On exploring the cave to see if there might be any means of escape, they found that it extended a considerable distance, and at the farther end was a hole opening to the surface. One of them climbed up and thrust his head out of the opening, but was seen by the soldiers, who at once effectually closed the hole. It was evident that the Mexicans were afraid to attack the Indians and were determined to keep them penned up until they were starved. To add to their distress, the decaying carcasses of the horses soon made the water unfit to drink. After ten days of suffering they realized that a longer stay meant dying in the cave, and it was resolved to make a desperate attempt to escape that night.
The sides of the well were steep and difficult, but they had noticed a cedar growing from a crevice in the rock, the top of which reached nearly to the height of the cliff, and it seemed just possible that by its means they might be able to climb out. That night, after dark, they made the attempt and succeeded in gaining the top without being discovered by the soldiers on guard. One only, the man who had been shot in the leg, was unable to climb. He implored his comrades to take him with them, but finding that impossible, they answered that it was his life against theirs and if they remained with him or lost time in trying to get him out they would all perish together. They urged him to have a strong heart and die like a warrior; he calmly accepted the inevitable, saying only; "When you get home, tell my comrades to come back and avenge me." Then he sat down by the side of the well to await death when daylight should reveal him to his enemies. His name, Dágoi, deserves to be remembered.
Dohasän was the first to reach the top; he belonged to the Kâitséñko, and it is said that before leaving the cave he had sung the song of that warrior order in which they bid defiance to death, the same which Set-ängya afterward chanted before he sprang upon the guard and was riddled with bullets by the soldiers.
As they emerged they saw the fires of their enemies burning in various directions about the mouth of the cave. The Indians were sheltered by the darkness, but some of the soldiers heard a slight noise and fired at random in that direction, and seriously wounded Koñate, who was shot through the body. The Kiowa succeeded in making their escape, probably helping themselves to some of the Mexican horses, and carried with them their wounded comrade until they reached a noted spring, perhaps on the edge of the Staked plain, known as Pai-k`op tóñtep, "Sun-mountain spring," from its circular shape and its situation on the top of a mountain. By this time Koñate's wounds were in such condition that it seemed only a question of a few hours when he would die. Finding themselves unable to carry him in his helpless condition across the desolate plains, his friends reluctantly decided to leave him to his fate. Placing him within reach of the water, they raised over him an arbor of branches to shield him from the sun, and rode away, intending on reaching home to send back a party, in accordance with their custom, to bring back his bones for burial.
Deserted by his companions, his wounds putrefying under the hot sun, Koñate lay stretched out by the spring silently awaiting the end. The sun went down and day faded into night, when far off on the hillside he heard the cry of a wolf; the wounded man roused himself from his stupor and listened; again he heard the cry of the wolf, but this time from another direction and evidently near; despair seized him as he realized that the coyotes had scented their prey and were gathering to the feast, and now he heard the patter of the light feet and the sniffing of the animal as a wolf prowled around him; but instead of springing upon the helpless man and tearing him in pieces, the wolf came up and gently licked his wounds, then quietly lay down beside him.
Now he heard another sound in the distance, the tsó dal-tem, or eagle-bone whistle of the sun dance; it approached, and he heard the song of the k`ádó, and at last the spirit of the taíme stood before him and said: "I pity you, and shall not let you die, but you shall see your home and friends again." The taíme then sent a heavy rain to clear out his wounds and afterward talked long with him, giving him instructions for a new shield and conferring upon him mysterious powers of medicine, of which the proof and emblem should be the ä´poto staff, which he instructed him to make after his return. Then the spirit left him, saying, "Help is near." The Kiowa insist that all this was not a dream or vision, but an actual waking occurrence; but of course most of it was the delirium of fever.
As his comrades proceeded on their way, they met six Comanche warriors on their way to Mexico, to whom they told the story of their encounter, also that they would find Koñáte's dead body at the spring, and asked them to cover it from the wolves. Then they parted, the Kiowa continuing on to the northward, while the Comanche proceeded toward the spring, where they intended to camp for the night. On arriving, they were astonished to find Koñáte alive and in somewhat better condition than when his comrades had left him. Seeing that there was a chance of saving his life, the Comanche washed his wounds and fed him; next morning they put him upon one of their extra horses, and abandoning their proposed raid turned back and brought him safely to his friends and tribe, where he fully recovered and lived for many years. A few years after his return, he made several shields, as directed by the taíme, one of which still exists in possession of Dr J. D. Glennan, U.S.A., now stationed at Fort Clark, Texas; he also made the sacred ä´poto, which he carried for some time in the annual sun dance, and afterward bestowed it upon his son (i. e., nephew) K`ayä´ñti, who still lives, now an old man. Koñáte subsequently assumed the name, of Pá-tadal, "Lean-bull," which he conferred later on its present owner, commonly known to the whites as Poor-buffalo.
Captain Pope, who visited the Hueco tanks in 1854, describes the peculiar formation of the cave springs and mentions the Gúadalóñte fight of some years before, his statements being evidently derived from the Mexicans, who were disposed to magnify their own part in the affair. He says:
Fig. 122—Winter 1857—58—Horses stolen.