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Chronicles of Oklahoma
Volume 8, No. 3
September, 1930

Dan W. Peery

Page 257


It is an old adage, that "Truth is stranger than fiction," yet it is sometimes difficult to determine as to what is truth and what is fiction. In the past few years there has been a school of skeptics whose special mission has been to try to upset traditions, tear down the historical stories that have been the heritage of our people, and to take the glamour away and remove the halo from the brows of those whom we have been taught to believe were our heroes. Personally, I do not love the iconoclast, I like to believe the old stories, and, in spite of modern biographers, I still believe Parson Weems' story of George Washington cutting the cherry tree with his little hatchet. However, the writer is from Missouri, and there are some of the more modern stories, that are highly embellished, that should be supported by evidence before they are handed down to posterity as history.

In the month of May, there was an elderly gentleman visited our Society, and, to say the least, he was a most interesting personage. His conversation, as well as his demeanor, bore evidence of culture and refinement. Although active and alert he was perhaps eighty years old, or, at least, he claimed to be that old. He had a placid, benign countenance as a man at peace with all the world. When the writer entered the library room he was entertaining Prof. Thoburn and Mrs. Jessie Moore with the weird story of his life. I was introduced to him and he wrote upon a card his name and address and handed it to me. The card read, "J. K. Griffis Vergennes Vt." and in brackets the name, "Ta Han."

His story ran, that, altho he is a resident of New England now, and was for many years Presbyterian Minister and a Chatauqua lecturer, his youth and early life was that of an uncivilized savage, not knowing the white man's language and nothing of civilization. He claimed that his father had been a government scout way back before the Civil War, and was operating with the U. S. troops along the Oklahoma, Texas border, while his mother, with some other white women were in a temporary settlement on Elm Creek, near where Gainsville, Texas is now located. The wild Kiowas and Comanches raided this settlement, killing his mother and other

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women. He was then but a small boy and does not recollect this tragedy in his life. He was carried into captivity, raised in the Kiowa tribe, and for the next twenty years was one of the tribe, sharing the hardships of the life of the wild Indian. As an Indian he became a great warrior, participating in many raids and battles, not only with the white soldiers, but with other tribes of Indians. He showed us a booklet of clippings from a number of Eastern papers, all in praise of his Chautauqua lectures and referring to his life among the wild Indians. He had also lectured for a number of years in the New York Public Schools on Indian Ethnology.

He was just passing thru Oklahoma, going from California to his home in the East. He had been in the West, part of the time with the Navahoe and kindred tribes, for the past eighteen months, studying Indian Ethnology in the homes of these primitive people. He was traveling in an automobile with a driver and only stopped over a short time to visit the Oklahoma Historical Society.

The writer will concede that he was a little skeptical of this man's story, but all of the others to whom he told his experience had no doubt that it was true. We had a new witness who could tell of the battle of Paladora Canyon and of the battle of the Washita from the Indian view point. I at once recognized him as a man whom I had met and heard him tell this story many years ago, but I did not mention the fact that I had ever heard his life story before, and that there had been something that had made me doubt. I invited Mr. Griffis to take lunch with me and while at dinner we talked about the Kiowa Indians and some of the early pioneers.

The writer does not claim that he is a real pioneer, yet, I came to the Washita River Country more than forty-one years ago, and at that time there were many of the older pioneers living. I knew personally Horace P. Jones, who was a government scout long before the Civil War, and the man who was the interpreter when Gen. Sol Ross captured Cynthianna Parker, the mother of Quanah Parker, from the Comanche Indians. Jones told me the story of Cynthianna Parker in great detail. I was also a friend of Jack Stillwell, the scout, and many others, pioneers who had a part in the civilization of the Southwest.

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Mr. Griffis and I talked of many of these people, both the Indian and the white men who were among them, or else were in government service in those days and I was surprised at his knowledge of the Kiowas. I asked him if he knew an old Kiowa named Chaddle Konkie. Oh yes, he did, said that he was a good man, and he was. I asked Mr. Griffis the meaning of the name, Chaddle Konkie, and he answered that it would mean "Black Goose or something of the kind." The name in English is "Black Crane."

When Mr. Griffis went on his way, I got down the files of the "El Reno Globe," a paper that was published in El Reno for nearly ten years, and its editor was at that time Dan W. Peery, the writer of this story. In the weekly issue of May 10, 1895, thirty-five years ago last May, I find this story written by me.


