Kiowa White Moon

by Jeanie P Johnson

  I shrugged. “After we bury father, and help Clinton upstairs, you can feed him some mush. I’ll tend to his bandages, but since you don’t ever seem to have anything to do, you need to nurse your own son. I am going to have to preserve food, or we won’t have anything to eat this winter.”

  I turned and left the room, satisfied with the shocked expression she had on her face. I wasn’t really sure how much gold father had in his chest under the bed. He never needed to discuss the expenses with us. I only knew he had been complaining about how the stream seemed to be yielding less gold than it had before.

  The burial was a solemn affair. Bertha looked nervous, and I noticed she kept her eyes averted most of the time. Of course, Clinton was not there, and Dorie was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Emmet said a few words, and Nigel read ‘The Lord is my Sheppard’ from the bible. I just told my father how much we were all going to miss him. Bertha did not add anything to our humble little service. She just stood there wringing her hands, but I knew it was not over the fact that father was dead. I think it had more to do with the fact they had probably killed him over nothing, after he had saved her from a house of ill repute.

  Dorie had gathered some wild flowers, and had placed them in a vase, that we put at the head of the grave, where Emmet had fashioned a cross with father’s name on it, along with the day he died. At least he would be with mother, I thought. She was his real love, not this horrible woman he had decided to marry, sight-unseen.

  Emmet and Nigel helped Clinton upstairs, and they weren’t very gentle about it. Clinton kept crying out in pain, and Bertha kept scolding the two for being so clumsy. Emmet merely looked over his shoulder and smiled at me.

  Once Clinton was settled in my old bed, I tended to his wound, making sure it was clean, and re-bandaged. He complained that I was being too rough with him, and I told him to buck up. “A farmer’s life isn’t very easy, in case you were wondering. Now you are going to have to start panning gold, since father can no longer do it. I hope you are up to it, so hurry up and get better, cause this winter is not going to be easy for any of us.”

  He glared at me, but he didn’t say anything. I was thinking that he probably was starting to regret that his mother married my father, and wished that they had never decided to kill him. I couldn’t wait until harvest was over, and we could leave him and his mother here to starve to death, or make their way back to Dodge, which ever came first.

  Dorie and I worked tirelessly preserving the food, as it came off the vine, and at night, after everyone was in bed, we started removing the food from the cellar, and storing it in one of the empty stalls in the barn, covering it with straw.

  At length, we were taking the excess out to the cave, and storing it there, covering it with straw as well to keep it from freezing if it got too cold. Eventually, we would cover the straw with a tarp and rocks. Sport followed us, wherever we went, and I wondered if he somehow knew we were planning to leave. I think he also missed father, because there were times, I found him out laying between the two graves. I never saw Bertha even go to look at father’s grave, after he had been buried.

  “I thought you were going to take care of me,” Clinton grumbled, when I came to change his bandage and check his wound.

  “I have been taking care of you,” I told him. “What do you call what I’m doing now?”

  “I just thought that maybe you would end up spending more time, taking care of me,” he muttered.

  “Why? I can barely stand to look at you. If you think I am going to forgive you for what happened in the cave, you can just forget it! Your wound is looking better, and in a couple of days, you can go out and start panning for gold,” I smirked, and started to stand up to leave, only Clinton grabbed my hand and held me fast.

  “Mother says you told her your father didn’t have any more gold,” he stated. “Is that true?”

  “I have no idea. No one has found the key to the chest,” I told him.

  “Maybe we should just break it open and see,” he insisted.

  “You can, if you want,” I said.

  I had already opened the chest, while Bertha was tending to Clinton, and removed the pouches of gold dust, and replaced them with pouches of pebbles. I was pleasantly surprised at how much gold father actually had in that chest. Maybe he hadn’t stretched his story about the gold to Bertha after all, I thought.

  Only when they did manage to get the chest open, they were not going to find any gold in it, I laughed to myself. Emmet had already taken the gold, along with my string of silver coins I had shown him, when I told him about Muraco giving me the money belt, and put it under a false bottom he made for the wagon.

  “I think you need to rethink a few things,” Clinton told me, tightening his grip on my wrist. “Your father is dead, so you can’t threaten to tell him about what happened in the cave. It would be in your best interest to marry me now. Mother owns this place, since she was legally married to your father, and the law is that she owns whatever is left behind when a husband dies. If you want any part of this farm, your only hope is to get married to me.”

  “I told you once, that even if you were my last best hope, I would never marry you, and that has not changed. “I still plan to go to Missouri, when spring comes,” I stated bravely.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it. Your father isn’t here now to stop me from making you remain here.”

  “I don’t think you can stop me,” I said between clinched teeth, “unless you plan to lock me up, and then who would preserve the food for the winter? Dorie can’t do it all by herself, and if we don’t get it all done, we will all starve by the end of winter.” I gave him a bitter smile, and jerked my hand free. “You think you are in charge here, but I don’t think you know the first thing about farming, or panning for gold, and without us, you are dead!”

