The weather perfectly matched the miserable mood of the Quahadi villagers. They were still in mourning for the warriors lost on the recent raids. Even in their tipis, everyone was cold because the winds howling in from the north were particularly bitter. They were hungry. Their stomachs hurt from being so empty. No game had been seen, let alone successfully hunted, for days. Quanah knew conditions could not be more perfect for the spirit of Buffalo Hump to communicate with the Quahadi. Before notifying the villagers, Quanah brought Isatai to his tipi and adorned him with his own finest array—the thick wool uniform shirt taken from a cavalry officer Quanah slew in pitched battle, a delicate shawl torn from the shoulders of a sobbing white woman Quanah raped and killed, and a buffalo horn war bonnet decorated with strands of the same white woman’s long, flowing blond scalp. Quanah also applied wide stripes of black paint to Isatai’s chubby cheeks and down the bridge of his bulbous nose.
