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 ma.s.ses of dried gra.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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!"

Chapter XVI

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 gra.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s 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.