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the death toll had been awful, and the Sioux were as angry as they had been at the height of the epidemics. And there were more whites than ever on the Plains. Agents of the government seemed to be everywhere, and settlers flowed in increasing numbers, almost a flood now. Raids on the wagon trains had continued, but some Sioux wanted nothing to do with the whites, not even vengeance.
    On orders from the new Indian Commissioner, David Mitchell, the agents tracked down every band they could find to tell them that the Great Father in Washington had a message for them. He wanted peace, they said, and promised that it would be worth their while. There was to be a great council at a new fort on the Laramie River, not far from Fort William, called Fort Laramie.
    By August 1851, more than ten thousand Plains Indians had gathered at the fort. Not only Sioux attended, but Shoshoni, Cheyenne, and Crow also put in an appearance. There had never been a larger gathering of Indians on the Plains. None of the old men could remember such a council.
    The soldiers at the fort were awed by the huge gathering. For the first time, many of them began to be afraid. They had had no idea that there were so many warriors out there all, so far as they knew or cared, bloodthirsty savages upon whose whims the fate of all white men depended. When they lookedaround the fort, its rows of buildings open on all sides, surrounded only by adobe walls that looked too feeble for their purpose, they couldn’t help but wish they had the safety of a stockade, like Fort William, to interpose between themselves and their charges.
    For the Sioux, too, it was a revelation. All of them, but especially the young, had a chance to meet deadly enemies without fear. They were free to play games, to stage mock raids on one another’s camps. Despite the language barrier, communication was no problem. Sign language more than compensated for the disparity in tongues.
    And the gathering had one primary purpose—to make absolutely certain that the Oregon Trail would not be cut. In order for this to happen, the whites were prepared to make concessions. They would make cash payments to each of the tribes, and agree to present them with huge quantities of trade goods on an annual basis. In exchange, the Sioux and Crow, the Cheyenne and the Shoshoni, would agree not to wage war on the wagon trains, and, a new wrinkle, not to wage war on each other. Intertribal violence was a surefire incitement to continued aggression against the whites, and the government agents were wise enough to understand it.
    But the undertaking of the council was sabotaged by the paltry understanding of Plains Indian customs held by the whites. Not only did they not understand the relations between tribes, they also failed to understand the lines of authority, and especially the limits of that authority, within each tribe.
    Used to negotiating with kings and diplomats, men authorized to speak for entire nations, they expected the Sioux and the Cheyenne to deal the same way. When Mitchell learned that there was no head chief of the Sioux, he decided to create one. For reasons that no one seemed to understand, he settled on Conquering Bear.
    Conquering Bear was a Brule, and a distinguished warrior, but he could no more speak for all the Sioux than he could speak for all the Brule. That wasn’t how things worked, but the whites were determined to make it so.
    So, after a month of discussions, the chiefs meeting almost daily with Mitchell and the agents, agreement was reached. On the day the treaty was to be signed, all the chiefs, one for each of the tribes represented, appeared at the center of the huge gathering. Each of them wore the uniform of a U.S. Army general, complete with braid and a gilt sword. The military regalia was made somewhat incongruous, however, because the chiefs had elected to make their appearance in full war paint. One by one, the chiefs stepped forward to make their marks on the white