Authors: Mike Blakely
Come Sundown (50 page)
Kit chuckled. “History, huh, Bill?”
“It could turn the tide in the Indian wars.”
Kit faced left to speak to Buckskin Charley in Ute, asking his opinion. To my relief, Charley stood to answer, saying that the Kiowas were steadily removing their things from the village already taken, depriving the Ute scouts of their well-earned plunder, for they had entered the village first. Kit acknowledged this and turned back to his officers. Buckskin Charley squatted again, and I closed my eyes so as to make myself invisible
with my medicine. Vivaldi's warrior-fiddlers played a hushed
largo.
with my medicine. Vivaldi's warrior-fiddlers played a hushed
largo.
“I admire your sand, boys,” Kit began, “and it'll be noted in my reportâ
if
I survive to write one.” He dug his heel in for his argument. I didn't see this, for my eyes were still closed, but I heard his spur rowel ring as he stamped. I stroked the foreleg of a cavalry mount so that the horse would let me become part of him, hiding me.
if
I survive to write one.” He dug his heel in for his argument. I didn't see this, for my eyes were still closed, but I heard his spur rowel ring as he stamped. I stroked the foreleg of a cavalry mount so that the horse would let me become part of him, hiding me.
“Now, let's think this through,” Kit continued. “Our orders said to punish the Kiowas and Comanches for raiding. We have taken a Kiowa camp and killed several of their men. By my count, we've killed about thirty Comanche warriors and wounded a good many more. Agreed?”
The men grumbled their “yes-sirs.”
“But ⦠We still have to burn the Kiowa camp. That chore's gotta be done, or capturing the camp means nothing.”
“We can go back and destroy it,” McCleave said, “
after
we rout the Comanches.”
after
we rout the Comanches.”
“Quiet, Major. You've had your say. Now, say we attack the Comanches. We're outnumbered five or six to one, boys. Maybe ten to one. Our mounts are jaded and some are hurt, while them Comanches have got more ponies than Mexico's got sticker patches. Our ammunition is low, and that camp is full of weapons and bullets, for sure, the way they've been firing on us. You want to shell the daylights out of women and children, Pettis; well, I don't have the stomach for that.
“And, for Christ's sake, have you forgotten about Colonel Abreu? Francisco's back there in our rear with only seventy-five men guardin' the supply train. When those Indians discover himâ
and they will
âthey will slaughter those boys and take our provisions. Where will that leave us, men? Two hundred miles from civilization without a bullet or a bean.”
and they will
âthey will slaughter those boys and take our provisions. Where will that leave us, men? Two hundred miles from civilization without a bullet or a bean.”
I could hear the collective sigh of the officers, some in relief, some in disappointment.
“Now, what is the right thing to do here? Don't answer, because I'm fixin' to tell you. We will form up and pull back to the Kiowa camp and burn it to the ground. Then we will commence to fight our way out of this bear trap. It won't be easy,
boys, and you will realize how loco it would have been for us to attack that next village. You want history, Bill? Gettin' three hundred men massacred would sure enough make history. The enemy wears moccasins. We're the ones with boot heels, and they've sure got us on 'em. Come sundown we had better be back at our supply train, or we'll
be
history.”
boys, and you will realize how loco it would have been for us to attack that next village. You want history, Bill? Gettin' three hundred men massacred would sure enough make history. The enemy wears moccasins. We're the ones with boot heels, and they've sure got us on 'em. Come sundown we had better be back at our supply train, or we'll
be
history.”
At this point, Kit started giving orders on how the men would proceed back to the Kiowa camp, and the first order was to remove the horses from the walls. “Form a column of fours, Billâdismounted. Every fourth man will lead four mounts. Lieutenant Edmiston, deploy the infantry along both flanks and on our rear. Pettis, keep your guns in the rear, and keep them firing. We've got to save those howitzers at any cost, gentlemen.”
The men dispersed to follow their orders, and I knew I had to get out of the adobe ruins before the soldiers came to get their horses. I slipped among the mounts, heading back to the hole in the west wall. Just before I stepped out through the hole, I got a wicked idea. Kit had ordered the horses led out in fours, so I took the reins of the four nearest to me and led them out, each pony stepping obediently over the low spot in the wall and following me onto the prairie. I led them casually toward the woods along Bent's Creek, hoping no one would make a complaint. In this, I was disappointed.
There was a ring on the cavalry saddle of the day where the reins of one mount could be tied to the saddle of the next, and that was how the horses were supposed to be movedâone tied to another. I, on the other hand, had simply grabbed four sets of reins in two hands and started walking. This unconventional way of moving the horses was what attracted Kit's attention.
