To hell with it.

  He would get drunk. Only God knew how much blood was going to be spilled on the Buffalo Steppes before the arrival of the first snows.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Another short, but important meeting took place the next afternoon at Fort Buffalo. This session, however, was more clandestine, and no subterfuge was involved. The two participants knew exactly what they wanted to accomplish and shared that aim. For that reason, they spoke frankly with each other without innuendos or guarded remarks.

  Senator Osmond Torrance and Colonel Ned Wheatfall got together in the politician’s quarters in officers’ row. The two talked while Harvey Puffer stood by the open window to make sure no one came close enough to hear the conversation. It was too warm outside to close up the building in which the two were situated. If a passerby appeared, the diminutive secretary would clear his throat as a signal. Torrance and Wheatfall then stopped talking and waited until Puffer nodded his head to indicate it was all clear.

  “An army post is a hard place to find privacy,” Wheatfall remarked after the fifth interruption. “It don’t take long to find out ever’ secret in a regiment.” He chuckled, adding, “O’course that means which sergeant is diddling which other sergeant’s ol’ lady. Haw!”

  Although Wheatfall had taken on a snootful during the session with Major Devlin, he showed no ill effects. In fact, he did some more serious drinking from the senator’s private stock as they sat around the table in the politician’s quarters.

  Torrance smiled. “A military community is one in which most pretenses are ripped away once you get past the pomp and ceremony.”

  Wheatfall took two quick swallows of bourbon, then wiped his mouth. “I been meaning to ask you, Senator. How’re you doing on keeping that beef ration cut?”

  “There will be no problem, Ned,” Torrance assured him. “My contacts in the Indian Bureau are most cooperative if the right amount of influence and money is spread about. For that reason, I can personally guarantee that hunger is going to drive those Indians to even more desperate measures.”

  “I don’t think they’ll go on the warpath again,” Wheatfall said. “At least not for a while, since ol’ Devlin went out there and wiped out the last bunch. They got a lotta fear and respect for that feller, so they ain’t gonna tangle with him afore they think about it first.”

  “We don’t need any more killings to justify taking action against the Kiwotas,” Torrance informed him. “The reason I had you and your men legally set up as territorial militia was to give you the opportunity to strike against any Indian hunting parties that wander off the reservation.”

  “Which is what they’ll have to do to find buffalo,” Wheatfall said.

  “The fact that they’ve already raided outside this area provides us with an inarguable license to attack them,” Torrance explained. “You can defend your actions by claiming they started the trouble. Therefore, all you have to do is wait for the right opportunity, then begin annihilating that tribe.”

  “I ain’t got enough men to take on the whole tribe at once,” Wheatfall said. “But I won’t have to. They’ll be broke down into small groups when they head out to find buffalo. Me and the boys can pretty much knock ’em off little by little.” He became thoughtful for a few moments. “Come to think of it, even if we find a group of ’em on the reservation, we can still attack ’em. Like you said, all we got to do is say that they went at us first.”

  “An excellent observation, Ned,” Torrance said. “I’ll leave those situations up to you.”

  “I’ll see to it, don’t worry none,” Wheatfall promised. “I can take any situations that arise one at a time.”

  “I want the job done by the end of summer if at all possible,” Torrance said.

  Wheatfall shook his head. “Can’t be done, Senator. I’m sorry as hell, but things ain’t gonna move quite that fast around here. Particularly on account o’ that Paxton feller.”

  Torrance nodded. “You’re right, of course. But do your best, Ned.”

  “You can count on me for that,” Wheatfall said. “Most of the job will be did before the first snowfall.” He narrowed his eyes and looked into Torrance’s face. “What’s the rush, anyhow?”

  “That’s not for you to worry about, Ned,” Torrance said. “All you have to do is succeed.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Wheatfall said. “Here’s to success and happy hunting. And Injun killing, too!”

  Torrance smiled, raising his own glass. “An appropriate toast, Colonel Wheatfall.”

