Chapter XVII

It was September, as the white men count the months, and three years had pa.s.sed since the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had come to live among the Quahada ponies. The summer had been very hot and no rain had fallen, so there was only a scant supply of dry feed for the ponies and buffaloes and antelopes.

What gra.s.s had grown in spite of the drought had been eaten by a swarm of locusts, so that only the bare stalks remained, and these held no nourishment. Where small streams had rippled, there were beds of dry sand. Larger rivers, big enough to have floated a good-sized boat when there was no drought, dwindled down to shallow threads or formed in pools of stagnant water coated with green slime. It was a hard time for the Quahada ponies, and still harder for the Indians.

Songbird watched her father's face anxiously. She knew that he would not allow any one to see whether he were worrying, rejoicing or grieving at any time. It would be unworthy of a warrior to show his feelings, and most unworthy of a chief. She had heard the squaws talking when no men were near.

They had said that when the last winter had gone and it had been time for the green gra.s.s to show above the ground, all the Indians from long distances had gathered at Medicine Lodge to hold a great council of war.

Reports had been brought that Indian runners, or messengers, had found a big camp where a large number of buffalo hunters lived, and from it each day the white men went to kill buffaloes. They did not use the meat, but left it to spoil in the hot sun, after the hunters had skinned the dead animals and taken the hides away. As far as the Indians could travel, dead buffaloes that had been skinned lay in herds just as they had fallen when the hunters had shot them with fire-sticks.

On their fingers the Indians counted how many buffaloes had been found in one day of travel. Some of them had seen as many as two hundred, and other Indians who had come from different directions told the same tale.

Soon there would be no buffaloes left. The gra.s.s was gone, the water was growing less each day, the ponies would become thinner and weaker, and when the hunters had killed the buffaloes, the Indians would die, and the white men would cover the land.

So the Indians from all the tribes of the Southwest gathered at Medicine Lodge and formed a war party to drive out the white hunters and save the buffaloes.

That had been six moons ago, when the gra.s.s was just starting above the ground. In a little while they had thought that the rains and warm sun would make plenty of feed for the ponies, antelopes, and buffaloes, and there would be pools of water in low places between hills, or in hollows of large rocks. Then it would be the time to begin fighting.

But the rains did not come, and Songbird, listening to the talk of the squaws, longed to speak to her father and ask him about it all, but she knew that such things were not for children's talk. Nor did she ask the squaws, for they would be angry that she had listened to them.

"If only Moko were here I could ask her," she said to herself sadly.

But Moko had heard the call of the Great Eagle six moons ago, and now it was nearing winter. Songbird greatly missed her old friend, the Picture Maker. Moko had always answered questions and explained things without being cross. The other women were too busy asking one another what they would do in the winter, when the dry summer had killed the berries and nuts and maize and the buffalo hunters had killed all the game.

So Songbird kept her thoughts to herself and watched her father's grave face as he talked with Karolo or the head chief.

Then one day a Kiowa runner dashed into the Quahada village and the warriors gathered quickly about him. His pony wandered over and joined the Quahada ponies and the two cavalry horses, where they were nosing at dry stubble and hoping to find a bit of green feed at the roots.

"The white men are fighting the Indians again," the Kiowa pony said.

"The Indians cannot hide from them always," spoke the Big Gray Horse, who looked alertly at the Kiowa pony.

"I told you that the white men would keep coming until all the Indians have been conquered"--the Old White Horse turned to Star. "It makes no difference how bravely the Indians fight, nor whether they are right or wrong, the end is the same. They are conquered and must obey the white men. But maybe that is best for all."

"It would be best for all if each let the other alone!" answered Star.

"If men had as much sense as horses have, there would be less trouble for all of us. We do not fight, though some of us belong to the Quahadas, others to the Kiowas, and you," he turned to the cavalry horses, "belong to a general and to a soldier who obeys the general. If there were ponies here from the Arapahoes and the Cheyennes, or any other tribes, we would all graze together and not bite nor kick one another. Why, then, do men fight one another?"

"Men are different," the Big Gray Horse spoke.

"It is a pity they do not know how silly we think they are!" snorted Hawk, joining the group.

"They are our masters," the Old White Horse rebuked him quickly. "Young horses kick and buck and bite, or run away when they first are brought to a troop. But they learn soon what it means to be hurt by heavy bits in their mouths, or sharp spurs digging into their sides. If a horse throws a man, another man gets on the horse's back at once, and then another and another, until the horse is too weary to fight. I have heard young horses talk about men, but it does no good. They all talk the same, then they understand, and so they stop fighting against the bit, the spur, the saddle, and the rider, and they obey. After that they, too, listen when young horses talk as they themselves once did. For when all is said and done, men are our masters! We will obey them whether they are white men or Indians, because we belong to them and must serve them. I, too, bit and fought and bucked men from my back, long ago."

As they talked, Quannah and his head chiefs, accompanied by the Kiowa warrior, approached the ponies. When the Quahadas stopped, the Kiowa slipped his bridle of rawhide over the nose of his pony, which submitted quietly. Its owner's hand rested lightly on the pony's neck and the animal's eyes watched its master's face. He was speaking to the Quahadas now.

