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Summary
Summary
A riveting novel about Red Cloud, the Pine Ridge Indian Agency, and the agent who made his mark on history.
Author Notes
Dan O'Brien ranks among the West's most celebrated writers. He divides his time between working as an endangered-species biologist, running a cattle ranch, & writing. He is the author of four novels, a short story collection, & three works of nonfiction, including the forthcoming "Buffalo Bill for the Broken Heart: Restoring a Piece of the American West". He lives in Whitewood, South Dakota.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (2)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In this sequel to The Contract Surgeon, the winner of the 2000 Western Heritage Award for Fiction, O'Brien resumes his fictionalized biography of renowned physician Valentine T. McGillycuddy. Singled out for his experience among the Sioux-McGillycuddy attended Crazy Horse on his deathbed-the 30-year-old doctor accepts a surprise appointment to replace the government's corrupt Indian agent at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, where the imperious, unruly warrior chief Red Cloud is held. Arriving in South Dakota in 1879 with his wife, Fanny, the new Indian agent slowly gains the confidence of the Sioux by ensuring that Washington makes good on its commitment of rations, introducing the Sioux to an agrarian lifestyle and establishing an Indian police force. Gradually, however, McGillycuddy's good work is undermined by opposition in Washington, and he watches Fanny's physical condition deteriorate, disappointing their hopes for children. Replaced in 1887, McGillycuddy becomes president of the School of Mines in Rapid City, S.Dak. Without stewardship, the Sioux return to warlike ways and he is summoned too late to prevent the massacre at Wounded Knee. Readers will clamor for a further installment of this well-written, absorbing and deeply affecting story. Agent, Brandt & Hochman Literary Agency. (Oct.) Forecast: Great word of mouth should help build a larger readership for O'Brien. The author lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and his Western expertise and passion are evident. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
Restless Indians meet hard-bitten pioneers, bluecoats, and bureaucrats. The hero is again Doc McGillycuddy, introduced in O'Brien's The Contract Surgeon (1999). He's been roaming the Great Plains for a few years and seen his fair share of battle and scrapes, including the fresh aftermath of Little Bighorn. Now, he's ready for a regular salary in order to provide for his ailing wife, so he heads back to Washington to apply for the medical corps of the regular army--and gets more than he bargained for. Having issued his opinions on the need to turn the conquered Plains Indians into good citizens of the United States ("most Sioux . . . would like to put the past behind them and move, as they say, down the white man's road"), he's pressed into service as the Indian agent for the newly created Pine Ridge Reservation--formerly the Red Cloud Agency, so named after a particularly troubling leader, who lately has been up to his plotting again. O'Brien peppers his narrative with useful bits of history and anthropology, and his story moves easily along a course fraught with peril for most of the principals as Red Cloud's followers begin to drift northward to start a new war against the whites, who have been pouring into the Black Hills in search of gold. After McGillycuddy has armed a band of Sioux policemen to serve as his lieutenants, O'Brien writes that "There were a thousand possible sparks in this wild landscape, and McGillycuddy, who . . . was entrusted to predict where those sparks might be and to douse them quickly, wondered if he had not fanned one instead." A great prairie fire does indeed ensue, the product of contemporary politics and no end of cultural misunderstanding, all of which O'Brien does a good job of explaining. A capable western in the vein of McMurtry, not L'Amour. Well suited to those who like their historical fiction more historical than fictitious. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Excerpts
Excerpts
The Indian Agent Chapter One McGillycuddy had come to Washington from Dakota Territory to apply for admission to the Army Medical Corps. He had been a contract surgeon to the army for the last three years and admission to the regular army was very important to his career and to his life. But two days after his arrival in the capital and before he could speak to the board of medical examiners, he was called to the office of the commissioner of Indian affairs. It was a bit irregular because the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the army were at odds and McGillycuddy did not know the commissioner. If the commissioner knew him, it was only by reputation. Dealing with civilian stuffed shirts was not the way McGillycuddy wanted to spend his morning. He was more interested in trying to enjoy his time with