by J. T. Edson
‘Who are you?’ Annie asked, just as quietly.
‘I am Cooks Well,’ the visitor introduced, coming closer but halting beyond reaching distance to demonstrate she had no evil intentions. ‘Pairaivo of Cicatriz Honorable until he and the other leaders were poisoned by Prophet.’
‘You say Healing Hands was poisoned?’ Annie queried, rendering the Colt safe without returning it to the holster. The question was provoked by her being aware that every experienced medicine man and woman had considerable knowledge of noxious potions and how they might be detected. ‘Doing it would not be easy!’
‘I know, but Prophet has great puha,’ the woman replied. ‘Not even Healing Hands could say how he made a boy sleep and feel no pain while pulling out a barbed arrow buried in his leg just by putting a medicine cloth over his face.’
‘I’ve heard he did that,’ Is-A-Man admitted. She did not say that, as a result of what she had deduced about Prophet and his associates, she had drawn a conclusion regarding how the feat was performed. ‘Why have you come, sister?’
‘To tell you what you want to know,’ Cooks Well answered.
‘And what is that?’ Annie inquired, remembering she had seen the woman apparently on good terms with some of Prophet’s adherents and wary of being tricked into admitting the true purpose of her visit.
‘What has brought that misbegotten spawn of Pohawe, the witch woman, to our village,’ Cooks Well explained and there was an anger and bitterness in her voice which Is-A-Man felt sure could not be simulated. ‘He claims Ka-Dih has ordained in a puha vision that every tribe must forget their enmity for one another, rise as one people and drive the hated white-eyes forever from this land.’
‘Many have said that in the past,’ Annie pointed out, making an effort to restrain her interest. ‘But nothing has come of it.’
‘He says it will this time,’ the visitor stated. ‘And tonight he will give a sign to those who he has gathered here to prove his puha and his words.’
Fourteen – Buffalo Are Coming
Moving with the silence learned to facilitate the successful stalking of very wild animals, or avoiding detection by human foes, Annie Singing Bear passed along the alley between two deserted buildings in what had once been known to white outlaws as the town called ‘Hell’. However, on reaching the end, she halted instead of advancing into the street. Even though she was carrying the Winchester Model of 1866 carbine and wore her weapon belt, she knew that to advance would be most unwise. The significance of discovering a man was keeping watch upon the tipi provided for her accommodation had not escaped her. It implied her presence would not be considered acceptable by the group gathered in front of a covered wagon, its canopy inscribed with medicine symbols, from the box of which they were being addressed by Prophet.
Questioning her nocturnal visitor further, what Is-A-Man had learned about the new medicine man of the Kweharehnuh had been suggestive and disquieting. He had come accompanied by two less than savory half-breeds once employed as ‘go-betweens’ with the population of Hell and a trio of Indians belonging to tribes unknown to Cooks Well. No better informed on the subject, basing the assumption upon what she had seen of them, Annie had concluded they too had spent more time amongst white men than their own people. Before displaying his possession of puha, Prophet had ensured his welcome by donating four large boxes of ammunition for the repeaters to the village. With the former supply from the outlaw town ended, this had been a certain way of becoming accepted by the warriors who had been in danger of running out of bullets.
There had been little the Kweharehnuh woman could say about the demise of Healing Hands, except that he—like all the others—collapsed and died without any noticeable distress or suffering. In the case of Cicatriz Honorable, shortly before sinking to the ground, he had complained to his pairaivo about what he believed to have been an insect biting his neck. While preparing his body for burial, she had found the sensation could have been explained by the sharp little silver of wood sticking into his skin. However, she had not believed so tiny a thing could have been responsible for the death of her husband. Prompted by Is-A-Man, she had admitted that Prophet was nearby when the ‘bite’ occurred and was blowing upon a medicine flute he frequently played despite it giving no sound a human ear could catch.
