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STAR
The Story of an Indian Pony
by
FORRESTINE C. HOOKER
With an Introduction by Lieut.-General Nelson A. Miles, U.S.A.
Jacket Painting by Charles Livingston Bull
The Sun Dial Press, Inc.
Garden City, New York
Copyright, 1922, by Doubleday, Page & Company.
All Rights Reserved.
Printed in The United States at the
Country Life Press, Garden City, N. Y.
TO
YOU, THE ONE
Like a ray of light in a stormy sky your love has encouraged and
guided me through years when the dim, rough trail was hard to
follow.
[Illustration: _Son of Running Deer, daughter of the swiftest racer of
all the Comanche ponies_]
FOREWORD
The recording of historic facts and events in the romance of a story
must be interesting and instructive to the readers; especially when the
scenes occurred in a vast country, formerly occupied by an ancient and
departed race and later by one now rapidly disappearing.
In vain might we search history for the record of a people who contended
as valiantly against a superior race, overwhelming numbers, and who
defended their country until finally driven toward the setting sun, a
practically subjugated nation and race. The art of war among the white
people is called strategy, or tactics; when practised by the Indians it
is called treachery.
Their wealth consisted of their herds of horses--which the Western
Indians obtained from the Mexicans after the Spanish had invaded
Mexico--their lodges and the few appliances for camp-life. They
worshipped the God of nature, and the Great Spirit was their omnipotent
Jehovah. They believed that death was a long journey to the Happy
Hunting Grounds. They were grateful for the abundance of the earth--the
sunshine, air, water, and all the blessings of nature--and believed that
all should share them alike. For one to wish to monopolize any part of
the earth was to them the manifestation of a grasping disposition. Often
the men of the most influence and greatest popularity in the tribe were
the poorest, or those who gave most to others.
They believed that the Great Spirit had given them this beautiful
country with its natural resources, advantages, and blessings for their
home.
One great cause of disaffection among the Indians was the destruction of
their vast herds of buffalo, which seemed like ruthless sacrifice.
Within a few years millions of buffalo were killed for their hides, and
thousands of white men, the best rifle-shots in the world, were engaged
in the business.
Among their own tribe and people they had a code of honour which all
respected. An Indian could leave his horse, blanket, saddle, or rifle at
any place by day or night and it would not be disturbed, though the
whole tribe might pass near. This could not be done in any community of
white people.
These conditions existed in 1874, when the Southwest Indians assembled
at Medicine Lodge and decided to drive out the buffalo hunters.
In August, 1874, I was directed to organize a command at Fort Dodge, on
the Arkansas River in southwestern Kansas, and move south against the
hostile Indians. Other commands were ordered to move: one east from New
Mexico, under Major Price; one north from Texas, under General
Mackenzie; one west from Indian Territory, under Colonel Davidson, Tenth
Cavalry.
My command consisted of two battalions of eight troops of cavalry,
commanded by Majors Compton and Biddle; one battalion of four companies
of infantry, commanded by Major Bristol; a company of friendly Indians,
a detachment of artillery, and a company of civilian scouts and guides.
These latter were mostly hunters and expert riflemen, familiar with the
country.
In one of the many engagements with the hostile Indians Captain Frank D.
Baldwin (now Major General) a very gallant officer, recaptured two
little captive white girls, Julia and Adelaide Germaine, seven and nine
years old, whose father, mother, brother, and older sister had been
massacred. From the children we learned of their two sisters, still in
the hands of the savages, and we made it a condition that they should be
brought in safely and surrendered with the whole tribe, which was done
immediately on receipt of my demand. The other two girls had been
brought by order of Chief Stone Calf to a tent next his own, where they
were treated with marked care and consideration until formally
surrendered to us.
That campaign, lasting for many months, closed after most difficult and
laborious efforts on the part of the troops, with the satisfactory
result that the vast southwestern country has been free from the
terrifying and devastating presence of hostile Indians, and the citizens
of the States of Kansas, Colorado, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico have
enjoyed an era of peace. Scarcely a hostile shot has been heard in that
country since that year.
In a report to Lieutenant-General P. H. Sheridan, Commanding General of
the U. S. Army, November 23, 1874, which was published in report of
Secretary of War, Vol. I, 1875, I said:
"It would have been better for the Indians had they been considered a
part of the population of the United States and dealt with generously;
and when forced on reservations--which is always the case--let
reservations be reasonable in size, subject to special rule and
government until the Indians are fitted to obey the ordinary laws of the
country which have been made to control educated and intelligent white
people.