"Rev. J. K. Griffis, of Buffalo, N. Y., preached at the Presbyterian church in this city, Sunday morning. Mr. Griffis consented to make a talk at the church Monday night, giving something of his personal experience with the Kiowa and Comanche Indians. His life history has certainly been wild, weird, and romantic. According to his own story, which is vouched for by the old timers here, his mother was killed and he was stolen by the Kiowa Indians when he was but two years old. He was adopted into the tribe and raised as an Indian boy. He says that he never knew that he was not an Indian until he was captured by Custer's men at the fight on the Washita. He says he was taken back to some of his relatives in Cook county, Texas, but he did not like civilization and soon ran away and joined his tribe, remaining with them until he was a grown man. He afterwards drifted east to get some idea of white civilization and soon struck the Salvation army, got religion, and is now a minister in the Presbyterian church. Mr. Griffis tells of having seen a white man burned at the stake after the fight on the Washita, yet he claims that the soldiers have committed deeds equally atrocious. His sympathies are with the Indians. He has just returned from a visit with some of his old Kiowa friends west of Anadarko. In private conversation Mr. Griffis speaks in very uncomplimentary terms of the present Indian agent

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at Anadarko, Captain Baldwin. He says the agent's conduct toward him was unbecoming either a gentleman or an officer."

The Minco Minstrel which was edited by Lewis N. Hornbeck, republishes the story of Rev. Grifs told in the Globe of May 10th one week later under the caption, "A Romantic Life Story," and commented as follows:


"It so happens the Minstrel man was present at the council, a short time ago, when this man Griffis presented his claims to the agent, Major Baldwin. Personally we made some inquiry into his case, as it naturally interested us at the time. We do not know how the agent spoke to him, but in speaking of him the agent was certainly as courteous as could be desired, and seemed to rather regret his plain duty when the Indians failed to recognize or to have any remembrance of Mr. Griffis. So far as we could learn none of the Indians supported the statement of Mr. Griffis and H. P. Jones, who should certainly have known of such an event, utterly disclaimed any knowledge of the subject. Besides this, Jack Stilwell, who reached Custer's command the day after the battle, contradicts the whole story, bluntly and emphatically. Mr. Griffis may be all that he claims to be, but he failed to produce any support for his statement. No doubt he felt his repulse very keenly, in being denied recognition, but he should have come better prepared with credentials for the present and testimony for the past. As to being treated ungentlemanly by the agent, we neither heard or saw any intimation of the kind and do not believe it."

Just before the above was written, Mr. Hornbeck was attending a big Indian Council of the Comanches near Mt.

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Scott and while there wrote a long letter back to his paper from which we copy the following:

"The Old Colonel," Horace P. Jones, of Ft. Sill, is here acting as interpreter.

A gentleman giving his name as Joe Griffis is also here, claiming that he was a captive these Indians thirty years ago, when a child, that he was released at a council, went to his people in the East, and has only now returned. He claimed to recognize Horace Jones by sight, but Jones demurs that no one would recognize him now who only knew him when a young man with hair on his head. Mr. Griffis stated he was now a missionary, and, I understand, desires to establish himself among his old captors. None of the Indians could place him. His case will be considered at this council, and in the present light of things he is liable to be "fired" as an imposter.

Mr. Griffis is seemingly about 35 or 40 years of age, well dressed, quiet in deportment, but with rather a puzzled, indefinite expression of countenance."

May 10—1895

It may be noticed that in none of these stories, printed over 35 years ago, any mention is made of the Indian name "Tahan". If Mr. Griffis claimed to be Tahan, the Texan, at that time neither Mr. Hornbeck nor myself made mention of that name in our writings concerning him. He may have given that as his Indian name but we failed to mention it in repeating his story. However, there was a captive whom the Kiowa Indians knew as Tahan and his life story fits in to that of Mr. J. K. Griffis. In order that our readers may know that there was a white captive whom the Indians called Tahan (the Texan), and that his life was as weird and as romantic as that of any of the earlier characters in American history, I am reprinting a chapter from a book written by Rev. J. J. Methvin of Anadarko, Oklahoma, entitled, "Andele, or the Mexican Kiowa Captive." This book should have more general circulation for it is a true story and one of the most interesting ever written of the West. The writer has the consent to republish the chapter entitled, "Tahan, the Captive Texan" from Andele himself.

The following is copied from the book entitled, "Andele or The Mexican—Kiowa Captive." Page 118-128.


