Murder at Medicine Lodge Read Online Free PDF Page A

long time because of the way those men laughed.
    *   *   *
    I was led to a place where an impressive number of men had already gathered, all of them listening to White Bear.
    â€œWe will go to the Blue Jacket camp, let them see our greatness. A little fear in their hearts before the peace talks begin is a good thing.”
    â€œWhat about Lone Wolf?” someone asked.
    White Bear’s expression became sour, his eyes fixing on the one asking the question. Any reminder that Lone Wolf was the rightfully elected principal chief irked White Bear. His was the firm conviction that if the election had had only two candidates—meaning himself and Lone Wolf—and had not been split by a third candidate, Kicking Bird—that he would have won the majority of votes. But Kicking Bird had been a candidate, and the contesting between the two old rivals had been ugly. The thing White Bear would never admit was that he and Kicking Bird both had been guilty of name-slurring. By staying well out of their bickering, Lone Wolf had managed to win the election without ever having to say a campaigning word. But, true to form, White Bear blamed Kicking Bird, and in turn Kicking Bird blamed White Bear.
    â€œLone Wolf has nothing to do with this,” White Bear declared. “He may be the chief over all of us, but he runs no one. It is every man’s born-to right to say where he will go and where he will not go.”
    White Bear’s statement produced a round of men softly grunting, “Hau,” meaning yes. Then White Bear angled his head and looked in my direction.
    â€œTay-bodal, you will ride beside me.”
    â€œMe?” I cried. “Why should I go? The sight of me will impress no one.”
    Normally this form of sniveling made White Bear smile. Unless the conceit belonged to him or his favorite nephew, The Cheyenne Robber, White Bear loathed braggarts. But this time he was having nothing to do with suitably humble pronouncements. Moving through the crowd of men like the bear for which he was named, he came to stand before me, looming like a bulky shadow. As he spoke, his pointy finger jabbed my bare chest.
    â€œYou have lived among the Blue Jackets,” he said through clenched teeth. “You can advise me. So you will ride on one side of me and Skywalker on the other.” With a broad wave of his arms he bellowed, “That’s all I have to say.”
    Still looking for a means of escape, I stammered, “I—I walked here. I have no horse.”
    â€œThen you will use one of my horses,” he scoffed. “The worst of mine are better than the best of yours.” He then looked me up and down, saying almost to himself, “And something must be done about your appearance.”
    When a beefy arm slung itself around my shoulders, I knew I was thoroughly trapped. And afraid.
    For, you see, the days I had lived among the Blue Jackets could be counted on the fingers of one hand and for over half those days I had been gravely ill, recovering from wounds suffered in an attempt on my life. The Blue Jacket doctor, Haw-we-sun, had saved my life, but while I was his patient, I had also been his prisoner. I had not, as White Bear chose to believe, roamed freely among the soldiers during my short time in their encampment in the Wichita Mountains, a place we Kiowa called Medicine Bluffs. For the first five years of its life, before it became known as Fort Sill, this most famous fort was nothing more than rows of tents and three log buildings. One building belonged to the commander, the second was for the supply store. The smallest building was Haw-we-sun’s little doctoring house. The whole time I was there, I had barely ventured farther than the porch of Hawwy’s little house, and so I had no idea just how White Bear believed I could advise him.
    *   *   *
    I felt overdressed for the occasion, wearing clothing borrowed from Skywalker, and