Chapter Four

Kelly O’Brian unlocked his office with a skeleton key. The door was located on the side of the adobe and stone house. He sat down and began going over the ranch ledgers, following the request of his partner, Claude Barber. The atmosphere in the tiny office was stifling. After a half hour of concentrating on the account books, he had all he could take. Fresh air was what Kelly needed, and he needed it now. Standing up from his desk, the big man opened the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. One could not say that the view was breathtaking, but it was certainly interesting. The stone and adobe ranch house was built on a rise overlooking a wide sweep of flat ranch land that extended out for miles and miles. The land was virtually treeless, as most of Kansas was. Below was a small lake, and around it cattle gathered. Some lay upon the rich green grass, others stood with their backs against a gentle wind, and several were knee high in water, quenching their thirty gallon a day thirst.

Kelly looked up at the large wide open sky, and then back at the distant horizon. What he saw before him filled him with great pride. In fact, it brought a smile to his face that made the worry lines fade. The miles of grassland belonged to him and his two partners. All his life he had wanted a ranch to call his own and this place was it. It made all that he had gone through: escaping Ireland, the coffin ship, the Great War, the railroad, hide hunting, escape from slavers—all he had struggled and fought against, worthwhile. Now that he had procured this ranch, he would never allow anyone to take it away. Here he would live out his life, building up the spread as best he could.

As important as the ledger books were, O’Brian was sick of going over financial figures even though every count of livestock meant value and future income. Sales were not increasing fast enough, yet the monthly bills were piling up and had to be paid. They needed to find a way to earn more money. He would discuss it again with his partners, Claude Barber and his brother Shane. Perhaps some hide hunting was a possibility, but Charley Blackfeather had advised against it. It would turn Indians against him, the friendlies as well as the hostile Kiowas. There was mustanging—the capture and taming of wild mounts. One large herd often crossed the five thousand acre ranch. Maybe that was…

Gun shots echoed far off in the distance. Kelly listened intently. Then came another fusillade, somewhat closer. There were far too many explosions to be anything other than trouble. A great number of men with rifles were shooting, and someone must be fleeing before their attack. Without hesitation, Kelly went to the ranch triangle used to call for dinner, and for emergencies. Picking up the dangling iron bar hanging by a leather strap, the big man vigorously banged against the triangle and the sound of clanging iron rang out. Elizabeth and her Seminole friend Sawni rushed from the wooden cabin next door.

Claude and his son, Billy, came from the wooden barn and stood in the corral. The horses raised their heads high and stared in the direction of the exploding sounds. Helen Barber raced from the house, shouting to Kelly.

“What’s happening?”

“Trouble, for sure. To the house!” ordered Kelly in a stentorian voice.

Claude ducked down and squeezed between rails in the corral fence. Billy climbed over. Sawni and Elizabeth came running. Searching desperately, Kelly saw his brother, Shane, nearly a mile distant, on horseback. He was pushing a small herd of cattle towards the lake. Summoning his brother, the big Irishman drew his Navy Colt and pointed it in the air and fired three quick shots. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, Kelly began waving it high over his head. Claude, his wife, Billy, and the two young women were now standing on the stone porch. They watched the distant rider hesitate and then dust rose as the horse and man began racing for the house.

“We’ve planned for this,” said Kelly to those gathered around him. “You know what to do. Claude and Billy, you take as many rifles as you can carry and climb up on the roof. The rest of you follow the plan. Sawni and Elizabeth, close the shutters, bar the doors, and carry as much ammunition as you can up to the parapet. Mrs. Barber, you take as much food and water up there as you can carry. No telling how many there are or how long this will last.”

“So you think they’re Indians?” asked Claude.

“With all that shooting, it’s a large bunch, and whoever they’re chasing, they’re coming fast,” said Kelly. “As soon as Shane’s here, he and I will join you on the roof.”

“What about the Adair brothers?” asked Claude.

“I sent Aaron and Patrick up to the back canyon to check the stone fence and steers,” answered Kelly. “I’m afraid they’ll have to take their own chances. Now everyone, let’s move!”

