““See, I am rich while you are poor … having to beg for the white man’s coffee and sugar. I need none of that. I need none of the wasichu’s flour. I need only the buffalo and the old ways. Come join us!” Like the mighty gathering of the shaggy buffalo itself into herds with numbers beyond count, all the more Sioux came to the Rosebud those first cool days of early June. The tribes gathered on the prairie uplands, marching but a few miles each day toward that ages-blessed crescent of the Mountain...s of the Wolves. There this year the cool waters of the Rosebud had trickled beside the great Sun Dance ceremony and given The Bull his electrifying vision. Here the people celebrated anew at each camp among the hills and bluffs, mesas and bottomlands strewn with conifers and aspen, birch and alder, all lifting their heady perfumes to the summer blue above. Here the people joined in races and wrestling, the dancing and singing, the drumming and always the courting by the young ones. As was custom the head men hosted great councils of war, welcoming in each new band as it arrived, opening their arms to the visiting cousins: more Northern Cheyenne and even some Arapaho who had wandered north to remain free of the white invasion of their ancient tribal lands.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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