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STAR

The Story of an Indian Pony

BY FORRESTINE C. HOOKER

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
Lieut.-General NELSON A. MILES, U.S.A.

JACKET PAINTING BY
CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL

The Sun Dial Press, Inc.
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE
& COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE
COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

TO
YOU, THE ONE

Like a ray of light in a stormy sky your love has encouraged and guided me through years when the dim, rough trail was hard to follow.

Son of Running Deer, daughter of the swiftest racer of all the Comanche ponies

FOREWORD

The recording of historic facts and events in the romance of a story must be interesting and instructive to the readers; especially when the scenes occurred in a vast country, formerly occupied by an ancient and departed race and later by one now rapidly disappearing.

In vain might we search history for the record of a people who contended as valiantly against a superior race, overwhelming numbers, and who defended their country until finally driven toward the setting sun, a practically subjugated nation and race. The art of war among the white people is called strategy, or tactics; when practised by the Indians it is called treachery.

Their wealth consisted of their herds of horses—which the Western Indians obtained from the Mexicans after the Spanish had invaded Mexico—their lodges and the few appliances for camp-life. They worshipped the God of nature, and the Great Spirit was their omnipotent Jehovah. They believed that death was a long journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds. They were grateful for the abundance of the earth—the sunshine, air, water, and all the blessings of nature—and believed that all should share them alike. For one to wish to monopolize any part of the earth was to them the manifestation of a grasping disposition. Often the men of the most influence and greatest popularity in the tribe were the poorest, or those who gave most to others.

They believed that the Great Spirit had given them this beautiful country with its natural resources, advantages, and blessings for their home.

One great cause of disaffection among the Indians was the destruction of their vast herds of buffalo, which seemed like ruthless sacrifice. Within a few years millions of buffalo were killed for their hides, and thousands of white men, the best rifle-shots in the world, were engaged in the business.

Among their own tribe and people they had a code of honour which all respected. An Indian could leave his horse, blanket, saddle, or rifle at any place by day or night and it would not be disturbed, though the whole tribe might pass near. This could not be done in any community of white people.

These conditions existed in 1874, when the Southwest Indians assembled at Medicine Lodge and decided to drive out the buffalo hunters.

In August, 1874, I was directed to organize a command at Fort Dodge, on the Arkansas River in southwestern Kansas, and move south against the hostile Indians. Other commands were ordered to move: one east from New Mexico, under Major Price; one north from Texas, under General Mackenzie; one west from Indian Territory, under Colonel Davidson, Tenth Cavalry.

My command consisted of two battalions of eight troops of cavalry, commanded by Majors Compton and Biddle; one battalion of four companies of infantry, commanded by Major Bristol; a company of friendly Indians, a detachment of artillery, and a company of civilian scouts and guides. These latter were mostly hunters and expert riflemen, familiar with the country.

In one of the many engagements with the hostile Indians Captain Frank D. Baldwin (now Major General) a very gallant officer, recaptured two little captive white girls, Julia and Adelaide Germaine, seven and nine years old, whose father, mother, brother, and older sister had been massacred. From the children we learned of their two sisters, still in the hands of the savages, and we made it a condition that they should be brought in safely and surrendered with the whole tribe, which was done immediately on receipt of my demand. The other two girls had been brought by order of Chief Stone Calf to a tent next his own, where they were treated with marked care and consideration until formally surrendered to us.

That campaign, lasting for many months, closed after most difficult and laborious efforts on the part of the troops, with the satisfactory result that the vast southwestern country has been free from the terrifying and devastating presence of hostile Indians, and the citizens of the States of Kansas, Colorado, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico have enjoyed an era of peace. Scarcely a hostile shot has been heard in that country since that year.

In a report to Lieutenant-General P. H. Sheridan, Commanding General of the U. S. Army, November 23, 1874, which was published in report of Secretary of War, Vol. I, 1875, I said:

"It would have been better for the Indians had they been considered a part of the population of the United States and dealt with generously; and when forced on reservations—which is always the case—let reservations be reasonable in size, subject to special rule and government until the Indians are fitted to obey the ordinary laws of the country which have been made to control educated and intelligent white people.

"If the Indians had always been humanely and honestly dealt with, there would have been but few of the troubles which have occurred in the many years gone by."

Nelson A. Miles Lieut.-General US Army

July 21, 1922
Washington, D. C.

STAR:

The Story of an Indian Pony

Chapter I

The first streak of dawn was turning the sky from gray to pale pink as Star lifted his head and looked sleepily at the twelve hundred Comanche ponies stretched on the ground around him.

Farther away were many tepees made from buffalo skins, but only the wolf-dogs, curled in holes they had dug near the tepees, showed that the camp was not deserted. Star knew that the Comanche braves, squaws, and papooses would soon awaken and come out wrapped in blankets which had been woven by the squaws and dyed in bright colours made from roots and berries.

One tepee, larger than the others, belonged to Quannah, Chief of the Quahada Comanches, and Star looked at it as he recalled the story his mother, Running Deer, had told him many times while they grazed side by side or rested on the banks of the creek near the camp. Star loved Quannah, but more than all else he loved Quannah's little daughter, Songbird, for she was Star's mistress. He remembered the day when he had been too tiny and weak to stand up, and Quannah, with Songbird, had stooped to pat Running Deer's colt.

"We will name him Star," the chief had spoken. "He belongs to you, as his mother belongs to me, and as his mother's mother belonged to my father. Swift, sure, and strong, they have been worthy to carry the Chiefs of the Quahadas."

So the colt understood the honour given his mother and the honour that was to be his when he was big enough to be ridden. And the tale his mother told many times never wearied him.

"My mother told me the tale," she would always begin, "and now that she is dead I tell it to you. When I am dead, you shall tell it to other ponies, so that it may be remembered as long as Comanche herds wander over the plains.

"The squaws tell their papooses the great deeds of their forefathers, that none will forget, that the young boys may become great warriors, while the girls grow to be worthy squaws and train their own sons to live with honour. So I, too, tell the story of our part in the life of our great Chief and his Pale-face Mother, as my mother told it to me, long ago, before you were born.

"When she was a very young mare, the swiftest racer of all the Comanche ponies, our tribe wandered long distances over plains covered with grass knee-high. Vast herds of buffaloes and thousands of beautiful antelopes shared the prairie lands with us. When the tepees were set up there were so many that they reached out like stars covering the sky at night. Our pony herd was so large that each brave owned many ponies, and he who owned the most ponies was the richest man of all.

