NATURAL REMEDIES OF THE LAKOTA SIOUX

By Guest Author, Kat Flannery

While writing LAKOTA HONOR I did a ton of research. When writing a historical novel there are certain elements that need to be correct. With this particular novel I needed to know where the Lakota natives originated from, their language, what they ate and their remedies for ailments and injuries.  

What I admire the most about the Lakota Natives was that they never left things to waste. When hunting buffalo they used everything on the animal including the bone marrow. The same can be said for herbs and roots the Lakota took what they needed.

Below are just a few of the natural remedies I researched and what they were used for.

Wild Sage

PejiHota ape Blaskaska—Flat leaked sage—Wild Sage

Leaves are boiled and drank for upset stomach, and colds.
This plant was also used for religious ceremonies.

Purple Mallow

Pejuta NatiyaziLya—Incense for head—Purple Mallow

This was an important plant for the Lakota. When the root was burned the smoke was inhaled for head colds, or used to bathe aching muscles. The patient stands with a blanket over their heads in front of hot coals in which the plant is laid on top. The patient then inhales the smoke into their lungs for relief of their symptoms. Known to smell like coconut.

Bitteroot

Sinkpe tawote—Muskrats food—Sweet Flag or Bitterroot

This is the Lakota’s most traditional medicine. Found in the shallow parts of lakes and rivers.

The plant has been used to cure almost every known ill, but its dominant uses are for cold congestion, sore throat, and upset stomach. The root can be chewed or drank.

Slippery Elm

Pe’ tuntunpa—Slippery Elm

Found in elm trees, the bark is used for numerous illnesses. The bark is ground into a powder and added to water makes a paste to spread onto burns, skin wounds, cold sores, boils, abscesses and toothaches. Placed in a cup of boiling water the Lakota people would drink it to help with ulcers, sore throats, stomach ailments.

Witch Hazel

Witch Hazel

This was used for inflammation and swelling. Some tribes boiled the leaves and rubbed them onto the legs of tribesmen who were participating in sporting games. Boiled twigs were used to cure aching muscles.

Bestselling Western Romance author, Kat Flannery takes you on an exciting journey with the release of her new Historical Paranormal Romance, LAKOTA HONOR.

Fate has brought them together, but will a promise tear them apart?

In the small town of Willow Creek, Colorado, Nora Rushton spends most of her days locked up in her home with a father who resents her and fighting off unwanted marriage proposals from the wealthy Elwood Calhoun. Marked as a witch, Nora must hide her healing powers from those who wish to destroy all the witkowin—crazy women. What she doesn't know is that a bounty hunter is hot on her trail.

Lakota native Otakatay has an obligation to fulfill. He has been hired to kill the witkowin. In a time when race and difference are a threat and innocence holds no ground, courage, love and honor will bring Nora and Otakatay together as they fight for their freedom. Will the desire to fulfill his promise drive Otakatay to kill Nora? Or will the kindness he sees in her blue eyes push him to be the man he once was?

Reviews:

"Transport back to the old west with this paranormal historical, and its alpha hero, and a heroine hiding her secret talents."

—Shannon Donnelly, author of the Mackenzie Solomon Urban Fantasy series

"Ms. Flannery doesn’t shy away from writing gritty scenes or about unpleasant topics…That’s what good writing is all about—bringing out strong emotions in a reader."

—Peggy L. Henderson, bestselling author of the Yellowstone Romance Series

"Those who relish the conflict of a heroic half-breed trapped between the white man's world and the Indian will fall in love with LAKOTA HONOR."

—Cindy Nord, author of No Greater Glory

"LAKOTA HONOR weaves a fast paced and beautiful prose that lures you through every chapter and leaves you wanting more."

—Erika Knudsen, paranormal author of Monarchy of Blood

 

Excerpt of LAKOTA HONOR

PROLOGUE

Colorado Mountains, 1880

The blade slicing his throat made no sound, but the dead body hitting the ground did. With no time to stop, he hurried through the dark tunnel until he reached the ladder leading out of the shaft.

