Ambush At Mustang Canyon

by Mike Kearby

  “What? The Comanche have never held to the sun dance tradition, sir.”

  Lieutenant Baldwin stared into the scout’s eyes. “There’s something going on that I don’t quite understand, Amos. Nevertheless, we have between twenty and thirty civilians in Adobe Walls, three hundred or more Cheyenne missing from the reservation and a council of Southern tribes at Elk Creek. Something has the Indians riled and we need to warn the folks at the trading post.”

  “I understand, sir.” Amos stared at the ground. “My good friend Billy Dixon is at the Walls. I’ll make ready to leave right away.”

  “Thanks, Amos. Bill Lee said you’d be the one to send.”

  “What?” Amos jerked his head up, wanting to make sure he understood the lieutenant correctly.

  “Bill Lee said you’d be the man to go down to warn Billy and the others.”

  Amos squinted and held his thoughts for a few seconds. “Did Bill offer when this attack would happen?”

  “He indicated that the braves bragged about many buffalo hunters dying after the new moon.”

  “I see.” Amos drew a deep breath and bit down on his bottom lip.

  “I’ll send a detail of four men with you.”

  “I appreciate that, Lieutenant. Tell them we’ll leave as soon as they can get their gear ready.”

  “And, Amos, after you warn the civilians, I need you back here post haste.” The lieutenant whirled and nodded to Free and Parks as he walked back toward the camp. “Gentlemen,” he offered.

  Parks watched the lieutenant disappear into the field of tents and then said, “The new moon is only two days away, Amos.”

  “That’s a fact, Parks.” Amos’ forehead wrinkled as he stared at the departing lieutenant.

  “What’s got your back up, Amos?” Free asked.

  “Something smells like skunk eggs, Free. Why would the Cheyenne tip off the military to the sun dance and an attack on Adobe Walls?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why does Bill Lee want me sent to the Walls?” Amos snapped out of his contemplation and looked at Free and Parks. “I don’t trust Bill Lee any farther than I can see him.”

  “What’s his gain from this?” Free asked.

  “That’s his competition selling in the Walls. And Billy Dixon and I are the ones who led those people down out of Kansas to set up their establishments.”

  Parks rubbed his chin trying to make sense of Amos’ words. “Are you saying that Lee...?”

  “I’m only saying,” Amos interrupted, “that Bill Lee has a lot to profit if the Indians send a raiding party to Adobe Walls.”

  Free looked over at Parks and then back to Chapman, “You’re going to need more than an escort of four soldiers if the lieutenant is right.”

  Parks stepped up and stood shoulder to shoulder with the scout, “You might need some Texas help in protecting that fine head of hair.”

  Free slapped a hand on the scout’s back and gazed at the grulla pony feasting on prairie grass shoots. “It’s foolish for a man to ride headlong into trouble without friends beside him.”

  Amos laughed. “Better’n watching a mule’s tail all day, Free.”

  Free grinned, walked over to the grulla and grabbed the pony’s rein. “I guess it does at that.” He led the mustang over to the tipi where a cavalry saddle and blanket lay on the ground. “We’re heading back to Texas anyhow; I figure it might do us both good to see fresh scenery on the return.” He tossed the saddle on the pony’s back. “If nothing else, we’ll make for good conversation down the trail.”

  “A man on the prairie never turns away company, Free. But you’ve got a wife and son waiting for you back home in Texas . . .”

  “And a friend that needs help here.” Free tightened the cinch strap around the pony’s girth and then looked over the saddle at Amos. “So, are you too headstrong to ride without us?”

  This isn’t your scrap,” Amos stated sternly. “I can’t ask that you and Parks risk your necks for nothing.

  “It’s not for nothing, Amos.” Free straightened and placed the bit in the grulla’s mouth. “I aim to watch over my horse until the army pays for her.”

  Amos grinned. “Appears you know the government better than most, Free.”

  Chapter Three

  The Old City, Texas, June 1874

  A fiery mid-afternoon sun blared down and recast the greening Texas landscape to a palette of yellow and brown. The intrusive rays crept beneath the brim of Free’s hat and robbed him of water and energy. An unceasing, glistening stream of sweat ran from his forehead, down his nose and onto his buckskin shirt. He dragged a shirtsleeve over his face in a vain attempt to stem the continual flow and keep his eyes free of the stinging salt. The messenger detail had left Camp Supply at noon and followed the winding banks of Wolf Creek downstream into the Panhandle Plains and toward Adobe Walls.

