Black Hills Gold: The Untold Story of Mad Bear and Big Wolf

By Leon Taylor

Mad Bear and Big Wolf wouldn't have left Talking Rock Reservation if they hadn't been drunk, but they were, after three days and nights of drinking.  This was 1880 and Indians weren't allowed off of the reservation without written permision.  Life on the reservation was unbearable for these two who had grown up free on the Great Plains and they fled for Canada to join Sitting Bull.  It wasn't their best plan, but it was spring, they were young, and Sitting Bull was free, having gone to Canada after the Battle of the Little Big Horn, Custer's Last Stand.

 

 Cavalry men were sent out from Ft. No Fort to capture the two renegades but the soldiers decided to desert the Army and collect the reward money for themselves.  Reward money Agent Tom Laughlin had posted for the capture, dead or alive, of Mad Bear and Big Wolf for insurrection against the United States Government.

 

Mad Bear and Big Wolf made it safely into Canada with their wives, Whispering Wind and Many Tears, this was where they would rekindle their people's ancient way of life.  Soldiers weren't allowed to cross the border, they knew, but Sgt. Hardy and his men did anyway.  The border was a line no man could see and with four-thousand dollars they could start a new life somewhere else..

 

Agent Tom had sent Black Heart, Chief of the Agency Police, and his men after Mad Bear and Big Wolf with orders they weren't to return to their white man's comforts on the reservation without the two dead renegades.  Black Heart had no interest in chasing those two clear to Canada just to kill them and had no intention of living without the white man's goods to which he had grown accustomed.  It was thus that Agent Tom found himself negotiating for his own life with Black Heart.  The price for his life was that all the gold taken out of the Black Hills by the white man was to be put back.  The Black Hills were sacred to the Lakota.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leon Taylor
• Release date: Apr 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223342670

Leon Taylor

Leon Taylor is a college graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Social Science and Humanities and a veteran of military intelligence.  He has lived and worked in many different venues that have contributed to a vast array of experiences, all lending their credence to the stories he writes.

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Prologue

In 1868, the Sioux Indians of the Great Plains signed a treaty with the United States Government at Fort Laramie to establish the Great Sioux Reservation within parts of Montana, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Nebraska, which included the Black Hills of South Dakota.  However, after the discovery of gold in the Black Hills in 1874 by General George Armstrong Custer, who entered the Black Hills illegally, the government confiscated the Black Hills and other lands of the Great Sioux Reservation in 1877.

In 1980, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that 7.3 million acres taken from the Sioux in 1877, including the Black Hills, sacred land to them, were taken illegally against their treaty rights of 1868.  The Federal Government, in 1981, awarded monetary compensation of over 100 million dollars for this illegal taking of the Black Hills, and land taken outside the Black Hills, which by now has grown to over one billion dollars.  The Sioux Indians have consistently declined this monetary settlement, declaring that the Black Hills are not for sale and that accepting the money could be construed as a sale.

Chapter One

I

After three days and nights of drinking, they were screaming drunk when they fled Talking Rock Reservation, that was for sure.  It was 1880, and they wouldn’t have left the reservation if they hadn’t been drunk, but they were.  No Indians were allowed to leave the reservation without written permission, especially these two, who had left before.  But Mad Bear and Big Wolf were young, and it was early spring.  A restless time for those who had been born free on the wide-open plains, and who were now confined to boundaries of another culture’s making.

Mad Bear and Big Wolf knew they were in trouble when they sobered up, however.  Agent Tom Laughlin wouldn’t let them back on the reservation without recompense, that was certain, and they had nowhere to go but Canada.  It was a long way off, even though they had talked before about going there to join Sitting Bull, who had fled to the Grandmother’s Land after the killing of General George Armstrong Custer at what the white man called the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

Both young men knew well the story of Crazy Horse, one of their most prominent war chiefs, who had surrendered the year after the Battle of the Little Big Horn, and who had then died at the hands of the soldiers on the reservation.  The rumor alone that he was planning to leave the reservation was part of what had gotten him killed.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf knew they were of little consequence in comparison to Crazy Horse, and that Agent Tom could do whatever he wanted with them if they returned without repercussion.

