Náudah paused and looked up from stripping the flesh and striffen from a fresh buffalo hide. A few steps to the east, several women--friends and relatives--bent over buffalo hides pegged out among the tipis in various stages of curing and tanning. The sliced meat hung on drying racks. Nearby, Nobah Joe, subchief in charge of the camp, bent his gray head forward, absorbed in attaching a flint arrowhead to a shaft with a fresh, elastic piece of buffalo sinew that would shrink tight when it dried. His braids, wrapped in ochre and russet ribbons, kept falling forward, obstructing his view of his work.
"Aren't you worried, Nobah?" Náudah called, sitting back on her heels and scanning the flat horizon to the south.
Nobah grunted. A woman's idle chatter was hardly worth an answer, even if she was the favorite wife of Peta Nocona. He glanced around. The sun shone warmly on the camp of some twenty Comanches on the banks of Mule Creek, a tributary to the Pease River. He muttered a little prayer of thanks to the sun; they had already endured two snowstorms this season. It looked like a bad winter approaching. He sniffed the air: a bit too much moisture. A chill that defied the sunshine told him another blizzard was coming.
On all sides, a small grassy rise one could hardly call a hill hid the Comanches from view, but also prevented them from seeing out. A buffalo trail led south up to a low, flat ridge and disappeared.
"Shouldn't we post lookouts?" Náudah continued.
"Thank Gekovak for the warmth," Nobah said aloud and held up his wrinkled arms, as if to embrace the sun. "Snow and ice will hug us too soon." He looked off to the north. He could see a little blue line down close to the horizon.
"You know what I mean, old esa-kwita," she said, letting out a short breath in exasperation. "The Tejanos. The Blue-Coats. We never know where they are." Her daughter, Toh-Tsee-Ah, carried a flint scraper and toddled around, mimicking her mother's work on the buffalo hide. On the other side of the skin, her adoptive sister, Trades-It, her hand and arm permanently disfigured from a childhood fall from a horse, scraped striffen with a steel trade knife. She smiled in sympathy at Náudah, then went on with her work.
"Tahuh nuhmuh-nuh, 'Our People,' is the strongest tribe on the prairies. You know that," said Nobah Joe. "What tribe would dare attack us?"
"The Tonkawa, the Pawnee, our traditional enemies. The Tejanos. The bluecoats," Náudah said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Only the Mexicans at Santa Fe are peaceful, but they have been known to attack others."
"Ha!" Nobah scoffed, not looking away from his work. "Not even the Tonkawa would attack a camp of women. What tribe would have the courage to attack a camp of women?"
"I don't know why I even talk to you," said Náudah, standing up and adjusting her medicine bag so that it hung her dress at her side inside her dress. Her hands trembling, she walked over to the horses, thinking she had better make sure that everything was ready for the unforeseen. She wore a loose velvety deerskin garment tied with soft straps across her shoulders. A ring of pearly cowrie shells sewn to the leather formed a low yoke on her breast and identified her as the wife of an important leader, and a hem of leather fringes swished below the knees of her leggings.
She ran her hand over the muscled rump of her dappled gray mare, which Peta Nocona had named Wind because she was so fast. The surcingle was a bit loose, but she didn't tighten it--the poor animal needed some respite from a constant girdle. The bridle thong was a different matter; that had to be ready to ride at a moment's notice. A rabbit-skin bag tied to the surcingle contained enough pemmican for one day, a small amount of fire starter, a few Mexican matches and a small flint knife. She touched it to assure herself that all was ready. Then she walked back to her buffalo hide. To steady her breathing, she tried humming a little Comanche song about prairie flowers to her daughter.
Nobah finished his arrow and started another, considering the possibility that she was right. Maybe Náudah was just too anxious. She had spent her whole time with Our People hiding from the white men, the tosi taivo. She had been taught to seclude herself when any of them came around, to run into the bushes if they spoke to her, to make invisibility her best defense. That had made her edgy and suspicious. She saw danger when there was none. Like a rabbit, she dodges the shadows of limbs when there are no Eagles in the sky.
