Chapter 19
Chapter 19: Chaos, Deception and Discord
Fathers Swineberg and Wisnoski and their escorts arrived at Camp Supply after a week of light sleeping and brisk walking. The monks sought out old Cheyenne men they had met several years before, and after much smiling and talk about aging, the old men expressed concern about the mood of the village, and the recent harbingers of a great war. While they exchanged ideas and hopes unique to the wishes, if not the wisdom of older men, and Bowlegs listened attentively, Jim went walking.
As he threaded through the village, smiling at familiar faces, he came upon Little Robe. The last time they had seen each other, he and Little Robe's son left him behind as they followed after the tracks of his stolen ponies. They had retrieved them plus some, and now Little Robe stopped and summoned him with a grim countenance.
“Are you healed my pale-faced son?”
“I am much better, the bullet went through my shoulder like an evil spirit, but it did not hit any bones...”
“Good, then follow me...”
The two walked through the Cheyenne village which seemed to be astir. Large amounts of buffalo meat had been shredded and strung in the sun to dry, and women processed buffalo bladders at several stations, native versions of canteen factories. Boys watched their fathers wrap arrow shafts, while others polished long lance shafts with stones.
When they got to the village corral, Jim had his own inquiry. “The Cheyenne prepares for war- who are your enemies?” Little Robe glanced in his direction and nodded but did not answer.
“Do you know these ponies?” He asked knowingly. Jim hesitated. He suddenly understood what Little Robe was doing.
“Do not lie... be the man I have always known...”
“Yes... but barely.” Jim said defensively. “These must be the ponies your son captured up north during the recovery of your horses... It was their owner who shot me... I really don't remember much after that.”
“Now you are well... you must take them... they are yours.”
Jim had not come to the village to claim his booty. He had disclaimed any ownership of them months earlier. “I am honored that you have saved them for me... but I never wanted them... I don't claim them...” As he stepped away he saw Agent Miles walking towards them. Thankfully Little Robe would not discuss the origin or destination of these horses with him present, and he could weasel out of this predicament. Or so he thought.
“You take them Frenchy... or there will be big trouble...” Little Robe insisted. Miles approached, and his face was more grim than the chief's.
“French, I thought I told you to get off of the Agency... completely out of this facility... Do I need to get a marshal?”
“He is here to take his horses... that is all” Little Robe explained...
“These are yours?” Miles asked with condemnation.
“No, no sir... they are not.” Jim insisted. “But he is trying to give them to me...”
“YES! And that is because, Mr. French...” Miles was ready to vent, “YOU helped to steal these horses... and now a brand detective has identified them and is going to impound them and arrest whoever is caught with them!”
“Agent Miles, Sir, I never intended to help steal these horses... they just kind of came along when we retrieved Little Robe's ponies... I never asked for them... I had forgotten all about them...”
“The owner has not forgotten all about them! French, I'm going to look the other way, and while I do, you get these damned horses off of the reservation... get my Indians out of this fix... or there is going to be real trouble... take this CONTRABAND, and never... set … foot... on this reservation again!”
Now Jim's plans had been intercepted. He was not sure what to do, except take the ponies down to Texas and sell them to the buffalo hunters. When he told Little Robe what he intended, the old chief just shook his head violently. “Don't go south...” He insisted. “Stay way from Texas... many will soon die there..” Kiowa warriors, still angry over the punishments they received in Texas, had visited Agent Miles's agency and bragged to the other tribes that they planned to annihilate the Whites who were encroaching on the reservation, as well as those hunting the buffalo on their ancestral hunting grounds.
Jim French heard the Kiowas and Cheyennes banter back and forth and took it as a sign that he was to go back and warn his friends in Dodge. He would take the horses and dump them in Wichita, and then make a beeline to Dodge. French was torn about parting company, worried for his companions, but many more lives were at stake in the other direction. He rushed immediately back to his party with his revised intentions.