“Hey!” came the shout. I pretended not to hear. “You, soldier! Tie them horses together the right way!” I walked on a few steps, and he shouted, louder, “Halt, there, soldier!”
I was halfway to the timber, so I sprang into the saddle of the mount nearest to me, and gave a Comanche war yell. “Come sundown, Kit!” I yelled, pointing up the valley. I screamed my war cry again and ran the ponies to the timber. I looked over my shoulder once and saw Kit standing with his
hands on his hips. He was some distance away, and I was on a galloping horse, leading three others, but I will always believe that I saw a smile on his face.
hands on his hips. He was some distance away, and I was on a galloping horse, leading three others, but I will always believe that I saw a smile on his face.
“Let him go,” Kit yelled, as I gained the timber and began picking my way through the trees and underbrush, back toward Castchorn.
M
y Comanche pony did not like being led along with the captured enemy horses at first, and he kicked and bit the one nearest to him. I admonished him in a stern voice, and he accepted his lot for the time being. I rode north, out of rifle range, and crossed the prairie in sight of Pettis's gunners with the stolen horses, screaming the “yee-yee-yee-yee!” of a successful Comanche horse thief. When I made my way back to the Comanche village, I found another party forming to make a charge on the soldiers, but I convinced them to wait until we had held a council of war so I could report what I had learned inside the walls.
y Comanche pony did not like being led along with the captured enemy horses at first, and he kicked and bit the one nearest to him. I admonished him in a stern voice, and he accepted his lot for the time being. I rode north, out of rifle range, and crossed the prairie in sight of Pettis's gunners with the stolen horses, screaming the “yee-yee-yee-yee!” of a successful Comanche horse thief. When I made my way back to the Comanche village, I found another party forming to make a charge on the soldiers, but I convinced them to wait until we had held a council of war so I could report what I had learned inside the walls.
Kills Something and the other chiefs gathered in the middle of a huge crowd of warriors and listened as I told them of my stealth and my invisibility among the horses. Burnt Belly was there, looking quite pleased with me for all that I had learned from him. I told what I had heard about the way the soldiers would retreat now, but I took my time in telling it, so that Kit would have time to form his column and get moving back toward the Kiowa village. I ended my tale by bragging about the four horses I had stolen right out from under the noses of the bluecoats. A great victory cheer rose to congratulate me, but when it died down, I again heard the wails of mourning women who had already lost husbands or sons in this battle.
“What does your heart tell you we must do now, my brother?” Kills Something asked me.
I glanced upward to the brilliant blue heavens. “Look where Father Sun now stands in the sky. He sees that we have won
this fight. We have turned the bluecoats away from our families. But we must be careful. The war books of the bluecoats teach many dishonorable tricks. If we send all our warriors to destroy the soldiers, we will leave our villages unprotected. There may be other soldiers coming from a different fort. Maybe many more. This is the way the bluecoats fight.”
this fight. We have turned the bluecoats away from our families. But we must be careful. The war books of the bluecoats teach many dishonorable tricks. If we send all our warriors to destroy the soldiers, we will leave our villages unprotected. There may be other soldiers coming from a different fort. Maybe many more. This is the way the bluecoats fight.”
Kills Something frowned, but he nodded. “Plenty Man knows the ways of the white soldiers. I believe his heart is strong and his words are wise. He has stood among the enemy, invisible to them with his medicine, and he has listened to their plans. We should chase them out of our valley, but we must be careful. Many warriors must remain behind to guard this village in case other soldiers come, as Plenty Man has warned.”
Now old Little Bluff, the Kiowa chief, dissented, holding his lance above his head. “They are going back to destroy the lodges of my people. We must kill them all!”
The Kiowas answered with a war cry, but Kills Something was not moved.
“Listen, uncle. Those soldiers are not worth killing. They are nothing to us now. We have shamed them into a retreat. They are beaten cowards. Killing them all would not amount to much. I would not even hang one of their scalps on my belt.
“Now, about your lodges. Were your people not warned in council one moon ago about camping so far away from the protection of the big village? You wanted the fresh water upstream, but the council warned you that this was a dangerous place to camp, and you did not listen. Your warriors fought well, but your village is lost now. How strong is your medicine? If it is strong, you should not care if everything you own is lost, for your medicine will bring you whatever you need to survive.”
Little Bluff fumed. “Must I send my wife back to my village to cook a meal for them, and then lie on her back in my lodge and wait for them to use her like a slave-whore?”
“We will kill more bluecoats before this day has passed,” Kills Something assured the Kiowas. “But we must not risk any more good warriors just to count coups on cowards. The thunder guns have already killed many good young men.”
“What will we do, then?” Little Bluff demanded. “Will we attack, or talk?”