 He’d been two hundred feet below ground for ten days, with no food and little water. Weak and woozy, he stared up the ladder. He’d have to climb it and it wasn’t going to be easy. He wiped the bloody blade on his torn pants and placed it between his teeth. Scraped knuckles and unwashed hands gripped the wooden rung.

The earth swayed. He closed his eyes and forced the spinning in his head to cease. One thin bronzed leg lifted and came down wobbly. He waited until his leg stopped shaking before he climbed another rung. Each step caused pain, but was paired with determination. He made it to the top faster than he’d thought he would. The sky was black and the air was cool, but fresh. Thank goodness it was fresh.

 He took two long breaths before he emerged from the hole. The smell from below ground still lingered in his nostrils; unwashed bodies, feces and mangy rats. His stomach pitched. He tugged at the rope around his hands. There had been no time to chew the thick bands around his wrists when he’d planned his escape. It was better to run than crawl, and he chewed through the strips that bound his feet instead. There would be time to free his wrists later.

He pressed his body against the mountain and inched toward the shack. He frowned. A guard stood at the entrance to where they were. The blade from the knife pinched his lip, cutting the thin skin and he tasted blood. He needed to get in there. He needed to say goodbye. He needed to make a promise.

 The tower bell rang mercilessly. There was no time left. He pushed away from the rocky wall, dropped the knife from his mouth into his bound hands, aimed and threw it. The dagger dug into the man’s chest. He ran over, pulled the blade from the guard and quickly slid it across his throat. The guard bled out in seconds.

He tapped the barred window on the north side of the dilapidated shack. The time seemed to stretch. He glanced at the large house not fifty yards from where he stood. He would come back, and he would kill the bastard inside.

He tapped again, harder this time, and heard the weak steps of those like him shuffling from inside. The window slid open, and a small hand slipped out.

“Toksha ake—I shall see you again,” he whispered in Lakota.

The hand squeezed his once, twice and on the third time held tight before it let go and disappeared inside the room.

A tear slipped from his dark eyes, and his hand, still on the window sill, balled into a fist. He swallowed past the sob and felt the burn in his throat. His chest ached for what he was leaving behind. He would survive, and he would return.

Men shouted to his right, and he crouched down low. He took one last look around and fled into the cover of the forest.

Author Kat Flannery

Kat Flannery has loved writing ever since she was a girl. She is often seen jotting her ideas down in a little black book. When not writing, or researching, Kat enjoys snuggling on her couch with a hot chocolate and a great book.

Her first novel, CHASING CLOVERS became an Amazon’s bestseller in Historical and Western romance. LAKOTA HONOR is Kat’s second book, and she is currently hard at work on the third.

When not focusing on her creative passions, Kat is busy with her three boys and doting husband.

Buy LAKOTA HONOR here.

Kat’s website

Kat’s blog

Uncle Brother and His Seeing-Eye Dog, Sam

By Celia Yeary

Morris Frank (1908-1980), was the first American to benefit from a Seeing Eye dog. He was blinded as a boy, and in 1927 his father read a story to him about a study in Switzerland that said German Shepherds could be used to help the blind. Morris was invited to go to Switzerland and receive the first seeing-eye dog, named Buddy.

But I have a personal story I'd rather tell.

REEVES DAVIS, MY UNCLE BROTHER
HIS WIFE'S SEEING EYE DOG LADY ON THE LEFT
HIS SEEING EYE DOG SAM ON THE RIGHT
IN DUBOIS,  PENNSYLVANIA
1956

We had an uncle called Brother, and sometimes we used Uncle Brother. I don’t know why we didn’t address him by his real name.

