Though Chayton’s desire was to return, in order to spend what time he could with her and his son, he realized it was a mere dream to give him hope that he could be with them once again. He had wanted to give Callie hope as well, knowing if she thought he was not coming back, she may turn to another with her love, and that would tear him apart. He knew he would never turn to another, himself, as long as he believed she was still drawing breath. At the same time, he could see no way to be at her side, the way he longed to be. It pained him, knowing his son would never know the true life of a Comanche, but children needed a mother, and the tribes were too much in turmoil with the government trying to herd them into reservations, changing their whole way of life. Joey would probably be safer with Callie, he soothed himself.
Chayton passed the place where he had been shot and took time to search for Bidziil’s body, where he saw Bidziil crawling into the bushes when he was shot. There was no sign of him, and either Chaton had the wrong place, or Bidziil had crawled away, the same as he had done when he had been shot. He hoped Bidziil had survived his wounds. Callie had told him that the cowboys claimed they shot every one of them.
Chayton’s anger rose as he thought about how the ranchers and settlers, not to mention those hunting for gold, had started taking over the Comanche and Kiowa’s territory, thinking because they crossed over it, they could claim it. The problem was, they had greater weapons and more soldiers to back up their claim. He wondered if moving a greater distance into the hills would help? It seemed that it didn’t matter what direction the Indian tribes went, there were more white people to deal with. The further they went, in any direction, other white people seemed to have gathered there.
No matter how many treaties they made with the white man’s government, the ones in command, soon changed their mind, wanting more land, each new year, not caring if Chayton’s people were able to survive or not. They assumed the Redman could live the same way as the white man did, but centuries of culture and a certain way of understanding nature was bred into their blood. They knew no other way to survive.
They were not builders, or farmers. They had no trade, except for the talents they used for everyday survival, which they often traded with neighboring tribes and the trappers who came through their area. Their main talent was knowing how to live off the land and take advantage of what Earth Mother offered them. However, that took more than just a few parcels of dirt the, so-called, Americans were offering them to remain on.
Chayton reached his old village location, which was now abandoned. The feelings running through him were disturbing, because of the haste in which it appeared, his people had dismantled their lodges, in order to move on. Many things were left behind. Only one teepee remained standing, and he knew whose teepee it was. It had been his and Clenoa’s teepee. His people thought he would be returning with her and would need a place to rest before they joined the rest of the group.
Chayton, slowly, swung down from his horse, and approached the teepee, with a heavy heart, feeling a strange dread as he lifted the flap. Nothing inside had changed. It was as though he had stepped back in time to when Clenoa was still living, eager to meet him, when he returned from hunting, or other occupations, the braves participated in. Now there would be no one to greet him. Even if he found another maiden, On-thoe-gyah would forever be in his heart. There was no way to chase her out.
He thought of how beautiful Callie had looked in her frilly gown, which made him suddenly realize he was in the wrong place, trying to pretend he was someone he was not. The sight of her would always fill his head.
Chayton closed his eyes, and fell down upon the buffalo skins, that he and Clenoa had shared together. The faint scent of her still remained, pulling his heart in two directions. One direction pulled, towards his lost wife, and one towards the woman he most likely would never see again. In reality, they were both dead to him, and the very struggle to accept the fact rendered him weak.
Chayton let himself drift off to sleep where he could hold Callie in his arms once again and taste her soft white skin, as he showered kisses over her body. The taste of her would forever remain on his tongue. The smell of her haunting perfume seeped deep into his senses, and the very scent haunted him and his dreams.
When he rose the next morning, he busied himself dismantling his teepee, making a travois with the polls to pack his belongings on. Once he was finished, he began following the tracks of his tribe in the direction they had departed, knowing that they would begin to cover their tracks as they progressed, to deceive their enemy or anyone else who tried to follow them. Only he knew most of the methods they would use, and so was on the alert for it.
His tribe was one of the smaller groups of Comanche since both Kiowa and Comanche tribes would often divide into several groups, to keep their population down, which made it easier to move, when the time came to go to better hunting grounds, or flee their enemies. In the winter, they would gather along a river to camp closer together, and reunite with their friends and family over the winter. It was at that time he had met his wife, who had been a member of one of the Kiowa tribes.
Now it was late summer. The spring hunt was over, and soon it would be time for the fall hunt, when they would have to store enough meat and cure hides for their clothes and teepees, to last throughout the winter. Only the buffalo had been diverted from their regular migration across the plains, because of all the white people using the great road. Furthermore, the white buffalo hunters who killed the animals, then merely took their hide, leaving the rest of the meat to rot under the hot sun, was causing the herds to become depleted.
Fewer and fewer buffalo herds came over the plains, where both the Comanche and Kiowa had agreed to remain, to keep peace with the white commanders. So they had been given permission to leave their allotted land in order to hunt, where the buffalo were more plentiful. Chayton wondered how they were going to find a large enough herd of buffalo to sustain them over the winter, because not only the buffalo skinners depleted the herds, but the military men often shot buffalo just for the sport of it. His people only had one chance to kill enough buffalo at the fall hunt. If the buffalo were frightened away or did not come near, it would be too late to prepare the meat and hides before winter hit, even if they managed to find a herd, later in the season. It was all about timing and ability, which the new rules enforced by an intruding government, had disrupted.
