Drought was a common occurrence on the Llano Estacado. The few alkaline lakes usually dried up in the summer months, turning into lifeless alkali flats. Shallow circular depressions, playa lakes, caught rainwater, but in the summer months, when Emily crossed the plains with Gray Wolf, they were usually dry, too, or nearly so, containing only a puddle of sludge which reeked of buffalo excrement.
It seemed to Emily that the only break in the monotony was the canyon where the Quohadi Comanches lived. Steep walls protected the canyon's inhabitants from the winter wind. The color of the canyon cliffs astonished her; there were broad horizontal bands of deep red, salmon pink, lavender, orange, yellow, and white. And there were trees in the canyon, too—tenacious junipers clinging to the steep canyon walls, mesquite and cottonwood growing in the bottom. A fork of the Red River curled in serpentine fashion down the canyon. It had water year-round and did not dry out until it left the canyon and lost itself in the rocky badlands to the southeast. A mile or two miles wide where the Quohadi village was located, the canyon expanded to seven miles in width at its mouth.
When Emily arrived with Gray Wolf, the whole village turned out to greet the war chief. Women and children crowded around Emily. An old hag picked up a stick and hurled it at her. Others closed in and clutched at her sunburned legs, trying to drag her off the mule. A sharp word from Gray Wolf cut like a whip and sent her molesters scurrying away. Emily later learned that Quohadi females often mistreated captive women, beating them mercilessly, occasionally even burning them at the stake. Warriors sometimes gave woman captives to wives, mothers, aunts, or grandmothers as slaves.
Gray Wolf's solicitude for Emily immediately set tongues to wagging. Obviously he wanted her to warm his blankets, though how he could desire one so pale and scrawny was unfathomable. No one was offended that Gray Wolf sought to take a woman so soon after Snow Dancer's death, but that he preferred a white woman to a Comanche maiden raised some eyebrows and engendered no little resentment toward Emily among the young unmarried girls.
Gray Wolf had arrived before any of the other Quohadi warriors who months before had ventured forth to participate in the great raid, retribution for the Council House betrayal. The men who remained in the village, those too old or too young to go on the warpath, were curious to know why Gray Wolf was not leading the others, as one would expect of the Antelope band's most respected war chief. "Gray Wolf will not make war on women and children," he said—and that was the sum total of the explanation he offered, except to Spotted Tail.
When the lame Quohadi came to Gray Wolf's skin lodge, he was as intrigued as anyone else by the reticent war chief's return. But Spotted Tail did not ask Gray Wolf for an explanation, and Gray Wolf was grateful for that consideration. Spotted Tail, the pacifist, was the one person he could confide in.
"You were right," he said. "I saw many Texans die, and yet my heart still bleeds. I grow sick of the killing. I no longer have the stomach for war."
Spotted Tail nodded sympathetically. "Snow Dancer's death has opened your eyes to the truth, my friend. Now you know the cost of war is too high. And yet now we are in a war. One we cannot win. The Quohadis will look to their greatest war chief for leadership. They will depend on Gray Wolf now more than ever."
"No warrior will again follow Gray Wolf. I turned my back on my brothers. I told them they were without honor to murder defenseless women and children. In time, a council will be called upon to decide whether I will even be allowed to remain among my people."
Spotted Tail could manufacture no words of comfort to assuage his friend's anguish. He glanced at Emily, who sat in the shadows of the tepee. "Why have you brought this one back with you, Gray Wolf?"
"I wanted to let her go. But I could not."
"She is very brave?"
Gray Wolf smiled. Spotted Tail knew a lot without having to be told. "Yes. Very brave."
"My wife will bring her something more suitable than a blanket to wear."
"Thank you."
"What of your son?" asked Spotted Tail gently. "I only ask because we both know you never intended to come back from the raid. And yet here you are."
"Keep him," replied Gray Wolf brusquely, in a futile attempt to mask his sadness. "He will have a better future with you."
Two days later, Red Eagle and Running Dog arrived with the rest of the Quohadi warriors and the herd of stolen horses. There was much joy in the village at their safe return, and much grief, as well, for the more than thirty brave men who did not come home. Female relatives of the dead wept, cut their hair short, and tore at their clothing. For weeks they would go about in rags as a token of their mourning. Some gashed themselves with knives—these wounds were not allowed to heal until the mourning period was over. The names of the dead were never uttered and never would be again, not for fear of conjuring up ghosts, but rather to avoid reminding those who grieved of the deceased.
Red Eagle, who had always resented Gray Wolf's prestige and popularity, wasted no time in making his rival's life difficult. Gray Wolf's desertion of the war party had left many of the warriors feeling betrayed. Calls for a council to determine whether Gray Wolf should be punished grew more strident in the days that followed. When the council finally did meet, Red Eagle's hopes were high. But the decision merely to strip Gray Wolf of his status as war chief rather than banish him from the Antelope band fell far short of Red Eagle's goal. Consideration of Gray Wolf's heroic service in the fighting against the Utes and the Apaches was the decisive factor.
For his part, Gray Wolf attended the council but did not speak in his own defense. That he was no longer a Quohadi war chief was of little consequence to him. But the cold contempt with which many in the Antelope band treated him cut deeply.
Shortly after the return of the war party, plans for the buffalo hunt were set in motion. This was a matter of the greatest urgency, for it was late in the season, and if the hunt proved unsuccessful there would be many empty bellies in the Quohadi village come winter. The buffalo were fat in the summer, they had shed their winter hair and their hides were in prime condition. Scouts roamed far and wide to locate a suitable herd. Luck was with them. One was found not far from the canyon. A dance of celebration was held. It was time for the Comanche harvest. The next day a large portion of the village, men and women, set out after the herd.
Gray Wolf went along. It was his responsibility to bring home enough meat to feed himself and Emily, and Snow Dancer's death had not released him from his obligations to provide for her family. In addition, he intended to help Spotted Tail bring back sufficient meat to feed his family. The fact that he had given his son away did not mean Gray Wolf would let the child go hungry. Spotted Tail's disability had rendered him something less than a nimble horseman, and horsemanship was essential to success—and survival—in a buffalo hunt.
On the day of the hunt, the Quohadi men approached the buffalo from downwind and then encircled the herd. They began to ride around the herd in a counterclockwise direction, forcing the shaggy beasts to mill. The hunters approached their prey from the right side, closing to within a few feet before firing arrows into the buffalo's flank, aiming for a spot behind the ribs so that the arrow would pierce the animal's heart. Some of the men preferred to use a lance. Stung by arrow or lance, the buffalo usually tried to run faster, if the fatal blow was not delivered at the outset. But sometimes the beast would turn and try to gore horse and rider. Several men were badly injured, but the Antelope band considered it fortunate indeed that no one was killed.