Ambush At Mustang Canyon

by Mike Kearby

  With the white paint ceremony complete, he removed another pouch from the set of horns. The pouch held a concoction of berries and duck droppings. Maman-ti used the items to produce a blue color.

  When the mixture of grease, blue coloring, and hot water was complete, he painted two owls beneath each breast and repeated the baking process.

  With the war paint now firmly fixed to his body, he grabbed his war lance. A decorated lance would announce to war chiefs and warriors that Maman-ti had received a vision from his spirit guide. Maman-ti sat on a buffalo hide and laid the twelve-foot spear across his knees. He tied hawk feathers and long streamers of white cloth near the flint tip with woven horse hair.

  To complete the ritual, he sat cross-legged at the fire pit, closed his eyes, and began a low chant.

  Owl puppet, hear my prayer.

  Show me my enemies, killers of Kiowa

  women and children.

  Owl puppet, show me the way

  to defeat this foe.

  Owl puppet, hear my prayer.

  After some time, Maman-ti rose and marched from his tipi. His face was rigid and taut. He mounted his horse and began to ride through the lodges chanting to his people in a loud voice.

  Where are the warriors?

  Where are the Kiowa?

  It is the day to go to war.

  It is the day to defeat Mangomhente.

  He circled family bands of tipis in the camp and continued his chant.

  It is the day for great honor.

  Where are the warriors?

  Where are the Kiowa?

  Who wants to ride down to the Fourth?

  Who wants to count many coup?

  The rain, long since quit, had left in its wake the crisp cool air of fall. Upon hearing the chants, many Kiowa left the warmth of their lodge fires to watch the Owl Prophet.

  Lone Wolf was the first outside. Wrapped in a buffalo robe, he smiled at the painted body of Maman-ti, and rushed to his friend’s side. “Has the owl puppet given you a vision?”

  Maman-ti looked down at his friend, “Yes. The owl puppet tells me to go to Mangomhente’s camp this very night.”

  Lone Wolf raised his arms and shouted to the gathered crowd, “What are you waiting for? Go prepare your paint. Go prepare your lances. For today, the Owl Prophet has had a great vision!”

  A loud cheer reverberated in the camp and young Kiowa warriors, eager to ride with the Owl Prophet, raced to their tipis to prepare for the war party.

  “What is your plan, Maman-ti? How will we attack Mangomhente?” Lone Wolf asked, excited by the prospect of battle.

  Maman-ti let a rush of confidence flow through his body. He looked at Lone Wolf with his mouth pulled tight, and snarled, “We scatter his horses and capture them for our own. Let Mangomhente see how it is to be in the canyon during winter without a horse.”

  Lone Wolf lifted his head and issued a long howl. “It is a good plan, Maman-ti. A plan that will bring many Cheyenne and Comanche to fight with the Kiowa to night.”

  Beneath a Mexican moon, two hundred warriors rode in complete silence for the camp of the Fourth Cavalry. The two hundred were dressed in full war regalia and presented a terrifying visage to any enemy.

  Five hundred yards from the Fourth’s camp, Maman-ti stopped the war party and issued a final reminder. “Scatter the horses first. Do not get caught up with counting coup or killing soldiers until the horses are running.”

  The warriors all nodded their understanding.

  Maman-ti looked at the camp and moved his pony slightly forward of the war party. It is Mamanti who is the great planner, not the Owl Prophet. It is Maman-ti who will be honored after to night, he thought in quiet. And then, Maman-ti nudged his pony forward and the attack began.

  The warriors streamed across the prairie and raced for the cavalry camp. Protected by the Owl Prophet, they no longer worried about noise. The warriors, filled with energy, shouted in loud whoops and hoots, announcing their presence to the Fourth Cavalry.

  Parks slapped Free’s elbow. “Here they come!”

  Free jerked his eyes ahead and looked north. On the horizon, hundreds of Indian ponies charged their way. “Be alert, men!” he called to the skirmishers. “The Indians are riding for us.”

  Volleys of rifle fire began to pop in the clear air and the commands from the skirmish lines were heard from a thousand yards away. In a matter of minutes, the Indian charge rushed through the skirmish lines and headed for the camp’s corral.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Parks uttered. “The Colonel was right. They aim to stampede the horses.”

