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  Grinning through the gore, Thomas’s confidence returned and he bulled toward Bodine. Bodine sidestepped, picked up a half-full whiskey bottle and hit Thomas right in the center of the forehead with it, splitting the skin wide open.

  With the whiskey stinging his eyes, half blind from the blood, Thomas had to retreat, his hands pawing at his face. Bodine went to work.

  Bodine smashed hammer blows at Thomas, each work-hardened fist taking its toll when it landed, head and body. Thomas’s face was now a bloody mask, for Bodine had slipped on leather work gloves just before the fight, while Thomas was shadow-boxing, and with the gloves could hit harder, and with each punch, he would twist his fist, further maiming the man.

  Gathering all his will, Thomas managed his second wind and the two men stood toe to toe, hammering at one another. But Thomas’s punches had lost their sting and moment by moment, Bodine was pushing him back.

  Two Wolves heard Whacker mutter, “Fall man, fall. You’re whipped.”

  But Thomas would not fall.

  Bodine finally stepped back. “It’s over, Thomas. I don’t want to beat you to death. So it’s over.”

  “Fight, you yellow pup!” Thomas snarled at him, then lunged and hit Bodine with a crashing right to the jaw.

  Bodine backed up, clearing his head and then getting set. He hit Thomas flush on the teeth with a solid straight right. Pearlies flew from the man’s mouth as he staggered back. Bodine followed that with a left that exploded against the man’s jaw, nearly crossing Thomas’s eyes. Bodine crossed that with another right that connected on the side of the man’s jaw.

  Thomas’s eyes began glazing over.

  Bodine set his boots and hit Thomas in the center of his stomach, doubling the man over. He came up from the floor with a right to the jaw and Thomas’s boots flew out from under him. He landed on a table, crushing it. He rolled on the sawdust, over on his back, and lay still.

  The saloon was silent except for Bodine’s hard breathing until Corrigan said, “I’ll say this, Bodine. I believe I can take you, but I damn sure am not looking forward to the day!”

  Chapter 11

  Dawn found Two Wolves and Bodine camped by a little creek, a dozen miles from Cutter. Two Wolves had heated water and had Bodine soak his hands in the hot water while he prowled for herbs to mix, to take the swelling and the stiffness out of his brother’s hands.

  “It was a magnificent sight to see, Bodine; but rather silly, you will have to admit.”

  “Why?”

  “You humiliated the man. In front of his own men. Now he will have to kill you to save face.”

  “He’ll try,” Bodine said grimly. Then he grinned. “But it was worth it just to see that big ape fall!”

  Two Wolves did not return the smile. “What’s the matter, Brother?”

  “I read the wind last night, Bodine. I tasted death and defeat and dishonor.”

  Bodine did not argue the point. He had personally witnessed too many mysticisms among the various tribes to doubt that Two Wolves actually believed what he was saying. And in many cases, they proved accurate.

  “Tell me what else, Two Wolves.”

  “I saw a line of hills over a little river. In the valley, hundreds of tipis, thousands of Indians, more than have ever gathered before. I saw a great battle and then a great victory unfolding before me.” He sighed heavily. “I was witnessing the beginning of the end for my people. My Red people.”

  “Who were the Indians fighting, Brother?”

  “The Army. Yellow Hair and his troops.”

  “Custer is over four-hundred miles away, Two Wolves. The last I heard he was up at Fort Abraham Lincoln, up the Dakota territory. He could be over in Nebraska.”

  “I know. I am only telling you what I read on the wind.”

  “I believe you. Why the fight?”

  “Lies. Broken promises. On both sides.”

  “I believe that, too. What is this leading up to, Brother?”

  “My destiny. I am going home to my father. To my people. Where my father goes, I will go.”

  “Did the wind tell you this?”

  “My heart tells me this, Bodine. For a time, I wish to be left alone, and please don’t take that the wrong way.”

  “I won’t. But I’m still going to the gathering.”

  “You will find nothing there. It is over.”

  Bodine didn’t question that. It probably was over. “When will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know, Bodine. I hope it is not on the field of battle.”

