asked.
Bellefontaine shook his head and held up his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, friends. I’m not asking the town to come up with that money. I will personally come up with the money to pay people to leave.”
“That’s real decent of you, Mr. Bellefontaine, but I know for a fact that there are some ranchers and farmers out there who won’t think that’s enough. Fact is, I don’t think you could pay some of ’em to come out.”
“Whether they stay or come out, the trouble has started. If any of you have contact with any of these people, please let them know that the offer is there.”
“Why don’t we call in the army?” one of the men in the audience asked.
“Funny that you should bring that up,” Bellefontaine said. “For I am indeed calling in the army, and I am going to ask them to relocate the Crow. They have shown by their actions that they are not peaceful. And today, they were so bold as to attack a stagecoach. It’s one thing to get all the settlers out of the valley, but the way I see it, that’s not even enough. With the Crow on the warpath, not even our town is safe.”
“It wasn’t Crow that attacked the stagecoach,” Falcon said, speaking up from the audience.
Falcon’s remark elicited several responses from the audience, but it was Bellefontaine who had the floor and his voice is the one that got through.
“I beg your pardon?” Bellefontaine replied. “And who are you?”
“The name is MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister.”
“Falcon MacCallister!” someone in the audience said, and his name spread throughout the hall where the meeting was being held.
“I’ve heard of MacCallister.”
“He’s nigh as famous as Buffalo Bill his ownself.”
“Well, Mr. MacCallister, your name seems to have evoked some response from the citizens of DeMaris Springs. I apologize for my ignorance, but I must confess that I have never heard of you.”
“No reason why you should have heard of me,” Falcon replied.
“Tell me, why do you say that it was not the Crow who attacked the stage coach?”
“I was on the stagecoach, I saw them. They were not Crow, they were Cheyenne.”
“They were Cheyenne, you say,” Bellefontaine said. “And tell me, Mr. MacCallister, am I to believe that you are so knowledgeable about such things that you can tell the difference between one heathen and another?”
“I brought one of the arrows that were sticking out of the stage,” Falcon said. Reaching under the chair he held it up, then pointed to the markings just before the feathers. “This crooked black and yellow line here, on the arrow shaft, is the mark of the Crooked Lance Warrior Society. That’s Cheyenne.”
“He’s right!” someone else called out loudly. “I’ve seen the mark of the Crooked Lance Warrior Society myself. If that’s what’s on that arrow, then the Injuns that attacked the stage was Cheyenne, not Crow.”
“It was Crow that attacked the Barlow family though!” someone else yelled and for the next few minutes there was so much shouting going on that no one could hear what anyone was saying. Picking up his gavel, Mayor Cravens began banging on the table.
“Order!” he shouted. “Order! Folks, we can’t conduct this town meeting unless we have order!”
Mayor Cravens continued to bang his gavel until, finally, order was restored.
“Now,” he said. “Perhaps we can get on with the meeting. Mr. Bellefontaine, you may continue.”
Bellefontaine waited a moment before he resumed.
“Perhaps, Mr. MacCallister, you are correct. In fact, I am willing to accept that you probably are correct, as you seem to know about such things. But, even if they are Cheyenne, that just broadens the picture and makes our own position here more untenable. You see, that attack happened well east of DeMaris Springs, whereas the prospectors and the tragedy that befell the Barlow family happened west of us.
“It may well be that there has been an alliance made between the Crow and the Cheyenne, and if that is the case, we are caught in the middle.”
“The Crow and the Cheyenne are enemies,” Cody said. “I don’t live out here anymore, but even I know that.”
“You say they are enemies and they may have been so in the past,” Bellefontaine said. “But perhaps you have not heard of this new movement that has begun among the Indians out here. It is called Spirit Talking, which I am led to believe is a new kind of religion. I am also told that this heathen religion seems to have reached out beyond tribal lines, and is infecting all the Indians.”
Buffalo Bill held up his hand. “May I speak, Mr. Mayor?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Cody,” Mayor Cravens said.
“Falcon MacCallister and I are well aware of the Spirit Talking movement. Indeed, that is why we are out here. I was summoned to a meeting with General Miles at his headquarters in Chicago. There, he asked me to meet personally with Sitting Bull in order to ascertain, one, whether Sitting Bull was behind this movement and, two, whether this movement represented the potential outbreak of a new Indian war.
“I am pleased to report that Sitting Bull has nothing to do with it. And I think the answer to the Indian question is a simple one. So long as philanthropists are allowed to weep over the Indians, while politicians plunder them, while the Indian Agency fails on their promise of decent treatment, there will be trouble.
“What we should do is make them feel that we will deal with them honestly and fairly, and that they will be held accountable for their crimes as individuals, and not be held accountable as an entire tribe. When we can do that, I believe that the Indian difficulties will be at an end.”
Cody’s remarks met with a mixed response. There were those who applauded, and called out, “here, here.”