Chayton kept pushing forward, as he followed the subtle signs that his tribe had passed that way, wondering if his life could ever get back to normal again? He had lost his wife, and now it seemed he would lose his son, whom Clenoa had begged him to cut from her belly, in order to save his life. On-thoe-gyah would be lost to him also, and those who wanted to over-ride the Indian nation would ever be breathing down their necks, making life almost unendurable for the many tribes throughout the country.
It was late, the next evening, when Chayton finally straggled up to the camp, sheltered by a wooded area, where only the smoke from the campfires drifting up through the trees, indicated they had set up lodgings there.
He was greeted by the outer guard, who was keeping an eye out for enemy tribes and whites, as well.
“Bidziil!” Chayton exclaimed. “I thought you were dead.”
“I could say the same for you, my brother. You did not meet us at our old camp-sight, as we had agreed on, so we feared you had been killed, along with Chitto, Demathi, and Elan. Only we could not find your body.”
“I went to the ranch, where the woman lived, because she had my son, and I wanted to see him before I died. Only she tended to my wound, and I managed to survive. I had to leave my son behind, though, because I had no way to care for him.”
“We could bring a new mother from our tribe to take with us in order to collect your son,” Bidziil offered.
“Perhaps,” Chayton mumbled. “For now, I am tired, and I still have to erect my wigwam. We will speak about it later.”
“The Great Spirit has seen fit to prot
ect you,” Bidziil smiled. “I am happy to look upon your face again.”
“The same here,” Chayton agreed. “Then Chogan made it through as well?” he asked after his best friend. “I was told they shot the whole lot of us.”
“I don’t think they knew how many of us, there were, and just thought, after shooting you and me, and three of our band, we had all been killed.”
“I will be happy to gather with my good friends once more,” Chayton said truthfully, feeling a little less disheartened, at learning that most of them had escaped the rifle balls of the cowboys.
As Chayton entered the village, his friends and family gathered around him, welcoming him back; then his mother was there, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Tsaw-taun,” Chayton mumbled, burying his head into her neck.
“Naw bolje! I thought you dead,” she cried, as tears streaked down her cheeks. “What of your son; your own bolje? I am told your wife was killed by the Osage, but you have no child with you.”
“He is safe. He is being cared for by a white woman, who we tried to bring with us until her people chased us off.”
“What will become of him? You do plan to bring him back to us, don’t you?”
“For now, he needs someone who can feed him. The woman is kind. She saved my life when I was shot. I trust her with my son. In fact, I love her, but there is no way we can be together. When the situation is better for our people, and we do not have to hide from the whites who want to control us, so we can stand proud again, I will retrieve him.”
“Come to our lodge, and go with your father to smoke the long pipe with the counsel, so you can learn what our future plans must be.”
“Once I have set up my own wigwam, I will come,” Chayton agreed.
Even though he was tired, he knew it would be disrespectful not to meet with his father, his Tdaw-tdoye, and the rest of the leaders of the tribe, since he was a brave, and expected to take part in any forthcoming decisions, concerning the safety of the tribe.
After setting up his Teepee, Chayton made his way to the great lodge, where the leaders of the tribe met to talk over the events of the day or made impending plans for the tribe. The pipe was already being passed around, and the lodge smelled of the familiar kinnikinick. Chayton found his place, next to his father.
Kone-gyah-daw Tsay-goon, otherwise known as Black Dog, was speaking. He was a war chief and was known for his aggressive and hot-blooded nature. He made a good war chief, only he was quick to anger, and wanted revenge against the white man.
“Many of our brothers from other tribes are gathering together, to show the white leaders that we will no longer be pushed from our land. New laws have been made that we are forbidden to hunt on our old hunting grounds, or we will be punished. Because of that, our neighboring tribes are determined to push the white man out, by burning their farms and ranches, along with attacking any traveler who dares cross over our territory. The tribes are pulling together. Even the Osage, may be willing to help. I say it is time to show the kind of warriors we can be.”
“We do not have the long-rifles as the whites do,” someone complained.
“Many have been stolen from the whites traveling across our land, and we still have a few long-guns given to us by the white leaders, when we signed their treaty. When we gather, we will all be given a weapon, to fight against those who try to overpower us,” Black Dog informed them.
“If we try to start a war, the white leaders will send more soldiers to hunt us down,” Chayton pointed out.
“Are you losing your bravery, Falcon?” Black Dog grunted.
“Are you forgetting when the whites raided our winter camp and killed so many?” Falcon responded.
“That was not a war. That was a raid on a peaceful village,” Black Dog growled.
“And what you propose to do is a raid on farmers and ranchers who have not attacked us.”
“No, because they have the white man’s army ready to swoop down on us if we try to take back what rightfully belongs to us. The more people we allow to settle here, the harder it will be to make them leave!”