The three women, along with Claude and Billy, disappeared into the house. Kelly watched the dust rising from his brother’s approaching horse. There came another barrage of shots, and far in the distance was more dust. It took some studying, but the Irishman’s keen eyes finally made out a lone rider in front, followed by dozens of other riders. All the mounted men were pushing their horses hard, and from time to time, there was a round of shots. Shane, hearing the commotion behind him, pulled his mustang to a stop. Kelly became hopping mad.

“Come on, you fool!” he shouted to his brother.

Then, once again Kelly pulled his pistol and fired two quick shots, emptying the chambers of his Colt. Shane spurred his mount and the horse came galloping towards the house. It took several more minutes before he arrived and pulled the mount to a halt in a flurry of dust and quickly dismounted. Holding reins, he talked excitedly to his brother.

“What is it, Kelly?”

“Brother, can’t you see? It’s a war party and they’re chasing some poor fellow…”

“What’ll I do with my horse?” asked Shane.

“Take your rifle, drop the saddle and blanket, and let it fend for itself. I have a hunch losing stock will be the least of our troubles.”

Both Shane and Kelly watched the lone rider furiously beat leather reins at the horse’s neck. White foam coated the shoulders and chest of the mount and it was obvious the poor animal was giving its very last. The rider veered his horse around the lake and, arrow straight, made a dash for the ranch house.

“Here he comes!” said Shane.

“Brother,” said Kelly. “Suppose you take all the weapons and ammunition you can find and head for the parapet. I’ll need your covering fire to rescue that fellow. Hurry!”

Shane disappeared in the house, and Kelly began to wish he hadn’t emptied his pistol. Here he was standing before the house with no loaded weapon and what looked like a large party of Kiowas advancing towards him.

Good thing this is a treeless land, thought Kelly in the moments he watched the two galloping forces. They can’t burn adobe and stone.

Kelly could make out the pursuers and they were Kiowa, all right. Charley Blackfeather had told him their manner of behavior and dress. The warriors in front had their hair cut horizontally from the edge of the eyes to the back of the ears. The big Irishman tried to count by tens and when he reached over fifty, he knew they were in for a real fight. Before this was over, Kelly was afraid there wouldn’t be a horse or a steer left on the place, and they’d be lucky to escape with their lives.

Kelly frantically waved his handkerchief. The man on the spent horse came galloping up in a cloud of dust and then, just before reaching the porch, slid out of the saddle and stumbled to the ground, seemingly stunned. The horse, panicked, ran toward the corral. A stray bullet sent it crashing into the dust. Kelly ran, stooped, picked up the rider, and flung him over his back. Bullets were thudding in the hard clay dirt all around the Irishman as he raced for the house. There was answering fire from the high flat deck above and Kelly saw at least two Indians knocked from their ponies, and a third slump down and fall from his mount.

Once inside the building, Kelly, still holding the man over his shoulder, closed and barred the heavy wooden door. He ran for the stairs, easily carrying the added weight as he climbed to the second floor of the house. When Kelly reached the rooftop door, Sawni was there holding it open for him to pass through. He lowered the injured man onto a long bench and Sawni, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Barber began immediately to administer to him. Shane flung his brother a loaded rifle, and without hesitation, the three men and young Billy levered their Henrys as fast as they could aim and fire.

In the first attack, there were many Kiowa who would never see their southern lands again. There were Indians and horses who screamed out their last breaths before dying. In a few moments of heavy, accurate firing from the rooftop, the Kiowas circled and backed off. Their first attack cost them dearly with more than a dozen men and several horses killed. The remaining forty Kiowa rode swiftly towards the wooden barn and took refuge behind it.

“The brood mares are in there!” yelled Shane. “The best of the lot!”

“And our best bulls are at the lake along with many of the cows,” added Claude.

“Right now,” said Kelly. “We got our lives to worry about. Thank goodness, brother, you’re good at building with stone! They won’t be burning us out.”

“No,” responded Shane. “But they can burn or knock down a door!”

“Not so long as we have ammunition!” exclaimed Billy Barber.

“Right now, I’m thinking every stone we carried was more than worth it,” said Kelly.

They heard a groan and the three men turned to see Elizabeth and Helen kneeling over the prostate and wounded stranger. Sawni was sitting down not far from the two women and the injured man. She was taking .44-40’s from a box of bullets and loading the front end of a Henry.

“How is he?” asked Kelly.

