Chapter XIV
Several miles from the village, Songbird saw the hunting party coming toward her, and she dug her heels sharply into Star's side to urge him faster on the way. Star did not need pushing, for he knew that Quannah was riding Running Deer. The greeting between the colt and his mother was as affectionate as that between the father and daughter.
Side by side Star and his mother loped happily, while Songbird chattered to her father, who looked at her with loving pride as she sat gracefully on her pony's back, her cheeks pink from the touch of the breeze and her excitement showing in her dark, glowing eyes.
Back of Quannah and his little daughter rode the warriors, leading ponies laden with antelope and buffalo meat, while still other ponies carried rolled buffalo hides.
The meat that had been obtained on the hunt would be cut into thin strips and dried in the sun. This would preserve it for use without any danger of its spoiling, and the robes would be tanned and used for many purposes. No lack of food or warm robes need be feared now, and where the tepees needed mending it could be done without trouble. The extra robes would be exchanged by the Quahadas for articles which they might desire from some other tribe, or even traded for more ponies.
So there was much rejoicing when the hunting party reached the village an hour later, and preparations were rushed for a great celebration. In addition to the successful hunt it was time for the Festival of the Green Corn. This was the Quahada Thanksgiving Day, when they thanked the Great Spirit for an abundance of maize and other necessities of their daily lives.
Songbird, turning Star loose, wandered about the camp and watched the squaws at work. Children ran from their tepees to the place where the camp fires had been built. Each family had a separate fire for the celebration, and when everything was ready big bunches of corn were carried by each to the special family fire, where the squaws roasted the ears of maize.
While they were doing this the men formed in a large circle about the fires. The Medicine Man, Karolo, and Quannah, with Gray Beard, Spotted Leopard, and Big Wolf, were in the centre. The other men who formed the circle danced around the chiefs, and as they danced they shouted the Song of the Green Corn. This was accompanied by monotonous music made by the pounding with dry buffalo bones on skins tightly drawn over hoops of bent wood.
When the dancing was over, the men all sat down close together, while Karolo spoke to them and made a prayer of thanksgiving to the Great Spirit. Each of the chiefs spoke after him. Then Karolo walked around the circle of little fires and lifting his hands above each heap of roasted corn, he blessed it.
After he had blessed all the corn, the Quahadas, men, women, and children, began to eat it, talking and laughing or calling across to one another as they enjoyed the feast that the Great Spirit had provided and blessed through Karolo.
The children listened to the talk of their elders as they sat beside the fires after the feast. There were stories of brave deeds, tales of mighty hunters, and then all were silent as Moko related the story of how the buffaloes were sent to the Comanches. Moko was not only the Picture Maker of the Quahadas, but also the Story Teller. It was through the Story Teller of the tribe that the younger people knew of those who had gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds long before the grandparents of old Moko had been born. And Moko was the oldest living person among the Quahadas. So all of them, young and old, men and women, listened respectfully as she spoke.
"So many moons ago it happened, that the Indians cannot count them now," she said, poking the ashes with a long stick. "The Sun Spirit, angered because the Thunder Bird had flown across the sky day after day, made a trap and caught him. So the Sun held the Thunder Bird captive that it might not fly across the sky and make shadows with its great black wings. Because of this there was no rain and the earth grew thirsty. Then the grass died and the young corn shrivelled away.
"The ponies grew thin and weak, the streams shrank to small threads of water and many of them became dry sand. The antelopes moved away or died because there was no grass, and though the Medicine Man planted his prayer-sticks and begged the Great Spirit to help his children, the Great Spirit did not listen to his voice.
"Then a young man of the Quahadas, and his wife, knowing that their people would starve, wandered away together, hand in hand, to seek the Great Spirit and offer him their own lives for the sake of their people with whom the Great Spirit was angry.
"For three days before they started neither of them had eaten even a mouthful of maize, nor had they taken any water, so that there might be more left for the others who were not so strong as they were.
"Across the desert of hot sand that burned like fire against their bare feet, they two wandered alone. For many days they found nothing but heat, thirst, and hunger, and often they lay down on the scorching sand, too weak to go farther. But when they had rested a few minutes, they remembered their people, and so they rose wearily and continued their search for the Great Spirit.
"And one day the Great Spirit, who had been watching them all the time, appeared before them and said that because he had seen their great love and pity and knew that their own sufferings had not made them weaken in their search for him, their prayers would be answered, and the sacrifice of their lives was not desired by him. He touched the dry sand, and a stream of clear water ran past their feet, so they fell upon the sand and thanked the Great Spirit. Then they laid their lips in the cool ripples, and drank their fill.
"As they arose they saw food before them and many strange beautiful fruits, which the Great Spirit bade them eat. Then he told them of the Sun Dance and how the big Sun Lodge must be built, and how the chiefs and the Medicine Men could vanquish the Spirit of the Sun when it held the Thunder Bird captive.
"After they had eaten and had thanked the Great Spirit, they promised to do as he bade them. Then the man and the woman returned rejoicing of their people and gave the message to them.
"And the Quahadas obeyed the Great Spirit, and made a prisoner of the Sun, so the Thunder Bird was free. Then it stretched its broad wings and flew swiftly over the land. The rain fell from the black feather tips until the land was flooded and the grass leaped up, the flowers bloomed, the antelopes returned, the ponies of the Quahadas grew fat and strong and the whole tribe rejoiced because the Great Spirit smiled upon them and their children.
"One day they saw a great black mass like a thunder cloud sweeping across the prairie close to the ground. As it drew nearer they saw that it was not a cloud, but a vast herd of strange, big, black animals, such as none of them had ever seen before, and of which no one had ever told them or their forefathers. Then the Quahadas hid their faces, for they heard the voice of the Great Spirit speaking from the sky.
"Because you have obeyed me, my anger has passed away and I give you this new food. Kill these buffaloes when you need meat, when you need clothes, when you need tepees. These are all mine and I give them to you, my children. You must take only what you need. If you slay them when you have enough food, clothes, robes, or tepees, I will take all the buffaloes away, and I will also take from you again the grass and water."
"So the buffaloes were given to the Indians; and we must never forget the words of the Great Spirit as he spoke to our forefathers that day, many, many moons ago. So many moons that none of us can count them now!"
Shaking her white head and muttering to herself, old Moko went to her tepee, and Songbird, with the other children, sat watching the games played by the men and women.
Some of the men held arrows, which they tossed while other men threw their own arrows to try to stop the flight of the first arrow as it went swiftly past. It required great skill and a keen eye to measure the flight of the arrow and break it.
Other men, holding netted bats, like tennis rackets, played with a ball and kept it moving between them for a long time. The players had to keep the ball from falling to the ground and the rule was that if any man touched the ball with his hand, he must leave the game and pay a fine.
