Chapter 22
Chapter 22: Fright or Flight... or FIGHT
Alvin came to that point where he knew that he had done everything that he could do within the bounds of feasibility. It was past time to get out of Dodge City.
Sim had been begging for them to go to Camp Supply, before they headed east, where he might see Hummingbird one more time, and catch a glimpse of the Indian war, but Alvin had decided against it. So they were making the rounds, saying their good-byes to some of their new friends in Dodge, and trying to collect on a few outstanding accounts. Alvin made a stop in the Peacock Saloon, hoping to catch some of the boys in there who had not picked up their tintypes, and who still owed for them.
He walked into the Peacock non-chalantly, he was no stranger there, and brushed past Squirrel Tooth Alice and did what he always did since he put on the badge in Plattsburg, and that was to scan the room for the most dangerous man. “Hey mister, after all we done, you could say Hello or somethin!” Alice whined with indignation. But Alvin thought it best to walk away, because he really wanted to knock her down. And that would not do, since he was planning to leave town. She stood and considered her options, not satisfied until Alvin at least acknowledged her.
Alvin kept walking. Most of the time the most dangerous man was the bartender, and that was the way it was supposed to be. This time it was probably Alice. But sometimes, that cursory scan around the room spotted a potential threat, and gave him an eye towards limiting its effect, or at least not being a victim of that particular person. And this was one of the few times since he came to Dodge, that there was such a potential enemy, and even more concerning than Squirrely. And it was an old familiar face. But Alvin did as he always did, he never stared at anyone, and just kept walking. He was hoping that he had not been noticed, and he immediately began to plan a swift exit.
Not drawing much attention to himself, and changing his mind about collecting on any delinquent accounts, he went to the other end of the bar and then signaled the bartender to follow him, as he went into the store room. Alice spun around and saw the Colonel beconing her, and flitted his direction. Old Ulys followed Alvin, and as soon as he came through the door, he met Alvin's cold expression, with a finger to his lips. “Ulys, how long has that old fellow back by the pool tables been there?”
“WHO? You mean the Colonel?”
“You know him?”
“Sure, that's Col. Head, he's an old customer. What's a matter Payne, you owe him money too?”
“No, I don't... You owe him money?”
“Not much- anymore, but he financed this place. He's sort of a roving bank.”
“I guess he gets free drinks then, when he's here.”
“He would if he drank! But he's a Baptist preacher, among other things!”
“Incredible. I see, well... I'm not ready to pay him off just yet, so I'm gonna take your back door out of here- and please don't mention that you saw me. If he asks about me, tell him he was mistaken.”
“Okay, Payne, but he's a reasonable man, if you would just talk to him. He's always worked with me.”
"That's good to know, Ulys, but please, no mention of me. I wasn't HERE- understand?”
“Whatever you say.” Alvin left Ulys with a face full of questions, and went straight to the wagon and started packing. Sim was napping and heard the commotion and came to see what he was doing. He knew for sure when the tent collapsed.
“Sim, go to the livery and get the Morgans. We are leaving this afternoon.”
“What's amatter Alvi? Yer actin' like ya jus seen a panther!”
“We'll talk about it on the road, just do what I say...” Sim stood and watched and tried to think of something helpful or humerous to say, and he had many questions to ask, but he did not know enough to know where to begin. So he left to fetch George and Martha at the livery stable. Maybe they were headed Hummingbird's way.
Now there were six Cheyenne riders within striking range of Father Swineberg. “Amigos?” The Dog Soldiers scoffed and looked at one another, then one who spoke Spanish answered. “Pero esta hombres blancos, verdad?”
“Yes, my friend we are White Men- “PERO Hombres de Dios!” Billy spoke Spanish as well, but he also read eyes, and whether they were “Men of God” or not, these dozen eyes intended to kill them all. Thinking nothing for his life, he found himself edging Father Swineberg to the side. Billy told them he knew their intentions, and sought to make a deal: Why persecute these medicine men? Warriors only find glory in battle with other warriors. YO... Yo soy un guerrero!
Then he told them, slowly and carefully in Spanish: “I am Billy Bowlegs; a Seminole warrior named after the great Seminole Chief.” Instantly the Cheyennes were interested if not riled. “Was it not Seminoles who have helped the blue coats to chase you and the Kiowas and Comanches all the way back to the Colorado Mountains? Seminoles have made fools of you all, they joined the blue coats and got a thousand years of revenge on your people- And they will soon be coming again!”
Father Swineberg grabbed Billy's sweat-drenched shirt, and pulled him in. “My son, do you know what you are saying? You are practically inviting them to kill you!”
“Yes Father, but these men are going to kill somebody- and I believe that I am the most expendable. And the most able to defend myself, if it comes down to that. Billy talked quietly and calmly, as he stared into the raging faces surrounding him.
"Either way, I believe that it is my destiny. This was why I came with you, to protect you three, on this day, on this ground, if I can.”
“My son!” Father Swineberg dropped to his knees, praying, holding up his crucifix, bursting into tears.
They all listened to Billy as he reasoned and challenged and begged- that they would be satisfied, but only as Dog Soldiers, elites and not killers of helpless medicine men, men who belonged to God. And because their unjust deaths might very well bring a curse on each one of them.
“REMEMBER" Father Swineberg began to pray: "O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection..." Father Wisnoski autonmatically joined him.
Billy continued to offer himself to the men, as a sacrifice. “Killing me would bring you honor... killing them will bring only shame.”
Father Swineberg never stopped... "I fly unto you, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To you I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your clemency hear and answer me. Amen.”
