Soldiers Falling Into Camp

I was taking inventory the other day and I came across a pencil drawing I had done some years ago of Crow Indian Dancers at the annual Crow Fair in Crow Agency, Montana. This gathering is a big deal for the Crow. Representatives of all invited tribes show up for a week or so of celebration. A show of feathers, dress, hoopla and regalia. Horse races are big.


I used to be a Lease Agent on the Crow Reservation, representing the Padlock Ranch who was the largest land holder on the rez to the tune of about 250,000 acres give or take a few thousand depending on the year. I had roughly 1400 individual Crows that I dealt with every year involving a little over $1,000,000 in lease payments. It was sort of like running a little bank as money was loaned against the leases, and of course this all had to be accounted for.

One of “my Indians”, Fredrick Lefthand, along with a couple of other fellas wrote a book titled “Soldiers Falling Into Camp”, so titled because of a vision Sitting Bull had just days prior to the famous battle involving Custer against the Sioux and the Northern Cheyenne. Fredrick gave me a personalized copy.

I’m sure you are familiar with the battle from our history books. What is unique about this book is that it is from the Indian’s perspective of the time. Many of my Crow “friends” still harbored great resentment toward the “white man”, often expressing their anger against me. I continually had to remind them that I had nothing to do with the matter, and besides, at the time of the battle, my ancestors were still in Norway. If necessary, I would remind them that the Crow fought on the side of Custer…so there. That generally ended the argument. The Crow are embarrassed by their alliance with Custer although they were enemies of the Sioux and Cheyenne at the time.

The Crow Reservation surrounds the Custer Battlefield or the Battle of the Little Bighorn National Park as it is known today. I leased much of this land for the Padlock and became very familiar with the names of the creeks and drainages of the battle site and those traversed by Custer and his various regiments as they approached the Indian encampment on the Little Big Horn. Ash Creek, the Rosebud, Medicine Man Coulee and of course the Little Big Horn. I’ve stood on the very ground, alone, in the still heat of a certain June day and it was easy to imagine. I have to admit an eerie feeling and tingling of my skin. Hmmm. Material for a painting I suppose.