“He’s coming to now,” said Helen. “His arm must have been hurt before because it was in a sling. He’s got a nasty gash on his head and it looks like the wind was knocked out of him. I didn’t find any broken bones.”

“I’ll be all right in a minute,” said the prone man.

Helen removed a cloth from the man’s forehead, and immediately blood gushed and ran down his face. She returned the cloth and applied pressure.

“Elizabeth, take a strip of bandage and tie this down until the bleeding stops.”

While the wound was being attended, Kelly walked closer and stared down at the man.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Quint Croy, Deputy Marshal, Wolf Creek, under Sam Gardner. Say, mister, I know who you are. Seen you several times in Wolf Creek, you’re that Irish feller who…”

“The name’s Kelly, and those three standing behind me are my brother Shane, Claude and his son Billy. The women bandaging you up are his daughter Miss Elizabeth, and his wife Helen. This young lady loading rifles is named Sawni.”

“It’ll take time to get the names straight,” replied Quint, “but I’m mighty obliged. If you hadn’t fired that pistol of yours to tell me where you were located, I would have been a goner for sure. And that horse of mine, he gave me everything he had. He was my favorite. Had him some time and…”

“Had a buckskin named Sage once,” said Kelly. “Know just how you feel.”

Several shots fired from the location of the barn, bullets struck stone and ricocheted off. The men ducked lower behind the stone parapet.

“Looks like it’s going to be a siege,” said Claude. “Too bad about those two Irish boys you hired. No chance a’tall in warning them.”

“They’ll hear the gunfire,” said Shane.

“If they come running,” said Billy, “they won’t have us to protect them.”

“I’ll try to think of something,” said Kelly. “Shane, you keep watching the barn. I suspect they’ll…”

“Kiowa won’t give up that easy,” said Sawni, still loading weapons and now working on a cap and ball pistol. “Uncle Charley—Charley Blackfeather—told me they never give up. If you shoot, I’m thinking you better make every bullet count. Charley says Kiowa got a big hate for the whites. He told me how they torture…”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Sawni,” interrupted Kelly. “But we built and planned for this. For right now, as long as we keep our wits, they can’t touch us.”

“Yes, but those thieving Indians…no offense Sawni…but those painted heathens can steal everything you men worked for,” said Helen.

“We can always build up another cattle or horse herd, but we can’t replace a life. We should all be grateful me brother was such a good builder.”

“I didn’t do it all myself,” replied Shane. “You all helped.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “We did carry an awful lot of rocks and mud, didn’t we?”

Another rifle fired, then another, and then several at once. All of them could hear the bullets bounce harmlessly off solid rock.

“How long do you think they’ll keep this up?” asked Billy.

“I bet they’ve got less ammunition then we do,” replied Quint. “They’ll think of some mischief, and they’ll take everything that’s not tied down.”

They heard a horse’s shrill scream and within moments the brood mares were pushed out into the corral by several warriors. Parts of the fence were pulled down and both the mares and riding horses were herded out onto the grassland and away from the fight. Shane raised a rifle and fired at one of the galloping Indians. He missed.

“Maybe later, we’ll get some of them back,” said Kelly.

“Look over there,” said young Billy, pointing with the end of his rifle.

Far off, near the lake, several warriors on horseback began gathering and pushing cattle. Dust rose and it was hard to see the cattle clearly. But it was obvious they were being gathered and driven off the land.

“Sorry about that, folks,” said Deputy Marshal Quint Croy, who had risen to his feet.

He was looking at the Indians driving a ribbon of steers, bulls, and cows away from the lake.

“What do Indians want to do with cattle?” asked young Billy.

“They eat just like us, boy,” replied his father.

Shane, who had been standing guard with his rifle since the Kiowa took shelter behind the barn, raised it and fired. The others on the roof ducked lower and came to the wall to look out through a shooting port.

“What did you see, brother?” asked Kelly.

“There was a Kiowa who was looking…”

A strange whirring noise caught the ears of those on the roof and they looked toward the sound. A flight of arrows, twenty or more, struck stone walls or tile floor. Everyone ducked to avoid the flying missiles, but one arrow pierced Claude’s lower right arm. He let out a painful grunt.

“Hurry!” ordered Kelly. “Everyone inside the house.”

