Indians!

Cheyenne Army Scouts led by Lt. E.W. Casey, December, 1890, during the Ghost Dance troubles.

Cheyenne Scouts sketched by Frederick Remington.

Back among my ancestors is a northern Cheyenne Army Scout.  He served with the 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry, out of Fort Keogh, Montana.  I still have relatives living in Lame Deer and Ashland, Montana.  I like to visit the area when I can and see the herds of antelope, visit the buffalo preserves, take in the big sky and the endless horizon.  It's all peaceful now, but not all that long ago, as history is reckoned, it was  the scene of legendary battles.

2nd Lt. George Grummond and the Lakota Sioux American Horse.

The poet John Neihard wrote an epic five-volume narrative poem about the plains Indian wars called Cycle of the West.  At one time, it was called the American Iliad.  Now good luck even finding a copy.  The last two volumes were of especial interest to me, and, in particular, the final volume, The Song of the Messiah, which recounts the ending days of it all, with the desperate, pathetic Ghost Dance episode, culminating at Wounded Knee, where my ancestor fought, but with the US Army.  We have a letter of commendation from 22nd Infantry commander Col. Peter Swaine praising his conduct and remarking that he had never known of a Springfield carbine "put to such speedy and accurate use."  I don't know what to feel about that.
 I don't know anything about my ancestor's life other than what is reflected in his service records.  He was paid $25 a month, which doesn't seem like much, but apparently a regular cavalry trooper was paid just $13 a month, so he was making pretty good money, I guess.
Mostly, he would have been scouting against the Sioux, the northern Cheyenne's traditional enemy, although during the fiercest fighting of the plains wars, the Cheyenne and Sioux had been allied, most notably during Red Cloud's War in 1866, which they won, and during the summer campaign of 1876, which they also won.

But by the next year the Army had Cheyenne scouts leading them against the Sioux, which they defeated.  It's a strange story.  And like much of the Indian wars, confusing and, inevitably, sad.  You don't know who to root for.  At least I don't.  Though, of course, it was impossible for the plains Indians to win.  The wheels of history had turned and a new age had dawned, one in which the Indian had no place, except and unless he surrendered his old life, his old ways, his old culture, and adopted the new.  How hard that must have been, and no wonder so many Indians resisted to the bitter end.
But my ancestor bowed to the inevitable and followed the old advice, if you can't beat them, join them.  I suppose it helped that he was fighting against old foes.  But also more recent allies.
I don't know.  It was what it was. 

Negotiating with  hostile Sioux, sketch by Remington. 

 They said that we might hunt our buffalo 
In this our land 
Forever. 
Now they come 
To break that promise. 
Shall we cower, dumb? 
Or shall we say: 
First kill us — here we stand!

~ From Book Five, The Twilight of the Sioux, of
John Neihard's Cycle of the West

Antelope on the Northern Cheyenne reservation.