Great American Horse Stories

by Sharon B. Smith

  And presently all the fine horses were drawn up in line and pranced about, and were so eager to go that their riders could hardly hold them in; and at last the old crier gave the word, “Loo-ah!—Go!” Then the Pawnees all leaned forward on their horses and yelled, and away they went.

  Suddenly, away off to the right, was seen the old dun horse. He did not seem to run. He seemed to sail along like a bird. He passed all the fastest horses, and in a moment he was among the buffalo. First he picked out the spotted calf, and charging up alongside of it, U-ra-rish! Straight flew the arrow. The calf fell. The boy drew another arrow, and killed a fat cow that was running by. Then he dismounted and began to skin the calf, before any of the other warriors had come up. But when the rider got off the old dun horse, how changed he was! He pranced about and would hardly stand still near the dead buffalo. His back was all right again; his legs were well and fine; and both his eyes were clear and bright.

  The boy skinned the calf and the cow that he had killed, and then he packed all the meat on the horse, and put the spotted robe on top of the load, and started back to the camp on foot, leading the dun horse. But even with this heavy load the horse pranced all the time, and was scared at everything he saw. On the way to camp, one of the rich young chiefs of the tribe rode up by the boy and offered him twelve good horses for the spotted robe, so that he could marry the Head Chief’s beautiful daughter; but the boy laughed at him and would not sell the robe.

  Now, while the boy walked to the camp leading the dun horse, most of the warriors rode back, and one of those that came first to the village went to the old woman and said to her, “Your grandson has killed the spotted calf.” And the old woman said, “Why do you come to tell me this? You ought to be ashamed to make fun of my boy, because he is poor.” The warrior said, “What I have told you is true,” and then he rode away. After a little while another brave rode up to the old woman, and said to her, “Your grandson has killed the spotted calf.” Then the old woman began to cry, she felt so badly because every one made fun of her boy, because he was poor.

  Pretty soon the boy came along, leading the horse up to the lodge where he and his grandmother lived. It was a little lodge, just big enough for two, and was made of old pieces of skin that the old woman had picked up, and was tied together with strings of rawhide and sinew. It was the meanest and worst lodge in the village. When the old woman saw her boy leading the dun horse with the load of meat and the robes on it, she was very surprised. The boy said to her, “Here, I have brought you plenty of meat to eat, and here is a robe, that you may have for yourself. Take the meat off the horse.” Then the old woman laughed, for her heart was glad. But when she went to take the meat from the horse’s back, he snorted and jumped about, and acted like a wild horse. The old woman looked at him in wonder, and could hardly believe that it was the same horse. So the boy had to take off the meat, for the horse would not let the old woman come near him.

  That night the horse spoke again to the boy and said, “Wa-ti-hes Chah’-ra-rat wa-ta. Tomorrow the Sioux are coming—a large war party. They will attack the village, and you will have a great battle. Now, when the Sioux are all drawn up in line of battle, and are all ready to fight, you jump on to me, and ride as hard as you can, right into the middle of the Sioux, and up to their Head Chief, their greatest warrior, and count coup on him, and kill him, and then ride back. Do this four times, and count coup on four of the bravest Sioux, and kill them, but don’t go again. If you go the fifth time, maybe you will be killed, or else you will lose me. La-ku’-ta-chix—remember.” So the boy promised.

  The next day it happened as the horse had said, and the Sioux came down and formed in line of battle. Then the boy took his bow and arrows, and jumped on the dun horse, and charged into the midst of them. And when the Sioux saw that he was going to strike their Head Chief, they all shot their arrows at him, and the arrows flew so thickly across each other that they darkened the sky, but none of them hit the boy. And he counted coup on the Chief, and killed him, and then rode back. After that he charged again among the Sioux, where they were gathered thickest, and counted coup on their bravest warrior, and killed him. And then twice more, until he had gone four times as the horse had told him.