Nothing Annie had heard lessened her resolve to go to the meeting which Cooks Well said Prophet was holding at Hell. Even before the death of Pohawe on the outskirts, various events had given the town a medicine significance which made it an area to be avoided. However, promised they would be safe under his protection, several Kweharehnuh braves had accompanied the ‘foreign’ visitors to hear the great message he had received from Ka-Dih.
The problem of leaving the tipi had been simplified by the watcher being one of the trio who arrived with Prophet. Slipping out under the wall, having been told by Cooks Well where he could be found, Annie had had none of the difficulty she would have faced if trying to take a Kweharehnuh warrior by surprise. Turning when she came up to tap him on the shoulder from behind, the front of his shirt was grabbed by strong fingers. His attempted outcry was stifled when a knee, powered with muscles strengthened by hours of riding, took him at the most vulnerable point of masculine anatomy. Crumpling to his knees, pain rendering his vocal cords inoperative, two interlocked hands lashed against the side of his jaw. Pitched sideways, he was unconscious before he landed on the ground. Then, dragged into the tipi, he was bound and gagged so efficiently he would neither be able to escape or raise the alarm on his recovery.
Realizing her actions would arouse Prophet’s suspicions, if nothing worse, Is-A-Man decided she would be advised to quit the area once she had satisfied her curiosity. Helped by Cooks Well, she had packed her belongings and made ready for departure. Already wary as a result of the change in her reception, she had her three horses picketed close to the tipi. To one with a Comanche’s training in all matters equestrian there was no trouble saddling and loading them. Thanking Cooks Well, she had left the village and arrived in the vicinity of Hell without being challenged. Although concluding the medicine man was so confident of his control over the Kweharehnuh to consider lookouts unnecessary, she had left her relay and archery equipment at a safe distance from her destination. Although her summations had proved correct, she did not regret having taken the precaution.
Much to her satisfaction, Annie found she was able to see the meeting clearly from her point of vantage. The light of a half moon was being augmented with illumination from bull’s eye lanterns held at strategic positions by four Indians of different tribes. These belonged, she realized, to the group which she suspected had not lived with their respective people for some time. All the rest were staring at Prophet with rapt attention and he was speaking in a sufficiently carrying tone for her to hear what was being said.
At first, the harangue followed the lines Is-A-Man expected. She had heard it many times from young men with the kind of educational background she believed the speaker and his cronies had received. Speaking in English, his comments being interpreted for the benefit of the visitors by his companions—one of the half-breeds supplying the service for the Comanches—he had declaimed at length about the wrongs done to Indians by white men. The grievances first covered the slaughtering of peaceful villages, with old men, women of all ages, children and babies sought as eagerly as the warriors for death at the hands of the ‘soldier coats’. Then he denounced, just as vehemently, how the various nations whose representatives were present were being driven from their tribal lands.
What Prophet refrained from mentioning—and Annie had noticed others like him were equally omissive when making similar speeches on the reservations—was that the deliberate slaughter of innocents had never been purely the prerogative of the ‘paleface’, or the Mexican Army, engaged in punitive actions. Indians riding the war trail— which happened far more frequently than a later generation would be led to believe by similar ethnically biased propagandists—showed just as l
ittle discrimination for age and sex when raiding a ranch, hacienda, mission, small settlement, or wagon train. Nor did the medicine man make any reference to the fact that Comanche, Kiowa, Sioux, Cheyenne and Apache had all either driven off or in some cases exterminated the less warlike previous occupants of the terrain from which they were in turn being dislodged by superior might.
Instead of stating both sides of either issue, Prophet, as Is-A-Man anticipated, turned his attention to the fate of the buffalo. While she could not deny that hunting by white men was making considerable inroads upon the once vast herds, in spite of knowing the dependence which many ‘Plains’ tribes had developed towards the great shaggy beasts, she gave little credence to the stories spread by his kind about the way all Indians supposedly treated them. Regardless of suggestions that only a sufficient number for immediate requirements would be taken and no part of the carcasses wasted, she had been told many times of great hunts where whole herds were killed and only a few prime cuts of meat were taken from the bodies.