  I left the room, slamming the door shut, and stomping down the hall. I think he realized I was right. He and Bertha thought they were in charge of things now that father was dead, but without us, they wouldn’t know how to survive out here in the middle of nowhere. They were more at our mercy than we were at theirs, and once they discovered there was no gold in that chest, they would have nothing to rely on but our ability to furnish food for them, which I had no intention of doing!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  White Moon was seated before a small camp fire with several other braves, both Kiowa and Comanche. He leaned forward, poking the fire with a long stick, watching the sparks fly up, as he disturbed the burning wood. His cousin, Inteus, meaning Has No Shame, sat beside him grumbling about how the Whites would not be happy until the Kiowa and the Comanche had no land to call their own. He was all for standing their ground, and fighting back against the white man’s demands. His eyes looked narrowly at the others sitting around the fire.

  Bodaway, known as Fire Maker, was a little more levelheaded.

  “It sounds brave to make such talk,” he admonished, stabbing Inteus with a disapproving look, “but we have no weapons that can match the white man’s fire monster. No matter how many braves we gathered, one shot from the Iron gun, and half our braves would be laid low. Too many Whites keep coming, and they will end up washing us away until we are but a pin prick in a sea of white settlers. They believe that every place they put their foot upon, should belong to them, no matter that our feet were planted there first.”

  “Even if we kept moving farther away, eventually they would push us off the edge of the earth, if they could. There is no place to retreat to,” White Moon offered. “Perhaps we should learn to live among the Whites, and find a place for ourselves in their society.”

  He searched the faces of the others that had joined around the burning embers.

  “There is no place to fit in their society,” Has no Shame, growled. “They may act like they want us to become a part of their ways, but their ways are not our ways. First, they say we can live by our own laws on the land, they granted us, like they had the right to hand out
parcels of land to those who had the land before they ever came. Now they are saying that we must live by the laws of the white man, or be punished. We must stay in a small strip of the endless land we once wandered over, and used as our own.”

  He kicked angrily against the sand beneath the log he was sitting on.

  “If we leave that strip, even to hunt the buffalo that has been diverted by the whites themselves, from the place we have been allotted, we are considered criminals and must be punished for merely searching for food. However, if a white person comes to our land to hunt or dig for their yellow stones, they make no effort to stop them from trespassing on our land.”

  “Your words may be true,” Fire Maker agreed, “only the strongest tribe or warrior can have power over anyone weaker. We are no longer strong, because we have become outnumbered. We have been partly destroyed by the white man’s disease, so our numbers are reduced, and then their soldiers come to try and kill those who managed to survive. We cannot bring forth more children fast enough to out number them. We will be trampled in their wake, if we try to resist.”

  “I would rather die, than look towards a life of bowing to the white man’s way,” Has No Shame scoffed.

  “And that is probably the very thing that will happen to you,” Muraco cautioned. “Little Mountain tells me he is going to try to make peace with the white leaders. It will mean more sacrifice, but we probably don’t have any other choice.”

  “They should choose a new Chief,” Inteus insisted. “Little Mountain is getting old, and forgetting about his duty to the tribe.”

  “Do not disrespect our Chief!” Muraco snapped. “Perhaps he knows that it is time to bend to the times. If a wind blows hard, no matter what the tree wishes, it must bend under the force. If it tries to stand against the wind, its branches will be broken and cast to the ground.”

  Inteus gave Muraco a disgruntled glare. “You seem all too happy to become more like the Whites. I have heard about the fire hair woman that saved your life. Perhaps her white hands have softened you too much!”

  “If you saw her, you would know of her power to capture my heart,” Muraco murmured.

  “Had you been a true Kiowa brave, you would have brought her back and made her your woman, instead of leaving her behind, if you want her so much. Eventually, she would bend to our ways, and see the beauty of our customs.”

  “But if she didn’t, she would hate me. She would never give her love to me willingly. I will not try to steal her love, like it is mine to take. She must give it to me willingly.”

  “I thought you were pledged to Lomasi,” Bodaway interjected.

  “You might as well choose her,” Inteus, added. “Your fire hair woman is never going to agree to give you her love. Get tied with a woman of your own people. Lomasi loves you. She is true Kiowa. Why would you want a white woman for your wife? She would try to change you.”

  Muraco sat silent. Inteus was probably right; his Pi au-dau had already changed him in a subtle way he had no control over. Only his own need to change the way his heart felt about her, was a task he wasn’t up to yet.

  His eyes wandered over the top of the fire, and across the camp, where he noticed Lomasi watching him. The look in her eyes, grabbed at his heart, because he hated making her sad, but how could he force his love to grow for her, he asked himself. It was better if he loved no woman, than to pretend he loved someone whom he didn’t.

  His eyes lowered, and when he looked again, she was no longer there. He drew his attention back to his friends.

  “We need to organize a hunting party, and see if we can bring back meat for the camp,” he suggested, deciding he needed some activity to make him feel like he was accomplishing something.

  “There is little game, near the camp,” Bodaway, grumbled.