Helen Barber helped her husband through the door. Elizabeth, Sawni, Billy, and Shane followed. Kelly held onto the door and then another barrage of arrows appeared high against the azure sky, completed their arch, and began to fall. The peculiar noise increased and then feathered arrows dipped, their steel tips shattered against stone and floor in a staccato cascade. As they struck, Kelly closed the door and one arrow hit it with a resounding thump. He opened the door and there was a Kiowa arrow firmly embedded in the wood. The barrage of feathered and steel-tipped objects lasted over ten minutes before it stopped. From the lower floor of the house blasted several rifle shots, and then there was silence.

Kelly, who had held onto the door, rushed down the stairway. Shane was standing with his rifle at an open window.

“Two of those painted lads tried to come at the front door with one of our axes from the barn,” said Shane. “I persuaded them not to.”

“Best you stay here and watch,” replied Kelly. “I’ll take Billy and guard on top.”

Before going back up the stairs, carrying his loaded Henry, Kelly entered the bedroom of his partner. Claude was propped up on the bed, and Sawni, Elizabeth, and Helen were attending his wound. The arrow had been removed and there was a pan of bright red water.

“How is he?” asked Kelly.

“I can talk,” said Claude. “Give me a minute, and I’ll join you and Billy.”

“I was able to get the point out by pushing the arrow through,” said Sawni. “It struck no bone but we are having trouble stopping the bleeding.”

“My husband is going nowhere until it does,” said Helen.

“Father is almost as stubborn as you,” added Elizabeth.

“You women,” replied Claude Barber. “You’d think I was wounded in the chest, or someplace serious. Kelly, give it a few minutes and I’ll join you up top, just liked you planned.”

The Irishman found Billy on the roof, holding his Henry and watching the grounds surrounding the house. He concentrated most of his attention on the barn where the Kiowa were hiding.

“How’s father?” asked the boy.

“Looks like the women have him in hand. They’ve got some bleeding to stop, but he’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

“Sawni is good at such things. She’ll…”

“I’m not worried, lad.”

“Good. What do you think they will do next?” asked the youth, pointing at the barn with the barrel of his rifle.

“They can’t get in the house without breaking the shutters and a window, or one of the doors. We made this place pretty sturdy and as long as we stay alert, they’ll have no chance.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Billy. “But what about Aaron and Patrick? Who will…”

“They’ll have to take their chances,” replied Kelly. “Let’s hope they’re smart enough to stay hidden.”

“But if they heard the rifle shots…”

“If they come to help, it’ll be bad. I have no answer for…”

“Aaron was teaching me to play guitar, and Patrick had this song he wanted me to learn.”

“Aye, those Irish lads have the gift of music. I like those boys, too, Billy. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Through the next hour there was quiet. The Kiowa warriors in the distance had disappeared with the stock and there wasn’t one horse in the corral and no cattle to be seen anywhere over the grassland or near the lake. Kelly looked at his watch and it was one o’clock when they heard distant gun fire. Billy looked to the older man for an answer, and the Irishman walked to the stone parapet and listened.

There came another blast of gun fire, and this time it was closer. Both boy and man stood guard, waited, and listened. With the passing minutes, it was evident someone was being chased and those who were shooting and those that were running were coming closer and closer to the ranch.

“Do you think they’re…”

“Billy, we don’t have much say in this, except to keep our heads.”

Rifle shots sounded nearer and both looked down and over the wide expanse. They saw a trail of dust and two riders were pushing their mounts. Behind, a group of other riders were in pursuit. They watched the slow approach and as they gradually got nearer, Billy shouted.

“It’s Patrick! I’d know that paint of his anywhere. And look! Aaron is riding the grey mustang.”

“I think you’re right, Billy. You stay up top and cover me. I’m going down.”

Kelly ran with rifle in hand across the roof, opened the door and took steps, two at a time, to the floor below. Hurrying to the front of the house, he removed the bar and opened the thick wooden door.

“Kelly!” shouted Shane. “You can’t go out there!”