Fanny and in arranging his examination for admittance to the army as an officer and a physician. But once he was ushered into Commissioner Hayt's office and asked about the situation on Red Cloud's agency, he jumped into a description of the tension on the reservation -- what seemed to McGillycuddy an odd relationship between Red Cloud and the agent, Irwin. But Commissioner Hayt didn't want to hear about that yet. "The Cheyennes," he said. "What about the Cheyennes?" McGillycuddy was only thirty years old but had a natural military bearing and confidence born of years of independence on the frontier. He was tall with close-cropped red hair and sported a handlebar mustache common in the West. Part of his response to Hayt's question was to sit up poker straight and look directly into the little pudgy man's eyes. "I imagine they're dead," he said evenly. "Very likely they are all dead." Hayt shook his head gravely. "No," he said. "Not quite. I received a telegram this morning. They're still fighting in the hills northwest of the fort." McGillycuddy nodded. Horse Creek. The willows are thick on Horse Creek. Excellent cover to fire from, a little shelter from the elements. "Of course, they've been heading for the Powder River country since they left Indian territory four months ago." "Four months and a couple dozen murders ago, I'm afraid." McGillycuddy knew the conditions the Cheyennes had endured in Oklahoma. Disease, starvation, and, worst of all, heartsickness. And he knew that Hayt knew it too, though he might not admit it. "If they're still fighting it's only a handful," McGillycuddy said. "A tribute to their skill and bravery. I'd guess a couple hundred Cheyennes have been killed on that outing so far." "Indeed." Hayt shook his head and McGillycuddy saw that he was bewildered. "They had a choice. After the break out from Oklahoma Territory they were held at Fort Robinson for a month. All they had to do was agree to return." "Dull Knife, Tangle Hair, and likely every man, woman, and child in that barracks they used to confine them had no intention of going back to Indian territory." McGillycuddy spoke clearly. He was quite aware that Hayt had been instrumental in ordering the Cheyennes to be returned to the land they hated. It would have been a decision of little consequence to allow them to remain with their old friends, Red Cloud's people. "They were bound and determined to go back to the land of their birth, the Powder River country, but simple permission to remain with Red Cloud's Oglalas was the only thing that could have stopped them." "And death." McGillycuddy nodded his head. "And death." But I wonder if even that would have stopped them. He gazed calmly at the commissioner -- ready for a confrontation if that was what Hayt wanted. But Hayt did not want a confrontation and McGillycuddy felt sudden sympathy for this public servant whose military comrades and superiors derided so freely. "And you were there," Hayt said. "At the beginning. A few hours. During the heavy shooting at the initial outbreak. I was scheduled to come here in the morning. The skirmish had moved miles into the breaks by then. No one had heard a shot for an hour or so." Hayt leaned across his desk and his eyes went distant the way McGillycuddy had noticed other people's eyes go when they wanted the lurid details of battles with Indians. "So what did you see?" McGillycuddy sat stock-still and considered how much to give this man. He did not seem like an evil man. A silly man perhaps but sincere in his desire to understand. Well, all right then. "The doors of the barracks were boarded up and the Cheyennes had received no food for four days and no water for three. As you know." Hayt nodded his head but looked tired and ashamed. "A window was broken and the Dog Soldiers poured out like mountain lions." "Dog Soldiers?" He knows nothing. A decent man maybe, but ignorant of the people he is charged with protecting. "The warriors whose responsibility it is to protect the women, children, and elderly. There were ten of them. They managed to kill a few guards and get their Springfields and ammunition to the main group. Nearly a hundred fifty souls, who were streaming past their fighting shield and into the darkness." "And Dull Knife?" "In charge of the main body. He was long gone by the time I got there. But I was there to see the last of the Dog Soldiers die. They held off the army until their people had escaped. They fought like demons and died like saints. They died bravely for the people -- fought to the last man. Killed in close combat." Now Hayt was on his feet pacing. There was a large window at the end of his office and he stood in front of it and gazed at the national capital in its winter dress. The trees were bare, black branches, but there was no snow. No wind. Nothing that could freeze off the fingers of a man or kill . . . The Indian Agent . Copyright © by Dan O'Brien. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Indian Agent by Dan Obrien All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.