  “Medicine Horse will not fight the Army, Two Wolves. He will take his people and leave.”

  “If that is the case, I shall be with him. But I doubt that the great war chief Medicine Horse will turn tail and run.”

  “I hope he does, Brother. For your sake, for his sake, and for my sake.”

  Two Wolves walked to his horse and swung into the saddle. He looked back at Bodine. “Do not attempt to see me before the leaves turn, Brother. I am asking this of you.”

  “I will comply with your wishes.”

  Two Wolves nodded his head, lifted his hand in farewell, and rode away.

  Bodine felt a sadness take him for a time. The west was changing and with that change, lives of thousands had to change with it. Especially the Indian way of life. Bodine knew that it was inevitable: the Indians would be rounded up and stuck on reservations; and that was not necessarily all the fault of the white man. Most Indians were not farmers, not tillers of the land, and showed no inclination to adopt that way of life, even though many had tried to convince them if they didn’t accept it, they were doomed. The Indians were nomadic warriors and hunters and trappers. But they were vastly outnumbered, a hundred times more with each passing day. While progress was passing them by. Sealing their fate. As it had passed by thousands of people over the long centuries. One either changed with it, accepting it, rolling with the flow, or one became enslaved or imprisoned, or entire peoples just vanished, like the Ones Who Came Before.

  Bodine stayed in camp that day, soaking his hands, applying the poultices to his hands, and doing a lot of thinking while Rowdy grazed around him.

  Bodine knew that major Indian wars were still ahead. The Sioux and Cheyenne were not going to lie down and let the whites walk all over them without a fight. And if Two Wolves was right—and Bodine had no reason to doubt him—the wars were shaping up to be bad ones.

  And, Bodine mused, what part would he play in them?

  As far as he knew, he was still employed by the Army; but he didn’t know in what capacity. In the morning, he’d amble on over toward the Rosebuds and see about the gathering, then he’d head for the fort and check in with Colonel Travers.

  * * *

  Bodine wandered around the Rosebuds for two days before coming to where the chiefs and sub-chiefs had held their gathering. He let Rowdy graze while he prowled around the area on foot, finding evidence of several tribes who had attended the gathering. Cheyenne, Blackfeet, and tribes of the Sioux, including Ogalalla, Brule, Sans Arcs, Hunkpapa, and Miniconjou.

  Bodine felt a myriad of emotions as he stood in the grassy valley. The whites were going to clear the west of hostiles. But who were the hostiles? Was it the Indians, or the white men. And just exactly whose land was it, anyway? It was at times like these that Bodine’s Indian teachings came to the surface to haunt him.

  He knew the Indian way of life could not continue; that its time was very nearly over. But he still could not help but feel some sorrow at that. Whether that sorrow—if that’s what it was—was misplaced, he didn’t know.

  What he did know was that education and civilization and progress were all intertwined; all jumbled up, and you could not have one without the other—not and make all three fair and equal for everybody. If that was ever really possible.

  With a sigh he walked back to Rowdy and swung into the saddle. Tell the truth, he was glad to be leaving the area along the banks of the Little Bighorn. Place was eerie.

&n
bsp; * * *

  He rode into the small fort two days later. He had taken his time, following the tracks of Indian ponies until they split up, heading for their various camps. Lieutenant Gerry gave him a dirty look as he rode in. Bodine ignored the man. He asked for and was received immediately by Colonel Travers.

  “Bodine.” Travers shook his hand. “You’ve played hell, man. Certain people in very high places were not at all happy about you and Two Wolves shooting up Walker’s patrol.”

  “They opened the dance, Colonel. One of them called me a son of a bitch.”

  “I’d have called him out for that,” the colonel said. “That slur was not told to me.” He waved his hand. “All right. It’s over. It can’t be undone.” He smiled. “How are your hands, Bodine?”

  “They’re all right. I’m assuming you heard about the fight?”

  “Oh, yes. You whipped Tom Thomas to a fare-thee-well, so I’m told. And for that, you’ve made a bitter enemy, Bodine.”

