the big Greasy Grass fight with Yellowhair Custer’s Army, life had been good. True, for ten years before that, we’d had some fights with soldiers and Americans. But mostly our leaders stayed away from them. Our men and women warriors fought them bravely when fights could not be avoided. Some Arapahos had loved ones buried in secret places near Fort Bob. Loved ones including the parents of Left Hand and me.
When more and more Whites came, Neiwoo said we should “keep away from these Americans.” So we had joined a little band of old people and young orphans and followed the young Warrior Woman and the young man Gentles Horses. They led us far into the empty ocean of grass.
They were beautiful together. They found the warm, secret valley and the little buffalo herd. For a year, we lived well near a hidden spring below the first mountains.
Then, one dark day, came the thunder of long rifles, and we found all the buffalo lying dead. Many Army horse soldiers came. Our two young leaders rode out to meet them. We saw them no more.
The next morning, soldiers herded us toward the rising sun. Behind us, the flames from our few pretty painted tipis sent black smoke into the sky. Only the soldiers rode. Our fine ponies were all shot down. We wept for them and Gentles Horses, who had tamed them while Left Hand watched in wonder.
Neiwoo, my brother, and I were all of our family who had survived the Sand Creek Massacres and the Indian Wars. Tonight, we huddled in the too-low tent whose doorway did not correctly face the rising sun. And we remembered the rich buffalo meat. Meat we had eaten with the young woman and young man warriors. There, in our tall, graceful lodges on the endless grasslands.
Nowoo3 brought some wood and chips inside for the night. Friends had taught him how to make fire in the iron box he now called “stove.” Neiwoo had thanked Creator for sustenance and fire.
I sat on the flattened-grass floor beside Neiwoo. I fed her with the big spoon from the pot. I took some for myself between her sips.
“Hiieeniibei (Hee-AN-ee-bay),” my grandmother murmured my name. “Your hands make excellent soup.” Then she rolled her delicate brown face into the crook of my arm and slept.
In twenty other low, Army-canvas tents and a few Arapaho tipis, friends were with their families. They helped each other with fires, cooking, and laying out makeshift beds.
Soldiers in blue coats brought a wagon filled with firewood and dried buffalo chips. They piled the fuel in the center of this circle of odd little tents with doorways that looked in the wrong directions.
Chapter 2
Fort Bob
I lay down beside Neiwoo, sharing her covers. Listening to her soft breathing, I fell asleep. We dreamed. She dreamed of the happy years of freedom in the tall grass with our people. Neiwoo held memories of her long life living in the old way.
But my dreams were restless. I woke up remembering our ponies falling and our village burning. Everything was suddenly so terrifying and uncertain. So cruel.
Grandmother stirred, needing to go outside. I helped her shuffle out and back. She lay down and I covered her again.
“Granddaughter,” she whispered. “Tell me again a story of Warrior Woman.”
I knew this was her way of distracting me from my bad dreams. It was also a kind of test. The more I told the story, the better I would remember it. I had listened to her tell it on many nights before. I think she knew that without the telling of the story, our people would forget that Arapaho and Oglala Lakota women once fought fiercely beside their men. Some, like Warrior Woman and Pretty Nose, were heroes and avengers. Maybe Neiwoo wanted me to be like them. Maybe she wanted all Arapaho women to be like them. I started the story:
“She was brave and strong. She rode and hunted and fought beside Fast Horses, her brother. Each one saved the other in buffalo hunts and fights with the enemy. Like him, she was calm and fearless at all times. They made good luck together . . . right up to the end.”
Grandmother smiled and sighed softly. “The bear story?”
I began. “When Warrior Woman and Fast Horses were young, they hunted game by waiting at dawn along trails where big animals traveled. Fast Horses took his deer first. He prayed thanks in the Arapaho way. Then he dressed out the deer where it had fallen to his arrow. Carefully, he separated the heart, liver, and other organs. These he placed inside the belly. He carried the deer to the trail, near the cliff wall. From there he could see that his sister had taken her deer, too. Their family would have meat to share with others.
“As he took a step in her direction, he heard the monster and inhaled its scent at the same instant. Leaping from the trail and turning in midair, he saw the giant yellow bear tearing at his deer. Before his feet touched the ground, he sent an angry arrow deep into its shoulder.
“For long seconds, the bear seemed not to notice. It tore a mouthful from the deer’s belly, then quickly stood tall. The bear roared the name of Fast Horses. That is what the boy thought.
“Fast Horses ran to the cliff wall and out along a narrow ledge. Fast Horses could wait here. The bear could not follow. There was no room. But the bear followed.
“The boy backed along the narrowing ledge of cold stone. To his left, the wall pushed against his shoulder. From his right came the echo of the river in the mists far below. In front of him, the snuffling, angry, yellow bear came closer and closer. The arrow in the creature’s shoulder dripped blood into the white mists.
“The girl who would become Warrior Woman heard the roar and turned just in time to see everything. Quickly, she came to help her brother. Now, she drew her bow and let its arrow go. The monster bear gave a startled ‘woof,’ turned, and fell silently into eternity.”
Neiwoo smiled and slept again.
Soon all three of us were sleeping.
Chapter 3
A Rumor
In the morning, we heard talk that in seven days the Army would move us and two hundred more of our Arapaho people to a new place in Wyoming Territory. Our chiefs, Sharp Nose and Black Coal, knew the place. They wanted to go there. It was green and well-watered. In winter, it was warm and sheltered from the wind. There was game of many kinds for our hunters. The Army wanted to take us to the south to Oklahoma Territory instead, but Washington said, “The Northern Arapahos go West.”
Our cousins, the Southern Arapaho, had been taken to a reservation in the Oklahoma Territory ten years before. Their reservation was shared with the Cheyenne people. It lay far to the south of our old homeland, which had been near the White Man town of Denver.
That afternoon, we saw Tasina Sa (Red Blanket), the tall, kind Oglala woman who had given us stew meat. She told us that the rumor was true. Her man was an Army scout and she knew a lot. We remaining Arapaho would live in Wyoming Territory with the Shoshone, our old enemies and new friends. The sick would be left behind. The Army doctor would give them White Man medicines from Fort Robinson. When the soldiers carried the Arapaho people and all they owned away to the unknown place, Grandmother would stay here—alone.
But Left Hand and I would not leave Neiwoo alone, and we told Tasina Sa so. Our healers knew the medicine herbs and roots and barks. These would make her quick and strong again. They knew, too, the prayers and songs.
We knew that Army forts held many sicknesses. We told our new friend that we must
