Over a hundred years ago, when many of the Lakota people were still living in what now is Minnesota, there was a band of Hunkpapa at Spirit Lake under a chief called Tawa Makoce,meaning His Country.
It was his country, too – Indian country, until they were finally driven across the Mni Shoshay: The Big Muddy, the Missouri.
In his youth the chief had been one of the greatest warriors. Later when his fighting days were over,he was known as a wise leader, invaluable in council, and as a great giver of feasts, a provider for the poor.
The chief had three sons and one daughter. The sons tried to be warriors as mighty as their father, but that was a hard thing to do. Again and again they battled the Crow Indians with reckless bravery, exposing themselves in the front rank, fighting hand to hand, until one by one they all were killed.
Now only his daughter was left to the sad old chief. Some say her name was Makhta. Others call her Winyan Ohitika, Brave Woman.
The girl was beautiful and proud. Many young men sent their fathers to the old chief with gifts of fine horses that were preliminary to marriage
Among those who desired her for a wife was a young warrior named Red Horn, himself the son of a chief, who sent his father again and again to ask for her hand. But Brave Woman would not marry.
“I will not take a husband,” she said, “until I have counted coup on the Crows to avenge my dead brothers.”
Another young man who loved Brave Woman was Wanblee Cikala, or Little Eagle.
He was too shy to declare his love, because he was a poor boy who had never been able to distinguish himself.
At this time the Kangi Oyate, the Crow nation, made a great effort to establish themselves along the banks of the upper Missouri in country which the Sioux considered their own.
The Sioux decide to send out a strong war party to chase them back, and among the young men riding out were Red Horn and Little Eagle.
“I shall ride with you,” Brave Woman said.
She put on her best dress of white buckskin richly decorated with beads and porcupine quills, and around her neck she wore a choker of dentalium shells. She went to the old chief.
“Father,” she said, “I must go to the place where my brothers died. I must count coup for them. Tell me that I can go.”
The old chief wept with pride and sorrow. “You are my last child,” he said, “and I fear for you and for a lonely old age without children to comfort me.
But your mind has long been made up. I see that you must go; do it quickly.
Wear my war-bonnet into battle. Go and do not look back.”
And so his daughter, taking her brothers’ weapons and her father’s war-bonnet and best war pony, rode out with the warriors.
They found an enemy village so huge that it seemed to contain the whole Crow nation – hundreds of men and thousands of horses. There were many more Crows than Sioux, but the Sioux attacked nevertheless.
Brave Woman was a sight to stir the warriors to great deeds. To Red Horn she gave her oldest brother’s lance and shield. “Count coup for my dead brother,” she said. To Little Eagle she gave her second brother’s bow and arrows. “Count coup for him who owned these,” she told him. To another young warrior she gave her youngest brother’s war club. She herself carried only
her father’s old, curved coup-stick wrapped in otter fur.
At first Brave Woman held back from the fight. She supported the Sioux by singing brave-heart songs and by making the shrill, trembling war cry with which Indian women encourage their men.
But when the Sioux, including her own warriors from the Hunkpapa band, were driven back by overwhelming numbers, she rode into the midst of the battle. She did not try to kill her enemies, but counted coup left and right, touching them with her coup-stick. With a woman fighting so bravely among them, what Sioux warrior could think of retreat?
Still, the press of the Crow and their horses drove the Sioux back a second time. Brave Woman’s horse was hit by a musket bullet and went down. She was on foot, defenseless, when Red Horn passed her on his speckled pony. She was too proud to call out for help, and he pretended not to see her.
Then Little Eagle came riding toward her out of the dust of battle. He dismounted and told her to get on his horse. She did, expecting him to climb up behind her, but he would not.
“This horse is wounded and too weak to carry us both,” he said.
“I won’t leave you to be killed,” she told him.
He took her brother’s bow and struck the horse sharply with it across the rump. The horse bolted, as he intended, and Little Eagle went back into battle on foot. Brave Woman herself rallied the warriors for a final charge,
which they made with such fury that the Crows had to give way at last.
This was the battle in which the Crow nation was driven away from the Missouri for good. It was a great victory, but many brave young men died.
Among them was Little Eagle, struck down with his face to the enemy.
The Lakota warriors broke Red Horn’s bow, took his eagle feathers from him, and sent him home.
But they placed the body of Little Eagle on a high scaffold on the spot where the enemy camp had been.
They killed his horse to serve him in the land of many lodges.
“Go willingly,” they told the horse. “Your master has need of you in the spirit world.”
Brave Woman gashed her arms and legs with a sharp knife. She cut her hair short and tore her white buckskin dress. Thus she mourned for Little Eagle.
They had not been man and wife; in fact he had hardly dared speak to her or look at her, but now she asked everybody to treat her as if she were the young warrior’s widow.
Brave Woman never took a husband, and she never ceased to mourn for Little Eagle.
“I am his widow,” she told everyone. She died of old age. She had done a great thing, and her fame endures.