by Nan Ryan
He would have to lead the dwindling band onto the Oklahoma reservation.
At Fort Sill news quickly spread that the last major warring band of Comanches had finally given up and were now heading for the reservation. A flurry of activity ensued as the post prepared for the tribe’s arrival.
No one knew the exact hour or day when the Comanches would reach the reservation, but the entire fort community, whites and Indians alike, wanted to be there to watch their arrival. It was said that the half-white young chief known as The Eagle would be leading the Comanches into Fort Sill.
Excitement mounted as the days went by.
And then on a crisp morning in late October a lone sentry galloped into the fort to announce that the Comanches were approaching the gates. Mounted soldiers of the Fourth Cavalry rode out to meet the advancing cavalcade.
Everyone at the fort was quickly alerted. People dropped what they were doing and hurried toward the parade ground. Maggie was informed and immediately dismissed her morning classes.
A crowd swiftly gathered near the fort’s front gates.
In that growing throng was the curious Maggie. As the band of Comanches rode through the fort’s tall gates, Maggie experienced a tingling excitement. Eager to get a close look at this warring band, she anxiously made her way forward through the crowd to the perimeter of the parade ground. She wasn’t satisfied until she had maneuvered into a position where no one was in front of her.
Maggie felt the buzz of anticipation that swept through the onlookers. Since learning that the Comanches were coming, Maggie had heard many tales of the hell-raiser, mixed-blood warrior who, despite his many escapades, was still so respected by the majority of his People that he would be the one bringing in the band.
His name was Shanaco.
The Eagle.
Some called him a half-breed. Some called him a devil. But no one, it was said, questioned his intelligence, iron will or brute strength. The only son of the great Comanche war chief, Naco, and his blond captive wife, Shanaco had, from the time he turned sixteen, drifted back and forth between the white and Indian worlds. Riding and raiding with the Comanches one night, dressing and living like a white man the next.
It was whispered that Shanaco was not content in either world. Restless, brooding, menacing—an air of extreme boredom masked a volatile nature.
Maggie lamented the fact that Double Jimmy was not present to share this momentous occasion. He would be disappointed that he had missed it. And, if anyone could have made the Comanches’ painful transition easier, it was the dedicated Indian agent.
Double Jimmy was, this very minute, en route from Washington where he had gone to plead for more beef and clothing for the reservation Indians. Had he known that the last of the Comanches were coming in, he would surely have postponed his trip.
The regimental band struck up “Gary Owen” and Maggie’s heartbeat quickened. From his place on the reviewing stand, the portly commandant of the fort, fifty-one-year-old Colonel Norman S. Harkins, came to his feet.
Colonel Harkins had served under Double Jimmy in the war. The two men had a great deal of respect for each other. Double Jimmy was aware of Harkins’s bitter disappointment at being sent out to this frontier fort. But he knew Harkins to be an honorable man who discharged his duties without complaint.
Maggie glanced in the colonel’s direction and suddenly frowned.
At the colonel’s side on this fine October morning was his only daughter, Lois. The spoiled twenty-one-year-old Lois was spending several months at the fort with her father while her eastern-based mother traveled Europe.
Lois was blond and lovely, and when she walked down the fort’s wooden sidewalks she caused quite a stir among the predominantly male population. Lois Harkins was the opposite of Maggie. While Maggie couldn’t have cared less about male attention, the self-centered Lois thrived on it. Couldn’t live without it.
Lois was so adept at flirting and teasing that few really realized what she was up to. Maggie did. Lois didn’t fool the perceptive Maggie for a minute. Maggie strongly suspected that Lois did a great deal more than just flirt with some of the soldiers.
Now, as the Comanche rode forward, Lois Harkins leapt to her feet. Maggie watched as Lois spotted—at the head of the procession—the most magnificent specimen of manhood Maggie had ever laid eyes on.
The Eagle.
Shanaco.