The younger men wrestled in pairs, each one striving to throw the other to the ground and hold him down until Big Wolf, Spotted Leopard, or Gray Beard had decided which one was the winner.
Little Songbird, sitting among the other children, cracked nuts between stones, and with a sharp, stout cactus thorn picked out the meats and ate them, until at last, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer, she curled herself on a buffalo robe and went to sleep.
So soundly she slept that she did not awaken, even when her father found her and carried her to their tepee home.
Chapter XV
The women of the Quahada village were very busy for weeks after the return of the buffalo hunters and the Festival of the Green Corn. Not only did they have their usual duties to perform, but in addition they had to preserve the meat and tan the hides of the buffaloes and antelopes that had been brought back by the men.
The children helped cut the meat into long, thin pieces so that it could be hung in the hot sun until the outer part was dry and hard. It was then tied together with bits of buckskin or dried sinews and stored away for future use. Thus prepared it could be eaten without further cooking, or carried by the Comanches from place to place. Often, as they rode along, they ate the meat without stopping for other food. With this and a little pounded maize, or a bit of dry vegetable root, they were able to travel many days.
The big skins had to be cured at once, lest they spoil. So while the children were cutting the meat, the women staked all the hides on the ground, fur side down. Then two women took charge of each hide.
Songbird did not help the other children cut the meat, but she watched the squaws who bent over a very large hide which Quannah had brought home. The women were busy scraping off all the tiny bits of flesh that still clung to the inner surface, using flat, sharp-edged bones, while a thong of buckskin around their wrists gave extra strength to their efforts. She was greatly interested in that robe, for when it had been thoroughly cured Moko was going to paint on it the picture of the big fight.
"Let me help," she begged the women.
But they shook their heads and answered, "It is Quannah's robe. We must be very careful of it."
Then Songbird ran to where her father was standing not far away from his tepee and looked wistfully into his face.
"Let me help the women cure the big robe you brought," she pleaded. "I will be very careful not to hurt it. I cannot fight, nor hunt, nor paint stories, but I want to help with the robe because you brought it back, and Moko is going to paint the picture of your big fight with the white men."
She caught the slight nod and waited no longer, but raced back in almost breathless delight to tell the squaws. They made room for her between them, slipping thongs over her small wrists so that her stroke might be strong and steady.
Very gravely she imitated their motions and listened to their instructions. Then, the first part of their work completed, they gave her a tool made like a hoe with a long handle attached, the bottom part formed of a sharp stone. Several women joined them in the work, and all of them warned Songbird to be most cautious not to tear or roughen the hide with the sharply edged tool.
So as the days went by she did her part in curing the robe. When it was staked out, hair side up, she too, rubbed the long fur with a cooked mixture made of meat, roots and herbs. Then she watched the women arrange masses of dried grass in the centre, gather up the ends and sides, and twist the robe into a tight ball which they put to soak over night.
She felt very proud and important the next morning as she hurried to the women, who already held the ends, and were standing far apart twisting the hide into a long, hard rope, from which liquid was dripping. When they began to stretch three sides of the robe on a large, slanting frame, Songbird helped industriously, and she also did her part in staking the lower end of the skin to the ground.
After that she sat quietly watching work that she was not tall enough nor strong enough to do. One of the two women who had first worked on the hide now took a broad blade of thin stone, almost six feet long. A piece of bone made a handle in the centre of the thin stone slab. The blade was pressed strongly against the upper end of the hide, and then drawn quickly and firmly toward the bottom, so that all moisture oozed down.
The second woman, with the same kind of tool, at once did the same thing, so that no water could be again soaked up by the hide. This work went on until no moisture rose to the surface, then the skin was left to dry and bleach on the frame.
A number of days passed before the robe was dry enough for the next work, which had to be done while the skin was still on the frame. Each of the women had a round buffalo joint, like a large knuckle, and with this they rubbed the entire surface of the hide, to make it the same thickness all over.
When that had been properly finished, every tear was mended carefully with threads of strong sinews thrust through tiny holes made by awls which were fashioned of sharply pointed tough wood, or of thin flint stones.
Then nothing remained to do except for the squaws to hold the cross-corners of the robe around a large rough tree and draw it back and forth, fur-side out. This removed the last bit of stiffness, and the women of the village gathered about the robe, examining and praising its softness.
Songbird ran to her father. "It is done!" she cried in delight. "Come see it! All the women say that it is the largest and finest robe the Quahadas have ever seen!"
Her hand was tugging, while her eager feet danced ahead of Quannah's more sedate pace. But at last they came to the place where the women formed an admiring group about the largest buffalo robe that had ever been brought into their camps. They made way for the chief, who passed between them in quiet dignity, and Songbird, beside him, held her little head high with pride—not pride for herself, but pride of her father, the chief, who was so brave, so great, and so good.
"It is good," he spoke at last, after he had studied the robe closely. "Moko shall paint on it the story of the Big Fight when our little boys frightened the white horses. So, the children of our children shall learn the story."
Songbird trotted beside the chief, followed by the two women, until they all reached Moko's tepee. Then the squaws went their way, and Songbird listened to her father telling Moko about the fight and how the little boys had captured the white horses while the fire-sticks had shrieked and spit, but did not hurt them.
"They were little boys," said Quannah with a smile of pride on his lips. "Just children! but some day they will make great warriors."
"I shall paint the story as you have told it," Moko answered, while her fingers stroked the long hair on the robe. "The children of our children shall be proud of their forefathers, and the story shall be told in tepees and by the camp fires long after the Great Eagle shall bring the message of the Great Spirit to call Quannah, Chief of the Quahada Comanches, to the Happy Hunting Grounds, where Peta Nocona is waiting for his son!"
Chapter XVI
As Moko painted the battle on the big robe, Songbird sat beside her, day after day, watching the picture grow. There were white men with fire-sticks, Comanches with war-bonnets, and horses running in every direction, while two little boys waved pieces of buffalo robes to frighten the horses of the white men and keep the animals running toward the Comanches.
The old Picture Maker talked while she worked, and Songbird kept perfectly quiet as she heard the stories of the great warriors or wise men of the tribe.
"They are gone," said Moko. "All of whom I had told you, heard the cry of the Great Eagle and answered it with the Death Song of the Quahadas. They did not fear that call, for they knew that the Great Eagle is the messenger from the Great Spirit, and when the shadow of the Great Eagle fell upon them, the big, strong wings lifted and carried them to the Happy Hunting Grounds to meet the Great Spirit and the spirits of their friends. But the cry of the Great Eagle is a terrible thing to hear if a man has not lived with honour. Then he cowers and cries out in fear, because he knows that he must stand alone and face the anger of the Great Spirit, who will drive him away from his friends and make him travel alone forever in darkness."
