Chapter VIII
Star and Hawk kept a steady pace for more than an hour. Neither of the boys had spoken a word during that time, then Star's rider whispered softly—"Sh——" like the hiss of a snake in the grass, or the noise of wind through the leaves.
Small, strong hands reached from either side of Star's neck, and fingers were pressed firmly on his nostrils. The pressure did not interfere with the pony's breathing, but so long as it continued Star knew that it would be impossible for him to whinny. His rider did not know that the pony understood the reason and the importance of being quiet.
Faintly the sound of stamping, restless hoofs came to Star's ears, and told him that strange ponies were near. His nose touched Hawk's neck, and the other pony signalled an answer. Star and Hawk had been friends and playmates ever since they had been born. Hawk was two days older than Star, but Star had always been more swift when they had chased each other about the Comanche camp in play. Hawk belonged to a young warrior who had not many ponies, so, long before Star had been fully grown, Hawk had been carrying his owner. The work had made the muscles of his back and legs very strong for so young a pony.
The two boys now released their grip on the ponies' noses and slid cautiously down. Star watched them lying flat and crawling slowly in the direction from which the noise of ponies could be heard. Hawk and Star, with noses together, waited patiently.
For a long time everything was silent, then shrill yells caused the two ponies to jump nervously. They heard snorting of ponies and trampling of hoofs, and men's voices were calling loudly in words that were not like the Comanche tongue. Star reared and plunged against a small rope of buffalo hide by which he was fastened to a scrubby tree. Hawk, also tied, was lunging and kicking.
Then something terrible happened. Frightful noises, like cracking of thunder, seemed everywhere. Lightning flashed close to the ground. It did not come from the sky, like other lightning when it stormed. Star crouched and trembled in fear of the thing he could not understand, but Hawk with a still greater effort broke loose.
"Come!" he called to Star, turning to run from the noise that was deafening. "Come quickly! It is the fire-stick that kills Comanches and their ponies. Run! Run! Run!"
He did not wait while Star fought and struggled against the stout rawhide rope which held him fast. Fire leaped from darkness and noises grew louder. Then the thud of racing ponies grew more distinct and in the dim light Star saw a vast herd of pure white ponies rush past him and vanish like snowflakes blown by a strong wind.
But the flashes of fire did not cease, and the pony threw his whole weight against the rope. It broke and he was free. With a shrill squeal Star followed the fleeing animals. Though they had passed him so quickly he had seen two small dark forms on white ponies at the end of the herd. They were ahead of him now, and Star redoubled his efforts until he came abreast of Hawk. Together they raced, but slowly and surely Star passed him.
Like a thin cloud the white ponies kept ahead of Star. His ears cocked sharply, his nose was thrust far out and level with his shoulders, his eyes peered into the gloom to gauge the distance and make his own pace, his body flattened more closely to the ground, and the steady stride of his slender legs never wavered, while his mane tossed wildly and his long black tail fluttered in the air that he cut in his wild race.
He reached the fear-crazed white animals, and edging his way between them, Star found the boy who had ridden him now seated astride one of the largest white ponies. Star looked at it as he ran beside it. He had never seen such a big pony in all his life. But the Comanche pony saw that the white pony was breathing very hard, while its legs moved uncertainly and heavily as it ran.
"It is a big pony," Star said to himself, "but I can out-run it without trouble. Buffaloes are big and heavy. They can run fast, too. But an antelope or deer is more swift. I can out-race an antelope. So can my mother!"
He tossed his saucy head and slyly poked the big white pony in the ribs, to make it go faster. But the poor beast was doing its very best, and it rolled its eyes toward Star.
"Please don't bite me," it spoke. "I am too old and too fat to run so fast and so far!"
"I won't hurt you," replied the Comanche pony, crowding more closely.
The Indian boy on the white pony's back saw Star, and twisting sidewise, the lad gathered himself, leaped from the horse he was riding and landed firmly on the back of the Comanche pony.
The boy's shout of triumph mingled with Star's squeal of delight as out of the darkness rode Quannah on Running Deer, while back of the chief dashed the rest of the warriors.
Circling about the white horses the Comanches urged them rapidly over the low rolling hills until they were completely hidden in thick undergrowth, where they halted.
The white horses showed plainly how hard the pace had been, for they stood with heads hanging low, their sides drawn and nostrils dilating rapidly. Many of them lost no time in lying down where they stood, without even seeking a comfortable soft spot.
"They tire easily," Star said to his mother who was near him. "Hawk and I could have left them far behind and it would not have made us puff like these white ponies. They must belong to squaws and children. They are too fat and too slow for fighting men."
"No herd can run as fast as the ponies of the Quahadas," replied his mother. "Come, lie down and rest while there is time. When we are out with the warriors it is our duty to rest and feed whenever we have time, for when we travel we cannot tell when we will stop. Only Quannah knows that."
Star glanced at the warriors who sat on the ground and talked together, while still others, on their ponies, guarded the captured white animals. Two days and a night of fast travelling made Star feel that he had earned a good rest, so he slipped to the ground and soon was fast asleep.
But in his dream he was racing again. This time he was trying to reach Songbird who was calling to him that the white men were taking her away, as they had taken Quannah's mother and sister, so that she could never come back again to her people. He was running faster than any Comanche pony had ever run before—twice as fast as Running Deer could run, for he thought she was trying now to keep pace with him and was falling behind. Only the storm wind could travel that fast. Star found that no matter how swiftly he raced Songbird was always beyond him. He could not see her, but her voice came back to him.
"I am coming," he whinnied shrilly.
Her voice grew more faint and at last it ceased altogether while he whinnied despairingly, hoping to hear her answer.
Then he felt his mother touch him, and opened his eyes to see her lying beside him.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "You are kicking so that you wakened me."
He told her the dream and she listened gravely, though she answered carelessly, "You are over-tired. After all, you are but a colt and your muscles are soft. You have been tested as few colts are tested at your age. Go to sleep again, so that you will be ready to travel with us, for last night I heard Quannah say that as soon as the big white ponies have rested, we would start for the camp of the women and children. Now that we have captured the white men's ponies they cannot catch us. That is why we are to rest for to-day."
When it was time to get up, Star felt as well as though he had never raced, but the big white ponies were still weary. Some of them did not rise. Many others moved stiffly as they mingled with the Comanche herd while they cropped the grass together like old friends.
Most of the warriors had gone across a small ridge into a gully or ravine, where they made a camp. This was done so that the smoke from their camp fire might not be seen from afar, and thus tell the white men where to hunt their lost ponies. Only dry wood was used for the camp fire. Wood fresh or green would have made too much smoke. A few warriors were left to guard the herd, for the Comanche ponies were trained to keep together, while the white ponies were too tired to run away, even if given a chance to escape.