"Nobah, have you seen Quanah and Pecos?" Náudah asked.
"Your sons are out fighting the rabbit wars. They can take care of themselves." Nobah inspected the bindings on the arrowhead; it would make a fine weapon for his sister's grandson who was just approaching warrior age. A little pine pitch from the mountains near Santa Fe, a week's journey to the west, would help--if he only had some. He would ask Peta Nocona to trade for some of the glue next time he went west to a Comanchero gathering.
"I've heard that bears curl up in safe, warm holes in the western mountains and sleep as long as the ice and snow lasts," Náudah went on, wiping her cheek with a forearm covered with dried buffalo blood. She tried to wrap her arms around Toh-Tsee-Ah-ne to imitate a bear robe, but the baby squirmed out of her grasp and dropped the flint scraper on the buffalo hide.
"I've heard that," said Nobah, glancing at her.
Strange, he thought, that she should almost read his mind. Many people said she had special powers--puha, strong medicine. Maybe those blue eyes saw into other people's heads. Maybe that's why Peta Nocona was so devoted to her, though everyone knew she was one of the best workers in the camp, one of the best at curing buffalo robes.
"I'd like to live a while that way," Náudah went on. "Curled up in a bearskin, warm and well-fed. And not wake up till the prairie is in bloom."
"That's for bears," Nobah answered.
"I know," she sighed. "Still, I'll be happy to get to winter camp and set up my tipi."
"Three days more and we can pack the meat and skins," Nobah countered. "Then we can move." He glanced at the northern horizon; the little blue line, a coming blizzard, was getting bigger slowly.
"Ha!" scoffed Náudah. "The hunters will bring more fresh meat and hides to cure. They always do."
"Be glad that we have food to eat. With the Tejanos and bluecoats killing so many of Our People...."
"Oh, I am. I am glad." She wiped sweat from her upper lip. "I just wish we were safe on the Washita with a hill to stop some of the wind. Or I wish we were all bears in some safe cave in Palo Duro Canyon. I wish we were home."
****
As a Texas Ranger patrol came upon a buffalo trail that led to a slight rise overlooking the Pease River and the surrounding plain, Captain Lawrence "Sul" Ross spotted an Indian encampment clustered tightly on the flat right in front of a stream flowing in from the southwest to the Pease. He motioned his troop to take cover behind the flat ridge, then called his orderly: "Ride back and tell Cureton where we are and that he should come on up." He waited until the messenger was out of ear-shot, then turned to his men: "Get ready for a fight, boys. You twelve over here, go east a little ways. Get around behind 'em downstream and cut 'em off. The rest of you, let's charge right through 'em. Shoot everythang that moves. I got a nice Colt six-shooter for the first man that kills and scalps a Indan." He held it up at arm's length, turning it right and left, so all could see.
Ross really wanted to find some Comanches to kill. He had been out to the Llano Estacado and the canyons along its eastern escarpment in the summer of 1859 and got in a couple of Indian fights, but they weren't very satisfying. Not only were the wily redskins hard to catch, but he'd taken a bullet in the fleshy part of his left leg. He really wanted revenge for that wound. He especially wanted to catch that damned Peta Nocona; that'd make his reputation.
Of course, it was not just for his reputation. The land had to be made safe for women and children. The abominable Indians weren't using the land anyway. Why didn't they just move on and leave it to someone who would, someone who would create a peaceful and prosperous community?
In 1860, Ross had persuaded Texas Governor Sam Houston that another troop of Texas Rangers was needed to protect the settlers in Parker, Palo Pinto, and Jack Counties, as well as the sparsely populated regions along the upper Brazos River. Peta Nocona and his warriors had killed 168 people on the Texas frontier in the last year alone. Reluctantly, Houston gave Ross a commission as captain of Rangers and the charge to raise a volunteer regiment to punish Peta Nocona.
