It was then that he heard it, a distant rumble. He knew immediately what it was—the bellowing of the mating bulls that would go on both day and night until the breeding season was over. The herd was coming!
Excitedly, Cade ran back to the sleeping camp.
“Wake up!” he called to the others. “Billy, Charley, Frenchy! Wake up, the buffalo are coming!”
The news galvanized the others so that the normal morning grogginess was replaced by preparation and activity. Cade and Billy checked their big .50 caliber buffalo guns as Armitage and Frenchy made coffee, fried bacon, and then fried corn pone in the bacon grease.
After breakfast, Cade and Billy rode out about five miles from the camp.
“There!” Cade said. “There they are!” He pointed to a huge herd of buffalo, a vast, undulating landscape.
“It’s like old times,” Billy said with a wide grin.
“It’s a magnificent sight. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cade said. “I almost hate to kill any of them.”
“Don’t look at them as buffalo, look at them as dollar signs,” Billy suggested. “Let the harvesting begin.” Billy jumped off his horse securing him with a ground tether.
“Yes, harvesting. That sounds a little better than killing.”
Cade found a forked stick, stuck it in the ground, then lay down with the barrel of his Sharps supported by the fork as he waited for the herd to come into range. When the opportunity was presented, he drew a bead on a big bull, pulled the trigger, and the buffalo dropped in place. Not another animal was disturbed by the sudden death of one of their own, and for the next hour Cade and Billy killed buffalo as rapidly as they could load and fire.
Quahadi Village near the Canadian
Quanah Parker, Silver Knife, Wolf Tongue, and Mean To His Horses had just returned to the village with six antelope they had killed. Giving them to the women to prepare, the men moved to a spot where two of the elders were sitting. Standing Bear was greasing a sapling that had been cut to the length of an arrow. When he was finished, he handed it to Crooked Nose who meticulously pushed the wood through a round hole in a buffalo bone to straighten the wood.
“I see you did not bring in a buffalo,” Standing Bear said. “It is time.”
“It is time,” Wolf Tongue said, “but we did not see even a shaggy old bull.”
Standing Bear picked up another stick. “Why do we make arrows if you cannot find the buffalo?”
“The buffalo are afraid,” Crooked Nose said. “The Great Spirit is telling them, do not move to your breeding ground. You will be no more.”
“It is the white man who slaughters the buffalo,” Silver Knife said. “The People have hunted the buffalo for many generations, and always the buffalo returns. To give us food, to give us clothing, to give us shelter, to give us tools, to give us anything we need.”
“The white man takes only the hide, and leaves the meat and bones for the wolves,” Mean To His Horses said.
“I have seen the place where the white men are building their town,” Quanah Parker said to the others. “If we do not stop them, all the buffalo will be gone, and our children will go hungry.”
“Our numbers are few. There are more white men than there are blades of grass,” Standing Bear said. Standing Bear was a man of many, many summers, and though he was no longer a warrior, his age had made him wise, so the others listened to him.
“It is not possible that there are that many white men. I have seen their villages,” Mean To His Horses replied.
“The towns you have seen are small, like our villages. But our brother, Little Robe, tells of riding on the iron horse for many days. Everywhere he saw big villages, with large stone tipis, so big that all in our villages could sit in but one of them,” Standing Bear said.
“And you believe Little Robe?” Wolf Tongue asked.
“I do. Lone Wolf of the Kiowa says the same,” Standing Bear said. “At the agency, I saw pictures with my own eyes.”
“We must make war against them,” Quanah Parker said.
“I would advise against it. The white man is very powerful,” Standing Bear said. “If we make war, there will be much weeping among the women for those who are killed.”
“Do not the women weep for those killed by the soldiers already?” Silver Knife asked.
Standing Bear, whose brother had been killed by Mackenzie, turned his face away.
“You are right, the People cannot face Bad Hand alone,” Quanah said.
