Chapter XVII
It was September, as the white men count the months, and three years hadpassed since the Big Gray Horse and the Old White Horse had come to liveamong the Quahada ponies. The summer had been very hot and no rain hadfallen, so there was only a scant supply of dry feed for the ponies andbuffaloes and antelopes.
What grass had grown in spite of the drought had been eaten by a swarmof locusts, so that only the bare stalks remained, and these held nonourishment. Where small streams had rippled, there were beds of drysand. Larger rivers, big enough to have floated a good-sized boat whenthere was no drought, dwindled down to shallow threads or formed inpools of stagnant water coated with green slime. It was a hard time forthe Quahada ponies, and still harder for the Indians.
Songbird watched her father's face anxiously. She knew that he would notallow any one to see whether he were worrying, rejoicing or grieving atany time. It would be unworthy of a warrior to show his feelings, andmost unworthy of a chief. She had heard the squaws talking when no menwere near.
They had said that when the last winter had gone and it had been timefor the green grass to show above the ground, all the Indians from longdistances had gathered at Medicine Lodge to hold a great council of war.
Reports had been brought that Indian runners, or messengers, had found abig camp where a large number of buffalo hunters lived, and from it eachday the white men went to kill buffaloes. They did not use the meat, butleft it to spoil in the hot sun, after the hunters had skinned the deadanimals and taken the hides away. As far as the Indians could travel,dead buffaloes that had been skinned lay in herds just as they hadfallen when the hunters had shot them with fire-sticks.
On their fingers the Indians counted how many buffaloes had been foundin one day of travel. Some of them had seen as many as two hundred, andother Indians who had come from different directions told the same tale.Soon there would be no buffaloes left. The grass was gone, the waterwas 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 MedicineLodge and formed a war party to drive out the white hunters and save thebuffaloes.
That had been six moons ago, when the grass was just starting above theground. In a little while they had thought that the rains and warm sunwould make plenty of feed for the ponies, antelopes, and buffaloes, andthere would be pools of water in low places between hills, or in hollowsof large rocks. Then it would be the time to begin fighting.
But the rains did not come, and Songbird, listening to the talk of thesquaws, longed to speak to her father and ask him about it all, but sheknew that such things were not for children's talk. Nor did she ask thesquaws, 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 itwas nearing winter. Songbird greatly missed her old friend, the PictureMaker. Moko had always answered questions and explained things withoutbeing cross. The other women were too busy asking one another what theywould do in the winter, when the dry summer had killed the berries andnuts and maize and the buffalo hunters had killed all the game.
So Songbird kept her thoughts to herself and watched her father's graveface as he talked with Karolo or the head chief.
Then one day a Kiowa runner dashed into the Quahada village and thewarriors gathered quickly about him. His pony wandered over and joinedthe Quahada ponies and the two cavalry horses, where they were nosing atdry 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 Indianshave been conquered"--the Old White Horse turned to Star. "It makes nodifference how bravely the Indians fight, nor whether they are right orwrong, the end is the same. They are conquered and must obey the whitemen. 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 troublefor all of us. We do not fight, though some of us belong to theQuahadas, others to the Kiowas, and you," he turned to the cavalryhorses, "belong to a general and to a soldier who obeys the general. Ifthere were ponies here from the Arapahoes and the Cheyennes, or anyother tribes, we would all graze together and not bite nor kick oneanother. 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!" snortedHawk, joining the group.
"They are our masters," the Old White Horse rebuked him quickly. "Younghorses kick and buck and bite, or run away when they first are broughtto a troop. But they learn soon what it means to be hurt by heavy bitsin their mouths, or sharp spurs digging into their sides. If a horsethrows a man, another man gets on the horse's back at once, and thenanother and another, until the horse is too weary to fight. I have heardyoung horses talk about men, but it does no good. They all talk thesame, 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 whenall is said and done, men are our masters! We will obey them whetherthey are white men or Indians, because we belong to them and must servethem. I, too, bit and fought and bucked men from my back, long ago."
As they talked, Quannah and his head chiefs, accompanied by the Kiowawarrior, approached the ponies. When the Quahadas stopped, the Kiowaslipped his bridle of rawhide over the nose of his pony, which submittedquietly. Its owner's hand rested lightly on the pony's neck and theanimal's eyes watched its master's face. He was speaking to the Quahadasnow.