Star wandered near the white horse that had begged him not to bite it because it was too old and too fat to run so fast. With raised head and a bunch of grass hanging from its lips, it looked curiously at the Comanche pony. Slowly its eyes travelled from Star's velvety nose, along his straight back, his slender legs and strongly muscled flanks to the sweeping black tail that almost touched the ground. The white horse swallowed the clump of grass before it spoke.
"You are a beautiful horse!"
"I am not a horse," Star answered indignantly, "I am a Comanche pony. What is a horse, anyway?"
"A horse is a big pony," replied the other. "I am a horse. We cannot run as swiftly as you ponies, but we are stronger to haul burdens when we are hitched to wagons by our masters."
Star was so surprised that he stopped grazing to talk with the good-natured white beast, and it told him there were thousands of men with white faces, who carried guns and lived in houses made of rocks instead of tepees of hides. He told how these men fed corn and hay to their horses, as well as grass. Then he explained how some horses were taught to be gentle, so that saddles were placed on their backs and bits in their mouths; other horses learned to drag carriages in which women and children rode safely, and still other horses hauled heavier wagons loaded with blankets and food.
"They even build houses for us," he continued, "and when it storms we are warm and dry and have nothing to do but chew our grain. If we have to go out in a rain, when we come back we are rubbed dry and a warm blanket covers us to our heels so that we may not be chilled. But sometimes white men are cruel to us," he added.
"I hate men with white faces," snorted Star, stamping his forefoot angrily. "My mother says that they will take our game and our grass and kill all the Comanche ponies and people. The white men took Quannah's mother and sister away and they never came back to us. That is why I hate men with white faces!"
"Not all of them are that way," the big horse said earnestly. "Many white people do not wish to fight. Sometimes Indians have killed white women and children and have burned their homes, or taken them prisoners. Then the Great Father of the whole world, who is over the white people and the Indians, too, has to send soldiers to find the white prisoners and make the Indians keep away from the homes of the white men."
Star thought over these words before he asked, "Who told you all this?"
"I learned it myself, through many years of hard work," was the reply. "Ever since I was five years old I have belonged to the White Horse Troop which was captured by the Indians last night. Only white horses are in that troop, but in other troops there are blacks and bays and sorrels. Each of the troops has three officers and the captain is in command while the others are under him. So for many years I have gone with the troop over miles of rough country, sometimes swimming great rivers, and often we encountered big bands of Indians who fought us. Maybe the Indians are wrong, maybe it is the white man, but men are our masters and so, right or wrong, we obey them and love them. Yet we horses do not understand, nor do we fight the Indian ponies. I am old and I do not wish to fight any one. But we must obey our masters. When I was young I did not ask questions, but now that I am stiff from years, I wonder why people fight one another."
"Do all your horses fight?" was Star's puzzled comment.
"Not the band horses," replied the white horse. "They do not go out of the garrison where we all live together. Their riders have shining horns and big drums that make such beautiful music that when we troop horses come out on parade, we cannot keep our feet from dancing or our necks from curving with pride. The Band horses are very proud and keep to themselves when we are all out grazing, and of course, no one could blame them for that."
Star listened in amazement. He was anxious to learn all that he could, so as to repeat this wonderful story to his mother.
"You use so many strange words," he said at last. "What is a parade?"
"Why, just a big green piece of ground, but all around it are buildings where officers and soldiers live. In the centre of each parade is a very high white pole. On top of it floats a beautiful flag."
"What is that?" interrupted Star, bewildered.
"It is like a big blanket made of fine cloth. There are stripes of white and red and in one corner is a patch of blue with white stars on it."
"I know what a star is," said the Comanche pony. "My name is Star because I have the white mark on my forehead. Songbird, the little daughter of Chief Quannah, gave me that name when I was too small and too weak to stand up on my legs. I belong to Songbird, and my mother, Running Deer, is the favourite pony of the chief," he ended proudly.
"I saw her talking to you," was the answer, "and I thought how beautiful she was!"
Star edged more closely to his new acquaintance. "Even though our masters fight, I like you and we will be friends," he said, rubbing his nose against the white horse's neck, then letting his neck rest across the troop horse's back, Star bit gently, while the big horses did the same to him. Only horses who are fond of one another give this pledge of friendship.
"I wish our masters would be friends, too," said the old troop horse at last. "If every one would be friends there would be no more fighting."
"There is enough grass and room for all the tepees, so maybe they will stop fighting soon," Star spoke hopefully.
"Some horses kick and bite and steal grain from the others," the white horse answered, "and when one horse in a team kicks, balks, or will not pull its share of the load, the other horses must do it all. White men, Indians, and horses are all the same. Some are good, some are bad, but the burdens of those who are bad must be carried by those who try to do right. I am the oldest of those in the White Horse Troop and I speak of things I have seen in many long years. I am sorry for the horse that kicks and bites and steals, but I do not hate him. The whip is made to punish him, and some day he will suffer."
The day passed quickly for the troop horse and the Comanche pony. When the shadows of the trees disappeared because the sun was straight above the camp, the troop horse stretched out for a noonday sleep, and Star's black head rested on the white horse's neck.
Running Deer, searching for her colt, found them together and she lay down beside them.
Chapter IX
Two hours before sunset Star awakened from his sound sleep, but the white horse only lifted its head long enough to blink at the Comanche pony as it rolled over. Then Star scrambled to his feet and gave a hard shake of his body, which is the way a pony stretches after a good nap.
Running Deer was not far off, so the colt joined her, and after an exchange of gentle bites, they moved slowly away from the herd, grazing as they went. Star told his mother all that the troop horse had been talking about, and Running Deer was as much surprised as her colt had been, for she had no idea of how white men lived.
The two Comanche ponies were so interested in their conversation that neither of them noticed they had wandered quite a distance from the herd. The Indians on guard over the other ponies had not tried to stop Star or Running Deer, because all the Comanches knew that neither of these ponies would stray far away. But the rolling hills stretched temptingly, and at times Star and his mother raced after each other, kicking up their heels or even lying down to roll and kick, then jumping up to dash away side by side. When the sun dropped out of the sky Running Deer was startled, and reminded her colt that they must go back at once.
They were standing on a little knoll overlooking a shallow depression between a group of small hills. The sun had disappeared, but like a warrior's banner beautiful crimson rays were flung across the deep blue sky. The cool evening breeze twisted its fingers in the ponies' manes, lifting the heavy black hair and tumbling it across their eyes, so that it tickled their ears until Star tossed his head. The only sound was the song of a mockingbird guarding the nest on which its mate sat patiently with her wings spread over the little ones that the night air might not chill them. The grassy slopes were studded with wild flowers, many of which, sleepy from their long day's play with the breeze, nodded on their stems with their petals folded as though their hands were clasped in prayer.