"Only three tribes now are left of the five big tribes of the Comanches who came out of the land of snows so many winters ago that no living man knows when it was," continued Moko.
"Each tribe was under its own chief, yet all lived together and were brothers. They did not fight one against the other. There were the Cost-che-teght-kas, or Buffalo Eaters; the Pen-e-teght-kas, or Honey Eaters; the No-ko-ness, or Wanderers; the Yam-per-i-cos, or Root Diggers, and the Quahadas, who were called Chatz-ken-ners, or Antelope Eaters." The old woman had been speaking very slowly, checking off each tribe on the gnarled fingers of her left hand.
Songbird's eyes were full of questions, but she knew that when Moko told a story, it made her angry to be interrupted by questions, and then the story was left unfinished.
"Together their forefathers came from the far north where snow covers the ground all the time," Moko went on. "They came on sleds made from hides of strange snow animals, and the sleds were drawn by wild dogs that were more like lobo wolves than our Indian dogs.
"For a long distance they travelled; but the snow melted and the dogs sickened and died, so the Comanches could go no farther. Then the head chiefs and all the Medicine Men of the five tribes prayed that the Great Spirit would help them, and while they prayed a big herd of wild horses approached the camp.
"The Comanches worked patiently until they caught a pony using a long rope and noose made of hides from their broken sleds. After they had caught the first pony, an Indian got on it and rode among the others, and soon they had a pony for each Comanche. That was how the Comanches became "pony Indians" instead of foot Indians who followed the dog teams in the land of long snows.
"Then they started south once more, and the wild ponies followed those which the Comanches rode, until they found a place where the snows fell only a short time. There they found grass for the ponies. Antelopes, roots, and berries furnished food for the Indians, and fish swimming in the rivers were caught by hooks made from curved thorns on the bushes near the water. So the Comanches stayed there and thrived and were happy until strange people found the place.
"The Comanches met them as friends, for they had no quarrel with any man in those days, and they believed that the new people were sent by the Great Spirit and were his children. The faces of the strangers were white, and they were so tall that even the tallest Comanche's head did not reach these men's shoulders.
"From the rising of the sun to its setting, the strange men built strong forts and big towns on high places. They were brave, war-like and proud, and the Comanches were their friends and brothers, until the white men forgot justice and mercy and honour and fought the Indians, driving them from their homes and taking their lands. Our people moved back, but the others followed, until the Indians, in despair, begged the Great Spirit to save their families and their homes.
"Then the anger of the Great Spirit fell upon the white men, and he swept them with fires that destroyed their great cities and forts. Floods carried away their horses, and disease wiped their people from the face of the earth, until only great earth mounds and a few crumbling ruins were left of the cities and fortresses, and not one of their people remained in the land.
"But the Comanches were blessed by the Great Spirit, so that they thrived and were happy. And now, other white men have come, and they, too, fight us and wish to take our lands and ponies and game and destroy our homes. But in the same way, sorrow will come to these other white men who are driving the Indians from their homes. They forget that the Great Spirit watches all. He sent Preloch, the mother of Quannah, to us and through her son the Quahadas shall find the way to honour and peace and their children shall prosper."
"Moko"—Songbird leaned nearer the Picture Maker, who looked down into her face—"my father wants to bring Preloch and Prairie Flower back here again. Do you think the white men will let them come if my father does not fight?"
"They will come back," answered Moko, looking through the opening of the tepee and across the prairie, as though she saw the mother and the baby coming toward the camp. "The white men took them away, but the Great Spirit will bring her back to her own people. The white men are strong and many, but the Great Spirit is stronger. The white men will do as the Great Spirit bids, and Preloch and Prairie Flower will come back again with honour, and her husband, Peta Nocona, will be honoured, and the white men will honour their son, Quannah, Chief of the Quahadas."
"When will they come, Moko?" whispered Songbird, her eyes shining with joy. "My father speaks many times of his wish to bring them back so that some day he may sleep beside them among our people."
"Only the Great Spirit knows," the Picture Maker said, and her white head bent over the wrinkled hands that lay idly in her lap. "I am old and weary with sorrow. Before many moons I shall hear the cry of the Great Eagle, but you, the daughter of Quannah, shall see and know that I have spoken the truth this day. Preloch and Prairie Flower will come back to the Quahadas. The trees, the wind, the stars have given me this promise because I am old and weary and cannot stay with my people much longer, but I know it is the truth, for the Great Spirit watches over us all, and he is just."
So months passed in the Comanche village, and there was great rejoicing when the big buffalo robe had been finished and hung in the tent of Quannah.
Songbird often sat before it when she was alone, and as she looked at it, she remembered Moko's promise that some day Preloch and Prairie Flower would come back to the Quahadas with honour. She knew that it would make her father very happy, but she asked the Great Spirit to bring them back very soon, so that Moko might see them once more before the call of the Great Eagle came to the old Picture Maker who had loved Preloch so dearly.
While Songbird had been helping with the robe and listening to Moko's tales, Star had been learning many things about the white people from the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse. Running Deer tolerated the two cavalry horses, but she never became their friend. Hawk, after grazing with them and Star for a few days, deserted them. When Star asked the reason, Hawk whirled and faced him.
"I like the Indian ponies better," was his reply. "The strange horses talk of things I never heard about."
"That is just why I listen to them," said Star.
Hawk yawned sleepily. "What good does it do you to know about those things? All I want to know is where to find the best grass and clearest pools of water, and what tree casts the heaviest shadow when the sun is hot."
"You do not belong to the chief," retorted Star. "A chief must know more than his people, so that he can lead them, and the ponies of a chief should know other things besides eating and drinking and sleeping. That is why I like to hear the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse talk."
"How can their talk help you, or the Quahadas?" snorted Hawk contemptuously.
"I do not know." Star spoke slowly. "Someday, they say, the white men will come back to fight the Quahadas and conquer them, as the Big Gray Horse says they have conquered other Indians. Maybe if I listen carefully and ask questions I shall be able to help Quannah and Songbird when the white men come to fight."
"You must have been eating crazy weed," grunted Hawk, "for you do not know how to think right any more. If the white men come, Quannah will send little boys to whip them and frighten them and their horses, as he did that other time. Go back to the strange horses, if you wish, but I shall keep away from them and their foolish talk."
Hawk tossed his head, kicked his heels high in the air, and galloped away, while Star went slowly back to the two cavalry horses. Both of them nickered softly as he drew near, then their noses touched him, and their soft eyes were so friendly that Star forgot how much Hawk's unkindly manner had hurt him a few minutes before.