Agent Tom didn’t care that Mad Bear and Big Wolf were gone, but it was for their defiance of him that he was angered.  The two were of no use to him, and neither was Broken Wing, their scraggly ally, but Agent Tom took him prisoner, anyway.  Agent Tom knew Broken Wing would have gone with Mad Bear and Big Wolf if he hadn’t been passed out drunk the night those two left.  He arrested Broken Wing right where he found him, passed out alongside the horse corral where Mad Bear and Big Wolf had left him. 

Agent Tom saw where Mad Bear and Big Wolf had drug Broken Wing to the horse corral with them before they dropped him and took his bottle of whiskey instead.  They had given up on Broken Wing, he couldn’t stand up, let alone ride his horse, and all their attempts to revive him failed.  Only his whiskey would escape with them.

It was the next day that Agent Tom sent for Bad Foot, the old and weathered war chief who still did what he could to protect his people, despite his age.  He wanted to know where Mad Bear and Big Foot were, Agent Tom told Bad Foot. Agent Tom had appointed Bad Foot Chief-of-Chiefs for just this purpose, to be held accountable for the unaccountable.

Bad Foot stood before Agent Tom who was sitting behind his desk in his jailhouse office.  No know, Bad Foot answered Agent Tom truthfully in his broken English.  They no know, he speculated.  Be back when out whiskey, he added, pointing to the bottle of whiskey on Agent Tom’s desk.  White man poison, he clarified.

Agent Tom, a lean and hollow man with a hungry look, suspected as much.  The two probably didn’t know where they were.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf had left the reservation before but had always managed to return before he could catch them.  They hadn’t returned yet, and he had a witness to their leaving.  Crooked Bow, his boy informant, had seen everything and had reported it to Agent Tom, especially the fact Broken Wing was still passed out beside the horse corral.

You’ll pay fer this, Agent Tom threatened Bad Foot, leaning forward in his chair to point his gnarled finger at Bad Foot, if’n Mad Bear ‘nd Big Wolf aren’t back by mornin’.  What he really wanted to do was catch them off of the reservation so he could shoot them without anyone knowing.

Bad Foot wasn’t concerned about Agent Tom’s threat.  He was the only chief on Talking Rock Reservation who would work with Agent Tom.  None of the other chiefs would cooperate with him, keeping their hostilities alive.  Bad Foot wanted peace and used his position as Chief-of-Chiefs to work toward that end.  He also used his influence with Agent Tom to lobby for his people’s needs, which were many since being forced to move to the reservation.

Other men kin pay fer me, Bad Foot suggested.  Young men.  They always lookin’ fer sumthin’ to do.  Bad Foot somehow knew Mad Bear and Big Wolf weren’t coming back this time.

II

There will be no end to this madness, Bad Foot lamented that night to the elders who were gathered in Chief’s tepee, as long as the white man controls our land and way of life.

Bad Foot had gone before the elders of the tribe for an answer as to what he should do about Mad Bear and Big Wolf leaving the reservation.  They answered that in time they would decide what should be done with Agent Tom, leave Mad Bear and Big Wolf alone.  As there wasn’t a white man around who could speak, or understand, their native Lakota language, they expressed their feelings openly.  The problem was with the white man, not them or their young men, the elders clarified, that was the issue that needed to be resolved.

The following day, Bad Foot returned to Chief’s tepee.  Chief was his brother, medicine man to their tribe, and Bad Foot knew his brother’s advice would serve him well.  Your consultation is the best, Bad Foot praised his brother, as he sat down before Chief’s fire. 

Chief already knew that, why else did everyone call him Chief when that wasn’t even his name?  What do you need, brother? Chief questioned.

I can’t have this, Bad Foot voiced his complaint to his brother.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf are giving Agent Tom ammunition to use against us before the Great White Father in Washington.