He was my daddy’s older brother. An accident blinded him when he was only nineteen. The event happened many years before my birth, so of course, I only remember him as my blind uncle. He had married and become a proud father. Something happened between his wife and him, and he found himself alone with no way to work because he could not see.

With no other recourse, he moved back to the family home, a small farm in North Texas. As a child, I clearly remember driving there from the South Plains with my family to visit Granny and Papa and our uncle.

The house never had running water, but it did have electricity for the Kelvinator “icebox” and one bulb on a cord from the ceiling in each room. My uncle knew his way around every inch of the house, the yard, the garden, the orchard, and the outhouse. He used a cane to wave in front of him as he walked. He milked the cows, drew water from the well, and fed the calves.

Everyone loved our uncle, including my family and me. My little sister and I enticed him to play with us, hold us, and tell us stories. He had one glass eye, and he’d remove it and let us hold it. We took his hands and dragged him outside to a rusted bedstead that sat under a large tree. We had fun washing his sparse hair. He’d sit patiently, holding the dishpan of soapy water between his legs, hang his head over it, and allow us to scrub and rinse as long as we wanted. Usually, we washed his glass eye, too, and asked him if the soap hurt the eye socket or the eye that didn’t work.   

“Guess the color of our dresses” was a game we played with him. He’d finger the fabric and guess pink, blue, or yellow and say the correct one much of the time. Magic! We gave him a kiss on the cheek each time he gave a correct answer

One day, the Lions Club in town approached him about the possibility of attending a boarding school in Pennsylvania in order to learn Braille and get a seeing-eye dog.

The thought never occurred to my uncle, but he accepted the opportunity with gratitude. Packing his suitcase and boarding a plane for the first time in his life did not seem to frighten him. While he attended the boarding school for the blind in Pennsylvania, he not only mastered Braille, he received a wonderful German shepherd named Sam. The year was 1946.

And now…for the rest of the story…

He met a lovely woman at the school. She attended classes to train with a new dog, for her dog had died. Blind from birth, she had never seen the world as our uncle had. With his way of telling a story, he described, oh, a cow, for example, or a field of corn. She became enthralled with the tales, and yes, she fell in love with him. In return, she played the piano and sang to him.

Back home in Texas, he wrote letters n Braille to his ladylove. On one visit to our grandparents’ home when I was about eight, I leaned on my uncle’s worktable while he punched holes in the strips of paper. Knowing he was writing to his girlfriend, I asked, “What did you tell her?” Patiently, he told me something, probably to appease me. And he showed me how to use the apparatus to write my name. I’ve never forgotten that experience.

Eventually, Uncle Brother moved to Pennsylvania, married his sweetheart, and set up a home with her and her German shepherd seeing-eye dog, Lady. The Lion’s Club helped him obtain a newsstand in the neighborhood, close enough so he could walk to work. His sweet wife walked there at noon to take his lunch and eat with him.

During my high school years, Uncle Brother and his wife flew to Texas. One day, Daddy drove them to a local farm. There, Daddy led her to a cow and helped her “see” the animal. Surprisingly, she did not display any fear. He also led her through a cornfield, so she could hear the rustle of the stalks and feel the plants and ears of corn. She talked about her experiences for hours until they returned home, especially the huge size of a cow.  

The blind couple lived happily for many years. He passed away first, and she followed soon thereafter. Now, if that’s not a love story, I don’t know what is!
~~*~~*~~
I used my knowledge of a blind man in a novel I wrote some time ago titled "Wish for the Moon." The story is the coming-of-age story of sixteen year old Annie McGinnis, set in 1901. I used my memories of my grandparent's farm as a setting. I used my Uncle Brother to create the character Old Blind Jerral.
~~*~~*~~
Blurb:
At the dawn of the Twentieth Century, sixteen-year-old Annie McGinnis wishes for a chance to see more of the world, since all she’s ever known is the family farm in North Texas. A mysterious visitor arrives who will change not only her life, but her family’s as well. To save Max Landry from a bogus charge, she follows him and the Texas Rangers back to the coal-mining town one county over where a murder occurred. The short journey sets Annie on a path of discovery—new horizons, an inner strength, and quite possibly…love.   