Sul hardly had a regiment. He had convinced forty volunteers to follow him, and he had twenty regulars on loan from Captain Nathan Evans of the 2nd U.S. Cavalry at Camp Cooper on the Clear Fork of the Brazos. Many of his men had been meat hunters in Kentucky before the game was thinned out. They'd shoot at anything wild, just because it was wild and just because they could shoot. Vaguely, Sul knew they hunted and killed Indians in the same spirit--for the sheer fun of it. As much as he might disapprove of their motives, the results were right: the savages had to be cleared out.
And then there was that snotty-nosed upstart, Captain Jack Cureton, with his ninety volunteers from Bosque County. Who needed him? You practically had to tell him where the ground was before he could hit it apissing. Like now, they were stringing along two miles behind. How could they get in a fight by hanging back?
Sul felt confident at the head of a twenty-five man advance scouting party. He had an excellent lieutenant in Tom Kelliher and the best guide that Texas had to offer in Charles Goodnight, who had been on the frontier since the age of nine. And his men were willing to ride hard, even when their horses were almost worn out, like now. The last thing he needed was some pussy-foot to take care of.
He judged the other twelve were in position by now, then glanced around to see that everyone was ready. He raised his six-gun like a sword and gave the signal to charge.

****

With a lurch in her heart, Náudah saw the Ranger skirmish line before she heard the first shot. "Enemies! Tejanos!" she screamed, sweeping Toh-Tsee-Ah into her arms and running for cover behind one of the tipis. She saw her sister, Loves-Horses, look up in surprise at the sound of charging horses and gunshots, drop the meat she was carrying and run for her horse. Trades-It stumbled on a pegged-out buffalo hide, caught herself with her crippled hand, then scrambled to her feet.
Two war women owned trade guns. With two warriors, they came out of the remuda, using their horses as shields, and quickly formed a half ring around a group of women and young girls in the middle of the camp. They fired impulsively, then didn't have time to reload. Their bows and arrows, or even war axes, would not be of much use against the Rangers' six-shooters.
Nobah had mounted his bay horse and was riding along the defense line. Somehow, he had found his lance, which had a blade made from a Mexican bayonet. He lifted it like a scepter, screaming at the warriors, "Don't shoot too soon!" He was too late.
In panic, Náudah pulled Toh-Tsee-Ah against her body and raced for Wind. No time to tighten the surcingle. She leaped on the dappled gray mare and reined Wind downstream. In front of her, frightened horses kicked up dust that mixed with the smoke and stench of the gunpowder. She heard screams. Her way was blocked forty steps away by women and teen-agers in the open, jerking when bullets hit them, little fountains of their blood spurting toward the river. She saw another group of Rangers in a little clump galloping behind the Comanches, getting ready to race around and around them, as if they had caught a herd of buffalo in a surround and could take their time in killing every last one.
One of the war women screamed in Comanche, "Prisa. Run!"
Women dashed toward the river, not knowing in the dust and smoke that they were running right into the second body of Rangers. They fell in a volley bullets. People near horses grabbed hold of a mane and swung up, then tore off.
Náudah saw Nobah racing toward his teenaged granddaughter, Tena. He grabbed Tena's arm at the same time as she seized his, and he swung her up behind him at full gallop. They sprinted upstream to the west, while most of the other horsemen were galloping downstream. Náudah kicked her dappled gray and headed upstream.
She and Wind quickly caught up with Nobah and Tena on the big bay horse. They crossed the little stream, and, as soon as they were in the open, Náudah turned her pony slightly to the right, thinking it was best to scatter. There was no time to wave goodbye.

****

As Captain Ross rode through the Comanche camp at full speed, he noticed buffalo hides pegged out for drying, meat hanging on racks, women lying dead with their scrapers still in hand; but no bucks. Hell, it was a damned squaw camp, not a war party at all.
Still, he could hardly contain his excitement--nothing like a charge to get a man's heart pumping.
