Chieftain (Historical Romance) (3 page)

A
rmed soldiers
had ridden out to intercept the arriving Comanches and their young leader who, through courage and initiative, had attained the statue of honored war chief among his People. The soldiers were aware that Shanaco was revered and respected despite his frequent absences from his tribe.

He was a rarity.

While a white captive woman giving birth to a warrior’s child was not that uncommon, it was rare that a half-breed would rise to the prominence of respected war chief and recognized leader.

Shanaco had managed such a feat and he had done it by demonstrating unfailing bravery and superior intelligence. He scoffed at the idea—whispered by the whites—that his success as a leader was due to his mixed blood. His
white
blood. It was said that it made him more intelligent than his fellow tribesmen.

It was not so. Other full-blood warriors had wholly proven themselves at an age as young as Shanaco.

Two armed blue-clad troopers quickly moved into position, closely flanking Shanaco, as if afraid he might bolt and run. He said nothing, did not turn his head to look at either of them. Behind Shanaco, the rest of the Comanches remained silent. They said not one word, but looked straight ahead, as did their leader.

The crowd
stared at the new arrivals, realizing that this was a momentous occasion. History was surely being made on the rolling plains of the Oklahoma Territory.

The last of the warring Comanches had finally been forced to surrender. Feared through the years by the Spaniards, the Mexicans, the Texans and finally all whites everywhere, these conquered adversaries were riding into the fort to lay down their arms forever.

Maggie frowned, annoyed, when she no longer had an unobstructed view of Shanaco. She strained to get one last fleeting glimpse of the notorious chieftain, then turned and left.

Her thoughts once again returning to her students, Maggie made her way back through the crowd and headed directly to the post’s supply depot to pick out needed articles for her classroom.

The long possession of arriving Comanches continued. Shanaco, riding between the two uniformed troopers, appeared to be docile, with only a hint of implied defiance in his silver-gray eyes.

Shanaco had every intention, for his deceased grandfather’s sake, to be on his best behavior for as long as he stayed at Fort Sill. Which would not be long.

A month. Six
weeks at most. He’d stay only until the tribe was settled.

Directly behind Shanaco rode the young men, the brave, strong warriors of the band. Behind the proud braves came the elder statesmen of the tribe, dressed in their finest for this sad occasion. Many wore black war paint on their faces and clutched shields and tomahawks.

After them came the women and children, mounted on the travois ponies, dragging their meager belongings behind them.

Last came the pony herd, numbering less than two hundred. The tribe’s young boys skillfully kept the horses bunched in long columns.

The entire band—men, women and children—numbered no more than a hundred. All were totally silent as they surrendered forever the freedom that had always been theirs.

The crowd watching was just as silent. A pall had quickly fallen over the proceedings. The whites had just cause to hate the Comanches—and most did. But even some of those felt a twinge of compassion for these once-powerful Lords of the Plains who would now be nothing more than dependent children, looking to the government for every morsel of food they put in their mouths.

The somber cavalcade rode across the dusty parade ground, passed completely through the fort and turned north toward the unfinished icehouse. There the receiving troops dismounted and took all the shields and weapons from the Comanches. Shanaco had warned his tribesmen that this would happen. The warriors did not resist, but willingly surrendered their weapons.

Once all the
weapons had been collected, the Comanche men were ordered to dismount. Shanaco swung down out of the saddle first and nodded for his tribesmen to do the same. All did so peacefully. Shanaco was relieved. This unpleasant process was going forward more smoothly than he had hoped. He was determined that he would continue to remain totally calm.

But his passionate nature swiftly emerged when he was told that the young warriors, including him, would be locked up for an indefinite period.

Fury instantly leapt into his light eyes and he struggled fiercely against the armed men forcing him into the icehouse, which was to be a temporary jail.

At that moment Maggie stepped out of the post supply store and heard the commotion. Curious, she turned to see what was happening. Shading her eyes against the blinding sun, she was drawn steadily closer, her lips parted, a frown of puzzlement on her face. She watched in shock and horror as an infuriated Shanaco and the young Comanche warriors were thrown into the makeshift prison.

