Kill the Indian

by Johnny D. Boggs

  “What do you call that horse?” the old man said as his thick fingers and thumb packed the bowl with tobacco.

  “Kwihnai.”

  “A good name. You want to trade?”

  Smiling, Daniel shook his head.

  “I could run him in many races against the Long Knives. I could win much money.”

  “I could race him myself.”

  “Then I will bet on you. Let us smoke.”

  * * * * *

  “Two nights ago,” Daniel said carefully, “I had a … dream.”

  Nagwee lowered the pipe. “A vision?”

  He shook his head. “I said a dream, Tsu Kuh Puah.”

  The old man’s belly bounced as he laughed. “Sum-bitch,” he said, using one of the few pale-eyes words he knew and liked, “He Whose Arrows Fly Straight Into The Hearts Of His Enemies had a vision.”

  Again Daniel started to protest, but Nagwee held up his thick right hand. “Tell me of this dream.”

  They smoked again after Daniel had told the puhakat all he could remember of the dream, or vision, or whatever one called it. One of the dogs had fallen asleep in front of Nagwee’s teepee, and snored. This was the only sound.

  “Why do you come to me?” Nagwee asked.

  “You are a man of great puha. You are the wisest puhakat among The People. My father once went to you when he had a … dream. You explained to him his purpose, you told him what he needed to do, what the vis- … what the spirits told him he should do. You have helped Quanah. You have helped many. I hoped that you might help me.”

  Nagwee looked up. His smile became lost in the crevasses of his large face.

  “You don’t need me, my son. You already know.”

  “I …”

  “Tell me. Tell Nagwee what you think this vision means.”

  Daniel swallowed, looked away. After inhaling deeply, he faced the puhakat again. “First, will you tell me about Medicine Bluff Creek?” he asked.

  Nagwee grunted. “The People knew it to have much healing powers. It was the most priceless thing The People had.”

  “Sage grows there,” Daniel said.

  The old man nodded. “Where sage grows, the land is holy.”

  Daniel waited, trying to find the right words, and finally said, “Major Becker. He is the doctor at the soldier fort where the Long Knives stay. He tells me that Fort Sill was established in Eighteen Sixty-Nine. Um … nineteen winters ago.”

  Nagwee looked at the roof of the arbor, chewing on his lips, tapping his fingers, then faced Daniel again. “That would be just about right.”

  “The People were powerful then, stronger than we are now. We would not have let the Pale Eyes just take this land from us. We would have fought them.”

  Nagwee’s thick fingers began tamping the pipe bowl again. “We are lucky,” he said. “Many of the Apaches, they were sent from their homeland to Florida, as were many of our own warriors. But now our men … those who have not traveled to The Land Beyond The Sun … have returned to this country. The Apaches stay here, too, far from their home. The Cherokees, the Creeks, those other inferior Indian peoples who live toward the rising sun, they are many miles … too many for an old man like me to count … from their homes. The Pale Eyes drove them out. We live near Medicine Bluff Creek. That is good.”

  Daniel made his voice stern as he repeated, “Fort Sill stands on The People’s holiest ground. That soldier fort has stood there almost as long as I have breathed. We would not have let the Pale Eyes just take this land from us. We would have fought them.”

  Setting the pipe down, Nagwee looked solemn. A tear fell down his cheek. “We could not fight them,” he said. “They did not steal the land. It was given to them.”

  Tears welled in Daniel’s own eyes, and he looked away, shaking his head, mumbling, “And that is Isa-tai’s disgrace.”

  Nagwee cleared his throat. “Isa-tai was a young puhakat then. He trusted the Pale Eyes. He loved them. When the bluecoats came, it was Isa-tai who led them to Medicine Bluff Creek. He thought if he gave the Long Knives The People’s most precious thing, they would love The People. They would let us alone. He did not know or understand the true nature of all Pale Eyes. Later”—Nagwee had to stop to wipe away the tears, to swallow down the bile—“later … when he saw what was in the pale-eyes’ hearts, he became bitter. That is why he wanted to wipe out the killers of the buffalo. Maybe he would have, had not the Cheyenne brave destroyed his puha.”