Ross already knew what he would report to General Houston: "The Indians, unconscious of our presence, had gotten out on a level plane and were never apprised of our approach until we were within 200 yards of them, in full charge; consequently many of them were killed before they could make any preparations for defense."
Sul and Tom Kelliher saw the two riders cross the creek to the west and spurred their horses in pursuit. "I wanta get one by hand," yelled Kelliher. Sul smiled to himself. He had complete confidence in Tom Kelliher in hand-to-hand combat. When the rider on the dappled gray veered off to the right, Kelliher followed.
Sul followed the bay. When he was close enough, he fired. The Comanche at the back jerked with the hit, then fell, dragging the lead rider off. Sul saw at once that the dead one was a teenaged girl. Damn! he didn't like killing squaws, even if they were Comanches. You couldn't hardly tell the men from the women in their winter hunting shirts and leggings.
The lead rider was an elderly man. He was shaken up by the fall, but quickly got to his feet and lifted his lance to fight. Ross shot him in the right arm, breaking the bone. The man fell over, then got up, his useless arm dangling.
"Quin esta?" asked Sul when the dust had settled. He'd like to know who it was he was about to kill.
But the man did not seem to understand Sul's Spanish. He just glared at the Ranger in defiance. He held his lance in his left hand, feinted threateningly toward Sul, and howled challenges.
Sul stood up in his stirrups and looked around, spotted Antonio Martinez, his Mexican servant who spoke Comanche, and yelled, "Tonio! Over here!"
As Martinez rode up, Sul swung around. "See if you can tell who this feller is."
Antonio asked the man in halting Comanche, then in Spanish, what his name was: "¿Cómo se llama?"
The man fired back a rapid string of Comanche, his throat growling with the hatred.
"What's he say?" asked Sul. He rested his hands casually on the wide saddle horn.
Antonio was having trouble getting his horse to stand quietly after so much excitement. "He say something Nocona, I think."
"Nocona? Peta Nocona?" cried Ross, swinging down to confront his foe directly. "Have we caught Peta Nocona?"
Again Martinez spoke to the man. Again, the man answered rapidly.
"What's he say now?" Sul did not take his eyes off the Comanche.
"Gekovak. His word for the God. He say the God give the sign if he no do his job as jefe, I think."
"Chief?" asked Sul, astonished. "You mean, we've caught Chief Nocona?"
Antonio just shrugged. "I dunno. He say Nocona."
"Well, I'll be damned! Ask him to surrender, Antonio."
Martinez again spoke.
The man responded by screaming a war whoop, rushing forward, and thrusting his lance at Sul.
Sul jumped back, but did not parry. Damn! the man had spunk. To be as gray and withered as he was, to have a broken arm, and still be willing to fight. You really ought to respect a man like that.
Sul looked around, trying to figure out what to do next.
"Capitán," said Antonio. "The Noconis, they kill my family long time 'go. They keep me the slave. That is how I learn el lingo Comanchero. My familia no get the revenge. Quiero la venganza now."
Sul studied Antonio for a moment. He could see and understand the hatred in the man's face. He understood a man's need to retaliate. He glanced at the Comanche; there was no surrender in his eyes, nothing but defiance. "All right, Antonio," said Ross. "You can take your revenge."
Antonio pulled out his pistol and, without hesitation, shot the old man in the head. One of his braids and part of his skull flew two yards away. Nobah was dead before he hit the ground.
Sul took the warrior's lance, his belt knife, his medicine bag, the leather hunting shirt, the drilled-stone necklace. He'd send them to General Houston with the greetings that Sul Ross had killed the owner. He hacked off the other braid, threw it aside, and took the man's scalp as a personal souvenir.

****

Tom Kelliher pursued his warrior without firing. He wanted to catch him by hand. The Comanche was a good rider; several times, Tom had almost gotten in a position to stop him, when the rider got away. But that couldn't go on forever. The Comanche's pony was no match for Tom's superior gelding.
