Buffalo Trail (30 page)

“We've got to decide what to do next,” he said. “I already know of three, maybe four outfits who've already lit out for Dodge City. I know more of you are ready to do the same. But let's think for a minute of our circumstances.”

“Ain't much to think about,” Billy Tyler said. “There's bunches of Indians about, and a man has to care more for his own hair than a buffalo's hide.”

“Self-preservation is a powerful thing,” Hanrahan said. “But it's also true that we've a mighty crowd of buffalo right here, and so far as we know there's not another herd like it to be found anywhere. We go back to Dodge City, there are no buffs there. You boys are making fine money here.”

“At least we'll be alive back in Kansas,” skinner Mike Welsh said. “I went out with the group that wanted to bring back the remains of the Dudley crew. Time we got there, all the bits and pieces left of them had scattered about and we couldn't find enough to retrieve. And the other camp where they got chopped up, the ones went to fetch them back found that the bodies got swept up in the Canadian, which was rising high at the time. Dudley, Tommy Wallace, Antelope Jack—were they here, they'd tell us running away poor beats dying with money. I see no disgrace in shedding this place at once—Brick Bond and his boys just left for Dodge. At least Kansas is safe.”

“Not necessarily so,” said Hanrahan. “Shorty and Isaac Scheidler are just back from hauling some hide loads there. They inform me that just a week or so ago there was an Indian attack right outside of Dodge. Isn't that so, boys?”

Isaac rubbed his temples. “Well, Mr. Hanrahan, the fellow that told it to us was pretty drunk, so he might have been seeing Indians around Dodge when there weren't any.”

Shorty said, “Well, Indians around Dodge or not, the important
thing is, we didn't come across any on our way here. Left Dodge six days ago, got here yesterday, not a red man to be seen.”

“That's my point,” Hanrahan said. “We've lost some good men to the savages, I admit. But it's been a few days since, and there have been no other attacks. My thought is that this was the work of a small band just coming through the area and jumping crews that weren't sufficiently alert. These Indians are probably far removed by now—heading farther into Texas to raid in Mexico would be my guess. No reason, if we take additional precautions, that we can't continue on, take advantage of this great buffalo herd while there still is one. This is the end of our time, boys, we all know it. When this herd's gone there won't be another, and all of us will have to find other means of making our livings, and probably not in ways that pay as well. What we can do is, go out in hunting parties of fifteen, maybe twenty. Have five or six guns on watch while the rest take the buffalo. No Indian raiding party will have sufficient numbers to risk further assaults. Back here in camp, you can sell your hides for honest profit, have all the necessities and even enjoy some luxuries. Surely you won't let the Indians spook you out of that.”

It was a persuasive speech. Afterward, even Billy Dixon admitted Hanrahan had made valid points.

“What do you think, C.M.?” he asked as they drank bottled beer in Hanrahan's saloon.

McLendon considered his current plight. He'd given Billy all the money in his pockets to buy the old Sharps. So far, from the buffalo he'd shot and the hides he'd sold, he had about $250 in credit with Fred Leonard, but for the moment Fred wasn't honoring credit with hard cash. Even the two bits per skin that Billy paid him was accounted for in credit with Myers and Leonard's. If McLendon went back to Dodge City now and Leonard never redeemed the credit he'd accrued, then McLendon would be flat broke and in no way able to get to Gabrielle in
Arizona Territory for months to come, maybe longer if he had trouble finding a job in town. True, he was very much afraid that if he stayed south in Adobe Walls, he'd be killed by Indians in some particularly horrible way. But if he stuck it out, if he survived and Fred Leonard paid out after the current crisis was past . . .

“Let's stay, Billy,” McLendon said. “I know that some, like Bond and his outfit, have headed back to Dodge, but Jim Hanrahan's probably right. The Indians are long gone.”

A
fter the two raids on their outlying camps, the remaining white hunters did exactly what Quanah anticipated. Some fled north; the others barricaded themselves in the big camp in the meadow and posted guards. This would make the coming attack more difficult. Quanah didn't believe that Isatai's magic would make the whites fall asleep at the crucial moment. Still, he thought the camp could be taken. For a change, the Indians would enjoy a huge advantage in numbers: five hundred warriors against maybe a tenth as many whites. If they didn't kill all of the hunters in the first rush, they could surround the four buildings that made up the camp and overrun the few survivors. It would be over before the sun was halfway across the sky.

