Stop the Cavalry....

[MidnightZodiac]

I wrote this for a horsey forum several years ago.....


Seems everyone's posting a pre Christmas story, involving the supernatural and the horse. Always being a dedicated follower of fashion, here’s mine. I have entitled it "Stop the Cavalry" partly because that was playing on the radio as I wrote...And partly because, well you'll find out if you read the tale..


STOP THE CAVALRY

It had taken a little getting used to, driving a Jeep with a gearbox that changed itself, and a steering wheel on the wrong side, but the American roads were wide and the bends easy once civilisation was left behind. I was deep in the Texas panhandle, and with the late September sun still strong, the Jeep's air cooler worked hard, battling both sun's heat and dust storm from the tyres. I felt a small bead of sweat start to form under my sunglasses but the cold draft from the dash evaporated it before it could run into my eyes.

I had turned off the highway about an hour before and with a tail of smoky dust behind me I eventually reached my goal, the floor of the Palo Duro Canyon. This thousand foot crevasse was the site of one of the most decisive battles of the Red River war between the native Indian tribes and the US cavalry. What happened on that day back in 1874 all but ended the Indian's struggles against the white man, and the proud warriors had been forced to retreat way back to their reservations to face what many already knew, the US forces, especially the cavalry had proved virtually unstoppable.

Idly, I pulled my bag from the Jeep, and though I had packed it myself, and checked its contents, for safety's sake I checked once again… Camera, Torch, Compass, Maps, Water, Tinder and Matches, Tape recorder, Notebook, and a little food were all packed away neatly, each in it's place should I need it quickly. This was to be by US standards little more than a stroll, but by my East Anglian standards it was a trek into an alien, unknown world.

I locked the Jeep, then smiling to myself, wondered who was going to steal it out here, miles from anywhere, or anyone, but old habits die hard… Though I did decide to hide the keys behind the Jeep's rear wheel… just in case they should tumble from my pocket during the hike. It was now late morning, the sun was nearly at its zenith, and I set off, leaving the Jeep, the last vestige of civilisation, behind. Despite the manufacturer's adverts, telling how at home it was in the wild, it looked strangely out of place… the square lines and metallic paint contrasting uncomfortably with the natural colours and curves of the surrounding boulders.

Frankly I was surprised when I entered the actual mouth of the canyon; it wasn't the arid desert plain that I had expected. Instead there were rocky outcrops, some sparse trees and bushes, even a small creek running parallel to my chosen course. The ground rose and fell, and I realised that far from being able to see for miles as I'd imagined, there were places where I found myself in natural hollows and could only see for a few tens of yards. All the while I could hear the faint splashing of the creek as it stayed close to me, but apart from that, and the occasional bird and insect noise, the whole area was quiet.

As I walked I found myself in yet another hollow, I checked my watch and discovered that I had been walking for nearly three quarters of an hour. Though I didn't seem to have covered a great distance I put that down to the size of the canyon walls that loomed sky high on each side of me. I felt I could touch them, though in reality there were miles between their rocky faces. I pulled out my map, and while checking my bearings took a swig of my water, taking care not to drink too much, well you never know it might be needed later in the day. As I rose to continue my journey, I could have sworn I heard the call of a horse further along the canyon floor, it seemed to echo from the walls, and my heart quickened, was I going to get a glimpse of America's wild horse, the mustang?

Almost without thinking I lowered by body and walked silently toward the brow of the hollow, if there were mustangs over the ridge I didn't want to frighten them off before I had managed a picture or two. I reached into my bag, and without looking fumbled for the camera within. I kept my eyes of the trail in case I missed the mustangs that I could swear were just ahead. As I crept nearer and nearer I could hear them more plainly, I could hear hooves hitting the hard ground. Horse calls, shrieks and whinnies were filling the air, far louder than before and for a second I wondered if they were going to come charging full pelt over the ridge and send me flying. The prospect of laying out here with legs broken didn't appeal to me too much, so it was almost with a sense of relief that I breasted the rim of the hollow.

