Ke-Ni-Tay, (To take the power.) Smart, quiet, ruthless and loyal.
Grandson of Mangas Coloradas, Ke-Ni-Tay at twelve left to raid with Victorio after his Grandfather was murdered, until he became disinchanted with what he was doing.
1872, after ten years on the raid, he surrendered and asked to become a scout. Going after Chiricahua warriors was almost sport. That is where he met MacIntosh, friends would be an odd term for their relationship. Respected allies would be a closer fit.
1874 they were sent to the great plains to scout. The Apache was far from out of his element. he took it as a challenge to learn and defeat those he fought.
1875 he followed MacIntosh farther west to Montana
Aliases / Nicknames
Whichever post assigned to.
Kith & Kin
Mother and father, 4 bothers 2 sisters, whereabouts unknown.
Born sometime around 1850 in the Mimbreño division of the Apache Nation
As for the Apache, he turned to him, "Good fight. Go tell MacIntosh we are heading back as soon as I get my wounded and dead properly cared for."
Crabbe watched him go, rubbing his chin. There were no hard feelings on his part: technically the scout had been doing the right thing, trying to eliminate a rogue element in the midst of their own party. It still damn well hurt though.
Well that was it. The three men who had done that to his wife were dead, and all three of them knew why they were dead. Now it was back to Kalispell: back for the final act of this miserable play that had been his life. His one last task: to take care of Bridget.
"Crabbe kill Mercer, not about guns, something else." He explained, not that it mattered to either of them. "White men." He said, shaking his head. "Captain says move out soon as he gets his men. Take care of wounded and dead."
"Well they didn't get the guns or ammunition, so I'd say it was a good days work." MacIntosh replied flatly. "Somehow I expected more fight in 'em. Gave up too easy to my way of thinking, but we'll be ready when the troop is. Lets get mounted. They don't fight like Apaches." The final words in a disgusted tone.
It seemed like it was out of nowhere when the Apache was on him, knocking him sideways and the roar of the gunshot filling all three of the mens ears. But seeing the man Mercer mount up to escape had Ke Ni Tay on the move down the side of the hill as fast as he could go, his intent, take the man off the horse, but he saw the horse take the hit before he was half way down. the animal and rider tumbling with the rider staying in the saddle rather than letting loose.
It was then he saw Crabbe dash toward the man pinned under the wounded horse, his intent clear as the blue Montana sky. The rest was speed and lucky timing in an attempt to prevent the outright murder of the one called Mercer. But Crabbe had already fired twice in the interim, Ke Ni Tay hit Crabbe solidly on the chin, dropping him, and as the bespectacled man rolled overr, the Colt fell from the mans hand.
All of this did not go unnoticed by the hostiles. One came at the Apache and took a bullet in the head, slamming him backwards into a tree trunk, a second brave was on the Mimbreño, and they began to wrestle, each trying to gain any advantage they could to overpower the other
Ke Ni Tay managed to free his knife and thrust in into the other man, repeatedly until the brave lost his grip and fell away mortally wounded.
MacIntosh wheeled from his position and saw the Mercer fellow in the saddle. Either kill him or cover him. The other choice was to cover the horse holders because the Indians would be after the mounts, and if that maneuver drew the soldiers away from the main thrust of the Arapahos attack they could mount another charge.
With the section under Givens moving to cover the horse holders, MacIntosh returned to his position covering the backside of the hill, and surely as there was sunlight, maybe half a dozen warriors were slowly climbing up. Mercer might just distract them.
"Ke Ni Tay, they're coming!" he called as he levered a cartridge into the chamber, then, fed a couple shells into the Winchester. The Apache scrambled over, and passed, MacIntosh to an position affording them almost a crossfire, but neither opened up, yet.
The Apache looked at the one called Crabbe with neither like or dislike, but then he didn't know him except in passing, that he was there. There was no question of trust, there was none for the white man. Then he looked back to the captain.
"Go slow. Wagons too heavy, ruts deep. Horses poor choice to pull." Ke-Ni-Tay answered. In his mind he could see how simple it would be to ambush them. He looked back at Crabbe. "Moon face, big nose, drives first wagon. They not worried, believes no one sees them."
Ke-Ni-Tay had once again saved their bacon, cautioning their ascent on what had appeared to be an unremarkable rise, and it was just that, but the Apache had heard something, carried on the morning breeze. They paused holding the muzzles of their horses against a whinny. MacIntosh knew right then there was trouble just over the rise.
Ke-Ni-Tay, the one with the better stealth eased up the slope while MacIntosh held the horses. Once near the top, with brush plentiful, the Mimbreño used scrub brush as a blind to view what was below. He smiled to himself, it would be a simple thing to kill them all, but that was not why they were there, they were there to report to the captain.
He made his way carefully back down the slope. But a bit faster than he went up, jogging back to MacIntosh. “Three wagons. Two outriders. Five white eyes in all. Wagons heavy, easy to follow.”
“Might be our quarry. Let’s get back to the column.” Both had spoken in hushed tones. Both swung into the saddle, walking their horses a good fifty yards away, and then spurring them to run hell for breakfast back to the troop. There was always a chance they had not walked the horses far enough not to be heard, but then again, what would they do about it, come after them?
Over the last rise they came, as if the tails of their horses were on fire and their shirt-tails were catching! Across the flat and pulling up sharply.
“Mornin’ Captain, think we found ‘em. Three heavy wagons, two out riders. Five men that Ke-Na-Tay saw, might be more inside the wagons, if so, could be relief drivers, can't be sure. " MacIntosh reported.
"Maybe trapper." Ke-Ni-Tay stated flatly as they watched the man, passing the glass back and forth between them.
Bundles on the mules did not appear to be the shape of rifle crates, though both realized that they could be disguised easily enough, or rifles could be packed individually and covered with other shaped bundles or boxes. That of course did not allow for delivery of many guns.
Whiskey, of course, could also be disguised by different shaped containers that would not draw much attention, so the Apache and MacIntosh viewed this man as possibly the man they were in search of.
Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.
Connect With Us On
If you would like to join the Sagas' Discord server or are already a member, click the image to open the Discord web application.