William Meador - The Mystic Medicine Man

The Mystic Medicine Man

Copyright 2012 by William R. Meador

All rights reserved. Copying or reproducing by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic processes, or in the form of any phonographic recording, shall violate the copyright. No transmitting or copying for public or private use is allowed, other than as brief quotations embodied in articles and/or reviews, without the express written permission of the author and publisher.

ISBN-13: 0-978-9825340-5-2

The events surrounding the legend of The Mystic Medicine Man almost surpass the imagination. How could these things happen? How could a White Eyes become a Kiowa medicine man? What unexplainable events brought such foreign cultures together in an area now known as the Panhandle of Texas, Panhandle of Oklahoma and the Territory of New Mexico?

This story is one of the strangest of the period following the Civil War. This story, like so many from this time period, may be more myth than fact.

So, listen to the sounds of running water, the crackling of the lodge fire, a soft song flute and the pounding of the war drum.

This period almost brought to an end the old Kiowa culture. They were then pointed to a new path and new beginnings. The Kiowa passed through a period when one culture almost disappeared, while another took its place and blended the two cultures.

When the tale finishes the reader can decide if this story is myth, fact or fiction.

Captain Goddard? called Major Logan. Captain Goddard, covered with a coat of white dust, stood studying the distant buttes, ravines and canyons with his binoculars. He stood stone still, willing the distant haze to separate and let him see clearly.

Captain Goddard, not the only one covered with a thin layer of white dust, studied the approaching column of cavalry. After six days of hard riding out of Fort Union, the entire column arrived tired, dirty and itching for a fight.

The column had pushed Chief Gray Winds band and three other bands of Indians north across the Kiowa hunting grounds and the North Canadian River. They had pushed, and the Indians had ridden away, continuously retreating deeper into the maze of canyons, mesas and ravines. The Indians had refused to stand and fight or to surrender. Now their position, not far south of the Cimarron River Basin, might be the last bastion for the Indians, or a bloody embarrassment for the troop.

Yes, Major Logan, Captain Goddard replied without turning. He continued to study the distant ridges for movement.

What can you see? asked Major Logan. These two men had served in the U.S. Cavalry together for over twenty years. Each had enlisted in the Army before the Civil War. Major Logans career in the service had begun only one year earlier than Captain Goddards, but his fortune in the war saw him elevated to the rank of major. While Goddard on the other hand, made the rank of captain only after ten years of fighting the Indians. In battle, planning a campaign or just tending to the troop, they thought and moved together as one. At times their subordinates felt the two men could read the others mind.

Nothing, Major Logan; I believe they have retreated further into the valley. They rode over the ridge and out of sight. They could have kept going north or west from there. Even with the elevation of this mesa, we dont have a good, clear view. Too much haze and dust in the air.

The major beat white dust from his hat and swore under his breath. Like all two hundred of his horse soldiers, Major Logan was, as he often said about the column, mighty tired, dirty and short on politeness.

He walked to the rim of the mesa and watched as the dismounted troop began to build fires and brew coffee. Besides two hundred cavalrymen, he commanded a large force of heavy artillery and a wagon train of support and supply personnel.

With his binoculars he scanned the long line of cavalry, artillery pieces and supply wagons. A command of four hundred men rested, drank coffee and beat dust from their hats and uniforms, for as he had said, They are tired, dirty and short on politeness.

Major Logan looked at his subordinate and muttered under his breath, Man, if Im in battle, Captain Goddard is the one man in the whole column I want by my side.

Major Logan surveyed Captain Goddards five feet, five inch frame. His height did not diminish his abilities at soldiering. Neither did his size reveal his strength or his cunning in a fight. More than one regular soldier made the mistake of taking the captain on in a fistfight, much to the soldiers sorrow. The Captains body of sinew and muscle fooled many a man.

Major Logans one distinguishing feature was his long handlebar mustache. This mustache, black and oiled until he could point the ends out like the horns on a longhorn steer, more than once became the source and cause of fist fights.

Major Logan turned his attention back to the remainder of his command. The cannons and the supply wagons were at least two or maybe three miles to the south. The terrain was entirely too rough for wagons and the shear weight of cannons created a problem.

Major Logan said to Captain Goddard, If we are going to use our big cannons, a different route must be located and that may prove difficult.

Yes, Sir, Captain Goddard responded.

Major Logan made another quick sweep of the supply train with his binoculars and saw campfires burning. Good, they will have coffee and a hot meal. About time we caught our breath.

He turned back to Captain Goddard. If the Indians move north we could loose them in the Cimarron River Basin and you know what a mess this could develop into, especially, and I say if, they should join up with the Cheyenne north of here. On the other hand, if they move west we will never catch them in among those dozens of volcanic peaks and mountains. They can either ride away or pick us off at their pleasure, even if we do out number them three to one.

Yes, Sir, Captain Goddard responded, as he continued to study the distant haze, mesas and mountains. Hed listened to the major orally diagnose military situations for the past two decades. The major was seldom wrong about tactics, and his skill in the field became legendary with his uncanny predictions.

Captain Goddard admired his commander. He found Major Logan soft spoken, but all military and full of vinegar. Major Logan stood straight of back and could ride with any of the younger men on a long patrol. The entire troop held him in high esteem. Major Logan at this moment looked like a ghost with his full black beard and drooping mustache coated with a fine layer of white dust, but no one would hear him complain.

Captain Goddard did not admire his commander any more than the commander admired his second in command. Major Logan knew Captain Goddard as a born leader, but more important he knew this was the man you wanted at your side if you went into battle. The captain had served his country well since from the age of nineteen and probably would see retirement or die in his cavalry blue.

Captain? the major called.

Yes, Sir, the captain responded.

How many days since we sent to Fort Union for those Mountain Howitzers? Major Logan asked.

Captain Goddard almost smiled. He knew the major figured the time and distance down to the hour and the last yard. The majors asking Captain Goddard for information only marked one more way the major discussed problems or came to solutions about a military maneuver.