“But the old man said that he was hungry, too, so the woman opened a parfleche from which she pulled out much meat. The meat smelled good. Quail wanted to go in and snatch some, but Owl would not let him, whispering wisely … ‘We must wait.’
“When their meal was finished, the woman brushed the remnants to the back of the teepee, and then they all went to sleep. When they were asleep, Quail entered the teepee, grabbed the crumbs, the suet, a few loose chunks, and brought them outside. Owl and Quail took all the meat they could carry and flew back to The People.
“There was much excitement in the village that night. The People loved the taste of the meat, and they were hungry. So they decided to move camp. They packed their stuff on ten horses, for ten horses represented each band of The People, and they rode around the mountain.
“The old man was not happy to see The People, who said they were just visiting. The old man drew a line from a tree to a stump, telling them that they must camp on this side of the line and never cross it. The old man visited The People each day for three days, but he always said that he knew not where to find any meat. But The People did not believe him.
“On the fourth morning, Kawus arrived, but the hero of The People came in the form of a coyote. He told The People that the old man would not give them any meat, would not tell them how to find it, but he would find it for them. He told The People that they must move their camp away from the old man’s teepee. Then, Kawus changed himself into a puppy.
“The People moved their camp, but the old man followed them to make sure they were indeed returning to the other side of the mountain. Satisfied, he returned to his lodge, where he found his daughter calling to the puppy, who was whimpering under a juniper. She would approach, but the puppy would back into the brush that grew near the trunk of the juniper. ‘Come here,’ the girl said, ‘you are mine now.’ The puppy just whimpered.
“‘Do not be afraid,’ she said. ‘I will feed you.’ And she held out a chunk of meat, and the puppy crawled out of the brush. It was suspicious, but it followed the girl into the teepee. Kawus saw a hole in the floor, and in the hole he saw a hundred thousand buffalo!
“‘Take that dog out or I will kill it!’ the old man shouted. ‘It is not a dog, but one of The People. You can tell by its eyes.’
“The girl obeyed her father. The old man walked out of the teepee and looked at the puppy, then went off to make sure The People were not coming back.
“When her father was gone, the girl picked up the puppy and brought him right back into the teepee. ‘You will never go hungry again,’ she said, and scratched the little dog’s ears.
“Kawus jumped out of the girl’s hands, and ran around the hole, shouting like one of The People. The buffalo stampeded. They crashed out of the teepee and took to the plains.
“‘You tricked me!’ the girl yelled, and she picked up a club to brain the puppy, but by then Kawus had changed into the form of a man. He leaped onto the back of the last buffalo, and escaped the girl. Kawus rode straight to the new village of The People.
“They asked him what had happened. Kawus smiled and said … ‘Tomorrow at sunrise those buffalo will be outside our door. The People will never go hungry. There will always be buffalo to eat.’
“That is how we got buffalo.” Isa-tai, his face hardening, gestured toward the corrals with contempt. “And this is how we lost them!”
He was moving now, making a beeline toward a gathering of men beside a small fire outside the corrals. Daniel glanced at Flint, and both followed Isa-tai. Keeping the peace today, Daniel thought, might not be so easy.
Quanah Parker stood in front of the fire, stumping, as the Pale Eyes would say.
His long black braids, wrapped in otter skins, fell well past his shoulders, and beaded moccasins covered his feet. Yet he also wore black-striped britches of the finest wool, a matching Prince Albert coat, silver brocade vest, and a puffy silk tie with a diamond stickpin in its center. A black bowler topped his head.
Tall, lean, especially for one of The People, he towered over the men who had gathered by the fire to hear him talk. Nagwee, the grizzled Kotsoteka puhakat, squatted, arms folded, eyes staring into the smoke. Yellow Bear sat in a folding Army camp chair, glancing every now and then through the corral slats to watch the butchering process. Across from Yellow Bear stood Cuhtz Bávi, Ben Buffalo Bone’s uncle, another Kotsoteka, who had married Ben’s mother after lung sickness had sent her husband on the journey to The Land Beyond The Sun. A young Kwahadi named Eka Huutsuu, meaning Red Bird, leaned against the corral, while a gray-haired Penateka, whose name Daniel could not remember, squatted by the fire, looking up as Quanah talked.