Jim explained the dilemma, and although Father Swineberg wanted very much to travel with him, he understood his concern for, and loyalty to his friends in Dodge, and wished him Godspeed. The men of Faith felt they were in good hands with Billy Bowlegs, who was fast becoming their guardian angel. Even so, it was best that they all got on their way.
Jim and Billy had become fast friends with the prospect of escorting the monks to Mexico, and now they were parting almost as fast. Billy was especially disappointed, and concerned, having served a year with the famed Buffalo Soldiers as a Seminole Scout. He had hunted and fought the Cheyennes and Comanches, but had never seen anyone successfully reason with them.
Jim could see his disappointment, and wanting to wish him luck, and perhaps give him a slight edge of credibility, he took off his bone choker and walked up to Bowlegs with a serious look.
“This does not mean that we are engaged or anything Bowlegs," Jim grinned, "but wear it and the Cheyennes should recognize it... and they have always been my friends up until quite recently. I've traveled many a mile with it... and kept my scalp, so now I hope it sees you through to Mexico and back.”
Billy was thrilled and tied it on, as Jim waved good-bye to the monks and jogged away to the horse pens.
Wild Horse, Comanche War Chief
Their patience stretched thin, the peaceful Arapaho and Cheyennes welcomed the news that the Kiowas and Comanches were organizing punitive strikes on the illegal White predators. Like an earthquake, Native American retribution had begun back in May with seemingly random tremors; spiteful murders of convenient victims, typified by sudden, reckless violence. These were subtle tribal challenges which were met and exceeded until most “hostiles” had begun to migrate towards Mobeetie Creek, to meet in north Texas.
Meanwhile Lone Wolf made great demonstrations of his grief, after the losses incurred by their battles in Texas. His son and nephew had been killed by the blue coats. He began by first killing his horses, then cutting off all of his hair, and then burning his wagon and his belongings, even his tee pee, as a man committed to dying in battle might do.
Chief Whirlwind of the Cheyenne seemed to be orchestrating his own perfect storm, holding court near the Indian agency while ratcheting up the unrest. Word had spread that some of Little Robe's stolen horses were penned at Adobe Walls, making it a prime target for revenge. Whirlwind was glad to use the rumor to get his fellow Cheyennes to jump the reservation. Agent Miles sent word to the commander at Ft. Supply and the newspapers in Dodge, but the word of the actual massacres would travel faster.
Soon Kiowa “steam” turned into hellfire as the headlines in Dodge and Wichita screamed of Indian depredations, and the Native Americans finally began to avenge, and in their minds defend themselves across the Southern Plains. Buffalo hunters were straggling in to Dodge from all directions, with horror tales to share, reporting a widespread wave of attacks on them and the teamsters who supplied them. Two wagon trains of immigrants were thought to have been massacred, and another train of five wagons retreating to Dodge had been attacked and was desperately stranded, just thirty miles south of town. People knew the reports were probably true, since on June 9th four unfortunate men were found dead and mutilated in the Nations, north of the Canadian River. But it had taken a week for that news to reach Dodge. They would not learn until later, but the very next day Wild Horse led the Comanches in an attack on Ft. Sill, in southwest Indian Territory, which effectively retarded the military response to the news of Indian outrages in numerous places.
While the Comanches kept the army at Ft. Sill holed up, the various Whites who had infuriated the Indians were on their own. General Pope was later quoted that most of the difficulties with the Cheyennes were directly attributable to “unlawful intrusion and illegal and violent acts of the White hunters.” The commanding General understood the egregious treatment of the Plains tribes, even though it would ultimately be his problem to subdue them.
Hapless L. L. Warren, a well known freighter based in Dodge City, was killed making a run down to Camp Supply in the Indian Territory. The news of his murder on June 12th hit close to home, as his body was found only eight miles south of Dodge. Hunting and surveying parties all over the plains were caught off-guard, some men were killed as they worked, many others barely escaping cruel deaths.