Here and there jack-rabbits, their long ears perked nervously, twisted to see if any danger threatened, then dropping on all four feet they hopped, and chased one another in play, or nibbled at the grass roots. An antelope with her fawn at her side appeared for an instant on one of the hilltops, her head lifted alertly, her nostrils twitching as she sniffed the air. She started, whirled on her slender legs, then with her fawn dashed out of sight.
Running Deer watched her go, but Star spoke and she looked at him.
"Now that we have the ponies of the white men, they cannot follow us any more," he was saying. "But I like the old white horse, and I am glad that he is going to stay with us. He is a very wise animal, I think, and I am going to ask him to tell me all he knows, then I shall be wise, too!"
Before his mother could reply, the sharp "Yip, yip, yip" from a distant point warned the two ponies that the coyotes were gathering for the night. Both Star and Running Deer snorted and glanced quickly about, to see if any had crept too near.
They knew the ways of the small gray wolves. Each night at sunset the pack followed its leader to a point where he could command a view for some distance. Then he squatted silently, watching everything with his keen, green eyes while his pointed nose sniffed the wind for hidden foes or some animal that would furnish the pack with food.
So long as the wind came toward him from any living thing, he could escape, but when the wind blew away from him toward another animal or a man, the coyote knew that he was not safe from surprise or attack.
Trained from puppyhood by their mothers how to meet their enemies and preserve their own lives, the coyotes always picked the strongest, swiftest, and most daring of a pack for the leader. At nightfall these leaders raced ahead of their packs across the prairie land, and when one leader reached high ground he squatted down on his lean haunches and sent out the call of his tribe.
Before the echo had died away into silence, another leader gave answer. After that other coyotes took up the cry, and then from all sides the packs swept down the slopes and came together in a big gray mass.
Their long tongues lolled from their mouths as they ran, their green eyes glanced ravenously from side to side. Rabbits and other small game, hearing the cry of the pack, scurried into hiding. Antelopes and deer huddled more closely, keeping the young, weak fawns in the centre. Often the hungry coyotes formed yelping circles about the antelopes, and at times made dashes at them, hoping to frighten some fawn so that it would run alone. For if it left the shelter of the herd only half a minute, the coyotes would leap upon it and tear it to pieces.
The does and the stags of the herd knew the danger. So while the mothers' bodies sheltered their little ones, the stags, with long, many-pronged horns, dashed at the coyotes and, if close enough, tossed or gored their foes, often rearing straight up on their hind legs to stamp on the coyotes with sharply pointed little hoofs that cut like keen knives.
With all other animals of the plains, the Comanche ponies knew that if any colt ever strayed alone from the herd, he might fall a victim to the coyote packs. Even buffalo calves had been dragged down by a bunch of the prowling animals. Star's mother had many times shown him torn bits of buffalo hide and scattered bones which told that the pack had found a buffalo calf unprotected. Hundreds of coyotes gather in each band, and swift as the wind, they cover many miles in search of a victim.
Now, as the first call of the gathering coyotes died away, Running Deer spoke hurriedly to Star, who needed no urging. Turning sharply on their hind hoofs, they started on a swift run toward the place where all the other ponies were being herded.
It was much farther than Running Deer or Star had thought. The coyotes were not far behind. The sound of the pack grew louder, and the gray brutes came over the hill yelping with glee as they saw the two ponies. Running Deer kept talking quietly to her colt as they ran.
"Don't jump high, run low and save yourself all you can," she said, her nose near Star's, but her eyes straight ahead of her. "They run fast to-night because they have not eaten nor found water. So we must be careful."
It was the first time that Star had been chased by coyotes. He knew that his mother had been followed many times, so he listened to every word and obeyed her. Both ponies were puffing slightly, but their pace did not change though their way often led up steep slopes then down opposite banks while their forefeet ploughed deeply into the earth.
"Don't slip," warned Running Deer as they raced neck and neck. "The coyotes cannot catch either of us unless we stumble. If I should fall, you must not stop, but go right on to camp."
Star did not answer. He knew that if his mother fell, he would stay with her and fight the coyotes with his teeth and his heels so the hungry beasts could not tear her to pieces before she could get up again and run with him.
Twice he slipped on loose stones that rolled down the slopes in front of him, and once he fell and skinned his knees, but he leaped to his feet and kept at his mother's side.
At times the pack behind them ran silently, then Running Deer's eyes rolled backward to see how near they were. Star wondered how it would feel to have a coyote leap on him. He shivered, but all his fears vanished at his mother's next words.
"They are falling back now! We are gaining at every step!"
He glanced around. She was right. The coyotes were farther away, and evidently realized that the ponies had outdistanced them, for they were all running much more slowly. A few had halted and showed plainly that they intended to look elsewhere for their dinner that night. One by one the pack thinned, and finally a mournful howl told that the last pursuer had given up the chase, leaving Star and his mother alone and safe.
"When you fell to your knees"—Running Deer was walking now, and her nose reached across to Star's—"I thought we two had run our last race. They were very close just then."
"But you could have escaped," replied Star, whose bleeding knees made him wish he could stand in cool water for a little while, and he thought happily of the creek near camp.
"I would have stayed with you," his mother said quietly. Star was not surprised at her words, for he knew that he would have done the same thing for her, but he was glad it had not been necessary for either of them to make such a fight against their foes. With several hundred hungry coyotes against them, how could two ponies have kept up the fight till dawn? That was what he asked himself, and Running Deer had the same thought, though neither spoke of it.
In a few more minutes they both recognized the top of an elevation that overlooked the grazing place and safety for the night. Star, because of his raw knees, lagged slightly behind his mother, and as she stopped suddenly he hastened to her side, where both of them stared in amazement.
"I thought we had reached the herd." Star was the first to speak as they looked down on a place where no pony was in sight.
"It is where we left the herd," she answered. "They have moved it to Quannah's camp. Come! We must hurry. They must have missed us by this time. Quannah will be angry with the herders and punish them for letting us get away."
Without going down into the former herding camp, Running Deer led her colt along the top of the ridge, knowing that it would take them just above Quannah's camp, about a mile farther on. Star understood her worry, or at least he thought he did; but he wondered at her nervous starts and snorts, for there was nothing that threatened either of them now. Coyotes sometimes ventured close to the camps, but they only squatted at the outer edge and Star knew that they would keep away from any camp fire, lurking in the shadows to avoid being seen or shot at by the Comanches guarding the herd.
Though it was now more than an hour after sunset, it was still quite light when Star caught the scent of the pony herd and knew they were close by. But he jumped back snorting as he saw his mother, who had reached a higher point of ground, rear suddenly and turn.
