The barren landscape is beautiful. A soft wind blows and makes the tall grass ripple like waves on water. There is one tree I can see in the distance. This is a desolate, wild place. Our place. While I do not like treading through the tall grass on foot, I am glad of the cover it provides us right now.  My friend, Yellow Wolf, lies next to me on the hill. I can smell his dirt and sweat. I can hear his soft panting, but when he looks at me his eyes are alight with excitement. “Look,” he points to the wagon train that moves at a snail's pace. I squint trying to see what he’s so excited about and then I see long braided hair and pale skin of my cousin, Tehan. He wears a blue coat uniform and appears to walk freely. No doubt my clever cousin came up with a tale to keep himself from chains. But now is not the time to ponder his adventures in captivity. Now is the time to save him. 

Yellow Wolf points Tehan out to Paikee-te and Set-Maunte.“What do we do now?” Paikee-te whispers. I look at the wagon train again. I count twenty or thirty white-topped wagons drawn by four mules each and about twelve mounted men and twenty-five foot soldiers . I assume the men carry multiple guns and have more stored in the wagons. The military men are not to be taken lightly. They are trained as intensely and with the same precision as our braves are. I do the math in my head. This military convey has fifty-five well trained men and there are four of us. 

This will be a piece of cake. 

Our conversation is dies at the sounds of men shouting. A pang of fear shoots through me. If we have been found, it will be nearly impossible to escape alive.  We lie still and quiet for what seems like an eternity while the white men set up camp for the night.  

I’m getting antsy lying down and being quiet. My body yells at me to move, to do something radical. I am Botalye, nephew of the Maman-ti, The Great Owl Prophet. He is the greatest medicine man our people have ever known. I know I am destined to be great like he is. When the rustling down below dies down, my brothers and I sit in the near darkness to formulate a plan.

“We charge them and take Tehan.” My whisper is charged with excitement. I push myself up and sit on my haunches when a hand stays me. Set-Maunte shakes his head. “You are too hasty. We must report back to Maman-ti.” I make a disapproving sound that Yellow Wolf rolls his eyes at. “Set-Maunte is right,” he says. “It would be foolish for three of us to charge a wagon of cavalrymen. And what of the women and children? Of Tehan? Do you wish to die today?” He narrows his eyes at me as he asks the questions. It feels more like a challenge than the deterrent he means for it to be. Of course, I do not wish to die. But I do not wish to live quietly. I’m ravenous for glory, but I am outnumbered. 

I comprise. “I will ride back and report that we have found Tehan. You stay here and move along with the wagons until I return with more warriors.”  My friends nod in agreement. As I crawl to my horse, I hear the warning of Paikee-te to not do anything foolish. This warning elicits laughter from the other two. I let it fall off like water. They are good warriors, but they are not me. They lack ambition. 

Gomda stamps his feet impatiently as I quietly jump on his back. I rub his neck and whisper to him that we have found Tehan. I can tell he is pleased by this because he whinnies softly in joy.  

I play through several rescue missions in my mind as Gomda whisks me away as fast as his namesake, the wind. When I arrive at camp, it’s well past dark.  I am greeted by a silent and sleepy camp. I will have to wait until the morning to tell the chiefs we found Tehan. I feed and water Gomda, put him up for the night and make my way to my te-pee. It takes a long time for my mind to settle, but eventually some form of restless sleep finds me. 

At first light I am up and ready. I find Maman-ti and tell him about the wagon train and Tehan. I can see relief flood Maman-ti's brown, wrinkled face when I tell him that his son is not chained and appears unharmed, but the relief is short lived as I recount the number of men, wagons, and ammunition I saw. Poor Buffalo (who joined us sometime later) thanks me and the chieftains confer amongst themselves. 

I greedily gulp water and chew on jerky until my jaw hurts from the effort. I sit alone and think about my strategies to save Tehan and practice bringing it up to Lone Wolf the next time I see him. Sooner rather than later, Lone Wolf, Maman-ti, Satanta, and Poor Buffalo emerge. They gather the braves and tell their plan. Tomorrow morning we will attack the wagon train to drive them away from camp and rescue Tehan. 

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Excitement buzzes in my veins as we ride silently. It is early morning and the first smears of gold light steak across the black sky. The landscape appears feral in this light. The few mesquite trees there are squat low with long thorns. The yucca plant stands tall, silent, and observant, while the sweet smell of sage carries on the wind and fills my nostrils. I love this land. 