Not surprisingly, Dodge City was in full panic. The 6th Cavalry under Major Compton at Ft. Dodge organized 40 soldiers to survey the situation and try to repel an attack on Dodge City, and a half-dozen local men volunteered to scout for them. Seven Companies were reportedly on their way, but until they arrived, these men were the only real protection the town would have for weeks.
Pauline turned pale from the stress of it all. She had just spent several days in counseling sessions with several young prostitutes who had been touched by the words spoken by Father Swineberg. At least two girls were ready to go back home, and Pauline had offered to go with them, for moral support.
It seemed the West was disintegrating into self-destruction. As the aggregate of the ominous news became a wall between Alvin and Pauline, she finally decided she must delay no longer, and gathered her growing brood of chicks. Alvin put poor detective Mace, finally able to walk, on the train, and walked Pauline, bruised and scarred, and her four soiled doves to the train station, and tried to find some words of commitment without being specific, and the more he talked, the more Pauline nodded and refused to look at him. He had never felt so bad, as when he watched her board the train and head east with so little to be happy about. He had the money, she had the regrets of bringing it. She had come hoping to tie a marriage knot, and instead ended up leaving with young women whose whole lives were tied in knots. It was unfair. And he would make it up to her someday, he was sure.
Right now he needed to wrap up his operation in Dodge. Hopefully, with his photographs, now the Pinkerton agents in Wichita could help Mike Meagher, who had been hired as a U.S. Marshal, to apprehend the rustlers before they did any more damage to peace.
This was the first time ever that all of the various Comanche tribes had gathered at one time and place to talk at a war council; it was the first major alliance of the Southern Plains tribes, from Nebraska to Texas; the first time the insolent Comanche's submitted to the Northern tribes tradition of their venerated Sun Dance, and the first such pow wow in Texas. That their ultimate attack would be aimed at buffalo hunters on Texas soil was especially meaningful to the beleaguered Kiowas and Comanches; that their kinsmen from the mid-plains would pitch in and join them on this large scale operation was unprecedented in their generation. This had to be a good sign.
Wild Horse and Quanah, two of the most respected Comanche war chiefs, provided the sufficient hubris necessary to inspire followers and provide their medicine man with a religious movement rare in Native American history. White Eagle had supposedly been able to raise the dead, catch arrows from the sky, and had gained lasting respect when he predicted when a troubling comet would burn out in the north Texas skies.
He also began to make amazing promises, the most important being that the White men's bullets would no longer pierce them, and they would inevitably drive out all the Whites and reclaim the plains for the Indians. It was “common knowledge” among the Comanche warriors that White Eagle had demonstrated his amazing powers on numerous occasions. He had supposedly eaten and then belched up whole wagon loads of cartridges, repeatedly, proving this Comanche shaman's superiority over the White Man's ammunition. White Eagle had miracles greater than the White Man's Jesus. And he had a grand vision to match.
No doubt Quanah believed and spread these incredible stories, giving them tremendous validity. Many of the Comanches gave testimony to having seen White Eagle rise into heaven, like the White Man's Jesus, where he claimed to have visited with the Great Father, who told him that he and his followers would not be affected by the White Man's guns. After weeks of relating these events, all over the southern plains, and numerous successful warm-up raids, the tribes united behind White Eagle's prophecies and headed to Mobeetie Creek.
This auspicious launch of the Plains Indian campaign was not without detractors. Many of the Kiowas and most of the Arapahos, when seeing and hearing the unprepossessing Comanche prophet, found him ludicrous, and turned away and went home. His claims were doubtful, and his miracles were thought to be merely a charlatan's magic, and not worthy of their long trek to talk of war. He was dubbed as a false teacher, who would lead many good Indians astray, and perhaps down a vain path to their deaths.
When several chiefs walked away, with many men following, Quanah still led a coalition of Comanches which represented the warlike third of the Comanche Nation. That alliance provided a few hundred warriors, and the Cheyennes under Whirlwind provided most of the remainder, but as the days marched on towards Adobe walls, their numbers continued to dwindle. This was the first sign of White Eagle's vulnerability, and Quanah's feet of clay.
