Comanche (5 page)

Attracted by the screams of the children, men in the village raced for and bounded astride their horses after snatching up the nearest weapons. They expected an attack by some enemy as they charged towards the direction of the sounds and rode prepared to make a fight. Passing the fleeing children on his way out of the camp, Sam Ysabel noticed Loncey was missing and cold anxiety bit at him. He gripped the butt of the Walker Colt holstered at his side and swore vengeance should a hair of the boy’s head be harmed by the attackers. Gun in hand—he had inspected the revolver designed to Captain Walker’s recommendations; decided it was worth owning and so bought one—he reached the sand bank first of the rescue party. Sliding the grulla stallion to a halt, he stared at the sight before him. The Colt’s barrel sagged groundwards and a bellow of laughter broke from him.

Flat on his back, raising a tolerable fuss considering his disadvantages, with Loncey seated upon his chest throwing punches at him and Loud Voice gnawing at his leg, Sleeps Long And Deep emitted bellows of mingled rage and pain. Other men drew their horses up and joined in the laughter as their eyes took in the scene. Every one of them could guess what had happened.

One of the methods used by the Comanche to throw a scare into misbehaving children was for an old man or woman to drape him or herself under a white sheet—looted from some Mexican or white owner—and come down on the mischievous ones as Sleeps Long And Deep attempted to do. Normally such a shock would have worked, in fact almost did on this occasion. Only the
tsukup
failed to take into account Loud Voice’s accident and the sturdy spirit and loyalty of Loncey Dalton Ysabel.

‘It seems we have a warrior for a son, Ysabel,’ grinned War Club as the two boys came to their feet.

‘Looks that way,’ agreed Ysabel.

‘This was a brave deed for one so young,’ Long Walker put in and the men about him rumbled their agreement. ‘He must be rewarded.’

‘Would it be in order for us to give one so young a Give-Away Dance,
naravuh
?’ Ysabel inquired.

‘I think it would,’ the chief answered and again the assembled braves gave their approval.

When a young Comanche performed some feat of courage, his family held a Give-Away Dance in his honour. Loncey became the youngest member of the
Nemenuh
to receive the honour.

Four days after the affair, the tribal drummers gathered by Long Walker’s fire, facing east in the centre of a large crowd. A grave-faced, specially coached slip of a boy danced the victory steps and several
tuivitsi
honoured him by joining in. Loncey’s father, foster parents, grandfather and a number of other people pitched presents at the youngster’s feet as he danced. Several blankets, a knife, sticks which represented horses, landed in the circle. Even Sleeps Long And Deep made a present, a stronger bow than Loncey’s present weapon and a half-dozen arrows.

Anybody who wished among the spectators could grab up one of the presents and claim it. Of course no warrior would think of doing so, for that would imply he could not raid well enough to gather his own property. Women took the opportunity to obtain blankets and a couple of old men in need of horses took up a tossed-in stick. The deeds implied a tribute to the recipient of the dance, showing that those who helped themselves believed he could quite easily produce more property by his skill as a raider.

Following the Comanche tradition, Sam Ysabel gave away the entire profits of his last trading trip. He knew he could easily earn more and that by giving he ensured himself of help when he needed it.

As for Loncey, the
Pehnane
told each other of his exploit. By common consensus of public opinion, he would grow up to be a great warrior worthy of assuming Long Walker’s war bonnet if he kept up such a high standard of courageous conduct.

oooOooo

* Ara: Maternal uncles.

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER his sudden rise to fame, Loncey found the public’s eye upon him more than ever. He was expected to set his companions a good example and generally did so. However, little changed beyond making sure that his band did not charge through the camp and create a disturbance. The acquisition of a more powerful bow allowed him to try his hand on larger game. Often he and his friends attempted to bring down the swift-flying bull-bats in an evening time. While they occasionally managed to hit a bat, their light bows lacked the power to hurl an arrow hard enough to bring the animal down. Using his new bow, Loncey finally achieved his ambition. With a leather cuff around his left arm to protect it from bruising by the string—a necessity with the more powerful bow—he practised shooting at stationary objects first, graduating to moving targets. Not for several tries did he bring off his desired coup on a bull-bat, but when he did his whoop of triumph could be heard all around the camp.

