by J. T. Edson
Just a little scared at the thought of tangling with one who had such good medicine, No Father returned to his waiting horse, mounted and headed back to the camp. On his way he fell in with a party and trailed them in. If any question should be asked, he doubted if there would be proof of his presence near the Ysabel group that day.
Used to accidents and losses of horses upon buffalo hunts, Ysabel, Long Walker and Loncey gave little thought to how the animal happened to fall. By the time he returned to the camp, Loncey felt sure that he only imagined the shot and the men tended to agree with him.
Knowing she had no man for her, Loncey asked for and was granted permission to take half the meat and the whole hide of the first buffalo he killed as a gift to Raccoon Talker. The medicine woman thanked him and looked him over from head to foot.
‘You have done well this day, Loncey,’ she said. ‘Aiee! I brought a fine warrior into the world the day you was born. Like all who do great deeds, you have made enemies. One in particular seeks to kill you.’
‘Who is it, pia?’ asked the boy, his right hand instinctively rubbing the walnut grips of his Dragoon Colt.
‘That I do not know. I feel danger for you, but no more. Your enemy has strong medicine power which prevents me from discovering his name.’
Loncey did not scoff at the words. Young though he might be, the boy had seen enough of medicine men and women’s power to know they possessed ways which passed beyond the understanding of ordinary people. So he took the warning seriously.
‘I will watch well, pia,’ he promised.
‘See you do,’ she replied. ‘If I can break the medicine power, I will speak the name of your enemy.’
While Loncey took the warning seriously, he soon put it at the back of his mind. A name warrior, even on the threshold of his career, could not shiver at shadows or hide from fear of an unknown enemy. Life must go on; and if the mysterious enemy made a move, Loncey figured he carried a mighty convincing answer in his rifle, bow and arrows, Dragoon Colt or bowie knife.
As no blame could be attached to Loncey for losing the horse, he received the loan of another trained in buffalo hunting and continued to ride in his father’s party. For a week or more, in all kinds of weather, he helped run down buffalo and learned the secrets of the game. No further attempts were made upon his life and he began to believe that for once Raccoon Talker made a mistake.
In actual fact No Father, scared by the medicine power which apparently saved his enemy from certain death, decided to leave further attempts until after his mother came up with some way of combating Loncey’s spiritual protection.
Hard hunting caused the herds to split up and scatter, so Loncey found himself sent off on a scouting expedition. Although he saw no buffalo, he came across something almost as valuable.
While ranging some eight miles from the camp, he came upon a large herd of wild horses. Halting in cover, the boy studied the herd with particular attention given to one of its number. The majority of the herd were run-of-the-mill mustangs, smallish, wiry and tough, but nothing out of the ordinary. Not so the horse at which Loncey stared hungrily. A male just turning from colt to stallion, it must have come from high-bred stock off a ranch. Standing at least sixteen hands, the white stallion showed beauty, strength and endurance. Such an animal, if it could be taken, would make a mount that a tuivitsi needed to show himself to the best advantage.
Turning his mount, Loncey headed back to the camp at top speed. Once there he told his grandfather and father of his find. Always ready to increase the size of their horse herd, the two men gave permission for him to go after the wild bunch and Ysabel promised to accompany him. All of Loncey’s young friends gathered willingly when he passed word of his intentions. The hunting had been good, so nobody objected to the boys gaining experience in another part of their life. Putting aside his dislike, Loncey asked No Father to accompany the party, but the boy refused.
A well-equipped party rode from the camp, each boy carrying spare food and leading three reserve horses. During the ride to the horse herd’s territory, Ysabel refreshed the boys’ memories with details of hunting and capturing wild horses.
Possibly because of the manual labor it involved, the Comanche rarely used the corral-pen system in which the horses were driven into a stockade of blackjack posts. Most skilled horsemen of all the Plains Indian tribes, the Nemenuh preferred more spectacular methods.