Stunned, Maggie stood for a moment, motionless, unable to believe her eyes. Then her face grew fiery red with anger. Teeth clamped tightly together, her dander up, Maggie dropped her bag of supplies where she stood and hurried headlong toward the icehouse. Her mind was racing. What should she do? How could she help? How could she stop this atrocity?

Then
it came to her. Double Jimmy! He would put a stop to this outrage! But a few steps short of the icehouse, Maggie stopped abruptly.

“Oh, no!” she muttered aloud, remembering suddenly that the Indian agent was not at the fort. Double Jimmy was in Washington and wouldn’t be back until Saturday morning, more than forty-eight hours from now.

She couldn’t wait that long. She had to do something this very minute. There was no other choice. She would go straight to the fort’s commander, Colonel Harkins, register a firm protest and demand that he release the Comanches.

Maggie turned and hurried toward the fort’s administration offices. Skirts lifted, chin jutting, she crossed the dusty quadrangle, stepped up onto the shaded east sally port and moved quickly to the closed door of Colonel Harkins’s office.

“May I be of assistance, Miss Bankhead?” a provost marshal, who was waiting at the door, asked.

“I must speak with Colonel Harkins at once!” Maggie declared, and rushed right past the startled officer.

She rushed inside the sandstone building and was headed for Colonel Harkins’s back office when his aide-de-camp, Captain Daniel Wilde, came from behind his desk to block her way.

“I’m very
sorry, Miss Bankhead,” said Captain Wilde. “You can’t go in there. Colonel Harkins is in an important meeting and cannot be disturbed.” The captain smiled then, and with a slightly suggestive tone to his voice, said, “Now, if there’s anything
I
can do for you. Anything at all.”

Maggie glared him. She didn’t like Captain Wilde. Married, but with his family down in Texas, he behaved too much like a single man. Anytime he caught her alone, he was openly flirtatious. She didn’t approve and had told him so. Now as he took a step closer, Maggie backed away.

“Inform Colonel Harkins that he
must
release the Comanche prisoners at once!” she said. “This is a disgrace! There is absolutely no excuse for incarcerating these men who came onto the reservation peacefully! Promises of fair treatment were made and believed. They have done nothing to warrant such high-handed handling, and if Double Jimmy were here he would never have allowed it to happen!”

Captain Wilde just grinned. “Well now, Miss Bankhead, I’ll sure relay your message to the colonel, yes I will. And I certainly appreciate your concern. But you have to understand that these Comanches are dangerous and—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, they are not!” Maggie snapped. “The army has taken their weapons and horses, how dangerous could they possibly be?”

“Dangerous enough,” he said with a sly smile. “One of those big, naked savages could pose a terrible threat to a pretty young white woman like you.”

“Go to
blazes, Captain,” Maggie said, and turned on her heel to leave.

The captain chuckled. Then called after her, “I’ll be sure to give Colonel Harkins your message.” But he never intended to do anything of the kind.

Thwarted, Maggie hurried out of the building. Taking a deep breath, she headed back in the direction of the icehouse. Before she could reach her destination, her friend, Lieutenant Dave Finley, intercepted her.

“Maggie, what are you doing here?” he said, surprised.

“Hunting you,” she replied. “Dave, we have to do something! Do you know what has happened? The soldiers have locked up the unarmed Comanches! That is unjust and unacceptable. The Indians came in peacefully and surrendered their weapons. Why is the army treating them like criminals?”

“Now, Maggie,” said the soft-spoken Lieutenant Finley, taking her arm and turning her about, “you can’t go to the icehouse, it’s no place for a lady.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Maggie said, “Do something, Dave. See to it that these Comanches are released!”

“Their imprisonment is only temporary. Please don’t trouble yourself so,” he said. “I’m confident that the men will be released within the hour. The troops are only following safety procedures laid out in advance.” He ushered her away.