Later, my brothers find and direct us to the wagons. We are covered by the tall grass on the ridge.  Quietly we split into groups so that the wagon train is surrounded on all sides. When Satanta sees that everyone is in place, he gives the signal. The sound of gunfire rings out. I hear the echos of the booms and the yells of the braves. I look to the sun and see she has begun her climb. I smile to myself as a cool morning wind softly kisses my face and I know this siege and my part in it will be something my children and grandchildren will remember. 

 When I was boy, I used to pour water and stomp on ant hills. The ants, caught off guard, would scurry and run around in a confused panic. There seemed to be no method to the madness, they scrambled about lost in a sense of self preservation. This is how the soldiers appear to me. I see the men ready their guns, their fearful eyes searching the ridges. The mules are made to run while the mounted cavalrymen fire retaliation shots towards the ridges. I hear the war cries of braves. I shout at them as well. I hope every yell sends a shock of fear through the blue coats. They have no idea what awaits them, and I can’t wait to show them.

 We trail them for what seems like forever until they finally halt at the dry creek. I look ahead and see the full plan come to fruition. While a few others and I trail the wagon train, over two hundred other warriors wait at the creek. Four hundred Kiowa, Apache, and Cheynne warriors.  I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face as I look at Satanta. He catches my eye and winks at me before he turns his face towards the sky and howls.

I stand in awe of what I witness. A sea of warriors falls like rain from the ridges. A flood of dark skin, black hair, and red paint rushes like a waterfall towards the wagon train. The wild yells full of revenge and purpose and glory send a spike of adrenaline and pride through me. I urge Gomda forward, desperate to be a part of this beautiful movement, but I am stayed by the hand of an elder. Frustration bubbles to the surface and I open my mouth to protest when I see why I was forced to yield. The wagons form a tight circle. I see men in blue coats and hats run around and take defensive stances with their rifles. 

I hear the boom of guns as smoke creeps from their barrels. The blue coats scramble about their enclosure low to the ground. The braves charge the wagons shooting, yelling, hanging low on one side of their horse as they illustrate their acts of bravery. I urge Gomda forward to the edge of the ridge and I am about to make my charge towards the wagons, but Satanta stays me again. Frustrated, I turn Gomda away because I am afraid, I will lose my temper with him, and I am more afraid of Satanta than I am of my wounded pride. 

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Time ticks by slowly as we roast in the sun. I dismount Gomda and let him roam to find a more suitable spot to bear this heat. I hope he fares better than I. But it is not the heat that occupies my thoughts, it is the fact that we are sitting here doing nothing! I am doing nothing! Other braves are tasked with firing at and charging the wagon circle, but I am not amongst them. Desperate, I bring up my plans to save Tehan to Satanta, but he laughs at me. He calls me impatient and dismisses me with a wave of his hand. 

I turn my attention back to the wagon circle scanning it for any sign of Tehan. I see none. I huff out a breath of annoyance and turn to go find Gomda, when I hear the high-pitched shouts of my people. I look to the ridges across the way and then down into the creek where the wagon circle sits. A group of blue coats run out with their guns and form a circle with their bodies and begin firing at the ridges where my people are. I grab my gun and run to the ridge, but I am told to hold fire. The frustration in my chest continues to build as I lay down my gun.

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 The sweltering days turn into stuffy sleepless nights. Several times a blue coat makes a mad, albeit heroic, dash back to the corral for ammunition and supplies, but he returns unharmed each time. I scoff at him on the third day. We have to do something. Anything other than what we are doing now. 

Satanta calls us together. “We have failed in our attempt to close in on them at night,” he says. “We must continue to keep the company of white men at a stand still. We must rescue Tehan and our people must have time to continue their journey to the canyons.” I stamp my feet in frustration when we are dismissed. This goes against everything my heart tells me to do. I am not sure how much longer I will be able to submit to Satanta’s will. 

That night I cannot sleep. Rest eludes me. I find myself staring at the moon, marveling at her beauty and thinking of my future. Who will I become if I am not on the path to become a part of koitsenko? I may be the nephew of the greatest chief the Kiowas have ever known, but I am also not a full-blooded Kiowa. My mother was a Mexican and my father, the brother of Maman-ti, was a great warrior before he died. I know it shouldn’t bother me because my parents loved me, but I hear the whispers of my tribe when they think I am far enough away. They laugh at me, they say I am filthy, that I am not worthy to be a brave. They say I should not be Maman-ti's nephew. My blood boils at the thought. All I have ever done is strive to be courageous and help my people. The things they despise me for are completely out of my control. It’s unfair. It angers me. Looking up at the moon I promise her that I will become the greatest Kiowa warrior ever known to man. I promise that before I die, I will stake my red sash to the ground and fight my enemies. That is how I will die, and my grandchildren will talk about their grandfather, Botalye, the great koitsenko of the plains. 