Dressed as a Comanche, naked save for a scarlet bandanna knotted at his throat and a low-riding breechcloth, Shanaco was astride a nervously dancing black stallion. A fine-looking man, Shanaco had a lean coppery body of perfect symmetry coupled with a muscular, athletic frame. His face was undeniably arresting with high cheekbones, proud nose, strong chin and wide mouth.
Some of those standing at very close range got a glimpse of intense silver eyes shining out the harshly handsome face. His very countenance denoted a high intelligence and innate leadership.
His long raven hair was worn loose, defiantly, and blowing in the wind, a feather tucked into his scalp lock. His broad chest and bare legs gleamed in the morning sunshine. Around his right biceps was a wide copper band, and in his right hand, a war lance. Bells tinkled on his moccasins and on the decorative red trappings on his stallion.
The Eagle rode without effort, handling the nervous black with his knees. He seemed not to be real, not of this world, but a divine image of masculine beauty. A bronzed pagan god in the strength of his prime.
Every eye was upon him, and a great hush had fallen over the crowd. Like the fluttery Lois, Maggie found it impossible to take her eyes off the sullen, majestic half-breed. She found herself hoping he would turn and look in her direction. And knowing that he would not.
He didn’t.
Shanaco stared straight ahead, looking neither to the left or the right. The insolent attitude of his princely body, the aloof expression on his cruelly handsome face, made Maggie shake her head ruefully.
This notorious half-breed was in for his share of misery at Fort Sill.
And he would dish out plenty as well.
Four
Armed soldiers had ridden out to intercept the arriving Comanches and their young leader who, through courage and initiative, had attained the statue of honored war chief among his People. The soldiers were aware that Shanaco was revered and respected despite his frequent absences from his tribe.
He was a rarity.
While a white captive woman giving birth to a warrior’s child was not that uncommon, it was rare that a half-breed would rise to the prominence of respected war chief and recognized leader.
Shanaco had managed such a feat and he had done it by demonstrating unfailing bravery and superior intelligence. He scoffed at the idea—whispered by the whites—that his success as a leader was due to his mixed blood. His white blood. It was said that it made him more intelligent than his fellow tribesmen.
It was not so. Other full-blood warriors had wholly proven themselves at an age as young as Shanaco.
Two armed blue-clad troopers quickly moved into position, closely flanking Shanaco, as if afraid he might bolt and run. He said nothing, did not turn his head to look at either of them. Behind Shanaco, the rest of the Comanches remained silent. They said not one word, but looked straight ahead, as did their leader.
The crowd stared at the new arrivals, realizing that this was a momentous occasion. History was surely being made on the rolling plains of the Oklahoma Territory.
The last of the warring Comanches had finally been forced to surrender. Feared through the years by the Spaniards, the Mexicans, the Texans and finally all whites everywhere, these conquered adversaries were riding into the fort to lay down their arms forever.
Maggie frowned, annoyed, when she no longer had an unobstructed view of Shanaco. She strained to get one last fleeting glimpse of the notorious chieftain, then turned and left.
Her thoughts once again returning to her students, Maggie made her way back through the crowd and headed directly to
the post’s supply depot to pick out needed articles for her classroom.
The long possession of arriving Comanches continued. Shanaco, riding between the two uniformed troopers, appeared to be docile, with only a hint of implied defiance in his silver-gray eyes.
Shanaco had every intention, for his deceased grandfather’s sake, to be on his best behavior for as long as he stayed at Fort Sill. Which would not be long.
A month. Six weeks at most. He’d stay only until the tribe was settled.
Directly behind Shanaco rode the young men, the brave, strong warriors of the band. Behind the proud braves came the elder statesmen of the tribe, dressed in their finest for this sad occasion. Many wore black war paint on their faces and clutched shields and tomahawks.
After them came the women and children, mounted on the travois ponies, dragging their meager belongings behind them.
Last came the pony herd, numbering less than two hundred. The tribe’s young boys skillfully kept the horses bunched in long columns.
