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.