Nowhere Ch 3 - The Sacred Raid

He called them with the same magic that brings the fog in the morning or a thunderstorm on a hot summer afternoon. They came from the reservation. They came from hiding places deep in canyons or high in mountains. They came because he was the War Chief. and before they passed from the world, they wanted to go on one last raid. They were the moisture in the earth or the charge in the sky before a storm. They came because they wanted to be released. At Fort Sill, he was forced to live in a canvas tent, because they would not allow him to build a wikiup. Many of the people had moved into poorly built houses that the Indian agents had provided for them. As if going tame would save them. As if it would let them forget how the white man had hunted them, driven them from their homes, crushed them in a war without honor or skill or bravery. Just a relentless press of men and weapons devoid of cunning. No one would ever sing songs about how the cavalry defeated the Indians. It was a sad, shameful thing. But Goyaate knew that as long as men told tales of battle they would recount what he and his warriors had done. Still, they had lost. And now the tribes were learning to wear the white man’s clothes and sleep in the same ugly place for year after year. An Apache was meant to wander in mountains and his soul died when he didn't. In twos and threes they had come, through the early spring. Braves he knew brought with them younger men he didn't. In this way had come Black Knife, Loco, Delgado, Coleto and Ponce. When they squatted they did not talk of the ones who did not come or the ones who would never raid again because they had ridden on into the unknown. They spoke of the weather and what they had heard from travelers, of the hope that the Buffalo would return and the knowledge that they would not. Vittorio told him of a fine rifle he had hidden away from the soldiers and how good it was to hunt with. Little Delgatito complained about his wives. At the end, they all had the same question: when are we leaving? To them Goyaate said, “I think I will stay a little bit longer.” To this each man answered. “Then I will stay a little longer too.” And by this, he knew they were with him. Rumors spread among the people. But this was always the way with people who stay in one place. They grow weak and prone to gossip and other evils. The rumors even made their way to Major Thomason. So he told Captain Evans, to go and speak with Goyaate and learn his mind. Captain Evans was eager. He had come west only after all the fighting was over, so he did not know who he was talking to. He had heard the stories about the man, but he did not believe them. No one who had not fought against Goyaate would believe them. Goyaate squatted in the dirt in front of his tent, playing with stones beside a barely guttering fire. The Captain walked up to him, his freshly shined boots collecting flecks of dust and ash as he approached. He wasted no time on pleasantries and spoke his mind straight away. A good quality in a warrior, thought Goyaate. "There are rumors that you are growing restless, sir. That you will attempt to raid.” Goyaate shrugged and said, “People who live in houses have much time to talk." He swept up a handful of stones and began to lay them out in the dirt. "We do not know each other, sir,” said Captain Evans, “There is no bond of friendship between us, but I do implore you, honor your agreement and stay put." Goyaate said nothing, now arranging the stones in a circle around a few stones in the center. When he was done he swept the shape away with his hand again. The Captain continued, “Have your people not suffered enough? What point to lead more young men to their death, sir?" Goyaate now counted the stones out by three. There were 26 stones so there was a group of two left at the end. Goyaate shook his head and muttered disappointment. "So you will not raid, sir? You give me your word?" Goyaate looked up. The young man had ruined it by speaking too much. Goyaate stared at him a long, long time before he said, “It is not our way to be in such a hurry." Captain Evans nodded and left, saying more empty and foolish words before he went. The Captain felt sad that the mighty warrior had been reduced to a foolish old man playing in the dirt. When the major asked him what Goyaate was doing when the Captain found him the Evans replied, "playing with pebbles the way small children play with marbles. I found no fight in him, sir. In fact, I suspect that his mind might be going." The Major nodded and dismissed the Captain. Before returning to his billet, the Captain rode a half a mile out of his way and used his spyglass to check on what the old War Chief was doing. He saw that Goyaate still squatted on the ground and played with stones. Evans shut the telescope with a snap. He shook his head and wondered how one ignorant savage could've caused so much trouble for the governments of both United States and Mexico. Next to his dying fire, Goyaate rearranged his stones again, but still he had two left over. Bad luck. Threes were strong magic, fours were even stronger, but twos… bad luck. A new shadow fell across the stones. Goyaate looked up slowly and saw that it was Red Sleeve, an old man who had been chief of his own tribe of Apache. Now his tribe was scattered, mostly dead, and they were both prisoners here on a military reservation. Goyaate looked at the old chief and thought, not for the first time, that it would have been kinder for the white man to have killed them all, and that they had left them to die here as the worst punishment of all. It was said that when Ussen made the lands and the people that he made each land fit for each people, with climate and food and herbs to suit them so they could flourish. And that when you took a people from their land, as they had taken the Apache to this Oklahoma, the people would grow sick and weak. This had happened to all of the Apache here at Fort Sill, and the lines in Red Sleeve’s face now looked like they were cut there by a knife instead of old age Red Sleeve squatted and said, “When you leave, I will go with you." Goyaate said, “The warpath will be hard, and you are a great warrior grown old. Maybe it is better if you tend the fires and pass your stories on to the next generation.” Red Sleeve laughed bitterly, “They have destroyed us. I think there will be no more Apache, only tame Indians, captive on the reservations." Then he tossed a small stone into the pile with the others. He said, "I think I will die soon but I do not think I will die here.” He looked at the bleak plain around with its ragged tents and clapboard shacks, “This is not a good place to die.” Goyaate saw it then. Twenty-four stones, in six groups of four on the ground before him. There was power in it. He could see the stones as warriors on a raid, a flowing formation that would shift naturally to take advantage of every enemy weakness. Goyaate said, "I have stayed long enough. We will leave tomorrow night, after the moon has set.” --- The next night, Goyaate and his men, built two fires in a low place, out of the wind, that could not be seen from the Fort. They sang the old songs, danced the opening to war, even though many of them were stiff and old. Had there been any young Braves left they would have laughed at the old man creaking and slow. Some, like Red Sleeve, teetered more than turned, and none of them whirled as they raised their voices. But if anyone who looked into the old man’s eyes, he would not have laughed. They had all traveled the sacred warpath and honored it with the blood of many foes. Many times had Goyaate led them as War Chief and Goyaate had always come back. Many of those who had followed him had died. But all who died had found a good death. The old men knew there was no good death to be had on the reservation. The dancing stopped and Goyaate spoke, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind and the crackling fire. He spoke of the unstoppable waves of th… This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit patrickemclean.substack.com