You must not touch it!'"

Moko paused and Songbird kept silent, fearing the old woman might not speak further, but at last she went on.

"When game grew scarce in the places where we had been driven, our warriors went in search of foods and robes for the old people, the squaws, and the children. White men, who saw them coming, did not ask why our men had wandered from the camps, but began to fight. After that day our warriors fought every white man they met. Each chief knew that unless he fought, his own tribe would be driven until it had no place to go, no game to eat, no robes for tepees or to sleep under when cold nights brought wind and snow, and soon all the Indians would die."

"My father's mother did not want to go away from us," said Songbird.

"Many times he has told me she loved the Comanche people."

"I saw her grief"--the old Picture-maker spoke slowly, and now her wrinkled hand lay idly in her lap--"I heard her beg the white men to leave her with us, but they would not listen to her. So Preloch, the white squaw of Peta Nocona, and her baby daughter, Prairie Flower, went away and none of us ever saw them again. That is how the white men would treat all of the Indians if we did not fight them."

"My father tells me that his mother was three winters older than I am now, at the time his father carried her to our camp." Songbird leaned forward. Her body rested on the ground, but her elbow propped her cheek, so that she might still watch the work of the old Picture-maker. "Tell me about her, please."

Moko nodded, but her hand moved less swiftly as she began talking, while her eyes looked through the tepee opening across the rolling prairie, as though she saw once more the young son of the chief coming into camp with the white child in his arms.

"I can see her now as he rode past me. Her hair was like sunshine, and when the Great Spirit made openings in the sky so that we could see the stars at night, two little pieces must have been kept to make her blue eyes. As she grew up among us she was different, for she was as gentle as a young doe. Many times she made peace between hot-blooded young warriors who wished to fight one another. The children followed her just to see her smile at them."

A deep sigh interrupted Moko's story, and for a few seconds the old woman forgot the little girl who waited patiently.

"I remember the day the white men took her away. Dark clouds gathered overhead. Peta Nocona, our chief, was dead, but he had told us to flee to our camp in the hills where the white men could not follow nor find us. As we fled, the rain fell upon us, and Karolo, the Medicine Man, called upon the Great Spirit to send the spirits of Peta Nocona and all the other Comanche warriors from the Happy Hunting Grounds, that they might follow Preloch and her daughter, Prairie Flower, into the land of the white men and bring them back again to their own people.

"The Great Spirit will send them both back some day," Karolo said as the rain beat on his face. "He is weeping now because his children are captives among the white people."

"Then we who heard him drew our robes over our faces that none but the Great Spirit might see our grief. And for many moons the Comanches of the Quahadas kept their hair cut short because we were mourning the death of our great War Chief, Peta Nocona, and the loss of his white squaw, Preloch, with her baby daughter, Prairie Flower. Many winters have pa.s.sed, but they have never come back to us."

"The snows of many winters have fallen on my head," the old Picture-maker spoke after a short silence. "I am weary and my heart is sad for my people. But I have asked the Great Spirit to let me stay until I have painted one more robe, so that you may hang it in your tepee with this one. Your children's children shall read the pictures and learn how your father, Quannah, Chief of the Quahadas, conquered the white men who robbed him of his mother and sister. After I have finished that robe, the Great Spirit will let me rest, for I am old and weary, and my children wait me in the Happy Hunting Grounds."

"I wish I could go with my father, as Preloch went with Peta Nocona,"

said Songbird. "I can shoot arrows as well as the boys, and Star can go as fast as Running Deer!"

"Some tribes take their squaws to help in the fight, but Quannah will not allow it," a.s.serted Moko. "Women and children must obey his orders and stay in camp while the men go out to fight. Our chief says that the work of women is to teach children to be fearless and truthful. That work is as great as fighting. Sometimes I think it may be greater work.

Preloch said that it was better to make men love each other rather than teach them to hate and kill one another. Maybe she was right, but the white men hate us and we have to save our own lives and our homes."

Muttering to herself the old woman rose from the place where she had been sitting, and as Songbird saw the thin lips tighten, she knew that the Picture-maker would not talk any more, so she slipped away from the tent and sat watching the sun drop over the edge of the world. Two white clouds closed together, and Songbird knew that the Spirit of the Sun had dropped the flap of its tent so that it could sleep. Soon the Spirit of Night would ride his big black pony across the sky and the shadow would hide everything from sight.

Somewhere in the world of darkness Songbird's father would be sleeping.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. She was so little, so afraid and so lonely.

In the big tepee of the Quahada Chief, Songbird crept to bed, and as she lay staring into the darkness toward her father's couch of skins, she heard the shrill yelps of coyotes gathering around the camp. Suddenly she drew the buffalo robe over her head and sobbed herself to sleep.

Chapter VI

Far away from the camp where Songbird waited her father's return, Star, with his mother and the other Comanche ponies, travelled rapidly, while Quannah watched the country with eyes as sharp and bright as those of an eagle.

Strange warriors from the Kiowas rode into camp on ponies which were covered with dry lather that told how far and how fast the men had ridden. At the same time Comanche messengers were being sent off on ponies, and there was a constant stir in the camp.

Star wondered about it, until he could restrain his curiosity no longer.