“But we are alone,” Silver Knife said.
“We do not have to be alone. I have smoked the pipe with Lone Wolf. I believe that Lone Wolf would have the Kiowa join the People. And I believe the Cheyenne will also join with the People. If all will do that, we can defeat Bad Hand and drive all the whites from our land.”
“But the People are the best warriors,” Mean To His Horses said. “Why would we want anyone else to help?”
“Because Standing Bear is right. There is much power with the white man,” Two Crows said.
“My power is greater than that of the white man.”
All turned to see White Eagle, a young warrior who claimed to be a medicine man.
“How is it that your power is greater?” Wolf Tongue asked.
“Did I not tell you when the great light that appeared in the sky would go away? Did I not tell you we would go many days without rain?”
White Eagle had predicted when the Coggia Comet, then visible to the naked eye, would disappear and that a long drought would follow. His prediction was accurate, to the day.
“I am told, this you did,” Quanah Parker agreed.
“That does not make your power greater than the power of the white man,” Two Crows said.
“Can a white man rise into the sky and speak with the spirits?”
White Eagle asked.
“No, I do not think a white man can do this,” Mean To His Horses said. “I do not think anyone can do this.”
“I will do this now, so that you may see.”
“I would like to see you do such a thing,” Silver Knife said.
“First, you must prepare yourself,” White Eagle said. “Look into the sun, and do not shut your eyes. Do not look away from the sun until I tell you to do so. This you must do, so that my power will be great.”
The others, anxious to see this demonstration did as they were directed. They stared at the sun until their eyes were hurting, and everything disappeared from their vising but an overwhelming brightness.
“Now, look at me,” White Eagle ordered.
All of them had been blinded by the sun, and when they looked toward White Eagle they saw nothing but a black blob in the center of the brightness, that moved according to where they looked. As they lifted their eyes, the black blob seemed to lift as well. It took several minutes before they could see again, and when they could see, White Eagle was gone.
“Where is he?” Wolf Tongue asked.
“Did you not see?” Silver Knife asked. “As I lifted my eyes, I saw him rise into the heavens.”
“Yes,” Mean To His Horses said. “This I saw as well.”
“I do not believe he has done this,” Quanah Parker said.
“But you saw, with your own eyes, as did the rest of us,” Silver Knife said.
“I believe it is a trick,” Wolf Tongue said.
“And I believe it is a sign.” Mean To His Horses said.
“Do you think he seeks counsel with the spirits?” Silver Knife asked.
“That is what he said,” Quanah Parker answered.
“With which spirit does he seek counsel?”
“I do not know. This, he will tell us,” Mean To His Horses said.
“I do not think the spirits will counsel war,” Silver Knife said.
“We do not need the spirits to tell us that if the buffalo are gone, our people will die,” Quanah said. “And you should know this, Silver Knife, for were you not with me when we saw the village of the white buffalo hunters? The
white man must die. He must be driven off our land.”
“Quanah, I would think that you, more than any other, would not wish to make war with the white man,” Standing Bear said. “Your mother was a white Woman.”
“My mother is Comanche,” Quanah Parker said. “And I hate the white man all the more for taking her from me.” Quanah’s mother, who was born Cynthia Ann Parker, had been kidnapped when she was very young. She adopted the ways of the People and was devastated when before she died, she and her daughter were forced to live as white.
“Let us go to our tipis and wait for White Eagle to return,” Silver Knife said.
“I do not believe that he has done this,” Wolf Tongue said, as they left the two old men to their work.
“How can you not believe?” Silver Knife asked. “Did you not see him with your own eyes?”
It was two days before anyone saw White Eagle again. Early in the morning, when Quanah stepped out of his tipi, he saw the medicine man sitting in the same spot where the old men had been working on the shafts for the arrows.
“Where have you been?” Quanah Parker asked.
“You saw me ascend into the sky. I was with the spirits.”
“I do not believe you can do that,” Quanah said.