  Senator Osmond Torrance stayed around Fort Buffalo for only three more days. He conducted some informal and hasty investigations into conditions at the post, using Major Harold Pendergrass as a guide and adviser. Then he suddenly abandoned any more inquiries and announced his departure. After packing up, he and Harvey Puffer left for Fort Snelling to begin the trip back to civilization.

  Meanwhile, Gilbert Paxton and his wife Rachel, quickly settled in an area between Fort Buffalo and the agency store. Besides a large amount of supplies, they had also brought with them a handyman and assistant named George Fenwick, a milk cow, some chickens, and a few pigs. It was obvious to everyone that they had come to settle in for a long, serious stay on the Buffalo Steppes.

  Although the Paxtons were childless, they quickly took the two rescued children into their own care. This was because the orphans’ parents had also been members of the Mission of Indian Reform.

  The little ones’ names were Oren and Naomi Duncan, and they were seven and five years of age respectively. After getting over the shock of the terrible experience of seeing their parents and the other adults in the wagon train murdered and violated, they were inconsolable and almost hysterical at times, suffering from nightmares that brought them awake, shrieking in the middle of the night.

  Then, just as suddenly, they began to ease back to normalcy as if forgetting the horrors of the event. By the time they moved in with the Paxtons, they seemed perfectly ordinary children.

  The one thing the Mission of Indian Reform had supplied the Paxtons that far outstripped that of the Indian agency or even the army was generous funding. Through the monies allotted by their organization, the couple was able to hire soldier-craftsmen to aid George the handyman in working for them during off-duty hours. Through these laborers, the Paxton compound soon consisted of a well-made house, a school, a small dormitory complete with wooden bed frames built three tiers high, a small corral for the cow and pigs, and a respectable chicken yard complete with a roost.

  When all that was completed, Mr. and Mrs. Paxton were ready to go to work. The first order of business was for the husband to make a call on Fred Jeffries in his quarters.

  He rode his mule over to the scout’s place. As he rode up, he could see Jeffries sitting in front idly whittling on a stick while his Cheyenne wife tended to chores in the yard. Paxton and Jeffries had met briefly after the patrol’s return a few weeks previously.

  Paxton dismounted. “Good day to you, Mr. Jeffries.”

  “Howdy,” Jeffries replied. He was curious as to why the visitor had come calling. He continued his casual knife work and waited for Paxton to speak.

  Paxton nodded politely to the woman Moon Deer. “Good day to you, Miz Jeffries.”

  Moon Deer, not acknowledging the visitor’s presence, kept to her work of laying out strips of elk meat on a handmade rack to dry.

  Paxton decided this was not a place to waste time on convention or ceremony. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeffries, if you would be interested in employment with the Mission of Indian Reform.”

  “I’m already a contract scout for the U.S. of A. Army,” Jeffries replied.

  “I assure you that working for us will not interfere with your employment by the military,” Paxton said. “We only require you part-time and are willing to pay you fifty dollars a month for your services.”

  Jeffries gave the man a narrow-eyed look. “What kinda services, Mr. Paxton? I noticed you got a cow and pigs and chicken. I ain’t much on looking after livestock.”

  “Oh, nothing like that, I assure you,” Paxton said. “I need you to act as a translator to begin with. Your services in that line will be necessary so I might tell the Kiwotas about the school my wife and I have set up. We want to urge their children to attend.”

  Jeffries rubbed his chin and frowned. “Just what in hell are you gonna teach them Injun kids?”

  “Well, the English language to begin with,” Paxton said. “Along with that would be reading and writing as well as lessons in simple arithmetic. That’s the school work. In addition, we shall teach the boys how to farm and tend animals. Such skills as sewing, cooking, and housekeeping would be imparted to the girls by Mrs. Paxton.”

  “Them Injun girls already know how to sew and cook,” Jeffries said. “They also know how to butcher, skin, take care o’ the camp, and other things.”

