by J. T. Edson
An almost animal-sounding snarl left Sidewinder’s lips and his mother hissed, ‘These stupid Waw’ai dogs. If only they were Kweharehnuh or Pehnane—’
‘The God-man died and so did Colonel Huckfield.’ Salmon put in, feeling that he had better give his host and hostess some good news.
Both Fire Dancer and her son were aware that one name, the one which interested them both, had not been mentioned.
‘And what of Cuchilo?’ snarled the chief, his hand going in an involuntary move to touch his injured legs
Sucking in a deep breath, Salmon avoided his questioner’s eyes and paused as long as he dared before giving an answer he knew would be even more unpopular than the previous news.
‘Cuchio lives.’
‘So he still lives!’ Fire Dancer ejaculated in a voice throbbing with hate. ‘And he the one I wanted most to die!’
An even greater uneasiness crept over Salmon as he listened to the woman and wondered at her response to the news that Ysabel Kid had not been murdered. He put the reaction down to Fire Dancer realizing the Kid’s influence on the thinking of the tribal leaders; little knowing that the hatred went much further back than the organization of the treaty council.
For a prisoner, Fire Dancer had done well. She became adopted into the Pehnane and married, as fourth wife, a name-warrior called Bitter Root. Defying convention, she worked herself into the position of pairaivo, easing the original first wife from their husband’s favour. Everything had been going in keeping with Fire Dancer’s ideas of the fitness of life when her husband provoked a fatal quarrel with Sam Ysabel.
After that Fire Dancer’s numerous sins bounced rapidly back on to her heads The other wives moved fast, repaying her for slights and indignities heaped on them by the young pairaivo, Having fathers and brothers to back their claims, the three wives saw that the division of their departed husband’s property satisfied them. From being the rich, spoiled pairaivo, Fire Dancer found herself turned into a widow dependant on the charity of the tribe, She blamed her misfortune on Sam Ysabel, although he did not start the fatal fight, and swore revenge against the white man,
With the Latin’s capacity for hate and retaining grudges, she bided her time. Leaving the Pehnane, Fire Dancer travelled to the Kweharehnuh, Antelope, band of the Comanche and settled among them. Four times she married and each husband met a mysterious death after raising her to pairaivo and willing her the bulk of his property. Fire Dancer befriended the Kweharehnuh witch-woman to such a degree that she learned many dark and sinister secrets. At last she felt the time had come to return to the Pehnane and extract vengeance on Bitter Root’s killer. She failed to achieve anything against Ysabel or his son. In fact her final effort cost several lives and the crippling of her son without bringing about her desire.
Fleeing from the vengeance which she expected to come, Fire Dancer brought her son at last to the Waw’ai band. A storm washed out their tracks and the Civil War of the white men further prevented Sam or Loncey Ysabel hunting her down. Among the Waw’ai, Fire Dancer gained a reputation as medicine woman and witch while her son developed into first a warrior, then war chief due to her driving will.
With the passing of time Fire Dancer’s hatred of the Ysabels grew and was transferred to the Pehnane, then the whole of the Comanche Nations Always she sought for a way in which she might bring ruin to the people who gave her a home and at least as good a life as she might have had in the small Mexican village from which a raiding party snatched her So when the word went out that the old-man chiefs of the major Nemenuh bands aimed to make peace, she thought her vengeance might come to nothing.
The peace council had not been arranged in a matter of days but worked for and developed over a period of almost two years. Attending talks in her capacity of Waw’ai medicine woman, certain facts became obvious even during the earliest meetings between Comanche and white negotiators. Realizing that peace did not meet with the approval of all white men, including some of those supposedly trying to make it, Fire Dancer turned her natural bent for intrigue and witch woman knowledge to good account. She found the right men and made her proposals. In return for certain concessions, which interested her less than the ultimate effect of her actions on the Comanche people — but proved necessary to lull the white men’s suspicions of her motives — Fire Dancer promised to keep alive the bad-feeling which existed between many of both peoples.