Just then, White Eagle moved his arm quickly, and an arrow appeared in his hand.
“You will see, I have much medicine,” White Eagle said.
“Did you speak with the spirits?” Silver Knife asked as he came running toward the two men.
“I did.”
“Who were the spirits?”
“Buffalo Hump, Iron Jacket,” White Eagle paused for a moment and stared directly at Quanah. “And I spoke with Peta Nocona.”
Quanah gasped. “You spoke with my father?”
“Yes.”
“And what did Peta Nocona say?”
“Your father says that you have made him proud. He says that you are a good warrior.”
“And what of the others? What do they say?” Silver Knife urged.
White Eagle smiled as more began to gather around him. “They say that all the buffalo are being killed, and the meat is left to rot. Their hearts are wounded by this. It is their counsel that we go to war and kill the white men who do this.”
“Yeeai!” Wolf Tongue and Mean To His Horses shouted.
Quanah Parker, too, felt a surge of excitement.
“I do not think this is a good thing,” Two Crows said to Standing Bear, who was not celebrating White Eagle’s announcement.
“Nor do I,” Standing Bear replied. “But the blood runs hot in the veins of the young, and they seek the thrill and glory of war.”
“Many of the People will die,” Two Crows said.
Standing Bear did not dispute Two Crow’s observation.
Later in the day, Mean To His Horses came to Quanah Parker’s tipi. Following the proper ritual of not entering the tipi of another until invited, Mean To His Horses stood outside and called for Quanah.
“Quanah, it is I, Mean To His Horses! I would speak with you!”
A moment later the tipi flap was pushed aside, and Quanah appeared.
“What do you want?
“We have heard that the spirits have counseled us to go to war,” Mean To His Horses said.
“This is what White Eagle has said.”
“Then let us go. Let us make war upon the white man.”
“We shall do so, when we are ready. We must prepare,” Quanah said.
“White Eagle says let us go to war now! Today! We will find the white buffalo hunters and we will kill them.”
“We must not launch the arrow before it is notched into the bowstring.”
“If you will not lead us, then I, Mean To His Horses, will find warriors who will follow me, and I will lead them into battle.”
Quanah didn’t answer. He was known for the power and intensity with which he could stare at someone through his gun metal gray eyes. He affixed just such a stare on Mean To His Horses now, and held it until Mean To His Horses turned away.
Soon the eager warrior was in the middle of the village, dressed and painted for war.
“Hee yah! Hee yah! Hee yah!” Mean To His Horses shouted, holding up his lance. “I am going to make war on the white buffalo hunters who have come to our land. You, who are brave of heart and filled with the wish to kill the white men who have invaded our land, ride with me. Pick up your lance, take your bow, grip your war club and come with me!
“We will find glory as we kill the white devils.
“You who are afraid, remain behind with the women and the children.”
There were several shouts of excitement from the other warriors, and within a few minutes, Mean To His Horses had a raiding party assembled and ready.
Quanah watched the little band of warriors leave, and he had to admit to himself that he wished he was with him. But even though Quanah had never heard the terms, he inherently realized that small raids, such as the one Mean To His Horses would be conducting, though a satisfying tactic, was not an effective strategy. And he knew that he must plan, and implement that successful strategy.
While he was skeptical that White Eagle had ascended into the sky, he knew that those who had watched him believed in the medicine man’s power. Perhaps there was a way that Quanah could harness that belief. He headed for the tipi where White Eagle stayed.
It was time to plan the next move.
13
Joe Plummer, Dave Dudley, and Tommie Wallace were camped on Chicken Creek, about 25 miles down the river from Adobe Walls. Plummer was the hunter, and Dudley and Wallace were the skinners. The main herd had just arrived, and Plummer had killed a little over 100 animals so far. Only half the buffalo had been skinned, and those hides were now staked out in the sun, drying.
