Do You See Me

Crow rider impressing the 7th cavalry with his riding skill

The parade of the troopers showed their massed formation with each cavalry member dressed in their best uniforms, and carrying their newest weapons and using their military bearing to its best advantage. They wanted to appear to be invincible to the tribes who didn’t utilize this type of concentrated warfare.

There were times before the situation between the tribes and the whites became too adversarial that the two soon to be warring parties had contact. When this happened it was an occasion for them to impress each other with their strength and abilities, and especially their power.

The Indians on the other hand fought a more individual style of warfare with warriors banding together in large or small groups, but with each individual having his own style of riding and fighting, and they used their body paint as both a protection and a warning to all seeing them how powerful they were. Taunting their enemies with war cries and declarations of their strength and bravery were common even if they didn’t understand each other’s language.

The rider above is showing his prowess by his horsemanship and daring with his riding skill while calling out his challenge to the troopers watching him. “Do you see me? I am not afraid of your bullets. I welcome meeting you in Battle”. There was no fighting this day but it wasn’t long before each side would test their style of combat for better or worse.

Into The Storm

It was the usual warm day up in Montana that early morning of June 25th. The sun was out, bringing a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. A few big, bulging clouds made their towering way across the sky, like huge slow moving dreadnoughts under all the sail they had, billowing and straining, moving majestically from West to East.

The scuttlebut was that today was the day. Something big was going to happen and the tension was so thick it made the hair stand up on your arms. The enemy was close and everything felt like it was going to bust loose any second.

Like happens every day in Montana the weather changed. The slow moving clouds so white and pure the moment before began to turn into that dark ominous grayish black underbelly that foretold a storm was coming. A big one from the looks of it. Thunder and the occasional lightning strike was seen and heard across the low rolling hills to the West. That and the electricity of the moment had the horses on the picket lines spooked as the wind picked up.

Suddenly all hell broke loose as the advance group of troopers already mounted and riding along the picket lines, the bugler sounding “To Horse, to horse” on his bugle, let everyone know this is it, mount up. They were about to ride into the storm.