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Updated: May 15, 2025
I feel sure the Plains Indians need me now more than the Osages and the Kaws." I listened silently, not caring to question why either O'mie or Jean should bind him anywhere. The former was all but lost to me already. Of the latter I did not care to think. "And before I go, I want to tell you something I know of O'mie," Le Claire went on.
Then I learned presently that a party of Cheyennes had made a raid on the Kaws a band of friendly Indians living near Council Grove and stolen their horses, and also robbed the houses of several white people near Council Grove. This raid was the beginning of the Indian war of 1868.
You dig fur enough into that buck's hide an' you'll find cussedness big as a sheep, I'm tellin' you." "Where does he live?" inquired my father. "Lord knows!" responded Cam. "Down to the Kaws' nests, I reckon."
Then I learned presently that a party of Cheyennes had made a raid on the Kaws a band of friendly Indians living near Council Grove and stolen their horses, and also robbed the houses of several white people near Council Grove. This raid was the beginning of the Indian war of 1868.
A half dozen civilized Indians of the Kaws, owners or operators of the ferry, sat in a stolid line across the head of the scow at its landing stage, looking neither to the right nor the left and awaiting the white men's pleasure. Banion rode down to them. "How deep?" he asked. They understood but would not answer. "Out of the way!" he cried, and rode straight at them. They scattered.
"The Kaws didn't do this killin'. This band of Pawnees was away down below their range. The Kaws said they was comin' fer a peace council, to git the Kaws an' Otoes to raise against us whites, comin' put so many, with plows and womernfolks they savvy. Well, the Kaws has showed the Pawnees. The Pawnees has showed us."
The facts are that he died of malarial fever superinduced by a wound received in a fight with the Kaws, near the mouth of the Walnut and not far from Fort Zarah. His "Dog-Soldiers" were whipped by the Kaws, and his band driven off. Bent lingered for some time and died.
Mapleson's face had a look of pleasure as if he saw not only the opportunity to prove his cause, but the chance to grill the priest, whose gentle power had time and again led the Indians from his "Last Chance" saloon on annuity days, when the peaceful Osages and Kaws came up for their supplies.
"When do you suppose we'll begin to see the real bad Indians; not just Osages and Kaws and sneaky little Otoes and Pot'wat'mies like we've seen all our lives?" "Sooner than we expect," Beverly replied. "Could Mat Nivers ever be a real princess, do you reckon?"
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