Then the white hunters went out again, but this time in larger numbers than before, maybe twice all of the fingers on Quanah's hands. There were enough white men to withstand assault by raiding parties, and even the brashest young warriors didn't want to risk attacking them. The hunters took precautions, too, stationing men to watch in all directions while the rest of them shot and skinned buffalo. They were ready to fight if they had to, and the Indians respected the deadly accuracy of their rifles.

While the hunters roamed, the whites remaining behind in the big camp were careful too. They posted guards at each end of the meadow. They stopped going to the well outside the buildings. Quanah wondered what they had to drink—maybe whiskey. He hoped they didn't drink it all before the attack at the full moon. Whiskey would be a fine reward for the triumphant warriors, especially since there was only one white woman in the camp, and she looked too old and scrawny to survive more than a few rapes.

•   •   •

T
HREE DAYS BEFORE
the full moon, runners arrived to announce the imminent arrival of the Cheyenne. Quanah was relieved. The Kiowa were again growing restless and resented any attempts by the People to be pacified. With Gray Beard and his strict Cheyenne dog soldiers on the scene, it would be much easier to keep things under control.

Quanah and Isatai rode out to greet the Cheyenne and to escort them to the war village set about a half day's ride north of the white camp. It was far enough away so that white hunters would be unlikely to reach it, but still close enough to the camp so that the great war party could easily move into position for attack.

Gray Beard and Whirlwind rode at the head of the Cheyenne procession. Quanah was surprised to see that their medicine man, Mamanti, had made the trip too. Mamanti and Isatai eyed each other warily as Quanah made a short speech of welcome.

“We're ready to fight,” Gray Beard said. “Are the whites still in their great camp?”

“At night they are,” Quanah said. He surreptitiously scanned the Cheyenne, hoping for a glimpse of Mochi, but apparently she was somewhere at the back of the group with the other women. Her husband, Medicine Water, though, was prominent in the first ranks, riding with
the rest of the fierce-looking dog soldiers. “We're happy to see our Cheyenne friends.”

“I heard you had some trouble with the Kiowa,” Gray Beard said. “Don't look surprised. We've been watching. We wondered if all the remaining whites might have run away after the Kiowa killed some of them. You should have kept the Kiowa away from the white hunters, Quanah. They could have ruined everything.”

“I did what I could. It doesn't matter now. The whites are still there.”

•   •   •

T
HAT NIGHT
the People, the Cheyenne, and the Kiowa enjoyed a feast. They ate great quantities of buffalo—the whites weren't the only ones enjoying fine hunting—and especially enjoyed cracking and sucking clean the marrow bones. Afterward, chiefs and war leaders from all three tribes gathered to discuss the coming fight. Isatai and Mamanti were there too.

“In two more nights it will be the full moon,” Quanah said. “We'll take the warriors down to a good place by the wide river, and there we'll prepare, then, when all is ready, ride quietly along a creek that runs into the meadow where the white camp is. It will be easy to conceal ourselves in the trees and brush on its banks. That will bring us very close, and then we'll surprise and kill their guards. Just at sunrise, we attack.”

“Before the attack, I will say words and my magic will make sure all the white men are asleep,” Isatai said. “There is no magic so great as spirit magic. It is stronger than the weak powers of those who talk to dead owls.” He glared at Mamanti, who glowered back.

“Yes, the magic will be important,” Quanah said hastily. He feared that any squabbling between Isatai and Mamanti would distract from making battle plans. “I thought that tomorrow a few of us might ride down toward the white camp to scout it one last time.”

The scouting party included Quanah, Lone Wolf and Iseeo of the Kiowa, and Medicine Water of the Cheyenne. To Quanah's delight, as they were leaving, Mochi ran up and insisted on coming too.

“We're going to kill many white men,” she said. “My knife is very sharp.”

“Mochi likes to use her knife on white men,” Medicine Water said. “That way she can look into their eyes as they die.”

The five Indians rode south much of the day, taking care to approach the meadow after dark. Quanah knew the way well. He pointed out various landmarks, especially the high bluff north of the white camp, a fine vantage point. When they reached the creek that flowed just above the camp, they tethered their horses and walked the last mile. Easing their way up the side of the bluff, they crawled on their bellies along its flat top until they reached the edge and could look down into the camp. Since the moon was almost full, it offered some illumination on the buildings below—a big grass-and-mud one with a picket corral was closest to the creek, and then a small picket structure, another of sod, and finally a second picket building. There were lights in all of them. The sharp sound of metal banging on metal came from the small picket building, and raucous male conversation and laughter emanated from the others.