Excerpt:

 

    Plop, swoosh. Plop, swoosh. The iron moved over the fabric, and she placed the iron in the metal holder with a clang. Turn the skirt. Plop, swoosh. Plop, swoosh.
    Annie remained quiet and so did Jerral. When she finished one garment, she carried it to her room and laid it across the bed so she could hang it up later. Then she returned to the kitchen to do another one. All the while in silence.
    Jerral spoke. “Annie girl, why aren’t you smiling today? You know you haven’t smiled for weeks, now.”
    Annie laughed. “How on earth do you know I’m not smiling? You’re just guessing.”
    “But I reckon it’s a good guess, ain’t it? Besides, I have my own ways of knowing things, and I know for certain that you’re a very unhappy young lady. And unhappy young ladies sure don’t smile.”
    She continued to iron. “And how do you know that? I haven’t said a word to you or Papa about how I feel.”
     “I’ll tell you, then. When you’re happy, you walk lightly and kind of quick like. When you’re mad, you stomp from place to place—oh, not so noticeable to most people, but I can hear the difference. When you’re sad, you walk about like you’re dragging a heavy load behind you. And you drag your left heel. Just a little, mind you, but the sound is there.”
    The thoughtful concern in Jerral’s voice brought her to tears. She sat heavily across from him and cried with her face in her hands. “Oh, Jerral, you’re right. My life is not turning out as I dreamed it would.” She paused to sniff and swipe her fingers across her eyes. “But it will get better one day. I’m sure of that.”
    “And how is that going to happen? What’s going to change around here that will make you happy and look forward to a new day? What, Annie?”
    Jerral kept his head tilted back and he moved his head from side to side, as he talked. The movements always fascinated her, because she couldn’t figure out why he did it. It was almost like he sniffed the air or could make out shapes if he moved his head, and his eyes were so odd, not looking at anything, but moving about all the same. To be blind must be devastating, she thought. Why would something like that happen to such a good person?
    “Life is strange, isn’t it, Jerral? How do you feel at your age? Do you still feel young sometimes and hopeful, or what?”
    “I only cope, and thank the Lord for another day. I take one day at a time and wait to see what tomorrow holds. By now, I know it ain’t going to be much different, but I wait just the same. But I’ll tell you something important, sweet girl.”
    “What?” she whispered.
    “Life is short, even if you live to be a real old person, it’s still only a blink in God’s eyes.”
    “Gosh, that makes you think.”
~~*~~*~~*

http://www.amazon.com/Wish-for-the-Moon-ebook/dp/B004Z8LX5E/ref=sr_1_20_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373037207&sr=1-20&keywords=celia+yeary

Thank you for reading about my special uncle. I loved him with all my heart. 
Celia Yeary       

Gunpowder and Colt Walker

Being this close to the Fourth of July, I thought a good topic for the day would be gunpowder. You might say all the fireworks gave me the idea. For all those gun toting hombres we love to write about and read about, gunpowder was a necessary commodity. Well, gunpowder is a rather broad topic so I decided to narrow my search to Texas.

Hence my stumbling over the mystery of Waxahachie. During the Civil War, finding a source for guns proved difficult so Texas decided to lend a hand. Texas subsidized gun manufacturers in an effort to stimulate gun production. According to the Handbook of Texas Online, "..a report read in the Confederate Congress on August 18, 1863, Texas had four gun factories making 800 arms a month, two powder mills, and a percussion cap factory..".

The two gunpowder mills mentioned were located in Marshall and Waxahachie. In addition to the gunpowder mill at Marshall, the entire site consisted of stores for repairing small arms, shops for the blacksmiths, and a foundry for artillery-shell making.  Being a foundry, they also manufactured iron skillets and Dutch ovens.