"The Comanches could not live without us. It needs a swift, sure-footed pony to follow the antelope near enough to send an arrow to its heart as it runs. You know, as well as I, that antelope meat must be brought to the camp to feed the women and children. Because the Comanches are such great hunters, other tribes call them the 'Antelope Eaters.' And from the hundreds of buffaloes ranging on the plains, our warriors obtain hides for clothing, for warm robes and to make tepees that will defy the cold winds and snows that rush upon them from the place where the Great White Spirit of Winter dwells.

"Without good ponies the Comanches would be cold and hungry, as you must see. And so we are honoured by the warriors and loved by the women and children for whom we provide food and shelter. When the enemies of the tribe come against us in battle, the ponies share the dangers with their owners. None of us has ever been vanquished. Ponies have died beside their masters, but have never deserted them. When a warrior dies, his favourite pony dies with him, that the warrior may ride it in the Happy Hunting Grounds to which he and it have journeyed through the Land of Shadows. There they are happy together. That is a great honour, but the greatest honour of all is to be the favourite pony of the Chief."

"Like you!" interrupted Star with a proud toss of his head as he glanced at other colts whose mothers belonged to men who were not chiefs.

"Like me and like my mother," Running Deer never failed to answer. "Lie down beside me while I tell you the tale again, so that you will make no mistake in telling it to other ponies when you are old and others have forgotten it all."

Star settled himself comfortably at her side, and as she talked, he nipped daintily at bits of tender grass which made a soft bed beneath over-hanging branches of a tall tree.

Chapter II

"Long before I was born," began Running Deer, "the warriors of our tribe wove bits of red cloth into the manes and tails of their ponies. Each warrior, decked in brightest blankets and with war-bonnets of eagle feathers that bound their heads, fell over their shoulders, then trailed almost to the ground, rode rapidly across the prairie with their quivers full of sharply pointed arrows.

"White-faced men had come on the land of the Comanches and were taking possession of our hunting grounds. So word was brought to camp for our fighting men to go out and protect the game that belonged to the Indians. The Great Spirit put the game on the prairies that the Comanches and other Indians might use it for food.

"Like leaves swept by fierce winds the warriors rushed onward. Peta Nocona, the old chief's young son, rode my mother at the head of the Quahadas. He was almost a child in years, but a man in daring, and often the chief gave him the honour of leading the warriors. All at once in the distance a few specks caught his keen eyes, and he drew my mother's reins, while all the Comanches halted to talk. Then each warrior leaned down against the shoulder of his pony, and they raced until they had formed a large circle around the moving spots. Gradually closing about them, Peta Nocona led his men.

"My mother said that those in the centre greeted them. It was Pa-ha-u-ka's band, and with them were a boy and a girl with white skins, who looked at the Comanches in fear. The girl's hair was long and gold like the arrows of the sun, her eyes were like the summer sky, her skin like untrodden snow.

"The son of our chief rode to her side, and when she shrank back in fear, he smiled and told her that no harm should come to her. She did not understand his words, for she spoke in a strange tongue, but she did understand his kindly eyes and voice and smile. So she made no struggle when he lifted her from the arms of the warrior who was holding her. Placing her before him on my mother's back, he held her carefully until they reached our camp."

"Did the white boy come, too?" asked Star as Running Deer paused to take a bite of grass.

"My mother said that the boy did not come into our camp and she did not know where he went. Part of the Comanches, who belonged to Pa-ha-u-ka's band, followed another trail and were gone a long time. But the little white girl was not unhappy, for she had our chief's son as her companion. We called her Preloch. All the care that would have been given to the daughter of our chief was given to her until she reached womanhood. Then she and the chief's son, Peta Nocona, were married with great feasting and dancing that lasted many days, and everyone was very happy for they all loved her and the chief's young son.

"When the old chief, worn with the weight of many winters, slept with his forefathers, the young chief ruled in his place. There was much rejoicing when a son was born to Peta Nocona and his golden-haired squaw, Preloch. They called him Quannah, which, as you know, means 'Fragrant.' Later a little daughter came to them, and her name was Prairie Flower, for she was so pale and delicate that it seemed as though a rough hand could crush her, or a strong wind carry her away on its breast. The warriors honoured and obeyed Peta Nocona, who became a great War Chief, and the women, children, and ponies loved his white squaw, Preloch, for her gentle ways. Wherever he went, she rode at his side, her baby daughter clasped in her arms, while little Quannah followed closely behind on his pony, often shooting arrows as he rode.

"The young chief had given my mother, Blackbird, to Preloch, and I was a colt, past two years old, when white men found our camp. I do not know just what happened, for in the darkness of night Gray Beard, Big Wolf, and Spotted Leopard led me into a strange place among great trees, and there we found Quannah waiting us. They spoke earnestly to him, then he leaped to my back and we dashed away.

"For many days we were alone, except when a warrior came and sat talking gravely. I heard Karolo, the Medicine Man, tell Quannah one day, that the white men had taken Preloch and Prairie Flower away with them. Then he told that his mother had sent a message, bidding her son remain with his father's people and rule them wisely and justly. She did not want to leave her son and the Comanche people whom she loved so much, but she had been made a prisoner by the white men and they were taking her and her baby away to their own homes."

"Why?" asked Star, wonderingly.

"I do not know," answered Running Deer. "I am telling the story as it all happened. How could an Indian pony understand the white man's ways, when the wise men of the tribe did not understand? My mother told me the story of the little white girl, and I heard what the old warriors said to Quannah while we hid in the mountains; but I do know that neither Preloch nor Prairie Flower ever came back to us again, and Quannah never saw them again.

"That is all I know. Quannah rode me back to camp and when you were born he gave you to Songbird. You must serve her as faithfully as I have served him, and as my mother, before me, served his father, Peta Nocona. The big chiefs also told Quannah that his father, Peta Nocona, had been killed by the white men as he stood, wounded, against a tree, singing the Death Song of the Quahada Comanches. So Quannah, his son, became our chief."

Star thought about the story as he lay beside his mother, and he felt very sure that he would not make any error in telling it when he had grown old. The sun peeped over the edge of the world and shot a golden arrow of light into the pony's eyes, to warn him and the other ponies that it was time to roll and get up.

It was not an easy thing to roll over. Star had tried it many times, for his mother had told him that when a pony could roll completely over the first thing in the morning, it was the sign he was very strong. So now he stiffened his muscles and tried it, but only got partly over. Again he tried and failed. But the third time he turned completely over, and full of pride, leaped to his feet. Then he leaned down and nipped his mother, who blinked up at him.

"I did it!" he bragged, tossing his head so that the thick black mane waved like a flag. "Mother, I rolled all the way over, this morning."

"I knew you would do it," she answered proudly as she scrambled up hastily. "Now you can carry a man."

