Later newspaper reports indicated that Colonel Sturgis played up Canyon Creek as more of a fight than it really was. I believe he claimed sixteen dead Indians, but the only one I am sure of was Catherine, Presbyterian Church member, who decided her time had come. I saw several wounded, mostly women and children. Need I add that the injured children caused us all the most anguish. Now that I am a mother many times over, I know there is nothing more horrible than watching little ones in pain and knowing there is nothing that can be done.

Canyon Creek turned me into a war veteran, although I didn’t know it at the time.

Chapter Twelve

Exhausted and numb, we hurried along until several hours after dark, picking our way among the brush and rocks and continually climbing. The gradual incline took us from the floor of the Yellowstone Valley onto the plateau of high plains broken by isolated mountains, that stretched all the way to Canada.

All credit for our escape goes to Joseph and Poker Joe that night. The war chiefs remained in the rear waiting for Sturgis; Joseph kept us moving. The wounded were placed on pony drags and had to bear the rough journey as best they could.

The moon wasn’t up yet; I barely saw anything of the trail we followed. I expected any minute for the Custer Avengers to pounce on us out of the dark, shouting and shooting. I didn’t know it at the time, but they couldn’t possibly have driven us to extinction that night. Fresh companies of infantry and cavalry would be waiting for that privilege several weeks to the north.

Blue Mountain Woman was nowhere in sight, and I feared for her. I began to dread that she was a casualty along with her mother, until I heard someone calling to me. Relieved beyond measure, I turned aside and waited. Soon Blue Mountain Woman and Meopwits rode up beside me, she leading his horse, Meopwits with head bowed. Her tears mingled with blood from her gashed face and arms as she held my arm. “I was afraid for you,” was all she said. It was enough.

I let them ride slowly past me, Meopwits in tears.

We rode slowly on and on that night until the moon final rose. I could barely hang onto Fair One, but I had to keep looking down the trail for Hawk. He didn’t come. Other warriors were returning to their families. We learned from them that one brave named Teeto Hoonnad picked himself a good sniper’s nest and held off Sturgis’s entire regiment while the rest of the fighting men slipped away up the trail. They dragged brush and timber and rolled down rocks to block the path of the troopers, who turned back eventually.

Joseph called a halt when he figured we had put enough distance between us and the soldiers. Horses were tended to first, as always. Mothers shook out buffalo robes and their little ones slept as soon as they burrowed down into the dark skins. Campfires were forbidden that night. The moon kept disappearing behind clouds, making the air chilly.