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 canyons, 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.