The two ponies saw the flap of Quannah's tepee lifted, and their ears cocked sharply. A little girl, about six years old, with large dark eyes, long glossy braids hanging to her waist, and clothed in a garment of buckskin, with moccasins of buckskin on her feet, stood in the opening of the tepee.

"Star!" she called softly yet clearly.

The pony answered with a low nicker of delight, tossed his shaggy mane, kicked his hind heels and galloped to her side, where he bent his head that she might pet his nose and pull his ears gently, while his eyes told her how much he loved her.

Chapter III

Ever since Star had been strong enough to bear Songbird's weight on his back, they had wandered together near the camp. Sometimes they climbed the steep mountains so that they could look down on the tepees which seemed only tiny white spots; or they raced after a coyote across the prairie, and again they moved more slowly beside the streams where they could see silvery fish darting from one deep pool to another.

Always Star watched carefully that he might not step on a loose rock, or into a prairie-dog hole. That would make him stumble and throw his little mistress, and Star's mother had warned him of the danger. Many times they paused beside the stream so that Star could thrust his velvety nose into the cool ripples, while Songbird, higher up the creek, would lie flat, face downward, and touch the water with her lips.

At times she would sit in the shade of a tree near the stream and Star would lie down beside her. Then she would pluck wild flowers and weave them into his mane and make a wreath of them for her head, while she told the pony that the big, white clouds drifting slowly over them were the tepees of great warriors who had gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds, where they rode their favourite ponies all day long. But when the Spirit of the Sun rode over the edge of the world at night, the warriors followed him that the Spirit of Darkness might not overtake them, and the clouds followed after them.

One morning Songbird came to him and said, "There is a long journey for you to-day."

As she patted his neck, he noticed unusual excitement in the camp. The warriors were gathering the pony herd instead of letting it wander to graze until night. Men were rushing about, and the squaws were taking down many tepees. Some of the men were helping them roll things in buffalo robes which they tied with long thongs cut from cured hides. Then these bundles were placed on the backs of pack-ponies and fastened so that they could not slip off. Even the children were helping instead of playing about.

Quannah was directing everything while he stood near his tepee, a short distance from Songbird and Star. At last the packing ended and the warriors, mounted on their best ponies, moved slowly away from camp, while behind them came extra ponies and then, still farther behind, trotted the pack-ponies.

As Star watched, wondering what it all meant, an Indian led Running Deer to Quannah. The chief spoke hastily yet tenderly to Songbird, who listened seriously to his words. Then Quannah sprang to Running Deer's back.

Songbird slipped her arms about Star's neck and he felt her soft lips touch the white spot in the middle of his forehead. He was a jet-black pony except for this white mark which formed a perfect star, and which was almost hidden by the heavy forelock of hair that dangled to his eyes.

Quannah sat on the back of Running Deer, and watched Songbird, who turned suddenly and spoke.

"I have no brother! Let me go with you?"

"You must stay here with the women and children," Star heard the chief reply. "We go to meet men. It is safe here for the women and children. You must stay with them until I return."

The pony saw that all the Comanche herd was moving away from the camp, and he turned quickly to his mother.

"Must I stay, too?" he asked anxiously.

"No," she replied, "you go with me, so that Quannah may ride you to rest my back on the journey. It will be hard riding for many long days. We go to fight the white men and if we find them, many warriors and ponies may never come back. You are old enough and strong enough now to do your part in the work of the Comanche ponies. Come, keep beside me and I will tell you what to do."

Star felt very proud and important as he trotted at his mother's side, but he could not help twisting his neck to look back now and then at his little mistress who stood alone in front of the big tepee of the chief. He saw her stretch out her arms toward her father, but Quannah did not see her do it. Suddenly she drew a corner of her blanket over her head, so that her face was hidden that none might see her grief; then she turned into the tepee and the flap closed.

While Star had been watching all this, the other ponies had moved past him, and he heard his mother calling angrily, urging him to hurry to her side. She was in the lead. Far ahead of Star the ponies were moving swiftly. Some carried packs, others bore warriors, and the unmounted ponies of the herd were kept from straying by warriors who rode on either side. Not one Comanche pony had been left in the camp where the women and children now remained. It was all very strange. Star galloped to his mother knowing she could explain everything, for she was a very wise pony and the favourite of the chief. She was very angry, and snapped at his shoulder when he reached her side.

"You are disgracing me when you lag at the back of the herd. You belong at the front of it, with me. The chief's pony travels ahead of all the others."

"Where are we going?" he asked after a short silence.

"I do not know," she answered, still angry. "That does not concern either of us. When the chief speaks no one questions and all obey. He gives orders to the warriors and they do his bidding. He moves his hand and I obey the rein. That is all I know. Ponies do not need to know anything else. Your duty now is to follow me and keep at my side, so that you may be near if I fall or am hurt or weary. Then Quannah will ride you."

As they travelled many miles, Star kept closely beside his mother, but he could not forget Songbird and how she had held out her arms, then with covered face had gone alone into the big tepee of her father, the Chief of the Quahada Comanches.

Chapter IV

As Star travelled contentedly beside his mother in the days that followed, other Indian tribes crossed the trail of the Comanches, some of whom came from the far north. They had seen the white men, whom they called soldiers. Sometimes there had been fighting.

Kiowa riders often rode strange ponies into Quannah's camp and rested for a few days. While the Indians talked with Quannah and his braves, the ponies of the strangers told the Comanche ponies about the big bands of white men, all dressed alike, riding very large horses, many of which were almost twice as big as a small pony.

"These men do not carry bows and arrows like the Indians, but have shining sticks that roar like angry buffaloes and which spit fire that kills any Indian or pony it touches," explained a pony from the Kiowa Indians' camp.

Running Deer shivered and looked at Star, as she said, "My mother saw such men. She called them soldiers, and she, too, spoke of the sticks of fire that slew our braves and our ponies, though they were so far away that arrows could not reach them."

The ponies stopped talking as they saw Quannah and a Kiowa messenger reach the herd. Star cocked his ears so that he might hear all that was said. Running Deer touched her big colt with her nose, to remind him that he must keep perfectly quiet, for Quannah's hand rested on Star's mane and the chief looked at him with serious eyes while the Kiowa Indian talked in a low voice. At first Star could not understand what they said, but in a short time he heard more distinctly.

The Kiowa brave was speaking. "Our Medicine Man, who is so wise and good that the Great Spirit talks to him, has told our Big Chief that we must drive these white people from our land, so that none of them shall ever come back. Then the antelope and buffalo will belong to us, our ponies will roam where the grass grows most thickly, and our people will be happy and thrive."

"I wish to live peacefully with the white people. My mother was of their race," answered Quannah slowly.