"Once when a band of Kiowas were on a maurauding ex-

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pedition down in Texas, they plundered a frontier home, and murdered all the family except a boy about five years of age. Him they carried captive away, to be given (for adoption) to a squaw who had lost her only son. The Indians not knowing or caring for his real name called him Tahan (meaning Texas man), for the reason that he was captured in Texas.

All Indians are named from some circumstance connected with them, and this is why there are so many singular names among them. "Stumbling Bear" looks like a great awkward bear reared back on his hunches, hence his name. A boy was born about the time the Indians had ceased mourning in a certain camp, hence was called, Kea Kee, or "Quit Mourning." Another was born at a time when the mother was far away from home, hence he was called, "Born a long ways from home." If Tahan was old enough when captured to know his name, he was too young to give it correctly to the Indians, and hence he at once accepted the name given by them.

At the time of this outbreak near Anadarko, Tahan was about eighteen years old, and was as complete an Indian in habits, customs, and superstitions, as the most extreme Indian, and was as bitter and cruel in purpose of bloodshed and plunder. When the Indians started westward, and had, after a day's travel, reached a point several miles north of the Washita River, they pitched camp, hoping to rest several days before they went on. Tahan seeing what was before them, and remembering that he had left his best horse at their former camp, and that he would need him, started after him. It was about ten miles to the south, but he could go there and get back in time to go on with the band westward.

He had, on some raid, secured a good rifle, and when he reached the crossing of the Washita, on the Ft. Reno and Ft. Elliot trail, he discovered a deer. He shot and wounded it badly, but did not kill it. He sprang from his horse, hitching him hastily with the larriat to a bush, and leaving his gun hanging to the saddle, he ran after the wounded deer, which had fallen some little distance away. He butchered the deer, and returned to get his horse, but just as he took hold of the lariat, a troop of soldiers rode up from the steep banks of the river and took him prisoner. It was a squadron of cavalry going as couriers with papers from Ft. Elliot to the commanding officer at Ft. Reno. They hurried Tahan on, before them, not knowing at first that he was a full blood white.



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An Indian scout who had been watching the trail saw that Tahan was captured and soon communicated the news to the Kiowas. At once Napawat called the whole band of warriors to mount, and away they went in hot pursuit. In the course of a few hours they came in sight of the squad of soldiers, but just as the soldiers were meeting a large troop coming with a train of wagons from the direction of Ft. Reno.

Napawat, seeing there were too many now to attack openly, decided to try strategy. He turned and went with his warriors back toward the crossing on the Washita, near which was a deep canon through which the soldiers must pass in traveling toward Ft. Elliot. It was decided that they would conceal themselves there at the summit, and when the palefaced soldiers were in the cut, they would attack them. Napawat and the band got to the place decided upon, dismounted, stripped themselves, and painted themselves in such a way that they were a hideous sight to behold.

They had not long to wait, for soon they beheld the head of the column coming cautiously along. As they lay in ambush, they watched anxiously for Tahan, for the only purpose they had in view was to recapture him. He was veritably an Indian. He knew not the white man's language. He loved the Indians, and they loved him. Tahan they must have, and Tahan was just as anxious to get back to them.

They soon discovered him in charge of two soldiers, one on each side. Becoming over eager, the war-whoop was raised too soon, for the soldiers had not yet reached the most disadvantageous ground, and when they heard the war-whoop, and saw the hideously painted Kiowas coming, in quick movement they whirled their wagons around into a kind of fortress, and were ready for the attack.

The Indians seeing the celerity with which this was done, and the accuracy with which the soldiers fired, were deterred, and hesitating awhile, fell back in some disorder. They soon rallied and came again, but were again repulsed. Again and again they charged upon the encampment, but the soldiers had now secured themselves by spade and shovel in throwing up breastworks. Night came on, and the fighting ceased till next day. During the night some of the Indians crawled up as close to the soldiers' encampment as they dared, and began to call, "Tahan, Tahan, ema, ema.." (Tahan, Tahan, you come, you come.) They continued to call him, "Run away from the sol-

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diers and come on, your grandfather is waiting for you. He wants you to get him some buffalo meat. Come on." For three days the seige was kept up, each night the Indians calling for Tahan, who was kept under close guard by the soldiers.

