Story and photos by Justin Haag
Three and a half miles southeast of Crawford stands Crow Butte. The towering sentinel rises conspicuously above the White River Valley on private property that borders Ponderosa Wildlife Management Area. Perhaps no other landform in the Pine Ridge can be seen from so many different vantage points — a fact that has made it a frequent subject for me and other nature photographers.
The landform, about 400 feet tall, is captivating, as are the legends of its naming. Accounts vary, but all center around a territorial feud between two Native American tribes — the Sioux and, of course, the Crow.
One account, which is said to have happened in the 1860s, has a band of Crows from the north entering the butte’s vicinity, recognized as Sioux territory. After a few days of fighting, the Crow retreated to the top of the great landform to use its high vantage for fortification. The Sioux knew there was only a narrow path up the butte on its south side, so they guarded the exit while tending to their sick and wounded.
Facing starvation and inevitable defeat, a few of the oldest men in the group of Crows made a sacrificial, last-ditch effort. The men stationed themselves on the guarded side of the butte and began chanting to distract the Sioux. Meanwhile, the others created ropes from whatever fabric they had to lower themselves from the steep north side and escape. The Sioux, however, caught on before their descent and surrounded the butte.
This is where the story gets fantastical. As a lighted mist came upon the butte, three beautiful Indian maidens appeared in the sky, and the old men were lifted into the heavens on the wings of white birds. After some discussion, the Sioux elders determined the maidens had been sent from the Great Father as messengers of peace. The perceived message resulted in a friendly compact between the Sioux and Crow.
A different account in a 1901 Omaha World-Herald — said to be firsthand from an unidentified person who witnessed the events in the winter of 1869-70 — said it was exactly 27 Crows who dismounted horses and climbed the butte with only their blankets, rifles and ammunition.
One difference in the story is that just one elder Crow was assigned to distract the Sioux, and did so by zigzagging around the south side firing a rifle at night — an attempt to give the appearance of multiple people trying to escape.
Instead of the harmonious ending of the other legend, the old man was said to have been forced at dawn back up the butte, where he jumped to his death. The 26 others had already descended to the prairie on their makeshift ropes, but they were on foot and soon caught and killed by the Sioux.
Like the peaceful ending of the first story better? As with most legends, it’s impossible to know how much, if any, of the stories are true. One thing is for sure: We’ll continue to be captivated by the sight of this picturesque landform standing resolute over the White Valley.