  But the Sioux and the Pawnees kept on fighting, and the boy stood around and watched the battle. And at last he said to himself, “I have been four times and have killed four Sioux, and I am all right, I am not hurt anywhere; why may I not go again?” So he jumped on the dun horse, and charged again. But when he got among the Sioux, one Sioux warrior drew an arrow and shot. The arrow struck the dun horse behind the forelegs and pierced him through. And the horse fell down dead. But the boy jumped off, and fought his way through the Sioux, and ran away as fast as he could to the Pawnees.

  Now, as soon as the horse was killed, the Sioux said to each other: “This horse was like a man. He was brave. He was not like a horse.” And they took their knives and hatchets, and hacked the dun horse and gashed his flesh, and cut him into small pieces.

  The Pawnees and Sioux fought all day long, but toward night the Sioux broke and fled.

  The boy felt very badly that he had lost his horse, and, after the fight was over, he went out from the village to where it had taken place, to mourn for his horse. He went to the spot where the horse lay, and gathered up all the pieces of flesh, which the Sioux had cut off, and the legs and the hoofs, and put them all together in a pile. Then he went off to the top of a hill near by, and sat down and drew his robe over his head, and began to mourn for his horse.

  As he sat there, he heard a great windstorm coming up, and it passed over him with a loud rushing sound, and after the wind came a rain. The boy looked down from where he sat to the pile of flesh and bones, which was all that was left of his horse, and he could just see it through the rain. And the rain passed by, and his heart was very heavy, and he kept on mourning.

  And pretty soon came another rushing wind, and after it a rain; and as he looked through the driving rain toward the spot where the pieces lay, he thought that they seemed to come together and take shape, and that the pile looked like a horse lying down, but he could not see well for the thick rain.

  After this came a third storm like the others; and now when he looked toward the horse he thought he saw its tail move from side to side two or three times, and that it lifted its head from the ground. The boy was afraid, and wanted to run away, but he stayed. And as he waited, there came another storm. And while the rain fell, looking through the rain, the boy saw the horse raise himself up on his forelegs and look about. Then the dun horse stood up.

  The boy left the place where he had been sitting on the hilltop, and went down to him. When the boy had come near to him, the horse spoke and said: “You have seen how it has been this day; and from this you may know how it will be after this. But Ti-ra’-wa has been good, and has let me come back to you. After this, do what I tell you; not any more, not any less.” Then the horse said: “Now lead me off, far away from the camp, behind that big hill, and leave me there tonight, and in the morning come for me,” and the boy did as he was told.

  And when he went for the horse in the morning, he found with him a beautiful white gelding, much more handsome than any horse in the tribe. That night the dun horse told the boy to take him again to the place behind the big hill, and to come for him the next morning; and when the boy went for him again, he found with him a beautiful black gelding. And so for ten nights, he left the horse among the hills, and each morning he found a different colored horse, a bay, a roan, a gray, a blue, a spotted horse, and all of them finer than any horses that the Pawnees had ever had in their tribe before.

  Now the boy was rich, and he married the beautiful daughter of the Head Chief, and when he became older he was made Head Chief himself. He had many children by his beautiful wife, and one day when his oldest boy died, he wrapped him in the spotted calf robe and buried him in it. He always took good care of his ol
d grandmother, and kept her in his own lodge until she died. The dun horse was never ridden except at feasts, and when they were going to have a doctors’ dance, but he was always led about with the Chief wherever he went. The horse lived in the village for many years, until he became very old. And at last he died.

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  The Woman Who Became a Horse

  by George A. Dorsey

  During the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Harvard-educated anthropologist George Amos Dorsey collected hundreds of legends from the tribes of the Great Plains, primarily the Arapahoe, Cheyenne, and Pawnee. Among them was the story of a Skidi Pawnee woman who met a beautiful spotted pony. She soon discovered that she preferred the pony to her husband.

  There was a village, and the men decided to go on a warpath. So these men started, and they journeyed for several days toward the south. They came to a thickly wooded country. They found wild horses, and among them was a spotted pony.

