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!"