In his heart Star knew that Hawk was wrong to believe that nothing was worth while except eating and drinking and sleeping, but he and Hawk had been companions ever since they had been old enough to stand on their feet, and it was not easy to give up his old friend.
Chapter XVII
It was September, as the white men count the months, and three years had passed since the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had come to live among the Quahada ponies. The summer had been very hot and no rain had fallen, so there was only a scant supply of dry feed for the ponies and buffaloes and antelopes.
What grass had grown in spite of the drought had been eaten by a swarm of locusts, so that only the bare stalks remained, and these held no nourishment. Where small streams had rippled, there were beds of dry sand. Larger rivers, big enough to have floated a good-sized boat when there was no drought, dwindled down to shallow threads or formed in pools of stagnant water coated with green slime. It was a hard time for the Quahada ponies, and still harder for the Indians.
Songbird watched her father's face anxiously. She knew that he would not allow any one to see whether he were worrying, rejoicing or grieving at any time. It would be unworthy of a warrior to show his feelings, and most unworthy of a chief. She had heard the squaws talking when no men were near.
They had said that when the last winter had gone and it had been time for the green grass to show above the ground, all the Indians from long distances had gathered at Medicine Lodge to hold a great council of war.
Reports had been brought that Indian runners, or messengers, had found a big camp where a large number of buffalo hunters lived, and from it each day the white men went to kill buffaloes. They did not use the meat, but left it to spoil in the hot sun, after the hunters had skinned the dead animals and taken the hides away. As far as the Indians could travel, dead buffaloes that had been skinned lay in herds just as they had fallen when the hunters had shot them with fire-sticks.
On their fingers the Indians counted how many buffaloes had been found in one day of travel. Some of them had seen as many as two hundred, and other Indians who had come from different directions told the same tale. Soon there would be no buffaloes left. The grass was gone, the water was growing less each day, the ponies would become thinner and weaker, and when the hunters had killed the buffaloes, the Indians would die, and the white men would cover the land.
So the Indians from all the tribes of the Southwest gathered at Medicine Lodge and formed a war party to drive out the white hunters and save the buffaloes.
That had been six moons ago, when the grass was just starting above the ground. In a little while they had thought that the rains and warm sun would make plenty of feed for the ponies, antelopes, and buffaloes, and there would be pools of water in low places between hills, or in hollows of large rocks. Then it would be the time to begin fighting.
But the rains did not come, and Songbird, listening to the talk of the squaws, longed to speak to her father and ask him about it all, but she knew that such things were not for children's talk. Nor did she ask the squaws, for they would be angry that she had listened to them.
"If only Moko were here I could ask her," she said to herself sadly.
But Moko had heard the call of the Great Eagle six moons ago, and now it was nearing winter. Songbird greatly missed her old friend, the Picture Maker. Moko had always answered questions and explained things without being cross. The other women were too busy asking one another what they would do in the winter, when the dry summer had killed the berries and nuts and maize and the buffalo hunters had killed all the game.
So Songbird kept her thoughts to herself and watched her father's grave face as he talked with Karolo or the head chief.
Then one day a Kiowa runner dashed into the Quahada village and the warriors gathered quickly about him. His pony wandered over and joined the Quahada ponies and the two cavalry horses, where they were nosing at dry stubble and hoping to find a bit of green feed at the roots.
"The white men are fighting the Indians again," the Kiowa pony said.
"The Indians cannot hide from them always," spoke the Big Gray Horse, who looked alertly at the Kiowa pony.
"I told you that the white men would keep coming until all the Indians have been conquered"—the Old White Horse turned to Star. "It makes no difference how bravely the Indians fight, nor whether they are right or wrong, the end is the same. They are conquered and must obey the white men. But maybe that is best for all."
"It would be best for all if each let the other alone!" answered Star. "If men had as much sense as horses have, there would be less trouble for all of us. We do not fight, though some of us belong to the Quahadas, others to the Kiowas, and you," he turned to the cavalry horses, "belong to a general and to a soldier who obeys the general. If there were ponies here from the Arapahoes and the Cheyennes, or any other tribes, we would all graze together and not bite nor kick one another. Why, then, do men fight one another?"
"Men are different," the Big Gray Horse spoke.
"It is a pity they do not know how silly we think they are!" snorted Hawk, joining the group.
"They are our masters," the Old White Horse rebuked him quickly. "Young horses kick and buck and bite, or run away when they first are brought to a troop. But they learn soon what it means to be hurt by heavy bits in their mouths, or sharp spurs digging into their sides. If a horse throws a man, another man gets on the horse's back at once, and then another and another, until the horse is too weary to fight. I have heard young horses talk about men, but it does no good. They all talk the same, then they understand, and so they stop fighting against the bit, the spur, the saddle, and the rider, and they obey. After that they, too, listen when young horses talk as they themselves once did. For when all is said and done, men are our masters! We will obey them whether they are white men or Indians, because we belong to them and must serve them. I, too, bit and fought and bucked men from my back, long ago."
As they talked, Quannah and his head chiefs, accompanied by the Kiowa warrior, approached the ponies. When the Quahadas stopped, the Kiowa slipped his bridle of rawhide over the nose of his pony, which submitted quietly. Its owner's hand rested lightly on the pony's neck and the animal's eyes watched its master's face. He was speaking to the Quahadas now.
"This is the message. The Big Father at Washington has sent his soldiers. They come in numbers like the leaves on the trees, or the blades of grass on the prairie. Our runners have brought word that the soldiers are coming to surround and kill all of the Indians. Big chiefs lead the white men from four sides. A friendly Indian sent us word that a big chief named Miles leads them all, and that Mackenzie, who fought us three winters ago, is with the others. He has not forgotten the rout of the White Horses yet."
The Old White Horse cocked his ears, and the Big Gray Horse lifted his head high. Star saw them look at each other, and he remembered they had often talked of these big white chiefs.
"I am Mackenzie's horse," the Big Gray Horse said proudly. "Officers and soldiers do not lie to Indians, nor kill their game, nor take their land from them for themselves. When the Indians give a pledge of peace the officers do not harm them, nor their women or children. They make the buffalo hunters keep away from the Indian's land and protect the Indian who does not go on the warpath."
"I know that is true"—the Old White Horse spoke earnestly—"for I lived many years in the White Horse Troop and have seen all these things myself. If Quannah would be friends with the big white chiefs, it would be better for him and for the Quahadas. Listen! He is speaking now."
The horses turned their eyes on the Quahada chief, who, with the best warriors of the tribe, faced the Kiowa runner. The Comanches, like the ponies, watched Quannah's face and waited to hear his words. Karolo, the Medicine Man, stood beside him.