"The white men will not dwell peacefully with the Indians. Many times our fathers' fathers moved to avoid conflict, but the white men have always followed and whenever they found us they have warred with us," the Kiowa interrupted angrily. "Even now they are gathering in great bands, and making ready to sweep upon us from all four sides of the earth at once, hoping to scatter us like dry leaves before a windstorm. Soon we shall be driven to the edge of the earth. Then only the cold ashes of our camp fires will be left to tell the places where our children once dwelt."

"Yes, that is true," the Chief of the Quahadas spoke, and his head sank so that his chin rested on his breast, while his eyes were fixed on the ground. "My mother, Preloch, bade me rule the Quahadas wisely. If I war on the white men, they will come in still greater numbers, and my tribe will suffer. But the white men killed my father and took my mother and sister away. My mother did not want to leave us, and she sent word to me by old Moko, the Picture-maker, that she would try to escape from the white men and come back to me. Maybe she is dead now. When the sun shines on the winter snow, no one can bring it back. But the moisture sinks into the heart of the earth where the flowers are born. So though my mother has never come back to me, the memory of her words lives in my heart. I wish to rule my people wisely and help them. Maybe it would be best not to fight. I will ask my warriors. What they say, that will I do!"

When the Quahadas had gathered about their chief and the Kiowa messenger, the Kiowa spoke quickly.

"My chief sent me to ask whether Quannah, Chief of the Quahadas, will join us and lead your tribe to help us save our people from the white men who will kill the Comanches and Kiowas, take our children and squaws captives, and laugh at our humiliation. Shall I go back and say to my chief that Quannah, Chief of the Quahada Comanches, is a squaw because his white blood is afraid to fight his mother's people who stole her?"

Quannah's eyes flashed angrily, and he flung out his hand while he replied, "Tell your chief that I and my warriors will fight against the white men because we must save the game and grass and protect our women and children. That is all. Go!"

Star and Running Deer watched the Kiowa messenger leap on the strange pony's back. Then, with a shrill call, the rider was lost in a cloud of dust that arose from the swiftly running pony, while Quannah, surrounded by his warriors, looked after the vanishing Indian.

"Why should the white men drive us from our camps?" asked Star as he turned to his mother. "We do not drive the Kiowas from their camps, and the Comanche ponies graze beside the ponies of other tribes, for there is grass enough for us all."

"White men are different from ponies," answered Running Deer. "That is all I know. Maybe the white men war among themselves and destroy each other's camps, and carry away the women and children as prisoners."

During that evening, when the shadows grew longer and darker, and the huge campfire sent shafts of light like golden arrows between the trees, the warriors gathered in consultation.

Their faces were very stern as they seated themselves on the ground in a half circle, while Quannah and the Medicine Man faced them. The Medicine Man was very old. The face he lifted toward the stars was wrinkled, his raised hands trembled, and the words he spoke to the Great Spirit asked that help might be given the warriors so that the grass and game might be saved for the tribe.

While he was speaking, coyotes yelped from the darkness beyond the light of the camp fire, and Star, standing very closely against his mother, twitched nervously and kept looking backward to see how near the coyotes might be. All the ponies understood that a band of coyotes would chase any pony if it were alone, and if they overtook it, they would tear it to pieces. So when a bunch of coyotes came near the pony herd, the mares surrounded the colts in the very centre of the group, keeping their noses closely against the colts, and the mothers would lash out their heels and protect them. But fear of a band of coyotes never died as the colts grew older.

"The warriors are holding a War Council now," Running Deer told Star. "Our wise old Medicine Man will tell them what the Great Spirit tells him. Then he will bless them that the strength of the Great Spirit may enter their hearts and help them conquer their enemies and save the game and the grass."

Through the night the fire burned brightly, while the Comanches sat in a large circle talking together. Star, waking many times, lifted his head that he might watch the warriors who faced the Medicine Man and Quannah. Once the pony half rose to his feet, but Running Deer kicked at him as she lay beside him.

"Lie down and be quiet," she whispered angrily. "It is not dawn yet. You will waken the other ponies and they are weary. What is the matter with you to-night?"

"I want to go back to Songbird, Mother," he answered. "If the white men find the camp they may take her away as they took Quannah's mother and sister, and she may never come back again!"

"Quannah would follow them and get her back. He loves her more than anything else," Running Deer said.

"But all the Comanche ponies are here with us," Star went on anxiously. "If I go back to her, she could ride swiftly from the white men, if they try to capture her."

"Stop talking so foolishly," snorted Running Deer. "Quannah is wiser than you are. He will guard her from harm. Go to sleep at once, for we have many miles to travel yet."

Chapter V

While Star was travelling with the other Comanche ponies, he thought many times of Songbird and wondered what she was doing without him to share her days. If he had known the loneliness of his little playmate, he would have raced back to her, even though his mother had told him that his duty was now beside her so that Quannah might ride him.

Meantime, Songbird wandered sadly among the tepees where the other children played happily while their fathers rode with Quannah to fight the white men. The squaws tried to interest her in the work they were doing, and took the best bits of venison and thrust green willow twigs through the meat, so that she might hold it in the campfire and cook it.

Songbird smiled gravely when they did this and shook her head. She was not hungry, but the other children crowded up noisily and ate the crisp tender meat, laughing when one child held his stick too long, so that it burnt and let the meat fall into the hot wood ashes from which he at once fished it with his twig.

New clothes, fashioned from soft buckskin, new moccasins made from buckskin with soles of tough buffalo hide, were laid in her father's tepee for Songbird. Though she put them on, she did not run to show them to the other children. Always she had hurried to her father first, that he might praise her new things. As she remembered it, she slipped away alone to the edge of the creek near camp. Sitting beneath the tree where she had woven the wild flowers in Star's mane, she wondered when her father would come back.

"If he had left Star with me," she said at last, as though the fishes in the creek could hear her and understand, "I could follow him when it grew dark, and if I found him he would not send me back."

But the fishes did not pause to listen, and at last she rose and went back to the camp. The buffalo calf, tied by a plaited rope made of strips of cured hides, rubbed its thickly haired head against her shoulder, and pretended to fight her, but she did not laugh at it as she had always done while her father stood beside her. She changed the calf to another place, and fastened the rope carefully; then, having brought fresh water to it in a bucket made of dry hide, she went into the big tepee.

Her pet horn-toads were kept in one of the deep pottery bowls made from dirt and clay, then set in the sun to dry and harden. She carried the little creatures outside and let them run about on the ground and eat small insects. The bright orange, black, and red colouring of their backs made a beautiful design and looked as though an artist had painted them. Each head had a circlet of small sharp horns, while two larger ones stood up very fiercely, and all over their backs were other tiny horns, reaching to the tapering tail. Songbird knew the horn-toads could not hurt her with their many horns, nor could they bite, for they had no teeth.

