Death on the Greasy Grass Read Free

him, wanting more action. Another Indian walked past him, nudged him with the toe of his moccasin, and said something in passing.
    Two women dressed in Lakota patterned deerskin dresses walked toward the boy with the broken wrist. One bent to yellow face as she walked by.
    And screamed.
    Manny stood on tiptoes to see over the heads of those still making their way down the bleachers. The woman backed away and her hands flew to her face to muffle her screams, blood dripping between fingers and smearing her cheeks.
    Paramedics responding to broken wrist diverted to yellow face. They dropped their jump bag beside the body and gingerly rolled him over. One grabbed a stethoscope from around his neck, while the other one cut away the man’s shirt. Within moments, they put their gear back into their bag and stood. Paramedics are interested only in the living.

C HAPTER 2

    JUNE 25, 1876
    Levi Star Dancer reined his lathered pony beside White Crow. Levi’s horse snorted to greet the taller man sitting on his paint gelding as if he’d been born to it. But then, Crow warriors were born with horses’ withers beneath them. “Took you long enough to catch up.
Levi
.”
    Levi swatted at his friend’s head, but White Crow laughed and ducked.
    â€œYou know I do not like that. I am Star Dancer of the Whistling Water clan.”
    â€œIt is what the White man calls you.
Levi
.”
    â€œI do not like it.”
    â€œYou liked it when they gave you the name and the blankets.” White Crow was right. The horse soldiers had given him a name and blankets and food in exchange for his scouting. But Levi would have scouted for nothing had he known they were going after the sworn enemy of the Apsa’alooke, and he need never have been saddled with a White man’s name.
    White Crow extended his long brass glass and looked out across rolling hills that seemed to move. Buffalo grass and gamma grass, tall this year, undulated with the rising and falling of the wind that blew over from the mountains to the west.
    Any other day, it would have been serene. Any other day, Levi would have thanked the Creator for such wonderment. Any other day: except the day that Colonel Custer chose to die. “Any sign of the others?” Colonel Custer had dismissed his Crow scouts before the fighting began, and they had scattered to parts unknown.
    White Crow shrugged and handed the glass to Levi. “I saw them ride to where we fought the Lakota at the Rosebud eight days ago.”
    Levi extended White Crow’s looking glass. The Lakota, enemies of the Crow, had fought ferociously under the command of Crazy Horse at the Rosebud. Levi wanted no more run-ins with that warrior.
    Levi squinted against the sun as he put the long glass to his eye. Puffs of smoke from a hundred guns showed like puffs from a pipe across the valley. The pop-pop-popping of gunfire reached them, and Levi counted the seconds between the puffs and the sound: a mile. Perhaps more. He and White Crow had ridden out just in time.
    â€œColonel Custer is a fool. We told him . . .”
    â€œWe told him not to attack the camp.” Levi adjusted the telescope and tried to spot where Custer and his men were fighting for their lives. Warriors like ants wiggled through wind-moving prairie, while the Greasy Grass, bright light shimmering off its shallow water, meandered below the battle, oblivious to the fighting going on above it. “The river will be stained red this day. Just be grateful the colonel ordered us to leave.”
    White Crow bent to his paint’s neck and grabbed the water bladder tethered to the pony’s mane. He took a long pull and handed it to Levi. “Those Lakota and Cheyenne will have Custer’s liver for dinner. I wonder what happened to the others.”
    Levi shrugged and allowed the cool water to snake its way down his parched throat. He handed the deer bladder back to White Crow and glassed the battle.