Using Salmon as a go-between, Fire Dancer and her white co-planners exchanged ideas. All the time, while most Comanche bands kept the peace, Sidewinder led his Waw’ai braves on raids of the most vicious kind and fed fuel to the flames a very vocal section of the white nation fanned against negotiations with the Nemenuh.
Despite that, the peace council was arranged. So too were plans for wrecking it. With the help of her white allies. Fire Dancer sent men out to kill a number of influential friends of the Comanche. From what Salmon just told her, the plan only partially succeeded and the one person she hoped to be dead more than any of the others still remained alive.
‘What other word do you bring from the Fort?’ she asked after what had been a disturbingly long silence for Salmon.
‘The white soldier lance-carriers have been sent to bring in the Waw’ai to Fort Sorrel,’ he answered.
‘These I have seen,’ Fire Dancer commented in a flat voice. ‘How many of them come?’
‘Almost a hundred.’
‘And what are they to do?’
‘Make your people come in. Use force if they have to.’
Which meant, as Salmon and Fire Dancer well knew, a fight. Any Comanche still away from the council meeting did not intend to attend and would only be taken there by force. A frown creased Fire Dancer’s brow and Salmon’s uneasiness leapt even higher as he wondered how she took his last piece of news.
‘Sit down,’ she ordered. ‘I will have food for you. Then I must make medicine. Have no fear, friend, you only brought the news.’
Salmon gulped at something which seemed to be blocking his throats Knowing better than argue, he sat on his heels and watched Fire Dancer leave the tipi. Sidewinder did not follow his mother, but hunkered down facing the scout and watched Salmon with cold, unwinking eyes. That did nothing to improve Salmon’s appetite, already made jumpy by the knowledge that Fire Dancer used poison as a means of disposing of people who crossed her. However the scout managed to force a meal of the inevitable stew down and felt no ill-effects from it. With the meal over, he sat faced by the silent chief and waited for Fire Dancer’s returns At last the door-flap lifted and Fire Dancer entered.
‘You can find the lance-carriers?’ she asked without preamble.
‘I reckon I can,’ agreed Salmon. ‘They’re coming down Elk Creek towards Lovatt City. You’ll want me to find them and lead them away from your camp?’
‘No. I want you to find them and bring them here.’
‘Here?’ yelped Salmon and Sidewinder let out a low hiss of breath.
‘Towards this camp,’ confirmed the woman. ‘But bring them through Wide Valley when you come.’
‘I can do that,’ Salmon said, ‘But how about me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It figures that you’re going to fight them soldiers, so where do I come off? I’ll be with the soldiers and your braves don’t look too careful at who they’re counting coup on when they’re in a fight.’
‘A wise man would make sure that his horse became lame at the right moment,’ purred Fire Dancer. ‘All I ask is that you bring the lance-carriers into Wide Valley for me.’
‘That’ll be easy. I know their leader and he’ll listen to me. By noon in two days’ time, I’ll have them coming into Wide Valley.’
Not until after the scout’s departure did Sidewinder raise the points which troubled him. Sitting in the tipi, he looked at his mother.
‘Aiee! These Waw’ai will not have stomach when they see they face lance-carriers,’
‘White-eye lance-carriers,’ corrected Fire Dancers ‘When I was
a child in Mexico, I saw lance-carriers and know how they fight. Go and have the camp cried that there will be a War Dance this night and when you return I will tell you how you will defeat the lance-carriers and what you must do after they are beaten.’
No Comanche would think of going upon a war path without celebrating the occasion with a dance and this itself called for a special ceremony, After receiving his instructions from Fire Dancer, Sidewinder made a start.
Normally the organizer of a war party called in his friends, or other name-warriors, to discuss the proposed raid; but Sidewinder had such a reputation among the Waw’ai that he felt he could dispense with formalities. Nor did time permit an extended period of preparation, with racks of lances supporting shields gathering medicine strength from the sun before the organizer’s tipi and women going about to induce recruitment by persuading men to join the party. The latter did not prove necessary as no man in that village dare refuse the Death Bringer’s wishes.