Karolo had offered many prayer-sticks to the Great Spirit, asking that the Thunder Bird might be sent over the land with rain and that the buffaloes might be spared. But the Great Spirit was angry and would not listen. Then Karolo knew that it was because the white men had come on the Indians' land and were killing the buffaloes that belonged to the Great Spirit, who had said the buffaloes must not be killed except for food and clothing. Only by driving the white men away and saving the buffaloes, would the Great Spirit's anger be appeased.
Yet Karolo was sad. He knew that the white men were many times the number of the Comanches, and that their fire-sticks could reach much farther than the Quahada arrows. In his heart the old Medicine Man felt that the Indians could not win, but would be conquered and made prisoners by the white men, if they were not all killed in the fight. Quannah had talked this over with Karolo many, many times.
The chief looked past the Indians, past the tepees of the village, and fixed his eyes on the crest of a hill beyond the camp. For a little while he did not speak, then he glanced at the faces of his chiefs before he answered the Kiowa runner.
"Tell your chiefs that the Quahadas will join them against the white men."
He held out both his hands and the Kiowa grasped them, saying, "It is good!"
Turning quickly the messenger leaped to his pony's bare back. Sitting erect, he gave the loud, fierce battle cry of the Kiowas. Instantly the Quahadas answered it with their own call. Then the women, running from their tepees, and the children who stood beside them, took up the cry.
The Kiowa, leaning low on his pony's neck, darted out of sight, carrying word that Quannah would lead his warriors to join the fight against the white men.
When the last echoes of the war cries had died away, the Quahada warriors heard their chief say slowly, "We will fight! It is the last stand of the Quahada Comanches, but we will fight so that our fathers will not be ashamed when they hear the Great Eagle calling us."
Then they left him standing there, and went to their own tepees, where their wives and children awaited them.
For the next week the village was bustling with preparations, and day by day the Kiowa warriors arrived from distant points. At last the entire body of Kiowas and Quahadas, riding their best ponies and driving the immense herd of extra ponies and those that were laden with food, robes, bows and arrows, formed a great cavalcade. All the warriors were decked in gorgeous war bonnets and armed with lances and shields, while quivers that were full of arrows hung across their backs beside strong bows. Only the women and small children were left behind. Even the oldest men and youths who were ten years old rode behind the Quahada chief.
Songbird watched her father lead them up the slope of the hill. He turned Running Deer about, and his figure stood plainly against the blue sky where the incline ended sharply.
For a few minutes he looked down on the homes of his people, then his eyes wandered to those who rode up the hill toward him. His arm was raised high above his head, and Running Deer leaped at the touch of his heels. Swirling at the pressure of the rein, the mare disappeared over the crest of the hill.
The last of the riders vanished. Their cries came more faintly, until a strange silence fell upon those who stood watching the hilltop where no living thing was now visible. Long after the women and other children had dispersed to take up the everyday routine of their lives, Songbird stood alone watching the top of the hill.
Chapter XVIII
Songbird was not the only one who was lonesome. Star, too, had been left in camp, where only a few ponies, whose knees were too stiff, or whose backs were weak from age, kept him company. Although he was no longer a colt, he hated to be away from his mother and friends. Even the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had been taken with Quannah.
Star had heard Quannah say to Songbird, "He is your pony. I have enough without him, for I will take the Big Gray Horse to ride if Running Deer grows tired. So I will leave Star with you."
Three weeks after the warriors had left the village, Star wandered up to the big tepee and poked at the entrance with his nose. Songbird lifted the flap and stroked his nose, for she had heard him coming. Then she dropped the flap again, as she did not want any one to see what she was doing.
First she took pieces of dry buffalo meat and tied them together in a bunch, then she laid them carefully in a large square of buckskin. With them she placed some of the little cakes made of pounded meat and nuts, and as she glanced around she saw a prayer-stick, which she laid on the other things. The four corners of the buckskin were then drawn together and bound securely by a twisted thong.
After these preparations she took her doll and tucked it into the belt that held her robe at the waist. It was now almost dark.
She went out of the tepee and mingled with the other children, until they scattered for the night. Then Songbird returned to the tepee and sat alone, her arms about her knees, and her eyes staring steadily beyond the raised flap at the dim outline of the hill over which her father had ridden.
Satisfied, at last, that no one would notice her, she slipped cautiously from the tepee and made her way to where Star was stretched out among the old ponies. A hobble was on his front ankles, so that he would not stray during the night.
Songbird unfastened the hobble and thrust it into the bundle she was carrying, and Star rose to his feet. His head bent for the bridle in her hand. She did not mount the pony, but led him away from camp without arousing any one. Then clutching the bundle which she had prepared in the tepee, she climbed to Star's back and turned his head in the direction in which her father had led the warriors.
She had no fear that she would not be able to find them, for she knew their ponies would make a plain trail, and though she could not see it herself, Star would know and follow it. The Great Spirit taught ponies how to do that.
It was the memory of Preloch, who had ridden beside Peta Nocona when he had gone to fight the white men, that made Songbird determine that she would find her father and ride with him. She could shoot arrows as well as any large boy, and she could ride much better than most of them.
If her father told her that she could not stay and fight, she would remind him that the little boys who had frightened the white horses had not been any older than she was now. So she had brought her bow and all the arrows that she had been saving for a long time, and when she found her father she would show him that she was not a baby. She had her bow, her arrows, food to eat, and Star, who could out-run any other Quahada pony except Running Deer.
So she rode while it was dark, trusting Star to keep the trail. When the sun rose, the hoof prints of unshod ponies could be seen distinctly, though in some places the wind had stirred dry sand over them.
As a slight rise in the ground gave her a chance to look back, Songbird saw nothing moving, and felt quite sure that no one in the village had yet discovered her absence. Knowing that only slow old horses remained in the camp with the squaws, she hastened on her way, determined to lose no time in putting as many miles as possible between herself and any who might try to follow her.
It was only when the sun was low in the sky that Star and his little rider halted beside a shallow pool that had once been a deep water-hole in a swiftly running stream.
While Songbird lay on her face and drank her fill, Star, a short distance away, thrust his hot nose into the water and gulped greedily. Then he turned his attention to some green grass that had grown about the edge of the pool, in spite of the drought, while Songbird, sitting beside the water-hole, munched a piece of dry buffalo meat and one of the little cakes made of pounded corn and nuts that she had packed for her journey.
As the sun sank beyond the edge of the land, Songbird, weary but not afraid, lay down on the ground to sleep. Star, hobbled carefully to prevent his straying far, stretched near her. He did not sleep.
At the least sound he lifted his head and pricked up his ears, while he peered with bright eyes into the night. He knew that coyotes might be prowling close, and he was ready to leap to his feet and fight them with his strong teeth and nimble heels if they came where his little mistress slept so soundly. Once in the night she woke. He heard her move, then suddenly she called in a half-frightened voice:
"Star!"