Whatever words Quanah had now died on his tongue as Isa-tai positioned himself between Yellow Bear and Quanah.
Quanah nodded, his face hard, eyes angry.
Flint stepped behind his father, and Daniel walked to the corral, put his hand on the top rail, and turned.
He knew what this conversation was about. It had to be about one of two things, or maybe both.
A year ago sometime during the Sleet Month, Positsu mua, the Congress of the United States had enacted the Dawes General Allotment Act. Daniel had met Henry L. Dawes when the Massachusetts senator had been doing some stumping of his own before Quanah Parker at the Comanche chief’s Star House.
The way Daniel understood it, the new law would allow the President, whenever he so pleased, to give up their reservation. The land the government had placed The People on would be surveyed by taibos and divided into … what was that word? Yes, allotments. The land would be owned by individual Indians.
Which was foreign to Daniel as it was incomprehensible to all of The People. Land belonged to everyone, or at least everyone strong enough to hold onto it. Individuals did not own land. Land was not the same as horses, as wives.
So far, the President had not yet decided it was time for The People to relinquish their reservation. That time, Daniel knew, would come soon. He had learned that much about Pale Eyes. They wanted to own all the land on the earth.
Or, it was about the lease. Quanah had made a tidy profit, and so had The People, by leasing pastures to the taibo cattlemen to feed their longhorns.
At first, Quanah had opposed both Senator Dawes and Texas cattle barons, yet he had been won over by their arguments. Or maybe Quanah was wise enough to know that Pale Eyes would get whatever it was they wanted. Hadn’t they already stolen the land that once belonged to The People? One had to follow the white man’s road, it seemed, for at least a little bit, or be squashed like a bug. Quanah, Daniel knew in his heart, would do what he thought best for The People.
Isa-tai, on the other hand, was not so certain.
“You speak like you dress,” Isa-tai said, nodding at Quanah. “Like a taibo.”
“I speak for The People.” Surprisingly, Quanah spoke in a reserved voice that belied the expression etched in his face.
Isa-tai spit into the fire. “The People.” He grunted, shaking his massive head. “Pale Eyes say you are our chief, but that is not our way.”
“This I know,” Quanah said. “But I also know we must bend. For the benefit of our loved ones, our children, our wives. If not, The People will disappear like the buffalo.”
Yellow Bear grunted and nodded. That didn’t surprise Daniel. After all, Yellow Bear was the father of Quanah’s favorite wife.
Cuhtz Bávi looked from Quanah to Isa-tai, as if he expected a fight to commence. That didn’t surprise Daniel, either.
“Hear me,” Isa-tai announced, loud enough for the women and children inside the corral with the dead cattle to hear. “Quanah has his own herd of taibo beef. The white cattle rancher named Hall pays him in the paper money of the Pale Eyes. These same liars built Quanah that fancy pale-eyes house.” Isa-tai’s eyes found Cuhtz Bávi. “Quanah is not like your brother, Cuhtz Bávi.”
Ben Buffalo Bone arrived, thumbs hooked in the belt that held his ancient Remington revolver, and stopped beside Da
niel.
Isa-tai smiled at Ben, a fellow Metal Shirt and probably the best friend Daniel had on the reservation.
“I remember your father,” he said, his head bobbing, and spoke the name Ben had known before the Pale Eyes gave him a taibo name. “The Pale Eyes built a home for Naro Toneetsi, too, but Naro Toneetsi never lived in it. He stayed in the teepee. That big house, ha! He put his best horses in it.”
And now I live there with those horses, Daniel thought.
“He was truly of The People,” Isa-tai said. “But Quanah? I say he has forgotten the ways of The People.”
Realizing he was holding his breath, Daniel slowly exhaled. Waiting. The only sound now came from yipping dogs and bawling babies.
Slowly Yellow Bear looked away from the corral. His eyes landed on a smoldering stick in the gray ash, and he deftly pushed it closer to the flames with the toe of his moccasin. Still staring at the fire, he said, “It is you who have forgotten the ways of The People. It is impolite to speak the name of those who have traveled to The Land Beyond The Sun, Isa-tai.”