"Where do they go?" he questioned Running Deer, at last. His mother had been very nervous and cross, and she answered sharply:

"They go to see where the white men travel, so that Quannah may know where to find them. Be quiet, now. Watch and you will learn everything for yourself. Do not talk too much, but watch and listen, then you will grow wise."

Quannah was lifting his hand, and Star's bright eyes saw one of the youngest warriors ride up to the chief.

"Let me go this time," begged the young man.

"Your pony is not swift enough," replied the chief, and the young man bowed his head in shame.

"He has but one pony," Running Deer spoke scornfully to Star. "He is poor and his mare is old. When his father went to the Happy Hunting Grounds he left but two ponies for his son, and one of them has died.

His heart is brave, but his pony's legs are weak, so he will not be sent."

As Quannah began speaking, Star lifted his head quickly.

"You shall go. Running Deer is the swiftest pony of the Comanche herd, and Star, her colt, though young and untried, should be fleet-footed and sure. You shall ride him to-day."

In a few minutes the young warrior was seated on Star's bare back.

Running Deer watched anxiously. But the colt's back did not weaken, nor did he flinch beneath the man's weight. It seemed no more of a burden than when Songbird had ridden him.

"Watch out for prairie-dog holes and loose, smooth stones," cautioned Running Deer. "When you go most swiftly, hold your nose level with your shoulders, and look straight before you without turning your head from side to side. Do not leap high, but let your body drop low to the earth when you run, and in that way you can outstrip other ponies and not weary for many long miles. If your rider falls from you, do not leave him, but stay near by until he climbs again to your back, or someone comes for you. And always remember that you belong to the Chief of the Comanches."

While Running Deer was speaking, Quannah was talking in a low voice to the young man who sat on Star's back. As the chief's words ceased, the pony felt the rider lean forward, and his knees press closely against his sides; then, like an arrow shot from a strong bow, Star, son of Running Deer, darted on his way.

The fresh breeze swept into the pony's nostrils, it tossed his thick, black mane, and his long tail streamed like a tattered black flag, while the Comanche lying low against Star's shoulder seemed to be a part of the animal he was riding.

Across the wide prairie the pony raced, guided by a noose of plaited rawhide. He did not need the pressure of this rope on his neck, for the mere movement of the Indian's body was enough to tell him which way to go. No whip or blow from the rider's heels was necessary. Star understood that the chief had sent him, and the son of Running Deer must prove himself worthy of her training and his heritage.

All day they travelled. At intervals the Indian made him walk a short distance, then once more Star broke into the smooth, swift run. They pa.s.sed near a band of startled antelopes which whirled and dashed away; farther off, a bunch of galloping buffaloes thudded with their heads held low down, the humps on their shoulders rising and falling like small waves of dark water, but the Indian on Star's back paid no heed to them. The quiver full of sharply pointed arrows remained slung across his back.

Just before dusk the Comanche halted among huge rocks. Slipping from the pony's back, he held his fingers tightly about Star's nose, to prevent the animal from calling out. Some distance below them, the pony saw a great mult.i.tude of white-faced men and big ponies. The men were dressed in strange clothes instead of the robes that Indians wore. Some of them lifted things from their heads, and Star stared in surprise at the short hair. Quannah and all the Indians the pony had ever seen had worn long braids of hair called scalp-locks. It was a disgrace for a warrior to lose his scalp lock, and a great trophy of victory for any foe who cut it off. So the pony wondered why Quannah should be so grave about fighting men who had lost their scalp-locks.

As the men rode nearer, Star saw belts filled with things that gleamed, and there were long, bright sticks in their hands. The pony understood at once that these were what his mother had spoken about. Things that could roar like angry buffaloes and spit fire that killed Comanche warriors and ponies. He shivered and shrank back, but as he felt the Indian's fingers tighten, the pony remembered that Quannah had sent them here, and he must stay with his rider.

Star forgot his fears in watching the men fix many white tepees in long rows, and there were strange things that looked like long, round-topped hills of snow which moved slowly forward, each dragged by six queer-looking animals. Star had never seen such strange ponies. They were all dark brown like the bark on trees, their ears were very long, their heads large, they had no flowing manes, and the only hair on their tails was in a thick bunch at the very end. While Star watched them, one of the creatures lifted up its nose and uttered a terrific noise.

Instantly the others joined, and the din was so frightful that Star would have turned and raced away had not the Comanche held tightly to the pony's nose. It was the first time in his life that Star had seen white men, and he had never heard any pony speak of mules or wagons.

The young warrior crouched low. Before the noise ceased, he had led Star very cautiously until they gained a spot out of sight and hearing of the white men. Then leaping to the pony's back, the Indian raced furiously toward Quannah's camp in the sheltering hills. It was past dawn when the Comanche halted at Quannah's side. The whole camp was astir.

Other couriers had arrived from different points, on ponies streaked with dust. While the animals rubbed noses together, the messengers told Quannah what each had seen.

The man who had ridden Star was the first to speak.

"Great bands of white men are coming from all four sides of the world.

The band I saw is larger than all the Kiowas and Comanches together.

They are one day's ride from here and they are travelling this way."

"And in another place I saw a band of fighting men coming this way,"