"Run! Run! Run as fast as you can! The white men have all our ponies! They have captured the herders, too! Quannah is over the hill. We must go to him! He may need us now!"
Before they could cover the ground between the captured ponies and Quannah's camp, almost a mile away, they heard the terrible noise of fire-sticks. It came from the direction of Quannah's camp. The white men were there, too!
Star and his mother stopped instantly and looked at each other. Both trembled with fear of the fire-sticks. They knew what those things meant.
"What shall we do?" the colt asked in fright.
"I belong to Quannah," his mother spoke. "I shall follow him wherever he goes. You belong to Songbird. You must go to her and help her escape the white men, so that they may not take her away as they took Quannah's mother and sister. Go back to the camp and find Songbird!"
The colt hesitated. He had never been anywhere by himself. Always the pony herd and his mother had been with him, except for the few hours when Songbird had ridden him near the big camp. He thought of the packs of coyotes and the long, lonesome miles that he must travel to reach the camp where the women and children waited the return of Quannah and his warriors who were now fighting the white men and the fire-sticks. Star knew they were fighting, for the noise hurt his ears as he stood facing his mother.
She heard it too. Her ears went flat back against her beautiful head, her nostrils were drawn in so that her nose looked thin, and little red sparks of anger glittered in her dark eyes. Then she said in a voice that made Star shrink back ashamed of himself.
"Is the big colt of Running Deer a coward? Go! I tell you go at once! You belong to Songbird! She needs you now!"
Running Deer's strong teeth caught Star's back and sank deeply into the soft flesh. With a squeal of pain and surprise, the colt leaped away. Forgetting the coyotes and the loneliness of the trail and with no further thought of his cut knees, he raced furiously into the gathering darkness of night to find his little mistress, who had no one but himself to help her, now that Quannah was unable to reach her.
Chapter X
Star had no trouble following the dim trail of the Comanche ponies back toward their camp. Though he had travelled it only once he did not forget it, and what was still more strange, he, like other ponies raised on the prairies and in the mountains, was able to go over dangerous places in the dark.
The only thing that really bothered him was that the coyotes were near him at night when he could not see them. But he slept in the daytime, taking short naps, or just rested with his eyes wide open; then when darkness fell, he rose and went steadily on.
Of course, he worried about his mother, wondering where she was and what had happened to Quannah and the warriors and all the Comanche ponies. If Star had not seen his mother's fright and had not heard the fire-sticks talking so angrily, he would have thought it a great lark to be alone, with no one to control him.
More than once he was tempted to go back to his mother, but when he hesitated he remembered that she probably was no longer in the place he had left her; besides, he dared not risk her anger by disobeying her. Her teeth were sharp and her jaws strong, and his back still hurt where she had bitten him. She had often pinched him, but never before had Running Deer hurt her colt. It was not actually the bite that hurt most, but what she had said when she thought he was a coward. So Star decided he had better go on, and he trotted or loped toward the camp where Songbird had remained with the women and children.
The coyotes, though following, kept a respectful distance from his teeth and heels. Several times they tumbled over each other in their haste to dodge him when, with a squeal of fury, he raced after them. He knew that they could not catch him as long as he was awake and could see them, and his hearing was so keen that even the crackling of a dry twig awoke him and brought him with a bound to his feet ready to meet his foes.
There were many little streams of clear water and plenty of good feed, and Star would have been quite happy had he not been anxious about his mother, Quannah, and the Comanche pony herd. Songbird, he believed quite safe in the camp with the women, papooses, and old men who had been too aged or feeble to join the warriors in the fight.
It took a week for Star to reach the top of a gentle slope from which he looked down upon the camp. Smoke was rising lazily from fires in the tepees, children were playing in front of their homes, and the squaws were moving about attending to their everyday work. But as the pony looked, it seemed strange not to see even one animal of the immense Comanche pony herd.
"Suppose I should never see them again!" he thought for the first time. "Maybe the white men will take my mother away, too!"
Unable to resist his feeling of loneliness and fear, Star lifted his head and called loudly, though he knew perfectly well that all the ponies were with Quannah, and that it had taken a journey of one week to get to this camp. Of course he did not expect an answer, but he gave call after call. Even the sound of his own voice made it seem less lonesome just now.
A squaw, carrying a bundle of dry faggots on her bent back, was the first to hear him, and after the first glance her cry of surprise brought other women from the tepees. Someone called to Songbird, and as the child ran out of her father's big tepee, Star gave a shrill nicker and raced pell-mell down the slope until he gained her side. Songbird's arms wound around his neck, and his head bent low, while he listened to the loving words of his little mistress and felt her soft hands caress him.
The other children gathered, while the squaws talked among themselves, each one trying to understand how Star had come alone to the camp. Many of them were certain that Quannah and his warriors were returning, and that Star had just galloped ahead to find Songbird.
They hastened to assure the child that this was the only solution to the puzzle, and so they left Songbird and Star and hastened to make preparations for the returning warriors, who would be very hungry and tired after so long a journey.
Star followed Songbird when she climbed the hill, where they watched together while below them the other children and all the women rushed about preparing a great feast. But the hours passed, and when it was too dark to see anything except the flickering fires and the shadowy figures near the light, Songbird and Star moved slowly down the hillside. The pony's head drooped, for he was very tired, and Songbird's cheeks were streaked where she had wiped away tears that she must not allow any one except Star to see, for she was the daughter of the chief. Moko gave a sharp glance at Songbird, then spoke in a low voice.
"Quannah will come, and I shall paint a robe for him, and it will show how he conquered the white men, and I shall paint Songbird, the daughter of Quannah, and Star, the colt of Running Deer, waiting for the return of Quannah and his warriors."
Songbird looked soberly at Moko. "What will you paint if my father does not come back again, Moko?"
"I will paint a chief's daughter who did not cry," the old woman answered. "Men fight with spears and arrows or knives, and they win honour and praise, but women fight alone and no one knows when they fight. Brave women do not weep. You are the daughter of the chief. His mother rode beside his father when the fire-sticks screamed at them, and she was not afraid. You will not cry even though Quannah does not return to us."
"No"—the voice that answered Moko was very low and trembling—"I will not cry, Moko."
The old Picture-Maker, clutching a lock of Star's mane in her wrinkled hand, looked after the little figure that walked proudly away and disappeared into the chief's tent. Moko shook her white head sadly as she gave some dried corn to Star, then tethered him with a long rope made from plaited strips of buffalo hide. In the big tepee Songbird lay across the bed of furs, choking back sobs that must not be heard.
During the following week the squaws and children watched, while Songbird and Star went daily to the highest point overlooking the camp, hoping for some sign of the returning warriors. As the two were about to start up the hill on the morning of the eighth day, a Comanche warrior, mounted on a black pony, appeared on the point above the camp. Star was the first to see him. Star knew that black pony had sharp teeth and very strong jaws. Running Deer answered her colt's welcoming call, then Star tore madly toward his mother, who, with Quannah on her back, scrambled hastily to meet her colt.