I turn my attention back to the wagon circle to plan my disobedience when my attention snaps into focus. It is dark, but I think I see the shape of a horse and a man riding away. I listen for the yells of my kinsmen to sound the alarm, but all I hear are the sounds of grasshoppers and the soft rustle of wind blown grass. Perhaps it was just my imagination. Perhaps my eagerness is getting the best of me. More likely, the lack of sleep is getting the best of me. I settle back down and close my eyes and will my brain to shut down. Just as I am about to fall into a deep slumber, I hear footsteps. I spring up, grab my gun, and point it in the direction I hear the noise. 

“Is this how you greet a cousin?” Tehan smiles as he steps into my line of sight. His arms outstretched for an embrace. I yell, drop my gun, and run to him. We laugh and wrestle as cousins do. Our ruckus wakes everyone around us and before they have rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they join us in celebration. 

I see a large figure coming towards us. He stops short of us and stares. “Father,” I hear Tehan whisper. “I am alive and well.” Maman-ti wraps his arms around Tehan. “My son who was lost is now found.” It is such a tender embrace that I feel awkward witnessing it. It makes my heart ache for my own father. Word of Tehan’s return spreads across the ridge and I hear shouts of joy break through the darkness with their light and sincerity. I smile and soak in this moment of victory. This moment of family. I look at the moon and thank her, for I believe she had role in this reunion. 

Maman-ti and Tehan walk away together. I imagine Tehan has insight that will prove useful for us. While I am dying to hear Tehan tell his tale, I know it must wait until this siege is over. Besides, I have a disobedience to plan. I will not stand on the sidelines anymore.  I hear the wind whisper it to me. It tells me that greatness and glory lie ahead. It licks my hair and fills my nostrils with a renewed sense of purpose. 

A rosy dawn lights the world the following morning. I wake with the promise of the wind still in the forefront of my mind. Satanta sends word that we are to fall back to camp and protect it. I stand rooted in disbelief. Leave! I cannot. I will not leave. This is not how this battle ends for the Kiowa. For me! My kinsmen have mounted their horses and begin to ride back. I hear them call my name and tell me to come with them. The wind gusts and I hear her message again. This is it. It is time. Damn everything else.

I tell Yellow Wolf and Set-Maunte what I am about to do. They say they will go with me. But as Set-Maunte mounts his horse, his brother snatches his war bonnet off his head and tells him it is too dangerous. Even Yellow Wolf decides to listen to his elders and dismounts his horse. 

I throw off my scarlet blanket and tie a white sheet around my waist. Wordlessly, I walk away. I hear my brothers call for me to come back. Gomda stamps his feet and neighs at me as I approach him. He is tired of being still in this heat. I run my hand over his soft, sweaty neck as I rest my forehead against his. I inhale his salty scent as our breathing falls into sync. Gomda is my truest brother. The only one who has kept my secrets. The only one I wholly trust. 

With his blessing, I jump on his back. I straighten my braids so that they fall in front of my shoulders instead of behind them. I like the feel of them on my skin as I urge Gomda on to run. Their comforting thump reminds me that I am Kiowa. I will be koitsenko. 

Paikee-te gallops next to me for a while. As we draw nearer to the wagon circle he halts. I howl in laughter as Gomda gallops straight at the wagon circle. I yell the war song of my people louder and louder with each pounding hoofbeat. Gomda yells with me as the coats in front of me become bluer, and the long nosed cylindrical shapes begin to take the form of guns. I hear the yells of the white men. I see them scramble. I bare my white teeth in a show of strength. I yell as I beat my chest and raise my gun high into the air. I am close enough now to see the fear in their eyes. 

In a great leap, Gomda flies over the ditch and into the heart of the corral. I see a pale man with short dark curly hair and dark eyes. His fear is momentarily replaced with admiration, and I can’t blame him. I imagine I am a sight from dreams. Time slows down. One beat. My outstretched hand tingles. Two beats. I hear Gomda’s hoofs strike the earth. Three beats. My fingers graze the soldier’s face. Four beats. I hear the sound of gunfire so close that it pulls me out of my daze. Gomda turns around and takes us back up the ridge before I turn him around and we charge again. I hear bullets whiz by us. Suddenly, my stirrup is loose, and I feel the heat on my foot, but I don’t care. Gomda runs at them again. I see them duck out of the way as I reach down and graze the top of a hat with my long slender fingers. I yell my victory as loud as my lungs will allow me. 

