The Indian Ring (7 page)

HARTWELL

Robert M. Hartwell was born in 1840 in Baltimore, Maryland. His father was a Baptist minister and his mother was a housewife. Robert was very intelligent and an excellent student in school. His one drawback was that he was stunted at birth and was extremely short and slender his whole life.

He was bullied and teased in school growing up because of his slight stature. The worst of the lot were the Baxter bullies. All the kids called them that behind their backs because it aptly described them. Both boys were very large and very mean.

Robert devised a scheme and stopped in at a general store, which had a huge selection of guns, on his way home. This was something Robert frequently did. He stared in particular at two matched derringers, .45-caliber Philadelphia derringers. They were displayed with a leather bag of ammunition and were in a felt-lined cherrywood box. One day, Robert went behind the downtown buildings and set fire to a millinery down the street from the general store. Soon, a bucket brigade was formed and everyone ran to watch. He ran into
the store, unseen, stole the guns and ammo, went out the back door, and headed home, his heart pounding.

He was small but his arms were strong from splitting wood for the fireplace and cooking stove, so he soon developed the ability to absorb the recoil of both guns. He could only practice so much, because he could not come up with more power and ball for the guns.

The Baxter bullies had a farm just outside town overlooking one of the many wooded creeks in the area. Besides being mean, the two loved fishing. One summer morning, they arrived at the fishing hole with some grubs and red worms they had saved up for this day. Their plan was to catch a lot of sunfish and bluegills, and maybe a crappie or two. They sat down in their favorite spots along the creek bank, and Robert came out of hiding. Spotting him, one stood while the other remained seated. Robert grinned evilly and drew both derringers out, shooting both boys in the face point-blank. He stared at their faces in death for a few moments and then ran, undetected. Mrs. Baxter heard the distant gunshots, then thought it might be the neighbor shooting groundhogs. People were mystified at the shocking murders of the Baxter boys but the murders remained unsolved.

Robert was pretty much guiltless about the whole affair, even burning down the store just to create a diversion. What he wanted to accomplish was all that was important to him. This success would set a pattern in his life.

He learned that the woman who owned the millinery store lost everything. The store burned to the ground, but in young Hartwell's mind, she was simply another Baxter bully to be used and cast aside for his needs. At the funeral of the two boys, it seemed like half the town showed up and many tears flowed. Instead of feeling remorse, this emboldened him. Not even a teenager yet, Robert was a complete sociopath.
Worse yet, he knew that he could get away with whatever he chose to do in order to pursue whatever goal he was after.

As time passed, Robert did not grow in stature, but he grew alarmingly in ruthlessness. By the time he was full grown, he had murdered several more boys, two grown men, and one woman. In each case, it was to rob those people of large sums of money, with which he used to buy a wardrobe of respectability, or so it was in his mind.

He started acquiring gun hands and heavies, always the most ruthless, insisting that they wear expensive suits. Something psychologically made him do this, thinking it somehow made him more respectable. Little did he know that decades later, men like Alphonse Capone and Meyer Lansky would be born to a similar life, and would become known as gangsters. Hartwell always wore tailored suits and rode expensive Thoroughbred horses.

One of the defining moments of his life came in his mid-twenties. He had consorted with many bawdy-house women since his mid-teens, but he accidentally found a woman who took his breath away. She was only a few inches taller than he, which was unusual as most women were much taller. She had strawberry-colored hair and owned a large restaurant in Saint Louis, and she had inherited a very large estate from her wealthy parents in New York. Isabella did not trust banks or attorneys at all, because of her late father's outspoken opinions.

She made the mistake of letting Robert see her tens of thousands of dollars in cash stored in her large safe, leaving him on the horns of a dilemma. There really was not much of a moral struggle in his mind. She was a woman he cared for, yes, but this was cash that would help him further his quest for his version of power, riches, and fame. He killed her and burned her down with her house. His sacrifice was
one of his nice suits, which was singed in fire. He even put a minor burn on his arm when he acted like he was trying to get into the inferno to save her when townspeople rushed up.

