The Ghost Dancers (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Simpson noticed Ludlow’s curiosity. “He had a deep wound in his head that distorted his features. There was nothing I could do about it.”

  “I see,” Ludlow commented. “Well, what we want with Running Cougar is embalming and a coffin to take him back to his family in the Indian Territory.”

  Tall Bear heaved a sad sigh. “Him brave warrior. Good fighter.”

  “He sure was,” Ludlow agreed. “Well, let’s get Michael and head back to the detachment.”

  The two took a last look at their comrade-in-arms, then left the gloomy undertaking parlor to join the young scout in front of the building.

  The surviving members of the Cuadrilla had done nothing to clean up the mess at the late Arlo Wheatfall’s ranch. The burned buildings reeked from the odor of smoke and empty liquor bottles were scattered around. The bodies of the two cowboys’ wives still laid where they were left after being ravished and murdered.

  The Apaches were now sobered up and ready to renew the battle. Halkon had sent Kuchiyo out to scout the area where Pontaro had led his small band. The warrior returned saying there was no trace of them. He had peered through the trees where the Indians in Army uniforms had been, seeing patches of dried blood that muddied the soil.

  Halkon was satisfied with the way things were. Pontaro and the others were now ghost warriors waiting to join him and the Cuadrilla in an attack on Hope Wells. Halkon was satisfied that all the available liquor at the ranch had been consumed. There would be no more drunkenness among his fighters.

  He gathered the Cuadrilla around him. “Now we go to the town we could never destroy. We will attack and the ghost warriors will join us. Everything is in our favor and against the whites.”

  The warriors cheered and stomped their feet in excitement.

  “We will ride our horses straight into the town and begin the fight,” Halkon continued. “We are now impervious to the bullets of whites. There is no reason for the Great Life Giver to make us ghost warriors. They will appear and join us in this great victory. Before the sun sets this day, there will be no whites left alive anywhere in the world.”

  Several of the men yelled out for the fighting to begin. Halkon raised his rifle. “To your horses, brothers!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hawkins sent Acting Corporal Swift Horse and Red Moon forward into the trees north of their small fighting front. Their orders were to conceal themselves and keep an eye on the road. When they sighted the approach of any Guerras, they were to immediately return and alert the detachment.

  The defensive line was made up of the two officers, Sergeant Eagle Heart, Corporal Tall Bear and Scout Michael. Additionally, Marshal O’Rourke and Sheriff Martin were among the defenders. Hawkins assigned overlapping fields of fire to each individual in an effort to overcome the many repeating rifles of the Guerras.

  In the town of Hope Wells, the men were divided up on the west, south and east sides of the community. A reserve force of a dozen men was ready to go wherever they would be needed. All were well-armed with revolvers as well as Winchester repeaters and a couple of Sharps carbines.

  Anxiety and anger fairly sparked among the population. They feared friends of theirs who were farmers and ranchers out in the nearby countryside had already suffered murder, torture and rape by the Guerras. Most tried not to think about the women’s fates, but it was impossible. Too many bad memories of the previous Apache war flashed through their minds.

  It was close to noon when Acting Corporal Swift Horse and Red Moon suddenly appeared from the trees. They rushed to the defensive position, both yelling, “Apache come! Them all ride horses!” Everyone hunkered down in their individual emplacements.

  The sound of many hooves was faint at first, then grew louder. Shrill war cries from the Cuadrilla sounded as they burst into view. All were on the road, close together in a mixed column. They instinctively slowed down when they saw no defenders. This was the place where Kuchiyo said the army Indians were situated, but none could be seen.

  Halkon looked at his friend. “Are you sure this is where you saw the army Indians?”

  “Yes. I think maybe they moved back into town.”

  Halkon was about to order them forward, when shots erupted from the brush ahead. Halkon’s horse fell wounded as did Kuchiyo’s. The Guerras farther back kicked their horses’ flanks to urge them into a gallop to join the fight. Consequently they collided with the two animals on the ground who were kicking wildly in fear and pain. Their riders were already on their feet, firing blindly in the direction of an enemy they couldn’t see.

