Now as Quanah approached the lodges of the Cheyenne, he had Yellow Horse of the Arapaho, with twenty-two renegades, and Lone Wolf, of the Kiowa, with a slightly larger band of followers. All were primed for war.
“Do you think the Cheyenne will take the pipe against the white man?” White Eagle asked.
“The Cheyenne are brave warriors,” Quanah said. “Let us hope that they take up the call to war, better than the People. I am sorry so many have chosen the white man’s way.”
White Eagle thumped his chest. “I will make good medicine. The Cheyenne will follow us.”
Following White Eagle’s pronouncement, Quanah selected four warriors along with the medicine man, to charge the camp of the Cheyenne. When they arrived, Crazy Mule was holding a medicine lodge, and the warriors were seated around the fire in a great circle. Quanah and his followers rode in and out of the circle in a ceremonial raid. When that was concluded, they went back to their campsite with the other warriors, and the Cheyenne led a reciprocal charge. That evening all the Indians joined together in feasting and dancing.
When the time was right, White Eagle took his place by the fire. He wore only a breechclout and moccasins with a bright red sash tied around his waist. In his hair was the feather of a red-tipped hawk and a snake rattle hung from each ear. The older medicine men wore ceremonial masks, but the youthful face of White Eagle was uncovered.
Quanah was pleased with White Eagle’s presentation. The young medicine man would surely convince the Cheyenne to join with the People and together, Quanah felt the action they took would lead to success.
White Eagle picked up some green cedar twigs and threw them into the fire. When the pungent smoke began to rise, White Eagle fanned the smoke around the circle. He symbolically, bathed in the smoke, washing his hands, his face and his chest. Getting as close to the flames as he could, he lifted his face as he began to speak.
“I am White Eagle, son of the wolf. I have strong medicine. The Great Spirit has given me unknown powers after I climbed to the stars to meet with those who have gone before. I have predicted when the great star in the sky would disappear, I have foretold when the snows would fly, and I have said when the rains would come. Now, the Great Spirit has shown me how to make a paint that will stop the white man’s bullets.
“The great Chief Quanah and the Quahadis have witnessed these feats; I will protect us as we drive the whites from our land, and once again we will ride the plains following the buffalo, as our ancestors have done for many generations. If you but follow me. . .”
Upon hearing White Eagle’s words, many in the circle began to murmur to one another.
“Where will we strike the white man?” White Horse asked.
“I say we ride to Texas,” Lone Wolf said. “Avenge the death of my son.”
“Find the man called Hurricane Bill,” Little Robe said. “Find my 43 horses that he took from me.”
“Ride against Bad Hand; kill the blue bellies.”
“Go to Texas. Kill the Tejanos.”
“It is decided,” White Eagle said. “We will ride for Texas and seek vengeance.” He lifted his arms to the sky and began to howl like a wolf as the council erupted in celebration.
“Quanah, Quanah Parker,” a young warrior called as he crept toward Quanah. “The old men want to see you.”
Quanah left the celebration and went to the lodge of Old Man Otter Belt where Standing Bear and Crooked Nose along with several other old men were gathered.
“You, Quanah Parker, you pretty good fighter, but young man. You not know everything. We think take the pipe to the white shooters who kill our buffalo. Run them out. Then come back, take the young warriors, then go war in Texas!”
Quanah returned to the council and reported what the old men had said.
White Eagle again rose to speak. “The old men have spoken. We will kill the white shooters where I have seen them as they gather on the Canadian. They drink much whiskey, then they sleep under the stars. We will attack when the sun first awakens; we can kill the white man like women who slumber, and their guns will stay silent. My medicine will keep harm from coming to the People.”
Cheyenne and Arapaho Agency, Indian Territory:
“Those bastards,” W.M.D. Lee said as he stepped into his trading post slamming the door behind him. “They’re gone.”
“Mules or horses?” George Bent asked.
“Horses. At least a dozen are gone, and I can bet my last dollar, they weren’t run off by any Indian.”
