by J. T. Edson
Ranging through the open woodland which ought to have produced something that a young man might hunt, Loncey came to the banks of a small stream. Dropping from his dun’s bare back, he allowed the colt to drink. While bending forward to slake his own thirst, Loncey saw something which made him forget it. Quickly wading across the stream, he looked down at what appeared to be the marks of a deer’s hooves; yet were larger than any deer he had ever seen. Not even the big buck brought into the village triumphantly by Comes For Food the previous week approached the size of those hoof prints.
‘Which means a wapiti made the sign,’ Loncey mused, breathing harder.
A wapiti, Loncey’s heart beat faster at the thought. What a coup the killing of a full-grown elk would be. In size, strength and endurance the wapiti rated high in the Comanche’s estimation. Eating its meat was believed to give the consumer some of the animal’s vitality and power. Small wonder that Loncey hoped to hunt and bring down such a prize.
Quickly he hobbled his pony, leaving it by the water and with good grazing. Then, selecting an arrow with care, he crossed the stream and took up the trail. It said much for the boy’s training that he managed to follow the tracks, for once leaving the sand of the stream bank they did not show plainly.
After drinking at the stream, the wapiti returned to the trees but did not halt and rest as a whitetail deer would have. Instead the elk continued to move and Loncey followed on its tracks for a quarter of a mile without any sight of the animal’s tawny hide. At last he realized that he would be unlikely to catch up to the elk while afoot. Returning the arrow to his quiver, he began to retrace his steps. After collecting his horse, he could return and take up the trail once more.
A scuffling sound brought Loncey spinning around and sent his right hand to the waiting arrows in the quiver. He stopped the move as a pair of bear cubs rollicked through some bushes not far from where he stood. For a moment the boy hesitated, undecided as to what action he ought to take. The meat of a fat black bear tasted good, but a cub made a poor substitute for the mighty elk Loncey hoped to kill. Nor would any great skill be needed to make the kill. With the characteristic inquisitiveness and lack of fear of all their kind, the two cubs lumbered unconcernedly towards the boy.
Before he reached a decision, the matter left his hands in no uncertain manner. Preceded by an explosive, rage-filled snarl, the cubs’ mother charged into view. Having already caught the hated scent of man, she wasted no time and charged straight at the boy. At that moment Loncey’s bow felt mighty inadequate and the sow bear looked a whole heap bigger than her two hundred pounds weight. Turning, Loncey fled for his life and headed to where a cottonwood offered what he hoped would be a sanctuary from the fury-bristling sow. While running Loncey discarded his bow, unslung and tossed aside his quiver of arrows. That left him unencumbered and he went up that tree’s trunk like a squirrel hunting its den-hole. To his horror he found that one of the cubs, startled by its mother’s rage-bellow, had also fled and climbed the tree. It perched on the most available branch, backing away from the boy and squalling in a manner guaranteed to keep its mother’s already riled-up temper at full boiling point.
Climbing the tree no longer seemed like such a good idea and became less so by the second as the sow began to ascend the trunk. She came up looking all teeth, claws and showing a desire to tear a Pehnane boy to doll-rags.
Drawing his knife, Loncey hung over the branch and slashed down at the sow. Although he misjudged his aim, the tip of the blade nicked the sow’s nose and pain caused her to slide back to the ground. Twice more she began to climb but each time the slashing knife drove her back. On the third occasion, the sow lashed out viciously and by the worst kind of luck struck the knife, snapping its blade against the tree trunk before dashing it from the boy’s hand. The force of the blow unbalanced the sow, causing her to lose her grip on the tree and fall. Landing on her back, she rolled over and rose in a dazed manner.
For a moment Loncey thought he had won. Then the cub on the branch gave out another squalling cry which made her spin around and make for the trunk again. Suddenly Loncey realized that the sow would never leave without her cub. Backing hurriedly along the branch, he twisted around, grabbed the cub, pulled it free and dropped it straight on to the sow’s head. Sow and cub went sliding to the ground in a heap. On rising, the sow let out a snorting command which sent the cub racing off followed by its earth-bound brother. Ignoring the boy on the branch, the sow followed her offspring, bursting through the bushes and keeping going at a fair speed.