  Daniel tried to shake his head clear. “Did Quanah know this?”

  “I think not. When Isa-tai gave the Long Knives our land, Quanah would not have been much older than you are now. He was a warrior, a fine, brave warrior, but he was not the great leader of The People that he has become. Besides, Quanah, your family, and most of the Kwahadis lived in the land of the Tejanos, on the Staked Plains, not along Medicine Bluff Creek. Quanah would not come here until more than a handful of winters later.”

  Daniel stared at Nagwee. “Who knew what Isa-tai had done?”

  Nagwee shrugged. “Most are names we must never speak again.”

  “But the father of Quanah’s favorite wife. The one who traveled to The Land Beyond The Sun when we were in the Tejano town called Fort Worth … he knew.”

  The nod was solemn, final. “Yes, he knew.”

  * * * * *

  He had been awake for more than an hour, but still lay on the blanket, one arm over his head, the other gently holding his aching side. Cuhtz Bávi’s dogs barked in the morning light, and Eagle stamped his hoofs, demanding breakfast. Daniel tried to block all of that out. The dogs barked louder. Ben Buffalo Bone yelled.

  A horse snorted, and Daniel realized someone had ridden to Cuhtz Bávi’s lodge.

  Back in Fort Worth, Tetecae had said Yellow Bear’s death had been an accident, and Daniel had believed that. Quanah had been the intended victim. Why would anyone want an old puhakat like Yellow Bear dead? Now, Daniel realized how wrong he had been. If Quanah had died, Isa-tai would not have grieved, but it was Yellow Bear who he had to silence.

  Yellow Bear.

  A piercing wail, almost inhuman, lifted Daniel out of his bed. Next came shrieks. Shouts. The sound of confused dogs running away. Cuhtz Bávi’s voice began a death song, and Daniel was up, holding his ribs, running through the door.

  He saw the horse, a blue roan pulling a travois, recognizing the rider as an Apache named Netdahe, head hanging down. Sitting beside the travois, Ben Buffalo Bone’s mother lifted her head to the sky, and screamed.

  “No!” Daniel yelled.

  Tears blinding him, he stumbled, falling to his knees beside the travois. His vision returned, though he wished it hadn’t, and he reached down, and lifted Rain Shower into his arms. He hugged her tightly, kissed her cold forehead, rocked her, rocked her.

  Ben Buffalo Bone was sawing off his braids. Cuhtz Bávi mourned his niece and adopted daughter in song. Daniel felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He laid Rain Shower’s head back on the travois, kissed her lips, stroked her hair, saw the bruises around her throat.

  He also spotted a smudge of red ink on the collar of her new white dress.

  Savagely he shot to his feet, found the Apache, and demanded, “Where did you find her?”

  Netdahe did not understand the language of The People. Daniel had to sign his question, and the Apache answered. Netdahe had not been in this country long, but Daniel knew where he meant.

  Blue Beaver Creek. Along the sage. Where Isa-tai lived.

  He headed toward his lodge, which seemed to become farther from him, not closer, weaving now, heart shattered, trying to find a way to make it to Eagle.

  Then he was lying on the ground, curling up like an infant, crying … wishing he were dead … wondering how he could ever go on … alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Daniel …” Closing his Bible, Agent Joshua Biggers pushed himself to his feet. His mouth opened, and his face showed shock and repulsion, which the young minister t
ried to hide.

  Daniel’s hair had been shorn, shorter now than even the Pale Eyes had cut it at Carlisle. He had carved gashes on both forearms, his calves, thighs. The arm wounds had clotted, but the legs bled again after his ride to the agency headquarters. Biggers would likely never understand how The People grieved. Ben Buffalo Bone had chopped off not only his braids, but his left pinky. Daniel had considered removing fingers himself, but then he remembered how Rain Shower had held his hands, and he could not bring himself to do that.

  Standing in front of Biggers’s desk, he looked at the ring he had braided from Rain Shower’s black hair. He tried to find courage, tried to stop the tears from overflowing again.

