Singing Fire, the young Apache brave, rode swiftly through the hills
toward the village of his people. He had been hunting and now was
returning to his tepee to join his family in a hearty evening meal. His
hunger made him urge his pony to an even faster pace. Soon he could see
the smoke of the fires in the village. It was only a few moments later
that Singing Fire brought his pony to a quick stop on the very edge of
the village. To ride his horse through the village this evening would
have been unkind. The summer had been very dry, and his pony’s hoofs
would have raised much dust that would settle in the cooking pots.
Walking through the village, the young brave waved and called to his
friends. He laughed when they joked with him about his empty hands. He
had been unable to find any game that he felt was worth bringing to the
village. Soon he reached his father’s tepee and was welcomed warmly by
the family.
When supper was finished, Singing Fire went to talk with his friend,
Many Painted Ponies. The two braves had always been together since they
were very young and just learning to walk. Now whenever they had time,
they would sit and talk about their future together as great leaders of
the Apache tribe. He found his friend working at making new arrow tips.
“Hello, my good friend, Many Painted Ponies, and how are you this fine
evening?”
“My stomach is full and my heart is happy, Singing Fire. Could a brave
ask much more of life? I have been very fortunate in having such a fine
father and mother who have made my life such a pleasure. As I saw you
ride in from the hunt, I noticed you carried no game. Was there no game
where you rode? Usually you do not return empty-handed.”
“Today was bad for the hunt. The largest game knew that I was hunting
and ran for cover, and I was not as quick as they to find the hiding
places.”
The two young men laughed and then spent some time talking until
darkness came. Each young man went back to his tepee for a well-earned
sleep.
The next day there was great excitement in the village. As young Singing
Fire stepped from his tepee, he saw that people were gathering in the
center of the village to hear a tall Apache warrior who was talking
loudly and rapidly to the chief of the village. As Singing Fire drew
near, he was able to catch some of the words spoken by the warrior.
“It is true, my Chief, the Comanches have been seen in our land. If we
are not careful they will raid our pony herds and make off with many of
our best mounts. I have seen them to the east, and they skulk like the
lowly wolf in the night.”
The great chief listened quietly until the young warrior had finished.
Then he motioned to the older men of the tribe to gather in his tepee.
When they were all inside, Singing Fire, Many Painted Ponies, and the
other young braves stood outside waiting impatiently for what the elders
of the tribe would decide. They could hear the young brave who had first
reported to the chief repeating his story for those who had come late.
He said that while trailing some ponies that had strayed from the herd
he had come upon the coals of a recent fire. Because the marks in the
sand were not Apache, he had followed the tracks made when the group
broke camp. Traveling at a rapid pace, he soon had come upon the band of
Comanches in a small gully. After watching them for a short while, the
brave had mounted his pony and ridden as fast as he could to the village
to tell the chief of this threat to their property and peace, within
such a short distance of their camp.
Finally the Chief came out from his tepee and spoke to the young
warriors.
“The Comanches have entered our hunting grounds. Not only have they
broken the law, but they dare to ride within a short distance of our
camp. We will gather a war party and go in search of these thieves of
the night. We will give them a sound lesson by whipping those wild dogs
so badly that they will return to their own land with their tails
between their legs—if there are any left to return when we have met them
upon the field of battle.”
With low shouts of agreement, everyone ran to prepare for the warpath.
Singing Fire and Many Painted Ponies returned to check their weapons and
when preparations were completed returned to where the chief sat astride
a great white horse. When everyone had assembled, the party left camp in
search of the invading Comanches. For several days the party searched
but no sign was found other than the old fire, that anyone had been in
the vicinity. At last the chief turned to his men and said, “They have
seen our strength and afraid have returned to their own land. They
respect the might and fighting ability of the Apaches. Come, we will
return to our village.”
The party started for home, but as Singing Fire and Many Painted Ponies
rode along, Singing Fire was quiet.
“What is it, my friend, Singing Fire? You are so quiet.”
“I was just thinking, my friend, that the Comanches are not known as
cowards; they surely would not turn from a fight. I do not believe they
have left our land.”
“But, Singing Fire, for three days we have searched the land and no sign
do we see of the Comanches. Certainly the earth did not open and swallow
them up.”
“That is just the point, my friend. What has happened to the party? The
brave reported seeing them and took us to where they had their fire. The
tracks led away but suddenly stopped, and we have seen nothing to
indicate that they returned to their own lands across the great river. I
just am not satisfied that they have left.”
Nothing more was said for the remainder of the trip back to the village,
and that evening after supper, Singing Fire went to sleep thinking about
the hunt for the Comanches.
