listening to the talk of Kicking Bird and the tiny visitor who had materialized out of nowhere.
Important information was obtained in that first interview, conducted with a patchwork of signs, Kicking Bird's rudimentary, untested English, and the curt translations for those who had gathered round.
Lawrie Tatum from Washington was seeking peace and friendship between Indian and white. He was offering himself to the Kiowa and the Comanche as what he called an 'agent' for Indians who loved peace. He would serve those who sought peace in a variety of ways — as a procurer of food, clothing, and medicine, as a protector and intermediary between military and government authority and as a guide for those, especially the young, who wanted to take what he called 'the white man's road.” Lawrie Tatum was some kind of holy man, and there were many others of his cult, called Quakers, who had spread across the country seeking friendship with all tribes. He had one wife, many children, and was one of those who drilled holes in the ground, put in seed, and took what grew to eat.
These revelations, passed on by Kicking Bird, were listened to with care by the other warriors. Many snickered at the idea of Lawrie Tatum protecting them against anything, but for most of the interview the free men of the plains gave their full attention to the exchange.
But more and more questions, some derisive and combative, were being hurled from the onlookers. Taking the white man's road was a baffling and useless proposition to most, and Kicking Bird and Touch The Clouds both sensed that the best way to delve deeper into the mission of Lawrie Tatum was not in a public forum. Nor was the open prairie proper. They had been standing all the while. They had not sat down, not smoked the pipe.
When the crowd's questions began edging toward ugliness Touch The Clouds addressed everyone with his usual firmness and finality.
'I am taking this white man into camp,” he began.
Hoots of surprise and some of derision arose from the crowd, but Touch The Clouds was not one to be swayed once his mind was made up, and he had already decided that he wanted to study this Lawrie Tatum man in more depth. Single-handedly he quelled all opposition.
'This white man is my guest,' he commanded. 'He will sleep in my lodge and no harm will come to him.'
Lawrie Tatum then climbed onto his wagon and, escorted by most of the warriors of Touch The Clouds' village, rode back into camp, where the women and children and elderly could not wait to get a look at him.
The Kiowa leader ordered a small lodge to be erected between his own and Kicking Bird's, and Lawrie Tatum was made to understand that this would be the place to store his things and rest his body that night.
The little lodge was up in a matter of minutes and the stranger's gear was unloaded and brought inside. Food and water were given him. Kicking Bird and Touch The Clouds sat across from the little man, watching him eat and drink. Lawrie Tatum commented on the tastiness of his meal and the sweetness of the water, but otherwise the three sat in a fragile silence that was constantly broken by intrusions.
The chatter of villagers continued unabated all afternoon as they milled about the new lodge and its novel resident. Gangs of children clambered on and off the white man's wagon, prompting Touch The Clouds to step out and snap at them to go away and be quiet. He was forced to do this several times, but they did not retreat for long. The moment he sat down again, their presence outside could be heard once more, hushed murmurings that grew inevitably into unbridled shouts and laughter. Touch The Clouds would listen distractedly to the truncated attempts at communication between Kicking Bird and Lawrie Tatum before rising angrily to his feet for another short-lived scattering of the children.
Even the few minutes of peace from the children Touch The Clouds' chiding bought did not free the lodge from invasion. Heads were constantly appearing at the hems of the lodge's covering which had necessarily been rolled up on account of the heat of the day. Curious eyes constantly appeared; prominent warriors dropped by in a steady stream, offering some pretext of other business in order to get some idea of what was going on inside. Shadows of eavesdroppers pressed against the hide-covered walls of the tent, and on several occasions, the whole tent sagged as an unseen interloper lost balance and fell against it.
At last the exasperated hosts and their guest went for a walk but were stymied by a throng of followers who paraded behind them, growing in number until it seemed they had the whole village in tow.
Recognizing the futility of their efforts, the men returned once more to the lodge, and it was only with the coming of twilight, which impelled all but the most inquisitive to return to their homes, that the two Indians and the white man were able to converse with some semblance of peace.
Touch The Clouds lit his pipe again and, though reluctant, Lawrie Tatum was prevailed upon to smoke, his pale complexion turning paler with each pass.
Finally able to concentrate, Kicking Bird's mind kept returning to a single question, one that had nagged at him since he first heard the Cheyenne story of the white man's 'holy road.' Not knowing enough of the white man's language to frame the question properly, he began with the word he knew, hoping it might lead him to construct what he really wanted to ask.
'Train?' he asked, looking intently at Lawrie Tatum.
'Train?'
'Uhh.' Kicking Bird nodded.
'Well, yes,' Lawrie Tatum sputtered in his high voice, 'what about it. . train?'
Kicking Bird searched for words that kept flying away. 'White man train,' he said at last.
'Uh. .' The white man's hand stroked the hair on his face.
'You. .,' he started, pointing at Kicking Bird, 'like train?. . no like train? You. . go on train?'
Kicking Bird shook his head. He did not understand the words but their gist told him he was not moving toward the point. He gathered himself again.
'Train road?' he said.
'Yes, I understand. . train road,' came the reply.
'Holee?'
'Holee?'
'Holee?'
Recognition flashed on Lawrie Tatum's face. 'Holy? Is that what you mean?' he asked, glancing heavenward.
'Holy. Train road holy?'
Lawrie Tatum winced. 'I'm not sure what you're asking,' he said pleadingly.
'All white man road. .” Kicking Bird said and made a circling motion with both arms. 'All white man road holy?'
'Is the white man's road holy?'
'Hmmm,' nodded Kicking Bird.
Lawrie Tatum thought to himself a few moments, and the more he thought the more he realized how profound Kicking Bird's question was. The Comanche was asking if what the white man had to offer was righteous, and in the Quaker's mind there could only be one answer.
'Yes,' he answered firmly, 'I believe it is. The white man's road is holy.'
'Hmmm,' Kicking Bird grunted. The exact outlines of the question and its answer were something he had yet to grasp fully, but he was quite satisfied with the exchange.
Lawrie Tatum had questions, too. He wanted to know where Kicking Bird lived, how many people were in his village, if he was married, if he had children. When Kicking Bird told him he was married to three women, Friend Tatum's eyes grew big and he held up three fingers to make sure he understood. Kicking Bird nodded and a look of concern passed over the Quaker's face.
'Wives bad?' Kicking Bird asked.
'No,' Lawrie Tatum replied. 'White man have one. . one wife. . no more.”
Kicking Bird nodded that he understood but was perplexed at the idea. How any race could prosper under such a harsh restriction he could not understand.
The line of questioning ended there as did many others. Given the limit of words and signs there was no way to delve deeper and the remainder of the talk was a battle of simple questions.
Lawrie Tatum was by nature more aggressive and animated, and though Kicking Bird burned to ask about many important things, like the buffalo and the soldier fort and how it might be that Comanche or Kiowas could follow the white man's holy road, his deliberations were often cut short by the little white man's persistent
