Wooden Leg was a Northern Cheyenne warrior who fought in the Battle of the Little Bighorn on June 25, 1876. His given name was Kanedo, but he was called Wooden Leg because of a leg injury sustained in an earlier fight with the Crow Nation. He was among the hundreds of Lakota and Cheyenne fighters who opposed George Armstrong Custer’s 7th Cavalry that day.
His account, recorded in later years, offers a rare Native American perspective on one of the most studied battles in American history.
Wooden Leg was sleeping when the first shots rang out. A loud noise woke him, and his brother Yellow Hair stirred as well. The camps were in chaos.
Shooting came from the upper part of the camp circles, and people were running toward the hills to the west or down toward the lower end of the village. Women screamed, men shouted war cries, and old men called for the young warriors to go out and fight.
He ran to his family lodge. His father, Many Wounds, had already caught his favorite horse. Wooden Leg quickly changed clothes, putting on new britches given to him by an Unkpapa Sioux, a good cloth shirt, and beaded moccasins.
He painted his face with a blue-black circle and added red and yellow colors inside. He combed his hair, tied it back with a buckskin thong, and grabbed his bullets, caps, and powder horn. His father urged him to hurry, so he skipped oiling and braiding his hair.
He rode out with the other young men. The air was thick with dust, and he could not see far. Hundreds of Indians were riding in front of soldiers who were shooting rifles.
Wooden Leg rode with the Sioux until they got behind the soldiers, who had mounted and hidden in timber. Some Crow or Shoshone scouts were with the soldiers, but most of them had fled. The Indians surrounded the grove, showering arrows inside while bullets whistled out.
Suddenly the hidden soldiers burst out on horseback. Wooden Leg and his companions initially fled, but they soon realized the soldiers were not chasing them. The soldiers were running away, heading across open valley ground toward the river.
The Indians turned and pursued. The soldier horses were tired; the Indian ponies were lively. Wooden Leg fired four shots from his six-shooter but did not know if any hit their mark.
He saw a Sioux put an arrow into the back of a soldier’s head, and another arrow hit a soldier’s shoulder. Men fell from their horses, killed by arrows, stabbing, or stone war clubs.
Wooden Leg and a warrior named Little Bird chased one soldier. Little Bird was on the right, Wooden Leg on the left. They lashed the soldier and his horse with pony whips, not wanting to waste bullets.
The soldier fired back and hit Little Bird in the thigh. Wooden Leg struck the soldier on the head with the heavy elk-horn handle of his whip. The man was dazed, and Wooden Leg seized the rifle strapped to his back, wrenching it free.
The soldier fell to the ground. Wooden Leg did not harm him further, and the crowd of oncoming Indians swept past.
Three soldiers separated from the others and rode up the valley. Cheyenne warriors Sunbear, Eagle Tail Feather, and Little Sun joined some Sioux in chasing them. One soldier turned toward the river and escaped into timber.
The other two kept going south. One was caught and killed at the top of a gulch. The last soldier rode toward Reno Creek, circled back, and hid in brush across from the creek’s mouth.
The Sioux and Cheyenne surrounded and killed him. They said he fought bravely to the end with his six-shooter.
Wooden Leg followed the fleeing soldiers to the river. Indians swarmed around them as they struggled to cross on foot and horseback. He used his captured rifle as a club and knocked two soldiers off their horses into the water.
Most warriors stopped at the river, but many kept chasing. A Cheyenne named Whirlwind charged a war-bonnet Indian with the soldiers; both fired and both fell dead.
Another enemy Indian hid behind a sagebrush knoll. The warriors surrounded him, and he fell from a bullet wound. He tried to swing his rifle, but they rushed him.
Wooden Leg hit him on the head with his rifle barrel, and others beat and stabbed him to death. Wooden Leg took his gun, which was similar to his own but with a longer barrel. A Sioux asked for one of the guns, so Wooden Leg gave him the longer one and kept the shorter.
A Sioux scalped the dead man and took his clothing. Wooden Leg returned to the west side of the river.
Many soldiers had been killed on the west side. The news saddened him, but he went up the hill and joined others on the north side of the soldiers’ position. He fired a few shots from his new rifle, aiming only in the general direction of the enemy.
Soon someone called out that other soldiers were visible on distant hills down the river. Indians began riding that way. Wooden Leg crossed the river again and rode through the camps to the Cheyenne circle.
His father was the only person at their lodge. Wooden Leg told him about the fight, gave him tobacco he had taken, and showed him the gun and cartridges. His father praised him and said he had done enough for one day.
But Wooden Leg insisted on going to fight the other soldiers. His father argued that his horse was too tired, but Wooden Leg said he wanted to ride the other one. His father roped a fresh horse and applied medicine treatment for protection.
Wooden Leg added his sheath knife to his weapons.
His father reminded him that his older brother was already in the fight and that there would be plenty of warriors. He urged Wooden Leg to stay back and shoot from a distance. Two other young men were nearby, hesitant.
Wooden Leg showed them his captured gun and cartridges and told them about the tobacco and clothing taken from the soldiers. That changed their minds, and they mounted up to join him.
