Murder at Medicine Lodge (26 page)

I spoke for no more than five minutes, and at the end of my statement, a Cheyenne chief, his eyebrows crunched together, asked, “You can prove this, can you?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered confidently.

All of them turned away from me, the chiefs talking in whispers among themselves. When they came to a mutual agreement, Ten Bears spoke, lauding Lone Wolf's daring stratagem, praising his steadfast wisdom in the midst of political turmoil.

“Your guiding hand stayed true, you did not flinch or turn your face away. Even when others talked against you, you walked the hard road. This is the way of chiefs. I say now, this is the way of Lone Wolf.”

Looking back at me once again, Lone Wolf nodded.

*   *   *

The following morning was slated as the first day of the peace talks. Even though Lone Wolf had said that the Kiowa would not talk peace, would not say anything until the issue of his honor was settled with the Blue Jackets, the Kiowa attended but remained silent. As I would have to speak again, this time to General Gettis, I went to the conference too, riding at the back of the hundreds of warriors being led to the Blue Jackets' camp by all of the chiefs of the five Nations. Everyone looked splendid, the chiefs wearing their bonnets of eagle feathers, every warrior dressed in his best clothing, each horse painted to display its owner's accredited deeds of valor. I had taken extra care of my appearance and my horse was painted too, but not with the usual signs: the vivid colored press of a hand above the symbol of a horse with small stick marks under it to indicate how many horses had been stolen; or a drawing of a man with stick marks under that to indicate how many enemies had been killed. On its left flank my horse displayed two men, one looking ill, the other offering a bowl. There were dozens of little stick marks under that to indicate just how many patients I had successfully brought back to good health. I felt just as splendid as the others looked, for I was wearing the new winter clothing my wife had made for me. Her love for me was in each and every stitch, and I felt so confident because of her that not one man in that cantering horde of hundreds sat taller in his saddle than I.

Mrs. Adams turned up for the proceedings wearing a bloodred dress. I saw Stanley standing off to the side in the shade of trees and in the forefront of the other newspapermen. The resplendent generals came out of a large tent and sat down behind a long table. Coming to sit next to them were the darker-suited Washington men. As these men—more than the generals they shared the long table with—held the true power, all officers of the three companies of the calvary took a defensive stance behind them. Gatling guns had been set up in four strategic corners and were manned. Squads of armed soldiers were everywhere, dog-trotting in perfect cadence while holding rifles across their chests. This display was meant to show us that soldiers could go anywhere and go quickly. All it showed us was the needless tiring-out of valuable men.

But because the army had taken such measures of distrust, tensions were rife as the horses belonging to all of the Indians were hobbled, then left to be attended by young boys of the Herder Society. Then, by rank, the swarm of Indians moved forward, each man knowing his place in the formation. All of us spread out small blankets and sat down on the ground. Then the officers standing stiffly behind the table were given permission to sit, which they did in impressive unison.

My attention was diverted by the troopers helping Mrs. Adams, placing her chair in between the table and the row of seated chiefs. Behind her chair came to stand the primary interpreter, Philip McCusker. A man, I must remind you, able to speak only passable Comanche. What good this primary interpreter would be to the Kiowas, Kiowa-Apaches, and Cheyennes, didn't appear to have been thought through all that well, but the Arapahos had a fighting chance at understanding the proceedings, on account of Mrs. Adams.

Actually, I believed that we Kiowa had a valuable weapon too. But exactly where Billy had gotten to, I didn't know, because I couldn't spot him. Seated as I was on the very last row of warriors, and being the listening sort, I listened to the soft buzz of conversation all around me. One of these conversations captured my complete attention. Leaning forward, I glanced down the row. Two of White Bear's younger sons having just reached warrior status and consigned to the back with the likes of me, were quite lively in their exchange with a warrior I knew very well.

I'd removed a bullet from his backside, and by last account, he still owed me a fee for this highly personal service. But what a warrior of Three Elks' merit was doing on the last row, I couldn't understand. So I listened to those three with considerable interest.