Word drifted back to the
Pehnane
, carried by visiting braves, of Fire Dancer’s activities among the
Kweharehnuh
. Soon after her arrival, she attended a dance and her skilled grace attracted the attention of a wealthy warrior. A marriage had been arranged and, following the pattern established in the
Pehnane
village, she took over the position of
pairaivo
. Shortly after the warrior made public announcement that Fire Dancer must receive the bulk of his property when he died, he met a sudden, mysterious end. A second husband followed and the pattern repeated itself. By all accounts the wealthy triple-widow had found yet a fourth man willing to succumb to her charms and fast rose to the position of
pairaivo
.

What none of the news-carriers told was how the woman raised her son in his father’s light—she bore no more children—and taught him to hate those she blamed for Bitter Root’s death.

Only Fire Dancer knew of her hate, but that made it none the less deadly.

One day soon after Loncey received his Give-Away Dance, a party of Texas Rangers rode into the camp accompanied by other men who wore strange blue clothing which looked all alike. It seemed that Texas, including all of Comancheria, had at last been persuaded to turn from its status as a Republic and become a member of the United States of America. A condition laid down in the agreement was that the United States supplied troops for keeping the peace and policing the land and Texas disbanded the Rangers. At that time the Rangers consisted of unpaid volunteers, so they raised few objections to being able to return to their homes and interrupted lives. Before disbanding, one company of Rangers escorted a company of U.S. Dragoons on a tour to meet the various friendly Indian chiefs. Knowing the quality of the
Pehnane
fighting men, the Rangers wanted to make sure that the Dragoons knew enough to avoid ruining the friendly relationship existing between the two people.

Actually it would be some time before the change from Republic to State of the Union affected the
Pehnane
. They paid no taxes, made no trouble and asked only that they be left in peace. So far not sufficient settlers had reached Texas for there to be any need to encroach upon the Indian lands and, without pressure from potential voters, the government at State and national level saw no reason to go to the expense of antagonising a people who wanted only to remain friendly.

Life went on as before for Loncey. By the time he reached his eleventh birthday, he started the final training which would end when he rode upon his first war trail as a brave-heart warrior. When Sam Ysabel returned from his last trip, he brought back a Green River fighting knife and Long Walker set to work to make a sheath for it. Without being told Loncey guessed the knife would be his when the men felt he deserved it. That day would mean that they also considered him old enough to progress to his warrior training.

While waiting for the day, Loncey continued his normal existence. More and more his age-group tended to mingle with the older boys and ignore the younger, mixed group of children. They played rougher games, relegating ‘Grizzly Bear’ and ‘Do You?’ to their past. Wrestling lessons and instruction in the art of knife-fighting became their prime interest; with Loncey showing an affinity for the latter which made his teachers nod in grim approval. Of course the French Creole shared with the Comanche a love of cold steel for a fighting weapon. How Loncey, wielding a wooden knife, longed for the day when he wore the real thing at his side and could master throwing it; a most important part of handling a knife as a fighting weapon.

Increasing age brought advantages. When younger Loncey and the other children often found themselves commanded by older boys to assist in a game of
Nanip’ka,
‘Guess Over The Hill’. In one version the youngsters had to hide under buffalo hide or blanket covers on one side of a hill and the boy who was ‘It’ came around to try to guess the identity of the children under the hiding places.

In the second version, which Loncey preferred, the boys selected a hiding place among the natural cover and the ‘It’ player had to locate them. Playing that version taught the youngsters the value of concealment and how to be patient, staying perfectly motionless for long periods despite all discomforts. The knowledge Loncey gained playing
Nanip’ka
would save his life on more than one occasion in the years to come.

When not commandeered by the older boys, Loncey’s group played the game among themselves and he developed an ability second to none at locating the hidden players.

One day soon after his eleventh birthday Loncey stood on a slope as ‘It’ in a game of
Nanip’ka
. So engrossed did he become that he failed to notice his grandfather close behind him and watching every move he made. Time after time Loncey pointed, called a name and location and brought one of his companions from the place in which he located the boy. At last only Loud Voice, no mean hand at
Nanip’ka
himself, avoided detection.