Now, his black horse stabled in a stock car, Robert Hartwell was on his way back to Washington, D.C., to meet with Belknap. Through his own extensive network, he knew that the Pinkertons had Skinny Tom in custody, and he knew the man's character. He would definitely talk. In fact, Hartwell knew that he would sing like a canary. An all-out plan would need to be developed to wipe out, bribe, or blackmail the Pinkerton leadership, and Joshua Strongheart definitely would have to be killed. Hartwell wanted to get to Washington and meet with his former boss, William Belknap, and figure out the best way to do this. The ambush attempts were obviously not working at all. They also had to meet with other members of the Indian Ring to figure out how to make even more millions at the hands of the tribes who had signed treaties. They would also discuss their brand-new victory. Presidential hopeful Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer and a battalion from his 7th Cavalry regiment had just been wiped out, to a man, by a combined force of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho warriors. The only living friendly to survive was the badly wounded horse of Captain Myles Keogh, a horse named Comanche. It would be treated and live many more years in the lap of equine luxury. Major Reno and Lieutenant Colonel Benteen and their battalions were also attacked but survived in battles farther down the valley of the Little Big Horn River. This was what Hartwell had hoped for, a major red victory, which would fan the flames of hatred and anger toward the red man and only help further the goals of the Indian Ring.

The Indian Ring had already initiated and created a market for buffalo robes and had tourists even shooting bison
from trains for sport, with teams of hide hunters slaughtering them by the dozens each day. Each incursion killed hundreds of thousands of bison. This was the staple of the major plains tribes such as the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho. The reasoning was, if the buffalo vanished, so would the Plains tribes. Gold had been discovered in the Black Hills, but it was a sacred ground for the Lakota and prospectors were flooding into the Black Hills.

Ephraim Johnson was far and away the largest and strongest man that Robert Hartwell had ever seen in his life. He was taller and broader than anybody they ever encountered, and he was Hartwell's toughest and most trusted henchman. If he grabbed a table, a log, a chair, or anything, it moved.

The train started slowing down and soon was at a crawl, so Hartwell summoned Ephraim to check it out. Ten minutes later, he returned to the tin man's private car.

He said, “Boss, there is thousands a buffalo blocking the tracks, thousands!”

Hartwell grinned, standing and fetching a Sharps .45–70 long-range buffalo rifle.

He said, “Grab weapons, boys! We're going to shoot bison!”

As he walked through the next passenger car, Hartwell, laughing, yelled out, “Come on, gentlemen. Thousands of buffalo out here for us to shoot at, grab your weapons.”

Men rose throughout the car and followed Hartwell's gang out the back door and soon shots rang out from all over the now-still train.

Almost blocking out the sun with his body mass, Ephraim led them forward to a flat car and Hartwell and his men took firing positions, and soon the large hairy beasts' bodies were lying everywhere in perfect position to start rotting in the prairie sun.

Robert Hartwell smiled seeing the crimson carnage all about them. This was becoming a major strategy of the Indian Ring: getting people to kill as many bison as possible, with ridiculous strategies such as this, and manipulating the commercial market for buffalo robes. The Plains tribes were so dependent on the large herds of bison all over the frontier prairies, the Indian Ring felt that they could see the demise of the troublesome Plains tribes commensurate with the destruction of the bison. This would open up the Black Hills much more for the exploration and prospecting of gold all over the Lakota/Cheyenne/Arapaho sacred hunting grounds and there were many under-the-table deals with mining companies connected with such exploration. Having Custer killed at the hands of the red hostiles was very fortuitous, because he was very popular in some quarters as he had presidential aspirations. He felt that his former boss in Washington would have many plums for his pie from investors in trading posts all over the West, when he got there because of the Ring's recent successes. Custer's death was his biggest key.