The entire band—men, women and children—numbered no more than a hundred. All were totally silent as they surrendered forever the freedom that had always been theirs.
The crowd watching was just as silent. A pall had quickly fallen over the proceedings. The whites had just cause to hate the Comanches—and most did. But even some of those felt a twinge of compassion for these once-powerful Lords of the Plains who would now be nothing more than dependent children, looking to the government for every morsel of food they put in their mouths.
The somber cavalcade rode across the dusty parade ground, passed completely through the fort and turned north toward the unfinished icehouse. There the receiving troops dismounted and took all the shields and weapons from the Comanches. Shanaco had warned his tribesmen that this would happen. The warriors did not resist, but willingly surrendered their weapons.
Once all the weapons had been collected, the Comanche men were ordered to dismount. Shanaco swung down out of the saddle first and nodded for his tribesmen to do the same. All did so peacefully. Shanaco was relieved. This unpleasant process was going forward more smoothly than he had hoped. He was determined that he would continue to remain totally calm.
But his passionate nature swiftly emerged when he was told that the young warriors, including him, would be locked up for an indefinite period.
Fury instantly leapt into his light eyes and he struggled fiercely against the armed men forcing him into the icehouse, which was to be a temporary jail.
At that moment Maggie stepped out of the post supply store and heard the commotion. Curious, she turned to see what was happening. Shading her eyes against the blinding sun, she was drawn steadily closer, her lips parted, a frown of puzzlement on her face. She watched in shock and horror as an infuriated Shanaco and the young Comanche warriors were thrown into the makeshift prison.
Stunned, Maggie stood for a moment, motionless, unable to believe her eyes. Then her face grew fiery red with anger. Teeth clamped tightly together, her dander up, Maggie dropped her bag of supplies where she stood and hurried headlong toward the icehouse. Her mind was racing. What should she do? How could she help? How could she stop this atrocity?
Then it came to her. Double Jimmy! He would put a stop to this outrage! But a few steps short of the icehouse, Maggie stopped abruptly.
“Oh, no!” she muttered aloud, remembering suddenly that the Indian agent was not at the fort. Double Jimmy was in Washington and wouldn’t be back until Saturday morning, more than forty-eight hours from now.
She couldn’t wait that long. She had to do something this very minute. There was no other choice. She would go straight to the fort’s commander, Colonel Harkins, register a firm protest and demand that he release the Comanches.
Maggie turned and hurried toward the fort’s administration offices. Skirts lifted, chin jutting, she crossed the dusty quadrangle, stepped up onto the shaded east sally port and moved quickly to the closed door of Colonel Harkins’s office.
“May I be of assistance, Miss Bankhead?” a provost marshal, who was waiting at the door, asked.
“I must speak with Colonel Harkins at once!” Maggie declared, and rushed right past the startled officer.
She rushed inside the sandstone building and was headed for Colonel Harkins’s back office when his aide-de-camp, Captain Daniel Wilde, came from behind his desk to block her way.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Bankhead,” said Captain Wilde. “You can’t go in there. Colonel Harkins is in an important meeting and cannot be disturbed.” The captain smiled then, and with a slightly suggestive tone to his voice, said, “Now, if there’s anything I can do for you. Anything at all.”
Maggie glared him. She didn’t like Captain Wilde. Married, but with his family down in Texas, he behaved too much like a single man. Anytime he caught her alone, he was openly flirtatious. She didn’t approve and had told him so. Now as he took a step closer, Maggie backed away.
“Inform Colonel Harkins that he must release the Comanche prisoners at once!” she said. “This is a disgrace! There is absolutely no excuse for incarcerating these men who came onto the reservation peacefully! Promises of fair treatment were made and believed. They have done nothing to warrant such high-handed handling, and if Double Jimmy were here he would never have allowed it to happen!”
Captain Wilde just grinned. “Well now, Miss Bankhead, I’ll sure relay your message to the colonel, yes I will. And I certainly appreciate your concern. But you have to understand that these Comanches are dangerous and—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, they are not!” Maggie snapped. “The army has taken their weapons and horses, how dangerous could they possibly be?”
