In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse by Joseph Marshall

Sand Creek, in Colorado—mutilated people, I mean.”
    He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “I personally think it’s a bad thing no matter who does it. But that’s the way it was then.”
    Jimmy felt a bit sick to his stomach.
    He could imagine Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho women and children crossing the river and walking onto the battlefield. He could understand why mothers and grandmothers would be worried about their sons and grandsons. That’s the way his mom and his grandmothers were.
    â€œSo, what happened after that, Grandpa?” he asked.
    â€œWell, the second part of the battle ended here,” Grandpa Nyles replied. “But remember those soldiers on the hill, back there above the river?”
    Jimmy nodded.
    â€œThey were the first part of the battle, and they would be the third part. We’ll talk about it in a bit, but right now let’s go see that monument to our people. How’s that?”
    Jimmy and his grandfather followed the path to the monument to the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho people. It was unlike the tall stone marker for the soldiers. This monument was round and sunk into the ground.
    They entered it from the east opening. It was like an open-air room. Jimmy liked it immediately, even before he looked closer at all the pictures and words on the walls. The first thing that caught his eye was the metal sculptures outlined against the sky. The north wall was lower, and on the stone ledge were three metal figures. Each looked exactly like a pen-and-ink outline sketch of a man on a horse.
    Grandpa Nyles noticed Jimmy looking at the figures. They seemed to be moving from left to right. “Those represent the three tribes who fought here on our side: Lakota,Cheyenne, and Arapaho,” he explained. He indicated the third figure, the last one. That one had a hawk on his head and was reaching to take weapons from a woman on the ground.
    â€œThat’s Crazy Horse,” the old man explained. “Or at least someone’s idea of him.”
    Jimmy pointed to the woman figure. “Who’s that?” he asked.
    â€œI’m sure that’s his wife,” Grandpa Nyles replied. “It was customary for Lakota wives and mothers to hand weapons to their husbands and sons. And they had a saying that gave them encouragement and reminded them of their duty as warriors.”
    â€œWhat was it?”
    â€œThe women would say, ‘Have courage and be the first to charge the enemy, for it is better to lie a warrior naked in death than it is to turn away from the battle.’ ”
    â€œWhat does it mean?”
    â€œIt means that courage was a warrior’s best weapon, and that it was the highest honor to give your life for your people.”
    â€œOh,” Jimmy said, in a low voice. “That’s kind of scary, I think.”
    Grandpa Nyles put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, it is, but that’s what being a warrior was all about: facing the scary things no matter how afraid you were. That’s what courage is. And what’s more, it doesn’t happen only on the battlefield. You can have courage and face the tough things that happen to you anywhere.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œCome on,” Grandpa Nyles said, pulling on Jimmy’s arm and pointing to the polished walls around them. “Let’s go look at those carvings and the inscriptions on the panels.”
    There were twelve thick granite panels on the walls inside the circular monument. All were nearly four feet high and just over seven feet wide. They had images and words connected to the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
    The words were from the warriors who had fought here, from Lakota warriors and the Cheyenne. The words of Wooden Leg, a Cheyenne warrior, were simple: “We had killed soldiers who came to kill us.”
    â€œThat about sums it up,” Grandpa Nyles said quietly.
    The panel devoted to Crazy