There before me on a small natural plain, of about twenty acres I guessed, were horses… Indeed I was right they were mustangs, but the quantity… I had, in all my years never seen more than about 70 horses together at one time, but here spread below me were… well my estimate was a thousand.. All packed closely together, some running on the outskirts of the herd, some standing, while yet others called for missing friends. As I took in this panorama, I realised that some must belong to a local Comanche tribe, they had woven cloths on their backs, and some bore the traditional native symbols painted around their eyes and other parts of their bodies. I must have stumbled into some sort of round up of wild mustangs, and the native's horses had mingled with those they had collected. Remembering my camera I raised it to my eye and started to fire off as many shots as I could to reflect on the magnificent scene before me.

Intrigued, and not at all frightened by the sheer number of horses I decided to get a little closer, to see if I could make friends with some of the tamer horses, and perhaps find the tribal wranglers that had rounded up so many… Cautiously I made my way toward them, until at last I was noticed by one particular tobiano, which came trotting up to me. I reached out and softly chatted to the horse, in return it nudged my hand and let me scratch its nose and chin. On his back was an intricately woven blanket, with stylised eagles and horses, and around his eye was a circle of white paint, that contrasted with the shiny blackness of the coat. The funny thing was that while I was talking to this horse, all the others had started to go quiet and were now slowly turning to face my new friend and myself.

[MidnightZodiac]

Now I must admit, that while I had never been frightened by any horse, even those that were intent on doing me harm, this reaction did unsettle me more than a little. I didn't feel threatened, just surprised that these thousand horses should show so much interest in me. With that, I felt a nudge in the small of my back… The tobiano's velvet nose was pushing me gently into the gathering, and wasn't satisfied until I started to walk toward the herd. Then he walked alongside me, matching my pace and making sure I didn't stop, or turn tail and run. As we approached the mass of horses, they parted to let us pass, in what I suppose, would in modern parlance be called a Red Sea moment.

Eventually we reached a clearing in the middle of the herd, an almost perfect circle of about twenty five yards diameter, as we reached the edge the tobiano stopped and gave me one more nudge toward the sole occupant of the circle, a native brave in full war bonnet. He looked me up and down for a moment, and then spoke… "Come, we have been expecting you." stunned I started to walk slowly toward the figure. Before I had chance to say anything he spoke again "You are here because my horses have summoned you…." I mumbled a few half formed words about having so many horses, but he took no notice "My horses do not show themselves to those who harm. Only those pure in heart will see or learn of them." I nodded, trying to take in what he was saying, half listening, and half wanting to run away from this surreal situation I found myself in.

"Listen white man", he said, "Sit and smoke the pipe with me, and I will answer all that troubles you…." He lit and passed me a long carved pipe, filled with a foul smelling tobacco; I inhaled, choked and coughed violently. At this I saw, for the first time, a smile form on his face... He started to tell me of his background, and why this place was so sacred to both him, and his horses. I indicated that I needed my recorder to take down all that he was saying or I would surely forget... Once again he smiled "You will not forget… All the mechanical things you think you need are as nothing to the Great Spirit that surrounds and cares for us, but if it will help, then use it…" I set the device on a rock and started it in record mode. Behind the smoked plastic window I could see the reels of tape advancing slowly.

He now started his story in earnest. It was September 28th 1874, when without warning, the US cavalry had attacked the Indian villages on the canyon floor… They weren't interested in killing, just devastating their villages, burning their tents and destroying the food stocks that had been carefully stored away for the approaching winter… Then with more than a hint of despair in his voice, he came to what was to him, the worst part of all. "Then they rounded up my horse, the horses of my neighbours, and the horses of the other villages and took them away… Without our horses we were nothing… No longer braves. All we could do was run away in shame."  His voice broke, and he chose his words with care… "We returned to our reservations, with only what we could carry, our women crying, our children hungry, and our horses gone for ever".



There was a slight pause and while I shuffled uncomfortably, he started again. "And did the cavalry want our horses for themselves? Did they give them freedom to wander the lands of their birth? No, they took fifteen hundred of our horses and put the bullet to nearly eleven hundred of them…." "As we ran, we could hear in the distance the continual shriek of our horses pleading for us to help them, and the sound of gunshot after gunshot, until, after sunset, all went quiet…"

By now the sun was beating down fiercely on the two of us, but I felt chills run down my spine, here was a man telling me of events that happened nearly a hundred and forty years ago, but he was describing them as though he was there. No that was madness, in order for that to have happened he would have to be at least one hundred and sixty years old…  No one lives to be that age, but before I could voice my doubts he started again. "After the cavalry had gone, some of us crept back, in the hope that… well... that some might have survived, but the cavalry were good at their work, and everywhere were the bodies of our beloved horses piled one upon the other, the sand red with their blood…"… "We wept like children to see the death and destruction that had been done to us that day. And, the following summer when we returned, all that remained were the bare bones of those that had once been so close to us… Tell me why mankind needs to destroy the things that it should treasure most…" I had no answer, and just bowed my head thinking of all the wars, crimes, death and destruction that we had wreaked on each other over the years….