“Go up top and give me cover!” exclaimed Kelly. “The two hands are coming hard and I’ve got to…”

Shane hurried to the door and watched his brother run for the cover of a stone water trough. The two men on horseback were advancing and Shane saw Kelly dash towards a small shed, nearer to the barn. Rifle fire increased and a group of Kiowa came from behind the barn and stood aiming rifles and bows at the two men. Kelly raised his weapon and did not fire as the warriors before him were in line with the approaching cowhands. The Indians chasing the two men swerved to either side, allowing the Kiowa near the barn and on foot to open fire. The two ranch hands had no chance. A flight of arrows and a barrage of bullets from nearly twenty Kiowa bristled man and beast. Both fell under the deadly fire and rolled in a cloud of dust. When the firing stopped and the dust settled, neither man nor animal moved. The four figures lay sprawled in awkward positions upon the hard ground.

Kelly, intent on the safety of his two hired men, looked on with helpless anger. He did not see the warrior sneak up from behind and strike him on the head. Shane, who had remained at the open door was fired upon by several Kiowa. The last thing he saw before closing and barring the door was his brother being carried by a group of Indians. Running to a shuttered and closed window, he looked through a small opening and saw the unconscious man disappear into the barn.

Shane ran up the steps and through the open door onto the roof. Claude was there with a heavy bandage on his arm and holding a rifle. His son Billy was beside him.

“Did you see…”

“Yes, we did,” replied Claude.

“We couldn’t shoot,” said Billy. “First we thought we would hit Patrick or Aaron, and then that Indian came from nowhere and struck Kelly and we couldn’t…”

“I know,” said Shane. “I didn’t shoot either because I was afraid of hitting Kelly.”

“What do we do now?” cried Billy. “Patrick and Aaron are dead and Kelly is with those…”

“Why did he go out there?” asked Claude. “That’s not like Kelly to take such a risk.”

“No, even in the Great War me brother was a cautious one,” said Shane. “But in this case there were those two lads he hired and I’m sure…”

“Look!” exclaimed Billy. “There’s a warrior on a white horse and a band of men behind him. They have long black hair and they look different than Kiowa!”

Shane and Claude both looked out across the prairie, and approaching were the group of Indians Billy pointed out. The chief rode stiffly erect, on a blanketed white horse and behind him followed at least thirty mounted braves in single file.

“Kelly could tell what tribe they’re from, he was...” said Shane and stopped. “I bet they’re Cheyenne or…”

No one on the roof fired down on the band of warriors and they approached closer and disappeared behind the barn as a group.

***

Kelly awoke conscious of the pain in the back of his head. He could feel blood dripping down and onto his neck. The big man found his arms bound at the wrists and tied to a low hanging beam. Two separate ropes held wrist and arm and he dangled several feet above the barn floor. Someone had torn his shirt from him and he hung there, helpless, and at the mercy of the many warriors who stood around him. Kelly turned his bleeding head and looked awkwardly about, counting at least forty Kiowas. The many painted braves stared back at him with passive faces. Their features showed no expression, except for the burning hatred that came from dark eyes.

“Big man from the stone house, we will see how you like pain—and then you will die.”

Kelly didn’t know it, but the chief of the Kiowa was named Stone Knife, and it was he who spoken.

Kelly stared at the leader and thought hard on what response to give. It irked the big man to have come so far, survive the famine, the war, and so many other hardships, to die like this. To have this come at a time in life where he had so many desires filled, was especially hard to take. Kelly knew with certainty that he would die here, trussed up like a hanging pig, and he would never again be able to ride across his wonderful ranch. Worse, he never would have a chance to tell Elizabeth how he cared for her, and to ask her to be his wife. He had waited too long, and now there would never be time to tell her more.

“You better get to it, then,” was all Kelly could think of to say.

“You speak to me?” replied Stone Knife in pretty good English, his voice deep and resonant. “I hear nothing you have to say. White men like you promise, but never keep their word. The blue soldiers came and attacked our village. One of the survivors saved a horse and rode out to our party to tell us what happened. They killed our people without warning, without reason, while the men were away on a hunt. It makes no difference to them if it is women or children they kill. So we will kill, too. We take as we please, as your people have taken from us.”

With that comment, Stone Knife pulled a narrow sharp blade from a sheath at his waist and, with the tip, he reached up and slowly carved a long deep furrow across the chest of the man who hung suspended from ropes. Kelly winced with the pain of it but said nothing.

Stone Knife’s eyes blazed fire, as did many of the warriors Kelly was able to see.

“White man says nothing, but we will see. Before my men finish, we will hear your screams. Long and loud, they will…”

“Stop!” spoke a stern voice.