Loncey waited for some time before climbing down from the branch. Sorrowfully he took up the broken pieces of his much-prized knife and felt closer to tears than ever in his life as he looked at the wreckage. Fortunately his bow and arrows had suffered no damage, as he found on gathering them up. Sadly he turned and walked back along his tracks to his patiently waiting horse. He knew that he would have to explain the damage to his knife and wondered what his grandfather would say.
On his return to the village, shortly after dark, Loncey entered Long Walker’s tepee. The chief studied his grandson and knew something troubled the boy. Laying his bow and quiver upon his bed, Loncey walked to the cooking pot and helped himself to the food.
‘You found nothing, tawk?’ asked Long Walker after the boy finished eating.
‘No,’ Loncey replied and drew his broken knife.
‘What happened?’
‘A bear did it.’
With his head hanging, Loncey told the full story of his adventure. Long Walker listened, his grave face showing no hint of his feelings. At the end, Loncey sat and waited to be condemned for failing to make a better showing in the affair.
‘You acted wisely, tawk,’ Long Walker finally said. ‘The bear is a good mother and will fight for death for her young.’ Then, seeing that the boy still felt a sense of failure, he went on,
‘Tomorrow you and I will hunt for the wapiti. Two men are needed to handle so big a kill and we’ll need a pack horse, too.’
Even as he spoke Long Walker wondered if it would be advisable for him to take an extended hunt at that time. Two warriors had already gathered and gone on raiding expeditions, while several more men rode on other business, leaving only a handful of fighting men to guard the village and protect its property. Given a resolute leader, the remaining men ought to be able to handle things, despite their nearness to the Waco country. However, as supreme war chief, any defense necessary fell on Long Walker’s head and he must organize the braves. There had been no sign of the Waco and Long Walker did have a duty to Ysabel too. He must see that the boy received correct education and every encouragement to become a good warrior. A successful hunt would re-establish the boy’s weakened confidence. So Long Walker decided to take a chance on the camp’s safety.
Next morning the man and boy rode away from the camp, Loncey leading a pack horse and with one of Long Walker’s knives sheathed at his side. Although they made an extensive search, they found no sign of elk. At noon they halted and made a meal of some jerked meat the chief brought along. Soon after resuming their hunt, Long Walker brought his horse to a halt.
‘You see?’ he asked.
‘Death birds gathering,’ Loncey answered, recognizing the distant whirling specks in the sky as circling turkey vultures.
‘We will see what they are after,’ the chief stated.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Long Walker insisted that Loncey showed how well he had learned his lessons in the art of cautious travel. They did not know what they might find under the circling vultures, so acted as if they stalked a dangerous enemy. Keeping to cover, avoiding being sky-lined or otherwise exposed to hostile eyes, they rode towards the birds. Long Walker noticed with satisfaction that Loncey remembered and put into use the lessons given to him in that vitally important part of a warrior’s trade.
After covering about two miles, doing so in a manner which would have taxed a watcher’s ability to locate them, Loncey and the chief ca
me in sight of the cause of the gathering of vultures. On their arrival, the birds rose into the air again.
‘A doe,’ Loncey said and his nostrils quivered in distaste as the wind carried a stench of death to him. ‘Something has been eating it.’
‘Whatever it was, it isn’t close by now,’ Long Walker answered. ‘The death bird is a coward and does not come down if the wolf, cougar or bear is near to protect the kill. We will leave the horses here and take a closer look.’
With arrows strung ready for use, Long Walker and Loncey walked slowly and alertly towards the dead doe. Taking precautions against an unexpected return of the doe’s killer, one of them watched while the other examined the injuries.
‘A cougar made the kill and was dragging the doe to cover when a bear came and drove it away,’ Long Walker announced after his examination. ‘Since then the bear has eaten regularly.’