Last night, once I had finally been free to leave, to enjoy my wife, that's what I had done. Therefore, hearing those three saying that, following the council—when I'd taken myself on home—the chiefs, except for Lone Wolf, had gone to the Blue Jackets' camp, came to me as a huge surprise. Next the three young men talked about someone called Returned To Us, a person I'd never heard of.

My attention was diverted when a chief stood, began to speak. Straightening my spine and craning my neck my eyes went for Lone Wolf. I saw him sitting there just as still as a statue. Evidently his subchiefs visiting the Blue Jackets did not affect his promise that he would not talk until the issue of his and White Bear's honor was effectively settled. Still craning my head up in order to see around the many heads in front of me, I saw that the chief who was speaking was Ten Bears of the Comanche. He first extended to the Blue Jackets and the Washington men the traditional welcome. Then he began to list Indian grievances.

“There has been much trouble on the line between us, and my young men have danced the war dance. But it was not begun by us. It was you who sent out the first soldiers and we who sent out the second.… The blue-dressed soldiers and the Utes came for us out of the night, when it was dark and still, and for campfires they lit up our lodges.…”

*   *   *

As Ten Bears had set the tone, the day wore on, with more and more chiefs speaking for their people, listing crimes against their Nations, their families. Mrs. Adams and Philip McCusker did their best, but their weak attempts really didn't matter. The Washington men weren't listening. I know this is true because I watched their faces. After a few hours, the first day of the Medicine Lodge Council was over.

I was going for my horse when a hand clasped my shoulder. Turning, I found myself staring Three Elks in the face.

“Skywalker said I was to stay close to you, to bring you forward on his signal. He just gave it.” He pointed off to General Gettis's tent. “I am to take you there.”

I looked around as he escorted me. A great mass of the warriors were leaving, but the chiefly honor guards were loitering with intent very near General Gettis's canvas doorway. These notable warriors watched me as Three Elks walked me past them, stopped, then indicated that I was to enter without him. As I pushed open the flap, Three Elks went to stand with the others. I noticed that he wasn't limping anymore and he wore a long vest that hid his backside. I dismissed the amusing incident of his wound as I bolstered my courage and entered the tent.

Inside, none of the Washington men or newspaper reporters were present, but making themselves comfortable were the representative chiefs of the five Nations, General Gettis, Captain Mac, and Hawwy. Skywalker was deeply involved in a whispery discussion with a Kiowa warrior I'd never seen before. Skywalker turned at the waist as I entered. Waving his arm, he beckoned me to him. Before I could get a good look at the stranger, Skywalker turned, inadvertently positioning himself between us as he spoke quickly to me.

“Good. You're here. I want you to sit down and wait until I indicate you are to speak.”

When he turned away, I felt well and truly dismissed. And confused. I looked around for one of the interpreters. Mrs. Adams in one of her strange costumes would have been a welcome sight, but she wasn't there. Neither was McCusker. How was I supposed to speak to that forbidding-looking general with any hope of being understood? Wondering yet again what Skywalker had managed to get me into, I looked for an available chair.

The back row was already filled with chiefs. The front row, a place I did not want to go, had two available chairs, one of them being next to Lone Wolf. Deciding that standing off alone would be the wiser course, I was about to head off for a corner when Lone Wolf looked at me and slapped his hand down on the seat of the wooden chair beside him. This being an outright command, I hesitantly walked there and sat down.

White Bear, on the other side of Lone Wolf, was having a whispery argument with Kicking Bird, who was seated directly beside him. Lone Wolf, ignoring the hissing debate, turned to me and asked softly, “Did you see them?”

I knew he was asking about the Washington men—had I seen their indifference when the list of grievances had been given by each chief?

“Yes,” I answered, my voice—even to my own ears—thick and sorrowful.

“I did too,” he said. Then he lapsed into an impenetrable silence.

Beginning to mull other worries, my gaze traveled back to the warrior with short hair, the one standing with Skywalker. When Skywalker moved a little to the side, I got a clear look at the stranger. The young man noticed me and threw me a wave.

I sat back in the chair, my eyes wide with disbelief, my heart thumping. Lifting my eyes, I found Hawwy. He was sitting with General Gettis on the other side of the tent. Hawwy looked pale, sad, despondent. The very things one would expect from a man who'd just lost his best friend.