In a hard winter, when cold weather and shortage of food made the horses gaunt and weak, men using mounts fed on stored hay could often ride down the herd and make captures with comparative ease. Unfortunately the winter had been mild, food plentiful and that did not apply on the current hunt.
Out on more arid country a herd might roam ten miles from water to find decent grazing, gaining quite a thirst in the process. By finding and ambushing the horses’ watering place, then waiting until the herd returned and drank its fill, the hunters might dash out and collect a fair number of mustangs busy drinking. Being in a well-watered area, such a method would not work.
A bachelor bunch of males driven from their herds by the dominant stallion often fell victim when the Comanches turned a number of mares loose and swooped in while the wild sock’s attention stayed on the females. On finding the herd to be a mixed one, Ysabel knew yet another method could be forgotten.
So he made his plans, basing them upon the fact that a wild horse herd tended to stick to a limited area and when frightened ran in a rough circle around their chosen domain. Sending two of the boys to start the herd moving. Ysabel studied the escape route taken and moved the remainder of his party into what he hoped would be the center of the circle. For three days the party kept the herd moving, allowing it time to neither rest, sleep satisfactorily nor drink in peace. Always two or three of the boys would be on hand, relaying their mounts and changing with the next section to take up the pursuit. Riding on the inside of the herd’s territorial circle, the boys covered less distance and had the advantage that their mounts could do all the things they prevented the herd from doing.
At last Ysabel decided the moment had come to make the capture. Each boy took the horse that he had not used and kept fresh, shook the coils from his lariat, and headed for the herd. Charging down on the leg-weary, exhausted horses, the boys snaked out the pick of them.
While most of the boys carried two or three ropes, wishing to take as many horses as possible, Loncey had eyes for only one animal. Mounted on a bay noted for its speed, he headed straight for the white stallion. Exhausted it might be, but the stallion turned and ran. For a time Loncey feared that the bay would be left behind, so fast did the white run, but at last the strain of the continuous hazing told. Even so the white ran until it could go no more. Coming up as the lathered white stood with hanging head, Loncey sent his rope flickering out. Even as the noose closed about the white’s neck, he bounded from the bay and started up the rope towards his capture. A snort left the white’s lips and it tried to attack. Like a living thing, the rope in Loncey’s hands coiled around the white’s forelegs and brought it down.
Already exhausted, the white stallion could not rise and lay on the ground while the boy came towards it. Swiftly he pulled out the so-called ‘wild’ hairs from around the white’s eyes, fixed the rope hackamore about its head and then blew into its flaring nostrils.
After supervising the other boys, Ysabel collected a gentle mare from the rough camp he and the boys had been using then rode after his son. He came on the scene just as the white made its feet. One look told Ysabel why Loncey did not try to gather in more than the one horse.
‘That’s a real fine-looking boss, boy,’ he said admiringly.
‘And I caught him, ’ap,’ Loncey replied. Under Comanche law, the person who captured a wild horse claimed it for his own.
‘You caught him all right,’ Ysabel agreed, studying the defiance in the exhausted horse’s manner. ‘Now all you’ve got to do is tame him down, break and train him.’
‘I aim to
do just that,’ Loncey stated.
‘See you made a start,’ remarked his father admiringly. ‘Now let’s get him hitched to the mare while we still can.’
Having seen an example of the stallion’s spirit, Loncey heartily agreed with his father. Quickly they took a length of rope and secured the white to the mare, leaving enough play on the connection for her to be able to avoid injury during the stallion’s struggles for freedom. Having often been used for such work, the mare knew what she must do and avoided the stallion’s bites and kicks while preventing it from charging the human beings.
In a short time the white realized the futility of trying to run away, dragging the mare behind it. However it would not permit Loncey to approach and showed plainly that any attempt would most likely prove dangerous if not fatal. Loncey did not mind. Time was on his side and he could play the waiting game. Crossing to his waiting horse, he swung astride it and joined his father. Followed by the mare and reluctant white, the two humans rode back to the temporary camp. While the white drank at a small stream, the other boys gathered around and muttered their admiration at the sight of it.