Just a hint of worry crossed Loncey’s face as he searched the surrounding country for some sign of the bear. Until the previous day he would have been eager to tackle the bear, wanting to progress to bigger game than the whitetail deer. After his unsettling experience with the sow and cubs, he did not feel so sure of himself and had no wish to be disgraced in his grandfather’s eyes by showing fear during a hunting encounter.
‘Is it long gone?’ he asked.
‘Not long, or far. No bear would travel far with a full stomach. There are its tracks. It is not a grizzly.’
Just a hint of relief showed in Long Walker’s voice. He saw a chance to restore Loncey’s confidence, but did not want to tangle the boy in the hazards of hunting a grizzly bear. Watching the boy, Long Walker read indecision on the handsome young face. However Loncey sucked in a deep breath, gathered himself up and forced himself to say the words his grandfather hoped to hear.
‘Shall I follow the tracks, tawk?’
‘Bear meat is good,’ the chief replied. ‘Let us see if we can get some.’
Following their established procedure, Loncey did the tracking while Long Walker followed close behind ready to assist should the boy run into difficulties. After leaving the doe, the bear ambled slowly down to a near-by stream, drank and then walked off at a tangent to the water. Loncey followed the tracks with no great difficulty, although not looking forward to the forthcoming encounter. Passing through some cranberry bushes, the boy saw a large hollow cottonwood tree which had been uprooted in some past storm and lay on the ground. The bear’s tracks led into the yawning mouth of the tree.
A touch on the shoulder brought Loncey instantly to a halt. Obediently the boy sank down on his haunches and looked at his grandfather.
‘The bear has gone up into his den tree,’ Long Walker explained in a voice barely louder than a breath. ‘Now he sleeps far up inside it.’
‘How can we get him out?’
‘I will show you.’
Two kinds of bear inhabited the Pehnane country; the Texas flat-headed grizzly and the New Mexico species of the black variety. If the bear in the tree had belonged to the former type, Long Walker would never have thought of hunting it. Although the Comanche occasionally did hunt the grizzly—its sinews and tendons being prized above all others to be made into bow strings—they did so with extreme caution. Only seasoned braves, or tuivitsi seeking to make a name, went after Ursus Texensis Texensis, not a lone man approaching tsukup while instructing a boy.
The black bear did not rate that kind of respect in the Comanche’s book. Certainly the plan outlined by Long Walker would not have been suitable for use against grizzly; but had been found acceptable when dealing with Euarctos Americanus Amblyceps.
Swiftly and silently Loncey and Long Walker advanced towards the cottonwood so as to put the chief’s plan into operation. Walking to the upper end, the boy halted and waited until his grandfather reached the open bottom. Laying aside his bow, Long Walker drew the tomahawk from his belt. He turned and nodded to the boy then swung back and crouched alongside the opening. Although not sure of what his grandfather hoped to achieve, Loncey tapped gently upon the trunk with his bow. At first nothing happened, but as the boy repeated the tapping he heard a faint scuffling from inside the tree. Catching the noise, faint though it might be, Long Walker tensed slightly and concentrated on the mouth of the hollow trunk.
A sharp pointed black head with fairly large, erect ears and a lighter colored muzzle emerged from the tree trunk. Attracted by Loncey’s tapping, the bear came to the entrance of its den and peered out. Before the bear could emerge fully, or sense the danger and withdraw to the comparative safety of the hollow, Long Walker sprang forward. Up swung his right arm, the sun glinting on the axe blade. Around and down swung the tomahawk, driven with all the strength of the chief’s stocky, powerful body. Razor sharp steel bit into the bear’s skull, slicing through the thin layer of skin and penetrating the bone with the force of the blow. Instantly the bear collapsed, crumpling to the ground and giving only a few ineffective slashes with its legs before dying.
Due to its habit of occasionally walking upon its hind legs, the black bear was regarded by the Comanche as being closer to the human beings than any other animal they knew. So the slaying of a bear called for special medicine treatment if the hunter wished to avoid bad luck in the future.
