“Then come stay with me at the farm, if you do not become chief,” I almost begged.
He didn’t answer. I knew he wouldn’t do it, any more than I would stay with him here. Muraco reached out and held the side of my face with one hand, and then his other hand came to the other side of my face, cupping my head, as he looked into my eyes.
“Sky eyes and fire hair,” he breathed. Then his mouth was covering mine, but just as I melted into the kiss, he released me and turned from the lean-to, vanishing out of the door. I knew I had lost him forever.
I did not sleep well that night. Inteus didn’t even come to stay with me in the lean-to, and I almost felt abandoned. Maybe it was for the best, though. I had said my good-byes, and I didn’t want to see anyone again before I left. By morning, I felt out of sorts, and tired. All I wanted to do was climb up in the wagon and leave, hopefully I could eventually put the whole winter out of my thoughts, and get on with my life, I told myself.
Emmet pulled up with the wagon in front of the lean-to. I had been thinking about when Muraco and I had chinked the walls, and Muraco had taken me to the river to wash the clay off of me. I tried to put the thoughts out of my mind, but I couldn’t help it, every time I looked at the lean-to, I remembered.
Everything had been packed in the wagon, except for the food we had brought with us back then. It seemed so long ago. Almost a lifetime ago, I thought. Emmet had tied the horses to each other and tethered them and Buttercup to the back of the wagon. Nigel stood at a distance, waving, with Sport at his feet. Dorie and Tala stood not far from him, waving as well. I saw Lomasi and Intues watching as we started to pull out, but I did not see Muraco. I blinked back the tears and climbed up in the wagon, sitting down beside Emmet.
Emmet did not look back at Lomasi. I was struck by the thought that he must not care very much for her, even though he shared her body all winter. His face looked stern and unreadable. After all, Lomasi made it very plane that her only true love had been Muraco, and she had thrown that love away, when she agreed to let Emmet take her. Now she wouldn’t have the comfort of Emmet beneath the buffalo robes, or the love of Muraco, either, I thought sadly.
I thought I would feel more excited about heading back to the farm, as we started out across the meadow, but I just felt dead. Nothing would ever be the same again. There would only be Emmet and myself. How were we going to pan gold and work the farm too, I wondered. The gold was what helped us get more supplies and tools by the end of the year. Somehow, we would have to make it work, I determined, as the wagon rocked across the rough ground.
Suddenly, I was aware of a horse stampeding up behind the wagon, when I looked, I saw it was Muraco on Helaku. He came up, galloping his horse around the wagon in circles.
“I love you, Pi au-dau!” he cried. “I will always love my Fire Hair! Don’t ever forget me!”
Then he was stampeding off, the same way he came. I hadn’t even had time to tell him I loved him too, and not to forget me either.
It made me feel both happy and sad, but at least I knew Muraco did love me, and was able to admit it to me, even if he wouldn’t come live on the farm with me. It was the only bright point in my day.
It was late when we got to the farm. Emmet lit the lantern, and held it high as we went through the front door. Everything remained the same as we had left it, and it didn’t look like any animals had invaded the place, but there were several spider webs. Emmet went about lighting lamps, to brighten up the place, then he left and went back outside. I thought he was going to unload the wagon, but when he came in, he had a box in his arms.
“I stashed some extra food aside, that wouldn’t fit on the wagon. I forgot to tell you about it, so at least we have something to put with the little bit of food we brought from the Indian village,” he told me with a smile.
I threw my arms around his neck, and then started lifting the bottles out of the crate that Dorie and I had so carefully prepared, and packed in the crate, and began taking inventory.
“I think there still may be a little cracked corn in the barn as well, that we had set aside for the pigs,” he informed me. “We can grind it and make some cornmeal with it. There is still plenty of hay in the barn for the horses and Buttercup, so that should tide us over until I can go in to get more supplies.”
“I want a sewing machine,” I told him, with a smile. “There is plenty of money to get one, and I still have that material that father brought me. Get some more material, because I want to make new curtains for the house.”
“Write up a list, and in the morning, I will leave for Dodge. Will you be all right all on your own?”
“Before there were only wild Indians to worry about, but now I don’t think there is anything that I need to fear,” I told him. “I will be just fine. I can clean up the place, and move my things back in my room, and get rid of all of Clinton’s things. The house will seem sadly empty though, without Dorie and Nigel, not to mention father.”
“I will take as little time as possible, so don’t worry. We have extra horses now, which will make it easy for you to help me plow so we can get the fields ready for planting. Speaking of which, I’ll get an extra plow too. Also, wince we have a buggy, you can use it to check the mail, when they start delivering it again.”
“If you can find a good bull, you should get it so we can breed Buttercup again, to bring on her milk, and we’ll need new piglets, and poultry.”
“Don’t worry, I will get whatever livestock I can find and can afford,” he assured me. “I need to put the horses away, though.” He left and I finished unpacking the crate he had brought in. Things were starting to look better already, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
1866
It was four months after Little Mountain had died, and things were not looking good for the Kiowa or the Comanche. White Moon had accompanied Little Mountain, the fall before to Bluff Creek near the mouth of the Little Arkansas River, where a United States delegation headed by Colonel Jesse Leavenworth had arranged to meet with both Comanche and Kiowa. Little Mountain and the other tribal leaders listened with grave skepticism as the government spokesman tried to explain that it would be in the best interest of all parties for the Kiowas to confine themselves to certain areas distant from the main travel routes: specifically, lands south of the Canadian River and north of the Red.