“Laid
out in advance?” she repeated. “By whom? Not by Double Jimmy. I know he wouldn’t have sanctioned such inhumane treatment.” She shook her head, adding, “If only he had gotten back to the fort before the Comanches arrived, this would not have happened.”

“I know and—”

“Were the Comanches told they would be imprisoned upon their arrival?”

“I’m not sure, but—”

“I am,” she interrupted. “They wouldn’t have agreed to come onto the reservation had they been told they would be locked up the minute they arrived! Promise me you’ll do everything you can to—”

“I will, I swear it. Trust me, Maggie, in a couple of hours all the men will be freed.”

It didn’t happen.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Several long hours dragged by while Shanaco and the Comanche braves remained locked up in the hot, roofless makeshift prison. Incensed by their treatment, Maggie again tried to see the fort’s commandant but was turned away without being afforded the opportunity to speak with him. She didn’t give up. She lay in wait until the portly colonel finally left his office at day’s end.

“Give me a moment of your time, Colonel Harkins?” she said, rushing up the minute he stepped outside, planting herself firmly in front of him.

“Why, anytime, Miss Bankhead,” he said. “Anytime at all, you know that.”

Maggie
made a face. She knew what had happened. Captain Wilde had never told the fort’s commander that she had attempted to see him. Maggie should have known—Daniel Wilde hated all Indians and made no bones about it. If it were up to him, the new arrivals would stay in jail forever.

“Colonel Harkins, you must release the Comanche prisoners at once!” she said.

The colonel smiled at her as one would smile at an impetuous child. He took her arm and said, “It’s getting dark, Miss Bankhead. You shouldn’t be out alone at this hour. Allow me to see you to your cottage.”

“You are not listening to me, Colonel. Those men should be set free. I demand their release, sir!”

Again he smiled and said, “My dear, you’re almost as wilful as my daughter, Lois. She’s constantly bossing me about as if…”

Interrupting, Maggie said, “I am requesting that you do the honorable thing, Colonel. There is no reason why the Comanches should be imprisoned.”

“Well now, child, I will tell you, like I often tell Lois, there are many things you young ladies just don’t understand and therefore shouldn’t concern yourself with.” His eyes were kind when he added, “Teaching English to the Indians is your affair, quelling trouble at the fort before it can start is mine. The prisoners will be freed as soon as I’m certain it is safe to do so. Now, you go on along home and don’t be worrying your pretty head about such matters.”

When night fell on the fort, the Comanches were still locked up. Morning came and they were not freed. They remained in the icehouse jail throughout the long, hot day and on into another night.

Their
incarceration was the main topic of gossip throughout the fort and across the reservation. Unrest spread among the other tribes when they learned what had happened.

Maggie heard disturbing tales of the imprisoned men being fed as if they were feral dogs. Great chunks of raw meat were tossed over the walls to the hungry men.

Word was that the proud Shanaco refused to eat, stating emphatically, “I am not an animal that I will eat meat off the ground.”

A
t five
minutes past noon on Monday, the weekly stagecoach rolled to a dust-stirring stop before the reservation’s general mercantile store.

The coach’s door immediately swung open. Out stepped a strapping middle-aged man with kindly brown eyes, a sun-weathered face accented by a full mustache the color of rock salt, and thick white hair poking out from under a battered brown Stetson.

The big man’s booted foot had hardly touched the ground before an eager Maggie Bankhead stepped forward to intercept him. Her giant wolfhound, Pistol, leapt in front of her, barking a loud greeting. Maggie smiled and Pistol wagged his tail as both rushed eagerly forward.

“Double Jimmy, thank heavens you’re finally back!” Maggie said without preamble.

Double Jimmy smiled broadly, swept his Stetson off, reached out and wrapped Maggie in a quick bear hug, giving her narrow waist a gentle squeeze. Releasing her at once, he affectionately patted the head of the dog he had given to Maggie when Pistol was just a pup.