  Now the individualism of the Apaches kicked in, and they leaped from their horses and ran toward the source of incoming shots. Halkon turned in the direction of the detachment’s hidden positions with Dakeya and Nabay right behind him. Shots cracked the air around them and the two followers were cut down.

  Halkon saw that the rest of his men were squatting or prone, firing in the direction of an enemy they had yet to locate. One of them, a middle-age warrior named Kabayo, looked over at Halkon. “Where are the ghost warriors? They ought to be with us by now!”

  Suddenly serious doubts rose in Halkon’s mind about resurrected warriors. They should have joined the fight the day before. His thoughts were interrupted when Muchino appeared at his side. The boy was upset. “Halkon! After everybody dismounted there was no one to care for the horses. They have scattered away from the noise of the shooting.”

  The realization that the Cuadrilla was on foot increased Halkon’s anxiety. If no ghost warriors appeared to help them, it would be proof the whole ghost dance event was a sham. And if it was, the battle was lost. That would mean another devastating defeat with punishments from the whites. They would be enraged by the massacre at the ranch as well as the killing of the stationmaster and the reservation agent John Larimer. This time retributions would be more than a reduction in rations and annuities. And instead of prison terms for the Guerras warriors, they would be hanged.

  It was time for a final test of the Prophet’s messages from the Great Life Giver.

  Halkon yelled out several times until the firing ceased. “Cuadrilla! Hear me! Remember the whites’ bullets cannot harm us.”

  Triumphant yells and cheers sounded from the Guerras fighters.

  “Attack now!” Halkon yelled. “We will stand up and charge the enemy! This is when the ghost warriors will join us so that all whites can be killed!” He took a deep breath then bellowed as loud as he could. “YICH’IH! YICH’IH! ATTACK!”

  Halkon, with Muchino at his heels, bounded toward the detachment’s position. The Cuadrilla, bawling war cries, followed him, firing rapidly as they approached the bushes.

  “What the hell!” O’Rourke yelled at the sight of more than two dozen Apache warriors running toward them, rapidly working levers and triggers.

  Hawkins didn’t have to give the order to fire. Nine repeating Winchester weapons suddenly blasted out .44 caliber slugs as rapidly as possible. The warriors of the Cuadrilla were staggered and knocked down by the incoming fusillades. Many collided with each other from the impact of bullets.

  Those in the back now caught up with the dead and dying. They bellowed in rage, running over their fallen comrades. Then the aimed firing from the scout detachment struck them, and they, too, crumpled under the fusillade.

  The battle ended faster than it had begun.

  Now the defenders stood up and looked out at the scene of sudden death. Their ears rang in the sudden silence that settled over the area. Captain Mack Hawkins stood open-mouthed for a couple of moments until uttering, “It was all because of the Ghost Dance.”

  Sergeant Eagle heart spoke softly. “Adkagi.”

  Red Moon muttered, “Posa.”

  The two words — one in the Kiowa language and the other in the Comanche — meant the same thing: Crazy.

  Ludlow suggested, “Mass suicide perhaps?”

  Hawkins, remembering the ghost dance at Fort Sill, replied, “No, Mr. Dooley, they wer
e expecting a miracle.”

  The detachment scouts wandered among the fallen Apaches, killing the wounded with their revolvers. Sergeant Eagle Heart looked back where Hawkins stood, asking, “Okay we scalp ‘em, Cap’n?”

  Hawkins shook his head. “You know that’s against United States Army Regulations, Sergeant.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The collective mood remained unsettled in Hope Wells following the final battle. Now the citizens were faced with the unhappy chore of checking out Arlo Wheatfall’s ranch. A half dozen volunteers with a farm wagon went out to the site expecting the worst.

  And that’s what they got.

  The smell of smoke was in the air as the crew approached the site, braced for what they would find. The first horrific sight was the bodies of three naked women laying where they had been clubbed to death after being ravished. The corpses were already shriveling in the dry air, but could be identified.