“The white men are happy,” Lone Wolf observed to Quanah. “They aren't mourning their dead anymore.”

“Soon they'll be dead themselves,” Mochi gloated. Her voice, so close to his ear, made Quanah start; she had moved very silently to his side. “I want to do it now. It will be very hard to wait another day and night.”

“Patience,” Medicine Water said. “This looks like a good place to fight.” But after a moment he said, “There's something wrong down there. Do the rest of you see it?”

“Yes,” Quanah said. “Where are their guards?”

“Did they never have any here?” Medicine Water asked.

“After the Kiowa killings they did, always one at each end of the meadow and also one or two who walked from one end to the other. I have watched here on four other nights, and it was always the same.”

“Isn't this a good thing?” Iseeo asked. “We can surprise the white hunters more easily now, since they're fools and no longer keeping watch.”

“Maybe they still have guards and we just can't see them,” Lone Wolf suggested. “They could be hiding themselves in new places. I've known white men to dig holes in the ground and pull branches on top.”

Medicine Water said he and Mochi would creep down into the meadow to look around. The others should stay on top of the bluff. Quanah said he would come with them, but Mochi told him that they would be fine by themselves. Quanah and the two Kiowa listened to the white men whooping it up down below while they waited. Finally, Mochi and Medicine Water returned.

“I'm sure that there are no guards,” Medicine Water said. “We looked carefully and would not have missed them.”

Iseeo was pleased, but Lone Wolf expressed concern.

“I have little respect for the whites, but I can't believe that they would not have someone watching. Maybe this is a trick. They guessed we're going to attack, and they want us to believe they are not prepared.”

“This is possible,” Medicine Water said. “Quanah, how many of the white hunters are left down there?”

“I think maybe three times my fingers, or four if some more came in while I was away greeting you. Not enough to fight all the warriors we'll have with us.”

“That closest hut is very big,” Medicine Water said. “Lots of white men with good guns could be hiding in there. You're right, they could have come when you weren't here to see them. There could be more than
you know about—many more. If there are twice as many as you think, and they all have good guns and they're not asleep like your Spirit Messenger promises, then it will be a harder fight than you promised.”

Quanah said crossly, “I think that these hunters are just stupid people and no longer think that they need guards.”

“Maybe. But until we know how many white men with guns are down there, the Cheyenne will wait to fight.”

Quanah felt a surge of panic. His plan was in jeopardy. “But you've come here. The Kiowa are ready, and the People too. We're going to have a great victory and drive away the white men forever. The spirits are guiding us.”

“Unless we can count the white men, the spirits will have to guide the Kiowa and Comanche without the Cheyenne,” Medicine Water said.

“What do you want me to do, walk down there among them?” Quanah asked. “Should I go in all those huts and ask them to stay still while I do?”

“Wait until morning,” Lone Wolf suggested. “When the sun is up, maybe any white men who are hiding inside will come out.”

“Maybe they won't,” Medicine Water said. “If they're trying to trick us, and if they think that we're watching, they'll keep hidden.”

“What, then?” Quanah asked. “Are the rest of us supposed to walk away like the Cheyenne?”

“If the Cheyenne don't fight, then the Kiowa may not,” Lone Wolf said. “I think we need to ride back so I can talk about this with my people.”

“No one has to walk away,” Mochi said. Quanah had forgotten about her. Now she pulled at her husband's shoulder and said to Medicine Water, “Come with me.” They withdrew to the back of the bluff and talked quietly. It seemed to Quanah, as he anxiously watched and tried unsuccessfully to hear what they were saying, that Mochi was trying to
convince Medicine Water of something. Finally, he shrugged, and they came back to where Quanah, Lone Wolf, and Iseeo waited.

“I need to go to the stream,” she said. They followed her down the side of the bluff. When they reached the creek, Mochi did a curious thing. She cupped water in her hands and dripped it on herself, taking care not to make any splashing sounds. Then, when her hair, exposed skin, and deerskin dress were wet, she rolled on the ground, splotching herself with the resulting mud. When she was done, she walked to her husband and told Medicine Water, “Tear it.” He made rips in the sleeves and along the hem of her dress. “Do I look all right?” she asked him. Medicine Water wet his own hand in the river, scooped up some dirt, and wiped the moist sludge on her face and hair.

“Yes, now,” he said. There was sadness in his voice.

“I'm going to count the white men,” Mochi told the others. “You better hide, because when they see me, they may come looking for more of us.” She embraced Medicine Water, pushed her way through the brush along the river, and walked toward the buildings in the meadow.