“Hey, boy,” Double Jimmy said, stroking Pistol’s head, and then laughed when the huge dog jumped up on him and attempted to lick his face.

“Pistol, get down!” Maggie intervened, snapping her fingers. “Behave yourself now. Get down, and I mean it.”

Pistol
obeyed, but he stayed close. He sat on his haunches at Double Jimmy’s feet, his pale amber eyes fixed on the big white-bearded man he recognized as a friend.

Pistol was a faithful watchdog to his mistress. If anyone other than Maggie or Double Jimmy came nosing around her little cottage, Pistol bared his sharp canine teeth, growled loudly and prepared to attack. Double Jimmy never worried about Maggie living alone. Pistol would protect her.

“It’s mighty good to be home, Maggie dear,” he said now, stroking the dog’s head again. “Mighty good indeed. I tell you, dealing with all those bureaucrats in Washington is—”

“Tell me about the Washington meetings later,” she cut him off, and tugged at his arm. “I need your help and I need it right now.”

“You have it, you know that. Has something happened while I was gone?” He put his hat back on, turned and reached into the coach to retrieve his valise.

“Yes, something momentous. The Kwahadi Comanches have surrendered and come onto the reservation. They arrived at the fort Friday morning.”

“No!” said
Double Jimmy in disbelief. “Old Gray Wolf has finally given up and brought his People in?”

“No, not Gray Wolf. I understand that the old chief is dead. His half-breed grandson, Shanaco, brought the band in.”

“Will wonders never cease!” exclaimed Double Jimmy, shaking his head. “Shanaco here at the fort? I’d been told that he no longer lived among the Comanches. Leastwise, not full-time. After his father and mother died, they say he drifted away from the tribe. Took up the ways of the whites.”

Maggie interrupted, “Double Jimmy, the minute the Comanches rode through the gates, Colonel Harkins ordered Shanaco and the rest of the young men thrown into jail. Locked them up as if they were violent criminals.”

“Jesus God,” Double Jimmy swore, which was rare for him. He was seldom guilty of cursing, especially in front of a female. His sun-tanned face turning red with anger, he muttered, “Why the hell would Harkins pull a stunt like that? He knows better.” Heavy valise in hand, he took Maggie’s arm and firmly propelled her down the wooden sidewalk, Pistol barking and darting ahead.

“I knew you’d object,” Maggie said, pleased with Double Jimmy’s response. “So you’ll demand that he immediately let them go?”

“I’ll lobby for their speedy release,” he replied, nodding. “Soon as I see you home and get cleaned up, I’ll—”

“I can
see myself home and you can clean up later. Time’s wasting. Go talk to the colonel now.”

Double Jimmy smiled and nodded. “I’m on my way.”

Colonel Harkins rose to his feet and greeted Double Jimmy warmly when his old friend walked into the office. He stretched out a hand for the taller man to shake. “Glad to have you back, Double Jimmy.”

“Glad to be back, sir.”

“Sit down, sit down. Tell me what transpired in Washington.”

Double Jimmy took a chair across from the portly colonel, hung his Stetson on his knee and replied, “Apparently not nearly as much as has transpired here. I understand the last of the Comanches came onto the reservation Thursday morning.”

“You heard correctly,” said Harkins, shaking his head. “The old chief, Gray Wolf, is dead. The mixed-blood grandson, Shanaco, led the People in. The poor starving souls have finally given up.”

“Which means they are no longer
warring
Comanches, does it not?”

“That’s correct. They’ve laid down their arms.”

“Then why in Sam Hill were Shanaco and the young men tossed into jail?”

“Now, Double Jimmy, I gave this some thought and in my judgment it was the best way to avoid trouble,” Harkins quickly defended himself.

“You avoid trouble by locking up the tribe’s leader who has surrendered his arms and led his People onto the reservation? That’s a surefire way to
cause
trouble, Colonel.”