After eating, the toads became sleepy, so she placed them back in the bowl and carried them to their accustomed place in the tepee.

"Caw! Caw!" a crow croaked outside, and Songbird hastened to the black, shining bird that walked jerkily at the entrance of her home. Its beady eyes blinked up at her, and its head twisted sidewise in a very knowing manner; then it straightened up and gave its hoarse call, as though it had a sore throat.

"Caw! Caw!"

She did not clap her hands to-day and imitate its cry, but moved quietly into the tepee and soon came back, holding a deep earthen bowl which she placed on the ground. The crow sidled up, cocking its head to see if anything were coming upon it from the sky or from the back. Satisfied that no robbers were near, it began eating.

Songbird watched it as she sat on the ground with her knees drawn up and her hands propping her chin. Very gravely she decided that the crow was getting fatter.

For several months she had cared for it. Some accident had happened to its upper bill and half of it was gone, so the crow had not been able to pick up food from the ground or eat anything solid as the others could do when they pecked very hard. It had been almost dead from starvation when Songbird noticed it lying in the camp. She had driven away the other children who were teasing it with sticks.

Her father had shown her how to fix soft food in a deep bowl so that the poor crow could thrust its entire beak down deeply to eat the moist mixture. So day after day it came to the tepee, knowing it would find food. The meal finished, it always bobbed and stalked around, repeating its cry, "Caw! Caw!" until at last it flapped its glossy wings and darted high above Songbird's head. But even when almost out of sight she could hear it calling to thank her and say that it would come again the next day.

When she picked up the bowl to return it to its proper place, as Quannah had taught her to do, a beautiful fawn, with skin like brown velvet dotted with small white spots, leaped from the side of the tepee as though it were trying to frighten her. Its nose sniffed the empty bowl as it stood poised on slender legs and stretched its graceful neck. Songbird tipped the bowl. The fawn licked it perfectly clean. Then its pink tongue touched the little brown hand that held the bowl, and Songbird, looking into the beautiful dark eyes, stroked the soft nose.

The fawn waited at the entrance of the tepee until she came out. It kept pace with her to the place where Moko, the Picture-maker, lived. She was a very wonderful old squaw with pure white hair. It was her work to paint pictures on the backs of dried buffalo robes.

One side of these robes was always covered with brown, thick hair, while the under side, dried and stretched very smoothly, had to be painted carefully with colours made from roots, berries and earths, mixed in a way that the old Picture-maker alone understood. Moko did not like any one to watch her at work, but Songbird was always welcomed. The child would sit for hours wondering at the magic way in which Moko made figures of Indians on ponies, sometimes chasing buffaloes, hunting antelope, or possibly a camp with warriors walking about the many tepees.

"Who showed you how to make pictures, Moko?" asked Songbird.

"The Great Spirit," replied the Picture-maker, and Songbird pondered over the answer. The painting Moko was now doing was the most wonderful of all that Songbird had ever seen. The robe was the largest buffalo hide that any Comanche had ever owned. Quannah had killed the enormous beast with just one arrow, and the meat had provided food for many days. Now the hide, cured and dried, was being painted for him, and Songbird knew that some day it would be given to her to keep.

The picture showed a lot of Indians fighting white men. The Indians could be easily told by their war-bonnets. All around the edges, the robe was bordered with the fighters, but in the very centre was an Indian boy riding a swiftly running pony. In his arms was a little girl. Songbird knew that the boy was Peta Nocona, and the girl in his arms was Preloch, the white child who had afterward been the mother of Quannah and of Prairie Flower.

"Why do the brothers of my father's mother war with us?" she asked at last, for the question had been puzzling her a long time.

The old squaw kept on with her work, as she replied, "Because they want our lands, our ponies, our grass for their own pony herds, and they want to kill all the buffalo and antelope, so there will be none left for us. Then we could not make new tepees, nor warm robes, nor clothes, nor moccasins. Our ponies would all die if the white men had the prairie lands, and the white hunters killed the game which they did not need for food. Other Indians have told us how the white men cut the hides from buffaloes that lie as thick as fallen leaves, and then leave the meat to spoil or for coyotes to eat. Indians hunt that they may have enough meat and robes to provide for their tribes. So it will be with the grass. The white men's herds will eat it all, leaving our ponies to starve."

"But the world is so big," Songbird spoke, "why cannot all men dwell in peace and share the game and grass?"

"Because the white people want to rule us," the Picture-maker answered quickly. "We lived here long before the white men came. We are the children of the Great Spirit. He gave us the land, He gave us the wild horses that we might tame and use them, He gave us the buffalo and deer, the antelope on the flats, the fish in the streams, that we might live happily. And because these things all belong to the Great Spirit, we did not kill more than we needed.

"The tribes did not quarrel with each other, for each had its own land and no one sought to drive them from it. Men were taught not to lie or steal, and a man who pledged his word was dishonoured if he broke it. But long years ago tales came to us through other tribes, of men with white faces who lied, stole, and cheated Indians who had believed in them. These white-faced men killed the game, killed the Indians, burned their tepees, then came in still greater numbers and drove the Indians from place to place, saying, 'This is our land. This game belongs to us. 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 passed, 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," asserted 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 passed 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 multitude 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," spoke a second courier.

"Still another big band comes from the opposite side," the third man spoke.

"And back on our own trail, I saw them travelling toward us." The last speaker was one of the head chiefs under Quannah. "I left my pony a long way off that he might not make any noise and warn the white men. Then I crawled like a snake until I reached a hill near the white tepees. I heard men's voices but I could not understand what they said. They speak a different tongue from ours. But there were so many men and so many ponies that they were as the leaves on the trees or the blades of grass. How shall we fight them and hope to conquer?"

"They will surround us from all sides, as the hunters gather around a herd of antelopes," one of the men said. "If they were not in back of us, we could go to the camp where the women and children wait."

Quannah looked at the trail which led toward his little daughter, as he said in a voice that all could hear plainly, "We will do it. I have a plan. We must protect our women and children!"

Then the Medicine Man, who had remained silent, stood beside the Comanche Chief. With hands uplifted toward the sky the old man called upon the Great Spirit to hear his children and aid them in the fight to save the game and the grass and the homes of the Comanche people from the white men who wished to destroy them.

After that Star watched the warriors hold up their long bows and quivers filled with slender arrows, that the Medicine Man's blessing might make the arrows strong and sure, give strength to their fingers and clear vision to their eyes in the battle for their homes and those whom they loved.

