Star Part 7

"What shall we do?" the colt asked in fright.

"I belong to Quannah," his mother spoke. "I shall follow him wherever he goes. You belong to Songbird. You must go to her and help her escape the white men, so that they may not take her away as they took Quannah's mother and sister. Go back to the camp and find Songbird!"

The colt hesitated. He had never been anywhere by himself. Always the pony herd and his mother had been with him, except for the few hours when Songbird had ridden him near the big camp. He thought of the packs of coyotes and the long, lonesome miles that he must travel to reach the camp where the women and children waited the return of Quannah and his warriors who were now fighting the white men and the fire-sticks. Star knew they were fighting, for the noise hurt his ears as he stood facing his mother.

She heard it too. Her ears went flat back against her beautiful head, her nostrils were drawn in so that her nose looked thin, and little red sparks of anger glittered in her dark eyes. Then she said in a voice that made Star shrink back ashamed of himself.

"Is the big colt of Running Deer a coward? Go! I tell you go at once!

You belong to Songbird! She needs you now!"

Running Deer's strong teeth caught Star's back and sank deeply into the soft flesh. With a squeal of pain and surprise, the colt leaped away.

Forgetting the coyotes and the loneliness of the trail and with no further thought of his cut knees, he raced furiously into the gathering darkness of night to find his little mistress, who had no one but himself to help her, now that Quannah was unable to reach her.

Chapter X

Star had no trouble following the dim trail of the Comanche ponies back toward their camp. Though he had travelled it only once he did not forget it, and what was still more strange, he, like other ponies raised on the prairies and in the mountains, was able to go over dangerous places in the dark.

The only thing that really bothered him was that the coyotes were near him at night when he could not see them. But he slept in the daytime, taking short naps, or just rested with his eyes wide open; then when darkness fell, he rose and went steadily on.

Of course, he worried about his mother, wondering where she was and what had happened to Quannah and the warriors and all the Comanche ponies. If Star had not seen his mother's fright and had not heard the fire-sticks talking so angrily, he would have thought it a great lark to be alone, with no one to control him.

More than once he was tempted to go back to his mother, but when he hesitated he remembered that she probably was no longer in the place he had left her; besides, he dared not risk her anger by disobeying her.

Her teeth were sharp and her jaws strong, and his back still hurt where she had bitten him. She had often pinched him, but never before had Running Deer hurt her colt. It was not actually the bite that hurt most, but what she had said when she thought he was a coward. So Star decided he had better go on, and he trotted or loped toward the camp where Songbird had remained with the women and children.

The coyotes, though following, kept a respectful distance from his teeth and heels. Several times they tumbled over each other in their haste to dodge him when, with a squeal of fury, he raced after them. He knew that they could not catch him as long as he was awake and could see them, and his hearing was so keen that even the crackling of a dry twig awoke him and brought him with a bound to his feet ready to meet his foes.

There were many little streams of clear water and plenty of good feed, and Star would have been quite happy had he not been anxious about his mother, Quannah, and the Comanche pony herd. Songbird, he believed quite safe in the camp with the women, papooses, and old men who had been too aged or feeble to join the warriors in the fight.

It took a week for Star to reach the top of a gentle slope from which he looked down upon the camp. Smoke was rising lazily from fires in the tepees, children were playing in front of their homes, and the squaws were moving about attending to their everyday work. But as the pony looked, it seemed strange not to see even one animal of the immense Comanche pony herd.

"Suppose I should never see them again!" he thought for the first time.

"Maybe the white men will take my mother away, too!"

Unable to resist his feeling of loneliness and fear, Star lifted his head and called loudly, though he knew perfectly well that all the ponies were with Quannah, and that it had taken a journey of one week to get to this camp. Of course he did not expect an answer, but he gave call after call. Even the sound of his own voice made it seem less lonesome just now.