The traditional parade of warriors could not be overlooked. About sundown Sidewinder led his party in single file and paraded four times through the village. Each man wore his medicine paint and war clothes, carrying his arms to show his readiness to make war, Among the party, three men each carried a naivi, maiden, dressed in male’s clothing on their horses, seated behind them. This signified that the man in question had performed the honoured feat of carrying a wounded or unhorsed companion out of a fight, or collected a dead brave to prevent the body falling into enemy hands and bring bad luck down on the war party.
When night came, the entire population of the village gathered about the large fire in the centre of the tipi circle. Forming a rough circle, they left an opening in their ranks facing the distant Wide Valley as required by tradition. Not all the braves would be going, it being necessary to leave a small force to guard the village. Only those actually riding with Sidewinder could dance and each had a woman to partner him.
Accompanied by drums and the singing of those who did not dance, warriors and their partners performed the long-established steps of the ceremony. At intervals, various members of the party halted the dancing to recount their best coup, telling it to rouse the spirits of the younger members and show what kind of company could be expected in the dangerous times ahead. Now and then a warrior and naivi slipped off into the darkness; no maiden would think of refusing to accompany a man who could bring back much loot, and would be grateful for services rendered, or might die in battle and so deserved comfort.
Through the night, warriors danced, or sat singing. They sang war chants, but also raised their voices in love songs. Then an expectant silence fell over the crowd and Sidewinder rose from his place of honour. The time had come for the party’s war leader to address them.
Standing in the circle’s centre, his face made even more evil by the flickering glow of the fire’s flames, Sidewinder warned of the coming of the white soldiers. He told how his party must go out to battle and destroy the hated intruders and then promised that, on achieving victory, they would make a raid to bring in much loot and provide unlimited opportunities to count coup. With skilled oratory, he called upon his companions to display their usual courage, explaining that a resounding victory would make them the supreme Nemenuh tribe. It would also bring flocking to them all the warriors of the other bands who wanted no such foolishness as peace with the white invaders of Comancheria. At the head of an ever-growing army, the Waw’ai under Sidewinder would sweep the hated white man to wherever they came from and bring back the good old days once more.
‘We must defeat the lance-carriers first though,’ he warned his men. ‘But I have medicine for that.’
‘The Death Bringer’s medicine?’ asked one of the braves,
‘My medicine,’ agreed Fire Dancer. ‘I have seen that you will defeat the white lance carriers, then sweep across the prairie to greater victories. For who will dare stand in the way of brave-hearts who have defeated the carriers of lances?’
Knowing in what respect they themselves held warriors brave enough to carry a lance into battle, none of the listening crowd could doubt that Fire Dancer’s predictions would bring about the desired result. Even those who did not relish tangling with lance-carriers, even white ones, began to take faith when they heard that the full, malignant medicine puha of the Death Bringer backed them.
Fortunately none of the party thought to ask about the men sent out to kill and so far not returned, or knew of the various failures, or they might have felt less faith in their witch Woman’s powers.
CHAPTER SIX
A RESPONSIBLE CHORE FOR CAPTAIN FOG
‘IT’S a sight to see,’ commented Dusty Fog as, accompanied by his friends, he rode his seventeen hand paint stallion — the one which crippled Ole Devil — on the final stage of the journey to Fort Sorrel.
‘I never afore saw so many Comanche together,’ agreed Mark Counter, studying the clusters of tipis which formed a half-circle beyond the log-walled perimeter of the Fort. Those Yankee soldiers’ll be sweating all ways.’
‘What’d you expect?’ demanded the Kids ‘Us Nemenuh aren’t real smart like you white folks, but we know a whole heap better than let just the old-man chiefs come in to make a treaty. This way, we stand a better than even chance of getting the chiefs back again.’
‘Don’t you-all trust us white folks then?’ grinned Mark, sitting easily afork his huge bloodbay stud horse; a light rider who took less out of his mount than a less skilled man of smaller size.