His soft nicker answered that he had not left her, and he rose to go close to her. When he settled down again, Songbird's hand rested on his shoulder and her head was pillowed on his neck. Her other hand held her doll.
Thus the sun saw them when it peeped over the opposite edge of the world the next morning. Then it shot golden arrows silently, and Songbird's eyes opened. For a few minutes she wondered where she was, but as Star twitched a little she raised her head quickly and sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
Star lost no time in getting on his feet. He had kept very still so that he might not disturb her, and it felt good to move about. Songbird reached down and unfastened the hobbles that held his front feet so that he could take only short steps of about eight inches, or hop with both front feet at the same time. As soon as he was free he lay down and rolled over three times without stopping, kicking his heels in the air. It was easy to roll over now that he was so strong and fully grown.
It did not take long for the two wanderers to finish breakfast. A drink of water from the pool, and food such as they had eaten for dinner the previous night, satisfied them both. After that, Songbird slipped the rawhide bridle on Star, picked up her doll and carefully brushed the dust from it, then tucked it safely into her belt. Mounting her pony, she started again on her way to find her father.
But the trail became more faint, and a hot, dry wind blew dust into her eyes. As the sun rose higher the wind became stronger, and at last nothing but a haze of yellow dust could be seen. Star plodded on, but at intervals he whinnied shrilly, hoping to hear an answer through the dust storm. Only the sound of the wind and the hiss of blowing sand came back to him.
All day they travelled in the sandstorm, and Songbird dropped the rein on her pony's neck, not knowing which way to guide him. The wind died down at sunset, but when the haze of dust lifted, Songbird faced a stretch of desert, where only tiny clumps of dry weeds showed here and there, half-buried by the heaped up sand that formed small mounds about each weed.
She knew then that she was lost on the Great Desert of the Staked Plains, where no white man could venture and come out safely, and where even the best trailers of the Quahadas travelled only when the warriors had no other way of outwitting their pursuers.
As she sat on Star, looking at the endless sand, all the stories she had heard the older people tell about the suffering from thirst on the Staked Plains came back to her. They had spoken of lost trails where the sand had shifted and buried all traces even in one hour. There had been a Quahada runner, who, lost for five days without water, had found his way back to camp but had died before he could swallow the water that the Indians held to his lips.
Songbird knew that there was no water on this desert except when the rain fell heavily, and then it gathered only for a short time in a hollow, for the hot sun and the dry sand soon made it disappear. This summer there had been no rain.
Since leaving the pool that morning, Songbird and Star had found no other water, but she had hoped that the trail of her father would lead to some. He knew all the country and just where to find water each night for his warriors and ponies. But the terrible dust storm had blinded her and the wind had blown the loose sand over the Quahada trail.
Her eyes grew big with fear, and her shoulders, which had been held so bravely when the sand storm beat upon her, now drooped as though a heavy weight were placed on her neck.
Miles and miles of silence and loneliness threatened her on every side.
Her head sank forward until it rested on Star's shaggy mane, and her arms clung tightly about his neck. There was no one to remind her that she was the daughter of a chief. Only Star and the Great Spirit heard the sobs of a frightened, lonely little child.
But at last she raised her head, and sat thinking intently. Then she turned Star's head in the opposite direction. That morning when she had wakened, she remembered now, the sun had shone in her eyes, and she had travelled toward it until it was straight above her head.
Songbird knew that the village must lie in the same direction as the sunset. If Star could take her to the water pool once more, she could find her way to the Quahada camp. She understood now the risk of trying to follow her father, and that made her decide that she would try to return to the camp and stay there until he should come back.
The tracks made earlier in the day by Star's feet were already indistinct, as the loose sand did not hold an impression very long, and the faintest wind hid it completely. Beyond the desert a trail remained distinct for a long time.
It was growing dark. Songbird was so tired that she wanted to cry again, but she blinked her eyes fiercely, reminding herself that her father was a chief. As they travelled toward the place where the sun set, she took a piece of the dry meat from her bundle and started to chew it. But she was so thirsty that it choked her. So she put it back uneaten.
Hopefully she looked about for a sign of a mesquite bush, knowing that she could quench her thirst by chewing the beans that grew in pods from the branches. But lack of rain had kept any beans from forming, and she remembered that the mesquite bushes near the camp had yielded no crop. Only a bit of shrivelled desert brush, half buried in the sand, met her eyes as she rode.
A terrible fear conquered her, and she struck Star's sides sharply with her moccasined heels. At once he swung into an easy, swift lope, his ears cocked and his eyes fixed straight ahead of him. Songbird did not try to guide him now, but allowed the rein to lie loosely on his neck, while she balanced herself to his movements.
At times the pony slowed down to a walk, but he did not stop, and Songbird did not have to urge him to resume his quicker gait. Where she had guided him earlier in the day, he now went of his own free will. Some instinct beyond that of any human being told Star which way to go.
More than once Songbird, too sleepy to sit erect, laid her head on Star's neck, where the thick mane made a soft pillow. Then the pony walked very slowly and very carefully while Songbird slept. Once she slipped from his back to the soft sand. Though it wakened her at once, the fall did not hurt her, and as she lay on her back, staring up, she saw Star standing beside her. Patiently he was waiting for her to climb on his back. Then Songbird knew that her pony would not desert her, even though it were dark and he wore no hobbles.
So through the long night Star carried her safely. With the first gray light of dawn, the pony gave a soft nicker of pleasure, and broke into his swiftest run. Songbird leaned down and patted his black neck. Ahead of them loomed a group of trees, and she knew, as well as Star, that the trees grew beside the water-hole.
When they reached it, both pony and child drank as though they would never stop. Songbird bathed her face and held her arms in the water, while Star walked out to the deepest part of the pool and stood there heaving great sighs of content.
Afterward, still standing knee deep in the pool, he stretched his neck so that he could nibble the grass growing on its edges while Songbird ate the dry meat that no longer choked her.
Then, side by side, Star and Songbird lay down to sleep.
Only the buckskin Indian doll guarded them, but its painted eyes glared so fiercely that it would have taken a very brave person to have ventured near!
Chapter XIX
When Songbird awoke the next morning, Star had already eaten his breakfast, so she lost no time in satisfying her own hunger with a bit of the dried meat and pounded maize, finishing off her meal with a drink of water from the pool.
Then carefully tying up her bundle and tucking her doll into her belt, Songbird mounted her pony and started back to the village. She had no trouble following the trail now, for the ground was not so sandy or soft. Besides, Star knew his way without any guidance.
When they had left the Quahada village it had been dark, so they had travelled more slowly. It was late in the afternoon when at last they neared the hill which overlooked the camp. Songbird knew that all the women and children would be preparing the evening meal.