Little Mountain protested. How could the whites parcel out lands that did not belong to them, he asked with disdain. Nevertheless, in the interests of peace with such a powerful people, he along with six other Kiowa leaders, signed the treaty on the government’s terms, giving up all claims to western Texas, southwestern Kansas, eastern New Mexico and southeastern Colorado. The pact left them with the southwestern part of Oklahoma, known as Indian Territory, and most of the Texas Panhandle, which fortunately included the best of their traditional buffalo-hunting grounds.
In return for their acceptance of limits on their roving and their promise of future docility, they were to be given annual presents of hunting rifles, staple foods, utensils and tools, seeds for planting, blankets and clothes.
They left the meeting not realizing the nature of the bargain they had made. After all, they still had their best buffalo range, and the presents of foodstuffs and other items would help to see them through hard times. The hints of the peace commissioners that they settle down, farm and become educated in white men’s ways registered only dimly. In their innocence, with only the vaguest understanding of the terms of the treaty, they had committed themselves to life on a reservation, without even realizing it.
Finally, the Government had gotten its way, because it had been the policy from the beginning to somehow contain the native people of the land, so the United States could claim all the land and do with it as they pleased. Between 1790 and 1834, Congress had passed a series of laws called the Indian Trade and Intercourse Acts, aimed at guaranteeing the Indians a safe homeland and gradually narrowing the gulf between the
two cultures. Under the legislation, reservation-bound Indians were to be subject to their own laws rather than those of the United States, and an agent, appointed by the President, would serve as liaison with the tribe. His duties included dispensing provisions, (called annuities) arresting traffickers in liquor, evicting trespassers, attempting to settle on the reservations, and arranging consultations between Indian tribes or between Indian chiefs and government representatives.
This was the system to which Little Mountain and his fellow chiefs had unwittingly committed the Kiowas to. Perhaps it was fortunate that Little Mountain had ended up dying, White Moon thought. He would never learn what he had brought upon the heads of his people.
White Bear had said that Little Mountain did all he could to make peace, and kept talking and talking, but the white man kept doing something bad to him, and he was in so much misery that he died.”
Now they would need to assign a new Main Chief of the Kiowas, only they couldn’t come to agreement on whether they wanted peace or war. Should they become copies of white men, with schools and houses and the planting and plowing of fields?
White Moon thought longingly of Pi au-dau, his Fire Hair girl, living on her farm, and wondered if maybe he would end up having to be a farmer as well. The thought was conflicting, because on one hand, it would give him a good reason to seek Fire Hair out and join her on her farm, the way she had wanted him to. Nonetheless, his independent nature, bred into him by his culture, fought against submitting to that way of life.
The only other choice was to ignore the treaty that had been signed and pursue the life of their forefathers, raiding whenever and wherever they pleased.
They could not deny that the influence of the white man loomed large in the future. The main question was how to cope with it, or more specifically, what sort of leader was best suited to cope with it. If the future decision was to resist the whites and all they stood for, perhaps the great war chief, Sitting Bear, would be best, but they all had to admit that Sitting Bear may be too old for such a position, since he was in his sixtieth season.
Three other names came up. White Bear, Kicking Bird, and Lone Wolf. No one ever brought up White Moon’s name, and perhaps it was because he was much younger than all of the others being considered, even though he was considered a great warrior by some.
White Bear, was much younger than Sitting Bear, but mature enough to take on the job. He was a lot like Little Mountain, a capable man, jovial and outgoing, a noted warrior, but more flamboyant than Little Mountain had been, with his red painted skin and teepee, topped with long red streamers of cloth.
However, White Bear was inconsistent. He knew the importance of getting along with the intruders and participated enthusiastically in all peace meetings with the whites, but he did so with the full intention of getting whatever he could out of them while continuing to raid and plunder. “I take hold of that part of the white man’s road represented by the breech-loading gun,” he said, “but I do not like the ration of corn. It hurts my teeth. The good Indian, that listens to the white man gets nothing. The independent Indian is the only one rewarded.”
This attitude made him unacceptable as the Main Chief, because the Kiowa were trying to create peace, while holding onto their own culture.
Kicking Bird, who had been born shortly after the raid of the Osage which caused Islandman to lose his position of Main Chief, was more peacefully oriented. He, like all other Kiowa leaders, had made his mark as a warrior. Only he held a belief that never would have been acceptable to the older members of the tribe, when they were younger, which was that the future of the Kiowas lay in cooperation with the whites.
After all consideration, it came down to the choice between White bear, Kicking Bird and Lone Wolf. White Moon wasn’t sure whether to feel hurt or relieved. But in the end, it would be left up to the council to decide on the next leader.