  The townsmen dismounted and tenderly wrapped the women in blankets brought along for cadavers. Next they made a search of the smoldering buildings finding unrecognizable charred corpses. The flesh had melted off bones in some cases so that even the gender of the victims was unrecognizable. These were swathed in the remaining blankets to be taken to Dr. Harold Simpson’s undertaking parlor. There would be no embalming for those unfortunates. It was too late for that. The females would have their own coffins, while the unidentifiable burned dead would be interred in a mass grave.

  Later that day the townspeople were relieved and joyful when their friends and kin from farms and ranches began showing up. The Apaches hadn’t gotten around to raiding them and they were unharmed. The country folks had hunkered down in their homes while the sound of shooting was could be heard in the distance. When it finally remained quiet for some twelve hours, they felt safe enough to venture into town. All were shocked by the news of what happened out at Arlo Wheatfall’s place.

  Two of the farmers offered to cart the dead Guerras away. The plan was to take them far out into the Tierra Brava Desert and dump them into some distant ravine as coyote feed. A full dozen men happily volunteered to lend a hand.

  A couple of days later a train from the Arizona and New Mexico Railroad stopped at the depot to find out why the telegraph service wasn’t in operation. Sheriff Dan Martin rode out to the station to inform them that their employee Zeke Mason had been killed by Indians and the telegraph mechanism wrecked. The railroad representative dropped off a temporary operator with a new instrument. Fortunately the wiring was undisturbed and usable.

  With that done, Hawkins and O’Rourke were able to send messages to Fort Stryker with reports of the battles. Both transmissions included information on the crimes and jailing of Hezekiah Woodward and Arlo Horton. A short comment included a mention of the activities of the Christian Worship Church of Hope Wells in the situation. Fort Stryker replied with an order to arrest Farley Dempsey and Ed Turnbull as well. Hawkins and O’Rourke were further informed that a troop of cavalry was being dispatched to take over the Guerras Reservation. The captain and marshal were instructed not to go out to the agency until the troops arrived.

  O’Rourke and Sheriff Martin wasted no time in going to the homes of Dempsey and Turnbull to arrest them. The reaction was the same at both domiciles. The arrestees loudly proclaimed their ignorance of Pastor Hezekiah’s plans while their wives wept at the sight of their husbands being cuffed and frog-marched down the street.

  The only happy person in the whole affair was Marshal Dennis O’Rourke. He would earn four dollars as well as seventy-five cents a day for their meals while the prisoners were locked away in Sheriff Dan Martin’s jail.

  The scout detachment established another bivouac near the livery stable and once more settled in. They were the champions of the hour as far as the townspeople were concerned. During their visits to the business area, the officers and scouts were given friendly greetings and expressions of sincere gratitude.

  David Blum, the owner of the grocery store, gave bags of candy and baked goods to the men from the Indian Territory. The scouts, however, were unable to enjoy free drinks at the Dessert View Saloon like Hawkins and Ludlow. Federal law forbade the giving or selling of intoxicating liquor to Indians. Even ones who were heroes.

  The detachment enjoyed the rest and treats while waiting for the cavalry troop from Fort Stryker. The only thing dampening their shared good mood were constant thoughts of their brother Running Cougar resting in his coffin at the undertaking parlor.

  The cavalry troop from Fort Stryker rode into Hope Wells at the end of the week. The commander was an old friend of both Hawkins and O’Rourke as were several of the noncommissioned officers. Captain Ronald McGee had been a lieutenant during the Apache wars and had fought side-by-side with his old pals from start to finish of the conflict.

  After a briefing given him by Hawkins with additional comments from Ludlow and O’Rourke, McGee decided it was time to make an official call on the Guerras Reservation. The Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment was to be included in the visit.

  When the column of seventy-plus soldiers and scouts arrived at the reservation, the first thing they saw was the collapsed and burnt agency store. A charred corpse could be seen amid the blackened wreckage.

  O’Rourke glumly remarked, “That’s John Larimer without a doubt. I hope he was already dead when that fire was set.”

  Ludlow Dooley glancing around, sighted a group of Apaches walking toward them. “Sir,” he said to Hawkins. “People approaching.”