  One man caught the spotted pony and took care of it. He took it home, and instructed his wife to look after it, as if it were their chief. This she did, and, further, she liked the horse very much. She took it where there was good grass. In the wintertime she cut young cottonwood shoots for it, so that the horse was always fat. In the night, if it was stormy, she pulled a lot of dry grass, and when she put the blanket over the horse and tied it up, she stuffed the grass under the blanket, so the horse never got cold. It was always fine and sleek.

  One summer evening she went to where she had tied the horse, and she met a fine-looking man, who had on a buffalo robe with a spotted horse pictured on it. She liked him; he smelt finely.

  She followed him until they came to where the horse had been, and the man said, “You went with me. It is I who was a horse.”

  She was glad, for she liked the horse. For several years they were together, and the woman gave birth, and it was a spotted pony. When the pony was born, the woman found she had a tail like that of a horse. She also had long hair. When the colt sucked, the woman stood up.

  For several years they roamed about, and had more ponies, all spotted. At home the man mourned for his lost wife. He could not make out why she should go off.

  People went on a hunt many years afterward, and they came across these spotted ponies. People did not care to attack them, for among them was a strange looking animal. But, as they came across them now and then, they decided to catch them. They were hard to catch, but at last they caught them, all but the woman, for she could run fast; but as they caught her children, she gave in and was caught.

  People said, “This is the woman who was lost.”

  And some said, “No, it is not.”

  Her husband was sent for, and he recognized her. He took his bow and arrows out and shot her dead, for he did not like to see her with the horse’s tail. The other spotted ponies were kept, and as they increased, they were spotted. So the people had many spotted ponies.

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  The Comanches’ Manner of Capturing Wild Horses

  by Henry Inman

  Henry Inman was a professional soldier, a veteran of the Civil War and the conflicts of the Great Plains, when he turned to journalism in the 1870s. Fame came to Inman a decade later when he began compiling selections of his newspaper stories into popular books about life in the West. Indians and their horses made up an important part of Inman’s work.

  Inman’s The Delahoydes: Boy Life on the Old Santa Fe Trail is a mix of fiction and nonfiction, narrative and sketch. It’s the tale of two ranch boys and their friends who venture out onto the Santa Fe Trail in the late 1860s in search of adventure and buffalo. The boys are captured by a band of Comanches, who teach them a great deal about life on the Plains, including their methods of increasing their pony herds.

  At the time of the capture of the young buffalo hunters, the Comanches were in all probability the most formidable and bloodthirsty savages of the Great Plains. They were the most perfect equestrians in the world. Forever on horseback, forever at war, they roamed restlessly from one point of the great prairies to another in search of the buffalo, which supported them. They acknowledged no superior to that of their own tribe.

  They robbed indiscriminately all who ventured through their inhospitable hunting grounds, murdering the defenseless who were so unfortunate as to fall under their hatred. They were a dangerous, implacable, cunning, brutal and treacherous enemy, half centaur, half demon, living but to kill and eat.

  They were trained in warlike feats from their infancy. When perfected in the art of their splendid horseback riding, they would dash along at full speed, then suddenly drop over the side of their animal, leaving no part of their person visible but the sole of one foot, which was fastened over the horse’s back, as a purchase by which the rider could pull himself to an upright position. In that attitude they could ride any distance, and at the same time use their bow or fourteen-foot lance with deadly effect. One of their favorite methods of attack was to ride swiftly at the top of their animal’s speed toward the enemy, and then, just before they came within range, drop on the opposite side of the horse, dash past, and pour into the surprised foe a shower of arrows delivered from under the animal’s neck or even under his belly. It was useless for the enemy to return the shots, as the whole body of the Comanche was hidden behind that of his horse. There was nothing to aim at but the sole of the savage’s foot, just projecting over the horse’s back.