As the ponies met, Songbird held out her arms, and her father lifted her from Star's back. Holding her before him, the chief rode down into the camp, while Songbird's eyes glowed with pride and joy. Star, keeping closely beside his mother, kicked his heels, shook his head, and nipped his mother's neck.
Over the crest of the hill behind Quannah, rode the cavalcade of Comanche warriors. Their war-bonnets trailed over their shoulders and fell almost to the ground, their shields were held aloft, and the silver trinkets on each pony jingled loudly. One by one the Comanches dashed furiously into the camp, formed in single files and raced in and out between the tepees, uttering shrill cries of triumph, while the women and even tiny children joined in the song of victory.
Songbird had been dropped lightly to the ground, and now, among the other children, she watched her father as he sat on Running Deer towering above all the other warriors. Her little heart seemed ready to burst with pride. Never had there been such a Comanche Chief, she thought.
The war-bonnet of eagle feathers which encircled his forehead swept down his back, and over Running Deer's glossy black flank to the mare's fetlocks. Large hoops of brass were in the chief's ears, and a necklace of bear's claws hung about his neck. Quannah had killed those bears, and each one had been big and very fierce. Only a brave warrior could have killed them alone. Tight trousers of buckskin, fringed at the outer seams, and moccasins trimmed with bits of red cloth, finished the best clothes of a Comanche chief. Songbird thought it a beautiful way of dressing.
His hair, braided with otter fur and tied with strips of red material, formed a long scalp-lock. It was a disgrace for a warrior to have no scalp-lock. In battle his enemies always tried to capture it as a trophy of victory and proof of bravery.
Many of the ponies were striped with different colours. The stripes were used on buckskin, white, gray, or sorrel ponies to prevent detection by foes, but the darker ponies, such as blacks or bays, did not need such precautions. Running Deer, being coal-black like Star, had not been painted. The mare's bridle was heavy with silver ornaments which had been hammered firmly on reins and headstall, while her long tail and thick mane were braided with the same kind of red cloth that tied Quannah's scalp-lock.
An hour after the return of the men, the ponies had been unsaddled and turned loose to rest and graze, while their owners scattered in the village to prepare for the feast that awaited them, and to relate to the eager squaws and papooses how their chief had outwitted and evaded the white men who had hoped to capture the Comanches. For Quannah had lured them over misleading trails, up and down steep cañons, out on the border of the sandy desert called the Staked Plains, where white men, unable to find water or food, lay down to die, but where the Comanche Indians travelled without disaster.
The boys who had sneaked into the picket-lines of the soldiers and had then stampeded the white horses were praised and feasted by the squaws, envied by all the other boys, and smiled at by the girls who watched the little heroes admiringly.
The next day the camp was bustling with activity before the sun peered curiously over the hill tops. That night the warriors were to celebrate the Pipe Dance, and when the full moon rose over the distant mountains all of the Quahadas gathered for the ceremony.
Songbird was dressed in her new buckskin robe, her hair was smoothly braided and fell in two long plaits. She walked proudly, for no other child was to have the honour of standing with the squaws in the Dance. Already a ring was forming. In the very centre were the women, whom Songbird joined, and with the women stood a few of the very old men. Beyond them was a still larger circle composed of the warriors, including Gray Beard, Big Wolf, and Spotted Leopard.
Karolo, the Medicine Man, stood beside Quannah, who held a lighted pipe made of red sandstone. At a signal the warriors began dancing slowly about their chief, all moving in the same direction, like a revolving wheel. As each man came opposite Quannah, the chief held out the smoking pipe and the warrior who received it took a whiff or two; then, handing it back to Quannah, the man kept on dancing, all the while the others went on with their weird chant.
Star and Running Deer stood together on the outer edge watching the dancers, who finished with great whoops of excitement. Then men, women, and children squatted near the big camp fire where a feast had been set. The light of the moon made each face as distinct as though it were being seen in early morning. Beyond the edge of the camp, coyotes gathered, sniffing the air and yelping because they dared not come nearer the food that smelled so good.
It was a night to be long remembered by the Quahada Comanches, but at last the men, women, and sleepy children rose and went to their homes, where, with a few parting words to one another, they lifted the flaps of their tepees and slipped through the entrances. In a short time even their murmuring voices were silent.
The moon continued slowly on its journey through the sky, and the pony herd huddled together for the rest of the night. Among the sleeping animals was the old white troop horse, and Star, with Running Deer, stretched closely beside him. They had all been very glad to meet again.
Star had noticed another strange horse not far away. He was a big, gray animal. Just now he was moving nervously and lifting his head, looked about him. Star's eyes met those of the stranger.
For a second the two horses stared curiously at each other. Then the gray horse let his head fall slowly to the ground. Star, too sleepy to think of anything but rest, closed his eyes and pillowed his head comfortably on his mother's neck. She blinked at him, but the bite she gave his neck did not hurt this time. Then they all slept.
None of them ever stirred when the Comanche on guard over the pony herd, seeing a coyote sneaking too near, seized a burning brand from the smouldering camp fire and tossed it at the shadowy, skulking form. Countless little sparks scattered as the burning stick hit the ground, and the cry of the coyote pack grew fainter and fainter, until it died in the distance.
Chapter XI
The next morning when Star, with his mother and the Old White Horse, had found a nice place to graze near the other ponies, the Big Gray Horse that Star had noticed the previous night joined them, and the Old White Horse hastened to rub noses with him.
Star watched curiously, then edged cautiously toward them. His nose twitched, for Star was not quite sure whether he had better bite the Big Gray Horse or not. The stranger was so big and was certainly very handsome. He had a beautiful long silver tail and a heavy silver mane. His ears were very small and tapered to delicate points, his forehead was broad, and his eyes unusually large and bright. His neck arched proudly and when he moved every muscle beneath his glistening dappled skin told how powerful he was. Star reached him, and as they faced each other, the Big Gray Horse lifted a front hoof and pawed the ground lightly.
The Old White Horse watched him respectfully, and Running Deer joined the group, so that the four of them stood with their noses almost touching.
"Who are you?" asked Running Deer, when the Big Gray Horse showed plainly that he wanted to be friends.
"I am the horse of a general," was the proud answer.
"What is a general?" Star hastened to inquire, and the Big Gray Horse looked at him in surprise.
"A general is a great soldier who commands many men," he said. "General Mackenzie owns me, but I was confused by the noise and the darkness and thought that I was running with our troop horses. When I learned that I was among the Indian ponies it was too late for me to escape, for the Comanches chased me back into their own herd each time I tried to get away."