She felt very happy knowing that she would be with them safely in a few minutes, and she knew they would all be glad that Star had brought her out of the terrible desert. But she was now rather ashamed of herself at having run away without telling any one of her plans. Then she hoped that her father had not returned and found her missing, for his anger at the women would have been terrible, yet they were not to blame at all.
Star loped lightly up the hill and stopped on the very top. Where Quannah had halted Running Deer and looked down on the village, Songbird now looked down. Then she gave a startled cry.
All signs of the village had vanished. Where she had left many tepees, she now saw empty space. Where children had shouted at play, silence greeted her. Where camp fires had blazed, cold ashes stirred in the light breeze.
Scarcely believing her own eyes, she urged Star on a run down the hill, as though hoping the village might be there when she reached the very spot where the camp had once been. But it was more lonely than even the desert had been. For out there she had believed that she had a home and now she had nothing.
Almost frantic, she jumped from her pony and ran to the spot where her father's tepee had been, calling his name over and over again, and begging him to come back to her. Nothing familiar met her eyes except the fire pit and the poles on which she had many times hung her father's moccasins to dry.
In a frenzy of grief and fear, she flung herself beside the fire pit, and Star, knowing that something was very wrong, called as loudly as he could. But no pony answered, and no Quahada woman or child came to comfort his little mistress who lay sobbing on the ground. So Star could do nothing but wait patiently.
Songbird's sobs finally stopped, and she raised herself slowly until she was sitting with her knees drawn up, her elbows propped upon them and her chin resting in her palms. For some time she sat staring at the top of the hill, while Star, only a few paces away, nibbling dry roots, paused frequently to look at her.
"My father came back while I was gone," she said to Star, at last. "He is angry with me and has moved the camp so that I cannot find him. But I will look for him until I find him and tell him I am sorry I did not obey him. I know he will not send me away from him, even though he is very angry. If he will not let me come into his tepee, I will wait at the entrance, and maybe some day he will forgive me."
Comforted by this thought, she ate rather sparingly of her food supply. Then she curled beside the fire pit where her father's tepee had once stood, and slept until morning, for she was very, very tired.
So soundly she slept that she did not know the coyotes, sneaking about the deserted camp site, had more than once tumbled over one another to avoid a sudden dash of an angry pony. Then, when they had sought safety from his teeth and heels, Star returned to his vigil over his little mistress.
The sun had not yet peeped over the rim of the world when Songbird and Star started on their search for the vanished Quahadas. Both of them watched for signs along the trail, and had no difficulty in finding where the lodge poles of the tepees had dragged on the ground.
Star also noticed something that puzzled him. No unshod hoof prints mingled with the Quahada trail, but there were many distinct marks of shod horses. He remembered that the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse, when they had first come to live among the Quahada ponies, wore strange metal things on the bottom of their hoofs, and they had told Star and the other ponies that all the white men's horses wore these things, which they called shoes.
The Quahada ponies had thought it very strange that the white men's horses could not travel on sharp rocks with bare feet, as the Indian ponies always did.
Star had not forgotten this, nor how the two cavalry horses had limped at first, after the metal shoes had worn thin and finally fallen off in pieces. However, in a little time the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had been able to scramble over rough places just as well as the Quahada ponies could do.
Songbird did not notice all these things as Star did. While they travelled she kept her eyes on the marks made by the trailing lodge poles. That was all she cared to know. For wherever the lodge poles led, she knew that she would find the Quahadas, and that her father would be with them.
For three days Songbird and Star followed, not resting until the light was too dim to see the trail. Then they lay down together on the ground till morning. Wherever water could be found, the pony and the child drank, but as they had no way to carry water with them, both suffered from thirst many times. Only dry mud had been left in many water holes, because of the long drought.
Star's sides shrank until his ribs showed and his hips stood out in sharp points. Sparse clumps of dry grass constituted his only feed, and even that had been cropped to its roots by the big band of horses on the trail that Songbird was following.
Her own supply of food was almost gone. The third night when she opened her bundle and saw only enough for the next morning, her lips quivered as she wondered where she could find anything more to eat. Yet the next morning, after dividing what was left of her food, so as to make two meals of it, she rose courageously and resumed her journey, always keeping her eyes on the marks of the trailing lodge poles.
It was late in the afternoon of the third day when Star, looking ahead from a high bit of ground, saw an object that made his ears cock sharply and his nostrils distend, as he sniffed the air. Far away something fluttered at the tip of a white lodge pole. Then he remembered what the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had said about the flag which protected Indians who were not fighting the white men. Songbird had been so intent upon the track of the lodge poles that she did not see what Star had noticed, and when the pony gave a loud squeal and broke into a wild run, she did not know what to make of his actions.
Down the slight slope he rushed. Then Songbird saw a tall white lodge pole with something striped in red and white fluttering at its tip. She did not know what it meant, but she clung tightly to Star's mane as he ran directly toward a hollow square surrounded with strange buildings, which were different from anything she had ever seen in her life.
Fast as Star ran, Songbird was able to catch a glimpse of men near these buildings, and the men had white faces. But Star did not stop until he stood directly at the foot of the big lodge pole. There, with Songbird on his back, the pony lifted his head very high and called again and again, as loudly as he could.
Songbird, bewildered, saw men running toward her from all sides, shouting to one another. And knowing these were the terrible white men who had carried Preloch away, and Prairie Flower, too, she bowed her head, believing that they were coming to kill her.
But as they reached her side, she saw kindly faces, and heard voices that were not harsh or threatening. One man spoke to the others, who listened respectfully. Then another man led Star between a row of buildings, which Songbird stared at, half frightened, half curious.
Back of these long buildings, which were made with places where men looked out at her, she saw a great line of the familiar Quahada tepees, and in front of the very largest one stood her father, who started toward her, calling her name.
Like a flash, Songbird jumped from Star's back, past the men who watched her, and then she was in her father's arms. She knew that he was not angry with her, and nothing else mattered now. She had heard his voice and had seen his joy, which this time he had not tried to hide, even though he was the chief of the Quahada Comanches.
Chapter XX
The days that followed were the happiest of Songbird's life. Not only was she with her father and the rest of her people once more, but she knew that there would be no more fighting between the Quahadas and the white men. Quannah had given his pledge of peace, and now the white people were his friends.
Little white children, dressed in clothes that seemed strange to Songbird, came to the Quahada camp and brought things that were very nice to eat. It did not take long for the Quahada children to rush eagerly and greet these visitors, though of course not one Quahada child could understand what the white children were saying. But that made no difference.
Sometimes the white mothers came, too. They brought clothing like the things the white children wore, and the Quahada squaws were much pleased when they saw their own youngsters dressed in the new finery, with shoes and stockings on their feet.