THE BATTLE

Joshua Strongheart was grim-faced and determined as he left the hospital. He was going to Washington to find Robert Hartwell and probably kill him and all his men. This was a strange challenge, as he had never been back east where civilization was more structured, more established, more settled.

The tall half-breed was saddling Eagle when the arrow hit the wall of the livery stable high above his head. He looked up and saw it was a Minniconjou Lakota arrow, a signal to him. Someone had come to the land of the
wasicun
to speak with him.

Joshua saddled up and rode into the darkness in the direction the arrow had flown from. He was near the edge of the massive town, which had been growing since 1860 when it had maybe five thousand residents and within a few years its population would reach greater than one hundred thousand.

He heard a bird whistle from the trees that ran along the creek that poured into centralized Cherry Creek. Joshua swung Eagle toward the sound and the big paint stuck his ears forward, seeing the person with his large eyes and smelling
them with his flaring nostrils long before Strongheart would see them. As he dismounted, the shadowy figure ran forward and threw small arms around him. It was Joshua's beautiful cousin Lila Wiya Waste. Joshua could not help himself. He wanted to take her to the ground right there and make love to her the rest of the night. She was truly beautiful and truly loved this tall half-breed relative of hers. She reached up with both arms and pulled his lips down to hers. Strongheart kissed his cousin passionately and thoughts swirled in his head. He pictured Belle that he had loved so much and missed her touch and kisses so. He pulled away and pushed Lila back. Neither of them spoke, just stared into the other's shadowed face.

She said, “Wanji Wambli, we must talk. Follow me.”

They mounted up and rode northwest, leaving Denver's lights behind them and riding into the foothills, which gave way to the snowcapped peaks that were clearly visible during the day. An hour later, Lila pulled into a tight grove of trees and boulders with a small creek running through it. There was a second pony grazing there, which gave a welcoming whinny when they rode up. They dismounted, unsaddled, and Joshua rubbed Eagle down with some dry grass.

In minutes, Lila had a nice fire going, which she had already built earlier. It was clear to him she had camped here several days already. Neither spoke while Strongheart put on a pot and made coffee. He turned to see his beautiful cousin totally naked, the light on the fire dancing on the many curves of her body. Joshua poured two cups of coffee and handed one to her.

He said slowly, “My beautiful cousin, please pull your dress back up.”

She reached down, staring at him all the while, her chest heaving in and out rhythmically, and pulled the elkskin dress up, tying it over each shapely shoulder.

Joshua kept seeing the image of her nakedness, and he wondered why he had to be so principled. He wanted to hold her, caress her so badly.

He said, “Your name is Beautiful Woman, because you are. I was wrong to kiss you and will not do it again.”

She interrupted, “Why Joshua? You are in my heart, where you have lived for many summers.”

He said, “You are my cousin. You are almost like my sister.”

“No,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

“Hear me,” he said firmly. “I must speak on this. Lila, I have thought many days about Belle and how much I loved her. The
wasicun
had a great storyteller and his words, all his tales, have lived well beyond his death. He told a story of great love called Romeo and Juliet, and he wrote:

‘Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,

Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty;

Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,

And death's pale flag is not advanced there.'

“That was Romeo speaking to his lover Juliet, lying dead before him. He was basically telling her that she was still beautiful, even in death, and that is what I have remembered of Belle. I saw her in death, and she was butchered by We Wiyake, but in my mind here, I see her only as the beautiful woman I loved.”

Lila put her hand up and sipped her coffee.

She said, “I have brought you much news, but this is what I wanted to speak to you about. Yes, I have always loved you, Joshua, but my heart tells me to speak to you because I love you. I know you loved Belle so, and you miss her like
you would miss the air if your breath was taken away from you. I must ask you a question. Have you not almost been killed by the mighty bear?”

Strongheart said, “Yes.”