  At the last high bend before the creek played out, the detail rode through a valley of grass mounds that marked the ruins of a long abandoned city. Rock slab structures jutted from the landscape and littered the prairie for hundreds of yards.

  “This is our marker to turn south.” Amos pulled rein and spoke to the detail.

  “What is this place?” Parks surveyed the mounds and boulders rising from the plain.

  “No one knows,” Amos said. “Some figure it was Indians who lived here a long time back. But I know it only as a trail marker that leads you to the Canadian River.”

  At the far western edge of the ancient city, thousands of gray mounds shimmered like a mirage on the horizon.

  “What are those?” Free pointed west.

  Amos stared into the glare of the sun and wiped his forehead. “I’ve been through here a hundred times and never seen that on this prairie. But the flatness of this land will deceive a man. Those may be rocks five hundred yards away.”

  As the men turned their horses south, the constant northwest breeze gusted and brought with it a sickening smell. The odor slammed into each of the men’s nostrils then stomachs and alerted them that something dead was downwind of them.

  Free pulled the bandana from around his neck and covered his nose and mouth. He pinched the cloth against his nostrils in the hope that he might fend off the onslaught of nausea overpowering his insides.

  Amos stared to the west and tried to make out the shapes rising above the short prairie grasses. “I best go take a look,” he said with little enthusiasm.

  A tense silence filled the plain, and then Free clucked at Spirit. “We best all go.”

  The detail turned back west and rode with reluctance toward the humps. Free tightened his bandana and gulped air through his mouth in an attempt to buffer the rotting smell.

  A short distance away, the mounds came into focus and Free realized he was looking at thousands of skinned buffalo carcasses. The dead bodies stretched as far as the eye could see and dotted the prairie in varied shades of gray. The scene filled each man in the detail with a vile distaste for those who could perpetrate such an atrocity on the land.

  As many as twenty turkey vultures sat with wings outstretched next to each carcass. The scavengers guarded their treasures and seemed content to drink in the powerful smell of death. A frantic hum buzzed above the carcasses and swarms of flies darkened the air.

  “My God!” Amos Chapman exclaimed and dry heaved over his horse.

  One of the soldiers drew his revolver and fired at a pack of scavengers nearest him. The birds, unable to fly due to the weight in their bellies, scattered to the north in a waddle.

  “Forget it, son!” Free hollered. “There are too many of them!”

  Parks glanced over to Free. “I think we just found the reason the Southern tribes are ready to go on the warpath.”

  Free surveyed the prairie and shook his head in disgust. “What a waste,” he muttered.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Parks hollered to Amos.

  “Not just yet.” Amos lifted his head and pointed fifty yards to the northwest “Lo
ok over there,” his voice quivered with dread.

  Dutch ovens, frying pans, bedding, flour, sugar and clothing littered the prairie and formed a trail that ended at two wagons laden with buffalo hides. Free circled the nearest wagon and found two buffalo hunters tied with rawhide to the spokes of the wheels. Both men were scalped, and their bodies held a dozen Comanche arrows.

  Free held his gaze on the men and then turned to Amos. “I reckon this confirms what we feared,” he said.

  Amos dismounted and searched the ground around the bodies. “There’s not a spent cartridge around these men.” He pushed his hat back and exhaled softly.

  Free looked at the scout, puzzled. “They didn’t have any ammunition?”

  Amos reached into the uncovered wagon and patted the stack of hides. “Oh, they had ammo; they just used it all on these.”

  Parks took a quick survey around the prairie and then stepped down from Horse. “You figure they used up all their cartridges and then skinned their kill before making reloads?”

  “These two wouldn’t be the first to die on this land for a measly twelve bits a hide.” Amos walked over to the first man and cut his bindings. “Most likely they won’t be the last, either.”

  “Seems to me that the trail a man rides toward easy money is always filled with prairie dog holes.” Free shook his head, sickened by the gruesome scene.