  All eyes swung in the direction the lieutenant was pointing. They observed the medicine man Pasimo leading a group of women and children toward them. All were fearful and apprehensive. The fact that a group of soldiers had suddenly arrived on the reservation gave them ample evidence that their fighting men had suffered a catastrophic defeat. They also shared a melancholy realization that they would pay a terrible price for the disaster. It would be a dismal repeat of their past history.

  Pasimo, carrying a bundle under his arm, came to a halt in front of Captains Hawkins and McGee. His voice, while strong, quivered. “I ask for mercy.”

  “You’ll get none, godamn it!” Hawkins snapped. “I’m only sorry we can’t trade a death for a death and burn some of you alive” Then he glanced at the females. “And rape your women.”

  “We be lied to,” Pasimo protested, still cradling the package. “A man who say he big medicine told us to have ghost dance. He lie to us. No ghost warriors come here.” He paused as he sat the bundle down, unrolling it. The severed head of the Prophet lay on it. Pasimo picked it up by the hair and held it high so the white soldiers could easily see the gruesome object. “Our womans did this to him.”

  McGee snarled. “That doesn’t pardon you.”

  “Are all our men dead?” Pasimo asked.

  “Every single godamn one,” Hawkins replied.

  Pasimo grimaced. “Where do they be?”

  “They were taken into the desert where the coyotes will eat them,” O’Rourke snapped.

  Pasimo was not surprised. “Guerras tribe now only womans and childs. And one old man. Me that old man.”

  O’Rourke laughed. “You better watch out, Pasimo. It’s gonna be up to you to make more little Guerras until the boys grow up. D’you think you’re up to it?”

  The white soldiers all laughed.

  The old Apache ignored the derision and lowered his head, overwhelmed with grief and fear. The women began to weep, holding their children close to them.

  “Listen, here, Pasimo,” Captain McGee said. “You are now under the authority of the United States Army. The Great White Father in Washington is angry with you, and you will be punished severely. A new agent will be appointed. In the meantime I will be here with my soldiers.”

  Pasimo sadly nodded his understanding.

  Hawkins looked over at Ludlow. “Well, Mr. Dooley, it looks like this mission is over. We weren’t able to get those damn horses back to their owners, but we did participate in d
efeating hostile Indians.”

  Ludlow nodded. “I hope this is the last uprising, sir.” He gazed at the pitiful Apaches. “These people will never recover from this.”

  “That’s the way it should be, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins replied. “It’ll go down in history as a small incident.” He gestured to Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Form the detachment in a single column, Sergeant. We’ve got a train to catch.”

  Epilogue

  After enduring another dreary rail trip, the detachment arrived back at Fort Lone Wolf to bring the deployment to an official completion. The first chore upon arrival was the unhappy duty of delivering Corporal Running Cougar’s body to his family.

  Sergeant Eagle Heart and Corporal Tall Bear rode to the late dead man’s home on Soapsuds Row to inform his wife of his fate. The woman was not stoic about her husband’s death. She immediately set up a loud wailing. Her oldest daughter rushed to her side to help the new widow begin the mourning tradition.

  With the done, Eagle Heart and Tall Bear traveled out to Running Cougar’s farm to pass the news to the second wife. This led to a hurried meeting with the dead man’s male relatives. They turned down the offer of a formal military funeral, preferring to bid Running Cougar farewell in the ways of their tribal customs.

  The sergeant and corporal returned to Fort Lone Wolf with a buckboard loaned them by Agent Ned Turpin. Running Cougar’s coffin was placed in the back of the vehicle to be taken to the place of his burial. His family from Fort Lone Wolf rode with the body.

  The detachment, with Captain Mack Hawkins and Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley in the lead, accompanied the deceased to the place chosen as the gravesite. The scout was honored as a Comanche warrior rather than an enlisted soldier.

  A week after their homecoming, Mack Hawkins and Ludlow Dooley accepted an invitation from the captain’s fiancé Miss Kristina Halverson to a dinner at her house on the Southern Kiowa-Comanche Agency. Hawkins didn’t really want to go until Ludlow shamed him into it with the reminder he was still engaged to the woman.