A single candle lit the area around the front pews of the Church of Christian Worship in Hope Wells. It was late in the evening, and Pastor Hezekiah Woodward had called a special meeting of Deacon Leo Horton and the three lay brothers Farley Dempsey, Ed Turnbull and Zeke Mason. The pastor had just revealed the purchase of fifty rifles with church funds.
Ed was confused. “Why’d you do that, Pastor?”
Hezekiah knew his answer would be difficult to explain to the brothers. “They was bought for the Apaches on the reservation.”
The blacksmith Farley Dempsey was shaken. “You gave rifles to them Apache Injuns? For the love of God why?”
“The weapons were requested by the Prophet, Brother Farley,” Hezekiah calmly replied.
“That’s the Injun that’s a kind of preacher, ain’t it?” Zeke inquired.
Leo, as calm as the pastor, smiled serenely and answered, “That’s right.”
“But he ain’t a Christian, is he?” Zeke asked.
“Nope,” Leo replied. “He’s a savage heathen.”
Zeke’s dismay was obviously increasing. “Well, I sure don’t like the idea of giving them guns to Apaches. It wasn’t much more’n five or six years ago they was raising hell around here.” He paused in thought for a brief moment. “What kind of rifles are they?”
Hezekiah answered, “They’re Henry repeaters.”
Zeke yelled, “You gave Henry repeating rifles to them Apaches?”
“That’s right,” Hezekiah stated. “And the prophet said they’re gonna be used to kill whites!”
Ed Turnbull leaped to his feet. “Hezekiah! You just started an Injun war!”
Farley Dempsey struggled to calm down. “I know you must’ve had a good reason for what you done, Hezekiah. Will you tell us why you think it was a good idea? Will you do that? Please!”
“I want ever’body to relax,” Hezekiah stated. “Ever’thing I do, is a commandment from the Good Lord. He said that if I kept the faith and go on with the grand plan of the second coming just like I’m told to do, the Injuns won’t even think about killing whites. Instead, at the right time when a roar of thunder and lightning split the sky, they’ll point them guns in the air and shoot just once. The blasts of them rifles will kill all the sinners all over the world. And the righteous will be brought up to heaven.”
Now the three brothers stared in awe at their spiritual shepherd. Farley exclaimed, “God bless you, Pastor Hezekiah!”
“This is surely a miracle,” Zeke declared.
Ed sobbed, “I am so happy to be a part of the second coming. When I think I’ll be able to look into my Savior’s face, I—” He began weeping so hard that he couldn’t say another word.
Hezekiah was also overcome. “Bow your heads, deacon and brothers. Let’s give thanks to the Almighty for this miracle in the great plan he has laid out for his people.”
The sun had traveled west off the Tierra Brava and was fast sinking into the horizon. The Kiowa-Comanche Detachment along with Dennis O’Rourke, Kawa and Istee were mounted and ready to begin their nocturnal march.
Mack Hawkins had already explained to the detachment there were numerous arroyos, canyons and gulches throughout the desert. Most had no water, but some had small springs where the precious liquid oozed up through the soil. He ended the short briefing, saying, “So don’t guzzle the water in your canteens. There’s a good chance we might go two or three days without being able to refill ‘em.”
The desert sky was cloudless as it usually was, allowing the moon to cast a weak illumination over the landscape. Everyone had been careful to arrange their saddles and equipment so that there would be no bumping or rattling of gear as the horses plodded through the sandy soil. Night patrols in Indian country had to be done as quietly as possible. If the native people didn’t hear you, their dogs sure as hell would.
Hawkins with the two Apaches rode at the head of the column. Ludlow Dooley, accompanied by Red Moon and Michael, brought up the rear. After an hour, Kawa and Istee called a halt. They knew of some ravines that lay ahead that were good places to stash stolen horses. The others waited while the pair dismounted and walked slowly ahead, leading their mounts. They disappeared into the gloom for nearly a half hour before returning.
“No find nothing,” Kawa announced.
The column resumed the search, stopping and waiting several times while their escorts moved silently forward into the night. At one halt, Hawkins, Ludlow and Dennis O’Rourke stood close together whispering.
“I remember all those ravines,” Hawkins said. “Sometimes you couldn’t see ‘em until you almost fell into one.”
“Yeah,” O’Rourke remarked. “And most of ‘em didn’t have as much as a single drop of water.”
“That’s what’s so strange about this godamn desert,” Hawkins complained. “I always wondered where the water came from.”
Ludlow was quick to explain. “The sources are underground artesian aquifers where pressure pushes the water to the surface.”
Hawkins frowned. “Just what the hell is an aquifer, Mr. Dooley?”
“Its porous rock under the ground holding water,” Ludlow replied. “The pressure comes from subterranean streams flowing into it.”
“By God!” O’Rourke exclaimed. “That explains all that water around Hope Wells. It’s been said there’s a river underground that flows beneath the town.” He laughed. “Folks there told me if you stepped down too hard, you’d find yourself standing knee deep in fresh water.” He grinned. “I actually tried that once but nothing happened. There’s one thing for sure though; plenty of water flows along under that dirt.”
