Kill the Indian

by Johnny D. Boggs

  Rain Shower’s eyes dropped to the bowl of butter pecan in front of her, but Daniel could tell she was smiling.

  “I should not have been curt with you earlier, Sergeant.” The patrolman’s tone turned professional. “This is not a pleasant town, however, and it can be quite stressful. What is it you wish to know?”

  After Daniel explained, the patrolman sadly shook his head, and Daniel’s heart sank.

  “Even by Fort Worth standards, that was a wild night for a Wednesday eve,” O’Doherty said. “I remember the lad. Drunk he was. I was about to run him in, but some b’hoys started a row over at the Occidental. I had to run over there and keep that bucket of blood from being dismantled.”

  He drained his coffee, and shook his head again. “But, sorry to say, I can’t say I saw anything that drew me attention to the Taylor and Barr, or the Pickwick Hotel. Usually I’m watching the rowdier places, the saloons, the … ahem, ladies boarding houses. No, I just don’t remember seeing anyone around those stairs that lead to those apartments. How’s your chief doing, by the way?”

  “He lives.” That was all Daniel could think to say.

  “Well, I should be on me way.” Once he pushed himself to his feet, he brought out some coins, gestured to the waitress, and set them on the table. “My treat. Can you make it back to the wagon yard safely? Or, better yet, the Taylor and Barr?”

  “We can,” Rain Shower answered.

  O’Doherty tipped his cap and turned to leave, stopping at the door to call back, “If I remember anything, I’ll let you know.”

  The bell rang as the officer opened the door.

  “That taibo,” Rain Shower blurted out, and the patrolman stopped.

  “Excuse me?”

  Daniel stared at Rain Shower blankly.

  “The one who had lost his reason to whiskey. The cowboy. On that night. Did you recognize him?”

  “Just a drunken saddle tramp,” O’Doherty said flatly. “I’ve seem him around, but I can’t put a name on him.” Another tip of his hat, and the police officer was gone.

  Daniel adjusted his bundle of ice, looking at Rain Shower. The ice cream shop was empty again, except for them and the waitress.

  “You should find this Tejano,” Rain Shower instructed.

  “The drunken cowboy?” Daniel shook his head. “Even had he seen something, the whiskey would rob him of his memory.”

  Silence. Rain Shower focused on the ice cream. Mad. At him. Daniel shook his head, and lowered the ice.

  “I would not know where to begin to look for this cowboy.” The alley had been so dark, Daniel had never gotten a good look at the man’s face.

  “The place you mentioned,” she said, not bothering to look up.

  Herman Kussatz’s Tivoli Hall. He considered this, and shook his head.

  “They would not let me in that place. I am Nermernuh.”

  Another spoonful of ice cream. Still not looking at Daniel, she said, “They let in the one who has gone to The Land Beyond The Sun.”

  “But he was with a taibo.”

  Now Rain Shower raised her spoon, pointing the handle toward the door. “The Metal Shirt, he is a taibo. He would assist you. Striker, who has traveled from our country with us, he, too, is a Pale Eyes. He likes you. He would help.”

  This he had to consider.

  Rain Shower spoke again. “There is another thing you should investigate, Daniel.” He flinched. Whenever she called him by the name the Carlisle teachers had given him, it meant she was angry with him.

  “This cowboy. He was drunk on whiskey. Could he have entered the building? Could he have gone into the room where Quanah and the other one slept? Could he have accidentally, or purposefully, blown out the lamps?”

  For a long moment, Daniel thought about this, but finally shook his head.

  “No.” The door to Quanah’s room. He had heard it being closed after he had seen the drunken cowhand’s encounter with Sergeant O’Doherty. He explained this to Rain Shower.

  “And after this, did you hear footsteps down the hall?”

  This took him longer to remember. “No,” he said at last.

  “So maybe all the others are right. The other one comes in. He blows out the lamps. It is an accident. He dies, and Quanah fights to stay with the living. But that is all it is. An accident.”

  His head throbbed. He sat there, feeling the ice melt in the rag he held, looking at Rain Shower but not really seeing her.

  She dipped her spoon in the ice cream again and began eating. “You do not want to believe,” she said. “Your head is hard.”

  Harder than a bung starter. Harder than the boot that had kicked him.

  “The door was locked,” he explained. “The People have no use for keys.”