They forded the river at the broad shallows and rode up a small valley. As they approached the battlefield, each man chose his own course. Most Indians dismounted and crept along gullies on foot.
The soldiers had come along a high ridge about two miles east of the Cheyenne camp, then swerved to a lower ridge where most of them were later killed.
A few Cheyenne and Sioux had exchanged long-distance shots with the soldiers early on. Bobtail Horse, Roman Bear, and Buffalo Calf were said to be the first Indians to cross the river and confront the soldiers. They were soon joined by others.
The fighting was slow at first, lasting about an hour and a half. Indians crawled through sagebrush, jumped up to shoot, and moved forward. Arrows were used more than guns because arrows could be shot in a high curve from hiding.
About forty soldiers galloped from the east part of the ridge toward the river. The Indians ran back to a deep gulch. Lame White Man, a Southern Cheyenne chief, rode up and called the warriors back to fight.
Soon the warriors surrounded the soldiers. Lame White Man called out, “Come, we can kill all of them.” The Indians charged, and the soldiers went crazy.
Instead of shooting the Indians, they turned their guns on themselves. Almost before the warriors reached them, every one of them was dead.
Wooden Leg rode around to the east end of the ridge. By the time he arrived, all the soldiers there were dead. The Indians said the men had shot each other and themselves.
One Cheyenne told him that four soldiers had tried to escape back over the trail. Three were killed quickly. The fourth got across a gulch and over a ridge, but his horse was tired and the Sioux were gaining.
He raised his revolver to his head and shot himself, falling dead from his horse.
Wooden Leg rode to the hillside north of the soldier ridge. He fired two shots at long distance but stopped because the sagebrush was full of Indians creeping close to the soldiers, and he feared hitting his own men. Soon this band of soldiers also went crazy, firing at each other’s heads and breasts.
All were dead before the Indians reached them.
One soldier broke away and ran on foot across a gulch. Several warriors jumped up and chased him. Just after he crossed the gulch, he stopped, stood still, and killed himself with his revolver.
A Cheyenne boy named Big Beaver rode down, took the soldier’s revolver and cartridge belt, and hurried back to the hilltop.
A scared Indian told Wooden Leg he thought he saw the big chief of the soldiers, a man who appeared to be telling the others what to do. But a bunch of soldier horses ran wildly among them, kicking up dust, and Wooden Leg never got a clear look at the man.
Wooden Leg saw a Sioux warrior walking unsteadily, his whole lower jaw shot away. The sight made him sick, and he vomited. He did not know whether the man lived or died.
He stayed on his horse for most of the fighting, keeping back as his father had urged. He crept closer with the warriors at one point, firing his captured rifle and six-shooter, but it was hard to shoot straight on horseback. When he crawled up the slope, he could not see any particular soldier to shoot at, only their dead horses, so he sent bullets in that direction.
A Sioux wearing a war bonnet was lying behind sagebrush, firing at the soldiers. A bullet hit him in the middle of the forehead. He died instantly.
A Cheyenne boy lying behind him slid back into a gully and ran away.
The shots from the soldiers eventually stopped. Warriors called out that all the white men were dead. The Indians rushed forward, and the air was full of dust and smoke.
Everyone was excited. The Indians said these soldiers also went crazy and killed themselves.
Seven soldiers broke away and ran toward the river from the west end of the ridge. They did not get far because many Indians surrounded them. It was said that some of them killed themselves.
After the throng of Indians crowded onto the spot where the last soldiers had fought, a strange thing happened. One soldier raised himself on his left elbow and looked over his shoulder. His expression was wild, as if his mind was tangled.
In his right hand he held his six-shooter. Many Indians were scared, thinking he had returned from death. But a Sioux warrior jumped forward, wrenched the gun from his grasp, and shot him through the head.
Others struck and stabbed him. Wooden Leg thought this must have been the last man killed in the battle.
The man had a big, strong body, plump cheeks, and a stubby black beard. His mustache was longer than the rest of his beard and curled up at the ends. Wooden Leg did not know whether he was a chief or an ordinary soldier.
He did not notice any metal pieces or special marks on his shoulders.
One dead soldier attracted special attention. He had been wearing a buckskin suit. His head had been cut off.
Across his breast was writing made with blue and red coloring, and on each arm was a picture, including an eagle with spread wings. Indians guessed he must have been the big chief because of the buckskin clothing and paint markings. But none of them knew for certain.
The sun was just past the middle of the sky. The first soldiers had come about mid-morning. The fighting against the second group had been slow at first, but the final mix-up lasted only a few minutes.
Wooden Leg took one scalp as he walked among the dead. He saw a man with a long yellow beard growing from both sides of his face, extending several inches below his chin. He skinned one side of the face and half the chin, keeping the beard on the removed part.
He tied it to an arrow shaft and carried it.
He learned that Noisy Walking, a friend from boyhood, was badly wounded. Noisy Walking was the son of White Bull, an important medicine man. He had been hit by three bullets, one passing through his body, and had stab wounds in his side.
Wooden Leg visited him. Noisy Walking said he was good, but he did not look well. His women relatives were coming with a travois to take him away.