For almost fifteen minutes Loncey raked the ground before him with keen-eyed attention. He examined every bush, rock, tree and depression without result. Overhead a hawk made a leisurely circle in search of food. After glancing at the bird, Loncey brought his eyes hurriedly to earth. In a moment he found the cause of the slight movement which drew his attention from the hawk. Sliding through the grass, a king snake made its way towards a small clump of mesquite. It moved at speed, not caring for the open nature of the surrounding land. Instead of darting into the shade and security of the mesquite clump, the snake swung away and wriggled rapidly up the slope to disappear beneath a rock.

Loncey noted the snake’s actions, also that the hawk did not drop down and take advantage of the easy prey. As neither creature behaved in a natural manner, he studied the mesquite once more. Previously he passed over the clump as being too small to hide anything larger than a jackrabbit.

‘Loud Voice!’ he called, taking a chance. ‘Behind that small clump of mesquite close to the two small rocks.’

A laugh greeted his words and Loud Voice emerged from the hollow he dug behind the mesquite. Behind Loncey, Long Walker nodded approvingly. It had only been a few seconds earlier that he located the hidden youngster. Stepping forward the chief asked Loncey how he found Loud Voice’s hiding place.

‘You did well,
tawk
,’ Long Walker declared after hearing Loncey’s explanation. ‘Come back to the village with me.’

While walking back to the village, the chief repeated the story of how he made peace with Plenty Kills of the Kiowa.

‘We each cut our wrist and mixed blood,
tawk
, swearing an oath to
Ka-Dih
that each and the family of each had the right to ask and receive of the other. Remember that well, Loncey.’

‘I will,
tawk
,’ promised the boy.

The day would come when Loncey visited the camp of Plenty Kills and made use of the blood oath.*

Back at Long Walker’s tepee, the boy sat eating a hearty meal and listened to his grandfather’s tales of great and daring deeds. When the meal ended Long Walker rose and entered his main tepee. On his return, he held out the sheathed Green River knife to Loncey.

‘Tomorrow we hunt,
tawk
,’ the chief said.

Letting out a whoop of delight, Loncey bounced to his feet. Then he caught hold of himself. A man of eleven summers did not act in such a manner, especially as he was being taken on his first real hunt in the morning.

Unlike when going to war, hunting did not call for a man’s best clothing. Long Walker left his war bonnet in the tepee and dressed in a plain buckskin shirt and fringeless leggings. A tomahawk rode in his belt slings, balanced by a James Black bowie knife, while a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. While he owned a Mississippi rifle, the chief did not use it for hunting. He could shoot with accuracy, but found a bow more suited to his needs.

Made of Osage orange, the
bois d’arc
of early French explorers, the bow in Long Walker’s left hand was the type found to be best suited to a Comanche’s needs. Only three foot in length, it could be handled easily from the back of a fast-running horse and yet still packed sufficient power to drive a thirty-inch arrow feather deep into the body of a bull buffalo. It had been made by Sleeps Long And Deep, costing Long Walker twenty horses, and the chief regarded the price as reasonable.

Being newly arrived in the area, the village had not yet done much hunting. So Long Walker expected he would be able to show the boy some success on his first trip. He did not allow the youngster to take a bow, but Loncey felt satisfied.

Game roamed in abundance in the area. Not only did the buffalo herds graze on its rich grass, but wapiti and Texas whitetail deer could be found in fair numbers. It was the latter that Long Walker sought.

Never one to waste time, Long Walker took advantage of every opportunity to teach Loncey something of use. They did not rush, but looked into every bit of sign they came across and the chief explained its meaning. At last, after covering some four miles from the camp, Long Walker saw what he wanted. Slipping from his saddle, he motioned the boy down from the bare back of his spirited colt.

‘Deer fed here this morning,
tawk
,’ the chief said and told Loncey how to read from the torn edges of the cropped grass the length of time elapsed since the upper section had been ripped away by the animal’s teeth. ‘Nothing frightened it, so we may find it among those trees up there.’

‘We will find it,’ Loncey stated.

‘Perhaps,’ smiled Long Walker. ‘But we must make sure we see the deer before it sees us. That means walking slowly and little, looking a lot.’

Trembling with eagerness, Loncey watched his grandfather slide an arrow from the quiver and place it into position on the bow. Then side by side they advanced along the deer’s tracks towards the trees. Already the boy knew the Indian way of walking silently, by placing the ball of the foot to the ground first and only lowering his heel when sure that nothing which might roll or snap lay underneath.

