Little Turtle was a young Comanche who lived happily with his mother,
father, and two older brothers on the great prairies. His father was
well respected by the tribe, above all for having three sons who would
grow to manhood and bring honor to the Comanche name.
Each day was a new adventure for Little Turtle and he welcomed each dawn
with great excitement. He never knew just what was planned for him or
what the other children of the village would decide to do, but he was
always ready to take part in whatever would happen.
For some time now, Little Turtle, who had just turned ten, had been in
the complete charge of his father. On certain days his father would take
him far from the village to hunt and learn how to stalk wild game and
find their signs. He learned his lessons well. At night in the tepee, he
would sit next to his father because he was the youngest, and he would
listen carefully while his father explained many things a young brave
must know to become a strong and great Comanche warrior.
Because the Comanche village had been at peace for the last three years,
Little Turtle had only love in his heart for everyone he knew or met.
Sometimes his brothers and his father would speak to him of the hated
Apache and Kiowa and the many reasons the Comanches had for hating them.
But this meant very little to the lad. He never let such thoughts of war
spoil his fun.
One evening after the three boys were asleep, Little Turtle’s father
spoke with his mother.
“Blue Star,” he said, “for many days now I have talked to our youngest
son of the Apaches and the Kiowas, but he does not seem to understand. I
have told him of their many cruel ways and about our warriors who have
fallen under the arrow and the tomahawk of the Apaches and the Kiowas.
Still he refuses to speak harshly of such neighbors. Maybe Little Turtle
is right. Maybe I am wrong in hating these neighbors to the north. You
are wise, Blue Star. Your advice is often sought. Tell me now what I
should teach our son. Shall I teach him to hate the horse stealers from
the north? Or shall I not speak even their names in our daily talks?”
Blue Star thought for a moment and then said, “My husband and great
warrior of the Comanches, hatred is a word which Little Turtle will
learn soon enough. Now he is young and innocent. He enjoys the coming of
each new day for the adventures that it will bring in his world of
dreams. He is a happy child and to us a very wonderful boy. Do we want
to change this wonderful boy to a grown warrior filled with hate? He
knows nothing but love. Possibly peace will be a long time upon our
village. We, his parents, would not want to spoil that happy world in
which he lives.”
Great Hawk thought long about his wife’s words. Then he left the tepee
to walk alone and solve this problem which lay so heavily upon his
heart. Since his early days, Great Hawk had been taught to hate the
Apaches and the Kiowas. His own father had lost his life in a battle
with the Apaches. His brother’s hair now hung from the tepee of Grey
Wolf, the Kiowa chieftain who sat at the head of the council lodge. And
Grey Wolf was a cruel leader of a tribe that always looked for enemies
to kill.
Great Hawk knew that he had strong personal reasons for hating the
tribes to the north. But was it right for him to think of punishing his
son for not hating them, too, in the way he did? Until he had talked
with Blue Star, he had planned to question his son tomorrow about the
Apaches and Kiowas, and if his son did not show a growing hatred toward
them, then he would punish him. But now he was not sure. No, he would
wait and be patient. After all, as Blue Star had said, there had been
peace for three years now. Thoughts of war were kept alive only by the
young bucks of the tribe who were eager for battle and glory. War was
far from the minds of the older and wiser men of the tribe. They knew
that peace had brought them prosperity and happiness, but war made them
poor and brought them hunger and pain and the death of friends.
Great Hawk began thinking about Crooked Leg, one of the chieftains. He
was the only member of the council of Comanche chieftains who was not
happy that war had not come again.
Early in his youth Crooked Leg had fallen into the hands of the Kiowas
and had been tortured badly. When his body was found being dragged by a
Kiowa pony that had been turned loose, he had been beaten and twisted so
badly that he lay close to death for many months. He had lived, but his
leg had never healed straight. He always rose in pain and could never
run again. Crooked Leg had stayed behind in the village during all later
battles. His hate for the Kiowa had grown until he now thought about it
all the time. At council meetings, he would always argue that the
Comanches should once again take to the warpath against the Apaches and
Kiowas. Each time he spoke, only a few council members would agree with
him. So Crooked Leg was asked to be quiet while the council talked about
tribal business. But the young bucks who thirsted for the taste of
battle would carry his words through the village after each council
meeting. For many days, the village would talk for war and against war.
Soon the wise council members would win out, the bucks would quiet down,
and Crooked Leg would be left to grumble in his tepee alone and
forgotten for awhile.
Crooked Leg’s life had a lesson for Great Hawk. As he was returning to
his tepee, he promised himself that he would not speak of hatred again
to his son. He must not allow hatred to run his life as it had run
Crooked Leg’s. If he did, even his friends might forget him and he would
be of little use to anyone.