Wooden Leg discovered the dead body of an Indian hidden in a gully. The scalp was gone. He backed away, then returned with his brother Yellow Hair.
They rolled the body over. It was Lame White Man, the Cheyenne chief. Some Sioux had scalped him, mistaking him for a Crow or Shoshone among the soldiers.
A bullet had gone in at his right breast and out at his back, and he had many stab wounds. He was still dressed in his best clothing. The Cheyenne never asked the Sioux about it.
They kept quiet. Yellow Hair covered the body with his blanket, and the dead man’s wife and women helpers came with a travois to take him away.
Wooden Leg also helped place Noisy Walking on a swinging bed when his father and mother came for him. Judging by his appearance, Wooden Leg knew this was the last good act he would ever do for his friend.
Women from the camps searched the field for their dead and wounded. Wooden Leg did not like hearing the weeping. His heart, glad because of the victory, was made sad by thoughts of the dead and their mourning relatives.
He noticed decorations on the shoulders and stripes on the arms of some soldier coats. He did not think of their meanings at the time. It was a long time before he learned that those marks identified the soldier chiefs.
Wooden Leg found a metal bottle about half full of liquid. It was not water. He found another of the same kind.
Other Indians found similar bottles. Some drank the contents and got sick. Bobtail Horse vomited after taking a big swallow.
It became the talk that whiskey explained why the soldiers went crazy and shot each other instead of the Indians. One old Indian said there was not enough whiskey in any of the bottles to make a soldier go crazy. The Indians agreed the soldiers’ actions must have been caused by the prayers of their medicine men.
Wooden Leg believed this at the time, but in later years he changed his mind. He came to think it was the whiskey.
He took a folded leather package from a soldier with three stripes on his left arm. It contained flat pieces of green paper with pictures and writing. He tore it all up and gave the leather holder to a Cheyenne friend.
Wooden Leg rode away from the battle hill in the middle of the afternoon. He wore a soldier coat and britches he had taken. He carried the two metal bottles of whiskey and the beard scalp on the arrow shaft.
He waved the scalp as he rode among his people. His grandmother asked what it was. He offered it to her as good medicine.
She screamed and shrank away, but eventually she decided to take it.
He passed one bottle of whiskey among friends. The other he gave to Little Hawk, who drank it all and soon vomited.
A crowd of Sioux had gathered around some Indians who had just arrived in camp. Some were shouting to kill them. Above the noise, Wooden Leg heard an angry voice.
It was Little Wolf, one of the most respected Cheyenne chiefs. He was speaking Cheyenne, which the Sioux did not understand. He said he had nothing to do with the soldiers, that he was all Indian, all Cheyenne.
Yellow Horse, an old Southern Cheyenne, asked Wooden Leg to speak for Little Wolf because he knew the Sioux language.
Little Wolf explained that his band of seven lodges had left the reservation and seen soldiers camped on the upper Rosebud the afternoon before. They had hidden in the hills and watched the soldiers move toward the Little Bighorn. They had not set up lodges that night, traveling and resting instead.
In the morning, some of his young men found a box the soldiers had lost. Soldiers came back and shot at them. Little Wolf’s band followed the soldiers, keeping hidden.
They heard guns and saw fighting. Finally they came cautiously to join the camp.
Wooden Leg repeated the story to a Sioux chief, who told the assembled warriors. Some grumbled that Little Wolf should have come sooner, but they were satisfied that he and his companions deserved no harm. The crowd scattered.
The newcomers moved to the Cheyenne camp, and their women quieted complaints with gifts of sugar and coffee.
Burial parties went to the hill gulches west of the camps to place the dead in rock crevices. Wooden Leg accompanied the relatives of Limber Bones, a young man who had been killed. They placed his body, wrapped in blankets and a buffalo robe, in a sheltered cove and piled flat stones across the front.
His mother and another woman sat down beside the grave to mourn.
The Sioux set up burial tepees in their camps. All the camps began moving, as was the custom when death occurred. The Cheyenne selected a camping spot about a mile northwestward.
The Sioux moved northwestward and back from the river.
After sundown, Wooden Leg visited Noisy Walking again. He was lying on a bed of buffalo robes under a willow dome shelter. His father White Bull was with him.
Noisy Walking asked for water. White Bull said no water would kill him. Wooden Leg knew his friend was going to die.
He could not do him any good, so he excused himself and went away.
There was no dancing or celebrating in any of the camps that night. Too many people were in mourning. Cheyenne and Sioux women had gashed their arms and legs in grief.
The people were praying, not cheering. Young men went out to fight the first soldiers, who were still hiding on a hill across the river. Old men rode about the camps singing brave-heart songs and calling out for the young men to be brave.
Late in the night, Wooden Leg served as a scout. Five young Cheyenne men were appointed to guard the camp. Wooden Leg and another went to the place where the soldiers were hidden.
They looked down among them but did not shoot. They just confirmed the soldiers were still there. Five other young men took over their duties in the last part of the night.
Wooden Leg was glad to be relieved. He let loose his horse and dropped down on a thick pad of grassy sod to rest.
His account ends there, with the battle over, the dead buried, and the camps preparing to move on.