"If the Indians had always been humanely and honestly dealt with, there
would have been but few of the troubles which have occurred in the many
years gone by."
[Illustration: Signature: Nelson A. Miles, Lieut.-General US Army]
July 21, 1922
Washington, D. C.
STAR:
_The Story of an Indian Pony_
Chapter I
The first streak of dawn was turning the sky from gray to pale pink as
Star lifted his head and looked sleepily at the twelve hundred Comanche
ponies stretched on the ground around him.
Farther away were many tepees made from buffalo skins, but only the
wolf-dogs, curled in holes they had dug near the tepees, showed that the
camp was not deserted. Star knew that the Comanche braves, squaws, and
papooses would soon awaken and come out wrapped in blankets which had
been woven by the squaws and dyed in bright colours made from roots and
berries.
One tepee, larger than the others, belonged to Quannah, Chief of the
Quahada Comanches, and Star looked at it as he recalled the story his
mother, Running Deer, had told him many times while they grazed side by
side or rested on the banks of the creek near the camp. Star loved
Quannah, but more than all else he loved Quannah's little daughter,
Songbird, for she was Star's mistress. He remembered the day when he had
been too tiny and weak to stand up, and Quannah, with Songbird, had
stooped to pat Running Deer's colt.
"We will name him Star," the chief had spoken. "He belongs to you, as
his mother belongs to me, and as his mother's mother belonged to my
father. Swift, sure, and strong, they have been worthy to carry the
Chiefs of the Quahadas."
So the colt understood the honour given his mother and the honour that
was to be his when he was big enough to be ridden. And the tale his
mother told many times never wearied him.
"My mother told me the tale," she would always begin, "and now that she
is dead I tell it to you. When I am dead, you shall tell it to other
ponies, so that it may be remembered as long as Comanche herds wander
over the plains.
"The squaws tell their papooses the great deeds of their forefathers,
that none will forget, that the young boys may become great warriors,
while the girls grow to be worthy squaws and train their own sons to
live with honour. So I, too, tell the story of our part in the life of
our great Chief and his Pale-face Mother, as my mother told it to me,
long ago, before you were born.
"When she was a very young mare, the swiftest racer of all the Comanche
ponies, our tribe wandered long distances over plains covered with grass
knee-high. Vast herds of buffaloes and thousands of beautiful antelopes
shared the prairie lands with us. When the tepees were set up there were
so many that they reached out like stars covering the sky at night. Our
pony herd was so large that each brave owned many ponies, and he who
owned the most ponies was the richest man of all.
"The Comanches could not live without us. It needs a swift, sure-footed
pony to follow the antelope near enough to send an arrow to its heart as
it runs. You know, as well as I, that antelope meat must be brought to
the camp to feed the women and children. Because the Comanches are such
great hunters, other tribes call them the 'Antelope Eaters.' And from
the hundreds of buffaloes ranging on the plains, our warriors obtain
hides for clothing, for warm robes and to make tepees that will defy the
cold winds and snows that rush upon them from the place where the Great
White Spirit of Winter dwells.
"Without good ponies the Comanches would be cold and hungry, as you must
see. And so we are honoured by the warriors and loved by the women and
children for whom we provide food and shelter. When the enemies of the
tribe come against us in battle, the ponies share the dangers with their
owners. None of us has ever been vanquished. Ponies have died beside
their masters, but have never deserted them. When a warrior dies, his
favourite pony dies with him, that the warrior may ride it in the Happy
Hunting Grounds to which he and it have journeyed through the Land of
Shadows. There they are happy together. That is a great honour, but the
greatest honour of all is to be the favourite pony of the Chief."
"Like you!" interrupted Star with a proud toss of his head as he glanced
at other colts whose mothers belonged to men who were not chiefs.
"Like me and like my mother," Running Deer never failed to answer. "Lie
down beside me while I tell you the tale again, so that you will make no
mistake in telling it to other ponies when you are old and others have
forgotten it all."
Star settled himself comfortably at her side, and as she talked, he
nipped daintily at bits of tender grass which made a soft bed beneath
over-hanging branches of a tall tree.