  “Daniel,” Biggers tried again. “I know this is hard. But you must believe me, my son, when I say that she’s in a far better place now. Matthew said blessed are they that mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are the pure in heart. Rain Shower was all of those, and much, much more.”

  Daniel looked at the wall. “‘Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’s sake,’” he said, “‘for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’”

  “That’s right.” Biggers followed Daniel’s gaze. He tapped on the drawing tacked to the wall. “A Kiowa girl drew this. I just think it’s beautiful. Because of what happened at Calvary, Daniel, Rain Shower won’t really die. She lives now, with Jesus. She’ll be there waiting for you. But she’ll also always be with you.”

  Daniel stepped around the desk. He studied the picture. Reached up, touched it, and with a curse, snatched it from the wall, and stormed outside.

  * * * * *

  “Jesus, look what the cats drug up.” George McEveety laughed as he pushed himself off the overturned keg, and blocked the doorway to the entrance path. He was alone outside this day. The Negro named Buck was nowhere to be seen. Nor were the two silent Kiowa women. “Hold on, Killstraight. You ain’t bleedin’ all over my merchandise, boy. You just turn …”

  Daniel hit him, feeling the pain shoot through his ribs, feeling the gashes in his arms open again. From underneath the porch, the dogs barked. McEveety bounced into the wall, and Daniel struck him again, again, once more as the trader slid to the porch. Then he kicked McEveety in the head, and moved to the counter.

  Dogs growled, but none dared climb the steps.

  “My God, Daniel!” Charles Flint said. “What … ?”

  “I was at the agency just now,” Daniel said. Somehow he reached the counter, and leaned against it. He had to catch his breath. Blood ran down his arms and into his fingers, dripping onto the dust that coated the store’s floor. His side screamed in pain. His legs ached, throbbed, bled.

  Flint remained quiet. When Daniel could breathe again, he said, “I was requesting permission to arrest your father.”

  The bookkeeper straightened. “Daniel, my father did not kill anyone … except the Tejano who he shot to save your life.”

  Daniel reached to the ledger. He turned a page.

  “He gave away Medicine Bluff Creek,” he said, and turned another page, then looked at Tetecae to see his expression. “The People’s land. Holy land. Gave it to the bluecoats.” He turned another page. “Just as he would have given away The Big Pasture.” Another page. “For nothing.”

  “You’re wrong, Daniel. My father saved Quanah’s life. Your life. My father is a great man. A powerful puhakat.”

  “He shoots a big buffalo rifle.”

  “Which he took from a dead taibo. Along with the scalp he also took from that Pale Eyes when we were children. Look!” He pointed to the rack of weapons, most of them worthless old muskets, chained behind the counter. “Even on the reservation, it is easy to find a rifle.”

  Turning another page in the ledger, Daniel said, “Isa-tai wears red paint.”

  “For his puha.”

  Daniel looked up. “Why was he wearing red paint when he saved me?”

  Flint shook his head. “He didn’t go there to save you. We … Twice Bent Nose and I … we ran into him and a party of young braves he was leading. He was planning on stealing cattle from the Tejanos, as he said he would.”

  Daniel flipped the page.

  “My father did not kill Yellow Bear,” Flint said. “He did not kill the Tejano cowboy. He did not try to kill Quanah. He would never have harmed …” He looked down.

  “Can you say her name?” Daniel asked.

  Flint’s head shook.

  “I know your father is innocent,” Daniel said, his heart breaking as he tapped on the page of the ledger. “You did it.”

  Flint’s head jerked up, and he took a step back. His eyes fell to the ledger.

  “Bávi …”

  Flint rocked back, his lips bleeding. Daniel didn’t even realize he had backhanded the bookkeeper until he saw the blood, saw his own hand shaking over the counter.

  “Don’t call me brother!” Daniel roared. “I saw the Kiowa girl’s drawing on ledger paper on Agent Biggers’s wall. Red ink. Black ink. I remember the phrases now from Carlisle. ‘In the red’ and ‘in the black.’ Never did understand what they really meant.”

  Daniel’s breath had the taste of gall. He shook his head with disgust. “The girl I loved once said Isa-tai was a great shot with a rifle, and she spoke the truth. Your father taught you how to shoot. I had forgotten that. You obviously hadn’t and, as you say, finding a weapon was easy.”