The following day promised little peace. Dawn brought a roaring storm
that smashed at the Comanche village. The pounding rain had soon churned
the ground into deep mud. Families remained indoors and fathers sat
around their fires teaching sons how to make stout bows and straight
arrows, knives, tomahawks, and other handmade tools a young brave needs
to survive. Great Hawk used the time to talk to Little Turtle of the
great powers of nature and peace and the Comanche people.
“As you grow,” he told Little Turtle, “remember to stay straight and
true and do all things that are right, and you shall live a rich and
happy life in our tribe. The Comanches have been favored greatly. We
have lived in peace for the past three years and though it has been very
dry, we have never been without water. Now the sky has opened and
allowed the rains to fall so that we have water for our families and our
horses. We have not suffered from great thirst since the great drought
visited our land when we were last at war. After two years the supply of
water was so small that our people were dying more from the great thirst
than from the arrows of the enemy. Before long our chiefs sat down in
council with our enemies to smoke the peace pipe. Now peace reigns over
our people and they have plenty of food and water.”
Little Turtle had listened carefully while his father was speaking, then
turned to his mother and said, “Mother, I am a very lucky boy to be a
Comanche and to have such a wonderful family. I have a strong, wise, and
kind father. You have cared for me as a baby and given me good food so
that my bones would grow strong and straight. And I have two brothers of
whom I am very proud.”
Blue Star smiled happily and began to make lunch. While the family was
eating, the rain stopped. Soon the sun broke through the dark clouds and
began to dry the earth. In the middle of the afternoon, Great Hawk rose
and touched his son upon the shoulder.
“Come, Little Turtle,” he said. “It is time you learned to ride a horse.
We will go to my string of ponies and pick one that you may ride and
call your own. If you are to go on the hunt and take part in the many
other riding events in the village, you must learn to ride well.”
Little Turtle’s heart leaped excitedly. He had been looking forward to
the day his father would teach him to ride. Slowly Great Hawk and his
son walked to where the tribe’s ponies were kept tied. Great Hawk began
to look amongst the herd for a special pinto pony he had planned to give
Little Turtle. It was small but strong and could run for a long time
without getting winded. Great Hawk saw quickly that something was wrong.
He began counting and discovered that three of his string, including the
pinto, were gone. At first he thought that the storm had frightened them
and they had broken loose from the main line which held the whole
string. But as he reached the main line where the three ponies should
have been tied, he saw the dangling ends of ropes that had been cut by a
knife.
The pony guard must have left the herd to seek shelter during the storm.
So it was easy for someone to steal his three ponies. Without thinking
of Little Turtle, Great Hawk knelt in the mud to look closely at the
clear tracks that the thieves had left. He rose to his feet quickly.
“The Apaches have stolen my ponies!” he cried out defiantly. “I shall
ride after them and bring the ponies back even if blood must be shed!”
Then he remembered Little Turtle. “Go, Little Turtle,” he ordered.
“Return to the tepee and explain to your mother what I must do. The
Apaches have stolen three of my best ponies. I must ride fast to catch
up with them before they get too far into the hills. I shall not rest
until the ponies are back in our village or the scalps of the Apache
thieves hang in our tepee.”
Then Great Hawk jumped onto a pony and sped off toward the hills.
Little Turtle ran home and told his mother and brothers what had
happened.
Little Turtle’s brothers had been two of the young bucks who had agreed
with Crooked Leg’s war talk. So they rushed out of the tepee, happy for
this chance to fight. They stopped outside their tepee just long enough
to pick up their weapons and shout the news to other young bucks of the
tribe. Many of the young braves rallied quickly, grabbed their weapons,
and dashed toward their ponies. This was just what Great Hawk had wanted
to prevent. He thought that if he could overtake the thieves he would be
able to bring them back as prisoners. Then the council of chieftains
would decide how their stealing should be punished.
Only three Indians—not a large Apache band—were fleeing with the ponies.
Great Hawk saw this clearly from the tracks he was following. He thought
it might be three young Apache bucks who wanted to start trouble and had
turned to stealing horses as a way of making the Comanches angry enough
to fight. He must hurry, for if he did not reach the thieves before they
got to the safety of the hills, he would have to report their escape to
the council. Even the older Comanche chieftains probably would decide
that war was the only answer.
When he reached the base of the hills, Great Hawk lost the trail of the
thieves in the rocks. Slowly, he turned his mount and started for the
village. This would now mean war. Great Hawk turned back toward the
hills. Shaking his fist at the Apaches’ stronghold, he swore vengeance
upon them. As he headed for home again, he met the war party of young
Comanche bucks, led by his two sons.
“Wait!” he said, raising his hand. “Why do you ride so hard?”