Andele all this time was among the foremost in every charge, and several times he made narrow escapes. On the third night the Indians held a council and decided that if they did not accomplish something next day, they would withdraw, and go on their way westward. They had settled on plans for the next day's attack, and had all gotten quiet, when someone in subdued voice was heard calling:

"Where are you, grandfather, where are you? Are you all gone?"

"Listen," said Andele, "who is that? Somebody calls."

All listened with fear and superstitious anxiety; for while it sounded somewhat like the voice of Tahan, yet it seemed to be far away and weak. But again the voice came, clearer this time as it called out:

"My people, where are you?"

"Who is that?" called Napawat.

"I, Tahan. I come."

In a moment the whole camp was in commotion, running together crying out, "Tahan, Tahan- he has come, he has come," and they threw their arms around him and rejoiced over him.

After sometime all was quiet again. Tahan was telling with much interest to his dusky friends how he had, by rolling out from under the blanket under which he was lying, slipped away and made his escape in the darkness, and he supposed the soldiers who were guarding him had not yet detected his absence. While thus engaged they discovered just there in the darkness, slipping stealthily along in their direction, the form of a warrior.

In a moment every man grasped his spear, for they thought it the approach of the enemy, and they were ready for the conflict. But they heard some one speak in the Kiowa tongue. Napawat called, "Who are you?"

"Umph," grunted back the voice. "Your friends have a hard time to find you, Napawat," for it was one of his own band who was left several days before at the river crossing to watch that, and who had come to warn them of danger.

"You need to be quick. If you have accomplished nothing

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here, it is too, late now, for soldiers are coming from the way of the setting sun in great numbers. The whole earth is covered with them, and they are camped to-night not far from our squaws and papooses, and are headed right toward their camp, and to-morrow our squaws and papooses will all be murdered, as were the Cheyennes not far from here not long ago, unless something is done quick."

Napawat listened until this speech was through, then called out to his men to mount, saying, "If we be men, let us put ourselves between the squaws and papooses and danger. Let us die like brave men should die, rather than see our children murdered and our women outraged as were the Cheyennes." Every man in the whole band gave the grunt of approval, and soon all were on the march.

The soldiers knew not that the seige was raised till next morning. They ventured out cautiously and soon found that the Kiowas had all disappeared. Where, they knew not. Could they have known, there would have been no need of caution as they broke camp and continued their march. As it was, they marched slowly and with every precaution, lest the Indians should undertake another ambush attack.

When Napawat reached the camp of the women and children in the early morning, he found that the soldiers coming from Ft. Elliot had camped not far away, and that now what was done would have to be done quickly. While he was considering the matter, news of another troop of soldiers from toward Ft. Sill reached him.

He began to call the band of warriors to arms, but found that, through fear, many of them were slow to move, and others were advising against fighting, and cowardly hiding away. Napawat, seeing this, called them squaws and upbraided them for their cowardice, but it had little effect. Fear had overcome the would-be braves. Napawat finally called out, saying,

"Seeing you are all so cowardly, and will not fight, I intend to go at once and give myself up to the soldiers, and get the best terms I can." And he turned at once and galloped away with a few followers toward army headquarters. After much difficulty and some risks, he finally reached Ft. Sill and gave himself up, promising to secure to the government all of those who continued on the warpath, if they did not surrender by a cerain time.

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But Tahan joined Za-ko-yea, who went on westward, making raids wherever he could find people to murder, or plunder to steal. It was difficult to catch these marauding bands at that time, for there was such a vast unoccupied territory over which to roam, and plenty of wild game upon which to subsist. But the United States troops continued to wage war upon them with the purpose of putting down every marauding band. Most of the Indian chiefs had come in and surrendered, except Za-ko-yea, and he had committed so many depredations that he was afraid to surrender, lest he should be killed without mercy. But he saw that he would eventually be caught, and he began to study what he should do. If he could conceal his identity and surrender, or if he could in some way prevent proof of his bloodshed and plunder, or manage to fasten it on others, he might be safe in surrendering. He felt that so far as the testimony of the Indians was concerned he was safe, for he was chief and they dare not tell anything against him. As he thought thus he glanced at Tahan, who had been with him in all his murder and plunder, and had aided him with a ruthless hand. He thought:

"Tahan is a white man. If I go in and surrender and Tahan with me, he will be induced to tell on me. It is true he has shown himself in all our wars true to the Indian, and he knows nothing of the white man's talk and ways, but in his veins courses the white man's blood, and a like spirit may soon spring up in friendship if he once becomes familiar with them."

