Chapter 14
A Few Miles East of Fort Laramie 1875
Yellow Hair had ridden thirty miles before he caught up with Turk Turner and the others and was tired. He wanted to get to Horse Creek so Kodah could graze on grass and have her fill of water.
The hills were soft and wooded along the Chugwater as he rode toward Fort Laramie. He paused to watch wolves run along the bluffs. At the edge of the brush, a hawk’s call rang out in the air and he caught a glimpse of it as it spread its’ wings, with the tips fluttering as it glided and landed on a cottonwood. He waited before moving again, the only sound was that of his mare snorting the dust from her nose. The wind was warm coming over the mountains. It was a beautiful day. The Chugwater started up in the Black Hills, near the head of Horse Creek. From there, the two bodies of water go their separate way moving west. Over thirty miles of the Chugwater made its way through a dreary wilderness of rock, sand and clay, with very little vegetation before it reached this valley. Some call this no man’s land but it is the Indian’s land. The different colors of tan and rust of the clay and rock were what made this land so alluring. Some settlers had found gold among the sand of the creek-bed but only in small amounts so very few white men came here to find their fortune. The Lakota Sioux used to camp in the valley and let their horses graze on the abundant grass and drink of the cold water.
The word “Chug” means chimney to the people living in the area. Chug Valley is close to one hundred miles long and runs along the eastern edge of the Chugwater. A ledge of sandstone rises two hundred feet close to the east bank protecting the valley in the winter from the cold east wind.
Yellow Hair had traveled twenty miles and wouldn’t arrive at Horse Creek until well after sunset. He would rest there for the night and wait until the sun was fully up before breaking camp. He crossed the Chugwater just east of Farthing, avoiding settlements along the way fearing word of the dead Wasichus may have reached the villages. He had another ten miles to go before he would get to Horse Creek. The sun was gone but the moon replaced it and was casting his shadow eerily in front of him as he rode along the rutted trail. The temperature had cooled down so he pulled out his blanket, which he had made into a poncho, and slipped it over his shoulders. Pretty soon the trail took a rise in a wild and desolate section of the valley where it flattened out. It is here Yellow Hair softly kissed to Kodah and she picked up a gentle lope. They kept this up for about 30 minutes before coming down to a walk.
It wasn’t long before Yellow Hair saw the moon reflecting off Horse Creek. There was a stand of wagichun wagi, the talking tree or the cottonwood, sacred to the Sioux, mixed with some Mesquite trees on the other side of the water. This is where they would make camp. He stopped after entering the water to allow Kodah to take in her fill.
“Well aren’t you lucky Kodah, there is plenty wacanga, sweet grass.” He said.
Yellow Hair looked over the countryside. Not seeing anyone, he urged her into the water heading toward the copse of trees. As they climbed out of the creek bed, he dismounted and hobbled Kodah near the stand of trees.
He removed the bear pad, rifle and his buffalo robe and walked to one of the trees next to the bank that would shield him from the cold. The wind picked up and caused the leaves to rustle. His pony lifted her head and glanced at the trees, making sure she was safe and then went back to grazing. A lone coyote howled his troubled sentiment at having strangers camped in his space. Yellow Hair knew Coyotes would be close as the ground was littered with Velvet mesquite beans which they fed on. He rarely had campfires while he traveled unless mesquite wood was available. It didn’t give off smoke which could alert strangers to his camp. He gathered some seedpods from the mesquite trees, grinding them into Pinole meal. He pulled his tashina pte - buffalo robe around his neck and grabbed his Springfield rifle; chambering a round and drew it near him, just in case. With the fire dying, the last thing he recalled hearing was the riffling of the grasses and the whisper of the water as it splashed along the riverbank, lulling him to sleep.