  Often the Comanches would try to steal upon their enemies by leaving their lances behind them, slinging themselves along the sides of their horses, and approaching carelessly, as though these horses were nothing but a troop of animals without riders. A quick eye was necessary to detect this ruse, which was generally betrayed by the fact that the horses always kept the same side toward the looker-on, which would seldom be the case were they wild and unrestrained in their movements.

  Every Comanche warrior had one favorite horse, which he never mounted except for the warpath or for hunting the buffalo, always using an inferior upon ordinary occasions. Swiftness was the chief quality for which the steed was selected, and for no price would the owner part with his favorite animal. Like all uncivilized peoples, the Comanche treated his horse with a strange mixture of cruelty and kindness. While engaged in a hunt, for example, he spurred and whipped the animal in the cruelest manner; but as soon as he returned, he carefully turned the valued beast over to his squaw, who stood ready to receive it as if it were a cherished member of the family.

  The manner in which the Comanches replenished their stock of horses was remarkable. In many portions of the central regions of the continent, until within a few years ago (there may be some yet left in remote places), horses had become so perfectly acclimatized, had run wild for so many decades, that they had lost all traces of domestication, and were as truly wild as the buffalo or antelope, and assembled in immense herds led by the strongest and swiftest stallions.

  It was from these immense droves that the Comanches supplied themselves with horses, which were so absolutely necessary to them. When a warrior wished a fresh animal he mounted his best that he had at home, provided himself with a lasso, and started out in search of the nearest herd of wild ones. When he arrived as closely as possible without being in danger of discovery, he dashed at them at full speed, and singling out one of the animals that suited him (which, hampered by the multitude of its companions, ran on), he soon threw his lasso over its neck. As the noose became firmly settled, the Indian jumped off his own animal. The pony was trained to stand where left, and allowed himself to be dragged by the frightened horse he had taken, and which shortly fell by the choking the leather cord effected. As soon as the horse had gone to the ground, the savage came up to it very cautiously, keeping the lasso tight enough to prevent it breathing perfectly, and yet loose enough to guard against complete strangulation, and at last was able to place one hand over its eyes and the other on its nostrils. The horse was no
w at the Indian’s mercy. Then, in order to impress upon the animal the fact of its servitude, he hobbled together its fore feet for a time, and fastened a noose to its lower jaw; but within a wonderfully short period he was able to remove the hobbles, and to ride the conquered animal into camp. Of course, during the time occupied in taming the horse it jumped and struggled in the wildest manner; but after the one attempt for the mastery it gave up, and became the willing slave of its captor.

  One of the most astonishing things in the whole process was the rapidity with which the operation of taming was accomplished. An experienced hunter would chase, capture and break a wild horse within an hour, and do it so effectually that almost before the herd was out of sight the wild animal was ridden as easily as if it had been born in servitude.

  The Comanche, cruel master as he generally was, always took special care not to break the spirit of his horse, and prided himself on the jumps and the bucking which the animal indulged in whenever it received its rider upon its back.

  Of course, the very best animals were never captured from the herd. It was impossible to capture them, because they always placed themselves at the head of the troop, assuming the position of leaders, and dashed off at full speed as soon as they feared danger. Consequently they were often a half-mile or more in advance of their fellows, so that an Indian stood no chance of overtaking them on a horse impeded by the weight of the rider.

  When the Indians began to receive firearms and had learned how to use them, they adopted a new method for capturing wild horses, called “creasing.” Taking his rifle, the hunter crept as near the herd as he could get, and watched until he decided which horse he wanted. He waited until the horse stood with its side toward him, then aimed carefully at the top of its neck and fired. If the shot was correctly guided, the bullet just grazed the ridge of the neck and the horse fell as if dead, stunned for a moment by the shock. It recovered within a very short time, however; but before it had regained its feet, the Indian was able to go up to it, hobble and secure it. It was a very effectual method of wild horse catching, but always broke the spirit of the animal, and deprived it of that fire and animation which the warrior prized so highly; therefore the Indians resorted to it only occasionally.