"I was confused, but not afraid," the Old White Horse explained. "I have been so many years a troop horse that I am not a coward in a fight. You believe that, don't you?" He looked anxiously at the Big Gray Horse.
"Yes," it answered. "Neither a man nor a horse that has grown old in the service turns coward when he grows old. Sometimes we horses run just because other horses are running; sometimes we misunderstand our orders and run wild. That was how many horses broke loose when the Indian boys hit us over the heads and backs with those bits of buffalo hide. When some picket-ropes broke, the rest of us thought we would be left behind, so we all struggled until we were free. Then I ran, guided by the sound of other hoofs in the darkness, and not waiting to know whether those around me were troop horses or Comanche ponies. I thought I was doing what was right and best."
"And then what happened?" Star questioned eagerly.
"The soldiers fired their guns, and many tried to catch the running horses which were dragging long ropes. The Comanches were all around in the darkness. Then all I really knew after that was that a lot of us were among the Comanche ponies and the warriors were urging us on. It was dawn when we halted, and the soldiers were nowhere to be seen."
"Nearly all of the White Troop horses are with us," the Old White Horse spoke.
Star lifted his head and glanced over the peacefully grazing herd, where a large number of white animals were mixed among the Comanche ponies. They were easily picked out, not only because of their colour, but also because they were much larger than the Indian ponies.
"Your fighting men cannot follow us," bragged Star, "for they have no ponies now."
"You are wrong," replied the Big Gray Horse. "There are hundreds more horses, hundreds more soldiers who will follow the Comanches. The white men are like the blades of grass, the stars in the sky, or the leaves of the trees in a great forest. No one can count them. Others will join our masters and keep on the trail until the Indians are all conquered. I know what I say, for I have listened to my General and all his officers talking while they rode together."
"Why do they wish to conquer us?" demanded Star angrily. "The land, the grass, the rivers belong to us! Why do the white men come out of far places to take these things away from us?"
"I am only a horse," the other replied. "How can I tell? I only know that my General holds the rein that guides me, and I love and obey him. Sometimes while he rides slowly, he and the other officers talk together. Then we, their horses, listen. So we learn much, but there are many things none of us understand."
"Have you, too, heard them talk?" Running Deer questioned the Old White Horse which had kept silent all this time.
"I do not belong to an officer," he said. "I am only a troop horse. A soldier rides me and we must follow the officers. My rider is an old soldier. I am a very old troop horse. Our duty is to obey, not ask questions, nor reason. Whether we are on parade or fighting, all I have to remember is to mind the reins quickly, to listen sharply for the bugle calls, and to keep my eyes fixed on the little pointed flag of our troop. For that is the troop guidon. Where it leads, we follow."
"We horses do not want to fight you ponies," the Big Gray Horse went on as the Old White Horse stopped speaking. "We have no quarrel between us."
"Maybe if the Indians and the white men could understand one another's talk it would stop the fighting," Running Deer joined the conversation again. "We horses understand one another and we do not want to fight. Preloch understood the Comanche tongue, and she did not fight them. She made peace between those who wished to fight in the tribe. When people do not understand one another that must be the reason for all the trouble!"
"Then white men never fight with one another!" Star exclaimed suddenly.
The Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse hung their heads and were silent, while the two Comanche ponies looked at them.
"Do the white men fight one another?" demanded Running Deer at last.
"Yes, sometimes," the Big Gray Horse replied. "There are white men who steal, kill, betray, and oppress the weak and helpless. Those who know the law and break it are punished by the law."
"But the Indians do not know the white man's law, neither do they speak the same tongue," snorted Running Deer, while her eyes showed little red sparks of anger. "It was the white men who fought the Quahadas and took away Preloch and Prairie Flower."
"The Comanches had killed and stolen white women and children," replied the Big Gray Horse. "So that was why the white men fought the Indians and took Quannah's mother and sister captive."
"Then how are the white men any better than the Comanches?" Running Deer snapped angrily. "You tell us that the white men are wise and good, and that the Comanches should learn the white men's ways and their laws, and yet you also say that the white men fight, steal, oppress, and kill one another, and if the Comanches take a white man's squaw or children, it is right for the white men to kill us, steal our women and children, and destroy our homes! If that is the right law for them, it is the right law for us. How can they teach us to be better than they are, themselves?"
"Just as you speak, I once heard an officer speak," responded the Big Gray Horse. "But when an order comes to an officer, he must obey. If we horses feel the reins, hear the bugle calling, see the troop guidon fluttering ahead of us, we ask no questions. Like our masters who ride us, we obey, for wherever the flag leads, we must follow and uphold it. There is much I do not understand, but I do know we horses have no quarrel with the Comanche ponies."
"Let us leave those things to men," the Old White Horse said. "We horses are good friends and will not bite or kick one another. Why should we fight when there is grass enough for us all? The world is big!"
"You are right," was Running Deer's comment. "And now if you will come with me I will show you where the grass is sweeter and more tender than any other spot for miles around. Only a few ponies besides myself and Star know the place. We will share it with you."
Side by side the troop horse and the horse of the general followed the Comanche mare and her colt.
Chapter XII
Life in the Quahada village went very happily for Star and Songbird after the return of Quannah and his warriors. The white men had evidently withdrawn from their chase of the Comanches, and Quannah did not intend to cause further trouble unless the buffalo hunters or other white people encroached upon the land which the Quahadas considered their own.
The Old White Horse and the Big Gray Horse seemed to be very well satisfied among the Indian ponies, but Star was a special favourite. More than once his mother chided him for liking the white men's horses better than older friends among the Comanche ponies. Sometimes she even drove him away from the cavalry horses and forced him to stay with the others. At such times Star did his best to escape her watchful eyes and return to his friends, but it was not an easy thing to accomplish. When his efforts failed, he would call loudly to the two horses, and their answers told him that they understood he had not deserted them.
"Why do you want to stay beside them all the time?" Hawk asked him one day when Running Deer had shouldered and nipped Star until he was in the very midst of the herd.
"Because they teach me so many things our ponies do not know," he answered quickly.
"What can a white man's horse tell a Comanche pony?" Hawk said scornfully.
"A great many things," was Star's reply. "I listen to them talking to each other about big camps of white men, of strange houses that move as swiftly as lightning, and of the wonderful flag that floats every day from a tall white lodge-pole in the place where they live with many horses and soldiers."
"We have lodge-poles, too," Hawk spoke impatiently. "Can their flag bring rain like the Thunder Bird that lives in the forks of the pole of the Sacred Sun Lodge?"
"No," Star shook his head, "I asked the Big Gray Horse about that, and told him how the Sun caught the Thunder Bird and kept it prisoner in the forks of the tall pole of the Sacred Sun Lodge, and that no rain could fall until our Medicine Men and warriors vanquished the Sun and set the Thunder Bird free; and how the Thunder Bird spread its great black wings and rain fell from its pinions upon the thirsty earth, so that the grass and flowers awoke from their sleep."