The manufacturing of gunpowder requires only three ingredients; potassium nitrate also known as saltpeter; sulfur, and powdered charcoal. At the Waxahachie mill, the milling machinery was powered by ten mules and allowed the millstones to grind all three ingredients together. The job was extremely dangerous and men to work the mill were in short supply as most were already fighting in the war.

The gunpowder mill at Waxahachie wasn’t quite so successful. Less than a year after being established in 1862, an explosion destroyed the mill and claimed two lives. An investigation into the cause led to only more questions. A man who was thought to be a Northern visitor disappeared shortly after the tragic event leaving many to speculate that perhaps he, under the direction of the Yankees, had something to do with the blast. The stranger quickly became the chief suspect though he was never found.

photo from Wikimedia commons

photo from Wikipedia Commons

Gunpowder was needed to make weaponry of the era work. Especially, a gun like the Colt Walker. Colt Walker was a special gun commissioned by Captain Samuel Hamilton Walker of the Texas Rangers. Walker traveled all the way to New York on his own dime to meet with Samuel Colt as he desired a special gun for his Texas Rangers that he felt confident Samuel Colt could produce. He gave Colt and order for 1000 revolvers with the stipulation that he make significant changes to the latest version. The year was 1847. Walker wanted the gun to hold six rounds instead of five, to hold enough black powder that it would kill a man or horse with a single shot, and he wanted the gun to be easier to reload. From Wikipedia’s article on the Colt Walker, “The Colt Walker was the largest and most powerful black powder repeating handgun ever made.” In fact, from an article on the American History site, “It proved to be a revolver of such size, weight, and heft that Colt was reputed to have said, "It would take a Texan to shoot it." Walker wrote in 1847 that the gun was "as effective as a common rifle at 100 yards and superior to a musket even at 200."

With parts left over from the Colt Walker, Colt fashioned the Colt Dragoon Revolver. The dragoon was a popular weapon among the U.S. Calvary during the Civil War. These weapons along with similar models were instrumental in helping men forge a new life in the west.

 

 

Politics, "Ma" Ferguson, and the Texas Rangers

Most of us from Texas have read about the origination of the Texas Rangers and the rough years they had with lack of state funding and low pay. But, it wasn’t until I was researching for my latest time travel, Birdie’s Nest, that I learned about the political problems the Rangers faced.

At the beginning of the 20^th century, lawyers became a major threat to the Rangers. They challenged the legality of Ranger arrests by quoting the 1874 law that allowed only supervisors to make arrests of which there were only four in the state. Law on the Frontier faded and the Frontier Battalion ceased to exist when a new law went to affect. The new Ranger Force dropped to four companies of 20 men each.

In 1905, the Rangers still had their Wild West era reputation, but they were gradually evolving into detectives and solved cases with modern crime fighting techniques. They still dealt with trouble along the border and after Spindle Top, kept peace in oil Boom Towns.

From 1920-1933 the Rangers worked with Federal Agents to stop smuggling of alcohol across the border, destroy distilleries, shut down speakeasies and gambling parlors.

In 1927 Miriam “Ma” Ferguson, Democratic candidate, was elected the first woman Governor of Texas. Her husband, James Ferguson, served as Governor from 1915 to 1917 but during his second term he was impeached, convicted and removed from office to never hold office in Texas again.

His wife decided to run in his place promising to follow the advise of her husband. “A common campaign slogan was, ‘Me for Ma, and I Ain’t Got a Durned Thing Against Pa.’” During her first term, Ma averaged over 100 pardons a month. There were accusations of bribes and kickbacks, but attempts to impeach failed.

“Ma’s” second term was less controversial but rumors abounded that state highway contracts went to those companies that advertised in the Fergusons’ newspaper. A House committee found no wrongdoing. Ma was instrumental in establishing the University of Houston as a four-year institution. Though both she and her husband were teetotalers; she aligned herself with the “wets” in the war on prohibition. She took a firm stand against the Ku Klux Klan and pushed for sales tax and corporate income tax.