A squaw, carrying a bundle of dry f.a.ggots on her bent back, was the first to hear him, and after the first glance her cry of surprise brought other women from the tepees. Someone called to Songbird, and as the child ran out of her father's big tepee, Star gave a shrill nicker and raced pell-mell down the slope until he gained her side. Songbird's arms wound around his neck, and his head bent low, while he listened to the loving words of his little mistress and felt her soft hands caress him.

The other children gathered, while the squaws talked among themselves, each one trying to understand how Star had come alone to the camp. Many of them were certain that Quannah and his warriors were returning, and that Star had just galloped ahead to find Songbird.

They hastened to a.s.sure the child that this was the only solution to the puzzle, and so they left Songbird and Star and hastened to make preparations for the returning warriors, who would be very hungry and tired after so long a journey.

Star followed Songbird when she climbed the hill, where they watched together while below them the other children and all the women rushed about preparing a great feast. But the hours pa.s.sed, and when it was too dark to see anything except the flickering fires and the shadowy figures near the light, Songbird and Star moved slowly down the hillside. The pony's head drooped, for he was very tired, and Songbird's cheeks were streaked where she had wiped away tears that she must not allow any one except Star to see, for she was the daughter of the chief.

Moko gave a sharp glance at Songbird, then spoke in a low voice.

"Quannah will come, and I shall paint a robe for him, and it will show how he conquered the white men, and I shall paint Songbird, the daughter of Quannah, and Star, the colt of Running Deer, waiting for the return of Quannah and his warriors."

Songbird looked soberly at Moko. "What will you paint if my father does not come back again, Moko?"

"I will paint a chief's daughter who did not cry," the old woman answered. "Men fight with spears and arrows or knives, and they win honour and praise, but women fight alone and no one knows when they fight. Brave women do not weep. You are the daughter of the chief. His mother rode beside his father when the fire-sticks screamed at them, and she was not afraid. You will not cry even though Quannah does not return to us."

"No"--the voice that answered Moko was very low and trembling--"I will not cry, Moko."

The old Picture-Maker, clutching a lock of Star's mane in her wrinkled hand, looked after the little figure that walked proudly away and disappeared into the chief's tent. Moko shook her white head sadly as she gave some dried corn to Star, then tethered him with a long rope made from plaited strips of buffalo hide. In the big tepee Songbird lay across the bed of furs, choking back sobs that must not be heard.

During the following week the squaws and children watched, while Songbird and Star went daily to the highest point overlooking the camp, hoping for some sign of the returning warriors. As the two were about to start up the hill on the morning of the eighth day, a Comanche warrior, mounted on a black pony, appeared on the point above the camp. Star was the first to see him. Star knew that black pony had sharp teeth and very strong jaws. Running Deer answered her colt's welcoming call, then Star tore madly toward his mother, who, with Quannah on her back, scrambled hastily to meet her colt.

As the ponies met, Songbird held out her arms, and her father lifted her from Star's back. Holding her before him, the chief rode down into the camp, while Songbird's eyes glowed with pride and joy. Star, keeping closely beside his mother, kicked his heels, shook his head, and nipped his mother's neck.

Over the crest of the hill behind Quannah, rode the cavalcade of Comanche warriors. Their war-bonnets trailed over their shoulders and fell almost to the ground, their s.h.i.+elds were held aloft, and the silver trinkets on each pony jingled loudly. One by one the Comanches dashed furiously into the camp, formed in single files and raced in and out between the tepees, uttering shrill cries of triumph, while the women and even tiny children joined in the song of victory.

Songbird had been dropped lightly to the ground, and now, among the other children, she watched her father as he sat on Running Deer towering above all the other warriors. Her little heart seemed ready to burst with pride. Never had there been such a Comanche Chief, she thought.

The war-bonnet of eagle feathers which encircled his forehead swept down his back, and over Running Deer's glossy black flank to the mare's fetlocks. Large hoops of bra.s.s were in the chief's ears, and a necklace of bear's claws hung about his neck. Quannah had killed those bears, and each one had been big and very fierce. Only a brave warrior could have killed them alone. Tight trousers of buckskin, fringed at the outer seams, and moccasins trimmed with bits of red cloth, finished the best clothes of a Comanche chief. Songbird thought it a beautiful way of dressing.

