Daniel shook his head. “I can talk to Tetecae, but I don’t think I should show him this.” Not with Flint’s name on the list. Not with his father at the very top. He thought of something else. “Do you think Tetecae would make a good Metal Shirt?”
Doubt creased Ben Buffalo Bone’s round face. “When he works at the big store, which is full of the hard candy and coffee that I like so, and dresses better than many Tejanos, why would he want to be spit on, to have rocks thrown at him? To be shot at?”
Why do we? Daniel thought, but did not say.
“You should ask Rain Shower.”
Daniel looked amused. “To be a Metal Shirt?”
“No, bávi. But she knows much. You have often talked to her about matters that trouble you. This I know. And you should take her for your wife, have many Nermernuh babies. You should do this soon, my brother.”
The smile had faded instantly. Daniel shook his head.
“You do not like my sister?”
He shook his head violently. “No, I like her very much. I have no ponies to give your uncle.”
“Cuhtz Bávi would not want many. Rain Shower is not as pretty as Oajuicauojué. Some brave will pay many ponies for my younger sister, but Rain Shower?” He snorted.
Daniel stared at the writing tablet.
“Bávi, I am not as smart as you. Nor as brave. But I do know one thing, for my eyes see very well. You should speak to Cuhtz Bávi about Rain Shower. Before Tetecae steals her away from you.”
Chapter Eighteen
It did not surprise Daniel.
When the Pale Eyes doctor insisted that Quanah sit in the wheelchair and be rolled down the hall, carried down the steps, wheeled to the hack, driven to the depot, and pushed to the train, Quanah said, “No.”
“But …”
“Damn no.”
The doctor started to protest again, but School Father Pratt cut him off. “Leave your contraption here, Doctor. Quanah will walk.”
“He is too weak. He cannot make it down those steps. I dare say he will collapse before he even reaches the door.”
“My money’s on Quanah.” Captain Hall smiled.
As for Quanah? He was already standing, ramrod straight, face pale, lips chapped, and arms still bandaged, but his eyes a firm, unblinking black. The doctor began shaking his head, and Quanah started walking.
He led the procession, followed by Nagwee and Cuhtz Bávi, then the doctor, Captain Hall, School Father Pratt. Isa-tai gave them a good lead before he stepped through the door with Frank Striker, carrying both his and Quanah’s grips, trailing. Ledger in one hand and valise in the other, Charles Flint let Rain Shower go ahead of him. Daniel brought up the rear, a few feet behind Ben Buffalo Bone. Most of the luggage had been taken to the depot already by two Negroes. Daniel carried only his grip, and one of his Old Glory tablets.
He kept his eyes on Rain Shower as they made their way down the stairs and into the waiting cabs on Houston Street. School Father Pratt helped Rain Shower into the last hack, and Flint climbed in beside her, with Ben Buffalo Bone sitting next to the bookkeeper. Daniel had to sit in the driver’s box, and School Father Pratt ran to climb into his vehicle. While waiting for the cabs to begin their journey, Daniel glanced at Tivoli Hall, but, from all appearances, it was closed. It was, after all, 8:00 a.m.
They rode down Houston Street, past the sporting houses, gambling halls, the saloons, hotels, into the Third Ward, and finally arrived at the depot for the Texas & Pacific. A big, greasy, black 2-8-0 locomotive belched thick smoke, as eager to get out of Cowtown as Daniel was.
Captain Hall stood on the platform, talking to Quanah. Daniel only made out a few of the rancher’s words, but knew the former Ranger’s concern was more on leasing The Big Pasture than on Quanah’s recovery. They shook hands, and Quanah headed to the car, stopping to sign an autograph for a freckle-faced red-headed boy whose father hid nervously in the shadows.
“Daniel.”
He turned, finding School Father Pratt extending his right hand, using his left to tip the old military hat he wore at Rain Shower. “Charles.”
The former bluecoat shook hands with his two students, who had to lay ledger and writing tablet on the platform to free their hands. “I wish to express my sympathy over the loss of Yellow Bear. It was a terrible accident.” His eyes looked questioningly at Daniel, as if he wanted a confirmation that it was an accident. Looking away quickly, Daniel saw Captain Hall taking to Frank Striker. Hall must have relayed Daniel’s suspicions to Pratt.
Daniel looked back at Pratt, but said nothing.