Ludlow nodded. “That’s what causes the formation of oases.”
“The Mexicans call ‘em ciénegas,” Hawkins said. “I know a thing or two myself, Mr. Dooley.”
Further conversation was interrupted when Kawa and Istee returned. “We don’t see nothing.”
The sun was beginning to pink the far eastern horizon. “Okay,” Hawkins announced. “Let’s start looking for a good place to keep out of sight through the coming day.” He turned and gestured to Sergeant Eagle Heart.
The scout reported with a snappy salute. “We look for bivouac, Cap’n?”
“We’ve got to find a depression to hide in. We’ll use the tarpaulins and shelter halves for shade. Remind everyone to go easy on the water.”
“Yes, Cap’n,” Eagle Heart replied. “Kawa and Istee tell us if water run out, we put pebble in mouths. Make spit come to mouth.”
“I hope things don’t get that bad,” Hawkins remarked.
The Apaches left the column again, then came back quickly after finding a deep incline that cut through some fifty yards of the desert terrain. They led the way back to the location, and no time was wasted in occupying the site.
Within an hour, the night’s relatively cooler temperatures were overwhelmed by the encroaching heat of the Tierra Brava. Tarpaulins were arrange to be supported by tent poles to provide shelter for the horses. Everyone appreciated the protection afforded them by cotton duck shelter halves as the sun’s waves of heat bore down on the makeshift bivouac.
The next evening, the column formed up again. When all was ready to leave the natural concealment, the same routine of the night before was begun. Kawa and Istee would forge ahead, then return with their reports. Unfortunately, they were all negative.
Later, at a bit past midnight, sounds of human voices and drums could be discerned in the far distance. It was so faint that a wisp of breeze or a horse’s snort would drown it out. Hawkins immediately signaled for everyone to be quiet.
Kawa’s keen hearing told him everything. “Guerras!’
“Mmm,” Istee said. “Far out from reservation.” He looked at Kawa. “We better take look-see.”
“I’ll go with you,” Hawkins said.
“Me too,” O’Rourke announced.
Hawkins put Ludlow in charge of the detachment, and the young lieutenant ordered Sergeant Eagle Heart to organize a perimeter guard to keep watch on all sides of the position. Meanwhile, Hawkins, O’Rourke and the two Apaches set out in the direction of the sounds.
The four men arranged themselves in a diamond formation for all around security as they led their horses across the course terrain. Their movements were slow and deliberate as they continued on toward what could be a deadly encounter with Guerras warriors.
After a quarter of an hour it was obvious they were heading toward some sort of ceremony. The reverberations were made up of conspicuous chanting being done in time to drum beats. Both Hawkins and O’Rourke, being familiar with the Apache culture, recognized it wasn’t a preparation for battle.
Another few minutes of trekking brought the sight of firelight coming from a deep arroyo. When they reached a good viewing point, Istee took the reins of the horses while the two white men and Kawa crawled up to some boulders that offered good cover. The trio gazed down to see a circle of Apache men and women with hands clasped, shuffling sideways in short steps to the rhythm of the drums.
Now Kawa could make out the meaning of the chants. He leaned close to Hawkins and O’Rourke. “They pray to the Great Life Giver to raise ghost warriors.”
O’Rourke was totally confused. “What the hell are they doing that for?”
Hawkins explained, “It’s a Ghost Dance, Dennis. In 1890 the Kiowas and Comanches held one at the agency near Fort Sill. The Indians believed that a messiah would bring back to life all the warriors killed in battles with the whites. They’d reclaim the land and buffalos that were taken from ‘em. And that’s about all I know about it.”
O’Rourke grinned. “I reckon things didn’t work out that way for ‘em, did it?”
“Nope. But it scared hell out of some of the whites. They weren’t sure if it was an Indian messiah or Jesus Christ. Also lot of white people were illiterate and superstitious, and they really believed the dead Indians would come back to life.”
“What happened?” O’Rourke asked. “Did it just peter out?”
“Yep,” Hawkins acknowledged. “But I’m not sure that’s gonna happen here. We might be facing an Indian war.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Why d’you think they stole those horses?” Hawkins asked. “When they realize the Ghost Dance is useless, they’ll prob’ly get riled up and go on the warpath anyhow. It’ll be short and brutal, and the Guerras will lose. No doubt of that.”
“Damn!” O’Rourke exclaimed. “They only got one place to attack. And that’s the town of Hope Wells. We better get back to Fort Stryker and tell Colonel Crawford what’s developing out here.”
Hawkins shook his head. “We’ve got to find those horses. Without those, the Guerras won’t be able to do much raiding.”
“And if we don’t find ‘em, there will definitely be a war, Mack.”
“If there is, the scout detachment can handle it. The Guerras don’t have anything but single-shot out-of-date carbines. It was all the treaty allowed ‘em. We’ve got Winchester 73 repeaters. That’s fifteen-to-one gunwise.”
“Well, Mack ol’ pal, I’ll put my own carbine into the mix.”
Kawa grinned. “Me and Istee fight too. You damn betcha.”
“We still have to find those damn horses,” Hawkins reminded them.
The four men edged back toward the open desert to return to the detachment.