  Focused on the food, she answered, “You do not want to believe.” She swallowed, and looked up at him, her black eyes firm. “You want to think Isa-tai is responsible. You hate him, and it clouds your reason.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Bah.” The ice cream was all but gone, but she scooped up the soupy melt.

  He found another argument. “The Tejano who accompanied the other one. The one named Briggs, who works for the rancher, Waggoner. I asked him. He said he sent Quanah’s companion upstairs at midnight. When I saw the cowboy and the Metal Shirt, it was three seventeen.”

  “That Tejano had been drinking whiskey, too. You cannot believe him.”

  “I do believe him.” Flatly.

  “I do not believe it is Isa-tai,” she said. “He uses his puha now to save Quanah.”

  “What puha?” Daniel said, remembering Nagwee’s insult.

  The spoon clattered in her bowl, and she stared defiantly across the table at Daniel. “Tell me this … was not Isa-tai sharing a room with Nagwee?”

  Daniel nodded.

  “Nagwee does not sleep well. Would he not have heard Isa-tai had he sneaked out of the room to commit murder?”

  He had not thought of that. He hadn’t even asked Nagwee.

  “Isa-tai would not kill another Nermernuh,” Rain Shower said. “Nor would Nagwee. Or Tetecae. It is not done among The People.”

  “You should not be here.” Daniel had heard enough of this. He thought back to his nightmare that had almost come true tonight. Rain Shower had almost been killed, and Daniel would have had no one else to blame but himself.

  “I am here,” she said. “Agent Biggers thought that I should go.”

  “You were almost killed.” He felt tears welling in his eyes.

  “Bah. I would have killed that Pale Eyes. He was nothing. He was no warrior.”

  His head fell. A small hand reached out and touched his, and Daniel looked up.

  Rain Shower smiled. “A taibo cannot harm me, my precious one. But I have forgotten my place. I should have thanked you. You counted many coup tonight. We will sing songs of your bravery upon our return to Cache Creek.”

  He liked her touch, and felt more pain when she returned her hand to grip the spoon.

  “So if you still think this was … what is it the Pale Eyes say … a crime? Yes, crime. If that is what your heart tells you, then you must seek out that Tejano.”

  He repeated his excuse. “I cannot go into the Tivoli by myself.”

  She shook her head, and Daniel wondered if she thought that he was revealing cowardice. “Then ask the Metal Shirt. Ask Striker, who speaks true.” The bell above the door rang. Rain Shower looked up and pointed the spoon. “Or ask that taibo. He is your friend. He would help you.”

  As Daniel turned around toward the door, he heard Rain Shower’s voice drop. “He would do anything to drink the pale-eyes whiskey.”

  Hat in hand, smile creeping across his face, Billy Kyne walked toward their table, and sat down in the seat that the patrolman had recently abandoned.

  * * * * *

  “You been holding out on your old pard, Billy Kyne,” the reporter said after ordering a cup of coffee from the waitress. “I’m cutting the dust with s
ome of the boys at the watering hole at the Commercial Hotel, and come back to the Texas Wagon Yard only to find that Daniel Killstraight has up and flown the coop. And this pretty Comanche squaw has taken off after him. Sounds peculiar to me, so, with my nose smelling a story, I roam across Hell’s Half Acre. And what do I find? Besides a waddie sleeping off a drunk with his hands manacled behind his back down on Calhoun Street? I discover a hell of a lot of commotion at a sporting house.”

  He paused as the waitress placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table, then scooped up the coins Sergeant O’Doherty had left behind, and handed them to the waitress. “Will this cover everything, darling?”

  She rolled her eyes, muttered a sarcastic thanks, and left for the cash box.

  Kyne brought the flask from his pocket, sweetened the black coffee, and held out the flask. “Care for a snort?”

  Comanche eyes glared back at him.

  “I admit, it’s an acquired taste, but once you get used to it, there’s few things better than Manhattan rye.”

  “I could get used to eating dirt,” Rain Shower said, “but why should I want to?”

  His eyebrows arched as Billy Kyne shook his head, screwed the lid on tight, and dropped the flask back into his coat pocket.

  “Well, I do have to say my editor will be pleased as punch at the story I’ll file when I get back to Dallas. Comanches on warpath in Cowtown. According to my findings, a Comanche buck and his squaw …”

  “I do not care for that word … squaw.”