Chief nodded his head in apparent agreement but wasn’t sure the Great White Father was concerned about them anymore.  Their land had already been taken from them and given to the settlers and gold miners.  They had nothing more to give the Great White Father and Mad Bear and Big Wolf were of no consequence to anyone other than Agent Tom.  As far as Chief could see it, they shouldn’t even matter to Agent Tom.

Those two running away are going to make my life more miserable than it already is in dealing with Agent Tom, Bad Foot lamented.

Bad Foot knew full well that Agent Tom had only appointed him as his Chief-of-Chiefs to simplify his dealings with their tribe.  The Lakota had no chief over all the other chiefs, and the title held little importance to them other than how Bad Foot could use it against Agent Tom.  They chose their own chiefs, one of which was Bad Foot, but he wasn’t over any of the others.

Trying to live like a white man isn’t working for me, Bad Foot cursed, grimacing at the thought of his plight.  I don’t like it.

Chief didn’t answer his brother’s laments.  The white man’s way of life wasn’t for him, either, and they both understood why Mad Bear and Big Wolf had left the reservation.  As boys, those two had grown up on the plains free, and they now wanted to return to that way of life.  There was no question about that, everyone in their tribe did. It had only been three years since the last of their nation had been forced onto the reservations by the Army against their will.  Bad Foot and Chief knew, also, that Mad Bear and Big Wolf were in serious trouble.  There was no taking on the U.S. Army, drunk or not.  They had themselves fought in the Indian Wars.  It was a bitter outcome for them to be forced onto the reservation where they now lived, but that was what had happened, and they dealt with it as best they could.

III

Bad Foot sought counsel with his brother, Chief, while Mad Bear and Big Wolf sought to find their way off the reservation and away from the Agency.  Many changes had taken place that they didn’t recognize since the white man had taken possession of their land in order to destroy it, and they were lost.  They drank Broken Wing’s whiskey and cursed the white man, but it did no good, their land was now gone to them, and along with it their way of life.

It was days before Mad Bear and Big Wolf discovered where they were.  They rode over a small hill to find their tiny settlement at the Agency lying before them.  They were back where they had started.

Mad Bear threw down Broken Wing’s now empty bottle of whiskey in disgust.  White men, he growled.

Bastards, Big Wolf cursed.  He didn’t know what the term meant, but he’d heard the soldiers and traders who hung around the Agency use it to refer to them and knew it wasn’t good.

Assholes, Mad Bear added.  He didn’t know what that meant, either, but knew they were in trouble if they were seen by anyone who would report them to Agent Tom.  Agent Tom would have Black Heart and the Agency Police after them faster than a hungry fox could eat a skinny prairie dog.

In a mad and hurried rush, Big Wolf and Mad Bear galloped off in the direction from which they had just come, whipping their horses earnestly.  They had a long and uncertain journey ahead of them, they came to realize, and rode hard away from the tiny settlement which had been home to them.  They were two young men condemned by their implied act of leaving the reservation, even though they hadn’t quite managed to find their way off of it yet.  They had no food or provisions and now knew that being drunk on whiskey, they hadn’t planned well in leaving the reservation.

This is our land, Big Wolf shouted to Mad Bear as they pressed their horses to run harder, we shouldn’t be the ones running from it.  He clinched his teeth in anger.  Asshole bastards, he shouted vehemently.  He didn’t know what it meant, but it felt good saying it.

We’ll take it back someday, Mad Bear returned rhetorically.  We’ll go to the Grandmother’s Land and get Sitting Bull to help, he repeated the mantra of the young of their tribe.  It was their hope, as Mad Bear and Big Wolf saw it.  Their great warrior Sitting Bull was alive and living free in Canada.  He would return with them to take back their land from the white man.

They had only the horses they rode, the guns they weren’t supposed to have, and the clothes they wore, but Mad Bear and Big Wolf agreed that this was their land, and they were going to take it back.  Some day soon they would live freely as their forefathers had to roam the plains and hunt the buffalo.