Suddenly, with what could best be described as a wave of relief, I snapped back to the present, away from those nightmare visions of gunshot and the blood soaked ground... I turned to my companion and meekly asked what it was that he and his horses wanted from me. "We know that you and your friends are pure of heart, for if you weren't these horses would never have welcomed you into their midst, or let their story be told… But they have died in vain; they have no memorial, nor anyone to pass their story on to the young…" He bent his head toward mine, "So this is what you must do… Tell the world of the eleven hundred horses that gave their lives in eight hours, tell the world of the cavalry men who were so disgusted by what they were ordered to do that it made them ill, tell the world that never again must the innocent be used in revenge…", then he moved closer still "And tell them this…" he whispered with almost a degree of threat in his voice, "That despite man's inhumanity to the horse, he will always be glad to help and serve you. But remember… you must treat him with love and respect, for as with all living things, you will eventually be called to explain your actions to the Great Spirit…."

He looked at me, and behind those eyes I could see the wisdom in his words, he smiled and gestured toward the horses, which still stood quietly watching the two of us, "Now go and bid them farewell, for they have to leave this place… You will meet them again one day, when your time is come, and they will serve you in the happy hunting ground as surely as they served us in life".

[MidnightZodiac]

I did as he asked, and walked slowly to the tobiano, it lowered it's head and allowed me to stroke it's face once again, this time though I closed my eyes, and pressing my face against it kissed the soft muzzle, feeling it's breath on my face and the warmth of it's body…. But as I stroked I felt the surface of its face get harder and harder, until I opened my eyes to find myself completely alone, holding a sun bleached horse skull… As I looked around I could see the whitened bones of horses everywhere. They were in small groups, but the thought that perhaps they had at least been with their friends when they died, gave me little comfort… I gently placed the skull on the ground, inwardly cursing myself for being human... How could we do these things, to such beautiful, trusting, but defenceless animals?

My tape recorder was still recording, but as I'm sure you will have guessed there was very little on it… Oh, apart from me mumbling and choking on the pipe of peace… And the photographs, well yes they did show horses, but not live vibrant animals, only their scattered bones, home now to scorpions and snakes. Sadly I made my way back to the Jeep. It was still there, the key still behind the wheel where I had left it. As the engine roared into life, my mind could once again see those horses, full of life and loved by their Indian companions, and I realised that without their horses, they were as helpless as I would be without this Jeep.

After I got back to the highway, I pulled into a truckstop to fill the tank and get a cool drink. I noticed that behind the cash desk was a young Comanche girl, her long black hair tied in a single plait. As I paid for my purchases, I passed pleasantries and eventually plucked up the courage, while trying to sound unconcerned, to ask if I was near the site of the infamous horse massacre…. "Yes", she smiled, "but we don't go there, it's kinda sacred to our ancestors, and comes from a dark time in our history…" "Oh” I said, "It's just that I'd heard the story and needed to know if it was true….." I thanked her, and started to walk back to the Jeep, enjoying the moisture from the soda can on my forehead, when she called after me… "Stranger, don't forget to tell the world…." I turned towards her, "I won't forget" I called back "I promise the world will know…"

Well I've kept my promise, I've told you and now you all know. I can at last relax again, the story is told. But, the promise was made on behalf of all mankind, to remember those horses for all time… So tell your children, and tell them to pass it to their children, until we use the story to change our ways, and be kinder, both to our horses and to each other. Then when, and only when, the world is a better place, eleven hundred horses will not have died in vain...

This story is dedicated to the 1048 horses shot dead on September 28th 1874
May God have mercy on their souls… and ours!

In the autumn of 1995, the horse spirit returned to the Palo Duro. The 4th U.S. Cavalry Re-enactors gave two horses to the Comanche tribe as an apology for what happened there more than a century ago.