He glared at Chayton and then continued.
“You have no title, Falcon. You are a mere warrior. You left your son with a white woman to raise? Perhaps you have turned white as well!”
“I, like you, do not wish our land to be stolen from us. If you have not learned that the strongest tribe, with the most warriors, and the best weapons, are the ones who are respected by all other tribes, then you cannot call yourself a war chief. The white man’s army is too large and too strong for our people to go up against. Even if all the tribes joined together, there would not be enough to fight them off.”
“Even so, we will teach all the white people a lesson, even if we die trying,” Black Dog insisted.
“If we all die trying, there will be none of our people left to save the land for,” Chayton said quietly.
“You are afraid to die!”
“If it is in vain, there is no purpose to die.”
“Go back to your white woman, and be her squaw! There is no place for your kind here,” Black Dog bellowed.
Chayton realized there was no place for him in the white man’s world either.
“Very well, I will join you,” Chayton conceded.
Perhaps being killed by the white man would put an end to his misery, he decided.
“We will leave at the rising of the sun after we have given prayers to the Great Spirit. He will be on our side and protect us,” Black Dog insisted.
Chayton joined the group, dressed in war-paint, as they headed out to meet other like-minded renegades, eager to put the white man in his place. He was as angry as the rest, only he had been there on the Canadian river when Kit Carson and his men had brought their cannon to punish the Kiowa and Comanche for attacking the whites, a mere five seasons previously.
It had been a bitter setback, because their village had been burned, and their winter supply destroyed. They barely made it through the winter. Therefore, Little Mountain, their chief, met with the generals once more, to try to make peace, the very next year.
Now it was starting all over again. His people, along with many other tribes, were getting restless and angry at being pushed around by the white’s demand that they couldn’t even hunt the buffalo if the herd did not pass through the reservation, they were regulated to remain on. The buffalo had never migrated through that area, so how did the white man think they were going to eat?
Food and supplies, and other amenities promised to the Indians, to take the place of the buffalo, were seldom delivered on time, if at all. In many cases, the military men delivering the supplies would sell most of it along the way to line their own pockets with money, caring little what happened to those Indians who had promised to keep the peace, in exchange for such gifts.
In spite of his anger with the white leaders breaking their promises, while expecting the Indians to keep theirs, Chayton knew full well, what the white man could do in retaliation if the Indians went back on their word.
Just the same, he knew there was no stopping the others, and so he went along to face the consequences of whatever would happen in the end. It felt like his own life and hope was being pulled out from under him, because no matter what he chose to do, someone would suffer in the end. He realized, he would either be killed or captured and in either case, he would never be able to see Callie or his son again.
Two days later, another group of angry brothers joined them, eager to fulfill their desire to push the white man out of their territory. The pipe was smoked, and weapons were passed around. They chanted and danced around the fire until day-break, working themselves up for the pending events.
The group mingled together at the top of a hill, looking down on the farm below. It was early morning, and all was fairly quiet. As the sun shown its first rays, through the branches of the trees behind them, they could see the farmer, going to the barn to milk his cow. Chayton’s heart took a sudden le
ap when he saw a couple of children, carrying a basket, between them, walking to the chicken coop. A woman, wearing an apron, came to the door, waving at the children. She had a baby on her hip, and Chayton saw Callie, holding her own child on her hip in his mind’s eye.
This could be Callie’s ranch, he thought, having no defense against what was about to happen. Abruptly, he was jarred out of his thoughts, as whoops and screeches from the others, filled his ears. The whole group started to ride down the hillside, at full gallop, shooting their long rifles. Chayton saw the man dropping his bucket of milk, as he started to run towards the house, only to be shot down by Chayton’s companions.
Chayton could not watch any more. This was not war against the whites. This was killing defenseless people who had no way to escape. It was just like Kit Carson riding down on his own peaceful village, killing women and children, right along with the braves. His horse was prancing in place, eager to follow the rest, yet Chayton restrained him. The next moment, he turned Khoon-gyah, pointing him back down the other side of the hill.
Chayton gave Khoon-gyah a swift kick, tearing in the opposite direction, so he didn’t have to listen to the screams and the gunshots, knowing innocent people were being slaughtered by his people, regardless of how justified they felt about it.
He worried that perhaps Callie and her ranch might be next, and his own son could be killed in the skirmish. He didn’t want to take the chance. He had promised to protect her. There was only one direction he could go, to make sure she stayed safe. He just wasn’t sure what he could do, once he got there. Trying to protect her and the children, would put his own life in jeopardy. Turning his back on his red brothers would estrange him from his own people. He felt like a person without a family or a country. He wasn’t sure where his loyalties should lie.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Callie twirled her parasol over her head, as she walked up the path towards the beginning of her new house, being constructed on the rise, where she had decided it should be. The bunkhouse had been completed, and while some of the men worked on the house, a couple were busy building the spring reservoir overflow, which would be used to hold the water that would eventually, be pumped to the house.
Beyond the Heart Page 16