William Johnstone - Butchery of the Mountain Man

“No, surely there is some mistake. They must be thinking of someone else,” Major Clinton said. “I met the man, I was quite impressed with him. He is well educated, well spoken. And a finer gentleman I have never met. I can’t imagine someone like John Jackson killing Indians and eating their livers. Why do you suppose he suddenly went on a killing binge like that?”

“It’s because of his wife,” Lieutenant Philbin said.

“What do you mean? I met her as well. She’s Indian, yes, but she isn’t Crow. And her manners are such that I expect she would be welcome in just about any level of society, back East. Why would she want her husband to go on such an inhuman killing spree?”

“I didn’t say she wanted it, Major. You said why would he do such a thing, and I said it’s because of his wife. And his child. You see, the Crow killed them both.”

“When?”

“As I understand it, they were killed shortly after Jackson and his wife visited Iron Bull’s camp to talk peace with the Indians.”

“After he visited their camp?”

“Yes, sir. Jackson delivered your message to Iron Bull, who granted them a pass only as long as it took them to get out of camp. Once they left the camp, Iron Bull sent Indians after them. According to Dog Runner, Jackson killed one of them in the chase.

“Then, Jackson came here to report to you, that he had failed. And while he was here, talking to you, Whips His Horses went to Jackson’s cabin. There, he killed Jackson’s wife and child.”

“My God!” Major Clinton said with a gasp. “My God, that means I’m to be blamed! I’m not only to be blamed for Jackson’s wife and child being killed, I’m also to be blamed for the attack on the wagons.”

“Why would you say that, Major?”

“Because I am the one who sent them there!”

“I don’t think there is anyone who actually blames you, Major.”

“I don’t care whether anyone else blames me or not,” Major Clinton said. “I blame myself . . . not only for what he is doing now . . . but for what happened to precipitate this.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

[ Warrior societies were an important aspect of the life of the Plains Indians. The tribes’ fighting men were divided into distinct units which provided their members with prestige. They fell under two categories, graded and ungraded, and though the warrior societies of the Apsáalooke (Crow) were, theoretically, ungraded, there was, by recognition, a definite graduation among the three societies of the tribe. Those three societies were the Lumpwood, the Fox, and the Big Dog. There was a fierce rivalry between them and, in battle, each society strove to strike the first coup.

There were, in addition, ranks within the individual societies which, while they conferred great honor, also demanded a personal sacrifice or commitment from the warrior upon whom the rank had been bestowed.

The Big Dog Warrior Society gradually emerged as the most prestigious. Members of this society would wear a belt of bearskin, complete with claws. They also daubed their bodies with mud, and rolled their hair into tight balls, imitating bear’s ears. They made a commitment to walk upright straight toward the enemy, never to retreat, and to come to the aid of any tribesman in danger.—ED. ]

In the village of Iron Bull

Stone Eagle wore two vertical stripes on his right cheek, one red and one black. The stripes ran from the bottom of his eye to the top of his lip, and they denoted his rank as chief of the warrior society known as the Big Dog Warrior Society. He had asked for a meeting of the council and now all were gathered before the council fire.

Stone Eagle pointed to Whips His Horses, and spoke derisively of him.

“Whips His Horses boasts of his feats,” Stone Eagle said. “But what has he done? He has killed women and children. He has killed men who are not warriors. He has done this while Liver Eater continues to go free, to kill our braves.”

“And what have you done?” Whips His Horses replied, angrily. “You have done nothing!”

“Liver Eater is but one man. I have thought, until now, that one brave warrior would be his equal, but ten have tried, and ten have died. And you,” Stone Eagle said, pointing to Whips His Horses, “you have not even tried. You are afraid to fight Liver Eater, so you fight those who cannot fight back.”

“Whips His Horses has asked a question that must be answered,” Iron Bull said. “What have you done?”

“I have done nothing,” Stone Eagle admitted. “But now I am ready to lead the Big Dog Warriors to find and kill this man who has killed so many of our own.”

“How many will you take?” Iron Bull asked.

“He has killed ten. We will be two for every one that he has killed. We will be twenty.”

“I will be one of the twenty,” Whips His Horses said.

“You are not a member of the Big Dog Society,” Stone Eagle replied.

“Then I will be a member.”

“If you become a member, you must follow me. Do you agree to that?”

“I will also be a leader,” Whips His Horses said. He pointed to his chest. “I am chief of the Fox Society.”

“To be a Big Dog Warrior you must leave the Fox and become a Big Dog. You can be a member, but you will not be a leader,” Stone Eagle insisted.

“I ask the council!” Whips His Horses said. “Hear me. I am chief of the Fox Warrior Society. Is it not fair that if I join the Big Dog Warrior Society that I shall be a chief, equal in authority to Stone Eagle?”

The members of the council discussed it among themselves, then Iron Bull spoke.

“Stone Eagle, would you agree to a test with Whips His Horses to determine if he should be a chief?”

“Yes, I will agree to a test,” Stone Eagle replied.

“Whips His Horses, will you agree to a test?” Iron Bull asked.

Whips His Horses looked at Stone Eagle with an expression of hatred on his face.

“If we are to test, then let it be a final test. Let us fight until the death,” Whips His Horses said.

“Stone Eagle, you have been challenged,” Iron Bull said. “You cannot deny the challenge and remain chief of the Big Dog Warrior Society. What is your answer?”

“I accept the challenge,” Stone Eagle said.

Iron Bull held up both his arms and called out loudly so that all in the village could hear what he had to say.

“Hear me!” he called. “A challenge has been issued, and accepted. Whips His Horses and Stone Eagle are to fight. The fight must be until the death of one. The winner of the fight will be chief of the Big Dog Warrior Society.”

A circle was drawn and the two warriors entered the circle, each armed with a knife. Facing each other warily, they held their arms crossed in front of them, the palm of their left hand open, while grasping the knife in their right hand. They moved around in the circle, first one, and then the other, leaning forward to make, mostly futile, downward stabbing motions with the knife.

On one of his thrusts, Whips His Horses made a slashing cut on Stone Eagle’s arm. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it did bring blood. A moment later Stone Eagle opened a cut on Whips His Horses’ shoulder and now both men were bloodied as they faced each other.

Whips His Horses made another thrust but Stone Eagle stepped aside, then stuck out his foot, tripping Whips His Horses. Whips His Horses fell facedown and dropped his knife. Stone Eagle reached down and grabbed it, quickly, before Whips His Horses could recover. Now, with both knives, he reached down and laid the flat of the blade on the back of Whips His Horses’ neck.

“I claim coup,” he shouted, and turning his back to Whips His Horses’ prone form, he held both his arms up over his head, his knife in one hand and Whips His Horses’ knife in the other. “I have won!” he claimed, triumphantly.