  Kyne stopped, studied Daniel, and took another sip. “All right, this Comanche princess and her warrior left one gent with his jaw broken, nose flattened, and he won’t be able to go back to work at the Texas Express Company for nigh a month. Two other blokes didn’t make out good, either. One got his brains almost beaten out of him.” He drank more rye-spiced coffee. “Not quite sure I’ve got all the particulars on that. There might have been another red savage in the mix.” The cup sank below the table onto Kyne’s lap. “And the third victim, his end is a heartbreaker. Got a bottle shoved into him. Doc says he’ll likely loose that limb for sure. Poor Leo Barton. Never again will he dance with a pretty gal unless he can learn to do the Virginia reel on a peg leg.”

  Rain Shower leaned forward, eyes wide. “It is true? The one will lose his leg?”

  Kyne winked. “He will in the Dallas Herald, pretty warrior. Till Leo Barton demands a retraction.”

  The cup returned to his lips, and Kyne drank heartily, ignoring the black brew’s heat. He put the cup on the table, and brought out his Old Glory tablet and a pencil. “So set the record straight, folks. What happened tonight?”

  Daniel and Rain Shower exchanged glances, but did not answer.

  Kyne sighed, and emptied his coffee cup. “And after I’ve done your work for you,” he said. “I found that maid, Killstraight, and talked to her about Room Four. Good thing I’ve learned some Spanish living in Texas. Not that she knew anything, but, yes, she made the bed that morning. Says they never lock the doors. Got tired of drunks busting them down to break into empty rooms, but that they warn lodgers to lock their doors, it being Hell’s Half Acre. So anybody could have slept there. Anybody.”

  The bell rang above the door, and Daniel turned, surprised to find O’Doherty making his way back inside the ice cream parlor. He stopped at the table, studying Kyne with a mixture of suspicion and contempt, then looked at Daniel.

  “A word in private, Sergeant Killstraight?” O’Doherty said stiffly.

  When Daniel started to rise, Kyne said good-naturedly, “Oh, whatever you can say to Daniel, you can certainly share with me, Sergeant. We’re pards, me and Daniel. Share and share alike. Ain’t that right, Daniel?”

  Daniel planned on ignoring Kyne, until the newspaper reporter added something in a less friendly tone. “Or have you forgotten that cottonwood trunk ol’ Billy Kyne fetched for you Comanch’ to help with poor, sickly Quanah Parker?”

  He sank back into his chair, suddenly ashamed. When he found his voice, he nodded toward Kyne and told the Fort Worth policeman, “You can speak in front of this man.”

  O’Doherty didn’t like it, but he cleared his throat. “Something came to mind,” he said. “The drunk from Kussatz’s dram shop. I remember him. Not his name, but I know the brand he rides for. He’s segundo for Sol Carmody’s outfit on the Elm Fork, and that’s fitting, that he’d ride for Carmody. They’re two of the hardest rocks in Texas.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After the police sergeant left the Queen City Ice Cream Parlor, Billy Kyne pushed back his hat with the end of his pencil, whistled, and began writing furiously in his notebook. Finished, he tucked the pencil over his ear and looked at Rain Shower, then at Daniel, his face beaming.

  “That theory you have about foul play is perking up something considerable, Danny, my boy. Sol Carmody. That copper was right, kids, when he said Carmody’s hard. Hard and mean. And if my memory hasn’t been clouded by Manhattan rye, I’d say he’s got as good a motive as anyone hereabouts to see Quanah … or any Comanch’ … done in.” He let out a chuckle, and shook his head. “You two Indians are going to get Billy Kyne back on staff in New York City for the Tribune, and that’ll sure have Horace Greeley spinning in his grave.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands, and whispered, “Carmody’s wife and two sons were massacred by Comanches in ’72. The newspapers hereabouts wouldn’t even print what you-all had done to Missus Carmody.”

  Daniel pushed himself up. “Come,” he said. “We must go to the saloon.”

  “That’s an offer Billy Kyne would never turn down.” He stood, too, but Rain Shower stopped them.

  “No.”

  They looked down at her. Her face was rigid.

  “Have you forgotten pianahuwait?” she asked. “We must return to the Beaver Ceremony. Nagwee needs us. As does Quanah.”