"This is the message. The Big Father at Washington has sent his soldiers. They come in numbers like the leaves on the trees, or the blades of gra.s.s on the prairie. Our runners have brought word that the soldiers are coming to surround and kill all of the Indians. Big chiefs lead the white men from four sides. A friendly Indian sent us word that a big chief named Miles leads them all, and that Mackenzie, who fought us three winters ago, is with the others. He has not forgotten the rout of the White Horses yet."

The Old White Horse c.o.c.ked his ears, and the Big Gray Horse lifted his head high. Star saw them look at each other, and he remembered they had often talked of these big white chiefs.

"I am Mackenzie's horse," the Big Gray Horse said proudly. "Officers and soldiers do not lie to Indians, nor kill their game, nor take their land from them for themselves. When the Indians give a pledge of peace the officers do not harm them, nor their women or children. They make the buffalo hunters keep away from the Indian's land and protect the Indian who does not go on the warpath."

"I know that is true"--the Old White Horse spoke earnestly--"for I lived many years in the White Horse Troop and have seen all these things myself. If Quannah would be friends with the big white chiefs, it would be better for him and for the Quahadas. Listen! He is speaking now."

The horses turned their eyes on the Quahada chief, who, with the best warriors of the tribe, faced the Kiowa runner. The Comanches, like the ponies, watched Quannah's face and waited to hear his words. Karolo, the Medicine Man, stood beside him.

Karolo had offered many prayer-sticks to the Great Spirit, asking that the Thunder Bird might be sent over the land with rain and that the buffaloes might be spared. But the Great Spirit was angry and would not listen. Then Karolo knew that it was because the white men had come on the Indians' land and were killing the buffaloes that belonged to the Great Spirit, who had said the buffaloes must not be killed except for food and clothing. Only by driving the white men away and saving the buffaloes, would the Great Spirit's anger be appeased.

Yet Karolo was sad. He knew that the white men were many times the number of the Comanches, and that their fire-sticks could reach much farther than the Quahada arrows. In his heart the old Medicine Man felt that the Indians could not win, but would be conquered and made prisoners by the white men, if they were not all killed in the fight.

Quannah had talked this over with Karolo many, many times.

The chief looked past the Indians, past the tepees of the village, and fixed his eyes on the crest of a hill beyond the camp. For a little while he did not speak, then he glanced at the faces of his chiefs before he answered the Kiowa runner.

"Tell your chiefs that the Quahadas will join them against the white men."

He held out both his hands and the Kiowa grasped them, saying, "It is good!"

Turning quickly the messenger leaped to his pony's bare back. Sitting erect, he gave the loud, fierce battle cry of the Kiowas. Instantly the Quahadas answered it with their own call. Then the women, running from their tepees, and the children who stood beside them, took up the cry.

The Kiowa, leaning low on his pony's neck, darted out of sight, carrying word that Quannah would lead his warriors to join the fight against the white men.

When the last echoes of the war cries had died away, the Quahada warriors heard their chief say slowly, "We will fight! It is the last stand of the Quahada Comanches, but we will fight so that our fathers will not be ashamed when they hear the Great Eagle calling us."

Then they left him standing there, and went to their own tepees, where their wives and children awaited them.

For the next week the village was bustling with preparations, and day by day the Kiowa warriors arrived from distant points. At last the entire body of Kiowas and Quahadas, riding their best ponies and driving the immense herd of extra ponies and those that were laden with food, robes, bows and arrows, formed a great cavalcade. All the warriors were decked in gorgeous war bonnets and armed with lances and shields, while quivers that were full of arrows hung across their backs beside strong bows.

Only the women and small children were left behind. Even the oldest men and youths who were ten years old rode behind the Quahada chief.

Songbird watched her father lead them up the slope of the hill. He turned Running Deer about, and his figure stood plainly against the blue sky where the incline ended sharply.

For a few minutes he looked down on the homes of his people, then his eyes wandered to those who rode up the hill toward him. His arm was raised high above his head, and Running Deer leaped at the touch of his heels. Swirling at the pressure of the rein, the mare disappeared over the crest of the hill.

The last of the riders vanished. Their cries came more faintly, until a strange silence fell upon those who stood watching the hilltop where no living thing was now visible. Long after the women and other children had dispersed to take up the everyday routine of their lives, Songbird stood alone watching the top of the hill.

Chapter XVIII

Songbird was not the only one who was lonesome. Star, too, had been left in camp, where only a few ponies, whose knees were too stiff, or whose backs were weak from age, kept him company. Although he was no longer a colt, he hated to be away from his mother and friends. Even the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had been taken with Quannah.

Star had heard Quannah say to Songbird, "He is your pony. I have enough without him, for I will take the Big Gray Horse to ride if Running Deer grows tired. So I will leave Star with you."

Three weeks after the warriors had left the village, Star wandered up to the big tepee and poked at the entrance with his nose. Songbird lifted the flap and stroked his nose, for she had heard him coming. Then she dropped the flap again, as she did not want any one to see what she was doing.