The boy had little to learn about the need for silent movement and his ability in that line had already brought him one sizeable meal. During a period of food shortage Loncey ranged far from the village and came on a flock of wild turkeys. Although the turkey had not yet developed that wary alertness brought about by excessive hunting—and which would one day make it highly prized as a sporting game bird—one did not stalk and drive an arrow into a big tom without silent movement and using cover. Loncey had killed a tom turkey that day. All the basic rules of stalking he had used on that occasion served him just as well now.

Without giving any sign or hint of doing it, Long Walker studied the boy’s behaviour. Shortly after entering the trees a satisfied smile came to the chief’s face. He saw Loncey, about to step on a dry stick, pause balanced effortlessly on the other leg and move his raised foot beyond the danger point. It seemed that the boy learned well and did not allow excitement to fluster him.

Silently and slowly the man and boy advanced through the woods. They kept the wind in their faces and made many halts to scan the country before them. Long Walker felt pleased that they did not come quickly upon their quarry. A long difficult search would test the boy’s patience and teach him the persistence so often needed when hunting, raiding or making war.

A brief flicker of movement attracted Loncey’s attention during one of the halts. His quick eyes focused on the place but for a moment failed to detect anything. Then the thing moved again and he made it out to be the ear of a big white-tail deer; a buck lying among a clump of blueberry bushes, its antlers merging into the background so thoroughly as to fool the casual eye. Only the movement of the ear gave the animal away.

Loncey glanced at his grandfather. To his surprise it seemed that the chief failed to locate the deer. Instinctively the boy prepared to draw Long Walker’s attention to the animal, then realised that a word or sudden movement would startle it and drive it into flight.

Slowly inch, by inch, the boy raised his hand to touch Long Walker’s sleeve and in the same cautious manner indicated the deer’s position. At the same moment the buck rose, not frightened but sensing danger and looking for it.

Having already seen the buck, but waiting to study Loncey’s reactions on locating it, Long Walker was ready. In a single fluid motion he raised the bow, drew back its string of plaited grizzly-bear sinews and sighted the arrow. Once sure of his aim, he released the string. Out flickered the arrow, made from a young shoot of the flowering dogwood tree, so highly prized for its straight growth and lack of knots, with triple turkey feather flights. Being used for hunting, the razor-sharp steel arrow head bore no barb and was set, on the same plane as the bow string so as to pass between an animal’s ribs—the war arrow always carried a barbed head set at right angles to the string as it would be launched at a target which stood erect upon two feet.

Faster than the eye could follow, the arrow sped towards the buck. Up to twenty yards, Long Walker reckoned to hit an object the size of an apple four times out of five; and the buck stood broadside on within that distance. Even as the buck sensed its danger, the arrow sliced between its ribs and into its chest cavity. Unlike a bullet, which killed by shock and tissue damage, an arrow brought death by bleeding. So, although struck hard, the buck did not go down. On the impact it bounded high, landed on feet already running and crashed away through the bushes.

‘We’ve lost it!’ Loncey said, a touch bitterly.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ Long Walker replied. ‘Let us take a look.’

Darting forward, the boy plunged into the bushes. His eyes scoured the ground so as not to overlook any sign that might help him find the wounded buck. Standing back, Long Walker looked on and followed only when Loncey found the marks left by the buck landing from its first leap then dashing away.

‘Look!’ the boy ejaculated, pointing to the ground. ‘Blood!’

‘The wound is a bad one,’ Long Walker answered. ‘We should find the buck soon, so move carefully.’

Later there would be time to go into details of what might be learned from a blood trail. A man who knew the signs could tell the nature of the wound by the colour and amount of blood spilled and Loncey would have need of that knowledge.

Despite the serious nature of its wound, the buck ran for well over half a mile. In doing so it left the wooded area and lay halfway up an open slope. Clearly it had just realised the cover-less nature of the slope and started to turn back to the shelter of the trees when it went down, for it lay facing the woods.

On coming into sight of their quarry, Loncey let out a whoop of delight. Before his grandfather could speak, he whipped the Green River knife from its sheath and went bounding up the slope towards the buck. Knowing something his inexperienced grandson overlooked, Long Walker halted his hand as it reached for another arrow and he followed Loncey as fast as his legs would carry him.