“You two Comanches are excellent representations of what the Industrial Boarding School is all about,” Pratt said, giving up on prying any information out of Daniel. “You are traveling the white man’s road and leading your people into a new era.” He tilted his head toward the train. “Like Quanah Parker.”
“Thank you,” Flint said.
Daniel could only nod.
“Kill the Indian, not the man. That’s what I preach and teach. When you get back to the reservation, do what is right. Help Quanah lead your people. We have accomplished much, but there is much left to accomplish. It will be a long journey.”
Another handshake, another tip of his hat and a polite farewell to Rain Shower, and Pratt walked back to one of the waiting hacks.
“Come, let us board the train.” Flint’s voice. When Daniel turned, he saw the bookkeeper had already picked up his ledger and was escorting Rain Shower up the platform, following Nagwee and Cuhtz Bávi aboard.
“I warned you,” Ben Buffalo Bone muttered, and headed to the train.
Always too much going on, Daniel thought. Metal Shirt work, much of it nothing more than drudgery, but now more. Yellow Bear dead. Quanah had barely survived. A fight among Tejanos over The Big Pasture. A fight among The People over that same grazing land. One and a half Old Glory tablets filled with mostly nonsensical notes. Theories and superstitions, but nothing solid. And now Rain Shower is laughing at something Charles Flint had said.
Spitting onto the dirty planks, he picked up his tablet, and headed for the train.
“Killstraight!”
Turning, he straightened, tensing, as William J. Kyne ran down the boardwalk. Kyne’s Congress gaiters slid to a stop, and he caught his breath, looking around. “Damn. I just made it. Take it everybody else’s on that train?”
Daniel’s head bobbed.
“No chance I can get a fare-the-well quote from Chief Quanah, eh?”
A conductor yelled the answer: “All aboard!”
Kyne sniggered and shook his head, and when Daniel resumed his walk to the train, Kyne walked alongside him.
“We’re still partners, aren’t we, Killstraight? We’re still working on this story together, right?”
No answer.
“Listen, I’ll work on the Sol Carmody end down here, but I’m going to need your help when you get back to the reservation.”
Daniel slowed his pace, and shot the Herald reporter a glance.
“I got the name of the cowboy, Carmody’s segundo, the one you likely saw drunker than Hooter’s goat in the alley on the night ol’ Yellow Bear up and went to the happy hunting ground. Vince Christensen. Word is … and this isn’t from the Dallas Herald, so it’s likely accurate … that Vince spent three years in Huntsville for manslaughter. The way I see it, it’s not hard to get someone who has already killed one person to murder another. Especially if all you’re asking him to do is to kill one or two Indians.”
Daniel walked on, but knew he would write the name of the cowboy in the tablet as soon as he settled into his seat.
“You need to talk to Vince. Wire me what you find out. The Herald will pick up the charges.”
Sticking the Old Glory underneath his arm, Daniel grabbed the handle, and pulled himself onto the step. The train lunged and started to pull away. He looked down and back at Kyne.
“Me talk to Vince?” he called out.
Kyne nodded. “Carm
ody sent him up to the reservation. To make sure his herd of longhorns stays on The Big Pasture.” He blinked. Smiling, Kyne waved his hat over his head, yelling, “Don’t be surprised, Killstraight, to find old Billy Kyne paying you a visit in Indian Territory in a couple of weeks. But find Vince Christensen! Talk to him!”
* * * * *
He longed to sit close to Rain Shower, but Quanah motioned for him to sit across from him and Nagwee, so Daniel obliged. The car rocked without rhythm, and the smell of smoke and cinders lay heavy in the late morning air. Fort Worth became a distant memory, and the rolling hills stunted with trees replaced the landscape, gradually losing the trees, soon flattening.
The train increased speed.
“This Iron Horse breathes much fire,” Nagwee said, staring out the window. “Not good.”
Daniel knew what the holy man meant. Even despite the recent rains, the land here was brown, the coarse, dry grass nowhere near as high as Daniel had seen it in previous years.
Quanah agreed. “The grass is not as green as it is in our land.”
“That is why the Pale Eyes want it so.”
Quanah grunted. “Of this we will speak among the elders when we return to the land of The People.”
“It will be good to be home again.”
“Haa.” Quanah nodded.