IV

Your’n my prisoner, Agent Tom addressed Broken Wing, who was asleep in Agent Tom’s jail cell, the jail cell inside his office building, ’nd yer gonna be fer the rest’n yer life.  It frustrated Agent Tom that Broken Wing could sleep so easily while he had him locked up.  He beat on the bars of the cell with the butt of his pistol, wake up.

Why? the lean and wiry Broken Wing questioned through squinting eyes after waking.  He eyed Agent Tom without apparent concern, which bothered Agent Tom.  I ain’ done nuthin’ wrong.  His English was broken, having learned it, like most Indians, from trappers, whiskey traders, and immigrants, some of whom only spoke English as a second language themselves.  Two days had passed since Mad Bear and Big Wolf had left, and Broken Wing still couldn’t remember much about that night.

Aidin’ ‘nd abettin’, Agent Tom answered as he returned to his desk to fill out the arrest papers that had been sitting there since his arrest of Broken Wing.  Aidin’ ‘nd abettin’ a insurrection against the United States Government.

No know, Broken Wing countered.  He didn’t know what Agent Tom meant but he was in no mood for Agent Tom’s trumped-up charges, his stock in trade when it came to them.

You will, Agent Tom assured Broken Wing.  Agent Tom knew Broken Wing was part and party to Mad Bear and Big Wolf’s fleeing from the reservation.  Broken Wing had only failed to go with them because he was too drunk to ride.

At this point, Broken Wing didn’t want to hear Agent Tom’s accusations.  He was still sick from the binge the three of them had been on and just wanted to sleep it off.  They had been drinking for days, broken down in despair over their life on the reservation, they didn’t care what they did to themselves.  Broken Wing could vaguely remember them talking about leaving the reservation.  They talked about doing so all the time, but he hadn’t expected they would that night.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf didn’t really plan on leaving that night, either, they just did it, leaving him behind, to Broken Wing’s dissatisfaction.

Broken Wing turned on his cot, faced the wall, and went back to sleep, ignoring Agent Tom and his phony charges.  Quietly, he wondered why Mad Bear and Big Wolf had dropped him in a pile of horse manure when they left him behind.  It was all over his clothes and smelt bad.  They could have done better by him, he felt, tying him across his horse and taking him with them would have been a good start.  And what happened to his bottle of whiskey?  Did Agent Tom take it from him?

He would deal with Agent Tom when he was feeling better, Broken Wing considered in his sleep.  He and Chief.

V

Bad Foot found himself spending more time in Chief’s tepee seeking counsel.  As Chief-of-Chiefs, Mad Bear and Big Wolf’s leaving the reservation put him in a tenuous position.  He knew how Agent Tom could turn this into a problem for him, as well as the entire tribe.

I know there is going to be bad trouble over this, Bad Foot relayed to his brother.  Agent Tom can make a problem out of nothing when it comes to us.  Privately, he wished he were young again and had gone with Mad Bear and Big Wolf despite the consequences.

This is of Mad Bear and Big Wolf’s doing, Chief answered Bad Foot.  They and the other young men of the tribe can deal with it.  It is their time.  He paused in thought, reflecting upon the war they had had with the white man trying to protect their way of life and land.  We had our time, he concluded, it is now up to them.

Bad Foot agreed with Chief after a long moment of silence.  It was now time for the young to take up the cause of the people.  Their time was passing.  With that thought in his mind, he went to Agent Tom’s one-room office and jailhouse.  Agent Tom had made it a requirement that Bad Foot report to him daily about Mad Bear and Big Wolf’s escape from his tyranny on the reservation.

Mad Bear ’n Big Wolf make war with white soldiers, the aged and scarred old warrior told his Agent Chief.  Strong young men, he continued his fabrication when Agent Tom didn’t reply, kill fort town.