  “They didn’t even get to their bite.” Amos pulled a Big Fifty cartridge from the shirt pocket of one of the men.

  Parks moved close to Amos and studied the cartridge. “Their bite?”

  Amos placed the bullet back into the dead man’s pocket. “Every hunter I know, understands what happens if the Comanche catches him past the Cimarron hunting buffalo. They keep one cartridge filled with cyanide for that circumstance.”

  Parks shook his head and stared grimly at the corpses. “A guaranteed quick death.”

  “And Comanche won’t mutilate a man they don’t kill.”

  Free stared at the wagons. “How come the Comanche didn’t take the hides?”

  Amos cut the rawhide on the second hunter and said, “Bad medicine. I’ll bet my hat that Esatai gave the war party a stern warning on removing any of the killed buffalo from this land.”

  “Esa-tai?” Free asked.

  “He’s the chief medicine man for the Kwahada’s. He supposedly holds powerful medicine and is in Quanah’s favor presently.”

  Parks looked back to the southwest. “We best get these men in the ground and make our way to Adobe Walls.”

  Amos nodded grimly. “The Comanche won’t be satisfied with just these two. They’ve never held with tradition like the Kiowa, so for the Comanche to perform the sun dance means they are asking the Great Spirit for powerful medicine.”

  “How powerful?” Free asked.

  “I figure they want enough medicine to kill every buffalo hunter from Kansas to Texas,” Amos replied grimly. “Most likely, their next stop is Adobe Walls.”

  Chapter Four

  The Medicine Lodge, Elk Creek, June 1874

  At dusk, on the eve of the sun dance ceremony, the assembled chiefs of the southern plains sat around a fire pit inside the medicine lodge on Elk Creek. The thin brush walls of the lodge covered a frame of cottonwood and cedar. The summer sky moved from east to west across the partially opened roof. The lodge floor contained a layer of clean river sand carried in small pouches by Comanche squaws and spread to a depth of six inches for the sun dancers. Bundles of white sage burned in the fire and created billows of incense that spiraled skyward.

  The Comanche, represented by He-Bear, Quanah, and Tabananaka called for the sun dance and sat with their backs to the west. The Kiowa delegation of White Horse, Lone Wolf, Big Bow, and Maman-ti sat to the south. The Cheyenne chiefs, Stone Calf, Minimic and Red Moon, who held allegiance with the Comanche, sat north of the fire.

  Esa-tai squatted in the center of the lodge with his back to the east and fanned the white sage smoke with a cedar branch. Behind him, eight less prominent medicine men beat on drums stretched with skinned buffalo hide. As the smoke swirled through the opening of the lodge, Esa-tai began a soft chant.

  Oh Great Spirit,

  Make my medicine strong.

  Oh Great Father,

  Consider my plea.

  That the buffalo will remain in the land,

  And The People will multiply on the earth.

  As he finished the first chant, Esa-tai went silent and began to sway side-to-side in rhythm with the drumbeat. After several minutes, the drumbeat became quicker and Esa-tai began to chant once more.

  Thank you, Great Father

  for your pity on The People.

  Thank you for sharp lances

  and arrows of true aim.

  Great Spirit, have pity.

  When the chant ended, Esa-ti stared upward in a trance. Suddenly, the Kwahada medicine man leapt to his feet and stretched his arms upward. Esa-tai closed his eyes and began a series of whoops, “Rah, Rah, Rah.” He called to the sky and placed his arms behind his back. “Rah! Rah! Rah!” The whoops became louder. He pushed his left arm skyward, and to the astonishment of the great chiefs, an arrow appeared in his fist. “Rah! Rah! Rah!” Esa-tai screamed and threw up his right arm. A second arrow appeared in his right fist. Esatai shook the arrows toward the sky and resumed his chant.

  Thank you Great Spirit

  for the medicine arrows.

  This medicine will protect

  The People and drive the

  killers of buffalo out

  of the land.

  Thank you Great Father.

  Esa-tai looked to the west and shook both arrows toward his fellow Kwahada. “Power to the Numa!” he chanted the Comanche name. He turned to the south and shook both arrows toward the Kiowa. “Power to the Kiowa!” he chanted. He then turned to the north and shook the arrows at the Cheyenne. “Power to the Cheyenne!” he chanted. He repeated the ceremony twice more and then squatted in the sand.