The Kiowa warrior with Skywalker—the one I was hearing being referred to as Returned To Us—was Billy.

SIXTEEN

The change in his appearance was incredible. Amazing, what a simple change of clothing will do for a person. Billy was dressed completely Kiowa: chest plate, choker, vest, breechcloth, leggings, and moccasins. His shoulder-length hair was brushed straight back from his forehead, revealing to me his entire face. He was light in coloring, especially his bare arms where the sun couldn't touch him because of long-sleeved shirts and his coat. He was standing in profile, and I could see—now that there was no longer that black hat to obscure his features—that the shape of his eyes, nose, forehead, and cheekbones, were just as Indian as Skywalker's. I glanced again at Hawwy. His head was down, he looked to be intently studying the tips of his shiny boots. General Gettis, however, was staring hard at Billy, hatred blazing from narrowed eyes. I leaned across Lone Wolf and whispered to White Bear.

“When did he … come to us?”

“Last night,” he whispered back. “I offered him my hand and he took it. Skywalker said that that one has walked a long, lonely road. That he doesn't realize his value. He said we are all to be very kind to him until he settles in, knows who he is, and is comfortable with that knowledge.” White Bear sat back, his broad face becoming a large question mark as something occurred to him. “You know,” he said, his voice too loud now to be a whisper, “those are almost the same things he once said about you!”

A smile tugged the corners of my lips. “Skywalker is a collector of lost persons.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And some of them would have been better off if he'd let them stay lost. But you've worked out pretty well, so we feel willing to trust him about this one, too.”

Sitting back, I realized I was very glad about Billy. Glad because we had gained a valuable person and glad because Billy had finally decided who he wanted to be. But Hawwy …

I had to let that thought go. It was just too sad.

*   *   *

We had to wait until everyone was present. The Blue Jackets seemed to be dragging their heels. After a few more minutes, Philip McCusker, Captain Mac, and Lieutenant Danny entered, the lieutenant smiling shyly at me, Captain Mac conversing with the general. Then the two officers sat down alongside Hawwy while McCusker took up a standing position just behind the general's chair. I was waiting for them to bring in Little Jonas, but they didn't.

A soldier guard closed the tent door flap, then stood before it. Evidently the few gathered Blue Jackets were all we were to have, for General Gettis was irritably letting it be known that he was ready for the conference to begin.

I was expecting Lone Wolf to stand and speak, but he didn't move a hair, refused to open his mouth. Skywalker spoke for him and through Billy. I listened attentively for Skywalker, when he chose to be, was a good talker, and on that day he was really outdoing himself.

“I was not in favor of the Kiowa chiefs coming to this place,” Skywalker said. “I spoke against it, saying this council was no good for our people. Now, too late, many of my fellow chiefs agree. Particularly the chief known to you as Satanta.

“From the first day all of you have talked against him. But on the day he put a stop to the senseless killing of valuable buffaloes, a crime committed by your own little chiefs, your mutterings became shouts. And then the next thing happened, his finding something belonging to the army. If finding a lost thing makes him a murderer, then I too must stand accused.”

Skywalker removed a small item from his carry pouch. A shiny army button. He tossed it. Captain Mac instinctively raised a hand, catching the object. In the next seconds he looked grimly at the army button lying in the palm of his hand. He passed it along to Hawwy who studied it with open interest, then tried to pass it to General Gettis. The man was not receptive, refusing to give the button so much as a glance. With a lift of his near single brow, Hawwy pocketed the button as Skywalker continued.

“I found that thing not far from where this lodge stands. I assure you, I killed no one to have it. It was simply there on the ground. So too was the horn White Bear found when riding the distance between the camps. And why was it there?” Skywalker lifted his shoulders in a dramatic shrug. “Maybe it was there because it had been thrown away on purpose, or, maybe it had been dropped by accident. None of us will ever really know, for the man it once belonged to can no longer speak. But White Bear could speak, and he did. He promised he had harmed no one when he found that horn. You wouldn't listen.” Pointing an accusing hand, he concluded, “Today you will.” Turning at the waist, he looked meaningfully back to me.