Those Indians who stayed to fight drank whiskey and did a simplified version of the Plains Sun Dance, and worked themselves into a killing frenzy which could only be satiated by blood revenge. White Eagle went to be alone and meditate, and to watch for signs to proceed. But the most convincing sign was around their huge bonfire- where nearly three hundred warriors from four Native American Nations were uniting in his own homeland and ready to make his visions become a reality. He serenely walked back to the camp and gave Quanah the nod.
In an hour there was just silence on the prairie, and smoking embers lifting white hot heat up to the stars. Sparks popped and glowed and died into the blackness. If there was a sign for White Eagle of the Indian's prospects, these would have been it.
Things in Dodge were hopping. Train car loads of soldiers were arriving from all over the country, and herds of horses were being brought in to Ft. Dodge. Col. Miles had arrived, and the Delaware Scouts had come in and brought Black Otter's little camp to life. After an evening of catching up with their thirst, Hummingbird convinced some of her “brothers” to get their pictures made, and four of them came with her when Alvin first opened up his tent the next day. Sim was ecstatic, and made everything perfect, he had been wanting to get Hummingbird in front of the camera since they met.
One middle-aged scout named Leaf was from the “old school” and decided at the last minute against posing in the picture. Each time they tried to coax him into a photo, he would wave them off, and then watch with curiosity, as if he expected them all to die or go into convulsions or something.
“What is wrong my friend?" Alvin teased with a manly, but friendly challenge. "Why are you angry? You can see your friends here are happy and getting their pictures made... ” But Alvin's overtures were useless. He had stepped into the realm of superstition and tradition, even religion, and it was not even proper for him to question it. Then Hummingbird tried to calm the man and held out a faulty tintype of herself...
“Leaf... here look... that is me... on this metal... see? But it is not me... it only a piece of tin!” Then she folded it and threw it into the adjacent field. Sim's heart sank... he would have loved to have kept it himself... “See, it has no power... I can keep it, hold it, or fold it and throw it away... it does not affect me.” Leaf listened but had an answer.
“Yes, my child, but when you threw it away... you threw away a part of yourself. They capture a part of you... you cannot ever get it back... you just wait... you will realize this later...”
“LEAF! If I look at a rock,” Hummingbird reasoned, “does it take a part of me? That piece of tin is just like a rock... or more like a mirror... I know you look into a mirror, Leaf... has it ever taken a part of you?”
“Maybe it does. I try not to look at one very often.” Leaf smiled, proud of his reasoning power. Besides, no female was ever going to persuade him of anything.
Hummingbird would not give up. “Leaf, you know, you have to know, that the only ones who can take away a part of you... are God... or the Evil One. But we will not talk of it anymore, we soon leave for Ft. Supply... and this man and his evil camera will not be there...” She escorted Leaf away, hugging his arm, and winking at Alvin and Sim as they sauntered by. “But Leaf... you must still make a choice- between the Great Spirit... or that other one... They will not share your soul forever...” She said softly... and they crossed the tracks together in deep discussion.
Sim watched her and felt sick at heart. It wasn't fair. She was leaving with the Scouts, and he might never see her again. When she was out of sight, he immediately went out in the field where she had tossed the folded tintype, and began to search for it. It was under-developed and too dark for Alvin to charge her for it, and it had been done over, but it was still a very good likeness of her, and too precious to leave there in the weeds. The ugly crease at the bend became a part of their memory, symbolizing their relationship, a scarred relic of violent times. But he would carry it for a long time.