Chapter VII

Among those who journeyed with Quannah were the youths of the Quahada Comanches who had reached the age of twelve. These boys knew how to use bows and arrows as well as the older men. Children of the tribe were given tiny bows and arrows for toys as soon as they were big enough to hold them, and each day they practised shooting at targets, while their parents watched them proudly.

They were also taught to ride a pony bare-back, lying close against its neck and leaning forward, so that from the opposite side nothing could be seen of the little rider except one brown leg and a hand that clung to the pony's thick mane.

Another lesson they had to learn was to creep silently through the grass, taking great care not to make it move so that other boys could not see where they were hiding. Because of this training and their small size, some of these boys had been allowed to travel with the warriors under Quannah, that they might be used as spies when the Indians drew near the camps of the white men.

So when the different couriers returned to Quannah and reported that the white men were coming from every side to surround the Comanches, and that part of these men were between Quannah's band and the camp where the Comanche women and children had been left, Quannah called his followers about him while the old Medicine Man stood beside the chief.

Star, who had been resting for a short time after his long trip, lifted his head curiously as he noticed the warriors gathering. Then as he saw Running Deer close to the edge of the group about Quannah, he leaped lightly to his feet and hastened to his mother's side. She rubbed her nose against his to show how pleased she was at the way he had done his part of Quannah's work. Then Quannah began speaking.

"We must go back to take care of the women and children," the chief said very plainly.

Star saw all the warriors nodding to show that they agreed with the chief, but no one spoke a word. It was so quiet that the chirp of a grasshopper close to Star's feet could be heard distinctly, and the song of a mockingbird sounded clearly from a nearby tree. Even the big herd of twelve hundred ponies seemed to be listening for Quannah's words. There was no moving of restless hoofs, or soft sounds of grass roots being torn by grazing ponies.

Star felt a thrill of joy at what the chief said, for he knew that he would be near Songbird again. Then if the white men came, he could help her run away, as his mother had helped Quannah escape and hide. He turned to speak about this to his mother, but Running Deer shook her head quickly and he was silent. Quannah was talking.

"The white men are between us and the camp where we left our women and children," he said slowly. "To the front of us are more white men. They are coming from the east and the west, also. We must make a path through them to reach our camp. The white men outnumber us many times. If we face them in open battle they will kill or take us all prisoners, then our women and children will be helpless."

"Our chief speaks the truth," the Medicine Man spoke, and the others grunted and nodded at one another to show that he was right.

"To-day," Quannah went on, "we must ride hard until we are near the white men, then we will halt and hide. It is the dark of the moon now, and when the sun has gone, I shall send the smallest boys on our swiftest ponies to stampede the ponies of the white men. While all is confusion in their camp, we can dash past them in the dark, taking their ponies with us as we go on our way. Without ponies how can they catch us?"

All the warriors showed their satisfaction in the words and looks that Star and Running Deer understood plainly. In a short time the Indians were riding the trail that led directly back toward the camp of the squaws and children and old, weak men who could not fight.

During the day messengers were sent ahead, and Star kept close beside his mother on whom Quannah was riding. When the couriers returned late in the afternoon, Star and Running Deer listened intently to their words.

"The white men are moving toward us," spoke one man who had ridden away that morning. His tired pony stood with low-hanging head while its drawn sides and quick breathing told how hard the pace had been. "When the sun goes to sleep for the night, they will be not more than two hours from here."

"They have big white ponies," another messenger said. "Last night I lay so close to their camp that I could hear voices in the strange white tepees. A few men who do not sleep walk around and keep watch. All of the men have fire-sticks. The ponies are unsaddled and each one is tied to a long rope, so they make a line, side by side!"

"That is good!" Quannah's eyes brightened.

Turning to the Medicine Man he spoke in a low voice, so that neither Star nor Running Deer was able to hear what he said. The other Comanches began making preparations for food, so Running Deer, with Star at her side, moved slowly away, cropping the thick, tender grass as they talked together.

"Mother, do you think we will be sent to-night?" Star asked suddenly.

"Maybe," she answered. "I am the swiftest pony of the herd, and you have proved your speed and strength to-day. It would be a great honour if both of us were sent. But now stop talking. Eat, that you may rest, for no one can tell when we may be needed, nor how long and hard the trail before we can graze and rest again."

Star obeyed. After he had eaten his fill of juicy grass he wandered with his mother to a stream where they thrust their noses into the clear, cool water and drank all they wished. Then the two of them found a spot which they pawed to make more soft, and doubling their front knees they sank slowly to the ground and soon lay sleeping side by side.

Several hours had passed when Star wakened suddenly at a whisper from his mother, whose lips touched one of his ears. It was quite dark, but the stars gleamed overhead. When the little spots of light flickered in the sky Star knew that it was from the hoofs of ponies in the Happy Hunting Grounds just as the Comanche ponies made sparks of fire when rocks were tossed together violently by the ponies' flying hoofs.

"Listen!" whispered Running Deer. "The men are picking the ponies for to-night's work!"

The colt's body quivered with excitement, his lips twitched and his ears cocked sharply, while his eyes peered into the darkness where he could hear the soft tread of moccasined feet that were coming nearer and nearer to him and his mother. He wanted to leap up and call out to the warriors that he was awake and ready, but a nudge from his mother made him lie down quietly and wait.

In a few seconds an indistinct figure stood beside him. A hand touched his forelock. Star rose quickly to his feet as a rawhide noose slipped about his neck. He felt his mother's nose against his own, but the nip she gave him this time was not an angry one. It told him as plainly as she could speak how proud she was that her son had been picked out for the work.

"Do your best," he heard her say. "Remember, you are my colt. Your honour is my honour. If you fail it is my disgrace as well as yours!"

Then he was led away, leaving his mother watching him as he disappeared in the darkness of night. She knew that the quick little bite he had given her was a promise that he would not forget all she had taught him.

The man whom Star followed stopped where Quannah and all the warriors stood with two little Comanche boys, who were looking up at the chief and listening carefully to every word he was speaking to them. Star was close enough to hear what was said.

"Ride swiftly," Quannah commanded. "Make no noise. When you are near the white men's camp lie closely and hold your hands tightly across your ponies' noses to keep them from calling out to the white men's ponies and warning them of danger."

"We will do as you say," the boys promised sturdily.

"Good!" the chief answered. "Leave your ponies while you crawl cautiously to the rope that holds the white men's ponies. Cut the rope and leap on the nearest pony, then shout loudly and beat the ponies with the pieces of buffalo hide you carry. That will frighten them so they will run away. Your own ponies will follow. You must drive the white men's ponies toward the place where we will be waiting to help you. Thus we will capture the white men's ponies, so the men cannot follow us to our women and children."

"We understand," replied the boys in one voice, while the Indians watched them and whispered to one another, "These children will be great warriors when they are full-grown men!"

