The daily morning journal and courier., 1906-08-18
DEATH OF coMANcHR CHIEF.
Story of Indian Warfare in Northern
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All day long wagon alter wagon had been rumbling up from all parts of Co-
 manche county in Oklahoma to q gos- pei rendezvous on Cache Creek. The camp was teening with modern Indian life. The smoke was rising from fifty little campfres; the innumerable dogs were fighting; the squaws were chat teringas they prepared the evening meal; the men were attending to the horses; the children were racing and laughing. An old Texan was talking to the missionary, who was intensely interested in the story.
 I've seen the time when we gave the Comanches bullets instead of Bi- bles," he said. Ut was in the war of the early '70s. I was one of the Texas rangers, and we fought the Comanches to the finish. We fought them out of Texas, and then the troops did them up at McClellan's Creek, in the territo- ny Comanches could fight in those days. I saw some brave Indians die one old chief in particular. I always feel sorry when I think of 1t.
 We Texans were fighting our own war with the Comanches. The troops were in the territory, chasing the tStaked Plains band of Comanches; but we stayed in Texas and fought Comanches and Kiowas wherever we found them. Well, one day we found them too thick. About twenty of us got cut off and had to take to the buttes to save our horses. We kept the redskins off until we reached the buttes, and leaving our horses there we rushed back long gun range from them, and then lay down in the tall grass and kept the Indians off with our rifles until help came. This saved our horses, and fortunately we lost only two men.
 The Comanches would ride within range and fire upon us, but we could shoot from perfect rest, and we emp tied many saddles.
 "One Comanche had white hair, and when he would whirl his horse around and come riding low, with his gun ready to shoot, the rangers would call to each other, Look out for old grand daddy. He shoots close There was something unnatural about the old h. dians riding, and Jack Jefferson, who was shooting next to me, said, with a laugh, The old buck Is so stiff that he can't ride slick
 "One time the old man came on a lit- tie too far. Jack pulled up his gun. We saw the Indians horse rise and plunge, and we knew that Jack hadn't missed.
 Hes coming on,' cried Jack. AAnd sure enough, he was running straight for us, low and swift, over the long grass, the old man tugging in vain at the rein and trying to turn his mad dened pony.
 "A dozen rifles were raised to stop him, but Jack, all wild with fight and fun yelled, Don't shoot. He's coming in. He's my meat
 The old Comanche came on, while the other Indians in the distance were shooting and yelling like demons. But he made no attempt to fire. He sat straight up on his horse, and as he came close we heard him singing.
 "One hand was clutching his empty rife, His eyes were fixed straight ahead. He was riding to his finish, singing the death chant of the Co., manche warrior. It was a skeery sight. Jack raised his gun, but just couldn't shoot, and nobody else wanted to- The crazy pony passed almost over our heads. Then all of a sudden he strengthened up in the air and came down head first on the ground-Indian under, as the horses feet rose up in the somersault.
 "'Why didn't the of1 fool slide off?' yelled Jack, as we both crouched, with our rifles ready in case the Indian should rise again. But no Indian showed up, and the horse lay perfectly still.
 After a bit the Comanches drew off out of range, and Jack and I walked over to where the dead horse lay. Shot the pony through the head!' said Jack, and as we came up and saw the limp and lifeless body of the old Comanche, Jack aurned to me with a strange choke in his voice. Partner, he's broke his neck, and he was tied on to his horse.'
 That night after the preaching ser vice the missionary, with dozen of the leading men of the Comanche tribe, some old men, with war records, sat around the fire. Through the interpre- ter the missionary told them the tale of the white haired Comanche. Their eyes glistened, and a deep guttural 'I4a, hal" followed each sentence.
 When the story was done there was 3 long, solemn silence, and the inter- preter turning to the missionary, said: They say it's so."-Youths Compan- ion.