Her belief was that the only reason even more had not been slaughtered before the coming of the ‘paleface’ had been that the braves lacked the means to kill vast numbers.
Annie’s theory had to some extent been supported by the actions of the Kweharehnuh in the Palo Duro country. Given repeating rifles and a more than adequate supply of ammunition—as payment from the white outlaws for being allowed to visit and live unmolested in Hell—instead of displaying an inborn aptitude for natural conservation which it was claimed every Indian possessed, the braves had practically wiped out all the larger wild animals through their domain. This and the cutting off of the supply, she suspected, had been major factors in the decision of the elders to send Chief Ten Bears to Fort Sorrel with the offer of a treaty to go on to a reservation.
According to Prophet, the Great Spirit was angered by the white men’s willful destruction of His bounty. However, he had not intervened because he felt the various tribes deserved to be taught a lesson for allowing age-old rivalries to prevent them from taking concerted action against the hated white invaders of their domain. However, in a puha vision, He had promised he would cause the buffalo to return if they would forget past differences and join together in a war which would drive the palefaces from their land.
‘It was your Great Spirit said this, Comanche?’ asked an Apache, less flamboyantly attired than the delegates from other tribes.
‘It was ordained by Ka-Dih,’ Prophet replied, noticing that the question—which he had hoped would not be put by anybody—and his reply had to be translated into the respective languages of the delegates.
‘I have not heard that any of our medicine men have had such a vision,’ commented a Cheyenne resplendent in white eagle feather bonnet, dyed horse-hair shirt and legging tassels, bear claw necklaces, hawk-bone hair skewers and every other important meeting accoutrement of his people.
‘Nor has any of ours,’ went on a Kiowa who was just as finely dressed and, through their interpreters, the rest of the visiting factions stated the same.
‘If it is the wish of your Great Spirit,’ supplemented the senior delegate for the Ogalalla Sioux. ‘Let Him give us a sign!’
While listening to what was being said, Annie had been studying the scene before her. One thing in particular had drawn her attention. A building immediately beyond the wagon, which had been halted at an angle across the street and had its team removed, had some kind of white covering on its wall. Considering how clean and fresh this appeared, she concluded it could not have retained such a pristine state since the departure of the original owners. Deciding the embellishment had been done at the instigation of Prophet, she wondered what its purpose might be.
The question was answered almost as soon as it occurred to the girl!
‘Look!’ the young man on the wagon shouted dramtically and pointed. ‘Buffalo are coming!’
Suddenly, despite the increased darkness caused by covers being closed over the fronts of all the bull’s eye lanterns, a picture of a herd of the massive and shaggy coated beasts appeared on the white wall of the building indicated by the speaker!
Yells of surprise, close to terror, arose from almost all the other Indians present!
Equally startled in her place of concealment, Annie was hard put to restrain a similar outcry. Since going on to the reservation with the rest of the Water Horse band, she had seen ‘tintype’ photographs taken by white men. Despite recognizing the resemblance of the portrayal, albeit far larger than any picture brought to her attention, she could not imagine how the effect was being produced. One thing she knew for certain. No matter how it was done, the illustration was producing the desired response from the assembled warriors of all the nations.
Before Is-A-Man could ponder further upon the matter, her instincts as a warrior gave warning that she was not alone in the alley. Turning with her right hand flashing to the hilt of the Green River knife, although her generally exceptional keenness of hearing had detected nothing of his approach, she found herself confronted almost at touching distance by what was clearly a masculine and well armed figure.
‘Easy there, Annie-gal!’ the newcomer whispered only just loud enough to be heard.
The words were spoken in English!
Despite the language employed, the tall and slender shape facing Is-A-Man had the long, braided hair and clothing of an Indian. In his left hand, he held an eight foot long, feather decorated, war lance. A Winchester Model of 1873 rifle—identifiable by its frame being darkened steel and not the brass of the Model of 1866—hung by some kind of extemporized sling from his right shoulder. Nor were these the full extent of his armament. About his lean waist was an undecorated black gunbelt with a big revolver, holstered butt forward at the right, and a massive white handled knife was sheathed on the left.