“I disagree, my
friend. It was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing? For God’s sake, you know full well that by locking up Shanaco, you have successfully angered every single Indian living on this reservation. We’ve talked about this many times, have we not? You must treat these people with the honor they deserve. You can’t look on them as wayward children and then expect them to behave like responsible men.”

“I know that, Double Jimmy, but—”

“Colonel, you are lucky your well-intentioned decision hasn’t caused half the Indians to flee the reservation. Do you want that to happen?”

“Of course not. But I must consider the safety of the white females that live at the fort. Including my own innocent young daughter, Lois.”

Double Jimmy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “In all his raids against the whites, Shanaco was even kind to captive men. And he was always merciful to the women and children. He never allowed any women or children to be killed in his battles. He has killed white men, yes, just as you and I have killed Indians. But
never
did he hurt women and children. I’m sure that he never forgot the fate of his own white mother.”

Colonel Harkins grudgingly admitted, “I, too, have heard that the half-breed never harmed women and children.” He drew a slow breath. “Perhaps I should reconsider.”

“Yes, absolutely. Please
right the wrong. Do it now, this very hour.”

Shanaco moved not a muscle. Only the wind lifted a lock of long raven hair as it lay along his bare bronzed shoulder. He fought hard to hold his temper.

“Get up, you’re free to go,” said the scowling sergeant of the guard, a stocky man with a scar down his left cheek.

Finally Shanaco rose to his feet.

His handsome face showed no emotion as he walked out of the icehouse prison. Apologies were quickly made along with a promise that the fort’s commandant, Colonel Harkins, would personally meet with the chief soon to discuss the settlement of his People.

Outside the makeshift jail, Double Jimmy waited. When he saw Shanaco, so tall and imposing and with eyes the color of pewter, he recognized the Comanche leader.

Double Jimmy stepped forward, introduced himself and said, “Walk with me, Chief. We will talk.”

Shanaco nodded, turned and addressed his men in their native tongue.

Then, leaving them behind, he fell into step beside the older man. As they walked away from the prison, Double Jimmy said, “I’m the Indian agent.”

Shanaco
nodded in silence.

Double Jimmy explained, “I was in Washington when you led your People onto the reservation. Had I been at the fort at that time, I would have intervened on your behalf.”

“If you say so,” Shanaco finally said.

“I am genuinely sorry for the disrespect shown to you and I assure you nothing like that will happen again. I hope we can put the unpleasantness behind us and go forward.” He looked hopefully at Shanaco.

Shanaco shrugged bare shoulders.

Double Jimmy hurried on, “I know you are anxious to get washed up, put on clean clothes, but first there’s something I want to show you. Your horse is stabled with the garrison’s. So is mine. Let’s walk over there, get our mounts and take a short ride.”

Moments later the two rode away from the fort with Double Jimmy leading the way. Due south. When he finally drew rein, Shanaco halted his stallion.

Double Jimmy dismounted, dropped the reins to the ground, and said, “As you can see, this is a choice part of the reservation. It has been set aside for your People, Shanaco.”

Shanaco, still dressed in breechcloth and red bandanna, pushed his long loose hair back, swung down and unhurriedly walked forward. He examined the thick grass, the tall shade trees, the wide ribbon of water gliding by in the near distance. He was pleased with what he saw. The People had been given a prime spot on the reservation’s southwestern edge, bordered by Cache Creek.

“As the
recognized chief, you will be assigned your own private quarters just as soon as the dwelling can be readied for you. Shouldn’t be more than a few days at the outside.” Shanaco glanced around, seeing nothing. Double Jimmy explained, “The cottage is a half mile from here, down around a bend of the creek.”

Double Jimmy paused and waited for Shanaco to say something. Shanaco remained quiet.

Double Jimmy cleared his throat needlessly and said, “I understand the old chief passed away.”

Shanaco shook his head. “Yes, my grandfather is dead.”

