this time he bore
the nickname of Manishnee (Can not walk, or Played out.)
When the greater part of the Ogallalas, to which band he belonged, came
into the reservation, he at once allied himself with the peace element
at the Red Cloud agency, near Fort Robinson, Nebraska, and took no small
part in keeping the young braves quiet. Since the older and better-known
chiefs, with the exception of Spotted Tail, were believed to be hostile
at heart, the military made much use of him. Many of his young men
enlisted as scouts by his advice, and even he himself entered the
service.
In the early part of the year 1876, there was a rumor that certain bands
were in danger of breaking away. Their leader was one Sioux Jim, so
nicknamed by the soldiers. American Horse went to him as peacemaker, but
was told he was a woman and no brave. He returned to his own camp and
told his men that Sioux Jim meant mischief, and in order to prevent
another calamity to the tribe, he must be chastised. He again approached
the warlike Jim with several warriors at his back. The recalcitrant came
out, gun in hand, but the wily chief was too quick for him. He shot and
wounded the rebel, whereupon one of his men came forward and killed him.
This quelled the people for the time being and up to the killing of
Crazy Horse. In the crisis precipitated by this event, American Horse
was again influential and energetic in the cause of the government. From
this time on he became an active participant in the affairs of the
Teton Sioux. He was noted for his eloquence, which was nearly always
conciliatory, yet he could say very sharp things of the duplicity of
the whites. He had much ease of manner and was a master of repartee. I
recall his saying that if you have got to wear golden slippers to enter
the white man’s heaven no Indian will ever get there, as the whites have
got the Black Hills and with them all the gold.
It was during the last struggle of his people, at the time of the
Messiah craze in 1890-1891 that he demonstrated as never before the real
greatness of the man. While many of his friends were carried away by
the new thought, he held aloof from it and cautioned his band to do the
same. When it developed into an extensive upheaval among the nations he
took his positive stand against it.
Presently all Indians who did not dance the Ghost Dance were ordered
to come into camp at Pine Ridge agency. American Horse was the first to
bring in his people. I was there at the time and talked with him daily.
When Little was arrested, it had been agreed among the disaffected to
have him resist, which meant that he would be roughly handled. This was
to be their excuse to attack the Indian police, which would probably
lead to a general massacre or outbreak. I know that this desperate move
was opposed from the beginning by American Horse, and it was believed
that his life was threatened.
On the day of the “Big Issue”, when thousands of Indians were gathered
at the agency, this man Little, who had been in hiding, walked boldly
among them. Of course the police would arrest him at sight, and he was
led toward the guardhouse. He struggled with them, but was overpowered.
A crowd of warriors rushed to his rescue, and there was confusion and
a general shout of “Hurry up with them! Kill them all!” I saw American
Horse walk out of the agent’s office and calmly face the excited mob.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Stop, men, stop and think before
you act! Will you murder your children, your women, yes, destroy your
nation to-day?” He stood before them like a statue and the men who held
the two policemen helpless paused for an instant. He went on: “You are
brave to-day because you outnumber the white men, but what will you do
to-morrow? There are railroads on all sides of you. The soldiers will
pour in from every direction by thousands and surround you. You have
little food or ammunition. It will be the end of your people. Stop, I
say, stop now!”
Jack Red Cloud, son of the old chief rushed up to him and thrust a
revolver almost in his face. “It is you and men like you,” he shouted,
“who have reduced our race to slavery and starvation!” American Horse
did not flinch but deliberately reentered the office, followed by Jack
still flourishing the pistol. But his timely appearance and eloquence
had saved the day. Others of the police force had time to reach the
spot, and with a large crowd of friendly Indians had taken command of
the situation.
When I went into the office I found him alone but apparently quite calm.
“Where are the agent and the clerks?” I asked. “They fled by the back
door,” he replied, smiling. “I think they are in the cellar. These fools
outside had almost caught us asleep, but I think it is over now.”
American Horse was one of the earliest advocates of education for
the Indian, and his son Samuel and nephew Robert were among the first
students at Carlisle. I think one or two of his daughters were the
handsomest Indian girls of full blood that I ever saw. His record as
a councilor of his people and his policy in the new situation that
confronted them was manly and consistent.