  Colonel Mackenzie was up at the first whoop. He sprinted for the live horse corral and shouted at the soldiers sleeping there, “Come alive! They’re upon us!”

  The men jumped to their feet and grabbed their rifles. Under the Colonel’s orders, all of the Fourth slept fully dressed this night and were prepared to meet the charging horde. The soldiers moved in and out among the nervous horses, and using the steeds as cover, took careful aim at their Indian foes.

  “You outsmarted them for sure, Colonel,” a soldier hollered at Mackenzie.

  “Hold the line.” Mackenzie called out his orders in a cool and collected fashion.

  The soldiers inside the corral positioned and repositioned their firing angles inside the herd.

  “Keep a horse between you and the hostiles,” Mackenzie ordered.

  The war whoops and the chaotic gunfire spooked the staked and hobbled horses. The cavalry mounts pawed at the ground and tossed their heads from side to side trying to break free.

  “Easy.” The soldiers whispered in vain attempts to calm the horses. But, the animals, confused by the activity, continued to tug against their ropes in a desperate attempt to get loose.

  After the initial charge, the Indians began to circle and then retreated to a small ravine where they spent the next four hours firing with little enthusiasm at the men of the Fourth Cavalry.

  As dawn entered the Palo Duro, a clear day opened under a sky of intense blue. Col. Mackenzie had walked among all of his lines during the night and encouraged the men to be ready. He knew his soldiers were struggling to stay alert after enduring a long march and no sleep over the past twenty-four hours. Still, he felt a momentous victory was close. The hostiles had fired infrequently during the night and now sat in a ravine only three hundred yards away.

  He stared at the sky and allowed a wide grin to come over his face. Satisfied as to the day, he replaced the smile with a hard look and strode with serious intent among the men of E Company.

  “Capt. Beaumont!” Mackenzie barked. “Why are you resting in your sacks when there are hostiles on the horizon firing their weapons at our camp?”

  Beaumont jumped up and called his men to their feet. “Saddle up!” he shouted, “Capt. Boehm get your men to action!”

  Mackenzie followed the men of E Company onto the prairie. He walked along side their horses and called encouragement to each soldier.

  As he passed the first skirmish line, he called out, “Mr. Anderson and Mr. Scott. Go with these boys and see if you can locate a trail for me.”

  Free and Parks stood saddled and packed. Both had anticipated an early march from the colonel this morning.

  Free nodded and stepped into his stirrups. “Begging the colonel’s pardon,” he tipped his hat as a courteousy, “but I can’t ride through two hundred warriors to look for sign.”

  The colonel stared across the prairie. “Don’t worry, sir. These boy’s will have those hostiles on the run shortly.” Mackenzie swung his head toward Free, “And when they do, E Company will break off the chase and wait for the rest of the Fourth Cavalry. Once we have overhauled our rations we’ll continue.”

  Parks looked over to the colonel. “You’re purposely going to chase the hostiles and then stop to take time to re-supply?”

  “That is correct, Mr. Scott,” Mackenzie’s voice rose in frustration.

  “And, we’re supposed to follow the
Indians? All two hundred of them?”

  Mackenzie allowed a tight smile to form near the corners of his mouth. “Well, you are scouts, Mr. Scott. And isn’t that what scouts do?”

  Chapter Forty

  Mesa Blanca, Texas, September 1874

  Parks spurred Horse with unrestrained vigor for Capt. Boehm and E Company. Free followed, whipping the reins back and forth across the Comanche pony’s shoulders in an attempt to keep abreast of Parks.

  E Company had covered the three hundred yards to the ravine in quick time. With Colts drawn, they began to fire upon the hostiles from fifty yards away.

  Realizing the ravine was now a death trap, Maman-ti issued a series of yips, signaling the war party to retrieve their staked ponies. The warriors broke from their cover and sprinted up the far side of the gully toward their horse lines.

  Parks and Free caught up with E Company above the ravine and accompanied the cavalry into the wash; they rode in a thick blanket of smoke and dust. The clang of hooves on rock thundered through the ravine as the men of E Company raced up the back wall and onto the flat prairie above.