“We ride to avenge the theft of your horses,” Great Hawk’s oldest son
replied. “We will catch the Apache party and soak the foothills with
their blood. No matter how many they are, we shall defeat them!”
“Wait!” Great Hawk pleaded. “There were only three men. They are already
in the hills. We will lose many men if we try to attack them here. We do
not know this ground, but the Apaches know it well. We must take this
problem to our council.”
Just as Great Hawk spoke of the council, Crooked Leg rode out from
amidst the young warriors. Great Hawk had not seen the old warrior who
rode up close to Great Hawk.
“Out of the way, old and weak one,” Crooked Leg screamed. “You are
afraid of these thieving vultures who steal from us under cover of a
great storm. We are not afraid and we will go on until we find them. We
have sat back too long getting fat and lazy on the buffalo meat. We have
closed our eyes to the Apaches’ great war plans against our village!”
There were many shouts of approval from the young bucks, who were
starting to move about impatiently.
“Wait!” shouted Great Hawk above the yelling of the young Comanche
braves. “This long-planned war plan against our village was carried out
by just three braves, as the trail will show you. They did not attack.
They killed no one. They only stole three horses. This was no attack by
the Apache tribe. It was probably the work of three young bucks, like
many of you here, who could not be held back. They went off on their own
to try to stir up trouble between our two tribes. They baited the trap
and you are riding right into it. What has happened here must be settled
by our council. Do not let Crooked Leg drive you into something you will
regret the rest of your lives—if you live to regret it!”
The young men grew quiet as Great Hawk was speaking.
“And now I speak directly to my two sons,” he continued. “I, your
father, order you to return with me to our tepee.”
But the fire that Crooked Leg had been building for so long burst into
flame again as he urged the young bucks to go on. They surged forward
toward the hills. Great Hawk was forced to rein his pony aside to avoid
being run into. He knew that if Crooked Leg succeeded in clashing with
the Apaches, he, Great Hawk, would lose importance in the tribe. But if
Crooked Leg were defeated at the hands of the Apaches, the council would
deliver fair judgment and punishment.
The young Comanche men had never fought before and might be defeated
easily. So for the sake of his sons, Great Hawk turned his pony and fell
in with the young bucks. When they saw that he had joined them, they
urged their ponies ahead at a faster pace.
Soon they were deep in the hills of the Apaches. The party halted, and
Great Hawk moved to the front. Grasping the bridle on Crooked Leg’s pony
he swung the animal around sharply.
“You will ride no farther,” he told the old warrior. “I command you to
go back to our village now. We have no idea where the horse thieves are.
You are willing to gamble the lives of these brave young Comanches to
satisfy a hate that burns deeply in your heart and mind.”
While Crooked Leg watched him angrily, Great Hawk spoke to the young
men.
“Your wish to see justice done is good,” he began. “But the Apache has
great strength, even greater here in his own home. We are few and most
of us have never fought. If we fight here, our scalps will hang in the
tepee of the Apaches before nightfall. Do not follow Crooked Leg any
longer. What he suggests can bring only death to yourselves and much
sadness to your families. We must return to the council and seek the
wise advice of our chieftains.”
Great Hawk could see that his words were beginning to have an effect. He
continued talking to the young bucks until their ranks began to break as
a few turned their mounts toward home. Others followed, and Crooked Leg
started screaming at them to come back and follow him to glory in the
defeat of the Apaches. Then, just as the last few braves were heading
back down the trail, the hills suddenly bristled with Apache warriors,
each aiming an arrow at a young Comanche brave. As Great Hawk looked
slowly around, he saw that there were twenty times more Apache than
Comanche warriors.
The Comanche party was stunned. No one moved. Then one brave made a grab
for his tomahawk. Great Hawk slapped his arm, saying, “Do not be a fool.
You would be dead before your hand touched the tomahawk handle. Right
now at least a dozen arrows are aimed at your body. Your tepee will be
unhappy tonight if you are so foolish.”
Then Great Hawk rode out a little apart from the rest of the band.
Raising his empty hands, he called to the Apaches.
“Who among you is the leader, for it is with him that I wish to talk?”
A tall, strong brave stepped from behind a boulder and made his way to
the circle of warriors.
“I, Maskan, am leader here,” he said. “Why do you ride into our lands in
such haste and with such anger on your faces?”
Then Great Hawk explained the events that had led up to this moment.
When he finished, the Apache leader signaled, and three young Kiowa
bucks were dragged from behind the boulders into plain sight of the
Comanche party.
“These,” said Maskan, “are the three who stole your horses and ours.
Their blood has run hot with the desire for adventure. So all alone,
they set out last evening to invade your land and ours to steal horses.