It was said three times, once in English, once in Cheyenne, and once in Kiowa. The speaker was Strong Horse, the Cheyenne Chief. The older dignified man came forward to greet Stone Knife. Behind their chief followed a group of armed Cheyenne, each carrying a Henry rifle or an older Springfield.

“You dare to tell me to stop?” questioned Stone Knife in English.

“This man is under my protection,” replied the Cheyenne chief. “I gave him an amulet the day he saved my daughter, Little Spring. I gave him my word.”

“I see no such sign,” replied Stone Knife. “This man will die.”

“No!” replied Strong Horse, and with that he gave a wave of his hand. The Cheyenne behind him raised rifles to the ready, but did not point them directly at any Kiowa.

“We agreed in counsel that we would…” began Stone Knife.

“We did, but this is different,” replied the Cheyenne chief. “Let no trouble come between us in this matter. What brave took my amulet of protection from this man? Many of your men do not speak English. Ask, and…”

Stone Knife, the Kiowa leader, spoke sternly and loudly in his own language. There was brief silence and then a young warrior came forward holding the amulet in his hands. Stone Knife took it, struck the warrior across the face with the back of his hand, and then handed the necklace to the Cheyenne chief.

“Cut him down,” said Strong Horse.

Another order was given by the Kiowa chief and Kelly saw two of his men carry a ladder and place it against the beam. One warrior climbed up and cut one rope loose. Kelly was held up by one arm. When the other rope was cut, he dropped to his feet. Landing hard, the Irishman caught himself and regained his balance. And then he pushed the remaining bits of rope down his wrists and rubbed where the hemp had burned flesh. Kelly stood erect, looking at both leaders and said nothing. Then the Cheyenne chief came near and, with one movement, placed the symbol of protection around the white man’s neck. Leaning close, the chief whispered in Kelly’s ear.

“So the Kiowa do not hear. You saved Little Spring once, perhaps you can again. Soldiers attacked Kiowa village where Little Spring visited. The survivor who brought us the news said he did not see her among either the dead or the living. I come to free you to help find her.”

The Indian chief whispered this message very quickly and then stepped back and this time he spoke loudly for the Kiowa’s benefit.

“Now go!” said the Cheyenne chief. “I keep my promise of protection.”

“Wait!” ordered Stone Knife, the Kiowa leader. “Know this, white man. This time you have your life, but next time you will regret the day you came to our land. Today, I take your horses, your cows, and someday soon, I will take your life!”

Kelly looked into the faces of both chiefs and nodded. And then slowly, with as much dignity as the shirtless Irishman could muster, he started to walk toward the mass of Kiowa warriors. None moved, and then their leader barked an order in his own language and the braves parted. Kelly left the barn and continued to walk towards the stone and adobe house. As much as he wanted to hurry, he did not. By the time he came to the door, he heard the bar removed and saw it open. There stood Shane.

“I don’t know what you did to get free, but whatever it was, God bless you, brother.”

Both Irishmen turned, and from the barn they saw mounted Cheyenne and Kiowa, each led by their chiefs, take opposite directions as they rode swiftly away. Flames were already rising from the sides of the wooden structure, and they watched as smoke rose, and more yellow fire began to rise toward the roof.

Deputy Quint Croy limped up to the door. “How come they’re splittin’ up?” he asked. “And how did you get loose?”

Kelly nodded toward the departing Cheyenne warriors. “The chief of that bunch realized I’m the one saved his daughter Little Spring a while back, and he wouldn’t let Stone Knife kill me. Now him and his Cheyennes are settin’ off to look for his daughter, seems like she ain’t still at Old Mountain’s camp.”

Quint started. “Little Spring? I know where she is, she’s back in Wolf Creek. She said Charley Blackfeather rescued her. Can I have the loan of a horse? I have to catch up to those Cheyennes and tell ‘em.”

“Are you crazy?” Shane said. “They were just trying to kill you a little while ago.”

“Maybe I am crazy,” Quint said. “But for some reason I feel like that chief knowin’ his daughter is safe might make a difference in how this whole thing plays out.”

Kelly clapped his shoulder. “Come with me, then, deputy, and we’ll get you mounted. The Kiowa got all our stock, but there’s several riderless Indian ponies still running around, between all of us we can surely catch one.”