The rolling plains of the Dakotas, a landscape etched with deep ravines and whispering grasses, once echoed with the thunder of hooves and the defiant cries of the Lakota Sioux. Among the most formidable warriors of the Hunkpapa band was Rain-in-the-Face, known in his native tongue as Itónaǧaju or Itónaǧažu. His name, synonymous with courage and a fierce resistance to the encroaching tide of white settlement, became a legend whispered around campfires and etched in the annals of the American West. This is the story of Rain-in-the-Face, a life steeped in the traditions of his people, marked by battles fought for survival, and ultimately, a reluctant acceptance of a changing world.
In the late summer of 1905, as the golden hues of autumn began to paint the landscape of the Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota, Rain-in-the-Face lay upon his sickbed. The once-powerful warrior, whose name inspired fear across the frontier, was nearing the end of his earthly journey. It was during this twilight period of his life that he recounted his history.
The act of eliciting stories from Native Americans required a delicate approach, a respect for tradition, and an understanding of their cultural nuances. Direct questioning was often met with silence, a barrier erected by years of distrust and misunderstanding. Instead, the approach was indirect, rooted in shared ritual and respect. "Friend," he began, offering tobacco, "even if a man is on a hot trail, he stops for a smoke! In the good old days, before the charge there was a smoke. At home, by the fireside, when the old men were asked to tell their brave deeds, again the pipe was passed. So come, let us smoke now to the memory of the old days!" The offer was accepted, and a long pipe was filled, the fragrant smoke carrying the promise of shared stories and a glimpse into a life lived on the edge of history.
The scene was simple: a small log cabin, its walls echoing with the weight of untold stories. Inside, the old warrior lay upon an iron bedstead, a red blanket providing a stark contrast to the rough-hewn logs. He was alone, save for an old dog, its watchful eyes mirroring the loyalty and steadfastness of its master. After the shared smoke and a lighthearted story, the ice was broken. The old man’s gaze lifted, a faint smile gracing his lips. "True, friend; it is the old custom to retrace one’s trail before leaving it forever! I know that I am at the door of the spirit home."
The story began near the forks of the Cheyenne River, some seventy years prior. Rain-in-the-Face described a lineage of hunters and feast-makers, not chiefs, who forged their reputations through skill and strength. He recounted, "My father was not a chief; my grandfather was not a chief, but a good hunter and a feast-maker. On my mother’s side I had some noted ancestors, but they left me no chieftainship. I had to work for my reputation." From a young age, he possessed a fiery spirit, a penchant for fighting that earned him a reputation as someone "hard to handle."
The genesis of his formidable name came from two separate incidents, both reflecting his tenacity and ferocity in battle. The first occurred during a sham fight with Cheyenne boys, a common occurrence when the tribes encountered each other on friendly terms. This particular encounter turned real, and the young warrior was bloodied in the face, his paint smeared and streaked. His peers, witnessing his valiant fight, christened him "Rain-in-the-Face," a name that stuck.
Years later, as a young man on a warpath against the Gros Ventres, he painted his face half black and half red, intending to resemble the sun partially eclipsed. A battle ensued, fought in the pouring rain. The colors of his war paint mingled, creating streaks and patterns that once again evoked the image of rain on his face. The name was reaffirmed, cementing his identity as Rain-in-the-Face, a warrior marked by the elements and defined by his unwavering courage.
As tensions escalated between the Sioux and the encroaching white settlers, Rain-in-the-Face found himself increasingly drawn into the conflict. He participated in daring raids, including a bold attack on Fort Totten in North Dakota in the summer of 1866. Led by Hohay, an Assiniboine captive of Sitting Bull, and alongside Wapaypay, also known as the Fearless Bear, the raid was a testament to their bravery. Rain-in-the-Face painted his face in his signature eclipse style, half black, half red, and charged alongside his "brother-friend" Wapaypay. Despite heavy fire from the fort, they managed to disrupt the garrison, retreating with only minor wounds.
The conversation turned to the Fetterman Fight, also known as the Battle of the Hundred Slain, which occurred near Fort Phil Kearny in Wyoming, approximately two years later. Rain-in-the-Face recounted the carefully orchestrated ambush that resulted in the annihilation of Captain Fetterman and his entire command of eighty soldiers. He emphasized the participation of various Sioux bands, including Red Cloud, Spotted Tail, Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, and Big Foot. The success of the ambush, he explained, stemmed from luring the soldiers out of the fort by attacking woodchoppers, a strategy that exploited the soldiers’ predictable response.
The Treaty of Fort Rice, signed in 1868, promised the Sioux nation control over a vast territory, including the Black Hills and the Big Horn Mountains. However, the discovery of gold in the Black Hills shattered this agreement, attracting a flood of white settlers and miners, driving away game, and escalating the conflict. Rain-in-the-Face spoke with disdain about chiefs like Spotted Tail, who were quick to accept reservation life in exchange for promises of power and influence. He and other young warriors took it upon themselves to discourage the influx of settlers by attacking wagon trains entering the Black Hills, a desperate attempt to enforce the treaty that the U.S. government seemed unwilling to uphold.
Following an incident where Rain-in-the-Face and Wapaypay killed a white soldier, he was betrayed by other Indians and imprisoned at Fort Abraham Lincoln. Facing the threat of execution, he was unexpectedly aided by an old white soldier who, at great personal risk, freed him from his chains and allowed him to escape. The act of kindness deeply affected Rain-in-the-Face, teaching him that compassion could be found even among his enemies.
He rejoined the hostile camp on the Powder River, continuing to harass those building the Northern Pacific Railroad. In the spring, the various Sioux bands gathered on the Tongue River, forming one of the largest camps ever seen. The warriors were eager for battle, determined to resist the white man’s advance.
The inevitable clash came at the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Rain-in-the-Face recounted the events leading up to the battle, including the skirmish with General Crook on the Little Rosebud. He was at a feast when news of the attack arrived. Gathering his weapons, he joined the fray, witnessing the chaos and the bravery of both sides. He noted the presence of Tashenamani, or Moving Robe, a young woman who charged into battle, inspiring the warriors to fight with greater valor.
While accounts vary, Rain-in-the-Face denied killing General Custer or mutilating his brother, Tom Custer. He emphasized the confusion and intensity of the battle, stating that recognition was difficult in the heat of the fight. He acknowledged the bravery of the soldiers, admitting that his previous perception of them as cowards had been shattered.
In his final words, Rain-in-the-Face reflected on his life since surrendering and settling on the reservation. He asserted that he had lived peacefully, adhering to the rules imposed by the "Great Father" in Washington. He saw his spirit broken when he laid down his weapons, lamenting the loss of his freedom and the traditional way of life. As he neared death, he declared, "Rain-in-the-Face was killed when he put down his weapons before the Great Father. His spirit was gone then; only his poor body lived on, but now it is almost ready to lie down for the last time."
Rain-in-the-Face, the Hunkpapa Sioux warrior, died on September 14, 1905, leaving behind a legacy of courage, resistance, and a poignant reflection on the clash of cultures that defined the American West. His story serves as a reminder of the sacrifices made by the Native American people in defense of their land and way of life.