“Grandson!” said old Burnt Belly, raising his hand. “I have something to say.”
“Yes, grandfather.”
“I have dreamed about this fight,” the old shaman said. “I know how we will protect our warriors from the thunder guns and still get close enough to shoot at the bluecoats. You have all wondered why I spoke against letting the horses graze in the valley this winter. Now you will see why. It is because of my vision. We have saved the winter grass here and it is brown and dry now.” He held his hand up to feel the air. “The spirits have favored us with a good breeze from the north on this day. We must set fire to the grass behind the soldiers, and the smoke will hide us as we ride close to shoot at the cowards. I have seen this in dreams. Anyone who does not believe in my visions can stay back to protect the camp, as Plenty Man says we must do. That is all I have to say.”
Kills Something smiled, as a glint of light sparked in his eye. “Burnt Belly has spoken. He is old and wise, and his visions have never failed us. Little Bluff, take your Kiowa warriors and set fire to the grass. The leaders of the brotherhoods will decide which warriors will attack through the smoke, and which will stay behind to protect the camp. I have spoken.”
Kills Something raised his Henry rifle above his head and pushed a war cry from his lungs, up his throat. A deafening battle yell rose around him and spread outward like the percussion from a huge explosion. I knew that Kit's men could hear this yell from where they stood, and I knew it must have shaken them to the marrow, for it sounded like ten thousand spirit eagles singing at once.
When the trilling voices died down, we heard the bugle of the bluecoats sounding the retreat. I quickly groped for my own bugle, placed it against my lips, and answered with the charge as my stolen cavalry horses lunged against their reins with excitement. The laughter that spread around me filled every heart with courage and hope and, for a moment, drowned out the keening of the mourners among the lodges.
When the laughter died, the angry voice of Little Bluff began to shout. “I am a Kiowa chief! I do not wait for smoke to cover me when I charge! Any man brave enough to ride with me now to attack the bluecoats must have his bow strung!” He yelped once, and turned his war pony, charging through onlookers who scrambled out of his way as his leading warriors fell in behind him with war whoops. Comanche men anxious to make names for themselves also joined the hasty attack, as the party gained strength and thundered toward the timber that separated them from the retreating soldiers.
When the hoofbeats had died down, Kills Something said, “The first-year warriors of the Little Horse men will set fire to the grass. Go now, and get embers from the camp, and make much smoke.”
I knew I had some time for all of this to take place, so I trailed Castchorn along with the cavalry ponies I had acquired. All these mounts were done in, and I needed a fresh horse with which to make my final charges of the day. What I might accomplish on these charges, other than getting myself killed or maimed, was beyond my ability to predict, but I was now so caught up in the machinations of the battle that I could not extricate myself from its bloody cogwheels. I stopped at the edge of camp to strip saddles and bridles from the army horses, then turned them into the herd.
As I threw down the last U.S. Army saddle, I heard the roar of the mountain howitzers, accompanied by a resounding volley of rifle fire and screams of suffering horses. I knew Little Bluff's followers had made a brave charge, but from the sounds of it, they had been drubbed soundly by the cool work of the veteran soldiery. I doubted anyone would attempt another charge without the cover of smoke.
Mounting Castchorn one last time, I walked among the large herd of Indian ponies and found my old reliable paint horse, Major. He had not been ridden in the course of the last moon, so he was sleek and ready, his feet sound. He was a bit aged for a frontier pony, but I had used him sparingly over the years, saving him for special work, like that at hand. He was smart and courageous and always trusted in me, sometimes to the point of foolhardiness. I had been riding Major that fateful
day, four years ago, on the elk hunt, when Kit got tangled in his pony's reins and took a fall down the mountain. I knew Kit would remember this, and for some reason, I wanted him to know it was me charging through the smoke to brave the bullets of the soldiers. I wanted Kit to know that the beating his soldiers had given me after killing Tu Hud had not defeated me, and that I was as sure as ever that my course was right. Major was an eye-catching paint mount with plenty of white mottled by deep sorrel. If Kit caught a glimpse of him, he would know it was me, for the old voyageur had a good memory for quality horseflesh.
day, four years ago, on the elk hunt, when Kit got tangled in his pony's reins and took a fall down the mountain. I knew Kit would remember this, and for some reason, I wanted him to know it was me charging through the smoke to brave the bullets of the soldiers. I wanted Kit to know that the beating his soldiers had given me after killing Tu Hud had not defeated me, and that I was as sure as ever that my course was right. Major was an eye-catching paint mount with plenty of white mottled by deep sorrel. If Kit caught a glimpse of him, he would know it was me, for the old voyageur had a good memory for quality horseflesh.