The six riders pitched the idea around. The Seminole made some sense. Had not the very first thing Quanah suggested been to go to Texas to punish the tribes who had helped the Whites? They should have listened. But here was one provided, as if sent by god, to balance their great frustration. Still, there was Coyote Shit Ass, who was still deserving worse than he got. The monks continued to pray, over and over.
Billy heard the monks pray, and drew strength from it, and also watched and heard the Dog Soldiers discuss Coyote Bowels, and understood enough to argue for his life. He pointed at him and reasoned, “You are warriors, but you will never know what this man knows- this man who has seen visions and unified all the Plains Tribes! He deserves honor at your councils! He already suffered a great deal at your hands. He is a good Indian. He has been punished enough, killing him will accomplish nothing.”
The six sat and pondered, and every minute they sat, the less angry they were, and everyone knew the less likely they were to kill anyone. The prayers seemed to be working.
“I say kill them all, like pesky rats, and I am through talking.” One said with cold contempt.
“No, the Seminole is right,” Another argued, “There is no more honor in this thing. We need to join our families with our respect intact.” But these men had never heard the words in the Christian Bible, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."
Several of the Dog Soldiers were out of steam, ready to go, and the others would not kill without sanction. They turned in unison and began to trot away. They got about one hundred yards away and had another pow wow, where they could discuss everything in privacy. After a few minutes, five of them parted and one stayed behind. He got off of his horse and had a quick ceremony, invoking his god's blessing and submitting his life to his will. Then he mounted his horse and heaved his lance up on his shoulder, and began to gallop at a dead run at the four. A true Dog Soldier, he was going to kill them or die trying.
As the warrior got near them, Billy stood without fear, intending to try to grab the lance as it was thrust, and pull the Dog Soldier off of his horse. If he made a mistake he would probably be killed. But it was his only chance to disarm the warrior and honor Father Swineberg's steadfast pacifist policy. But the horse did not do as either of the men anticipated. As an experienced war pony, he had been used as a battering ram many times, and seeing the man unarmed, was unafraid to just run right over him, and he did.
The Dog Soldier was shocked, but saw his advantage and took it. He swirled around and as Billy, now hurt badly and woozy, tried to stand up to face him again, he thrust the lance without opposition. It went clean through him, and as the warrior tried to pull it out, he could not get it back. He looked at the three watching and pulled out his knife and dismounted, landing like a bird, and swiftly approached them, going for Coyote Bowels first. But before he got to him, Father Wisnoski, a long legged, Polish farm boy, planted a round house kick to his pelvis and sent him to the ground. He dropped his knife in the process, and Coyote scrambled and grabbed it first. He could not fight, but he could hold on to that knife as if his life depended on it. Before Father Swineberg could stop Wis, he had kicked the warrior again, this time in the chin and knocked him unconscious.
“I never told you Father,” Wisnoski grinned sheepishly, “I learned French foot-fighting when I was studying art in France...”
“You certainly did...” Father agreed, as he turned and fled to try to comfort Billy. The young man had transformed before their eyes, first into a penitent, then into a guardian angel, and now a martyr never to be forgotten. Barely conscious, soaked in blood, he never-the-less had a proud, peaceful countenance as his life slipped away. Father Swineberg tried to perform the last rights, as he held his head, but could not finish. Neither could Wisnoski. Coyote Dung had crawled up to see, and began to sing a Comanche prayer.
“Heya hey yaaaah- Heya hey yaaaah
wa Heya hey yaaaah- Heya hey yaaaah
Winaya hey yaaaah- Winaya hey ya way yaaaah
Winaya hey yaaaah- heoh -Winaya hey ya way yoh
Winaya hey - WAH ye haaaah Winaya hey WAH ye haaaah
Winaya hey WAH ye haaaah”
The Dog Soldier awakened, and now disarmed and somewhat appeased, sang his own version, and all creatures living within earshot, under the prairie sky listened as Coyote and his killer bravely, passionately sent Billy's soul to God.
The Delawares had known the two photographers in Dodge, and somehow the monks wished to notify Bowlegs'es wife of his death, and believed that the younger photographer might have kept in contact with Hummingbird. The photographers were known to have been old friends of his wife. As it turned out, Hummingbird was soon to leave Ft. Supply, since the Delawares might actually travel quite far before finding the hostiles, and they might never return. She was going back to the tribe's base at Ft. Clark, Texas, and would pass through Emporia on the way to St. Louis and pass the word, and that was the best they could do.
Having raided and traded down in Mexico many times, Isa Tai became the monk's trusted guide, and he used the trip to provide himself a vision quest where he could make himself scarce in the Nations- and be safe, and give the animosities of his neighbors there time to cool down. Accepting the teaching of the monks, at least the part that their God was a God of second chances, he said good-bye to his family and went with these holy men who would help him reconstruct his self-respect. Their epic walk to Monterrey encountered many more adventures and signs from God, as each holy man shared and taught and learned from the other.
Coyote knew from the day they buried Billy Bowlegs, and he watched the pious monks consecrate the very ground where he was interred, that these were men in whom he could trust his life, and his soul. He might never take the “Jesus Road,” but he would no longer distrust those who truly walked on it. Later many Comanches embraced the Faith, and without the usual suspicions of the other tribes. They also became one of the most well-adapted and prosperous of all of the Native American tribes, their reservation a model to this day of Indian Excellence.
Father Swineberg and Father Wisnoski loaded a burro and pulled him behind Isa tai over nine hundred miles into Mexico. Due to his injuries, Isa Tai was allowed to ride a pony. But it was winter when they arrived in Monterrey. To people such as these, time was irrelevant. Distance was a mere number, danger an abstract inconvenience. The destination itself was probably a pretense as well, so that each day, for countless days, they would wake up with the songbirds, under a clear sky, totally free and trusting in the God who designed and managed it tall, to watch over them just as Jesus explained... “Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”
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