  Quanah nodded confidently and spoke to the chiefs, “This is a strong warrior who gives us all a gift from the Great Spirit.”

  A great fervor filled the smoke laden lodge and the Comanche and Cheyenne chiefs rocked forward in joy of the shaman’s pronouncements.

  White Horse frowned, “I do not trust the Wolf Prophet’s medicine, and I see many tears flowing from the People if they do as he bids.” White Horse remained motionless and kept his arms folded across his chest.

  Esa-tai shook both arrows at White Horse. “The great chief Quanah will tell you I hold the medicine of the wolf. And the Great Spirit has directed me through a wolf’s dream that the white buffalo hunters will die in their sleep.”

  Quanah, Tabananaka, and He Bear all jumped to their feet and called the name of Esa-tai’s power. “Puha!” They shouted. “Puha!”

  Maman-ti tensed and pointed his index finger at the heavens. “Esa-tai’s puha is weak. The Comanche have not followed the Great Spirit’s direction as to preparation for the sun dance.”

  Esa-tai grinned deviously at the Owl Prophet. “Maman-ti cannot speak of the Comanche sun dance. What we do is our custom. The Great Spirit provides Esa-tai with paint that will turn away the buffalo hunter’s copper. My medicine is very strong!” The Wolf Prophet sprang to his feet and howled at the slender summer moon.

  Quanah looked at the Cheyenne chiefs. “Will you ride with Quanah?”

  Stone Calf rose and nodded. “The Cheyenne will hold with their Comanche brothers.”

  Quanah turned to the Kiowa. “And you Lone Wolf, do you speak for the Kiowa or follow the peace wishes of Kicking Bird. How do you say?”

  Lone Wolf stared at his old friend, Maman-ti and then turned to Quanah. “The ta-’ka-i never seem to have enough. Never enough land, never enough buffalo, and never enough Kiowa dead. The hunters now mock the People and leave many buffalo scattered across all our lands. I cannot speak for all Kiowa, but Lone Wolf will ride with Quanah.”

  Maman-ti stood and addresse
d the chiefs. “Be careful my brothers. The Wolf Prophet shows great hate for the hide hunters, but his hate will only weaken the People. His hate will not hurt the hide hunters. The Owl Prophet will not battle with the whites until the Kiowa complete their sun dance. Then the Great Father will show pity for his People.”

  White Horse stood and held both hands sky-ward. “I ask Quanah and the Comanche to leave the buffalo hunters for now. Much harm will come to all of our People if we go to war without the Great Spirit’s blessing.”

  Esa-tai frowned at the Kiowa. “Harrumph,” he uttered.

  Big Bow stood and followed Maman-ti and White Horse as they exited the lodge in silence.

  Esa-tai howled at the three as they departed and signaled for the drummers to resume the cadence. As the beat began, Esa-tai began to dance in a series of shuffles and hops. After circling the lodge in an ever-widening arc, he looked at the assembled chiefs and said, “The Great Spirit demands that no skunk or rabbit be killed by the raiding party. Tell your warriors of this demand and make sure the Great Spirit is honored.”

  The beat of the drums now became more frantic. Quanah glanced upward. The moon’s horns faced east. “When the new moon finishes its journey across the sky, The People will ride to the Adobe Walls and kill all the hide hunters!” he screamed.

  Chapter Five

  Adobe Walls, Texas, June 1874

  On a small hill east of Bent Creek, a mile or so from old Fort Adobe, sat the Adobe Walls outpost. The settlement was slightly north of the Canadian River and surrounded by lowland. “Dobe Walls,” as the buffalo hunters called it, ran for seven hundred feet from north to south and consisted of four unsightly structures.

  The Myer and Leonard Mercantile sat on the north end of the trading post, protected by a picket stockade and fortified by thick walls of dirt. Next door, although a good fifty yards away, was Hanrahan’s Saloon with O’Keefe’s blacksmith shop next in line. Charles Rath’s establishment lay at the south end of the primitive settlement and consisted of a hide yard, restaurant, and store.