  “North of here, I saw there was more game,” Muraco informed him, remembering his travels to Constance’s farm, and seeing deer in the woods. “It is beyond our little strip of land, but there would be no white person that would notice us, since there are very few white settlements within the area. As long as we don’t disturb any white settlers, how could we be faulted? They took our food, and we have to eat to survive.”

  “You will have to get permission from Little Mountain,” Inteus suggested. “I am feeling wrestles and will gladly join the group, if we are given permission.”

  “I will talk to him, and make him see reason,” Muraco agreed. “He has not gone to the white leaders to make peace yet, so there has been no promises made, that we will abide by their laws.”

  Little Mountain looked worriedly at White Moon, when he approached him about leaving Indian territory to hunt. White Moon was his favorite of his sister’s children. He had the makings of a good brave, but the freedom of his people was becoming limited, and he worried what the future held.

  Muraco’s request was a just one. Everyone was worried about the winter being hard with less food to support everyone. Their Comanche brothers were having to share their own food supply, and Dohasan felt shamed that he had to rely on someone else’s generosity in order to survive. It may be a risk, but if Muraco knew where game could be found, and his band returned with meat before they were discovered out of their own territory, it was worth the risk. He nodded, and gave Muraco his blessing, admonishing him to return as soon as he could.

  Muraco gathered his three friends, along with two other Comanche braves, Wolf…known as Tala, and Apenimon, which meant Worthy Of Trust, who wished to join them. They were all eager to spend the next few days doing what came natural to them, and getting away from the humdrum life of the winter camp.

  As the five horses headed out north, carrying the braves, with weapons on their backs, Muraco noticed Lomasi standing on the outskirts of the village, watching them pass. She gave a half wave, and Muraco nodded in return. He was relieved that he would be escaping her ever watching eyes.

  As the small band got closer to the farm where Constance lived, Muraco felt his heart rising, and he knew he was just using this as an excuse to feel nearer to Pi au-dau. Only he knew he could not lead the band close enough to the farm for his friends to discover there were white people living near. He was not sure how they would react to the discovery.

  Instead, he led them farther east to a wooded area where he had seen more game, the last time he was in the area. Perhaps, if he were careful, he could steal away in the night, just to check up on Constance, while the rest of his friends slept, he told himself.

  The band, hoping to find enough game to help tied them over the winter, were disappointed, after several days of only being able to turn up small animals, which they subsided on as they traveled, but nothing of size that could be considered worthy of furnishing food to feed more than the five of them.

  Tala grumbled as each day passed, without sighting one deer, elk, or antelope. They were hard put just to shoot a few rabbits, and a duck, to eat themselves.

  “I don’t know why we listen to you,” he said to Muraco. “Whatever game you claimed was out here, doesn’t seem to be here any longer.”

  “I have no control over the animals of the forest. They are probably heading west, to more grazing land. Perhaps we should go in that direction and see if we can discover where they have gone,” Muraco replied, turning his horse in the other direction.

  “If we return to the camp empty handed, we will lose face,” Bodaway added.

  “We won’t go back to camp until we have something to show for our efforts,” Muraco assured them. “I saw game here before, so it has to be somewhere near this area.”

  The rest of the band also turned their horses, following Muraco’s lead, as they continued to complain about their bad fortune of not finding any game.

  By the end of the day, they were even more disappointed, as they laid their blankets out, and got ready to rest for the night. By this time, they were not speaking, because it always ended up in an argument about which direction they should try next.

  As they lay, looking up into
the star ridden sky, watching the star men slowly make their way across the heavens, Muraco lifted his head.

  “There is someone not far from here,” he murmured, gaining the attention of his companions. “I can see their fire in the distance.”

  “Who would it be?” Inteus, questioned. “I thought you said there were no white settlers out here, and we are not near the trail their wagons follow over our land. Do you suppose it could be soldiers, who are ready to punish us for leaving our own land?”

  “There is only one way to find out, but first we should put our own fire out, so they do not know we are near. Then we should go and investigate using the cover of night to protect us. If it is soldiers, we will head back towards our own land. If not, we will skirt around them and continue looking for game in the morning.”

  “If it is white people, we should take whatever they have,” Tala insisted.

  “If we do that, the soldiers will be informed, and then they will come to our winter camp and punish us for leaving what little land they have allotted us,” Muraco cautioned. “We just need to discover whether they are a threat to us or not.”

  “You are getting too soft in your ways,” Apenimon accused. “You seem to either fear the white man too much, or like him too much! Either way, you are losing your Kiowa upbringing.”

  “Even Little Mountain can see the wisdom in bending to the white man’s demands,” Muraco defended. You saw what the soldiers did to our winter camp. Do you want them to return and kill us all?”

  Apenimon grunted, and shrugged. “Some day all the Indian nation will have to rise up against the white people and show them that we will not back down, since this land was ours from the beginning of time.”

  “That would mean convincing our enemy tribes to become our friends. Do you think that will ever happen?”

  “If we are all fighting for the same cause, it may,” Bodaway interjected.

  “But for now, it is only the Kiowa and the Comanche, that are being threatened, and until spring, we are in no position to rebel,” Muraco reminded them. “So we will merely go see if who ever is camping there, is a threat to us.”