All in all the hunt had been a success. Every Indian boy managed to take at least two mustangs and Comes For Food gathered in four, after grabbing a rope from the hands of a companion who appeared content to have two captives on his hands. For all their multiple successes, none of the boys thought less of Loncey’s only taking one horse. They knew quality when they saw it and recognized that the white stallion, properly broken and trained, would be the equal of three or four ordinary broom tailed mustangs.
‘We’ll go back to the buffalo camp,’ Ysabel ordered, glancing up at the sky. ‘There’s still work to be done on these horses.’
Unless being selected as suitable for breeding, or intended as a favorite mount, male horses were castrated. A gelding caused less trouble in the remuda than a stallion would and proved easier to handle. So, on arrival at the buffalo-hunt camp, the boys selected their best horse and went to work on the others. Roping the horse’s forelegs, they brought it down and tied its feet to a post. Two of the boys laid hold of the hind legs and a third, watched over by Ysabel, handled the knife. Working deftly and swiftly, the boy performed the operation. So efficient had been their training that not one horse was lost or seriously injured during the gelding.
Naturally Loncey did not subject the white stallion to that treatment. Wishing to make the white a one-man-horse, he requested permission to return to the village. Always willing to encourage initiative, the leaders of the hunt allowed him to go. Accompanied by four of his friends, he rode back to the main village, but did not settle there. A tsukup wise in such matters taught the boys how to set up a pole corral. Building one close to a deep waterhole a mile from the village, aided by his friends, Loncey placed the white stallion and mare inside. Then he had a tepee erected and stayed there alone.
For a week the boy could not approach the stallion. Each day he gathered such tidbits as might tempt the horse’s fancy, spending every possible minute near it. At last his persistence won through and the stallion began to allow him close, then to touch, fondle and caress its sleek skin. Freed from the mare, the white showed no sign of trying to run and Loncey went on with the next stage of training.
By the time the buffalo-hunters returned, laden with a winter-long supply of meat, hides and all the other parts used in their lives, Loncey had taught the stallion to come when he whistled or called, and to accept the feel of blanket, then saddle, on its back.
Everything the boy saw warned him that putting on the saddle would be easier than persuading the white to accept him as a rider. So he started to lead the horse to the waterhole and wade out until the water lapped around its belly. Regarding this as a pleasant sensation, the big white went in willingly and Loncey carefully checked the bottom. He found only firm sand, no rocks on which the horse might damage a leg, so knew he could put the next step of the training into operation.
Leading the horse into the water as usual, Loncey fastened a rope securely to his saddle, knotting the other end firmly about his waist. Then he slowly levered himself on to the horse’s back. Feeling the unaccustomed weight, the white began to rear in an effort to dislodge whatever might be on its back. Deftly Loncey kept its head down and it started to buck. Even impeded by the water, the white put such fury into its efforts that it threw Loncey. He came up spluttering, grabbing the rope in both hands and halting the horse’s rush for the shore. Three more times the white threw Loncey and he swung back astride on rising. At last the boy’s tenacity won out, he kept in the saddle and rode the horse to a standstill. When the horse fought no more, Loncey led it from the water and back to the corral.
From that day Loncey continued to ride the stallion, sitting out its bucking until it understood that it could not throw him. Kindness and patience kept the stallion from losing its spirit even though it no longer fought against carrying him on its back. Not until the fighting ended did Loncey cease to fasten himself in the saddle.
The work of training did not end with being able to ride the white, it was only the beginning. A Comanche’s favorite horse must be more than a mere means to take one from place to place. It had to be obedient to various commands and able to act as an extra pair of eyes, ears and a spare nose for its master.