I don’t recall the ride back up the ridge. It’s a blur and my eyes sting from the wind and dirt. I hear the loud praises of my brothers, the curses of the white men. I barely slide off Gomda before my brothers descend on me and chatter excitedly. I hear the calls of my tribe in the distance, those who sit perched on the hilltops watching the wagon circle from high. I see their feathers, spears, and guns raised in victory. Raised at me! I feel as high as a cloud. I look to the wagon circle and see the white men scrambling about. I hear their gruff voices shout at one another in embarrassment.

 I see Satanta coming towards me. He is mad, but I don’t care.  For the first time I feel like a real warrior.  I have touched the enemy twice. 

And I will do it again. 

I jump back on my horse and with a wink at Satanta, Gomda and I take off running again. I see the blue coats are ready for me this time. I feel fear creep up my throat and I croak out a sound I never heard before. I don’t want to die, especially at the hands of White men, but to turn back now would bring immeasurable dishonor and I would die of shame. I remind myself that this moment now, riding Gomda towards the wagon circle, is part of the plan. My name will live on the lips of men forever. 

I near the wagon circle and hear the fire of guns. I’m not sure which sound is loudest, my yell or the booms of the guns. Gomda does not jump into the wagon circle, but we run around it. A lesser horse would lose footing in the rough land, but Gomda is the best horse in the herd. Sure footed, even tempered, and most importantly, loyal to me. I flip myself over the side of Gomda so that I am hanging between his body and the corral. Gomda’s feet kick dirt in my face and my head hits a sage bush as I feel bullets whiz by. I don’t care about any of that. I will show everyone, the Kiowa and the white men, who Botalye is. I hear Gomda whinny in pain, but he never loses stride. I pull myself up and he takes us back to safety. I slide down and inspect every inch of him. I see blood on his neck, but it is only a scratch. I breathe a sigh of relief and tell Gomda the good news. He nuzzles me to let me know that he is not upset by it. I see that my feathers have been shot and I can feel the heat and sting from a bullet on my scalp. I press my hand to it, and it comes back with a little blood. It makes me smile. 

Most people would feel offput by bullet wounds and several brushes with death, but I am different. I feel this moment zing my bones and veins. I feel myself relax and begin to revel in my exploits, but then a gust of wind hits me. I know that it is telling me to go again. I whisper to Gomda who whinnies in agreement. I turn him around and we run again. The cries and pleas to stop fade as the roar of the wind, the beat of Gomda’s hoofs, and the warmth of the sun’s rays fill my senses. Gomda and I are unstoppable. I hold my gun up and yell. Once again I hear the boom boom booms of the guns, but I do not cower. I do not slow our pace. I ride straight to the corral. As we charge forward, I raise my gun and fire a shot into the air. Gomda takes a swift left turn as we reach trench in front of the circle and we run so fast that the wind does not catch us. 

As I bring Gomda to a halt, I see Satanta standing with his arms crossed. His expression is serious. I slide off Gomda and stand before him. I use all my courage to look him in the eye as I wait for his judgement. To my surprise he laughs. It is a deep laugh that comes from his belly. He throws his arms around me in an embrace. “If you hadn’t done it, I was going to whip you!” He says in between fits of laughter. I can’t help but laugh as well and soon all I can hear is the laughter of the warriors around me. He pushes me from his embrace and levels a serious look at me. “I couldn’t have made four runs myself. No one ever comes back a fourth time! Once or twice is enough.” He pauses for a moment before adding, I’m glad you came back alive.” I hear whoops and yells of acceptance and admiration. 

The ride back to camp is incredible. Koitsenko warriors speak to me about my exploits and tell me about theirs in turn. They tell me how brave and fearless I am. Even they have not done what I did.  

When we arrive the news of what I have done precedes me. I am greeted by Big Tree, To-hauson, and Lone Wolf. They congratulate me and have me tell my story again. Lone Wolf laughs as I end the tale and Poor Buffalo makes a declaration. “I’m going to give this young man a new name. If any danger comes, we can depend on him! I name him Eadle-tau-hain.” 

I laugh at the meaning of my new name, “He who would not listen”. I suppose it is fitting. Between my bravery and Tehan’s return, the camp is a buzz with energy. It’s a whirlwind for me as I am pulled in a thousand different directions by people who want to talk to me about my runs. 

Suddenly, rain pours from the sky. Dark clouds appear from nowhere. Thunder rumbles over the vast plains as a warning to leave. Jagged lightening cracks across the sky. It is time to leave and make for the canyons. As we ride along the soft rolling hills, I spot another wagon of blue coats. I feel the need for battle rise. It gnaws at the recesses of my mind. It buzzes about my head like a pesky fly.  I look at my friend, Little Owl, and smile as I nod my head in the direction of the wagon train. “Let’s live up to my name? What do you say?”