"Can their flag do that?" demanded Hawk.
"No; but he said that the flag on the lodge-pole meant that all those who came to it for help are treated kindly, and all who live under it are protected. I asked him if he thought that it could make the buffalo hunters and other men with fire-sticks leave the Quahadas in peace. He and the Old White Horse both said they were sure of it, if Quannah would lead us all there to talk."
"That was what the messengers from the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, and Kiowa camps said to Quannah," retorted Hawk. "The white men wanted them to make a treaty of peace in a big Medicine Lodge, and then the Indians would go and live where the white men put them. Quannah did not do it. He was wise. He would not trust the white people, nor let them rule the Quahadas, as though we were all captives. Who can tell what they would do afterward? Why do you trust the two strange horses and their stories?"
"They are my friends!" Star's eyes were angry, his ears flattened backward, his lips twitched so that his teeth showed. As he thrust his head forward, Hawk jumped aside to avoid Star's strong teeth, and Running Deer stood in front of her colt.
"Why do you fight Hawk?" she snorted as Star moved out of her reach. "You and he have played together all your lives. His mother and I grew up together, and our mothers slept side by side before I was born. These strangers are not of our people. They will leave us when they have a chance to return to their own people, but we shall remain together until we die. That is right. The white men and their horses have their own ranges; the Indians and their ponies have other places. Whenever they meet there is trouble and sorrow. When they dwell apart there is peace. So why should you quarrel with Hawk about these strange horses of the white men?"
"I am sorry," spoke Hawk, edging more closely toward Star.
The other pony moved quickly and rubbed his nose against Hawk's shoulder, saying, "I'm sorry, too. I was to blame, but I do like to listen to them talking."
"Let me go with you now and hear them," suggested Hawk.
"Yes, go!" said Running Deer, and she watched the two ponies trotting together toward the Old White Horse and the Big Gray Horse, who showed their pleasure at having the youngsters join them.
A couple of hours later as the ponies rested beside the big horses under the shade of a tree, Star scrambled hastily to his feet, saying, "Songbird is calling me. Good-bye!"
It did not take long for him to reach her side. She was standing before the opening of the big tepee and a short tether was in her hand. Star bent his head so that she could slip the crude bridle back of his ears and around his nose, but there was no bit to be thrust into his mouth.
Then without saddle or blanket she prepared to mount. Grasping his shaggy mane in her strong little hands, she sprawled against his side and balanced her body across his back, after which she wriggled until she sat erect, with the single strand of rawhide in her left hand.
Star knew that the pressure of her knee meant for him to turn one way or the other. When she leaned forward and her bare brown legs clamped closely against his body, the pony understood, without whip or spur, that he must go faster. The lightest pull on the rawhide loop around his nose caused him to stop at once. Besides all this, the tones of Songbird's voice guided him, and he always did his best to obey and please her, because he loved her.
Often Songbird's pet fawn accompanied them. The fawn thought it great sport to out-run the pony, but at times Star reached slyly to nip the little creature, which took delight in teasing the pony and getting in front of it.
Some days the other Comanche children rode with Songbird, and when they raced their ponies Star could easily outdistance the rest. Most of the children rode the old ponies that were too stiff to be of value in trades. The Comanches traded ponies instead of using money like white people. The children bragged one to the other, about the number of ponies his, or her, father owned, and how fast those ponies could run. Songbird did not talk like the rest. Everyone knew that her father, Quannah, had the most ponies of any warrior in any Indian tribe, and that his ponies were faster and more beautiful than all others.
She thought proudly of the pony races during festivals. When only the ponies of the Quahadas ran, Quannah's ponies were not among them, for he would not humiliate his own warriors by showing how slowly their ponies ran. But when the Cheyennes, Kiowas, or Arapahoes brought their best ponies to race against those of the Quahadas, Running Deer was led into the line of strange ponies.
As she stood among them, her bright eyes would note each lithe body, each nervous nostril, and the outlines of steeled muscles. Measuring her rivals she would toss her dainty head, and when the signal was given, would shoot away like an arrow from the other ponies and reach the goal ahead of them. Then amid wild shouts the Quahadas would gather about Running Deer who had upheld the honour of the tribe.
Later the defeated warriors would go back to their own camps, but the best ponies would be left behind with the herd of the Quahadas. Songbird knew that some day Star would race for the honour of the tribe. So while the other children raced and bragged, Songbird watched and was silent.
The games that Songbird played with the children were not so very different from many games played by white children in other parts of the world. Both boys and white girls shot arrows at targets, or, mounted on high stilts, chased one another between the tepees. There were wooden tops carved from tough limbs of trees, and the boys made whistles of reeds on which they blew music that the Indians loved.
Tiring of this they would turn to playing "Wolf" or "Chaser," which is much like "Tag," or it might be a game of "Hide Things" which was the name for "Hide and Seek." "Cat's Cradle" was played with strings of tough buckskin, and a great favourite among the boys was a breath-holding contest in which the boy who could hold his breath the longest was the winner, and the one who was first to fail was ridiculed by boys and girls.
Songbird and the other little girls had dolls which the squaws made for them. These were of buckskin painted gaily, and hair from the tails of ponies was sewed to the heads. The women used threads of fine sinews, and sharply pointed bits of stout wood pushed the queer thread through the material. That was the way the Comanche women sewed, even in making their tents, their clothes, and their moccasins.
Keeping house and having feasts like dinner parties made many merry hours. The boys, who scorned to play with the dolls, were very glad to join the games when they saw cactus-fruit, pine nuts, dried wild berries, dried acorns, and maybe deer meat that had been cut into long narrow strips and hung in the sun until cured so that it could be eaten without being cooked. There might even be little cakes made of dried buffalo meat that had been pounded between two stones and mixed with dried berries.
Instead of candy they chewed dried mesquite beans, which were juicy inside, and though sweet were tart. Possibly a special treat had been prepared for the little housekeepers, and their mothers had given them cactus-fruit. Eagerly the children watched the gorgeous yellow blossoms form on the prickly-pear bushes, and when the petals fell, leaving the delicious fruit, they knew enough not to touch it, for it was thickly encrusted with tiny stickers. These were so fine as to be almost invisible and were very painful as they worked into the flesh.
A tough stick was used to knock the fruit from the edge of the thick, flat, fleshy leaves that formed great clumps of the prickly-pear cactus. The thorns and skin were then removed with sharp sticks, or by placing for a few moments in hot ashes. The feast usually wound up with chewing gum obtained from the sweet sap of certain trees. It oozed through the bark, formed into dry lumps, and was all ready for any little Comanche who happened near.