“Dangerous enough,” he said with a sly smile. “One of those big, naked savages could pose a terrible threat to a pretty young white woman like you.”
“Go to blazes, Captain,” Maggie said, and turned on her heel to leave.
The captain chuckled. Then called after her, “I’ll be sure to give Colonel Harkins your message.” But he never intended to do anything of the kind.
Thwarted, Maggie hurried out of the building. Taking a deep breath, she headed back in the direction of the icehouse. Before she could reach her destination, her friend, Lieutenant Dave Finley, intercepted her.
“Maggie, what are you doing here?” he said, surprised.
“Hunting you,” she replied. “Dave, we have to do something! Do you know what has happened? The soldiers have locked up the unarmed Comanches! That is unjust and unacceptable. The Indians came in peacefully and surrendered their weapons. Why is the army treating them like criminals?”
“Now, Maggie,” said the soft-spoken Lieutenant Finley, taking her arm and turning her about, “you can’t go to the icehouse, it’s no place for a lady.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Maggie said, “Do something, Dave. See to it that these Comanches are released!”
“Their imprisonment is only temporary. Please don’t trouble yourself so,” he said. “I’m confident that the men will be released within the hour. The troops are only following safety procedures laid out in advance.” He ushered her away.
“Laid out in advance?” she repeated. “By whom? Not by Double Jimmy. I know he wouldn’t have sanctioned such inhumane treatment.” She shook her head, adding, “If only he had gotten back to the fort before the Comanches arrived, this would not have happened.”
“I know and—”
“Were the Comanches told they would be imprisoned upon their arrival?”
“I’m not sure, but—”
“I am,” she interrupted. “They wouldn’t have agreed to come onto the reservation had they been told they would be locked up the minute they arrived! Promise me you’ll do everything you can to—”
“I will, I swear it. Trust me, Maggie, in a couple of hours all the men will be freed.”
It didn’t happen.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Several long hours dragg
ed by while Shanaco and the Comanche braves remained locked up in the hot, roofless makeshift prison. Incensed by their treatment, Maggie again tried to see the fort’s commandant but was turned away without being afforded the opportunity to speak with him. She didn’t give up. She lay in wait until the portly colonel finally left his office at day’s end.
“Give me a moment of your time, Colonel Harkins?” she said, rushing up the minute he stepped outside, planting herself firmly in front of him.
“Why, anytime, Miss Bankhead,” he said. “Anytime at all, you know that.”
Maggie made a face. She knew what had happened. Captain Wilde had never told the fort’s commander that she had attempted to see him. Maggie should have known—Daniel Wilde hated all Indians and made no bones about it. If it were up to him, the new arrivals would stay in jail forever.
“Colonel Harkins, you must release the Comanche prisoners at once!” she said.
The colonel smiled at her as one would smile at an impetuous child. He took her arm and said, “It’s getting dark, Miss Bankhead. You shouldn’t be out alone at this hour. Allow me to see you to your cottage.”
“You are not listening to me, Colonel. Those men should be set free. I demand their release, sir!”
Again he smiled and said, “My dear, you’re almost as wilful as my daughter, Lois. She’s constantly bossing me about as if…”
Interrupting, Maggie said, “I am requesting that you do the honorable thing, Colonel. There is no reason why the Comanches should be imprisoned.”
“Well now, child, I will tell you, like I often tell Lois, there are many things you young ladies just don’t understand and therefore shouldn’t concern yourself with.” His eyes were kind when he added, “Teaching English to the Indians is your affair, quelling trouble at the fort before it can start is mine. The prisoners will be freed as soon as I’m certain it is safe to do so. Now, you go on along home and don’t be worrying your pretty head about such matters.”
When night fell on the fort, the Comanches were still locked up. Morning came and they were not freed. They remained in the icehouse jail throughout the long, hot day and on into another night.