Both White Bear and Kicking Bird commanded great influence in the tribe. Finally, the council compromised and chose Lone Wolf, instead. Although Lone Wolf was a slightly built man, he was fearless as a warrior and slightly older than White Bear. His main recommendations were that he was less vociferous in his commitment to either peace or war than White Bear or Kicking Bird, and he had been Chief Little Mountain’s own preference as successor.
Only compromise had never before been the Kiowa way, and it did not make for unity. Lone Wolf did not seem capable of imposing solidarity on a tribe that was so deeply split. White Bear and Kicking Bird held to their separate paths as if they had no Main Chief, one continuing to raid in forbidden areas, while the other counseled peace.
And regardless of what the tribe did, the white pioneers kept coming. All the while clamoring for the government to protect them, and make strict laws that would keep the Indians at bay. As a result another peace council was held on Medicine Lodge Creek in southern Kansas. The Kiowas, Comanches, Cheyennes and Arapahos were all lured to it with promises of gifts from the white man.
Leading the Kiowa group were Sitting Bear, White Bear, Kicking Bird and Lone Wolf, each accompanied by his own following. Kicking Bird created something of a minor sensation by appearing in a breechcloth and a tall silk hat, which had been given to him by one of the peace commissioners. But White Bear, who spoke five languages, (four Indian and Spanish) fluently and often at considerable length, was the center of attention.
White Bear’s eloquence quickly inspired others to give him the name of Orator of the Plains. He complained bitterly of the wanton shooting of buffalo along the line of march by soldiers accompanying the peace commissioners. His eyes flashed and his lips curled with scorn. “Has the white man become a child, that he should recklessly kill and not eat? When the red men slay game, they do so that they may live and not starve.”
It was ordered that the killing be stopped and the guilty be reprimanded. However, White Bear was by no means finished. He described himself as the white man’s friend, yet he added: “All the land south of the Arkansas belongs to the Kiowas and Comanches, and I don’t want to give away any of it. I love the land and the buffalo, and will not part with it. I don’t want any of the medicine lodges, (meaning schools and churches) within the country. I want the children raised as I was. I don’t want to settle. I love to roam over the prairies. There I feel free and happy, but when we settle down we grow pale and die. A long time ago this land belonged to our fathers; but when I go up the river I see camps of soldiers on its banks. These soldiers cut down my timber; they kill my buffalo; and when I see that, my heart feels like bursting”
In spite of his strong feelings, White bear still signed the treaty proposed by the peace commission. Kicking Bird signed too, and so did Sitting Bear. But Lone Wolf refused to sign, and said the whites were taking land that did not belong to them.
Now, under the new treaty, the Kiowas and Comanches were squeezed farther south and into a shrunken area bounded on the north by the Washita River, on the south and west by the Red River and its North Fork, and on the east by the 98th meridian, which meant little to the Indians. By signing the agreement, the government guaranteed to supply the Kiowas and Comanches annually, for a period of 30 years with $25,000 for the purchase of whatever articles were proper to the condition and necessities of the Indians. Also, they were to retain hunting privileges north of the Washita.
Later, they would discover that the hunting privileges would be with drawn, which meant that the migrating buffalo herds would not pass through Indian land any longer.
Muraco knew what the future was going to bring. Either suppression of the Indians by the whites, or war between the two factions. Either, of which, would turn out badly, he decided. It was time for him to decide whether he wanted to learn the white man’s ways, or join in the fight against it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Emmet and I had been working the farm for two months, when we saw two riders approaching. We could tell even from a distance that it was two Indians. My heart caught in my throat, thinking it was M
uraco returning, but as they got closer, I realized that there was really only one Indian riding along side Nigel, who looked more Indian than I remembered him being before, even with sandy blond hair, now long and braided. I thought, perhaps the woman riding next to him was Dorie, and that they were returning home, but she did not have blond hair, like Dorie. It was then that I could see it was Lomasi, riding beside Nigel, and I wondered why she had come.
“What are you doing here, Nigel, and why have you brought Lomasi?”
“I’ve come to make Emmet do the right thing by her,” he said.
His face was clouded, as he frowned down at me. At that moment, Emmet came out onto the front porch, and stopped short, when he saw who it was.
“Why have you come?” he asked Lomasi, in her own language.
“Because I carry your child. I will be shunned by the tribe if I remain,” she told him bluntly.
“Therefore, you have to make an honest woman out of her,” Nigel insisted. “I know there is no one here that can perform a marriage, but the next time you go to a place where there is a church, you need to make Lomasi your wife.”
There was a long silence, and then, to my surprise, Emmet stepped forward, and reached up, pulling Lomasi from her horse.
“I have missed you,” he said, quietly, “but I thought it was Muraco you wanted.”
“He is not the father to my child,” she said stiffly.
“I’m glad you came,” Emmet told her. “I would have brought you back with me, had I known you would be willing to come.”
I realized, at that moment, that Emmet had felt something for Lomasi, only he wouldn’t admit it, because he thought she loved Muraco.
“Then you are willing to marry her?” Nigel asked.
“Why wouldn’t I? I have loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her.”
Lomasi’s eyes widened. “You love me?” her voice shook.
“Why do you think I always wanted to be with you? It wasn’t just because you were a woman, and I wanted your body.”
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