  “We’ll transfer those skills into more civilized methods so they’ll be able to live in regular houses and adapt themselves to civilized lives,” Paxton said.

  Jeffries stopped whittling. “Are you trying to tell me you’re planning on turning them Kiwota boys into farmers and herders? Is that what y’all are out here for?” Jeffries asked.

  “Certainly,” Paxton answered.

  “They’re more inclined to hunt and fight,” Jeffries informed him. “It’s right natural for ’em. You got to remember, Mr. Paxton, that them Kiwotas has been follering their own ways for a god-awful amount o’ time.”

  “That will be changed, sir, through education and enlightenment,” Paxton said. “It is the purpose of the Mission of Indian Reform to turn those Indian children into a new generation of civilized beings who will find happiness and fulfillment in the white man’s world.”

  Jeffries chuckled. “Hell! That’s more’n I ever did.” Then he added, “Outside o’ the army and the frontier, that is.”

  “I believe in equality for all, sir,” Paxton said in a firm voice. “If I didn’t, I would not be a follower and practitioner of the philosophy of the Mission of Indian Reform. Nor would I be offering you a position.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Paxton,” Jeffries said. “I really do. But I don’t see how in hell you’re gonna get them Kiwotas to send their kids to your school.”

  “The children will live there and have plenty to eat,” Paxton said. “Their health will also be looked after.”

  Jeffries was thoughtful. “That might induce ’em during these hard times when the buffalo is scarce and the beef rations ain’t been what they’re supposed to be.”

  “We also will have them forced to comply with our demands,” Paxton added. “This is being worked out right now in Washington City. But we really would prefer to use persuasion. Attitudes are most important in a situation like this.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Jeffries said. “But I can tell you here and now that having their boys changed into dirt farmers ain’t gonna be took kindly to by them warriors.”

  “No matter what, I fully intend to carry out that plan,” Paxton said. “Now, sir, do you accept employment with me or not?”

  “I do, Mr. Paxton,” Jeffries said. “But I advise you to wait about a week before going over there. The Injuns is still upset about them warriors that was killed. It’s been damn near a month now, so a few more days should cool things down even more.”

  “Very well, Mr. Jeffries,” Paxton said. “I shall follow your counsel with great appreciation.” He went to his mule and mounted up. “We’ll go to the village a week from today.”

  “That’ll be fine, Mr. Paxton,” Jeffries said. “A good day to you, sir.”

  During that week, the life at Fort Buffalo continued on in an uneasy atmosphere. The Kiwotas, obviously upset, made several angry appearances at the agency to inquire after the beef issue. Each time, the Indians were sent away while armed dragoons kept a close eye on the proceedings.

  Colonel Wheatfall was anxious to get into action. He had his men of the territorial militia set up a bivouac behind the trading post. Since they could not provoke or attack the Indians so close to Fort Buffalo without challenging Major Devlin’s federal authority, they refrained from interfering or taking part in any of the activity.

  Wheatfall, with five years of military service under his belt, instilled a slightly different kind of discipline on his men. He taught them the rudiments of drill, and although they didn’t really look the part of soldiers, the buffalo hunters did learn how to tramp around in unison, keeping in step and maintaining a loose, but cohesive formation while doing so. Finally, after teaching them to ride in as close a manner to the army as possible, the colonel broke camp and, taking his rag tag troops, disappeared from sight. He led his militia unit to an unknown place or places on the prairie.

  Major Devlin didn’t know whether to be happy about being rid of the riffraff or to worry about what they might be up to under their villainous leader.

  Gilbert Paxton, excited and enthused about his own work, took no notice of other goings-on in the vicinity of his mission school. Exactly a week from the day he visited Fred Jeffries, the reformer reappeared at the black man’s residence. Jeffries was waiting for him.

  “I already let the Kiwotas know we’re coming over,” the scout said. “The tribal council is gonna be waiting for us.”

  “Thank you most kindly, Mr. Jeffries,” Paxton said. “Your efficiency is well-appreciated.”