When the boy came near it, the buck suddenly let out an enraged snort and lurched upwards to launch a savage hook with its antlers at his body. At that moment the skill and agility developed in childhood games like ‘Grizzly Bear’ came in mighty useful and saved him from being disembowelled. Skidding to a halt, he threw himself desperately aside, twisting his lean young frame with the speed of an otter-hunted eel. Even so, fast though he moved, the antlers brushed against his arm in passing. Off balance, Loncey went sprawling to the ground and he saw the buck start to swing in his direction.

Knowing there would be no time to draw and use another arrow, even if one could achieve the desired result quickly enough to be of use, Long Walker did not waste time trying. Instead he drew the tomahawk from his belt. Like the bowie knife, it had been a present from Ysabel and made in James Black’s Arkansas forge. There was no better steel in the United States than that made by the Arkansas craftsman and it held an edge almost as sharp as a razor. Swinging the tomahawk around, Long Walker sent its blade crashing on to the back of the buck’s neck. Steel bit home to sever the buck’s spinal column. Instantly it went down, flopping to the ground as if boned, and almost landed on top of Loncey. Only by making a very hurried roll over did the boy avoid having the blood-spouting buck collapse on to him. A hoof, kicking spasmodically, struck him on the rump and brought a yelp of pain from his lips.

Slowly Loncey rose to his feet and turned a sheepish face to meet his grandfather’s eyes. The boy knew that he had made a foolish, rash mistake even before Long Walker addressed him.

‘Always look first before you go near any animal,’ the chief warned. ‘If it lies with its legs sprawled out, ears drooping, mouth open and face to the ground, it is either dead, or too badly hurt to be dangerous. If you had stopped and looked, you would have seen that the buck had its ears erect, legs doubled underneath it and head held up. That meant it was still sufficiently alive to be dangerous.’

‘I did not think,
tawk
,’ Loncey admitted.

‘Then think next time. If that had been a grizzly bear or a cougar, you would be dead.’

‘Yes,
tawk
.’

‘Always treat any wounded animal as being dangerous. Don’t go towards its head if you can come up on it from behind. If it lies, like the buck, on a slope, go to it from above so that it must charge uphill at you. And when you go in close, be prepared to defend yourself, even if you feel sure that the animal is dead.’

Loncey nodded soberly, filing away the words for future reference. Having made his point, Long Walker did not belabour it. While Loncey might have made a foolish mistake, the chief doubted it he would ever repeat it. So he praised the boy’s conduct throughout the majority of the hunt and nodded to where the Green River knife lay after being dropped during his wild evasive action.

‘Take up you knife, boy,’ Long Walker ordered. ‘I’ll show you how to butcher the buck now we’ve killed it.’

‘That is woman’s work,’ Loncey objected, full of male superiority now he had been on his first major hunt.

‘And when there are no women with you?’ smiled the chief. Taking the point, Loncey picked up his knife and waited for instructions. He had watched the butchering of buffalo after the big organised village hunts; but, as the work had been done by the women, paid little attention to the details. From the manner in which Long Walker handled the work, Loncey decided skinning and butchering could be a task worthy of a man learning.

There were even advantages to doing one’s own butchering, Loncey admitted to himself. Having worked up a healthy edge to his appetite, he found himself in a position to do something about it. What was more, all the tasty tit-bits went his way instead of having to be shared among several more equally eager children.

Using his new knife, he deftly opened a vein and drank the buck’s warm blood as it flowed. Then he assisted his grandfather to skin the animal, watching where to make the incisions so as to remove the hide in one piece. While butchering, he ate well, sampling the raw liver soaked in the juices from the gall bladder, raw kidney and its tallow and part of the paunch. Later he and his grandfather sat down to a favourite delicacy of their people, raw brains mixed with the marrow from leg bones using a section cut from the buck’s rib cage to act as a dish.

By the time the butchering ended, Loncey felt he could not eat another mouthful. Leaving the buck’s heart in the denuded skeleton to propitiate the Deer Spirit, Long Walker and Loncey loaded hide, meat and antlers on to the horses which the boy had collected. Pleasantly gorged and very happy, Loncey mounted his colt and rode at his grandfather’s side in the direction of the camp.