We have waited for them here among the rocks. We have watched you from
the time they were taken by our warriors. You who seem to lead here have
spoken wisely. The Kiowas will be punished as all Kiowa are in the
Apache nation. We have your horses. They will be yours again. We ask you
to go in peace from these hills. You have come in anger. Now you can
leave in friendship. The older men of your tribe and ours know the
trouble we are having with our young braves who want the glory of
battle. One day war will come when the chieftains who want it are strong
enough to convince the council. That day is not far away. But now return
in peace to your village.”
Maskan turned and started for the boulder before Great Hawk could thank
him. Maskan told his braves to bring out the stolen horses. At that
moment Crooked Leg slipped his tomahawk from his belt and sent it
sailing toward the Apache leader. It landed with a thud in the middle of
Maskan’s back. Maskan cried out and fell to the ground, rolling in the
dust. Immediately, Crooked Leg’s body was filled with arrows as shaft
after shaft whined through the air. War whoops split the air as the
Comanches rose to attack the Apaches who dodged behind the rocks that
had sheltered them before.
Great Hawk realized that it would be useless to attempt any talk of
peace now. With a sinking feeling in his heart he, too, joined the
battle, struggling to reach his two sons. The great numbers of Apaches,
well protected by large boulders, made the victory easy for them. The
young Comanches fell under the hail of Apache arrows, and their war
cries became screams of pain.
Then Great Hawk yelled to the warriors to retreat. The riddled band
rushed toward their village. Sixteen young Comanche braves lay dead on
the ground and seven strong Indian ponies were dead or dying. It was a
ragged, tired, and bloody war party that entered the Comanche village
that night. Badly beaten, their spirit defeated, they understood now
that war was not as glorious as they had thought. As Great Hawk entered
his tepee alone, Blue Star greeted him warmly but with fright in her
eyes.
“Where are our two sons, Great Hawk?” she asked. Great Hawk looked at
his wife and then at Little Turtle.
“Little Turtle, you have never learned to hate and you know nothing of
war. Now both hatred and war must shatter your world of dreams. Your two
brothers lie out there in the foothills, killed by sharp, well-aimed
Apache arrows. They and fourteen others will no longer walk this earth
with us. Among them lies Crooked Leg, who is to blame for these deaths
today. Many Apaches and Comanches will yet die in a battle that never
should have begun.”
From that day forward, Little Turtle left his dream world and walked in
the real world of warring tribes, learning to hate his tribe’s enemies,
to fight and revenge the death of his brothers.
The war continued for some time. Many Apache and Comanche braves were
killed and injured. The council of Comanche chieftains met to discuss
better ways of fighting the Apaches. Great Hawk, who had led so many
attacks against the Apaches, stood in the council to speak. As he spoke,
Little Turtle listened from just outside the lodge where he lay hidden.
“I, Great Hawk, have fought many battles with the Apaches. I am tired
but I will fight as long as we must. Before this war started, I had
great hate in my heart for the Apaches and Kiowas, as many of you know.
I tried to teach this to my son. I know now how wrong I was. My son
could not bring himself to hate someone or something he had not seen and
who had done him no harm. On that unhappy day which could have ended
peacefully, Crooked Leg sent a tomahawk into the back of Maskan, a brave
and fair-minded warrior who tried to keep the peace. Then the war
started. Two of my sons fell dead at my side, but still I fought on.
When we who were left managed to escape with our lives and return to our
village, I had to break the sad news to my family. Yet from that moment
I held no hate for the Apaches.
“My oldest boys had gone from our village to follow Crooked Leg, a man
whose whole life has been one of hate. They died because of that hate,
though they died bravely, fighting as Comanches should. But now my
youngest son has learned to hate as his brothers did and I am worried
deeply. War comes with hate and is worse than disease or drought. The
Comanches have always fought honorably, but Crooked Leg’s act will
always dishonor our tribe. We cannot seek peace until we have cleansed
our hearts of hate. We must do this for the happiness and well-being of
our children and their children.”
The council was silent for several moments after Great Hawk had spoken.
Then one of the head chiefs rose slowly and looked directly at Great
Hawk. “You have spoken wisely, Great Hawk,” he began. “We must think
this over carefully. If we want peace, it must be genuine and honorable.
Let us go back to our tepees. Let us call the council to meet in two
suns and make our decision then.”
When Great Hawk returned to his tepee, his son was waiting for him,
having run ahead.
“Do not be troubled, father,” Little Turtle said, “for I have driven the
hate from my heart. I hope this war will end soon and that there will be
no room in anyone’s heart for hate. For hate eats men’s hearts and makes
them like Crooked Leg, unhappy and selfish and cruel, bringing death and
sorrow to those around them. These things are not for the Comanches.”