So the men hunted deer and buffalo and made plans to protect their families and homes, and the women searched for roots, nuts, and berries for food and medicine, made clothes and cooked, while the children played their games, like other children all over the world, and listened to stories told in the tepees and by the camp fires, until the Spirit of Darkness rode his big black horse across the sky.
Then the children of the Quahada Comanches went into their tepee-homes, curled up on their beds of furry robes and slept.
But Songbird knew that Quannah and the wisest and bravest men of the tribe sat in the big tepee talking very gravely, night after night, when they thought that she was sound asleep. She heard enough to understand that they did not think the white men had given up the fight, but would come again some day, and come in greater numbers to conquer the Quahadas.
Chapter XIII
Songbird awakened early one morning and lost no time getting into her moccasins and buckskin dress. Then she braided her hair and fastened it with bits of red string.
Aided by one of the older squaws, she set the tepee in order for the day. The home of the Quahada Chief, though larger than other dwellings in the big village, was built like the rest.
A circular framework of poles had been erected to form a peak where they joined near the top. There were twenty poles made of hewn cedar trees. The poles were lashed together by hide ropes, then firmly sewed buffalo skins, stretched tautly over them, were pegged solidly to the hard ground. But an opening at the top of the tepee permitted the ends of the poles to protrude.
In the centre of Songbird's home was a fire, arranged so that the smoke would pass through the opening at the top of the tepee. On either side of this pit hung skins on crude frames. By moving these screens the smoke from the fire pit could be controlled when the wind shifted, thus making an inside chimney which carried off the smoke but allowed the warmth to spread in the tepee. Near the fire crotched sticks supported a pole on which clothes, robes, or moccasins could be hung when wet.
The doors or openings of all the tepees in the village faced the east, and were closed by flaps of buffalo hides on frames which enabled them to be lifted easily, yet which stayed in place during bad weather.
Two beds, or seats, were arranged inside the dwelling. One at a side, the other at the back. These beds were merely slightly raised platforms on which many soft robes had been thrown. But there were pillows of buckskin stuffed with the feathers of wild turkeys, geese, or ducks, mixed with long, soft hair cut from buffalo hides.
Decorated skins hung slanting from the centre of the room across and over the two beds, so that any water would be drained from the smoke hole in rainy weather, and thus the fire was protected, as well as the beds. The entire inside of the tepees had been painted by Moko in designs of queer characters, or pictures of Comanches hunting or fighting.
Mats of woven bark and plaited rushes lay on the smooth, hard dirt floor. A border of interwoven twigs around the two beds kept cold drafts away in winter. During the summer the edges of the tepee were lifted and tied, thus allowing the breeze full sway.
Songbird was very proud of her home as she bustled around, sweeping the earth floor with her broom made of coarse grass and twigs. Then with the wing of a wild turkey, she carefully brushed the scattered ashes to the centre of the fire-pit. Her father's best saddle hung on a post, and on another was his big shield made of toughened buffalo hide.
She stood looking at the shield, for it was beautifully painted, and a fringe of buckskin bordered it all around. The buffalo hide had been shrunken over fire to make it twice as tough and thick as originally. Moko had told her about the important ceremony which took place when a new shield was made, and how the Medicine Man blessed it, so that it would protect the warrior who carried it.
She had also told how the Quahadas in battle formed long lines, and the other Indians who were enemies made a line opposite. After that, one warrior rode out alone. Holding his shield high in the air, and balancing his long lance, he challenged his foes to send a warrior to meet him in single battle between the two lines of Indians.
Then the other Indians sent their best fighter, and the two tribes waited as the horsemen dashed toward each other, their ponies' manes and long tails flying while the silver mountings on their bridles clinked. The warriors leaning forward, with war bonnets of tall feathers that trailed almost to the ground, met in a crash, and then if the spear were not of tough wood, or the shield were not strong and tightly stretched, the tribe of the wounded warrior was humiliated as their champion fell from his pony.
No lance had ever pierced Quannah's shield, though he had met the foes of his tribes many times. But Songbird, small as she was, knew that the white men did not fight with lances and shields. Moko had said that the fire-sticks would tear the best shield the Quahadas could make, and that the men with the fire-sticks could stand far away yet kill the Quahada warriors before the Indians could reach their white foes.
"They will come back to-day." The old squaw, who was puttering among the cooking utensils at the back of the tent, spoke. "May the Great Spirit grant they bring much meat, for our dried meat must be cured before the days grow wet and cold."
"I have two prayer-sticks," answered Songbird, proudly pointing at little sticks fastened by cactus thorns to the wall of the tepee. "They will bring my father and his warriors back to us safely with all the meat and robes that are needed."
The little sticks, about as long as the hand of a grown man, were decorated with feathers, and other objects were attached by strings of buckskin. The feathers, from the breast of an eagle, were called "breath feather," for when the prayers were offered to the Great Spirit for any warrior, the "breath feather" carried it to the Great Spirit and the warrior was protected. Songbird knew that Karolo, the Medicine Man, had moistened the prayer-sticks with wonderful medicine, and that he had sprinkled them with sacred pollen. Karolo had given the prayer-sticks to Songbird to comfort her when she was alone.
"Yes," muttered the old woman, inspecting the bit of dried meat that swung over the fire on a crotched stick, the other end of which was thrust into the ground, "this time we need not fear, for the white men have fled far away."
As she spoke, she sliced off some hot meat and placed it in a dish made from the bark of a tree. Songbird seated herself on the ground. On mats of woven grass were ladles of wild gourds, spoons fashioned from buffalo horns, shallow baskets woven of fine grass, and bowls made of red clay.
There were sharp utensils made of flint rocks or of crude metal to cut the food, if necessary, but mostly the breakfast consisted of pounded berries and nuts, and the freshly roasted meat, with a mushy substance prepared from maize.
This was a kind of corn grown by the Indians, and when dry it was soaked in lye made from wood ashes, to remove the tough outer skin. Then the squaws placed it in a hollowed stone, and with a round flat stone that fitted closely into the cavity they worked and pounded until there was a fine powder. The food was ready to be eaten at once, either dry or moistened with water, and was very nourishing.
After breakfast, Songbird was free to roam where she pleased until such time as her father and his men should return from the big buffalo hunt on which they had started ten days before.
She had not told any one of her plan to slip away and ride out to meet her father. So without loss of time she reached Star where he was grazing among other ponies that had not been taken on the hunt.
When Star saw the rawhide rope in her hand, he lowered his head quickly, so that she could slip the noose across his nose and back of his ears. He was glad of a chance to run that morning, for the sun was so bright, the air so bracing, the grass so soft and green and the sky so blue, as he galloped across the rolling prairie with his little mistress on his back.