  “There they ride!” Capt. Boehm shouted.

  The Indians fanned across the prairie in a horse line over a mile long and raced toward the beckoning horizon. A whirlwind of dust spiraled behind each mustang and left a haze of white earth drifting head high in the morning air.

  “Will you look at that?” Free called out in amazement.

  Parks shot a quick glance at his friend and replied, “They tied brush to their mustang’s tails before the fight.”

  “Somebody up there knows a thing or two about warfare.” Free replied.

  “Watch now.” Parks motioned toward the fleeing ponies.

  All of a sudden, the dust line elongated and stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see.

  “They’re splitting up,” Parks remarked and began to ease up on the reins, “They might go two hundred different directions now.”

  Free reined the Comanche pony in a spray of loose rock and stared at the distant cloud.

  Capt. Boehm and the men of E Company galloped by Parks and Free and continued the chase for another three miles before stopping. Boehm and his men suddenly found themselves staring out onto an empty prairie. Many of the soldiers twisted in their saddles to see if the Indians had circled back.

  “What the—?” Capt. Boehm removed his hat and scratched his head.

  Parks trotted Horse toward the troops and turned to Boehm. “You need to get faster horses, Captain.”

  “I don’t see how they disappeared so quick.” Boehm shook his head in disbelief.

  Free made his way for the captain and Parks. “Listen to that silence. It’s as if they were never here.”

  “What now, Captain?” Parks asked.

  Boehm dipped his head, turned to his command and yelled, “E Company! About to Second Battalion!”

  E Company regrouped into three lines and waited for the captain to move to the lead position.

  “What about you two?” Boehm asked.

  “I reckon we’re going scouting. I’d rather face ten Comanche than the colonel this morning,” Parks grinned.

  “You’re a smart man, Mr. Scott.” The captain laughed and rode to the front of his men. He lifted his right hand and motioned forward, “E Company, Ho!” he shouted, and then swiveled in his saddle, “Good luck to you both.”

  By midday, Free and Parks stood on the overlook above Mustang Canyon.

  “I figure the Indian camps are further down river,” Parks said. He held Horse’s reins and walked the mustang along the cliff.

  “Past where we found Spotted Horse?” Free asked.

  “I think so.” Parks studied the cliff wall with a careful eye.

  “We must be a good eight hours from the Fourth.” Free scanned the juniper underbrush growing along the cliff and said, “The Indians were smart to attack so far from their camps.”

  “I just hope it was enough to keep Mackenzie off the trail,” Parks replied.

  “Once he gets something into his mind, I don’t believe there is a safe distance from the colonel,” Free said. He edged his way along the cliff pushing juniper limbs aside as he went. “How far do you think we’ve walked from where we found the boy?” he asked.

  “Maybe two miles. Why?” Parks asked as he made his way around the overgrown trees.

  “Over here,” Free called out.

  Parks fought his way through the juniper and found himself standing next to Free. Five hundred feet down the cliff face, hundreds of sheep-like creatures milled about on the canyon floor. Parks stared at the animals puzzled. “Are those sheep?” he asked.

  Free pointed to the specks, “Those? Those are ponies,” he said, “And those,” he swept his arm to the left, “are tipis.”

  Parks moved ahead of Free and leaned out over the ledge. He looked as far down the canyon as possible and let out a low whistle. “There must be four hundred lodges in that valley.”

  Free nodded and followed the ragged ledge for a hundred more yards. He cut through another stand of juniper that opened onto a large patch of limestone. Unlike the surrounding rock, the limestone’s surface here was smooth. Free moved to the edge of the cap rock and surveyed the wall. Below, a narrow trail, two feet wide, zigzagged down the canyon.

  “Parks.”

  Parks pushed through the juniper and tossed a questioning look at Free.

  Free nodded his head, “This is it.”

  Parks walked to the ledge and spied the path. “I’ll be.”

  “What now?” Free asked.

  Parks rubbed his chin and thought for a second. “I think we should ride away from here. We need to head back to the Tule and find those tracks heading to the southwest.”