During her two terms, she granted almost four thousand pardons, many were those convicted of violating prohibition laws. Rumors circulated that pardons were available in exchange for cash payments to the governor’s husband. In 1936 the Texas Board of Paroles was invented to take over the power.

When “Ma” was re-elected, in protest over political corruption, 40 Rangers quit the force; the remaining Rangers were fired. Political appointments replaced them. The Texas Highway Patrol was established in 1929 to enforce traffic laws. In 1934, after an investigation of corruption, a panel recommended the formation of the Texas Department of Public Safety to be headed by an Independent Public Safety Commission. The newly elected Governor Allred revoked the commission of all Rangers appointed by the Ferguson administration.

In 1935, the Texas Highway Patrol and the Texas Rangers merge to form the Department of Public Safety begins operation. Tom Hickman is commissioned Senior Ranger. He later serves as a member of the Public Safety Commission. By the late 1930s, the DPS has a state-of-the art crime lab at their headquarters at Camp Mabry in Austin. The hiring of Rangers became less political and for the first time, Rangers had training furnished by the state of Texas.

Former Rangers Frank Hamer and Manny Gault are commissioned to end the crime spree of outlaws Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker. To the left is Clyde and Bonnie. Pictured is the Posse of Six, the officers who ended the life of the two outlaws. Manny Gault is standing on the right and Frank Hamer is kneeling on the left. The duo, who had killed 14 law-enforcement officers, were shown no mercy when ambushed by the six officers. 

In 1939, despite the neutrality of the US, Captain Frank Hamer and 49 retired Rangers offered their services to the King of England to protect their shores against Nazi invasion. The King thanked them for their offer. The US State Department was not amused.

During WWII, US Army Intelligence Division Officers trained with the Texas Rangers in Austin at the DPS Headquarters.

References:

Texas Ranger History: Timeline - Order Out of Chaos (See The Official Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco, Texas Website.)

www.texasalmanac.com/topics/history/texas-rangers-horses-helicopters 

In my novel, Birdie' Nest, my heroine is a Texas Ranger, proud of the Texas Star she was awarded when inducted. When she wakes up in 1890, one the hardest adaptations she has to make is giving up the job she so dearly loved. No one believes she is a Texas Ranger or that she can handle herself like one of the rough crew of the day.

Here is a blurb:

Texas Ranger, Birdie Braxton boards the Brazos Belle to attend a costume party, gets tossed into the

Brazos and when she's pulled from the river she's told the year is 1890. A fact she can’t accept … until she looks across the river to see Birdie’s Nest, her ancestral home, no longer exists.

Tad Lockhart is a content man—a prosperous rancher with a ladylove in Waco. He's not interested in marriage and family, yet … until he pulls an unconscious woman from the Brazos who insists she's a Texas Ranger from the year 2012.

As romance blooms between Tad and Birdie, she struggles to earn enough money to build Birdie’s Nest, and Tad strives to mold Birdie into a Victorian lady suitable to be his wife. Can Birdie give up dabbling in police work and other unladylike pursuits yet stay true to herself? When faced with an indiscretion from Tad's past, is Birdie's love strong enough to support her man and be the woman he needs?

Thank you for stopping by. 

Happy Reading and Writing!

Linda 

  

Kit Carson A True Frontiersman

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

American frontiersman, soldier, western guide, trapper, and Indian agent

Although Carson's later career serving his country in the army and establishing relations with Native Americans was impressive, the name Kit Carson will forever bring to mind thoughts of the wild frontier and westward expansion. When America had a love affair with the untamed land west of the Mississippi River, Carson's reputation as a guide soon turned to that of legend, and the myth of Kit Carson was born.