While the young Comanches walked awkwardly in their new things, or talked among themselves about the toys that had been given them, Songbird sat apart, silent but happy. A wonderful doll with real yellow hair, and blue eyes that closed in sleep sat primly beside her, but a dirty buckskin Indian doll was more often hugged to Songbird's breast.
Then one great day Songbird was taken to play with two children in the home of an officer. They brought toys and games, and she watched each thing they did, trying to act in the same way. Her father had told her to watch and learn to be like the white children, now.
After a little while she stopped playing and listened to the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. Then she rose to her feet and moved softly toward the room from which the music came.
Standing by the door she stared at one of the ladies who was seated before a big box that had a great many teeth, and as her fingers touched these white, shining teeth, the Spirit in the Box sang sweetly. Wide-eyed with wonder, Songbird listened without moving. She heard in the music the wind blowing through trees, the noise of the stream, the song of wild birds and the cry of the Thunder Bird.
The music stopped, and the lady, turning suddenly, saw the child in the doorway. Smiling, she beckoned Songbird, who came forward shyly. The little brown hand was lifted by the white, ringed hand of the lady. Songbird's fingers were pressed on the teeth of the box that sang, and as it spoke to her, Songbird's big, black eyes sparkled with joy, while her solemn little face lighted with a smile.
Then the lady motioned her to a chair, and for a long time Songbird sat listening to the singing of the Spirit in the Box. All this she told her father when she went back to his tepee. Each day after that when she went to play with the children, the mother of the children first took Songbird to the room where the Spirit in the Box sang for her.
And each day her father talked to her, telling her that she should learn everything that the white people knew, even how to make the Spirit in the Box sing when her fingers touched it.
There were many councils between Quannah and his head chiefs with the big white chiefs. But there was no more talk of war among the Quahadas. And one day Quannah told Songbird that they were free to go and build their camp again. Songbird did not tell him that she did not want to part from her new friends, but he understood her wistful face.
"I will come back many times to see them," he said, "and you shall come with me. Our new camp will not be far away from here."
So she was happy again. And the next day the Quahadas set busily to work taking down all the tepees and preparing to move to their own camping grounds. Songbird and Quannah did not spend these last hours with the Indians, for they were in the home of an officer.
After they had all eaten lunch together, the officer led the way to the front porch. There, before the house, stood a soldier holding the Big Gray Horse by its bridle, and on its back was a cavalry saddle.
"The horse and bridle and saddle are gifts to you from General Mackenzie," the officer said to Quannah, and an interpreter, who knew how to speak both the white men's language and that of the Comanches, repeated it to the chief.
The officer spoke again. This time he looked at Songbird and smiled, while the interpreter said, "The officers give Quannah's daughter the black pony which carried her into Fort Sill."
Then Quannah and Songbird noticed a soldier leading Star to the gate. Star's little mistress ran down the porch steps and did not stop until her arms were about the pony's neck.
When she was on Star's back, and Quannah had mounted the Big Gray Horse, Songbird saw her father hold out his hand to the officers who had gathered about them. Very gravely she did the same thing. None of the officers smiled as they took her small, brown hand, for she was a daughter of a great chief who had won their respect as a soldier and as a man.
Side by side Quannah and Songbird went slowly along the gravel road in front of the officers' homes; but when they had reached a point directly opposite the tall white lodge pole where the flag fluttered gracefully, Quannah reined the Big Gray Horse, so that it faced the lodge pole. Songbird did the same.
Her father lifted his hand, as she had seen the men and officers do many times. Without understanding, and without hesitation, Songbird, too, raised her hand and saluted the flag.
Her father smiled approval, then he said: "That is the flag of the Great Father, and we are his children now. It is as my mother, Preloch, would wish; and it is best for me, for you, and for all the Quahadas. The white men are our brothers. Together we shall dwell in peace."
So they rode to the place where their new camp was to be built, not far away from the garrison. Quannah explained, as they rode, that the buffalo hunters could not come there to fight the Quahadas, and that there would be food enough for the Indians, and that now the white soldiers would be their friends. He told her how he planned to make his people understand the white men's ways, their children to learn the things that white children were taught, and then, some day, maybe, he could bring back Preloch and Prairie Flower. For the officers had told him, through the interpreter, that his mother and sister were both dead.
Little Prairie Flower had lived only a short time after reaching the home of the white people, and Preloch, grieving constantly for her son, had died a year later, so the mother and the baby had been buried among the white people.
The officers who had told him this had shown their sympathy in their faces, and when Quannah asked if they thought that some day he might bring his mother and sister back to sleep among their own people, the officers had all been sure that the Great Father would think it was just and right.
Then Quannah and Songbird reached a little knoll where they had a view of a wide sweep of prairie land, broken by the outline of trees along the banks of a stream. Sitting silently on their horses, father and child gazed at the place where a new era was to dawn for their people.
Star's nose rubbed the neck of the Big Gray Horse, but his friend paid no attention to him. He was too busy watching a distant object which Star had not seen. Then, he, too, saw a slowly moving black pony. Its head hung dejectedly and it stumbled wearily as it approached them. Star's loud, shrill call caused the black pony to stop suddenly and fling its head high, while it gave answer. Neither Quannah nor Songbird tried to check the swift pace of the Big Gray Horse and Star, as, side by side, they raced joyously to meet Running Deer.
When they met, Star pawed the ground in his delight, and his mother kept nipping his shoulder with her teeth to tell how glad she was to find him. Later, as she trotted beside him, when Quannah and Songbird again rode forward, Running Deer told her colt how she, returning to camp with Quannah, had found that Star and Songbird both were missing.
After the white soldiers had captured and taken Quannah and all the braves and women and children to the garrison, Running Deer, assured now that her master would not need her for some time, stole quietly from the garrison one night to search for Star and Songbird; for Star was very dear to her, and she had noticed, too, how Quannah, when alone, grieved for his beloved daughter who was lost. She had come back to the Quahada camp and waited there several days, feeling sure that Star and Songbird would return. When they did not, she continued on her way to find them, and finally came to the Great Desert of the Staked Plains. With sorrowing heart she had reluctantly turned her steps back to the garrison, for now she knew not where to search for them on the vast, trackless sand plains; and she herself was weak and lean from thirst and hunger. Imagine, then, her joy upon finding Star and his little mistress safe and happy. But neither Star nor Running Deer knew that they alone were left of the once great Quahada pony herd. All the others were dead.
As the sun went down that evening, Quannah and Songbird, with the Big Gray Horse, Running Deer, and Star, reached the place where the new village was to be built. Back of them, on the road, the Quahadas toiled, but the eyes that watched the setting sun were hopeful. They knew that it would rise again to-morrow.