Allowing his magnificent white stallion to fall behind his companions, the Kid moved it closer to Mark. Before the white came within range, Mark hurriedly removed his leg from the stirrup and clear of the big stallion’s shapely head. With the air of one who had proved his point, the Kid resumed his position level with the others.
‘We trust you white folks as much as you trust this old Nigger hoss of mine,’ he assured Mark.
One member of the party, apart from the Kid, regarded the sight of the tipis with pleasure. Driving a buggy, with two pack horses fastened to its rear, Professor Hollenheimer studied the groups of Indian dwellings with eager attention. He ignored the view of the fort, having seen many of them during his visits to different Indian tribes. While the materials used for construction differed to suit local conditions, the position of the various buildings altered, the basic layout remained the same. Guard house and cells by the main entrance, officers’ country made neat and homey, the spartan simplicity of the barrack blocks. Stables, picket lines, stores and administration sections, the saddlers’ and farriers’ departments spaced around the parade square, which in turn had a lane of jumps for the horses on two of its sides. None of that particularly interested Hollenheimer. His eyes feasted on the potential source of learning offered by the assembled Comanches.
‘Can you tell me what bands are here?’ he asked, looking at the Kid.
‘That bunch at the far side are Tanima, Liver Eaters,’ the Kid replied and his finger moved to the next loose circle of tents. ‘You can always tell the Detsanawyeka, they’re real slovenly in setting up camps, Their name means Wanderers-Who-Make-Bad-Camps. The Yamparikuh, Yap-Eaters, are next to the Wanderers. Then there’s the Iteha’c. They always put up more pemmican than they can eat and throw away all that’s not eaten comes spring, so old folks used to find the meat all black and spoiled and started calling them the Burnt Meat band.’
‘How about that small group by the stream?’ asked Hollenheimer excitedly.
‘Pahuraix, Water-Horse band.’
‘Is that the same as the Par-Kee-Na-Um?’
‘Sure, Professor. It means Water People. They always make camp on the bank of a lake or river. Coming by them, that next group, there’s a sight,’
‘What are they?’
‘Kweharehnuh,’ breathed the Kid. ‘The Antelope band, Happen they come in, the treaty’s safe.’
‘Is it?’ said Hollenheimer.
‘Sure. The Kweharehnuh are as tough as they come and none too fri
endly with the whites. If anybody stay out, it’ll be them.
‘Who are the big group of tipis separated from the others?’
‘My people,’ said the Kid, a note of pride in his voice. ‘The Pehnane.’
‘Then all the bands are here,’ Hollenheimer remarked.
‘Not all of them, Professor,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Lon never mentioned the Waw’ai.’
Until the attempted murders at the OD Connected, Dusty had barely heard of the Waw’ai band. Since then his interest in that particular section of the Comanche Nation grew and he looked forward to meeting the Waw’ai elders.
‘Most likely any of them who’re here have bedded down with the Pahuraix,’ guessed the Kid. ‘That way they can listen in on what’s said and take word back to the war chiefs. I reckon I’ll go take Grandpappy Long Walker his presents, Dusty.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Dusty. ‘I’d like to come around and meet him again later in the day.’
‘Feel free,’ the Kid offered. ‘You’ll be safe enough in any of the camps and nowhere safer than among the Pehnane.’
Unfastening the halter rope of one of the pack horses, the Kid gave a cheery grin to his friends and rode away from them. The horse carried presents and the butchered carcass of a white tail deer which he killed on the trip. While passing among the Pehnane tipis, he called greetings and received salutations from a number of people. After the War ended, he had found time to visit his grandfather and found himself still remembered.
A heavily-built old woman wearing spotlessly-clean buckskin dress and the ornaments of one well-endowed with wealth looked up as the Kid drew rein alongside her. Grave of feature, her age-wrinkled face creased in a smile while her lively eyes studied him.
‘Greetings, pia,’ the Kid said, using the respectful term for aunt. ‘I bring meat for your fire.’