  The pair made the ride to the village, crossing the prairie and leaving behind all signs of civilization. The Kiwotas were located at a bend in Castor Creek. They hadn’t been there long, and the area was quite pleasant.

  Jeffries glanced over at his companion. “You reckon them Injuns is gonna want to give this up to move into houses and work their butts off plowing and planting?”

  Paxton nodded his head with an expression of supreme confidence. “Believe me, Mr. Jeffries, we know what’s best for them.”

  Jeffries stopped and dismounted at the edge of the lodges. Paxton followed his example, and they walked into the village, leading their animals. They went straight to the center of the Kiwota camp to find three of the tribal leaders waiting for them.

  War Heart, quiet and withdrawn for a long time, still looked the part of a fierce warrior. With him were the medicine man, Lightning Tree, and an older man called Many Snows.

  After Jeffries and Paxton secured their mounts, they approached the trio. The scout spoke to them in the Kiwota language while other members of the tribe began to gather around. Several of the women bore healing wounds on their arms where they had slashed themselves as part of the mourning ceremony for the warriors killed by Devlin and his patrol.

  “I greet you and bring somebody for you to meet,” he began. “His name is Paxton.” He then introduced the Indians to the reformer, using their names in English.

  “I am pleased to know you,” Paxton said for Jeffries to translate.

  “What does he want?” War Heart asked.

  “He wants to be friends with the People,” Jeffries replied.

  “Why?” War Heart asked. Although he had considered Running Wolf as having about as much sense as a rutting buffalo bull during the mating season, he had always harbored a great affection for the young man. The veteran war chief had been greatly saddened by his death.

  “He wants to help you and make your lives easier,” Jeffries said. “He has built a school where he wants your children to live and learn. He can teach them many things so they can walk the white man’s road.”

  “Why?” War Heart once again asked.

  Jeffries turned to Paxton. “War Heart wants to know how’s come you’re gonna take them kids down the white man’s road?”

  “Tell him that someday all the Indians will follow the white man’s road,” Paxton said. “We offer them a better life in which they can produce their own food and not have to depend on hunting to keep from starving. We will teach them many skills that will allow the entire tribe to have an easier existence out here. Soon, instead of lodges, they will all live in comfortable houses.”

  Many Snows laughed after the words were translated. “How can we move around? Nobody can put a white man’s house on a travois.”

  Paxton replied that the Kiwotas would not move again. They would settle permanently in one spot and be happy there. The Indians’ reaction to the words was a mass expression of astonishment.

  War Heart frowned. “Why don’t you try to teach us to live in the lakes or rivers? That is as silly as staying in one place and never leaving it.”

  Paxton, well-trained by his organization, decided to go to the heart of the matter. “Tell them that for every family that sends a child to our school, we will give them a cow.”

  Jeffries was surprised. “The government ain’t been able to do that, Mr. Paxton. How’re you gonna get any cattle?”

  “We can,” Paxton said confidently. “And tell them that they needn’t send any children over until they get their animals. Along with that, we have flour, sugar, coffee, and tobacco we will give them with the cattle.”

  Jeffries translated the words, and the hungry Indians now took interest. The Kiwotas talked among themselves for a few moments with the spectators making appropriate comments at them.

  Many Snows asked, “Will you give us whiskey?”

  “No!” was the firm reply.

  A few more questions were asked until they all fully understood the children would have to live at the school and stay there. Finally, they all agreed, yet the medicine man was not completely happy.

  Lightning Tree stood up and looked into Paxton’s face. “There are serious things Indians must do or their souls will die,” he said. “They must purify themselves from time to time. When young people are ready to become adults, there are spiritual things that must be done or they will have weak medicine. That means illness or death in battle and bad hunting for everyone. How can the children go through those ceremonies if they are living over by the soldiers and the agency in your lodges?”

  Paxton smiled after Jeffries told him what the shaman had said. “Tell him that the children’s spiritual needs will not be neglected.”

 

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