Christopher "Kit" Carson was born in Madison County, Kentucky, on December 24, 1809. His father, Lindsey Carson, fought in the American Revolution. He married Rebecca Robinson in 1796. Kit was the sixth of ten children. When Kit was just nine years old, his father was killed in a tragic accident. Times were tough on the family and Carson never learned to read or write. At the age of fourteen he became an apprentice to a saddle maker. After less than two years, he left the saddle maker and joined a group of traders who were on their way to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Carson's career in the West spanned from 1825 to 1868, a period of rapid national expansion, exploration, and settlement. From 1827 to 1829 young Carson spent time working as a cook, driving a wagon, interpreting Spanish, and mining copper. In August 1829 he gained invaluable experience after joining a trapping party. For the next year or so, Carson trapped animals along the streams of Arizona and southern California.

In 1831 Carson returned to New Mexico, where he immediately joined up with the experienced trapper, Thomas Fitzpatrick. They headed north into the rugged central Rocky Mountains. For the next ten years, Carson worked as a trapper all over western America in what is today known as Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. During the time spent in the wilderness of North America, Carson learned everything he needed to know in order to become a respected guide.

In 1836 Carson married an Arapaho Indian woman. The couple had two children, only one of whom—a daughter—survived. After his first wife died, Carson married a Cheyenne woman. The marriage did not last, and Carson took his daughter to St. Louis, Missouri, to further her education. For the next eight years, Carson split his time between his daughter in St. Louis and his trapping duties in Taos, New Mexico.

In 1842 Carson's fate arrived by steamboat when explorer John C. Frémont landed in St. Louis. Frémont came to St. Louis looking to hire the well-known guide Andrew S. Drips to lead his expedition to the Wind River in Wyoming. Unable to find Drips, Frémont chose Carson instead. From June until September, Carson guided Frémont's party west through South Pass to the Wind River Mountains and then back to Missouri. Over the next several years, Carson worked as a guide for Frémont on three expeditions through Oregon and California.

I live in the El Dorado National forest located in the Sierras,

a mountain range in California and Nevada. The views along Carson Pass are breathtaking.

Our English guests took these photos along our drive while exploring the area. The pass was named for Kit Carson.

In 1846 Carson served in California with Frémont at the outbreak of the Mexican War. During this time his duties were quite dangerous, as he carried dispatches, or messages, between command posts in enemy territory. President James K. Polk called Carson a hero and appointed him lieutenant in the mounted (on horseback) rifle regiment. However, the Senate rejected this appointment, and Carson returned to Taos.

By 1849 Carson had settled near Taos to farm and do occasional scouting for army units fighting hostile tribes. Carson also served in the Office of Indian Affairs, first as an agent and then as a superintendent of Indian affairs for the Colorado Territory. In 1854 he became the agent for several southwestern tribes. For years, Carson worked to keep peace and to ensure fair treatment of Native Americans.

While working for the Office of Indian Affairs, Carson often clashed with his superior, Territorial Governor David Meriwether. Carson disagreed with many of Meriwether's policies and thought that Native Americans were being treated unfairly. In 1856 their conflicts boiled over when Meriwether suspended Carson. Meriwether later arrested Carson, charging him with disobedience and cowardice. Carson soon apologized and got his job back working as an agent.

With the outbreak of the Civil War, Carson left his position with Indian Affairs and was soon appointed a lieutenant colonel commanding the First New Mexico Volunteer Regiment. During the war, he fought against invading Confederates at the battle of Val Verde. Carson also directed successful campaigns against the Apache and Navajo from 1862 until 1864. In his last battle he defeated the Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache tribes in the Texas panhandle. In 1865 he was appointed as brigadier general of volunteers. For the next two years he held assignments in the West until he left the army in 1867.

In 1868 Carson was appointed superintendent of Indian affairs for the Colorado Territory. He never had a chance to work in this position. He died May 23, 1868, at Fort Lyon, Colorado.