WOLFMAN Kane joined the Cheyenne with the words of General Patrick E Connor ringing in his ears. The Indians, Connor declared, "must be hunted like wolves." He ordered his troops: "Attack and kill every male Indian over 12 years of age."
Hatred burned within Kane. For months he had ridden with the Dog Soldiers of the Plains, felt instinctive kinship with the Cheyenne warriors. He had watched troops butcher Indian men, women and children. And now, from his perch on a rocky outcrop, he saw a Cheyenne war party attacking a wagon train in revenge. The settlers were quickly overwhelmed and killed. The warriors, led by Yellow Knife, stole flour, sugar, coffee and tobacco and rode off.
Kane knew there were two women in one of the covered wagons. They had remained hidden during the attack. He thought he heard his long-dead mother's voice coming to him across the ages: "Help them, help them." His mind drifted away and in those lost moments three cavalrymen galloped out of the trees.
They were drunk and fired up with bloodlust and they showed the women no mercy. When the blood-soaked Bluecoats rode of in a cloud of dust they left a scene of carnage, charred remains, the women scalped and their breasts cut off. There was nothing Kane could do. He knew the Indians would be blamed.
At the same time, Governor Edgar Jennings was meeting in Mansion House with the priest Friar Tucker. They drank brandy and discussed the latest influx of Mexican families. Jennings regarded Tucker with sour distaste. The priest had a reputation for debauchery but he had his uses and kept Jennings well informed about the secrets he heard during confession. The governor poured two more brandies and asked: "Well, what have you heard about the Cheyenne? Are they going to sign the treaty?"
The priest pondered for a moment. He thought they would sign with the right sort of incentive. The aim of the United States Government was clear: A land grab which would drive the Indians into reservations. The buffalo would be wiped out and the savages would be starved into submission. Genocide in other words. But these were sensitive matters. They had to be handled diplomatically.
While Governor Jennings droned on, Friar Tucker's mind strayed back to his morning session with Maria, the wife of a local leader. These people were peasants really, poorly educated and superstitious.
He again felt her heavy breasts as she succumbed to his passion, smelt her sweat and her hot breath. He fingered her sex and was pleased to find that she was dripping wet. She would do everything he asked and even feel slightly proud at the attention he was showing her.
Maria was lactating after a recent childbirth. Tucker squeezed her nipples and sucked at her milk. He loved a woman with big nipples, rolled them as if they were rosary beads. He decided to keep the main prize for their next meeting. He patted her on the head with a pudgy hand. "Make a good act of contrition, Maria," he said.
Now Jennings was saying: "I have a conference with tribal leaders tomorrow and would be grateful if you would attend. Always good to have your thoughts."
Tucker murmured assent. As he helped himself to more brandy he caught a glimpse of himself in the big sideboard mirror. A heavy-set man with thick dark hair, oozing enormous conceit. His smugness irritated most people but Tucker was satisfied with what he saw. He was opinionated and corrupt. His position gave him power. He was happy to take advantage of the weakness of the flesh.
"Of course Governor," he said. "If I can be of service."
Jennings's wife Martha entered the room and he regarded her coldly. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy with the Father?" She looked ashen and lost, mumbled an apology. "I'm sorry, I just wanted you to know there's a cavalry captain waiting outside to see you."
Captain William Jacobs reported on the massacre. "Cheyenne," he said. "A war party. We have the wife of Yellow Knife in custody. She refuses to say anything about his whereabouts but it won't be long before we get something out of her."
Jennings barked at the officer. He had drunk too much and was red-faced. "Good, keep me fully informed. And I want five Indians hanged immediately."
It did not matter which five.
Jennings had married Martha for her father's money. He preferred black women and usually took his pleasure among the slaves.
In just a few years, Martha, once a joyful young woman, had become a shrunken lost soul in constant fear of her husband's black moods.
When Friar Tucker left Mansion House he was in an expansive mood, pleased that his power was being consolidated. He thought of Martha, a striking woman despite her mousy demeanor, and still capable of passion. Just intimidated and repressed by her bullying husband. She wouldn't be Catholic, of course, but perhaps she would appreciate a sympathetic ear for her troubles.
The rogue priest mentally undressed her and felt his cock harden. Yes, a neglected wife would always respond to another man's kind attention. As he mounted his horse he spotted a tall man with long tawny hair lounging in the shadows.
Kane watched the priest ride away. A well-fed parasite, he thought. The face of a buffoon. He went back to observing the comings and goings at Mansion House. He would be with the Cheyenne at the meeting next day and wanted to build a picture of Governor Jennings's routine.
Kane already knew a lot about the malevolent priest. Tucker loved guns and hated homosexuals. At the seminary he would beat up any man he suspected of having carnal thoughts about another man.
Tucker ranted and raved. He quoted scriptures to prove the evils of homosexuality, fornication and onanism. He knew all about sins of the flesh and felt no shame over his own excesses. God would forgive. God always forgave.
It was winter and an icy wind howled across the plains. In their lodges fires burned through the night as the starving Indians huddled together for warmth. Hungry young children never stopped crying. They were given strips of buffalo hide and pieces of bark to chew on.
Kane knew they were heading for extinction. Soon it would all be gone. He remembered the words of the Sioux chief Red Cloud: "When the white man comes in my country he leaves a trail of blood behind him." Other threats were arriving. Gold fever brought white men pouring in to dig for yellow metal. Month by month, the Cheyenne were forced to retreat from the Colorado Plains.
Aeons of existence across countless galaxies had given Kane unique power and knowledge. Only among the Dog Soldiers had he felt that he was with true brothers on earth. He talked long into the night with Yellow Knife. At first they told stories of happy hunting, laughter, life on the long summer trails that wound through fields of golden grain.
Kane told of giant pyramids on the River Nile, elephants and whales, of the yurts which were home to nomad tribes in central Asia, whose hard lives were not unlike the lives of the Indians.