“It’s probably Hurricane Bill’s boys again. Ben Clark said they run off all the stock he had over at his whiskey ranch,” George said.
“I think it’s gonna get a lot worse,” Amos Chapman said. Amos worked part time for Lee and Reynolds and part time for the army. He was both a scout and an interpreter.
“Why do you say that?” Lee asked.
“This morning Colonel Lewis got word from Colonel Davidson over at Fort Sill. He said a bunch of Penatekas come in sayin’ they’d just left a big war council over on the Red River,” Chapman said. “The word is they’re goin’ to war on the day after the next full moon.”
“That doesn’t mean a damn thing. Indians are always having some kind of powwow,” Lee said. “They just want an excuse to get drunk.”
“Maybe this does mean something,” George Bent said. “Spotted Wolf and Old Whirlwind came back from this same war council. Spotted Wolf was tellin’ anybody who would listen how all the young bucks are goin’ on the warpath. He even said Black Bird had joined in.”
“His son?” Lee questioned.
“That’s right.”
“I wonder what their intentions are.”
“Old Whirlwind said they’re goin’ after stock that’s been stolen, but Spotted Wolf said they’re goin’ after the buffalo hunters down on the Canadian,” George said.
“Hmmm. That would be Adobe Walls,” Lee said, a sinister smile crossing his face.
“Now boss, you wouldn’t want to see that,” Chapman said. “You know what them savages do to a white man.”
“I guess you’re right,” Lee said as he drummed his fingers on the counter. “I tell you what. Why don’t you ride down there and see what’s goin’ on? You can tell ‘em you’re lookin’ for my stolen stock.”
“Are you listening to what we’re tellin’ you? These Indians want to kill ever white man south of the Kansas line and I don’t know what part of me they see—Indian or white. I’m not sure I want to find out by havin’ my scalp danglin’ from some buck’s lance,” Chapman said.
“All right. I’ll see if Colonel Lewis will send an escort with you,” Lee said. “And maybe you’d better tell someone what the rumor is, but more’n likely, they won’t pay any attention to what I say. They’ll think I’m just tryin’ to run them out so I can get rid of the competition.”
When the big Murphy wagon pulled into Adobe Walls, near the end of June, Cade was surprised to see how many wagons were at the outpost. The pile of hides was ever growing, as men added to the stack.
“What you got there?” James Langton asked.
“Two hundred eighty-six fresh hides plus 306 flints,” Billy said.
Langton took out a little book and began to write. “All right, Billy Dixon 592. Put ‘em on the west end of the pile.”
“Wait a minute. They’re already on the wagon. I say we just leave ‘em there,” Billy said.
“Nope, we’ve got more’n 15,000 hides and them that got ‘em here first, goes out first.”
“But this is my wagon, and half these hides are mine,” Cade said.
Langton looked at Billy. “Did you not tell your partner, you agreed to sell your hides to Rath in exchange for the gun?”
Cade took a deep breath. “Let’s start unloading.”
20
By the afternoon, more hunters had come in as the word had circulated saying four men had been killed. John Mooar rolled it with a huge load of hides.
“John,” Billy said greeting
the man. “Where’re you coming from?”
“Wright’s got us up by the middle Washita,” Mooar said. “Let me tell you, all hell’s about to break loose.”
“Did you run into Indians?”
“Not exactly, but Mort Galloway was out on a scout, and he run across a whole passel of Indians up near the Sweetwater,” Mooar said. “Mort said there must have been close to 500, maybe even more.”
“Maybe they’re moving to the agency. The last time I was at Darlington, the agent said more and more were coming in,” Cade said.
“I don’t think so—not these Indians. Mort said they had their horses lined up and they was trainin’ just like soldiers. They had a big black man out front blowin’ a bugle, and them Indians was doin’ drills as big as you please.”
“Well speaking of soldiers, look what’s coming up the creek,” Billy said as he pointed toward four soldiers and a man dressed in civilian clothes coming their way.
“I wonder what they want,” Jacob said.
“Tell me, does that man with them look familiar?” Cade asked. “I think it may be Amos Chapman.”