At the moment the three men were eating buffalo steaks.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Dudley said. “I reckon I can see why the Injuns eat buffalo all the time, seein’ as it is pretty good. But I’m gettin’ a might tired of it, ‘n would trade you a hunnert pounds of buffalo, for one hen we could use to make us up a pot o’ chicken ‘n dumplins.”
“This would have been better if we had some pepper to put on it,” Wallace said, as he carved off a piece of meat and lifted it to his mouth.
“They prob’ly got some pepper back at the Walls,” Plummer said.
“Yeah, I bet they do, and expect they’s set up to buy your hides now, too.” Wallace said.
“Yes, but we’ll prob’ly not get as much for ‘em as we’d get if we was to take ‘em all the way to Dodge, our ownselves. On account of they’ll have to pay the freighters to take ‘em back in their wagons,” Plummer said.
“Why you sellin’ ‘em there, then?” Dudley asked.
“Because, in the long run, I’ll make more money. See, in the time it’d take to get the hides to Dodge, I could be killin’ more buffalo, ‘n that would more’n make up the difference.”
“Yeah,” Wallace said. “For me ‘n Dudley too, because the more buffalo we skin, the more we’ll get paid.”
“Hey, Joe, you know what else they prob’ly got at the Walls? I’d be willin’ to bet you just about anythin’ that they got some canned peaches,” Dudley said
“Oh, man, wouldn’t that be good though?” Wallace asked.
“You know what?” Dudley said. “If you was to go to the Walls ‘n maybe get some pepper ‘n some more coffee . . .”
“And some canned peaches,” Wallace added.
“We can stay here ‘n keep a watch out. And maybe we can ketch up with what you’ve kilt.”
“Well, I guess we could use a few supplies,” Plummer agreed. “All right, I’ll go first thing in the morning.”
White Deer Creek:
The next morning, ten miles west of the Plummer, Wallace and Dudley camp, Cade, Billy, Armitage and Frenchy were just finishing their breakfast.
“We’ve had a good few days of shooting,” Billy said. “There must be close
to a 150 dead buffalo lying out there now, and we haven’t even started on this day.”
“I say, you two lads are going to have to reduce the number of beasts you are shooting,” Armitage said, in his pronounced British accent. “I fear you are quite overtaking the capabilities that Frenchy and I have to keep up with you.”
“I don’t want to slow down any,” Billy said. “The herd just showed up, and I don’t know how long they’re going to be here. The more hides we take, the more money we make.”
“That may be so, but if you shoot more buffalo than we can skin, it is quite possible that some of the hides will go bad before we can get to them.”
“Oui, and a mal hide is of aucune valeur,” Frenchy added.
“What did you say?” Billy asked.
“He said that a hide that is bad, is of no value,” Cade said.
“You speak French?” Billy asked, surprised by Cade’s comment.
“I’ve picked up a few words here and there,” Cade said, thinking of Arabella and Magnolia.
“I’ve always thought it would be good to know another language,” Billy said. He laughed. “I can understand Armitage, though, and sometimes I think he’s speaking a foreign language.”
“My dear boy, we British do not speak a corruption of ‘American’, it is Americans who speak a corruption of English,” Armitage said.
“See right there. I almost know what he said,” Billy teased.
“Say, I’ve got an idea,” Cade said. “Suppose we go to Adobe Walls and see if we can hire another skinner.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Billy said. “That would give the boys a chance to catch up with us.”
“We may as well take a load of skins in, too,” Cade suggested. “We’ll see if Fred Leonard will let us store them in his yard. Then if a Harrison and McCall wagon comes down, the driver can haul ‘em back to Dodge. Jacob will see that we get the best price.”
“You’re right,” Billy said. “With the herd coming through so late, Lobenstein’s probably paying top dollar for hides. If Jacob could take care of ‘em, we wouldn’t have to go through Rath and Company or Charlie Myers at all. Having you as a partner is gonna be just fine.”
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 70