The thought of this disturbed him, and while he studied about it he decided it would never do to let Tahan be taken by the white man. It would mean death to him. The bare thought of being betrayed by Tahan angered him, although there was not the least ground for suspicion, for Tahan hated white men as bad as any Indian, and had proven it by the many bloody deeds committed upon them.

But Za-ko-yea was in desperate mental surmisings, and the bare imagination of Tahan's betrayal haunted him. This desperate state grew more severe, till in fit of frenzy, he whirled around and with a trembling but desperate hand drew his bow and sent an arrow whizzing through the heart of Tahan. Tahan looked with a wondering, despairing look, and without an utterance fell backwards, dead.

Za-ko-yea looked upon him for awhile as he lay there upon

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the prairie sand, and then turned away with that last look of Tahan forever riveted upon his mind. He was left lying there to be fed upon by the wolf and the vulture; but Za-ko-yea, savage as he was, carried the vision of his dying face upon his guilty conscience to the end of his days. He would have given the world, doubtless, could he call back the deed.

This story of Tahan's end is left in some doubt, for some of the Indians say, and Za-ko-yea himself so claims, that after the fight with the soldiers near Llano, in their retreat across the prairie, in an almost barren region, Tahan was overcome with heat and thirst, could get no water, and that he fell by the way and died."


The writer had made his home at Carnegie on the Washita since the opening of the Kiowa and Comanche reservations in 1901. There were many Kiowa Indians alloted land in the Washita Valley near Carnegie, in fact the "Sa-mo-ne" camp, only three miles west of Carnegie, was long considered the head camp of the Kiowa tribe. I have long been a friend of these Indians and have had a personal acquaintance with several of them for more than forty years. I naturally was interested to know if the dapper old gentleman whom I had met in the Capitol building was indeed the noted "Tahan", the captive who led the uncivilized tribe of the Kiowas in battle and in raids on the white settlers in Texas sixty years ago; or, had Tahan been killed by Za-ko-yea (Big Bow) and that our suave visitor had only assumed the name and adopted the story of Tahan as his own life story, as a drawing card for his Chautauqua lectures back in the eastern states.

When I went down to my home at Carnegie a few days after meeting Tahan (?) I met a number of the Kiowas and the news that Tahan was yet alive excited much interest among some of the older Indians. Ned Brace, one of the best educated and progressive members of the tribe acted as interpreter in talking to the older Indians. Mr. Brace said that he was hardly old enough to remember the white captive but he had often heard tales told around the council fires about Tahan.

Brace said that it was thought by most of the old Kiowas that when the Indians were rounded up by the soldiers and

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taken to the stockade at Ft. Sill in 1872 that Tahan had made his escape or had been killed. He said that the story ran that Tahan ran away when the plains band of Kiowas was captured. Some Indians had followed his moccasin tracks in the mud, slush and snow until they came to where horses tracks had crossed his path and as the horses were shod they knew that the soldiers had captured him, and, as they had heard nothing from him since, they thought him dead. Brace said that there was an old Indian woman living adjoining the town of Carnegie on the east who had been raised in the same lodge with Tahan and would remember all about him. Her name is Hoodle-Tau-Quoddle and an addition to Carnegie occupies a part of her allotment. While this woman does not speak English yet she is intelligent and progressive and lives in a home with all modern conveniences. I have known this old Indian woman for several years.

Word came to Hoodle-Tau-Quoddle that Tahan was living and her friends told her that I had met him in Oklahoma City. She was much interested and sent her daughter-in-law to find me and to know if it was really true that Tahan, the brother of her youth, was still living. The next morning the old Lady came in to town to the office of her lawyer, Mr. O. M. Ferguson, and sent for me to come up and tell her about the friend and brother and the hero of her youth. She was accompained by her son, Steve Bo-hay, who is educated and speaks English fluently. She at once commenced to question me about meeting Tahan, wanted to know about how old a man he was and how tall he was. She said that Tahan was her sister's boy (adopted) and that he was a good boy, everybody loved him. She said that he was a great warrior and led the Plains Kiowas in a big battle with the soldiers in what she described as the Paladora Canyon. She had often hunted with him when he was a young man and would help skin the buffaloes that Tahan had killed. She also said that he was a "pretty" boy and was her brother. (In the Kiowa manner of speaking, the son of her sister was her brother.) She wanted the lawyer to write a letter to Tahan that she would dictate through her son, Steve.

The letter that she dictated was as follows:

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June 25th, 1930.