Major seemed glad to see me. He had the most expressive eyes of any horse I had ever owned, and he was asking me plain as day with those eyes what the hell all the commotion was about. “Come on, I'll show you,” I said. I slipped my war bridle past his teeth and mounted bareback.
By the time I recrossed Adobe Creek, the grass was on fire in the prairie of Adobe Walls, the smoke flowing southward through the bend in the valley. The billowing gray cloud and the crackling blaze excited Major, which was good. It was easier to stick to a horse covered with a little sweat when riding bareback. As I trotted toward the grass fire, the Kiowa men began to appear in the smoke downwind of the flames, urging their ponies to brave the conflagration and get back to the fresh air upwind of the blaze. They came through in ones and twos, or in small groups, many of them dragging wounded or carrying corpses.
“They should have waited for the smoke,” a familiar voice said to my left.
I turned and, to my surprise, I found Burnt Belly mounted and riding beside me, having slipped up on me in the chaos. “Grandfather,” I said, almost scolding him with my tone. “Why are you here?”
He smiled and rubbed the lightning scar across his torso. “Do not talk to me as if I am too old to ride into battle. I have dreamed of this day. It is going to happen now.”
“What?”
“That which is destined to happen. You will see. Come, and make this charge with me, Plenty Man.”
He rarely called me by name to my face, and I took it as a compliment designed to win my approval. It worked, of course. Anyway, I knew that to argue with him was useless, for Burnt Belly had become accustomed to doing as he pleased. No one ever dared to make demands of him for fear of his powers.
“I will ride with you, grandfather, but I am not going to kill any white men. I only want to see the fight from the middle of it.”
He nudged his mount up to a slow lope. “I have already seen it,” he said. And we urged our skittish ponies toward a gap in the bright orange line of flames ahead.
Not any mount will carry a rider right into a prairie fire, but I asked Major to do just that, and he obeyed. We shot through a momentary pass in the flames and crossed the crooked orange line that crawled across the grassy plain. The smoke stung my eyes and lungs, and filled my nose with the pungent odor of burnt straw. The dense cloud soon thinned enough to see a few pony lengths ahead. Burnt Belly and I fell in with a general charge led by Kills Something. The smoke remained so thick that we were within pistol range before the uniforms began to appear through the choking cloud.
“Look, boys!” I heard a voice shout. “Fire!”
“No shit, Captain,” said some soldier, his reply punctuated by a gunshot as I galloped by on Major, gaining speed.
“I mean fire your weapon, damn it!” The voice trailed off as Burnt Belly and I loosed our battle cries and charged along the left flank of the retreating column of fours protected by a line of infantry. The soldiers began to yell all manner of astonished oaths as we flew past them near enough to spit on them, yet neither Burnt Belly nor I drew a weapon. In the smoke, we appeared and vanished so quickly to most of the soldiers that they scarcely had time to see us, let alone take aim. Still, they began to take wild shots through the smoke and that made things hot.
I drew my revolver, not wanting to be found dead on the battlefield without a weapon in my hand. I made the charge of a lifetime, riding blindly past an enemy at near point-blank range, blinking away smoke-wrought tears, screaming at the
top of my lungs. But the column of soldiers was long, and near the head, which was farthest away from the fire, the smoke began to twist away in tendrils, leaving bands of fresh air between, and the faces of the soldiers came clearer.
top of my lungs. But the column of soldiers was long, and near the head, which was farthest away from the fire, the smoke began to twist away in tendrils, leaving bands of fresh air between, and the faces of the soldiers came clearer.
Glancing back, I looked for Burnt Belly, but he was no longer behind me. I pulled rein in the smoke to wait for him as other riders thundered madly by. Suddenly the smoke cleared, and I caught sight of a soldier just twenty paces from me, pulling his ramrod from his rifle. When he looked up, I recognized Luther Sheffield. The smoke veiled me again, and I heard him speak:
“Show yourself, damn it.”
I reasoned that he had failed to recognize me, so I yelled, “Don't shoot, Luther!”
Another break in the cloud revealed his keen eye behind the irons of his rifle, and I knew he could have shot me through, but he hesitated long enough for the smoke to cover me again.
“Who the hell?”
I laughed and fired my pistol in the air just for fun, turning back now against the grain of the charge to find Burnt Belly. “Grandfather!” I yelled. “Where are you, old man?”
Suddenly a rider vaulted into viewâsome young Kiowa I did not knowâand as he passed me he took a bullet that may well have been meant for me. It ripped through a jugular vein and his spinal column, killing him in a cruel instant of fate. Major leapt wildly away from the spray of blood and the falling body, but I managed to hang on as I found myself once again lost in the smoke cloud, thickening again as the fire pressed closer.
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