As Tom closed in for the grab, the Comanche suddenly reined in and turned to face Tom. Shit, it wasn't a warrior at all; it was a damned woman. And on top of it, she carried a child. She raised the baby up so Tom could see her and cried, "Americano! Americano!"
Kelliher barely managed to rein his horse aside to keep him from colliding with the Comanche pony. Then he rode quick circles around the woman. His heart was beating fast and his breath coming in short, exaggerated gasps.
The woman held the baby in one hand and held the other in the air to show that she didn't have any weapons. Her teeth chattering with fear, she cried out repeatedly, "Por fávor, no me mate. Por fávor, no me mate." Please, don't kill me; please, don't kill me.
Tom saw a substantial woman, leather-skinned and muscular, with a large bosom, though her leather dress fit her like a sack. Her hair was greasy and matted.
Kelliher let his gelding slow to a walk. He stroked the animal's neck to calm him and sized up the situation. There was nothing to do but take her back into the camp, a prisoner. To think, he'd run his prize horse more than three miles, just to catch an old squaw. Crap! He motioned for her to ride back to camp, then he fell in behind and drove her pony. The horses' breath streamed white in the chill December air.
As they rode, the woman began to weep and moan in a combination of Comanche and Spanish. Tom only caught that she was worried about what her sons would do without their mother, or if they were dead.
"Mis hijos," she cried. "Mis hijos. ¿Están mis hijos muertos?"

****

When they reached Nobah's naked and scalped body, Náudah screamed, "Nobah! Nobah!" as if she could wake him up. Her heart skipped and her breath caught when she saw that the bullet had taken away a large part of his skull, making his scalp hardly worth the taking, but that hadn't stopped the Ranger. The ochre and russet ribbons were unraveling from the loose braid.
Her captor was right behind her. She heard the man cock his six shooter, and he rammed his horse into hers. She whirled to face him, screaming, "No me mate! No me mate." She shielded Toh-Tsee-Ah in tight against her body.
Kelliher motioned her to continue toward the camp.
They passed Tena's body, too. She had been stripped and scalped. The blood across her face made her hardly recognizable. "Tena, Tena," she wailed, getting ready to dismount and see if she could do anything. Again, she heard the pistol of her captor cocking.
She couldn't race away; he'd be able to shoot her and Toh-Tsee-Ah. She felt like racing Wind right into the chest of his horse; maybe she could upset his mount, throw the rider to the ground, and get away. But she saw that the Tejano was too good a rider for that to happen. There was nothing she could do but scream in fury and frustration. Oh, if she only had a weapon! She thought of the small, flint knife in her medicine bag, but it was too little to kill a man.
Back at the camp, she saw several bodies of her friends and relatives. Her captor let her race ahead to them, because there were so many Tejanos around. Most of the Rangers had dismounted and were walking around among the dead, taking scalps, collecting the Comanche's garments, and any necklaces, knives, or bows and arrows they could grab.
Náudah set Toh-Tsee-Ah down to toddle and found the body of Trades-It, which almost made her vomit. Trades-It was naked. Her bent arm had been broken again and she had been scalped. Náudah lunged at the nearest Tejano, beating at his face and neck with her fists. The Tejano slapped her with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling among the dead. He pulled out his pistol, ready to shoot her, then hesitated; he couldn't just kill her in cold blood. He wanted her to be running. "Git up!" he commanded.
Náudah squirmed back and reached again for Toh-Tsee-Ah. Bumping against Trades-It's body, she saw that Trades-It's vagina had been cut out. Some Tejano was wearing the bloody little pelt as a hatband. Ughhh! 'Our People' had been right. The despised Texans were worse than Tonkawa. The Tonkawa only cut strips of flesh from their captives, roasted them, and ate them in front of the captive's eyes. But these Tejanos were savages.
The Tejano with the pistol had gone back to collecting loot.
Náudah searched through the dead, looking for her sons, Quanah and Pecos. She found Loves-Horses, She-Smiles, Wind-in-the-Oaks, Yellow Legs, Gripping-Stone--they had all been shot several times, stripped, scalped, and their vaginas cut out--but she did not find her sons. She felt torn between rejoicing that her sons may have gotten away and screaming out in fury and protest at all the killing of her relatives.