Vergennes, Vermont.

Dear Sir:

I understand, through my old Friend Dan W. Peery, that you were in Oklahoma City some short time ago, I was very much disappointed when you did not come to see me.

If you are the same Tahan, that was captured by the Kiowas when I was a girl, you will remember me by the name of Zo-ne-Soodle, you will also remember the battle of the Pala-dura. I was there all during that awful cold winter.

If you are the same person that I knew as Tahan, you have a scar on your body, that you will recall at once how it came to be there. I would like to hear from you and would like to have you tell me whether or not you have the scar on your body or not.

I would like very much to have you come to see me and the next time you come to Oklahoma I sure want you to pay me a visit, I would like very much to talk over the old times with you, there are many of the old time Kiowas still living out here, and I am sure you would remember many of them if you could see them.

(this letter written by O. M. Ferguson, interpreted by Steve Bohay, Son of Hoodle-Tau-Quoodle, known as Zo-ne-Soodle)

Your Friend,


The writer returned to Carnegie to vote at the second primary, August 12. While there I called on my friend, Hoodle-Tau-Qooodle, to learn if she had received an answer to her letter written to Tahan, as I had heard she had received such a letter. Altho Tahan had not answered the question in regard to the scar on his body, yet the old lady was convinced that the Rev. Griffis of Vermont was the real Tahan of the Kiowa Indians. She stated that she had been to an Indian council since she had learned that Tahan was yet alive and the older members of the tribe were all talking about Tahan. The old Comanche people told her that they had known for a long time that Tahan was not dead and that

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Za-Ko-Yea had lied about killing him as was told in the Andele book. She said that she knew herself that Big Bow had not killed Tahan. She laughed and said, "Zo-Ko-Yea was right there in our camp at the time he had told other Indians that he was away with Tahan and had killed him."

The following is a copy of Tahan's letter:

Vergennes, Vermont
July 3, 1930

Box 141,
Carnegie, Oklahoma.

Dear Friend:

I am answering your letter which reached me just now, as I have been traveling much.

I am indeed glad to hear from one of the old time Kiowas, among whom I spent much of my early life, and for whom I feel most kindly. Those were the days of the wide open prairie; of the antelope, deer, elk, turkey and buffalo, and which, alas, are gone forever. But the recollections remain, and your letter has awakened in me thoughts of things and people which have long been asleep. There was the great chief Dohasan, Guipago, Settainte, Setankya—and many more Kiowas, including Tieti, the old chief who claimed me as his boy. And then, the nights of feasting and song which I now love to recall; and the days of return from the fights with the Tahaneko, and the sole yapahe, and all that. And it seems strange that now gyatdon mo to one after so many years- you see, a few words of the old Kiowa language comes back to me as I try to remember.

I am sorry that I did not know where you lived when I came through Oklahoma, or I certainly would have paid you a visit. But it is my hope to be in Oklahoma this fall about the first geese-going-moon, and visit all of the old time friends. And also, to go along hoan tat akia and try to find an old ka odal . . . . It is hard for me to even spell the words of the Kiowa language which I recollect, and maybe you will not be able to know what I mean. But when I come to see you, I will explain, and to hear you tell the stories of the old

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time, of the sa podal and the Zemoguani—stories to which I listened when a boy in Titie's lodge—his do.

Several times I have been among the Kiowas during the last forty years, but did not make myself known, because of things I did in the old days, and which people would not have understood if I had spoken of them.

Since I was a boy on the prairies, I have become educated, have learned the white man's ways, and now am able to think as a white man thinks. But I do love the old Kiowa ways, as they come to me now as a memory only. For there were real heroes in those days, who fought for the defense of our country and our prairie home.

When I come to see you, we will have a good talk of those days. And now must I close this letter by thanking you for writing to me, and hoping you will answer this, and wishing you all good things.

Sincerely yours,

Hoodle-Tau-Quoodle (Red Dress) has answered this letter and at the first "geese-going-moon", which she says, will be in November, she hopes that he will pay his old friends a visit. She said that the Kiowas all loved Tahan and if he comes and can identify himself, they will give him a big reception in the old Indian way, and the writer hopes to participate.

To the readers of the "Chronicles": I have submitted most of my evidence and I will leave it to you as to whether J. K. Griffis is the real "Tahan", the Kiowa captive, or, if this be but a romantic story that Rev. J. K. Griffis employed to entertain the people of the East for so many years.

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