Double Jimmy continued, “I had great respect for Chief Gray Wolf. He was a testimony to dignity and bravery. Perhaps it is a blessing that he is gone.” He clarified then, “He never had to give up his old, beloved life of roaming the plains and hunting the buffalo that are gone forever.”

“My grandfather preferred death to life on the reservation,” Shanaco finally said. His head swung around and he looked Double Jimmy in the eye. “I feel the same. I do not intend to stay here.”

“I understand how you feel,” said Double Jimmy. “But perhaps we can change your mind.”

“Never.”

Double Jimmy nodded. “Then all I ask is that while you are here, you work with me as I try to help your People adjust. Will you do that?”

“I
will.”

Double Jimmy extended his hand for Shanaco to shake. “I want to be your friend, Shanaco. Give me a chance to show you that I am on your side and you can trust me.”

Shanaco gripped the older man’s hand and shook it firmly. “Sir, I thank you for your kindness,” he said politely.

“Call me Double Jimmy. Everybody does.” He smiled and patted Shanaco’s bare shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

Shanaco had no intention of staying one day longer than was absolutely necessary. He appreciated the Indian agent’s overture of kindness and believed him to be an honest man. But as soon as he saw to it that the People were settled and were being treated fairly, he would leave.

The prospect of spending the rest of his life on a reservation would be a slow death. He couldn’t wait to go back to his remote ranch in New Mexico where he was free to do as he pleased, when he pleased.

Shanaco had been at the fort for little more than a week. Bored and edgy, he took a ride alone. It was a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. Far away from the fort’s scattered buildings and the hundreds of tepees dotting the land, he rode up into the gentle foothills of the Wichita Mountains. At the crest of a hill, he stopped, dismounted and allowed his stallion to contentedly crop the patchy grass.

In minutes the
black had roamed away. The stallion went over the top of the hill, down the other side and out of sight. Shanaco wasn’t concerned. He had trained the black himself. When he was ready to leave, all he needed to do was whistle and the stallion would come.

Shanaco sat down beneath an elm, stretched his long legs out before him, crossed them at the ankles, leaned back against the tree’s rough trunk and lighted one of Double Jimmy’s cigars.

For a time there was little sound, save the sigh of the wind and the cawing of birds. Then all at once he heard—faintly—the sound of laughter. A woman’s tinkling laughter. He turned his head to listen. The laughter soon grew louder, closer. Squinting, Shanaco looked down and caught sight of the most arresting woman he had ever seen.

She was running barefoot across a meadow that was part dirt and part grass. Close on her bare heels was a huge silver wolfhound, barking his pleasure. The woman’s unbound hair and full cotton skirts were billowing out in the wind. Her fair face was flushed with exertion. Continuing to laugh merrily, she impulsively grabbed her long, bothersome skirts and yanked them up to her knees.

The woman didn’t see him seated beneath the elm on the hill above. She was unaware of his presence. She believed that she was alone. So she bunched her skirts higher, exposing a pair of the palest, most shapely thighs Shanaco had ever laid eyes on.

He
stared, disarmed by her carefree spirit and her natural beauty. And by that blazing red hair unlike any he had ever seen. After a brief moment in which he studied her with undiluted pleasure, she disappeared over a rise. One minute she was there. The next she was gone.

Shanaco blinked.

Had he actually seen her? Had a beautiful young woman with flaming hair and tinkling laughter and ivory thighs actually run past him? Perhaps she was a vision. Surely someone like that could not be real. Shanaco was enchanted. He wanted to leap to his feet and run after her.

He didn’t do it.

He sat perfectly still, hoping that she would come back. He waited, tensed, hardly daring to breathe. But she never returned.

After several long minutes, Shanaco gave up. He rose to his feet and whistled for the stallion. In seconds the dutiful black came trotting toward his master. Shanaco climbed up astride the nickering stallion and rode back toward the fort.

How, he wondered, could he find out who the redhaired beauty was? He might never know. He couldn’t ask. He’d get thrown back into jail for being too curious about one of the fort’s few white women.