There was no visible response from Agent Tom, who only stared blankly at Bad Foot with contempt for this story.  He knew better.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf had only been gone days and probably hadn’t even found their way off the reservation yet.  What a bunch of crap, Agent Tom cursed Bad Foot in his mind.  This old Indian was insulting his intelligence.  He wondered, however, what Bad Foot knew about Fort No Fort.

Mad Bear ‘n Big Wolf raid town name California, Bad Foot continued, confronting Agent Tom’s silence, gold on ground, pick up free.

Maybe you should go there, Bad Foot thought to himself of Agent Tom, and leave us Lakota alone to live our own lives as we see fit.  We were doing just fine before you got here, he continued his thoughts to himself and would do just fine without you here.

Still, Agent Tom said nothing.  He just sat in his chair behind his desk coldly staring at Bad Foot, his gaunt face tense with disgust at Bad Foot’s fabrications.  Contemplatively, he reached up and tugged at the end of his long drooping mustache.

Bad Foot continued his story, slightly concerned that Agent Tom didn’t comment or counter what he was saying.  Mad Bear ‘n Big Wolf go Great White Father.  Talk ‘bout Agent Chief bad things.  Surely, that would elicit a response, Bad Foot considered.

Agent Tom readjusted himself in his chair, reaching down to feel the pistol by his side.

Bad Foot saw Agent Tom’s irritation but continued.  Many stories, he said to cover his fabrications, maybe lies.  No know.

Agent Tom knew none of this was true.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf weren’t out West or going to see the President, either one.  For all he knew, Bad Foot was hiding them in his tepee under a pile of blankets.

Young men good, Bad Foot then told Agent Tom without caution.  It was something he’d been wanting to say all along.  I wish go wit’ ‘em.  White man no safe me on warpath ‘gin.

Agent Tom stood up slowly, deliberately dusting the dirt off his shirt and pants.  He straightened the brim of his cowboy hat with purpose and adjusted his gun belt carefully.  His hand went to the handle of the pistol in its holster.  He fingered the trigger while eyeing Bad Foot.  Bad Foot lying to him like this brought a blood-red boil to his already whiskey-reddened face.  Lyin’ son-of-a-bitch, he cursed in his mind, I oughta shoot him.

Bad Foot heard Agent Tom’s cursing him in his mind and quickly sprung up out of the wooden chair he was sitting in and bolted for the door of Agent Tom’s one-room office and jailhouse without saying anything more.  This was an unexpected change in Agent Tom that he wasn’t prepared for.  There could have been some truth to his words, Bad Foot questioned himself as he ran, even though his stories weren’t carefully chosen.  Mad Bear and Big Wolf could have gone to California after starting a war with the white soldiers, for all he knew, or gone to tell the Great White Father how poorly they were being treated by Agent Tom.  From what he had heard, they were drunk enough to do all of that before they sobered up.  Something about them certainly had gotten to Agent Tom, Bad Foot realized, the way he was acting.

Seeing Bad Foot running from Agent Tom’s jailhouse office, an old woman told him to go to Black Robe’s chapel to hide in safety.  To the Lakota, Father Patrick Fitzgerald was Black Robe.  A rotund man with fat reddish cheeks, who always seemed to be out of breath, Father Patrick Fitzgerald was a Catholic priest from back East.  He was a good and decent man, although slightly naive, who understood little about the Lakota and how their life on the Great Plains had been before the arrival of the white man.  He was well-intentioned, though, and most of the Lakota on the Talking Rock Reservation had come to respect him for his kindness.  They forgave him for his many misgivings about them and paid him the homage due to a priest, even though they understood little of what he told them about his church’s teachings.

Father Black Robe, as most on the reservation conflated his name, told the Lakota that there was only one way they could enter his Heaven, and that was if they tended to his faith exclusively.  Those who thought they wanted to spend their life after this one in Father Black Robe’s Heaven accepted his word as truth and were blessed in holy rite.  Those who weren’t so sure about the Catholic faith confessed to more than was necessary and continued in the ways of their people.  There were many, however, who weren’t sure they wanted to spend their time in the white man’s hereafter, no matter how good Father Black Robe made it sound.  They had been treated badly by the white man to this point, why would it be any different in his hereafter, they questioned?