  Bodine shrugged that off as unimportant.

  “Do you know who is responsible for the attacks on the settlers?”

  “I’m sure it’s Lone Dog and his bunch. He’s gone renegade on us. About seventy-five young Sioux and twenty-five or so young Cheyenne.”

  “How does Two Wolves feel about them and what they’re doing?”

  “Saddened. As does, I suspect, Medicine Horse.”

  “You’ve been roaming about amid the hostiles, Bodine. Bring me up to date.”

  “Big gathering over in the Rosebud Mountains. Sioux and Cheyenne and Blackfeet, mostly. War is looking this country in the face, Colonel. And it’s going to be a bad one.”

  “And it will erupt . . . ?” He tailed that off with a hopeful note that Bodine could supply the answer.

  “There is absolutely no way of knowing, Colonel. It all might blow up in our faces this afternoon. But I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ve got to talk first. And that’s going to take a long time. Probably well into fall. But let me tell you something, Colonel: We’re talking about more Indians in memory than have ever gathered together. Thousands.”

  “Nonsense!” Travers brushed that off.

  Bodine shrugged. “As you wish, Colonel.” He pointed a finger at the colonel. “Now you hear me well, Colonel. We’ve got two options, and just two. It’s coming to a showdown—a final one—and we don’t have much time for a lot of red tape. The options are these: the government can either place the Sioux and their allies, namely the Cheyenne, on reservations and keep them there by armed force, or the United States government can make a real, honest effort to obey the Indian treaties, namely by staying off the Sioux and Cheyenne hunting grounds and stopping the prospecting of gold on their reservations.

  “Sitting Bull has announced his intention to hold by force all the country west of the Missouri to the Rocky Mountains. And he’s going to do it, Colonel. And the Northern Pacific railroad really ruffled his feathers. And you know it.”

  “Damnit, Bodine. Sitting Bull is wrong about the railroad. Red Cloud and the other chiefs agreed back in ’68 not to oppose the building of those rails. Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse are clearly in the wrong and they must be dealt with.” Travers slammed his hand down on his desk. “Bodine, what side are you on?”

  “I’m on the side of justice, Colonel.”

  “Well . . . you’re right about one thing, Bodine. It’s going to blow up in our faces.”

  “Why?”

  Travers stared at him.

  “Come on, Colonel. What’s the government up to this time?”

  Travers sighed. “I probably should not tell you this, Bodine. But . . . all right. Another expedition is being mounted to go into the Black Hills. They’re going to make a geological survey to determine the extent of the mineral resources in that area.”

  “Goddamnit!” Bodine jumped to his boots to stand glaring at the army officer. “Do that, and the Sioux will declare war!”

  Travers rose to his feet, facing Bodine across the desk. “They’re already at war, Bodine!” he shouted. “Declared, or not!”

  “Oh, now I get it,” Bodine said sarcastically. “Sure. The government wants to pour more settlers in the Black Hills under the guise of prospectors.”

  “You said it, Bodine, not I. Besides, I think you’re wrong in that assumption.”

  “When this expedition goes in, Colonel, the Ogalalla and the Hunk papa will go to war.”

  “I am of the belief that the government will offer to buy the Black Hills and the area around it.”

  “It’s sacred land, Travers. They’re not going to sell it. Our noble government so graciously gave the Sioux land that was theirs to begin with. Now we’re going to offer to buy it back?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And if they refuse, which they certainly will?”

  “That will be up to the War Department,” he replied rather stiffly.

  Bodine sat down and shook his head. “You can just bet that the chiefs know of this, Travers. That was probably the main reason for the gathering.”

  “How would they have learned of it, Bodine?”

  “Probably read it on the wind or saw it in a vision.”

  “Nonsense!”

  Bodine stared at the man. “You’ve been out here a long time, Colonel. But you still don’t understand Indians.”

  “I don’t believe in hobgoblins and the like, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I don’t understand all that I know about the Indians, Colonel. But I’ve seen too much to doubt many of their visions.”

  “Nonsense! All that is a lot of claptrap and barbaric hooey.”