She said, “And my husband was killed by the mighty bear long ago, and your father, my uncle, was almost killed by the mighty bear saving your mother. Is this not right?”

“Yes,” he said wondering what she was getting at.

“Then, why did you follow me to this place? Are there not bears here?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why do you ride alone all over the country where the mighty bear lives? Why do you camp at night alone, by yourself, when you know the bear will smell your food and come?” she asked.

Joshua said, “Just because a few bears have hurt me or hurt people I know or killed some, I cannot live my life afraid of them. I just have to be careful, that's all.”

He thought about his words as Lila grinned at him.

She said, “You loved Belle with all your heart. You wanted to marry her and to have little children. You wanted to spend your nights with her under your buffalo robe and your days with her at your side.”

“Yes,” he said.

Lila went on, “But she was stolen from you by the Evil One. Her life was snatched away like that,” as she snapped her fingers.

The beauty went on, “Your heart was ripped from your chest and you looked to the Great Mystery and cried out, ‘Why?'”

Joshua got choked up.

His cousin continued, “So, now you are not afraid of the mighty bear whose claws and teeth tore your flesh, but you
are afraid of love, which has no teeth. It has no claws. I always thought that the mighty Wanji Wambli feared nothing.”

Her words hit Joshua like a punch in the stomach, and he wanted to vomit.

He headed for the darkness, saying over his shoulder, “I have to go pass my water, Lila.”

Deep in the trees, Strongheart started sobbing and pounded the cottonwood tree before him. He wept and wept like he had never wept before. He looked skyward and wept even more, but these were cleansing tears. His beautiful cousin he had taught so many things to had just given him the answer that had been eating away at his heart. He dried his tears and washed his face in the stream and dried it.

Then, he returned to their campsite. Lila was sitting by the fire drinking coffee. She poured him a fresh cup, and he nodded, sipping on the hot brew. He loved the taste.

Finally, Joshua spoke, “Sweet Lila, my cousin, I told you of our great storyteller William Shakespeare. He also said, ‘A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.' I thought I knew how to handle Belle's death, but I did not until you gave me words of wisdom. Shakespeare also said, ‘Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.'”

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully and said, “What that means is me acting like a true warrior, a true man, is more important than death itself. I can no longer run from loving again, because then I would not be Joshua Strongheart. I would no longer be Wanji Wambli, One Eagle. I should then be named One Rabbit.”

Lila took a long sip of coffee and said, “I love you, Joshua.”

He said, “I love you, too, Lila and you must understand, I desire you very much, too, but our love can never be.”

“Why?” she said, tears flooding her eyes, “I do not care
that you are my cousin. I cannot look at other men. I only think of you and see them as little boys standing behind you, waiting for your shadow to fall on them.”

Strongheart said, “Lila, I am red and white. I love to hunt the wapiti with my bow, and sit around a good fire telling stories and making trades, but I also love to read Shakespeare and go to cities, eat in restaurants, and more. I love my job very much. I will not live in the red world the rest of my life, and you would not be happy living as a white woman would. My father was right when he left my mother. It is hard when you have a heart that is red and a heart that is white, but if you lived in the world of the
wasicun
, it would be even harder for you. You gave me words of great wisdom. Now, we must use that same wisdom to think on this matter, and in your heart you know I am right.”

She started sobbing, and Strongheart moved over to her and embraced her, letting her lay her face on his large chest and cry. He stroked her hair softly and thought about doing that so often with Belle. He held her for a good half hour, until she was done crying. She looked up into his dark eyes.

“Joshua,” she said, “Kiss me one last time as Lila, not as your cousin, so I can always remember it.”

Without hesitation, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, longing for more, but not allowing himself to give way to the passion. He kissed her the way he knew he must for this would be the last such kiss. Their lips parted, and she smiled at his handsome face, but her bosom was heaving up and down like a runner after a long race.

“Yes, in my heart, I know,” she said simply.

