Buffalo Trail (24 page)

“The buffs may come any day now, but it appears to me that you've
been too quick to pick this location,” Mooar said. “The main herd might pass by close, but then again it might not. You may sit here all summer and not see a single buffalo. My boys and I, on the other hand, will remain mobile and find and hunt them wherever they may be.”

Most of the Adobe Walls hide men told Mooar that they felt fine right where they were. Mooar made disparaging remarks about the camp—“It looks like the ground took a couple of craps and those things you call stores and a saloon resulted.” Then he bought his crew members and anyone else who was thirsty some beer in the saloon. As everyone drank, Mooar repeated that all the “Dixon” hands willing to come with him instead would be welcome. When he and his men rode out an hour later, four of the Adobe Walls contingent—two skinners, a cook, and hide man Buck Firth—went with them.

Afterward, Billy Dixon, Fred Leonard, Andy Johnson, and Jim Hanrahan conferred, then called the camp together. They began by offering everyone another free beer.

“We can't have attrition,” Hanrahan said after passing out the bottles. “Our best chance for not only success but safety rests in staying together. Nobody here should be so green as to conclude that there are no Indians about just because we haven't seen any. Now, we've all allowed ourselves to get into quarrelsome moods, and that has to cease. It's going to, starting now. Anyone who absolutely wants to go, well, pack up. Some of the teamsters are heading back to Dodge in the morning to fetch additional supplies, and you can travel with them if you like, or else you can set out on your own and hope to join up with J. W. Mooar or the Cators or whoever. Everyone else, we're going to liven spirits by giving ourselves a few days of festivity, with all kinds of tests of skill. Fred, Andy, and me are going to put up some prizes, tobacco and knives and such. Right now, drink down your beer, and for the rest of the night the price per bottle is reduced from fifteen cents to ten.”

•   •   •

T
HE NEXT TWO DAYS
were much more pleasant. Everyone enjoyed the games, especially the footraces and the marksmanship events. In one of those, Billy Dixon even lost to Bermuda Carlyle, who shouted with joy after his victory and proudly accepted a pint of bitters as his prize. Old Man Keeler and Hannah Olds served up especially tasty stews, offered at half price, and at night Mirkle Jones and his fiddle had everyone dancing. Being the only woman in camp, Mrs. Olds was everyone's choice as a partner. For a while, she stopped acting nervous and spun and giggled like a young girl. Only afterward, as they lay in their blankets under wagons or else on the floors of the stores and saloon, did most of them remember that it was now late May, and still the buffalo had not come.

I
t took Quanah some time to set the newest aspect of his plan in motion. First, he and Isatai had to convince their own Quahadi camp. Bull Bear and the other older men were especially stubborn, but eventually they gave in. Then Quanah and Isatai had to travel to all the other places where bands of the People camped—the Yamparika, the Nokoni, the Penateka, and the Kotsoteka, and also those among the People who had taken refuge on the white man's reservation. In each village they heard the same objection, had to respond with the same logic: No, of course Kiowa and Cheyenne aren't the equals of the People. But we have to make them think that we believe they are. It's the only way they'll join us in the fight that Buffalo Hump's spirit wants us to make.

Afterward, Quanah thought that if he'd been by himself, he could never have made all of them see the sense of it. Though he still considered Isatai to be a pompous fraud, the fat man proved to be an invaluable ally. Drawing himself up, exhibiting a sort of thoughtful dignity Quanah would have previously considered beyond him, Isatai gravely lectured about the importance of obeying the spirits, and that ultimately made the difference. In the end, they had what they needed—an
agreement among all the scattered camps of the People to convene in one place at the end of the current moon cycle and, once there, to arrange things in the way that the spirit of Buffalo Hump required.

And that was just the first step. Next, Quanah and Isatai traveled to see the Kiowa and Cheyenne, including again the members of those tribes living on the reservations. They invited them to join the People at their great convocation, which would be held along the banks of the wide red river dividing the places whites called Oklahoma and Texas. Everyone greeted this news with surprise: never in living memory had all of the Comanche gathered together in one place. But when they inquired as to why this was happening, Quanah was coy. Something special would take place, he promised, something that would prove that the People now accepted the Kiowa and Cheyenne as equals, and would even after the whites were finally driven from Indian land.

Lone Wolf and Satanta of the Kiowa were doubtful. They said that the Comanche would never consider anyone to be full partners. There must be some trick involved. But Quanah and Isatai persisted: They should come and see, then decide. Mamanti, the Kiowa medicine man, howled at his leaders to stay away from the Comanche gathering, but in the end curiosity overcame them.

“We will come, but we make you no promises,” Lone Wolf told Quanah. “And we'll expect to be your guests in matters of food.”

“All of our men are out hunting,” Quanah promised. “There will be every kind of meat except for buffalo. The herd is late this season. But the feasting will please our Kiowa friends.”