“Ah, yes,” John Mooar said. “Amos Chapman—the man who tried to stop us from comin’ down here.”
Chapman dismounted and headed toward Charles Rath’s store, while the soldiers rode over to the corral. Within a few minutes time, Rath and Chapman came out of the store and headed for Hanrahan’s saloon.
“That’s strange,” Billy said. “Those two seem like they’re in a big hurry to wet their whistles.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Cade said. “Look, now they’re on their way to Myers’ place. What do you say? Do you think we might need a can of peaches or something? Let’s go see if we can find out what this is all about?”
When Billy and Cade got to Myers store, Sybil Olds was standing behind the counter.
“Cade,” she said, “I didn’t know you were here at the Walls. What can I help you with?”
“Where’s Charlie?” Cade asked as he looked around.
“Rath and Hanrahan just came in with some man,” Sybil said. “Rath said, ‘we’ve got to talk,’ and they’re all huddling in the storeroom.”
The Harrison and McCall wagon was standing empty near the yard where the hides were stacked.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jacob said. “James Langton doesn’t have an idea in hell, which of these hides belongs to whom.”
Cade laughed. “To whom? Is that the college professor coming out in you?”
“Humph,” Jacob said. “That’s been so long ago, I don’t even remember those days. Look at me now. I’d put my skill at unloading a wagon against the best of ‘em.”
“But what about loadin’ one?” John Mooar asked. “Are you good at that, too?”
“I am,” Jacob said.
“Well, then how about following me over to the back of Myers’ place?” Mooar asked. “I’m loadin’ up supplies to take back to the Washita where my brother’s outfits are. Wright’s got six shooters workin’ for him, and that takes a lot of beans to keep ‘em goin.”
“I would suppose you’ll be loading a little ammunition, as well,” Cade said.
“Well, yes, that, too,” John said. “But seriously, will you help load the wagon? If I ask Fred Leonard to help me, I won’t get out of here for three days, and I want to leave before daybreak if I can.”
“We’ll help,” Jacob said. “I planned to load some hides tonight, but who knows which ones Langton will let me haul. He’ll probably stand here, saying ‘take this one’ or ‘take that one’. I don’t understand how this place operates.”
That evening Bat Masterson, Mike Welch, and Bermuda Carlisle invited the soldiers to join in for a friendly game of poker. Three of the four soldiers accepted, and their luck seemed to be running hot, as one of them won almost every time for the first four or five hands. After a game was over, someone refreshed all the drinks making certain that the soldiers’ glasses were filled to the brim.
“We just can’t beat you fellas,” Bat Masterson said. “Maybe I’d better call it a night.” He threw down his cards and stepped over to the bar where the one sober soldier was standing.
“Mind if I join you, Sergeant?” Bat asked.
“Sure. I’m Sergeant Popham,” the man said, extending his hand.
“And I’m Bat Masterson.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re not the one puttin’ the articles in the Messenger are you?”
A broad smile crossed Bat’s face. “As a matter of fact, I have been known to pen a line or two for that publication. But I’m curious. Does the Messenger reach Camp Supply?”
“I don’t know. I’ll only be bivouacked there a few weeks,” the sergeant said. “Then I’m supposed to go back to Fort Dodge.”
“Well, then, how would you like to be the subject for my next submission?” Bat asked.
“I’d be mighty proud to have you say something about me, Mr. Masterson,” Sergeant Popham said. “All the men teased me when they found out I was going to be sent on a detail to find stolen horses—especially Indian horses.”
Bat drew back when he heard Popham’s statement. “Is that why you’re here? Looking for stolen horses?”
Popham nodded his head. “Some ponies got stole from Camp Supply. We tracked ‘em for almost 30 miles, but then we lost the trail, so the scout who came with us said to come here. He said the horses are sure to be here, cause there ain’t no place else to go.”
“So, you’re looking for stolen horses?” Bat said, raising his voice so all could hear. “Stolen Indian ponies and you think they’re here?”