  Free stepped into his stirrups and turned the Comanche pony south. “I reckon that’s a good idea,” he said.

  A group of warriors waited with great impatience outside of Maman-ti’s tipi. Lone Wolf stood guard at the tipi entrance and faced the angry mob with crossed arms.

  “Where is he?” Mow-way screamed.

  “He is speaking with his spirit guide.” Lone Wolf spoke in a calm voice, “He will speak with to all of us when he has received another vision.”

  “We have twenty dead because of the Owl Prophet!” Mow-way threw his hands up in disgust, “Twenty, Lone Wolf!”

  Lone Wolf felt the tipi flap slap against the back of his legs. He raised the flap’s corner and peered inside. He nodded his head several times and then turned to Mow-way.

  “The Owl Prophet will speak to us now.” Inside the tipi, the warrior chiefs gathered around Maman-ti’s fire pit and sat on twelve buffalo hides spread over the ground.

  “My spirit guide has come to me in a dream.” Maman-ti spoke with calm in his voice. “The spirit tells me that we were betrayed by one of our own last night.”

  A great murmur circled the tipi. A betrayal by a warrior was unheard of.

  Mow-way jumped to his feet and looked about the warriors gathered. “Who?” he waved his hand around the group, “Who would betray their own, Owl Prophet?”

  Lone Wolf looked with great confusion at his friend and gazed into his eyes.

  Maman-ti returned Lone Wolf’s stare with eyes as black as night. “Look around, Mow-way and see which of us is not present.”

  Lone Wolf drew a deep breath and raised his fist in anger. “Who, Owl Prophet? Name this warrior!”

  Maman-ti shook his head no. “I cannot. The spirit does not allow so. The spirit will take care of this traitor. We remain safe from the ta-’ka-i. Our villages remain unseen by Mangomhente.”

  “Is it Big Bow?” Lone Wolf shouted out.

  “I can speak no more on this, Lone Wolf. The spirit commands me. I can only say look about you. Who is not with us?”

  Parks and Free led their ponies away from the prints left by the Kwahada warriors two days earlier.

  “Take it slow, Free.” Parks cautioned, “I want the Tonkawa scouts
to pick up our tracks in this canyon today.”

  “You really think Mackenzie will believe these two-day old tracks are for real?”

  “If we can make him believe that the war party last night was a ruse, that the Indians wanted to occupy the Fourth’s attention, so their women and children could make it to safety . . . then yes . . . our plan will work.”

  After spending a good hour planting tracks both in and out of the canyon, the men rode up the trailhead for the cap rock. “Now, we just need to catch up with the Fourth.” Parks turned in the saddle and surveyed the country behind them.

  “What are you looking for?” Free asked.

  “I just want to make sure no one trailed us.” He searched east and then gazed south.

  A mile or so away, a thin dust cloud dispersed in the air. Parks yanked the field glasses from his saddle horn and lifted them to his eyes. “Jesse!” he hollered out in frustration.

  Free leaned in close. “What is it, Parks?” he asked.

  Parks slumped in the saddle and let the glasses drop from his eyes. “It’s those two Tonkawa, Johnson and Job.” He pushed the glasses toward Free, “I reckon they’ve been on our trail since we left E Company.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Tule Canyon, Texas, September 1874

  Job poked at the dried earth in Tule Canyon and shook his head to show his mistrust. “I don’t believe this, Kenzie.”

  Col. Mackenzie sat at the front of two columns of soldiers. He took a hard gaze at Parks and Free and then back to his Tonkawa scout. “Job, You’re a scout. Do those tracks show the movement of the tribes or are they merely a band of renegades running buffalo or who knows what?”

  Free gigged his pony forward. “Colonel?”

  Mackenzie turned and flicked his hand upward. “What is it Mr. Anderson?”

  “My read on these tracks is this bunch left out of here two days ago and in a hurry. It’s like they were spooked, and I know the other bands would not stay knowing this.”

  Mackenzie studied the tracks in great deliberation and then said, “It’s a matter of trust, Mr. Anderson. Whom should I trust? You, Tafoya, or the Tonkawa?”