Lone Wolf said that the Kiowa would be there, and Quanah and Isatai departed for the camp of Gray Beard and the Cheyenne. It was a long ride, several days, and Quanah spent it alternately imagining the great battle with the whites and fantasizing about rolling in his blankets with
Mochi. Isatai, as usual, closed his eyes and hummed as he rode. By now Quanah was so used to the annoying sound that he could block it out.

The Cheyenne camp was still in the same place, but larger than when the two Quahadi men had last visited. After Gray Beard greeted them and invited them into his tent for food and a smoke, he explained that many more of his tribe had come to the village from the white reservation.

“They're tired of the lies,” Gray Beard said. “The Kway-kers said more meat was coming and it never did. They ordered all of the men to bury seeds in the ground and grow plants to eat.”

“Plants,” Quanah said dismissively. “They wanted your men to be farmers.”

Unlike the Kiowa chiefs, who immediately demanded to know why Quanah and Isatai had come, Gray Beard made friendly conversation with his Quahadi guests for a while. Stone Calf, White Shield, and Whirlwind, tribal leaders who'd recently arrived from the reservation, were summoned and introduced. Medicine Water, leader of the Cheyenne dog soldiers and Mochi's husband, came into the tipi too. Everyone continued to chat and smoke for a while. Quanah appreciated the courtesy. Finally he said, “We're here with an invitation.” The People were coming together for a gathering, and wanted their Cheyenne brothers to attend. A great thing that Quanah could not reveal would happen.

“But it will prove to you that the People want to be one with the Cheyenne,” Quanah said. “And after that, we will plan our attack on the whites.”

“Buffalo Hump's spirit promises that the time for this fight has come,” Isatai added. “He has given me medicine to protect us, and his wisdom will guide us to victory.”

The Cheyenne chiefs looked at each other, and Stone Calf whispered
something to Medicine Water, who glanced at Isatai and then whispered back.

“It would be a hard thing to take everyone here and move our camp all the way down to the wide red river,” Stone Calf said. “You should tell us more about what we'll see there.”

Quanah shook his head. “I can't. But when you see it, you'll understand.”

Stone Calf looked again at the other Cheyenne leaders and said, “Then we're sorry, but if you don't tell us more, we won't come.”

Before Quanah could respond, Isatai stood up, his great bulk filling an entire side of the tipi. “Listen to the spirit. He says,
‘Come,'
” and for that single word, Isatai's voice took on a sort of guttural majesty that made the hair on Quanah's arms stand up. The Cheyenne chiefs cringed. They whispered frantically among themselves. Isatai, arms folded across his thick, flabby chest, glared at them, daring them to disobey.

Finally, very quietly, Lone Wolf spoke for them all. “We will come.”

•   •   •

T
WO DAYS LATER
, the Cheyenne camp was packed and ready. Every tipi was pulled down, and each family's possessions were tightly tied to a travois. They set out in a long procession, with the tribal chiefs, Quanah, and Isatai riding in the lead. The pace they set wasn't brisk. Though there were enough horses for the men to ride, all of the women and children were on foot. Much to Quanah's dismay, Mochi walked among them. He was able to catch only occasional glimpses of her. He'd hoped to spend at least some of the march regaling her with tales of his prowess in battle, which surely eclipsed that of her current husband. Medicine Water and the other dog soldiers spent most of their time riding ahead as lookouts, so he wouldn't have been there to object. But
apparently it was traditional with Cheyenne on the march for men not to mingle with women, a foolish thing in Quanah's mind and further evidence so far as he was concerned that this tribe was vastly inferior to the People.

When they stopped that night, the women immediately spread out blankets, lit fires, and cooked meals for their families. Because camp was always made beside streams, they had to fetch water too. Then men who weren't posted as guards sat and smoked while their supper was prepared. After they ate, they smoked some more and played simple gambling games with sticks and cards made from squares of dried animal hide while the women cleaned up. Everyone turned in early.

Quanah was too restless to sleep. He sat by one of the fires, staring into the flames and brooding. Much depended on the People properly preparing the big new camp; for maximum effect, it had to look perfect when the Kiowa and Cheyenne arrived. Anything less, and the plan would fail. Maybe some of the Cheyenne would still agree to fight, but the Kiowa never would. Quanah had instructed Yellowfish and Wolf Tongue of the Quahadi to guide the Kiowa in. He'd warned them both not to bring these visitors until all the construction was complete. What if they arrived too early? He'd emphasized they had to wait until the moon was whole in the sky. It was so frustrating when he had to rely on anyone other than himself. Isatai, at least, was doing surprisingly well. The way he'd said the word
“Come”
—it really seemed like the voice of a spirit, not of a man.