Lila moved back to the log where she had been sitting and poured more coffee, drinking it and smiling bravely. She had processed it in her mind and heart that quickly. She then got up and walked to her parfleche, where she retrieved
a large rolled-up piece of dried leather. Strongheart was curious but quiet while he poured her and himself more coffee, as she unrolled the leather piece.

They sat by the fire, and looked at the crude map of the Little Big Horn River valley and the giant encampment of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho. Circles of simple depictions of teepees were all along the river, each representing a tribe or clan. Green paint showed him trees, mainly along the river, and there were arrows and places where soldiers in blue coats lay, apparently dead.

Lila explained, “The elders were going to send a chief to speak with you, but I asked them many times to send me,”

Joshua was growing alarmed and wanted to understand.

Lila said, “Long Hair Custer is dead and all his men.”

Joshua was in shock and immediately thought of his friend and Chief of Scouts Chris Colt.

“My friend Chris Colt?” he asked simply.

“He lives,” she replied with a big smile.

“All the
wasicun
are now speaking about the Battle of the Greasy Grass, but they call it the Battle of the Little Big Horn,” she said. “But Sitting Bull wanted you to know the true story from the red men who were there, because Long Hair wanted to be the great White Father in Washington, and Sitting Bull knows the hearts of men. Some who want him to be chief will say Long Hair was a great warrior, and others will say he was a bad man with a badger in his heart. What I tell you comes from the mouth of Sitting Bull. He has packed up the lodges and the people head toward Canada, because the bluecoats will now be very angry.”

Joshua was still in a bit of shock but not really surprised.

Lila said, “Sitting Bull said that Long Hair made a very big mistake. When the long knives would attack our lodges before, the chiefs would take the men and flee because our
warriors are so few. We had to think about the war, not one battle. This time though, our people were like the bees in a hive. When they attacked the big village, the
wasicun
kept getting stung and could hide nowhere from the angry bees, our people. First, your friend Colt had become friends with Crazy Horse. He tried to come to the big village before the battle to speak with Crazy Horse and stop the battle. Crazy Horse had him tied and bound and held in the camp during the attack, because Colt would not give his word that he would not warn Custer.”

Joshua started chuckling and shook his head while he poured them both more coffee. Lila took a break and went to the stream and washed her face. He stared at her bent over the stream, and grinned at himself. He was a man, and white or red, she was indeed one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. He wondered why he could not be more like other men and satisfy his natural impulses instead of trying to do what was right. She walked back and sat down, smiling softly, and sipped her coffee.

Lila went on. “Long Hair Custer was one of the first people shot in the battle.”

“He was?” Strongheart said.

“Yes,” she replied. “Our people did not know Long Hair was there. Sitting Bull learned that Long Hair's wife had a dream, a bad dream, and she saw a Lakota warrior holding Long Hair's bloody scalp high in the air. He had to promise his wife to cut off all his hair. So he was riding one of his big red horses.”

Strongheart remembered seeing the two magnificent chestnut Thoroughbreds and interjected, “Vic and Dandy.”

“They just knew this man was a chief, and he wore buckskins like Long Hair, but they did not know it was him until the battle ended,” she went on. “He led one force down
Medicine Tail Coulee, right here”—she pointed on the map—“and tried to attack the big village. Sitting Bull's nephew, Yellow Bull, and two other old men were behind some dirt along the Greasy Grass.”

Strongheart interjected, “I met Yellow Bull when I was there for the sun dance.”

“He was the one who shot Long Hair, as he ran across the river,” she said. “He was hit in the chest, and they stopped the attack. Two men jumped down and helped him back on his horse. He was with his brother's group of men. They ran up the hill on the ridge with many Lakota and Cheyenne all around them shooting many bullets and arrows.
Wasicun
were dying very fast. Only one horse lived. Custer was almost dead, and up on the hill where they made their stand, he pulled out his pistol and shot himself here.” Lila pointed at her temple.