Turning, Nagwee revealed a mischievous grin. “You will be happy to be no longer where you can hear my snores.”
“Snores? I thought those were pale-eyes cannon roaring in my ears.”
Daniel smiled, then fetched a pencil and hurriedly opened his tablet. He had almost forgotten to write down Vince Christensen’s name. He looked back at some of his notes, put the end of the pencil in his mouth, and chewed. The train whistle blew. Ahead of him, Rain Shower laughed at something Charles Flint had said. At the rear of the car, Ben Buffalo Bone began playing a song on his flute.
He barely heard the words, wasn’t quite sure he understood, and, removing the pencil from his mouth, he looked at Nagwee.
“I am sorry,” Daniel said, “Tsu Kuh Puah, what did you say of Isa-tai?”
Nagwee and Quanah stared. With a frown, Nagwee answered, “I said that Isa-tai liked not my snores, either.” Flashing another grin at Quanah, he added, “My wife minds not, though.”
“Your wife is deaf,” Quanah said.
“No. She just cut off her ears because I snore.”
This was something Pale Eyes did not understand about The People, that they had a wicked sense of humor, that they were devoted to their family. Taibos found Comanches to be solemn, heartless, cruel. Yet Daniel knew The People laughed often, loved with all their heart, only he was not in a mood to hear Nagwee and Quanah’s jovial banter.
“But did you say Isa-tai left because of your snoring?”
Nagwee grunted. Quanah frowned. Nagwee crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Daniel. “I said that. You were not listening. Isa-tai got up in the middle of the night. He opens the door. I wake up. ‘Where do you go?’ I ask him, and he says … ‘To get away from this racket where I can sleep.’”
“So he went down the hall?”
“I did not ask him the next morning. He did not say.”
“Was that the … ?” No, he would not bring up that night, especially not spoil the fine spirits Nagwee and Quanah were in. Daniel thanked Nagwee, and filled the page of the Old Glory tablet.
Isa-tai left room. No alibi from Nagwee. Took Room 4. Had to be. Where else?
But what time? Nagwee would not know. He could not read a clock, and the roof hides the stars.
Could that have been the door I heard shut? No. I would have heard footsteps pass my door. Or would I, had he been quiet?
Red paint on Isa-tai’s face. Red marks on window, globe.
Theory: Isa-tai leaves. Nagwee wakens. Isa-tai lies. Shuts door. Waits for Nagwee to fall to sleep. Enters Quanah’s room. Shuts window. Blows out lamps. Grabs key off table. Locks door. Sneaks to Room 4. Sleeps there. Next morning returns key when no one is looking after Quanah discovered.
?????????
Shit!
Quickly he looked up and flipped the page as Charles Flint passed by on the way to the water bucket at the end of the car. The notes from Ben Buffalo Bone’s flute wailed sadly, and Daniel looked down the aisle and found Rain Shower. Her face seemed happy, but he noticed that she was watching Charles Flint. She must have felt his stare, because she turned, but by then Daniel had avoided her eyes, and looked out the window, watching the burned, ugly land pass by.
* * * * *
The train took them to Wichita Falls. From there, they boarded wagons, filled with corn bound for Fort Sill, and traveled on. After crossing the Red River at Hill’s Ferry, they wove along the trail through gullies and over tree-lined hills, and toward the Wichita Mountains.
Past Crater Creek … to Blue Beaver Creek. Sage shined across the land.
“This is holy place,” Cuhtz Bávi said.
“Once it was,” Nagwee said, “but no more. It is owned by the Long Knives.”
Daniel knew what the puhakat meant. Among The People, wherever one found natural sage, the land was holy. Once, this had been The People’s domain; now the bluecoats controlled it. In the year the Pale Eyes called 1875, Quanah had camped at Crater Creek before riding on to Blue Beaver Creek to meet Bad Hand Mackenzie to surrender the Kwahadis.
“Is that not right, Isa-tai?” Nagwee said. “Was this not once the land of The People? Our most holy land?”
Isa-tai did not move. Legs buried by corn, he sat with his back against the hard side of the wagon, arms folded, black eyes unblinking.
