Woman of the People

9. The Offer of Nine Horses

9. THE OFFER OF NINE HORSES SOMETIMES a piercing loneliness came through her from viewing the skies in the summer nights. The other women of the lodge wanted skins over their beds, or a thick leaf roof, but she would move away a little distance to be under open sky, seeking some nameless comfort. If sleep did not come, or any thoughts to occupy her, and if the moon lay up in her place, distant and silent, then she might be taken in by the sad solitude . The companionship of the women during the day would be forgotten and her hoped-for reunion with something called whites would become tenuous and unreal. What were they, the whites? Did they exist at all? She would feel that she was the only living person on an earth that stretched away for mute distances, that the sky and earth were one thing held together by moonlight, that she had no one to turn to, but must face all the emptiness by herself. Sometimes it was almost too much to bear. Then she might rise and pull her robe over nearer the other women, where she could hear their breathing. If, then, Old Woman started to snore, it seemed a comfort and a good thing. For several winters the band had been out of direct touch with northern Comanches. They had heard rumors of new 152 153 THE OFFER OF NINE HORSES white forts, of a strange new thing called a fire wagon or train, of fighting and treaties, of white buffalo hunters. The rumors were vague, not worthy of belief. But into their camp on the headwaters of Lodgepole River came a delegation of three Indians who claimed to know the truth of these matters. The visitors were two Comanches, one so fat that he had difficulty dismounting from his horse, and one Kiowa. They wore strange trousers and shirts made of cloth. After they had been recognized, they took the feathers out of their hair and put on black hats such as the white man wears. They wanted a council. Ute Killer sent word around, but when the men gathered, there were too many of them to sit in the chief's big tipi. As they moved out into the midday sunlight, some angry voices rose, from words already spoken by the visitors. In a short time the entire band had gathered, because of the commotion , crowding and tiptoeing to see what was going on. "Let's be quiet," Ute Killer said. "What do you fellows expect? What can we believe when you come around saying crazy things, especially dressed like that? What is your band?" "I'm of the great Nawkoni," the skinny Comanche said. "I'm of the great Yamparika," the fat one said. "Are you a Kiowa?" Ute Killer asked the other. He answered in the tongue of the People without accent, "I certainly am. And I expect my brothers to treat me with respect when I come into their village." "You have respect. You have respect. I'm not criticizing your clothes either, even if I don't understand them. We just want to know whom we're talking to. For a minute we thought you sounded like Penatuhkas. Also, please talk straight so we can understand you." Some warrior called out, "Have them start over, Ute Killer." "Start from the first," Ute Killer said. The three looked at one another. Finally the skinny one said, "We're not looking for trouble. You seem to think we're looking for trouble." "Well, just start from the first and see if you can explain it." A WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE 154 "It starts with the Treaty of Timber Hill. Can you understand that much?" "I don't know," Ute Killer said. "What does it have to do with us?" "It's the last treaty. They say it's the very last treaty for all time. There will be no more." "Well, I can understand that much. If you want to know the truth, it makes me happy to know that all the treaty nonsense is finished." "But it's not finished. They say the Treaty of Timber Hill will stand. That's the point. It's the last one. No more breaking treaties on either side, then going to war, then making more treaties." "We've never made a treaty with the whites nor broken one. Why...