Pauline escorted her sad, soiled, repentant doves to seats where they could all visit together on the train. They had a certain resolve in their behavior, as if they were following an unseen master. They did not look around for familiar faces, in fact they dreaded the possibility. They smiled at one an other, nodding with encouragement, but almost as if they were the only persons on the train. Four girls ended up taking Pauline's invitation to return east, at her expense. She was not rich, but she did not mind spending her last cent to give these women a chance to avoid a lifetime of misery. And when certain people learned of her endeavor, they contributed funds to help them all do that. Each of them was dressed in their best dress, cleaned and pressed, most of them black, with festive flowered hats any female traveler might be wearing on an excursion. The only one whose appearance even hinted at the slightest impropriety, was Pauline.
She was clean and her coppery hair combed, but nothing could hide the scratches on her face, or her black eyes, or her swollen cheeks. Even her tiny knuckles were scabbed. Anyone looking at her would swear she had been beaten and abused by a powerful man, who should be arrested at once. The girls all doted on her and talked sweetly, understanding that Pauline had taken the beating they might have deserved, had their families ever learned of their sexual rebellion. They stared at her in awe and yet no small amount of confusion. Her Faith had led her to make herself a target, and made her fearless towards retribution and humiliation, and yet she betrayed no regrets for anything that had happened. She had suffered badly, and her God had allowed it, and yet she betrayed no doubts about him or his Will. And she expected them to be interested in such a God. They could not know that Jesus, the God whom she loved and served, had told his followers, almost guaranteed, that they would be persecuted for his sake.
Her doves could not understand that it was the evil and resistance which Pauline encountered which proved to her she had been the right person at the right time at the right place... to do her Lord's bidding; that she was a soldier in spiritual warfare... and it can get ugly. Now she stared out of the train car upon the blurring landscape and imagined that, as she frivolously sought a man's love, God had used that and sent her on a mission instead, and delivered her... and four young women from a living hell. It was worth whatever she had to pay. She wore her scars with no shame. Jesus had done so much more for her. These women now had seen God's Grace in action, and unconditional love, perhaps for the very first time. It was all worth it. She had done her part. Now, if their spirits were open, the Holy Spirit would draw them to himself. Mary, one of the older doves approached Pauline and traded with another to sit next to her.
“Miss Bacon, Mam, can I ask you a question?”
“PLEASE don't call me Mam, but yes of course, what is it?”
“Pauline! Right. It's hard for me... we were always taught to treat rich people with extra respect... even people our own age... it's a Southern thing... anyway, Pauline, I need to ask you a personal question... and please don't be offended.” Pauline sat and listened, and looked at her expectantly, her eyebrows raised slightly. Mary smiled warmly and then continued. “You loved your man so much you came all the way out here. And then you didn' stay... and I saw y'all together... you obviously care for each other... more than most couples I've seen... I can speak with authority, that he never cheated on you... at least not with any of us... and his friend Lottie swears they never...”
“Lottie?”
“Lottie Deno, she's that beautiful, big-time, Chicago madam... setting up in Texas now... she tried to get us to come with her. She adores him. But only as a... very close friend... I don't quite understand it all, I've never seen anything like it... but she says that he is totally devoted to you... I guess it's you... if you're the one he set up shop with in Ft. Scott... you are aren't you... God, I feel so embarrassed.”
“I'm the one. Go ahead...”
“I'm so glad. Well, Pauline, I wish I could... just throw you off of this goddam train!” Mary laughed. “You're crazier than any of us... leaving a man like that behind.. a man who loves you... Any of us... and please don't get mad, but we are all wondering the same thing... any of us would walk through fire for a man like that!”
Pauline sat and stared at the ungrateful wretch who dared to question her love, her intelligence, and maybe even her godly wisdom. She reached out and wanted to slap her, wanted to illustrate the class difference which Mary had already alluded to, when a subordinate insults a person with social status... and then she thought... this too was a test. Instead she put her open palm gently on the woman's face. Then she hooked a stray lock of her hair and tucked it carefully behind her ear.
“Thank you dear for sharing your thoughts... and I agree with your sentiments... at least some of them. I'm not sure you will understand what you are asking me to explain... it will sound like... foolishness to you. But I will try... if you will not laugh in my face.”