‘Cuchilo,’0Annie gasped and it was a tribute to her self control that she was able to hold down her voice to the level at which she had been addressed. Also refraining from launching the attack she had intended making with the knife she had almost drawn, she returned its blade to the sheath and went on just as quietly, ‘How di—!’
‘That Apache bastard’s heard us!’ the Ysabel Kid warned, seeing a brave was turning to look in the direction of the alley. Leaning the lance against the left side building, he continued quickly, but no longer, ‘Can you sound like you’ve been knifed and killed?’
‘I reckon so,’ Is-A-Man confirmed, continuing to use English which now held a tone of puzzlement, watching the brave attract the attention of the rest of the group and cause the bull’s eye lanterns to have their covers opened to throw out light.
‘Then do it and go down like you have!’ the Texan commanded.
Wondering what was meant by the request and command, the girl did not waste time by asking. Instead, giving a croaking gurgle suggestive of mortal agony, she crumbled and flopped to the ground without leaving the shelter of the alley. Going down, she drew her Army Colt and, cocking the hammer, concealed it beneath her body as she landed. Then, after giving a few spasmodic twitches such as she had seen done by the victim of a fatal thrust from a knife, she went limp and awaited developments.
Nor were these long delayed!
Flanked by two men carrying lanterns to supply extra illumination, some of the Indians started towards the mouth of the alley!
Using the sling as a pivot, the Kid rolled the Winchester from his shoulder and into a firing position with deft speed. Aligning the barrel and working the lever rapidly, he sent half a dozen bullets to kick up a line of dust spurts from the street in front of the advancing men. Although all had some form of weapon on their persons, none were armed with rifles as a sign of pacific intentions, so the shots brought them to a halt. With this achieved, the Texan took his left hand from the rifle. Gathering up his war lance, he stepped forward until it was in plain sight. He himself could also be seen, but only well enough to establish he had the appearance of being an Indian brave, without allowing the details o
f his attire to be discerned.
‘Stop there!’ the Texan warned in fluent Comanche, making a gesture with the weapons he held which served as an explanation unmistakable to those who did not speak the language of his maternal forebears. ‘Prophet, if anybody comes closer, I’ll start shooting and some of it will come your way!’
‘Stay where you are, all of you!’ the young man on the wagon commanded in English and this was translated for his cronies. Waiting until sure he was being obeyed, there was a suggestion of relief in his voice as he too employed the language of the Nemenuh to enquire, ‘Who are you, brother?’
‘I am one called “Bad Temper”, a lance carrier of the Pahuraix,’ the Kid lied, hoping the snarling timbre he put into his voice would prevent his somewhat slower-spoken Pehnane dialect from being noticed by the Comanches in the group. ‘Coming here to hear your words, I found a spy watching and killed her—him.’
‘A spy?’ Prophet queried, noticing the emphasis with which the change of gender had been made as he was intended to. ‘Is it Is-A—?’
‘Name no names, medicine man!’ the Texan interrupted savagely, continuing to develop the plan he had thought out to enable him to leave peacefully with the girl instead of having to fight their way clear.
‘As you will, Bad Temper,’ Prophet assented, concluding the name given by the newcomer was descriptive of his nature and considering any brave who elected to carry that most prestigious weapon, the war lance, would not be likely to accept mildly having a desire ignored. ‘Come and join us.’
‘Not yet,’ the Kid refused bluntly. ‘First I must get rid of the body.’
‘I’ll have somebody come and help you,’ the medicine man offered.
‘No!’ the Texan denied, in a manner which warned he would brook no argument. ‘Listen well, medicine man of the Kweharehnuh. The one who has died has many powerful ones behind her—him—So I intend to make sure nobody can say why she did not return.’