Once again Quannah spoke to the boys. "The honour of the Quahada Comanches is in your hands. Guard it with your lives. If you are captured, let no man know why you were sent, nor where we are waiting. Do not whisper it even between your two selves, for the wind might steal your words and carry them to the white men's ears."

Then the old Medicine Man stepped before the two children, and his thin arms and trembling hands were extended over their heads. The boys knelt down. Around them like shadows in the faint starlight stood all the Quahada Comanche warriors, and their chief watched the two slender lads, his eyes full of pride.

"Great Spirit, hear the cry of your children. Help us save the game and the grass that we may live in peace and happiness in the land you gave to our fathers long ago. Send their spirits from the Happy Hunting Grounds this night that they may travel beside these children and give them courage and cunning to save the Comanche people. We are weak, we are few, and the white men are many and strong. We must go out to fight and we ask the Great Spirit to help us, for with the Great Spirit and the spirits of our forefathers we shall win over all our foes!"

In the silence that followed the Medicine Man's blessing, the boys rose to their feet. Then Star shivered with excitement as one of the boys grasped the mane that fell thickly on the pony's neck. With a quick, light bound the lad vaulted to Star's bare back. Beside them the other boy was astride a pony named Hawk.

Silently the circle of warriors parted so that there was a space. The young riders leaned down on the necks of the ponies and darted, side by side, through the pathway of Comanches, then on through darkness that wrapped the prairie like a heavy black cloak.

Chapter VIII

Star and Hawk kept a steady pace for more than an hour. Neither of the boys had spoken a word during that time, then Star's rider whispered softly—"Sh——" like the hiss of a snake in the grass, or the noise of wind through the leaves.

Small, strong hands reached from either side of Star's neck, and fingers were pressed firmly on his nostrils. The pressure did not interfere with the pony's breathing, but so long as it continued Star knew that it would be impossible for him to whinny. His rider did not know that the pony understood the reason and the importance of being quiet.

Faintly the sound of stamping, restless hoofs came to Star's ears, and told him that strange ponies were near. His nose touched Hawk's neck, and the other pony signalled an answer. Star and Hawk had been friends and playmates ever since they had been born. Hawk was two days older than Star, but Star had always been more swift when they had chased each other about the Comanche camp in play. Hawk belonged to a young warrior who had not many ponies, so, long before Star had been fully grown, Hawk had been carrying his owner. The work had made the muscles of his back and legs very strong for so young a pony.

The two boys now released their grip on the ponies' noses and slid cautiously down. Star watched them lying flat and crawling slowly in the direction from which the noise of ponies could be heard. Hawk and Star, with noses together, waited patiently.

For a long time everything was silent, then shrill yells caused the two ponies to jump nervously. They heard snorting of ponies and trampling of hoofs, and men's voices were calling loudly in words that were not like the Comanche tongue. Star reared and plunged against a small rope of buffalo hide by which he was fastened to a scrubby tree. Hawk, also tied, was lunging and kicking.

Then something terrible happened. Frightful noises, like cracking of thunder, seemed everywhere. Lightning flashed close to the ground. It did not come from the sky, like other lightning when it stormed. Star crouched and trembled in fear of the thing he could not understand, but Hawk with a still greater effort broke loose.

"Come!" he called to Star, turning to run from the noise that was deafening. "Come quickly! It is the fire-stick that kills Comanches and their ponies. Run! Run! Run!"

He did not wait while Star fought and struggled against the stout rawhide rope which held him fast. Fire leaped from darkness and noises grew louder. Then the thud of racing ponies grew more distinct and in the dim light Star saw a vast herd of pure white ponies rush past him and vanish like snowflakes blown by a strong wind.

But the flashes of fire did not cease, and the pony threw his whole weight against the rope. It broke and he was free. With a shrill squeal Star followed the fleeing animals. Though they had passed him so quickly he had seen two small dark forms on white ponies at the end of the herd. They were ahead of him now, and Star redoubled his efforts until he came abreast of Hawk. Together they raced, but slowly and surely Star passed him.

Like a thin cloud the white ponies kept ahead of Star. His ears cocked sharply, his nose was thrust far out and level with his shoulders, his eyes peered into the gloom to gauge the distance and make his own pace, his body flattened more closely to the ground, and the steady stride of his slender legs never wavered, while his mane tossed wildly and his long black tail fluttered in the air that he cut in his wild race.

He reached the fear-crazed white animals, and edging his way between them, Star found the boy who had ridden him now seated astride one of the largest white ponies. Star looked at it as he ran beside it. He had never seen such a big pony in all his life. But the Comanche pony saw that the white pony was breathing very hard, while its legs moved uncertainly and heavily as it ran.

"It is a big pony," Star said to himself, "but I can out-run it without trouble. Buffaloes are big and heavy. They can run fast, too. But an antelope or deer is more swift. I can out-race an antelope. So can my mother!"

He tossed his saucy head and slyly poked the big white pony in the ribs, to make it go faster. But the poor beast was doing its very best, and it rolled its eyes toward Star.

"Please don't bite me," it spoke. "I am too old and too fat to run so fast and so far!"

"I won't hurt you," replied the Comanche pony, crowding more closely.

The Indian boy on the white pony's back saw Star, and twisting sidewise, the lad gathered himself, leaped from the horse he was riding and landed firmly on the back of the Comanche pony.

The boy's shout of triumph mingled with Star's squeal of delight as out of the darkness rode Quannah on Running Deer, while back of the chief dashed the rest of the warriors.

Circling about the white horses the Comanches urged them rapidly over the low rolling hills until they were completely hidden in thick undergrowth, where they halted.

The white horses showed plainly how hard the pace had been, for they stood with heads hanging low, their sides drawn and nostrils dilating rapidly. Many of them lost no time in lying down where they stood, without even seeking a comfortable soft spot.

"They tire easily," Star said to his mother who was near him. "Hawk and I could have left them far behind and it would not have made us puff like these white ponies. They must belong to squaws and children. They are too fat and too slow for fighting men."

"No herd can run as fast as the ponies of the Quahadas," replied his mother. "Come, lie down and rest while there is time. When we are out with the warriors it is our duty to rest and feed whenever we have time, for when we travel we cannot tell when we will stop. Only Quannah knows that."

Star glanced at the warriors who sat on the ground and talked together, while still others, on their ponies, guarded the captured white animals. Two days and a night of fast travelling made Star feel that he had earned a good rest, so he slipped to the ground and soon was fast asleep.

