warriors.
The scouts were ordered to locate a dead-end canyon large enough to accommodate the Indian ponies. In less than an hour a suitable place, with high walls on one side and an elevated ridge on the other, was discovered, and Bad Hand ordered the ponies driven inside.
More than a hundred men were ordered to surround the herd. Dozens of cartridge boxes were positioned along the line of soldiers and, as afternoon shadows began to stretch over the cold, brittle landscape, the order to commence firing was given.
At the height of the slaughter, the riflemen had wavered. Some had thrown down their weapons and a few had been overcome with nausea, but the incapacitated were quickly replaced with fresh shooters. The plunging, shrieking mass of ponies diminished rapidly, and by last light, no movement could be discerned in the box canyon now filled with the bodies, two or three deep in some places.
As he was eating dinner, a mixed group of civilians and Tonkawas reported that the hostiles had disappeared, confirming the general's suspicion that they were after the horses, and that night Bad Hand settled into one of the deepest, most peaceful sleeps he had ever enjoyed.
A few scattered and impotent bands might wander the prairie a while longer, but, for all practical purposes, the conquest of the southern plains was complete.
Chapter LXIII
Less than two weeks after the battle in the canyon, on the plains west of Fort Sill, a safe-escort team of warriors met the bedraggled, starving, destitute remains of what had once been a grand confederation of Comanches and Kiowas.
That same afternoon, one hundred and forty-six men, women, and children, many of them former residents of Ten Bears' village, marched drearily past flanking columns of expressionless soldiers. Among them were White Bear, Smiles A Lot, Rabbit, Hunting For Something, the Owl Prophet family, and Wind In His Hair's widow, One Braid Trailing, Stands With A Fist, Snake In Hands, Always Walking, and Stays Quiet were there, too, buried deep in the group that filed through the post.
At first Stands With A Fist had been adamant in her refusal to come into the reservation, saying that she and her children would die before they repeated the experience of Jacksboro. The other women unanimously vowed that they would give their lives before they would let the whites take her or her children, and Stands with A Fist relented, deciding at last that she would rather live out her life as a captive Indian than a free white.
Without prompting, Kicking Bird and his followers kept Stands With A Fist's secret, but that proved to be the least of the former medicine man's trouble.
When news of the circumstances under which Ten Bears had died spread through the lodges of the former hostiles, Kicking Bird's reputation plummeted. Owl Prophet told anyone who listened that Kicking Bird's infatuation with the whites and their dubious magic had caused Ten Bears' death. From there it was a short leap to making Kicking Bird personally responsible for the collapse of Comanche life, and with that, lines were quickly drawn between the two men. They refused to speak to each other and avoided all contact.
The reservation's inhabitants were divided into two camps, one that would listen to Kicking Bird and one that would not, and a grating antagonism between the groups became a predictable aspect of daily life.
The intractability of the new residents might have been overcome but their free-roaming ways could not, and shortly after their arrival it was evident that they would not stay put.
The warriors, especially the youngest of them, could not be dissuaded from leaving at their own whim to hunt and raid in secrecy. No matter how carefully they were monitored, gangs of young men regularly slipped on and off their prescribed territory creating a level of instability that dashed the white-devised system to failure.
Kicking Bird, in addition to his other duties, seemed constantly en route between the lodges of the former hostiles and the headquarters of the soldiers. His tribesmen were rarely pacified, and it was not often that the military could be convinced to relax their rules, but Kicking Bird kept on, certain that his presence was the main impediment to bloodshed between the factions.
As weeks of negotiation turned into months, the optimistic resolve of Lawrie Tatum was gradually smothered. Like Kicking Bird, he was a man in the middle. He disapproved of the former hostiles, attitude and quickly hardened his stance against those who had stayed out, saying that anyone who could not adhere to the rules must be subject to punishment.
At the same time, he found his influence with white authority trickle down to nothing. He did not possess the power to right any wrongs. All he could do was complain, and two months after the last big battle, he resigned in frustration and returned to his family in Iowa.
The little Quaker was replaced by a quiet, complacent man named Parsifel, who was so ineffectual that Kicking Bird quickly realized that all semblance of an advocate had departed with the little bald man who had been his friend.
A month later, during a period of relative calm, Bad Hand commanded all warriors to present themselves on the parade ground in front of his headquarters, and as they gathered, Kicking Bird and Agent Parsifel were called into Bad Hand's house for a council.
'My government has decided to punish those responsible for attacking the army's corn train last summer,' Bad Hand announced.
'Many are dead,' Kicking Bird countered.
'The government only wishes to punish the living,' Bad Hand replied humorlessly.
'What is the punishment?' Kicking Bird inquired
“Incarceration.'
'For how long?'
'That has yet to be determined.'
There was a long silence as Kicking Bird searched for a way to diffuse the impending catastrophe, but all he was able to do was ask more questions.
'Who will be punished?'
'Whoever is guilty.'
'But how will you know that?'
'I want Kicking Bird to go outside and tell the guilty men to show themselves.'
'They will not do that,' Kicking Bird said flatly.
'Let's go outside,' Bad Hand said, rising out of his chair.
As Kicking Bird predicted not a single man stepped forward. Bad Hand had the government's order repeated, and still no one moved.
“You leave me no choice,' he said to Kicking Bird. Then he turned to one of his officers and gave the order for twenty-five men to be selected from the warrior ranks.
'Wait,' Kicking Bird interrupted and Bad Hand called back his officer.
'The men who go must take their families,' Kicking Bird demanded.
'All right,' Bad Hand agreed.
'There will be fighting if the families do not go.”
'The families will go,” Bad Hand reiterated, extending a hand, which Kicking Bird took. “All right, Captain. .”
'No,' said Kicking Bird.
He stared into Bad Hand's eyes, then scanned the lines of warriors. 'I will pick them.”
Kicking Bird did his best, selecting a blend of chronic troublemakers and strong young men whose responsibilities were small to be sent to the faraway white man's prison.