Agent Tom had tried to run Father Fitzgerald off of the reservation when he first arrived, but Father Fitzgerald had held his ground, taking Agent Tom to court.  The Lakota should have his faith, Father Fitzgerald petitioned, as well as civilization’s law and order.  The court agreed.  This was the nineteenth century, after all, Father Fitzgerald could deliver the Word.  Father Fitzgerald would guide the spiritual lives of the Lakota of Talking Rock Reservation, whether they wanted it or not, the judge decreed, while Agent Tom Laughlin would rule their secular lives under the guise of furthering their best interests.  In this manner, the court ordered, the separation of church and state would be upheld for the Sioux just as it was for those who had stolen their land and way of life.

When these white men were done with them, it had become clear to the Lakota of Talking Rock, there would be nothing left to their way of life.  As it was, however, Father Fitzgerald’s arrival was to prove fortuitous for them, as they would come under his protection.  Father Fitzgerald made it clear to the Sioux that it would be an unholy act for any man to shoot another man in his church.  It would be especially egregious for a white man to shoot an Indian in his sanctuary, he clarified, referencing Agent Tom, the most despicable of white men in his eyes.

As Father Black Robe turned out to be an advocate for them, the elders of the tribe let him stay.  Had they wanted, they could have driven him back to where he had come from, if not to madness.  Even Chief had spoken up for Father Black Robe, which was unusual for a medicine man.  This man would do much to insulate them from the other white men who ruled over their lives, he explained.  Men who weren’t so fair and kind to them as this black-robed one.

VI

Bad Foot had found the means to ease the pain and anguish of his dilemma of being caught between the wishes of his people and the demands of his white chief.  News of Mad Bear and Big Wolf came to Chief by way of the members of their tribe, and Agent Tom with his whiskey wanted to know where they were.  It was because of this that Bad Foot traveled between Chief’s tepee and Agent Tom’s jailhouse office to tell Agent Tom what he thought would merit drink.

Agent Tom listened to Bad Foot’s stories, looking for a thread of truth in any of them, but finding none.  He already knew from other sources the rumors that were circulating the reservation.  He had even planted a few stories of his own, but some of the tales Bad Foot brought him were simply intolerable.  Someday, he considered, he would get even with this old Indian for insulting him with his lies.  Did Bad Foot really think he was that stupid, Agent Tom questioned himself.  Perhaps a few cold winter nights tied naked to the horses’ hitching post would cure him of that thought, his bare butt stuck in the freezing waters of the drinking trough.

Increasingly, Agent Tom was being overtaken by a foul and dark mood.  He didn’t need the aggravation of Mad Bear and Big Wolf leaving the reservation, making him look like an incompetent fool to the rest of the tribe.  If word of this got to his superiors back East, he would be through.  There would be an investigation as to the facts, officials would be looking into his job performance, as well as his past, and he knew he couldn’t withstand that kind of scrutiny.  He had gotten this job because of his young nephew who was up and coming in the government, not on merit of his own.  The truth of the matter was that his past, which he had so far hidden from the government officials, would only condemn him, not garner him a job within their ranks.  A job he only took out of desperation.

VII

Mad Bear wasn’t as crazy as it had been said of him.  There were times, however, when even he wasn’t so sure.  This was one of those times.  They had been riding for days, but in the expanse of the Great Plains, it seemed like they had gotten nowhere.  He and Big Wolf were tired and hungry, worn-out from their exposure to the elements of the day and night alike.  It was early spring.  The days were warm enough, but the nights were cold, and these two were ill-prepared for their run, having left the reservation with only the guns they weren’t allowed and the clothes they wore.

We’ve done it to ourselves good this time, Mad Bear, who was a year older than Big Wolf, finally admitted.

Looks like it, Big Wolf answered in the affirmative, having already begun to question the sanity of their flight.  Being the more thoughtful of the two, a look of concern was etched across his face.

The two