Aided by his friends, Loncey taught the horse to locate and give warning of hidden men; a simple task as the horse retained most of its wild instincts. The boy watched and studied its reactions, learning to read every head-toss, snort or ear twitch. Observing from a distance, Ysabel and Long Walker nodded their approval and repeatedly told each other that they had never seen such a horse before.
Others also observed Loncey’s activities, but with less innocent intent. Fire Dancer watched and an idea began to form in her head. Due to Ysabel’s previous caution, she had not achieved anything in the way of revenge. At last she saw a chance to strike at the big white man through his son.
‘If you go against Cuchilo while he is out there with the horse,’ she told No Father, ‘you could kill him and none will know who did it. If you take the horse they will blame the Waco, or Apaches.’
‘I could take my rifle—’ the boy began.
‘You missed the last time you tried that. There is another way.’
‘You mean go after him with a knife—alone?’ asked No Father, showing a remarkable lack of enthusiasm.
‘Not alone. Have you no friends?’
‘Some, but they will not kill another member of the People.’
‘How about the captive boys?’
Recently No Father had befriended five boys captured in raids on different Indian tribes. With his mother’s help in the way of food, he turned them into willing cronies. However, No Father was unsure of how much sway he had over them.
‘I don’t know—’
‘Go and speak with them, bring them here,’ ordered his mother. ‘We will see.’
Gathering the captive boys, No Father brought them to his mother’s tepee and she spoke to them of her medicine. To hear Fire Dancer tell it, the boys could be made free and returned to their own people—with her aid—if they helped kill the one called Cuchilo. Although the prospect of freedom might be alluring, one of the boys, a bulky, tall Tejas, raised objections.
‘If we kill a Tshaoh, they will kill us.’
‘First they must catch you,’ Fire Dancer pointed out.
‘A horse can run faster than a mule,’ countered the Tejas.
The Comanche never allowed captives to ride other than mules, which lacked the speed to escape from pursuing horses.
‘I have horses for you. There will be a storm tomorrow, its rain will hide your tracks as you flee. But you must help No Father kill Cuchilo or my medicine will ensure your capture.’
‘Cuchilo has weapons,’ objected the Tejas.
‘So will you,’ promised Fire Dancer and walked to her bed. Drawing aside the buffalo robe blanket, she exposed a collection of knives and tomah
awks. ‘There. Come to me in the early hours of the morning and I will arm you. Then you go with No Father, kill Cuchilo and ride to freedom.’
‘And if we don’t?’ the Tejas inquired.
‘You remember the Kweharehnuh who died in this camp many seasons ago?’ hissed Fire Dancer and the boys nodded. ‘My medicine killed him because he would not obey me. Now what do you say?’
‘We go with No Father,’ answered the scared Tejas while his companions gave their agreement.
In the early grey light of the morning Raccoon Talker left her tepee and walked hurriedly through the camp. Although headed for the home of Long Walker and Ysabel, she halted on seeing two young shapes approaching. On their way home after a night at playing stealing horses, Comes For Food—renamed Four Horses due to his exploit on the mustang hunt—and Loud Voice halted at the woman’s low spoken command.
‘I smell evil in the air,’ she told the boys. ‘Danger threatens Cuchilo—’
The boys needed to hear no more. Even when playing their inevitable horse-stealing game, they carried their knives. So, without waiting to collect other weapons, they ran to collect horses so as to reach their friend the more quickly. After watching the boys go, Raccoon Talker turned and hurried on to her original destination.
Chapter Sixteen – A Chance to Ride to War
While it had not been No Father’s original intention to accompany the captive boys on the actual attack, they stood firm in their refusal to go without him. So, rather than put aside what might be the best chance they would ever have to kill Loncey, Fire Dancer insisted that her son went along. He alone of the party possessed a firearm. In addition to his rifle, a Colt 1851 Navy revolver rode in his waist belt. Although wanting revenge, Fire Dancer did not dare advertise her intentions by obtaining bows and arrows, so the remainder of the raiding force bore either knives or tomahawks.