  Bodine stared at the man and made up his mind. “May I borrow paper and pen and ink, Colonel?”

  “Certainly.”

  Bodine dipped and wrote for about a minute. He signed the paper, blew his signature dry, and handed the paper to Travers.

  Travers looked at it, his face tight. “This is firm, Bodine?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Very well. I accept your resignation. This will go into your file. But I must warn you, from this moment on, you are persona non grata on this post.”

  “That’s fine with me, Colonel.”

  “Where is Two Wolves, Bodine?”

  “That, Colonel, is none of your damn business.”

  “I see. Very well. You have fifteen minutes to clear this post, Bodine.”

  “I’ll be gone in five, Colonel.” He rose and headed for the door.

  “Bodine!”

  Bodine turned around. Colonel Travers rose from behind his desk and walked toward him, holding out his hand. Bodine took it.

  “Forget the hard words, Matt. You’re welcome back here at any time. You’ve done a lot of good work for us, and thanks for that.”

  Bodine nodded his head and dropped his hand. “You can retire right now, can’t you, Colonel?”

  “Why . . . yes. But I don’t plan on it. Why?”

  “Pity. I’d hate to see your scalp tied onto the mane of a war pony.”

  Chapter 12

  Bodine worked on his ranch that summer of 1875, seldom leaving the spread except to go into a small town located on the Clear River for supplies every now and then. He saw no sign of Two Wolves; but Lone Dog and his bunch were burning and scalping in both Montana and Wyoming. The Army was chasing them all over the countryside, to no avail, and Walker’s militia was running around like a bunch of nitwits, shooting every stray Indian they could find, regardless of tribe.

  As the summer began to wane and the leaves began to turn, it became apparent that open warfare between the settlers and the Indians was about to come to a bloody head. By this time, the government expedition into the Black Hills had ended, and Colonel Dodge, the commander of the expedition, had located and lined out wagon roads and sites for military posts.

  The treaty had clearly been broken and the settlers and prospectors were pouring into the sacred grounds. This move so angered Sitting B
ull and Crazy Horse, they began buying arms and ammunition from whomever they could and wherever they could—and if that didn’t work, they would just kill the traders and take what they needed.

  By September of ’75, Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull and their followers were engaged in open warfare with any settlers found in the forbidden region. The government made an offer to buy the region. A gathering was called, and the chiefs voted unanimously to refuse the sale of their land simply because greedy white men wanted the yellow gold.

  When Bodine learned of this, he rode to his father’s ranch.

  “Stock up on ammunition, Dad,” he told his father. “All hell is about to break loose.”

  “But Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse are both over in Dakota Territory!”

  “They won’t be there long,” Bodine predicted. “As soon as the Army starts a campaign against them, they’ll move west and link up with the Cheyenne and the Arapahoe. Bet your boots on it, Dad.” The image of that area around the Little Bighorn once more entered Bodine’s mind. For some reason, he hadn’t been able to shake it loose. “Close to home,” he muttered.

  “What’s that, boy?”

  Not wanting to spread false rumors, and as far as he was concerned, it was just his mind working overtime, Bodine shook his head. “Oh, nothing, Dad. Just talking to myself.”

  “You seen Two Wolves?”

  “No. He asked that I not bother him until the leaves turn.”

  “It’s about that time, boy.”

  “I know. ’Bout another week of work at the ranch and I’ll go see him.” Bodine leaned against the railing at the corral and looked out over his father’s spread. “Sure looks good, Pa.”

  “You helped make it what it is, Matt. Your brother, Carl, come along just a tad too late to remember much about those bad ol’ years your ma and me and you went through. We had some lean times and some hard scrapes.”

  Bodine remembered. He remembered the blizzards that howled around the tiny cabin, long since gone, to be replaced by one of the finest homes in all of northern Wyoming. Bodine remembered when he was a boy, the sudden and wild and frightening Indian attacks, until he met Two Wolves and Medicine Horse; after that the attacks stopped. Against them. But not against all whites in the area. And that had caused quite a bit of hard feelings, some of it still lingering.