  Before Flint could protest, Daniel added, “I thought I saw a taibo riding away after I was shot. But it was you … wearing your pale-eyes clothes.”

  “I rode there with Twice Bent Nose …”

  “You rode into Twice Bent Nose. He told me that at the agency. You had no choice but to ride back with him. And then your father and his raiding party joined up. Saving my life was an accident, Tetecae.”

  Flint shook his head, touching his lips with trembling fingers.

  “And here’s something else,” Daniel said. “The only person who knew I was going to see the pale-eyes cowboy was you. I told you that right here. You weren’t sure what Vince Christensen had seen in the alley in Fort Worth, so you rode there, slit his throat, and tried to kill me.”

  Flint shook his head, tried to laugh, and said, “Daniel, you are way, way …” But Daniel’s eyes told the bookkeeper something else, and Flint threw the inkwell into Daniel’s face.

  Turning, trying to shield his eyes, Daniel slipped, hit the floor hard. His chest cried out in pain. He saw Flint leap over the counter, saw something flash in his hand. As Flint ran for the door, Daniel drew his Remington.

  Hearing the hammer click, Flint turned quickly, bringing up his arm, a pepperbox pistol in his right hand. Daniel’s Remington roared first. The bullet smashed the wall, startling Flint. He never fired his pistol. Instead, he turned away, ran for the door.

  Daniel’s second shot struck Flint in the back, and the bookkeeper tripped over George McEveety’s boots, crashed onto the porch, tumbled down the steps.

  The dogs wailed, yipped, barked, but remained hiding under the porch.

  Stepping over the unconscious trader, Daniel had to lean against the warped column for support. He still held the pistol, but hadn’t cocked it. Charles Flint was sitting, one hand stanching the flow of blood from his lower back, not looking at Daniel, but at a puhakat mounted on a fine buckskin stallion.

  Isa-tai frowned at his son.

  “Father,” Flint groaned. “You have to understand…. Father … I did it for you … Yellow Bear … he would have told everyone about Medicine Bluff Creek. You remember? The cowboy … he might … I don’t know … I had to make sure …”

  “And what of her?” Daniel barely recognized his own voice.

  Flint shook his head. “She … saw …” Speaking in English now, pleading to Daniel: “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daniel. I swear to God I didn’t mean it.”

  He flung his head back to Isa-tai. “Father,” he said in the language of The People. “I had to protect you. You rem
ember, Father. You said giving away our most precious land was your biggest disgrace … until they sent me to Carlisle!”

  Isa-tai said nothing. Straightening his shoulders, he spit, turned the buckskin away, and eased the horse down the trail, back toward Blue Beaver Creek.

  “Father!”

  Daniel came down the steps.

  “Father!”

  He didn’t remember walking, but now he stood over Flint. Daniel cocked the .44’s hammer.

  Flint turned, face streaked with tears, with pain. “Kill me, Daniel!” he begged. “For God’s sake, kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Please, please, please, just kill me.”

  Daniel raised the revolver.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He remembered Isa-tai’s song.

  My son is dead to me

  My son is dead to me

  My son is dead to me

  He is dead to all The People

  Hear me now

  Tetecae

  It is the last time

  You will hear his name

  He is dead

  Speak his name no more

  He is dead to me

  He is dead to me

  He is dead to me

  He is dead to us all

  He forgot the ways of The People

  The People’s ways are good

  The People’s ways are good

  The People’s ways are good

  I have no son

  Do not mourn him

  Do not speak his name

  He is not worthy

  My son is dead to me

  My son is dead to me

  My son is dead to me

  He is dead to all The People

  Hear me now

  Then the rest of Isa-tai’s song haunted Daniel as it had done for the past eight months.

  I am dead to The People

  I am dead to The People

  I am dead to The People

  I am dead to all The People

  Hear me now

  Isa-tai

  Do not speak my name

  You will not hear my name

  I am dead

  Speak my name no more

  I am dead to you

  I am dead to you

  I am dead to you