Men’s heads bobbed around the fire, and Isa-tai stiffened at the rebuke.
“I meant no harm,” he told Ben Buffalo Bone and Cuhtz Bávi.
The two Kotsotekas nodded their acceptance in return.
“It is hard to say what is right.” The holy man, Nagwee, had spoken, although he still stared into the white smoke. “My teeth are gone. I barely taste the taibo meat. That is good. I like not the taste. But Quanah speaks with wisdom. Once The People were strong as the limb of an oak. Now we have grown weak. But if we are not careful”—he reached over and picked up a handful of ash, lifted it, and, opening his hand, let the wind carry the ashes away—“The People will become what this once strong oak limb has become.”
Silence. Even the dogs had stopped barking.
“Soon,” Quanah said, “I go to meet with Captain Hall, with the other Tejano ranchers. Nagwee will travel with me, for he speaks with much wisdom. Yellow Bear will come with me, for he wishes to see this city called Fort Worth, and his counsel is strong and wise.” Quanah’s eyes locked on Isa-tai’s. “Anyone is welcome to come with me, and make sure that the decision I make is what is best for The People.”
Isa-tai straightened. “I will go with you.”
Quanah nodded. “It is done.” He turned, and walked away.
“Bávi, why are you smiling?”
He turned, embarrassed, seeing Ben Buffalo Bone staring at him, laughter in Ben’s bottomless eyes, found himself almost falling into the traps of the Pale Eyes with a lie—“Brother, I am not …”—before stopping himself.
“I go to Fort Worth, too, bávi,” Daniel told his friend.
“Fort Worth.” Ben Buffalo Bone’s head shook. “Very far. The agent has asked me to go to The Big Pasture. Longhorn cattle are there.”
That stopped Daniel. Quanah had been holding that pasture for reserve, to strike up a better deal for The People when he negotiated a new lease agreement with the taibo ranchers.
“Would you like me to ride with you?”
Ben’s head shook. “I go alone. My sister, Rain Shower, she saw the cattle. She saw no Pale Eyes. They probably … what Pale Eyes call them … strays?”
“Probably,” Daniel agreed.
“I go alone,” his friend repeated. “And you?”
Daniel smiled. “I will not be alone when School Father Pratt gives his talk.” He wasn’t looking at Ben Buffalo Bone any more. He watched Charles Flint, walking behind his father.
Chapter Four
Above the belching and hissing of the greasy black locomotive rose the crowd’s roar. Daniel, who had just helped Yellow Bear out of the passenger car, turned and stared, amazed at all the spectators. The throng must have stretched half a block, with city constables in their black-visored navy caps forming a human fence to keep them from crushing the newcomers. The band struck up “Johnny Get Your Gun” as Quanah stepped onto the depot platform. It hurt Daniel’s ears.
He felt a breath on his ear, turned, saw Yellow Bear but couldn’t hear him. Daniel leaned closer.
“Ice cream,” the ancient Kwahadi grunted.
Beside him, Charles Flint laughed.
“We must wait a while, Tsu Kuh Puah,” Daniel said with a smile, again using the term of respect for an older man.
Quanah was shaking hands with some red-headed taibo, his curly hair neatly combed and parted, a flowing handlebar mustache bending in the breeze, dressed in a brown suit with a red ribbon tie. He wore no gun, no badge, no epaulets, but over the din of music, applause, and modern mechanics, Daniel heard Quanah introduce the tall Tejano to Nagwee as a captain. He couldn’t make out the man’s last name.
“This is crazy!” Charles Flint had to shout in Daniel’s ear.
“Haa,” Daniel said, nodding, but did not take his eyes off Quanah and the tall man.
Quanah’s mouth moved, and the taibo extended his hand toward Isa-tai. Frowning, Isa-tai folded his arms across his chest and glowered. The tall redhead, however, did not seem offended. He merely nodded at the holy man and moved with Quanah down the depot platform until both tall men stood in front of Daniel.
“His Arrows Fly Straight Into The Hearts Of His Enemies,” Quanah said, speaking in the language of The People, and Daniel straightened. Rarely did people call him by that name any more. “Metal Shirt,” Quanah said in English. “Ser-geant. Good Comanch’.” As Quanah smiled, Daniel’s pride soared.
