Star: The Story of an Indian Pony

by Augusta Huiell Seaman

  Chapter VIII

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

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

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

  The two boys now released their grip on the ponies' noses and slidcautiously down. Star watched them lying flat and crawling slowly in thedirection 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 twoponies to jump nervously. They heard snorting of ponies and trampling ofhoofs, and men's voices were calling loudly in words that were not likethe Comanche tongue. Star reared and plunged against a small rope ofbuffalo hide by which he was fastened to a scrubby tree. Hawk, alsotied, was lunging and kicking.

  Then something terrible happened. Frightful noises, like cracking ofthunder, seemed everywhere. Lightning flashed close to the ground. Itdid not come from the sky, like other lightning when it stormed. Starcrouched and trembled in fear of the thing he could not understand, butHawk with a still greater effort broke loose.

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

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

  But the flashes of fire did not cease, and the pony threw his wholeweight against the rope. It broke and he was free. With a shrill squealStar followed the fleeing animals. Though they had passed him so quicklyhe 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 cameabreast of Hawk. Together they raced, but slowly and surely Star passedhim.

  Like a thin cloud the white ponies kept ahead of Star. His ears cockedsharply, his nose was thrust far out and level with his shoulders, hiseyes 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 ofhis slender legs never wavered, while his mane tossed wildly and hislong black tail fluttered in the air that he cut in his wild race.

  He reached the fear-crazed white animals, and edging his way betweenthem, Star found the boy who had ridden him now seated astride one ofthe largest white ponies. Star looked at it as he ran beside it. He hadnever seen such a big pony in all his life. But the Comanche pony sawthat the white pony was breathing very hard, while its legs moveduncertainly and heavily as it ran.

  "It is a big pony," Star said to himself, "but I can out-run it withouttrouble. Buffaloes are big and heavy. They can run fast, too. But anantelope or deer is more swift. I can out-race an antelope. So can mymother!"

  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 itrolled its eyes toward Star.

  "Please don't bite me," it spoke. "I am too old and too fat to run sofast 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 landedfirmly on the back of the Comanche pony.

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

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

  The white horses showed plainly how hard the pace had been, for theystood with heads hanging low, their sides drawn and nostrils dilatingrapidly. 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 andI could have left them far behind and it would not have made us pufflike these white ponies. They must belong to squaws and children. Theyare too fat and too slow for fighting men."

  "No herd can run as fast as the ponies of the Quahadas," replied hismother. "Come, lie down and rest while there is time. When we are outwith 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 knowsthat."

  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 hadearned a good rest, so he slipped to the ground and soon was fastasleep.

  But in his dream he was racing again. This time he was trying to reachSongbird 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 nevercome back again to her people. He was running faster than any Comanchepony had ever run before--twice as fast as Running Deer could run, forhe thought she was trying now to keep pace with him and was fallingbehind. Only the storm wind could travel that fast. Star found that nomatter how swiftly he raced Songbird was always beyond him. He could notsee 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 hewhinnied despairingly, hoping to hear her answer.

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

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

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

  When it was time to get up, Star felt as well as though he had neverraced, but the big white ponies were still weary. Some of them did notrise. Many others moved stiffly as they mingled with the Comanche herdwhile they cropped the grass together like old friends.

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

  Star wandered near the white horse that had begged him not to bite itbecause it was too old and too fat to run so fast. With raised head anda bunch of grass hanging from its lips
, it looked curiously at theComanche pony. Slowly its eyes travelled from Star's velvety nose, alonghis straight back, his slender legs and strongly muscled flanks to thesweeping black tail that almost touched the ground. The white horseswallowed 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 runas swiftly as you ponies, but we are stronger to haul burdens when weare hitched to wagons by our masters."

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

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

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

  "Not all of them are that way," the big horse said earnestly. "Manywhite people do not wish to fight. Sometimes Indians have killed whitewomen and children and have burned their homes, or taken them prisoners.Then the Great Father of the whole world, who is over the white peopleand the Indians, too, has to send soldiers to find the white prisonersand 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 HorseTroop which was captured by the Indians last night. Only white horsesare in that troop, but in other troops there are blacks and bays andsorrels. Each of the troops has three officers and the captain is incommand while the others are under him. So for many years I have gonewith the troop over miles of rough country, sometimes swimming greatrivers, 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 ourmasters and so, right or wrong, we obey them and love them. Yet wehorses do not understand, nor do we fight the Indian ponies. I am oldand I do not wish to fight any one. But we must obey our masters. When Iwas young I did not ask questions, but now that I am stiff from years, Iwonder 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 ofthe garrison where we all live together. Their riders have shining hornsand big drums that make such beautiful music that when we troop horsescome out on parade, we cannot keep our feet from dancing or our necksfrom curving with pride. The Band horses are very proud and keep tothemselves when we are all out grazing, and of course, no one couldblame 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 buildingswhere officers and soldiers live. In the centre of each parade is a veryhigh 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 whiteand 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 Starbecause I have the white mark on my forehead. Songbird, the littledaughter of Chief Quannah, gave me that name when I was too small andtoo 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 beautifulshe was!"

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

  "I wish our masters would be friends, too," said the old troop horse atlast. "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 willstop fighting soon," Star spoke hopefully.

  "Some horses kick and bite and steal grain from the others," the whitehorse answered, "and when one horse in a team kicks, balks, or will notpull 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, butthe burdens of those who are bad must be carried by those who try to doright. I am the oldest of those in the White Horse Troop and I speak ofthings I have seen in many long years. I am sorry for the horse thatkicks and bites and steals, but I do not hate him. The whip is made topunish him, and some day he will suffer."

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

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