His hair, braided with otter fur and tied with strips of red material, formed a long scalp-lock. It was a disgrace for a warrior to have no scalp-lock. In battle his enemies always tried to capture it as a trophy of victory and proof of bravery.

Many of the ponies were striped with different colours. The stripes were used on buckskin, white, gray, or sorrel ponies to prevent detection by foes, but the darker ponies, such as blacks or bays, did not need such precautions. Running Deer, being coal-black like Star, had not been painted. The mare's bridle was heavy with silver ornaments which had been hammered firmly on reins and headstall, while her long tail and thick mane were braided with the same kind of red cloth that tied Quannah's scalp-lock.

An hour after the return of the men, the ponies had been unsaddled and turned loose to rest and graze, while their owners scattered in the village to prepare for the feast that awaited them, and to relate to the eager squaws and papooses how their chief had outwitted and evaded the white men who had hoped to capture the Comanches. For Quannah had lured them over misleading trails, up and down steep canons, out on the border of the sandy desert called the Staked Plains, where white men, unable to find water or food, lay down to die, but where the Comanche Indians travelled without disaster.

The boys who had sneaked into the picket-lines of the soldiers and had then stampeded the white horses were praised and feasted by the squaws, envied by all the other boys, and smiled at by the girls who watched the little heroes admiringly.

The next day the camp was bustling with activity before the sun peered curiously over the hill tops. That night the warriors were to celebrate the Pipe Dance, and when the full moon rose over the distant mountains all of the Quahadas gathered for the ceremony.

Songbird was dressed in her new buckskin robe, her hair was smoothly braided and fell in two long plaits. She walked proudly, for no other child was to have the honour of standing with the squaws in the Dance.

Already a ring was forming. In the very centre were the women, whom Songbird joined, and with the women stood a few of the very old men.

Beyond them was a still larger circle composed of the warriors, including Gray Beard, Big Wolf, and Spotted Leopard.

Karolo, the Medicine Man, stood beside Quannah, who held a lighted pipe made of red sandstone. At a signal the warriors began dancing slowly about their chief, all moving in the same direction, like a revolving wheel. As each man came opposite Quannah, the chief held out the smoking pipe and the warrior who received it took a whiff or two; then, handing it back to Quannah, the man kept on dancing, all the while the others went on with their weird chant.

Star and Running Deer stood together on the outer edge watching the dancers, who finished with great whoops of excitement. Then men, women, and children squatted near the big camp fire where a feast had been set.

The light of the moon made each face as distinct as though it were being seen in early morning. Beyond the edge of the camp, coyotes gathered, sniffing the air and yelping because they dared not come nearer the food that smelled so good.

It was a night to be long remembered by the Quahada Comanches, but at last the men, women, and sleepy children rose and went to their homes, where, with a few parting words to one another, they lifted the flaps of their tepees and slipped through the entrances. In a short time even their murmuring voices were silent.

The moon continued slowly on its journey through the sky, and the pony herd huddled together for the rest of the night. Among the sleeping animals was the old white troop horse, and Star, with Running Deer, stretched closely beside him. They had all been very glad to meet again.

Star had noticed another strange horse not far away. He was a big, gray animal. Just now he was moving nervously and lifting his head, looked about him. Star's eyes met those of the stranger.

For a second the two horses stared curiously at each other. Then the gray horse let his head fall slowly to the ground. Star, too sleepy to think of anything but rest, closed his eyes and pillowed his head comfortably on his mother's neck. She blinked at him, but the bite she gave his neck did not hurt this time. Then they all slept.

None of them ever stirred when the Comanche on guard over the pony herd, seeing a coyote sneaking too near, seized a burning brand from the smouldering camp fire and tossed it at the shadowy, skulking form.

Countless little sparks scattered as the burning stick hit the ground, and the cry of the coyote pack grew fainter and fainter, until it died in the distance.