In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse by Joseph Marshall Page B

time today, Crazy Horse felt tired. He lay on his belly and looked through his binoculars at the soldiersin the meadow. After the soldiers running toward the north had all been wiped out, he hurried back toward the soldiers who had been left surrounded. Through the glasses he saw the barricades that had been hurriedly built
.
    Another column of soldiers had ridden in to join those already on the hill. As far as anyone could tell, there were over a hundred soldiers behind the barricades. Now and then, one or more would moan or scream in pain. Those were the wounded
.
    â€œThey’ve been digging holes, too,” Black Moon told him. Black Moon was a battle leader. His face was dusty, his clothes soiled, and dried blood spotted his arms. “They tried to charge out,” he went on, “but we beat them back. What do you think we should do?”
    Crazy Horse lowered the binoculars and looked around. The air was hot, and he was sweating. Though hundreds of warriors lay hidden all around them, none could be seen
.
    â€œAll we have to do is wait,” Crazy Horse replied. “Let the sun and the heat get to them, make them do something stupid. We can rest and wait.”
    Black Moon nodded. That seemed like a wise approach.He had seen much death today and was not ready to see more
.
    A young warrior scurried on hands and knees through the grass and found Crazy Horse. “Some of the old men want to know what is happening,” he said. “They sent me to find you. They want to know what you plan to do.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Crazy Horse asked the young man
.
    â€œMy name is Good Weasel, Uncle,” the warrior replied. “My mother is Grass Shawl—she’s a Blue Sky. My father is No Horse, Mniconju Lakota.”
    â€œAh, yes.” Crazy Horse nodded. “I know your family. Tell the old men we have these soldiers surrounded. Most of our men came back from the second fight. I think the soldiers might try to break out, but we’re ready.”
    Good Weasel nodded. “I will tell them that, Uncle,” he said, and crawled away
.
    The afternoon passed slowly on the ridge above the Greasy Grass River. Unseen warriors on a high hill to the south fired a few long-range shots at the soldiers behind the barricades. A group of soldiers tried a mounted charge.They were forced to retreat, unable to break past the fierce Lakota and Cheyenne firing
.
    Good Weasel returned as the sun was dipping toward the western horizon
.
    â€œThe old men are talking,” he reported to Crazy Horse. “Many of them say we should not risk any more of our men. They say the heat and lack of water and food will defeat the Long Knives here.”
    Crazy Horse nodded thoughtfully
.
    Black Moon’s eyes flashed, and he tried to catch the war leader’s attention. “Many of our men are ready to attack,” he reminded Crazy Horse. “We are ready to die in defense of our people. I think it would take just one or two well-planned attacks to wipe out all those Long Knives.”
    Again Crazy Horse nodded
.

    Grandpa Nyles led Jimmy to the visitor center. In a room just off the small museum stood a topographic diorama. It was a miniature model of the Greasy Grass River, the hills to the east of the village site, and the flood plain where the village had stood.
    He pointed to a high point west of and above the river. “Here is where the Lakota snipers were,” he said. Then he indicated the location of the soldier barricades. “That’s a few hundred yards. A long shot for those snipers. Soldiers behind the barricades say they fired back and hit the snipers on that hill. That’s very far-fetched, in my opinion. My great-grandfather—your great-great-grandfather—who was there, said the snipers ran out of bullets. That’s the reason they stopped firing.”
    â€œSo what happened to those soldiers on the hill?” asked Jimmy impatiently.
    â€œWell,