‘I am sorry that I had to kill you, furry black brother,’ Long Walker intoned formally. ‘But my people have need of your skin to keep them warm in the winter and your meat and fat to feed them now.’ With the required prayer of apology ended, the chief raised his eyes from the bear’s body and looked at Loncey. ‘Always remember to speak those words when you kill a black bear, tawk.’
‘Don’t I say them when I kill a grizzly?’ asked the boy.
‘No apology is needed when you kill the Great One, tawk. The black bear is a coward who can easily be killed—although a mother, or one cornered or wounded can be dangerous. The Great One, the grizzly bear, is not a coward. No man who hunts him need feel sorry when the kill is made.’
‘Is that why you killed with the tomahawk?’ Loncey inquired, running his hand through the bear’s fur and thinking how it looked much less impressive and dangerous than the sow had on the previous day.
‘To kill with the axe is easier than with an arrow. The long fur slows down the arrow and prevents it sinking deep enough to kill.’
One look at Loncey’s face told the chief that he had achieved his intention, Long Walker took his chance to build up the boy’s shaken confidence. By taking advantage of the situation and the bear’s natural curiosity, he lured it out to its death—and showed Loncey that such an animal need not be feared.
‘This is a man-bear, not the mother,’ Loncey announced after completing his study of the animal.
‘Once you frightened her away, she would keep travelling for many miles,’ replied Long Walker. ‘As I told you, the black bear is a coward. Remember that and also that even a coward will fight sometimes. Now fetch the horses and we will take the bear to the village.’
Chapter Seven – Bad News Rides a Fast Horse
When sport hunting became fashionable and impressive trophies the object of the chase, few animals would equal the black bear as a subject of exaggeration. To hear the claims of trophy hunters, weights of five hundred pounds and over formed the usual heft of a black bear. In actual fact, one which went over three hundred pounds could be counted as exceptional. The bear killed by Long Walker did not even reach the two hundred pound mark, so he and Loncey found no difficulty in performing the skinning and butchering.
With the butchering completed, they loaded the meat and hide between the pack horse and their own mounts, swung up themselves and set off towards their distant village. Sensing the slight disappointment at the short duration of the hunt, Long Walker promised that Loncey could try his hand on any worthy animal seen during the journey home.
Although he kept his eyes open, Loncey failed to see either deer or elk. Not that he really cared, having fed well and seen his grandfather perform a great feat. After p
assing through wooded country for some time, they approached an area of rolling, open plains.
Halting his horse, Long Walker gave a sign which caused Loncey to come to an immediate stop. Eagerly the boy scanned the land ahead of them, hoping to see a herd of buffalo. It would be at least three more years before he rode in the hunting party among the men when they took out after the bison herds, but, like every Comanche boy, he hoped for a chance to bring one down before that day. He saw none of the shaggy-humped creatures, only two fast-moving dots in the distance. Rapidly the dots grew in size, taking shape as a pair of horsemen. After a few more seconds both Loncey and Long Walker recognized the riders as a couple of young Dog Soldiers who had left the camp earlier that week with a small raiding party.
‘It is Broken Nose and Bent Dogwood,’ Loncey remarked. ‘But where are the other four who rode with them?’
‘We will soon know,’ Long Walker replied. ‘Stay here.’
With that he rode from among the trees and into view of the approaching pair. Instantly they started to rein in their horses. Then, recognizing him, continued to push their mounts in his direction at a better speed. Having attracted the braves’ attention, Long Walker withdrew into the trees once more. So far he could see no cause for alarm, but a wise man took no foolish chances in a world filled with numerous enemies.
Galloping up on their leg-weary, sweat-lathered horses, the braves continued to move until joining the chief in the cover of the trees. Once hidden from hostile eyes, the newcomers wasted no time in idle chatter for they brought grave, serious news.
At dawn that day, while searching for somebody who would serve to supply them with loot and coups, the raiding party came across a large camp of Waco Indians. Studying the Wacos without allowing their presence to be detected, the Pehnane party recognized two significant facts. Firstly they could not hope to accomplish anything against so large a band. Second, and more important, they saw that the Waco braves took down and stowed the tepees, having no women along.