But in his dream he was racing again. This time he was trying to reach Songbird who was calling to him that the white men were taking her away, as they had taken Quannah's mother and sister, so that she could never come back again to her people. He was running faster than any Comanche pony had ever run before—twice as fast as Running Deer could run, for he thought she was trying now to keep pace with him and was falling behind. Only the storm wind could travel that fast. Star found that no matter how swiftly he raced Songbird was always beyond him. He could not see her, but her voice came back to him.

"I am coming," he whinnied shrilly.

Her voice grew more faint and at last it ceased altogether while he whinnied despairingly, hoping to hear her answer.

Then he felt his mother touch him, and opened his eyes to see her lying beside him.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "You are kicking so that you wakened me."

He told her the dream and she listened gravely, though she answered carelessly, "You are over-tired. After all, you are but a colt and your muscles are soft. You have been tested as few colts are tested at your age. Go to sleep again, so that you will be ready to travel with us, for last night I heard Quannah say that as soon as the big white ponies have rested, we would start for the camp of the women and children. Now that we have captured the white men's ponies they cannot catch us. That is why we are to rest for to-day."

When it was time to get up, Star felt as well as though he had never raced, but the big white ponies were still weary. Some of them did not rise. Many others moved stiffly as they mingled with the Comanche herd while they cropped the grass together like old friends.

Most of the warriors had gone across a small ridge into a gully or ravine, where they made a camp. This was done so that the smoke from their camp fire might not be seen from afar, and thus tell the white men where to hunt their lost ponies. Only dry wood was used for the camp fire. Wood fresh or green would have made too much smoke. A few warriors were left to guard the herd, for the Comanche ponies were trained to keep together, while the white ponies were too tired to run away, even if given a chance to escape.

Star wandered near the white horse that had begged him not to bite it because it was too old and too fat to run so fast. With raised head and a bunch of grass hanging from its lips, it looked curiously at the Comanche pony. Slowly its eyes travelled from Star's velvety nose, along his straight back, his slender legs and strongly muscled flanks to the sweeping black tail that almost touched the ground. The white horse swallowed the clump of grass before it spoke.

"You are a beautiful horse!"

"I am not a horse," Star answered indignantly, "I am a Comanche pony. What is a horse, anyway?"

"A horse is a big pony," replied the other. "I am a horse. We cannot run as swiftly as you ponies, but we are stronger to haul burdens when we are hitched to wagons by our masters."

Star was so surprised that he stopped grazing to talk with the good-natured white beast, and it told him there were thousands of men with white faces, who carried guns and lived in houses made of rocks instead of tepees of hides. He told how these men fed corn and hay to their horses, as well as grass. Then he explained how some horses were taught to be gentle, so that saddles were placed on their backs and bits in their mouths; other horses learned to drag carriages in which women and children rode safely, and still other horses hauled heavier wagons loaded with blankets and food.

"They even build houses for us," he continued, "and when it storms we are warm and dry and have nothing to do but chew our grain. If we have to go out in a rain, when we come back we are rubbed dry and a warm blanket covers us to our heels so that we may not be chilled. But sometimes white men are cruel to us," he added.

"I hate men with white faces," snorted Star, stamping his forefoot angrily. "My mother says that they will take our game and our grass and kill all the Comanche ponies and people. The white men took Quannah's mother and sister away and they never came back to us. That is why I hate men with white faces!"

"Not all of them are that way," the big horse said earnestly. "Many white people do not wish to fight. Sometimes Indians have killed white women and children and have burned their homes, or taken them prisoners. Then the Great Father of the whole world, who is over the white people and the Indians, too, has to send soldiers to find the white prisoners and make the Indians keep away from the homes of the white men."

Star thought over these words before he asked, "Who told you all this?"

"I learned it myself, through many years of hard work," was the reply. "Ever since I was five years old I have belonged to the White Horse Troop which was captured by the Indians last night. Only white horses are in that troop, but in other troops there are blacks and bays and sorrels. Each of the troops has three officers and the captain is in command while the others are under him. So for many years I have gone with the troop over miles of rough country, sometimes swimming great rivers, and often we encountered big bands of Indians who fought us. Maybe the Indians are wrong, maybe it is the white man, but men are our masters and so, right or wrong, we obey them and love them. Yet we horses do not understand, nor do we fight the Indian ponies. I am old and I do not wish to fight any one. But we must obey our masters. When I was young I did not ask questions, but now that I am stiff from years, I wonder why people fight one another."

"Do all your horses fight?" was Star's puzzled comment.

"Not the band horses," replied the white horse. "They do not go out of the garrison where we all live together. Their riders have shining horns and big drums that make such beautiful music that when we troop horses come out on parade, we cannot keep our feet from dancing or our necks from curving with pride. The Band horses are very proud and keep to themselves when we are all out grazing, and of course, no one could blame them for that."

Star listened in amazement. He was anxious to learn all that he could, so as to repeat this wonderful story to his mother.

"You use so many strange words," he said at last. "What is a parade?"

"Why, just a big green piece of ground, but all around it are buildings where officers and soldiers live. In the centre of each parade is a very high white pole. On top of it floats a beautiful flag."

"What is that?" interrupted Star, bewildered.

"It is like a big blanket made of fine cloth. There are stripes of white and red and in one corner is a patch of blue with white stars on it."

"I know what a star is," said the Comanche pony. "My name is Star because I have the white mark on my forehead. Songbird, the little daughter of Chief Quannah, gave me that name when I was too small and too weak to stand up on my legs. I belong to Songbird, and my mother, Running Deer, is the favourite pony of the chief," he ended proudly.

"I saw her talking to you," was the answer, "and I thought how beautiful she was!"

Star edged more closely to his new acquaintance. "Even though our masters fight, I like you and we will be friends," he said, rubbing his nose against the white horse's neck, then letting his neck rest across the troop horse's back, Star bit gently, while the big horses did the same to him. Only horses who are fond of one another give this pledge of friendship.

"I wish our masters would be friends, too," said the old troop horse at last. "If every one would be friends there would be no more fighting."

"There is enough grass and room for all the tepees, so maybe they will stop fighting soon," Star spoke hopefully.

"Some horses kick and bite and steal grain from the others," the white horse answered, "and when one horse in a team kicks, balks, or will not pull its share of the load, the other horses must do it all. White men, Indians, and horses are all the same. Some are good, some are bad, but the burdens of those who are bad must be carried by those who try to do right. I am the oldest of those in the White Horse Troop and I speak of things I have seen in many long years. I am sorry for the horse that kicks and bites and steals, but I do not hate him. The whip is made to punish him, and some day he will suffer."

The day passed quickly for the troop horse and the Comanche pony. When the shadows of the trees disappeared because the sun was straight above the camp, the troop horse stretched out for a noonday sleep, and Star's black head rested on the white horse's neck.

Running Deer, searching for her colt, found them together and she lay down beside them.