  * * * * *

  The sun rose, the church bells pealed, yet they continued to dance, drum, and sing. Fighting exhaustion, they went on until shortly before noon, when, as they sang the closing song four times, Nagwee loosened the ropes securing the teepee to the stakes. Still singing, they rose, and ran out of the curing lodge in all directions.

  The Big Doctoring was over. The People would have to wait and see how strong Nagwee’s puha would prove to be.

  From the size of the crowd, Daniel figured Fort Worth’s curiosity had dwindled. He could count the spectators—including five hymn-singing women led by a Bible-clutching man with a long black beard and flat-brimmed black hat shouting that the city should not condone such sacrilege, that Fort Worth was a Sodom for allowing this heathen practice. The only newspaper reporters there were Billy Kyne, a Negro from a Dallas newspaper, and four Fort Worth reporters. Harper’s Weekly, Scribner’s, and the Police Gazette were gone. So were the journalists from Kansas City, Jacksboro, Austin, London, and San Antonio.

  “I must help take Quanah back to his room,” Daniel whispered to Charles Flint. “Can you answer their questions?” He hoped Flint’s anger at him had subsided.

  It must have, because Flint stammered before finally nodding. “I will try. But what if I’m wrong?”

  Smiling, Daniel put his arm on the bookkeeper’s shoulder, and squeezed. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “They won’t ever know.”

  * * * * *

  Following the two puhakats, Ben Buffalo Bone and Daniel carried Quanah on a litter provided by the city fire department back upstairs above the Taylor & Barr mercantile. Rain Shower, Cuhtz Bávi, and Frank Striker trailed them, as Flint went to the reporters, already firing questions at him. Nagwee opened the door to the room he shared with Isa-tai, and they laid Quanah on a buffalo robe on the floor near the window.

  Frank Striker said he would retire to his room, and headed downstairs for the Pickwick Hotel.

  The window was open, and a surprisingly cool breeze filled the room. Daniel hadn’t noticed until now that the skies had darkened. Thunder rumbled. Rain S
hower prepared a pipe, and Nagwee accepted it and sat, the other men joining him in a circle.

  As always, the first puff of smoke was offered to the Great Spirit, and the next to the sun. They smoked, and, when the pipe returned to Nagwee, he nodded.

  “It was a good ceremony,” he said. “Considering.”

  “Not so good,” Isa-tai said with bitterness. “Polluted by taibo hands. Taibo cloth instead of buffalo hides for the lodge. Not even a cottonwood trunk on that first night of prayer.” He looked at Quanah with contempt, then stared directly at Daniel. “He will die.”

  Rage boiled inside Daniel, but Nagwee spoke calmly. “Not if my puha is strong.”

  Isa-tai started to comment, but stopped.

  After a moment of silence, Ben Buffalo Bone said, “I thought the Pale Eyes were helpful. Not all of them. But many.”

  “This is true.” Nagwee’s head bobbed.

  “They helped kill him,” Isa-tai said.

  Cuhtz Bávi looked from face to face, but said nothing.

  Lightning flashed. Several seconds later, thunder rolled. No one spoke, and Daniel sensed a presence. They had left the door open, and, when he turned, he saw Billy Kyne leaning against the frame, nodding his head politely, then tilted it in a gesture that it was time to go.

  Daniel looked back at Nagwee, who frowned and said, “I suppose you must go again, He Whose Arrows Fly Straight Into The Hearts Of His Enemies.”

  Daniel dropped his head.

  “Go. This is not a pleasant smoke.” He glared at Isa-tai, then painted on a smile, and lifted his hands toward Rain Shower. “Help an old holy man to his feet, dearest one.”

  Rain Shower was staying in Room 4, while Ben Buffalo Bone had thrown his gear in Daniel’s apartment, and Cuhtz Bávi was rooming with Charles Flint. Since Frank Striker had a room in the Pickwick Hotel, obviously the management did not realize he had married a Kiowa. The room where Yellow Bear had died remained unoccupied.

  “Give me one minute,” Daniel told Kyne, and gestured at Ben Buffalo Bone. They walked down the hall to Daniel’s room and went inside, where Daniel grabbed two pencils and his Old Glory tablet. “Bávi,” he said, “I ask you to do a huge favor for me.”