A Ranger with a full mustache came in from downstream, leading a Comanche pony that had a body draped across it. "It's jist a goddamn squaw," yelled the Ranger when he got within earshot of the others. "Had to chase her more 'n a mile, 'fore I could hit her. Bill's is the same thing."
Náudah could see that the body was a grown woman, not her sons. "Mis hijos!" she cried, grasping the arm of one hairy Texan after another. "¿Dónde escondin Ustedes mis hijos?" Where are you hiding my sons? She began screaming and wailing the funeral chant.

****

Kelliher was back; he dragged her roughly to a little clump of men. She thrashed against his grip, trying to hold her baby and at the same time beat at him with her free fist, screaming "No me mate! No mi hija mate!"
Antonio questioned Náudah in Comanche and Spanish. It was hard to progress--the woman was wailing and weeping hysterically the whole time, "No me mate, por favór. No mi hija mate. ¿Dónde están mis hijos?" She refused to meet her captors' gaze, but always kept her eyes averted.
Other Rangers straggled into camp with dead Comanches draped across the captured ponies. Each new body brought a wail from the woman.
"Well?" asked Ross, after Antonio had talked with the woman a few moments.
"She is wife of Peta Nocona," said Antonio. "She weep for her esposo y dos hijos."
Seems natural to weep for a husband and sons, thought Sul. Like any woman. "Ah, Antonio, don't tell her just yet that Peta Nocona is dead."
When she heard her husband's name, the woman stopped her wailing and turned to Ross, appealing in a string of Comanche and Spanish. He could see her hands trembling, as she reached out toward him. All Sul understood were the words, "Peta Nocona." But he was suddenly stopped by her appeal. Beneath the grime and blood, there was something different about this woman.
Then, through her weeping and thrashing, he saw what it was: she had blue eyes. Every Comanche he'd ever seen had brown eyes. He examined her closer. Her skin was dirty, tanned, and looked thick; she'd been up to her elbows in meat and blood, the filth all over her face, plus the grime she'd gotten by handling the dead Comanches. He studied her face closely. She didn't have those high cheek bones.
"Are you a white woman?" he asked.
The woman didn't understand. She spurted out another string of breathless words that contained "Peta Nocona."
"Antonio, ask her if she's a white woman."
Antonio spoke, then translated her reply. "She Comanche. Wife of Peta Nocona. She demand where are her boys. She crying por sus hijos. She ask, 'you kill her sons?'"
"Damn me, boys, if we ain't got a white woman here," said Sul. "Been held captive so long she can't speak English any more. Ask her if she's a captive, Antonio."
Again, Antonio translated her reply. "She no captive; she Comanche. She want to know what to happen with her boys."
Sul looked around the plain. Everywhere, his men were taking scalps or picking up weapons and personal articles that had belonged to the Indians. They were stacking the stripped bodies in neat, straight rows. "Sergeant," called Sul. "Do you have a report on the battle yet?"
"Yessir," said the sergeant, his left arm embracing a bundle of booty. "We captured about forty mules and horses, some of them with brands. Probably some they stole. Charlie Goodnight and one other are tracking a couple of bucks that got away. There are sixteen Comanches dead, all but two of them women, and a few young girls. No wounded."
"Any young boys among the dead?" asked Sul.
"No, Sir," said the Sergeant. "No young boys. And no prisoners but this woman and her little girl. No loss of personnel or equipment on our part."
"Antonio," said Sul Ross, "tell this woman--and be nice about it; we got a white woman here--tell her that her boys must be okay, 'cause there ain't any young boys among the killed or wounded."
After Antonio translated, the woman gasped and wept anew, but with a difference. She looked at Ross thankfully, choking through her tears, and said, "Oh, grácias, capitán; grácias."