“I promise, Miss Pauline....” By now all of the doves were listening, straining to hear the conversation above the rumbling of the train.
“All of you must understand. Everything I do, or at least I try for everything I do to be covered in prayer... in other words, I ask God to direct my actions... and my reactions... I follow Christ... no man, not even Alvin Payne has more authority. I will not marry Alvin unless God makes it clear to me, no matter how much I like him... maybe even love him, he must be the man whom God has picked for me. So even if you threw me off of the train, I would not take up with Alvin unless God directed me to first.
Pleasing my flesh only gets me a temporary solution... which will probably end in heartbreak. Pleasing God will be the only lasting solution... which turns out for the best, which God has planned for me... and that is what I am searching... and waiting for.”
“You were right.” Mary confessed. “You make me want to laugh... how can you ever know? How can you trust some God up there to direct your personal life? Happiness might be staring you in the face Pauline... and you're praying about it...”
“Thank you for not laughing... but like I said, it would sound like foolishness. Happiness to you, Mary is the security of knowing that you have a roof over your head... bread on your table... a man to protect you; a sense of belonging... And you have done some awful things to achieve that end. Happiness to me is belonging to God...”
“Jesus said for us to seek first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness... and then God will take care of all of those other needs... and that is how I live... and live with my choices and decisions as well. No matter how things turn out. Nothing belongs to me... it all belongs to Him. So far it has gone pretty well... But part of living that way is trusting God... completely, and accepting his direction, and his timing. If God does not want Alvin for me... I don't want him either. If he does? He will somehow bring us together...”
“But Miss Pauline... look at your face. I'm sorry, but it seems to me that God is not lookin' out for you very well... After the whoopin' you took, how can you trust a God that let that happen?” Mary crossed her arms. She wanted to understand, but she was beginning to get doubtful.
“God did not send me to Dodge. Alvin did not summon me there. I went on my own... God does not always protect us from the consequences of our actions, made outside of his Will. In fact he chastises those who belong to him... when they get too far... I guess Dodge was a bit too far. But he did send Marshal Deger and Bat Masterson to my rescue. And I believe that woman got a broken nose out of the exchange, so all was not lost...” Pauline laughed at that, and the doves giggled with her.
“We weren't goin' to show ya this, but seein' how yer takin' it so well...” The repentant dove handed Pauline a folded piece of paper with a pensive grin. It was a gag sent from Alice and the girls. Pauline opened it with a tiny bit of trepidation, but she was curious, and bit her lip as she unfolded the note. Inside was a tintype of Squirrel Tooth Alice and two other prostitutes, slouching in relief and waving wildly, behind a sign which read “Good Bye.” On the paper was was crudely scrawled, “And good ridanse!”
“I guess they had ta say somethin' Miss Pauline, you know, get in the last word...” Pauline nodded in agreement, it was all best forgotten now. But her converts were not ready to let go, not just yet.
“That's cause Miss Pauline got in the last punch!” Said another, and they all joined in a shrill crescendo of laughter. “She says she got a broken nose... and she wanted to come after ya but they said she might get so messed up she would have to entertain the smelly old men from now on...”
Pauline relaxed in her chair. It was crazy, but the street brawl had done more for her credibility than twenty sermons. She turned to the girls still listening and tried to tie up the loose ends of their experience.
“Seriously girls, the hardest and yet most rewarding part of following Jesus Christ is the knowledge that even your struggles, your sufferings, are for the highest possible goal, of bringing others... like you to a saving Faith inside of his Kingdom. Yes there is pain and uncertainty, even heartbreak, but it is all worth it to save one person from an eternity in hell.” With this she laid her hed back, fighting off a monster headache, and closed her eyes.
“I suppose." Answered Mary, "Well thank you for answering my questions... and for being such a good sport. And don't worry Miss Pauline, we won't throw you off of the train... for some of us, right now, even if you are a little crazy, you are the only friend we have in the world.”
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