“This Captain Hall.”
Lee Hall extended his hand, and Daniel shook it. The taibo’s grip felt like a vise. His pale eyes, however, were soft, almost sad.
“Metal Shirt, eh?” Hall’s voice sounded like hominy, not the harsh twang of most Tejanos, but something far more genteel, from deeper in the South. “Then we, sir, have much in common. Once I wore the cinco peso star of the Texas Rangers.”
They slid down the rough pine planks of the depot, and Quanah introduced Captain Hall to Yellow Bear.
“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Captain Hall said.
“Ice cream,” Yellow Bear demanded.
“And this,” Quanah said, “Tetecae. Charles … Flint. Work at post. He …”—Quanah took a moment to think of the right word—“cipher.”
“That is a handsome suit, sir,” the former Ranger said. “Better than anything one should find at Taylor and Barr’s, I would dare say.”
“Thank you.” Charles Flint cast a nervous glance at his father, who still stood there, unmoving, his face a mask of copper granite, arms still folded.
The band paused, the applause died down, and women in their bonnets and parasols and men with their cigars, pipes, and city hats stared mutely, gawking at the Indians at the depot, some of them dressed in suits, others, Daniel included, in buckskins and leggings. The silence lasted only a moment before a tuba bellowed, a cymbal clashed, and some song Daniel had never heard wailed over the whistle of another Texas & Pacific locomotive.
“Hello, Daniel.”
He turned, swallowed, stared into the eyes of School Father Pratt. “It has been a while.”
Those few years had aged him. Oh, although heavier, Pratt still stood erect, shoulders square, and wore the spotless uniform he had worn at the Carlisle Industrial School. His hair seemed thinner, however, more gray than brown, his eyes held a weariness, his nose had reddened like a whiskey drinker’s (though, as far as Daniel could recall, Pratt did not imbibe), and his earlobes had grown.
“School Father.” Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw Charles Flint snap to attention. Pratt saw it, too, and his smile seemed to reduce his age.
“Mister Flint,” Pratt said, nodding. “I hear many great things about you.” He looked back at Daniel. “And you, as well, Mister Killstraight. Do you enjoy being a peacekeeper?”
Did he? Daniel wasn’t sure. “It is …” He tripped over an answer.
It sets me apart from The People. Many do not trust me. Afraid that I will arrest them, take them to
The Lodges That Are Always In Darkness, put them in chains. Whiskey runners fear me, and well they should. I can count my friends on one hand. But that has been the path the Creator must have laid out for me. Nothing has changed.
He was amazed those words ran through his mind. That he did not speak them did not surprise him.
School Father Pratt had turned to Charles Flint, shaking his hand, asking about bookkeeping, admiring his clothes.
At the far end of the depot platform, Captain Hall spoke to a slight man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. The man pointed a walking cane, its gold curved top reflecting sunlight, toward three canopy-topped surreys. Captain Hall’s head bobbed, and he called over the last notes of the band, “Captain Pratt, we should go!”
“Ice cream,” Yellow Bear said.
* * * * *
The Wednesday Woman’s Club engagement had proved uneventful. Ladies who smelled of lilac powder waving their handheld fans to fight off the oppressive heat, and afterward offering gloved white hands to shake with slight curtsies while serving punch and, to Yellow Bear’s delight, ice cream—vanilla, however, and not, to Daniel’s disappointment, peach or butter pecan—and lemon cookies.
An hour later, Daniel couldn’t remember anything about School Father Pratt’s speech to those women other than a few quotations from the Bible.
City Hall was different.
Men and women crowded the lawn as they had at the train station. Even more. They covered every blade of grass, no one could move up or down Weatherford Street, and people pushed for perhaps a full block down Houston Street and maybe halfway down Main. Far in the back, others stood in the stirrups of their horses or in the back of buckboards. Down Weatherford and Houston Streets, men and women leaned out of second-story windows. More than a few even sat on roof tops.
“Once,” School Father Pratt began, “and not that long ago, you wonderful, gracious citizens of this magnificent city would be barring your doors and filling musket barrels with blue whistlers at the very thought of Comanche Indians inside the city limits. And now … this!”
Kill the Indian Page 3