“What’s that?” Bermuda Carlisle asked. He looked across the table at one of the soldiers. “Are you men actually here, looking for stolen Injun horses?”
“Yeah,” one of the soldiers said, slurring the reply. “From what we been told ‘bout half the Injun horses what’s been stoled has been stoled by the buffers.”
Carlisle got up from the stool and with a quick right cross, knocked the soldier to the floor.
“What the hell did you do that for?” the soldier asked, rubbing his chin and looking up at Carlisle in surprise.
“I don’t like bein’ accused of bein’ a horse thief,” Carlisle said.
“Hell, I didn’t say you was. I just said it was the buffers what’s stealin’ ‘em.”
“Soldier, I am a buffalo hunter,” Carlisle said angrily.
“Adams, Prosser, McGee,” Popham called to them. “Come on, let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, not while I’m winnin’,” Prosser said.
“That’s an order, soldier,” Popham said.
“Take your money and go,” Mike Welch said.
Sergeant Popham walked over to the table and stared sternly at the three soldiers. Reluctantly, and unsteadily, the men got to their feet and, with Popham herding them along, they left the saloon.
“Whew,” Jacob said wiping his brow on his shirt sleeves. “If I had to do this every day, I might decide I wanted to go back to teaching.”
“A little refreshment will perk you right up,” Billy said. “Come on, John, you owe us a beer.”
“I do for all the work you did,” John Mooar said, “but if you fellas don’t mind, I think I’ll just crawl up in the wagon and call it a night. But you tell Hanrahan to charge your drinks to my brother, and don’t forget the J. That’s J. Wright Mooar.”
“Well if J. Wright’s goin’ to pay, we might as well drink the good stuff,” Billy said.
John laughed. “He can afford it. He’s got so many hides stacked up, I’ll be haulin’ back and forth for a week.”
When Cade, Billy, and Jacob got to Hanrahan’s they were almost knocked over by four soldiers coming out of the saloon.
“Well, excuse us,” Jacob said as he moved out of the way.
The sergeant marched the three privates toward the corral and with much difficulty got them onto their horses.
“Now s
ee if you can stay with me,” the sergeant said mounting his own horse. “We’re getting out of here, before one of us gets killed.” With that, the four galloped off.
“Wonder what that was all about?” Billy asked.
“Something’s going on,” Cade said. “Remember when we saw Chapman riding in with these soldiers? Just now, he wasn’t with them.”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Jacob said.
The patrons of the saloon were loud and boisterous as they were declaring their indignities after being called horse thieves. Shepard was tending bar. He fomented the furor as he announced that there would be free drinks for everyone.
“I think we came at the right time,” Billy said as he moved toward the bar.
“Or not,” Cade said. “I think Hanrahan needs to be here before this gets out of hand. I’ll go see if I can round him up.”
In the back of Myers’ store, Cade found Hanrahan, Rath and Myers huddled around a table all listening intently to Amos Chapman. When Cade explained what was happening at the saloon, Hanrahan jumped up.
“Thanks, Cade. Chapman, you come with me, and men, let’s just keep this little secret between the four of us. Is that agreed?”
“I think that’s right,” Charlie Myers said. “It could all blow over, and then where would we be?”
Cade followed Hanrahan and Chapman as they hurried toward the saloon. As they ran past John Mooar’s wagon, Hanrahan stopped.
“Look, Amos, if they come after you, you come out here and hide in this wagon. Somehow, I’ll keep ‘em from getting’ you.”
“What’s going on?” Cade asked.
“Nothin’, McCall. Nothin’. Just pretend you didn’t hear anything,” Hanrahan said.
“I don’t have to pretend. I didn’t hear anything.”
“That’s good. That’s good.”
Hanrahan was clearly anxious about something, but Cade couldn’t figure out what it might be. He didn’t think that an impending brawl at his saloon was enough to provoke this kind of agitation. Cade’s instinct was to go crawl in the Harrison and McCall wagon and ride this out, but his curiosity got the better of him. He followed Hanrahan and Chapman into the bar.
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 75