Sul looked at the flat rim of the northern sky. Some nasty weather was brewing; they'd need to find some shelter soon. "And ask her, Antonio, if she'd mind coming along with us back to Camp Cooper."
"She come," said Antonio. "She no got the choice."
Náudah glanced at the ring of Texans around her. Practically all of them had thick, bushy mustaches and wore floppy felt hats. She searched frantically for a way to get away. Even if she and Toh-Tsee-Ah could leap on Wind, the Rangers would hem her in instantly. Oh, if she only had a decent weapon: at least, she could kill a couple.
Beyond the Rangers, she could see the row of bloody and naked bodies of her friends and relatives. The sight made her stomach jump and her throat tighten. The Rangers had stacked some on top of the others, like logs for the fire. She retched, but did not vomit. Trembling, Náudah hugged Toh-Tsee-Ah close against her doeskin dress and waited for them to kill her.
Then with a jolt, she realized that they weren't going to kill her. Worse, they were taking her prisoner for later tortures.
The baby, sensing her mother's worry, began crying, and Náudah, unable to reassure her that everything would be okay, began crying with her.
"This way, Ma'am, if you don't mind," said Ross, as he touched the brim of his hat.

1. Esa-kwita, literally, "Wolf turd," an ambiguous term. Excrement and references to excrement were generally negative, but the wolf's medicine was among the most powerful, so anything coming from a wolf denoted power. One of the most successful and respected Comanche chiefs was named Esa-kwita.
2. "Nuhrmuhr" is the Comanche word used to refer to all members of all clans collectively, the broadest possible translation of "all my relations." It is pronounced with very weak "r's," almost as weak as the British retroflex 'r;' "-ne" is a suffix that denotes "person of-" or "people of-" Thus "Nuhrmuhr-ne"--"people of our extended clans"--should be translated "Our People," rather than "The People," according to Thomas W. Kavanagh, "Political Power and Political Organization: Comanche Politics, 1786 1875." (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1989).
3.The cap-and-ball six-shooter that Lawrence Sullivan Ross carried in the Pease River Massacre survives. It is in the Texas Ranger Museum in Waco, Texas, engraved: "To C.R. Gray on occasion of your first scalp--L.S. Ross."
. Ross (1838-1898) was wounded in 1858 just before he had to go back to Alabama to finish his studies in Military Science at Florence Wesleyan College. For more on Ross, see The New Handbook of Texas, Ron Tyler, et. al. eds. (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1996), vol. 5, pp. 688 689.
5. Sam Houston, first president of the Texas Republic, had long been sympathetic to the Indians: he had lived among the Cherokees for a time in Tennessee; he once had a Cherokee wife and Cherokee children; and he had been a strong advocate for the property rights of the Texas Cherokees and all Indians. Mirabeau Lamar, second president of Texas, announced he would rid Texas of all Indians and sent his troops riding through the Cherokee settlement, killing everyone in sight.
But times were changing; Houston had come to believe that the continued attacks by the Comanches along the Texas frontier could no longer be tolerated. So he had agreed that the Comanches on reservations along the Brazos River in Texas should be removed to Indian Territory and that more force should be used to catch Peta Nocona, war leader of the Noconi Band of Quahada Comanche.
6. As quoted in The Galveston Civilian, 15 Jan. 1861; see Margaret Schmidt Hacker, Cynthia Ann Parker: The Life and the Legend (Texas Western Press, 1990). "Plane" is Sul Ross' spelling of plain.
7. On 2 Jan. 1861, a report in the Dallas Weekly Herald, told how Ross and his Rangers had caught and killed the notorious Peta Nocona, leader of the marauding Quahada Band of Comanches. The news fit the Texas mentality perfectly; Ross was an instant hero and was later elected Governor of Texas. It would be many years before the error was corrected. Antonio had killed Nobah Joe Nocona, Peta's servant.
8. Spanish--the language of trade with the Spaniards and Mexicans--was a second tongue among most southwest Indian tribes. Many Indians had been taught Spanish by missionaries and learned their catechism in Spanish.