As he slept, he dreamed there were Comanche warriors mounted upon fast
horses and they all seemed to be riding toward a solid wall. Singing
Fire suddenly awoke recalling seeing that wall before.
About a day’s ride from their village was a small valley which they
called the valley of the snake because it twisted and turned between the
mountains. As the thundering riders neared the wall, it seemed to open
up and they had disappeared within. Then the walls closed again and
there was silence. Singing Fire leaped from his bed and rushed to his
father’s side.
“My father, I must speak to our chief. It is of great importance that I
see him now.”
“But it is late, my son, and certainly what you have to say can wait
until tomorrow.”
“No, father, I must speak to him now.” With that, Singing Fire left his
tepee and soon was standing before the tepee of the Great Chief. He made
his presence known and was invited into the tepee.
The chief invited him to sit and then asked, “What brings you to my
tepee so late, young Singing Fire?”
“Tonight, O Great Chief, in a dream I was drawn to the painted hill
which stands guard over our village. Here I stood troubled in heart and
mind because of what has been reported to our tribe.” Then Singing Fire
proceeded to tell in complete detail of the dream he had had. When he
finished, he waited for the chief to speak.
“What importance do you attach to this dream you have had, young Singing
Fire?”
“I do not know, Great Chief, but I would like your permission to take
Many Painted Ponies and ride to this place I have seen in the dream. I
would like to see what can be found there and then I will return to my
village.”
The Indians placed a great deal of faith in dreams, and so the chief
gave his permission and early the next morning, Many Painted Ponies and
Singing Fire set out for the valley that Singing Fire had seen not only
in his dream, but many times on his hunting trips.
They traveled all day, and when the sun was setting in the west, they
found themselves but a short distance from the entrance to the valley.
They camped for the night, not lighting a fire, in case there should be
any unfriendly Indians in the vicinity.
As dawn drew near, the two young men crawled to the mountainous heights
overlooking the twisting valley. There they lay and watched the valley
below. For almost an hour they sat until finally about noontime a small
band of warriors could be seen riding into the valley. They rode
straight up the middle of the valley twisting and turning as the valley
turned but finally about midway up the valley they swung sharply to the
left and seemed to disappear into the very walls surrounding the valley.
“Come,” said Singing Fire, “we must investigate this strange
occurrence.”
It took them most of the afternoon to reach a vantage point overlooking
where the warriors had disappeared. Crawling carefully to the very edge,
the two young braves looked carefully over the edge. Below them lay a
fantastic sight. A tremendous Comanche encampment was being formed in a
small box canyon. The entrance to the box canyon was a mere crack in the
wall which was just about wide enough for one horse and rider to enter
at one time. Now Singing Fire could see why a rider going through the
valley would not see the opening for it was actually hidden from view by
a turn in the trail. If one were not looking for it, one would not find
it except by accident.
“This is why we have not seen the Comanches except for that one small
party. Under cover of night or early dawn they have been entering our
land in small parties, gathering here until their force is large enough
to make war upon our people.”
Singing Fire tapped his friend upon the shoulder, motioning him away
from the edge.
“Many Painted Ponies, one of us must ride for all he is worth to reach
our village and tell of this plan to our people. You must tell the chief
to gather the Apaches together and we can trap the scheming Comanches in
their own camp.”
Many Painted Ponies rose to leave. “Be careful, my friend, for if they
should suspect that you are here your scalp will soon hang from their
medicine lodge and they will break from their camp fearing the trap we
will set for them. Now I will ride for our village and may your prayers
go with me.” With that, Many Painted Ponies left and mounting his pony
he rode off toward home.
Singing Fire kept careful watch for the next day and night and when dawn
approached he saw the dust of many horses approaching. Riding forth to
meet his people, a plan formed in his mind. In council with the chiefs a
short time later the plan was outlined. The best marksmen of the Apaches
were placed around the box canyon on the walls overlooking the
unsuspecting camp of the Comanches. Other warriors would ride into the
valley to stand guard at the only entrance or exit to the canyon to make
sure none escaped.
Soon all was in readiness. The signal was given. Like an attacking horde
of eagles, the Apaches began firing down upon the Comanche encampment.
The battle was long and bloody. In confusion the Comanches mounted their
ponies and headed for the exit. Here they were met with a hail of arrows
which drove them back into the canyon.
When the Comanche forces were thoroughly disorganized, the chief
signaled the Apaches to charge through the entrance and soon the two
tribes were locked in hand to hand combat. The victory was complete and
soon the last of the Comanches had fallen before the knives and war
clubs of the attacking Apaches.
In triumph the tribe returned to the village where great celebrations
marked the next few days and nights. The hero of the affair was praised
before the council, and Singing Fire was honored for his part in the
great victory.