Quanah's moody reverie was interrupted by Spotted Feather, his Cheyenne trading acquaintance. “I've just been on watch,” Spotted Feather said. “I saw nothing stirring, but many are worried about the white soldiers.”

“Before Isatai and I came to your village, we sent out scouts from
our own camp, who went very far in all directions,” Quanah said. “There are no white soldiers anywhere near. Bad Hand is still down toward Mexico.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Spotted Feather squatted by the fire and offered a hand-rolled cigarette to Quanah. “I'd also be glad to hear what kind of surprise you have for us at the big Comanche camp.”

Quanah sucked the sweet smoke deep into his lungs. “You know that I can't tell you.”

“Some think it will be a great thing, others that this is a trick so we'll join you and do most of the fighting against the whites while the Comanche watch.”

“Surely you know better. The People are always fierce fighters. We take pride in it.”

“I didn't say this was what I thought. I said that others did.”

Quanah exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Well, you and everyone else will see. Three days' ride, maybe four. Then the Cheyenne will have a great surprise.”

“Ah. That will be good.”

They smoked awhile in silence. Then Quanah said, “I want to talk about Mochi. My words are not to be repeated, of course.”

“If you think you might take her away from Medicine Water and make her your wife, don't even try. It will never happen.”

Quanah said testily, “I'm a man of some importance among the People. I have killed more whites and Mexicans than anyone else, and I own many more horses than are in the entire herd of your camp.”

“That would impress other women, but it won't matter to Mochi. Only one thing is important to her. She loves killing white people with her own hands.”

“Why? How did she become such a great fighter?”

Spotted Feather tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fire, then
reached inside a pouch to get the fixings to roll another. “You remember many seasons ago, what happened to Cheyenne chief Black Kettle and his people?”

“A little. The white men killed them in the place called Sand Creek.”

“It's a terrible story. Black Kettle had made peace with the whites. He trusted them; he even liked them so much that he took their country's flag with the stripes and the stars and put it up on a pole above his tipi. The whites never had a truer Cheyenne friend than Black Kettle. He stopped fighting them and took his people—there were many of them—into winter camp by Sandy Creek in a place the whites named Colorado. They were ordered there by the whites and Black Kettle didn't argue. It was a happy camp, even though there was very little game and the men had to go very far away to hunt. They kept to themselves, as they'd agreed when they made peace. But some of the white men wanted to kill them anyway, and one cold morning soldiers rode into Black Kettle's camp when the warriors were gone hunting, and they attacked. Besides killing the few men who were there, they went after the families. The whites were on horseback and they chased these women and children, who screamed as they ran, and when they came up beside them they leaned down and swung long knives to cut off their heads.”

“The whites are devils.”

“Mochi was there. She was a little girl. She saw her father shot and her mother and two brothers cut apart by the soldiers. She ran up a hill and a soldier chased her. He cut her with his long knife. Today you can still see the scar on her neck. They must have thought she was dead, because they left her there. Later some Cheyenne from another camp came by and they found her. Ever since, she has wanted nothing more than to kill all the white people that she can. She would rather do that than breathe. Mochi trained alongside boys to learn a warrior's skills, and eventually surpassed them. She'll never go with you, Quanah. Comanche men don't
let their women join them in battle, and Mochi couldn't stand that. No matter what else you might promise her, she'll stay with Medicine Water and the Cheyenne.”

“We might let her fight,” Quanah said, imagining the disgusted response of other warriors among the People if he asked.

“Well, if you want any chance with Mochi, you would have to,” Spotted Feather replied.

•   •   •

T
HEY RODE SOUTH AND EAST
for three more days, swinging wide to avoid the big new camp of the white hunters. Word of it had already spread among the Cheyenne. Quanah broke away from the group for a little while to take a look. Everything seemed the same, except for one more building. A lot of the whites seemed to be milling aimlessly around. They clearly didn't have much to do, since the buffalo hadn't yet come. The presence of the camp annoyed Quanah greatly. It was an affront to the People and ought to be obliterated. Perhaps this was a possible target for the great attack. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

•   •   •

F
INA
LLY THEY APPROACHED
the wide red river. As they drew near, Quanah asked the Cheyenne to wait while he rode ahead. “I want to make sure that everything is ready,” He said. “Call back Medicine Water and the dog soldiers. All of you should see it first at the same time.”

Once all the Cheyenne scouts had returned, Quanah rode forward. He took Isatai with him. The fat man hadn't said anything foolish for days, and Quanah wanted to keep it that way.

“Everything has to be right,” Quanah said as they pushed their mounts into a trot. “If it isn't—”

“It will be,” Isatai promised. “The spirit says so.”

Then they topped a rise and Quanah looked down and there everything was, even better than he'd hoped. “Wait here,” he told Isatai. Then he turned his pony and raced back to where the Cheyenne were waiting.