"This is the message. The Big Father at Washington has sent hissoldiers. They come in numbers like the leaves on the trees, or theblades of grass on the prairie. Our runners have brought word that thesoldiers are coming to surround and kill all of the Indians. Big chiefslead the white men from four sides. A friendly Indian sent us word thata big chief named Miles leads them all, and that Mackenzie, who foughtus three winters ago, is with the others. He has not forgotten the routof the White Horses yet."
The Old White Horse cocked his ears, and the Big Gray Horse lifted hishead high. Star saw them look at each other, and he remembered they hadoften talked of these big white chiefs.
"I am Mackenzie's horse," the Big Gray Horse said proudly. "Officers andsoldiers do not lie to Indians, nor kill their game, nor take their landfrom them for themselves. When the Indians give a pledge of peace theofficers do not harm them, nor their women or children. They make thebuffalo hunters keep away from the Indian's land and protect the Indianwho does not go on the warpath."
"I know that is true"--the Old White Horse spoke earnestly--"for Ilived many years in the White Horse Troop and have seen all these thingsmyself. If Quannah would be friends with the big white chiefs, it wouldbe better for him and for the Quahadas. Listen! He is speaking now."
The horses turned their eyes on the Quahada chief, who, with the bestwarriors of the tribe, faced the Kiowa runner. The Comanches, like theponies, watched Quannah's face and waited to hear his words. Karolo, theMedicine Man, stood beside him.
Karolo had offered many prayer-sticks to the Great Spirit, asking thatthe Thunder Bird might be sent over the land with rain and that thebuffaloes might be spared. But the Great Spirit was angry and would notlisten. Then Karolo knew that it was because the white men had come onthe Indians' land and were killing the buffaloes that belonged to theGreat Spirit, who had said the buffaloes must not be killed except forfood and clothing. Only by driving the white men away and saving thebuffaloes, would the Great Spirit's anger be appeased.
Yet Karo
lo was sad. He knew that the white men were many times thenumber of the Comanches, and that their fire-sticks could reach muchfarther than the Quahada arrows. In his heart the old Medicine Man feltthat the Indians could not win, but would be conquered and madeprisoners 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, andfixed his eyes on the crest of a hill beyond the camp. For a littlewhile he did not speak, then he glanced at the faces of his chiefsbefore he answered the Kiowa runner.
"Tell your chiefs that the Quahadas will join them against the whitemen."
He held out both his hands and the Kiowa grasped them, saying, "It isgood!"
Turning quickly the messenger leaped to his pony's bare back. Sittingerect, he gave the loud, fierce battle cry of the Kiowas. Instantly theQuahadas answered it with their own call. Then the women, running fromtheir 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, carryingword that Quannah would lead his warriors to join the fight against thewhite men.
When the last echoes of the war cries had died away, the Quahadawarriors heard their chief say slowly, "We will fight! It is the laststand of the Quahada Comanches, but we will fight so that our fatherswill not be ashamed when they hear the Great Eagle calling us."
Then they left him standing there, and went to their own tepees, wheretheir wives and children awaited them.
For the next week the village was bustling with preparations, and day byday the Kiowa warriors arrived from distant points. At last the entirebody of Kiowas and Quahadas, riding their best ponies and driving theimmense herd of extra ponies and those that were laden with food, robes,bows and arrows, formed a great cavalcade. All the warriors were deckedin gorgeous war bonnets and armed with lances and shields, while quiversthat were full of arrows hung across their backs beside strong bows.Only the women and small children were left behind. Even the oldest menand youths who were ten years old rode behind the Quahada chief.
Songbird watched her father lead them up the slope of the hill. Heturned Running Deer about, and his figure stood plainly against the bluesky where the incline ended sharply.
For a few minutes he looked down on the homes of his people, then hiseyes wandered to those who rode up the hill toward him. His arm wasraised high above his head, and Running Deer leaped at the touch of hisheels. Swirling at the pressure of the rein, the mare disappeared overthe crest of the hill.
The last of the riders vanished. Their cries came more faintly, until astrange silence fell upon those who stood watching the hilltop where noliving thing was now visible. Long after the women and other childrenhad dispersed to take up the everyday routine of their lives, Songbirdstood alone watching the top of the hill.