Frank Striker changed the subject. “You want to get off at your home, Quanah?” The trail led just past Quanah’s Star House. Isa-tai lived near there, too. In fact, Daniel could have gotten off here along with Cuhtz Bávi, Ben Buffalo Bone, and Rain Shower. Despite wanting to meet with the Indian agent, he now realized that’s what he should do. He would have been alone with Rain Shower. Most likely Charles Flint would have to journey on to the trading post with his ledger books.
“No. I must meet with Biggers. With the bluecoat chief.”
Besides, the bearded Pale Eyes driver yelled back, “Striker, my orders is to get all of these bucks to Fort Sill!”
So it was settled.
* * * * *
A kernel hit him on the nose, and Rain Shower exploded with giddiness. Daniel saw her pick up another kernel and toss it, but laughter spoiled her aim. This one bounced off the crown of his hat.
Ben Buffalo Bone played his flute. Rain Shower threw a handful of corn. Daniel loved the way she looked, how she laughed. He shielded the cannonade of corn, plucked a kernel from between his legs, and fired a salvo that sailed over Rain Shower’s head.
The corn fight was on.
Cuhtz Bávi hit Frank Striker. Quanah buried the toe of Nagwee’s moccasins. Nagwee dumped a handful on Quanah’s bowler. Corn and laughter flew with the musical notes. Only Ben Buffalo Bone, who played a merry tune, and Isa-tai and Charles Flint did not participate. Ben would have, Daniel felt, had he not been enjoying the flute. But Isa-tai and his son? They just did not seem to know how to laugh.
“Cut out that damned foolishness!” the driver of the wagon called out, and sprayed tobacco juice onto the road. “Cut it out, I say! We’re almost to the fort!”
They did not listen. The war went on until Ben Buffalo Bone lowered the flute. He raised his head, and then they all heard.
Strains of music from the bluecoat band reached them, and they pulled themselves to their feet, corn spilling off their bodies into the wagon or down their clothes. Daniel reached up, grabbed the top of the side, and pulled himself up.
They drove into the parade ground at Fort Sill. It looked as if the entire Army was out there, standing at attention in the hot, humid afternoon, in dress uniforms, brass buttons reflecting the sunlight, brass horns of the regimental band wailing, drums rolling like thunder.
Metal Shirts were the
re, too. Daniel recognized Agent Joshua Biggers, Bible in hand, and Twice Bent Nose. Other Indians—not just The People, but Kiowas and Apaches—stood. They were singing songs, welcoming Quanah back.
Daniel dropped back down. Tears streamed down Quanah’s face. Ben Buffalo Bone tried to match the band’s melody with his flute.
It was a happy time, and, when Rain Shower reached up and took Daniel’s hand, he knew he had not felt this way in months. Everyone in the wagon sang.
Except for Isa-tai and Charles Flint. Isa-tai’s sharp eyes locked on Nagwee. Flint stared acidly at Daniel. But holding Rain Shower’s hand, seeing the laughter in her face, hearing the music in her voice, Daniel scarcely noticed.
Chapter Nineteen
“I prayed for Quanah. I will continue to pray for him. He looks weak.”
Agent Joshua Biggers, the Baptist minister from North Carolina, ducked behind his desk, and opened a drawer filled with papers.
“Quanah is strong,” Daniel said.
Weak? That’s what Isa-tai had been telling several Nermernuh men outside by the corrals. Quanah felt so weary from his near-death that his wives had returned him to that pale-eyes-built Star House so they could care for him. He lacked the strength, Isa-tai railed, to guide The People. The bluecoats and the agent should appoint a new leader. Isa-tai should be that leader.
Said Daniel: “Quanah is strong.”
“Yes, that he is.” The young preacher returned his attention to the papers. “We also held a memorial service for Yellow Bear. A great number of Indians and whites attended. A fine turnout. I’m sure Yellow Bear would have been glad.” Biggers’s head shook. “What a tragic accident.”
Daniel did not respond. Tragic? Yes. Accident? Hardly.
Not far from Cache Creek, headquarters for the Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache reservation was a small cabin, hotter than Hades except during the bitterest winter. A drawing of the Easter resurrection, done by a Kiowa girl on ledger paper, had been tacked to the wall, book-ended by portraits of Grover Cleveland and Jesus. Unlike his predecessors, Joshua Biggers kept his desk relatively free of filth, unless you considered the dust that spread across everything. The only thing not coated with the fine powder was the Bible in the center of the desk.
Kill the Indian Page 15
