Comanche (8 page)

‘Three wolf-scouts will see to that,’ answered White Crow. ‘Take the boys prisoner if you can. But kill rather than chance them escaping.’

While the Wacos made plans and contemplated a successful attack which would bring them much loot and many coups, the
Pehnane
village also prepared for the morning. Before the start of a raiding expedition or vengeance trail, an all-night dance put the brave-hearts into the right mood and ensured
Ka-Dih’s
support in the proposed venture. No such precaution need be taken when defending the village against an enemy attack. Of course, given time to do so, a Comanche always applied his war paint and donned his best clothing before a fight. No member of the People cared to go into battle—even in a defensive action—unless dressed in a manner suitable for his entry to the Land of Good Hunting should he be killed.

Knowing that the Waco did not fight at night, Long Walker also realised that they could move during it. So he took no chances and prepared against a surprise visit to the remuda. After the Waco scouts left, Loncey’s party returned to the village and a guard of half the fighting force gathered about the herd. All the other available men, including
tsukup
and boys not yet old enough to take the war trail, formed a circle around the camp, remaining alert, and unsleeping through the night. Towards dawn, there having been no sign of the Wacos, the men needed for Long Walker’s plan gathered in the village and made their preparations.

After dressing in his best clothing and applying his war paint, each man looked to his weapons. There had been a brisk trade among the arrow-makers and every bow-toting brave’s quiver held a good supply of barbed war shafts ready for use. Men with rifles checked on their powder and bullet supply, although their chief’s plan did not call for much shooting, and loaded with care. Each knife and tomahawk’s blade was tested on the ball of the thumb and brought to its best possible edge. Those among the men whose shield bore medicine power, to give spiritual as well as physical protection, went through the established ritual to collect the shield. A medicine-protected shield could not be brought into a tepee lest a menstruating woman came near to it or a person with greasy hands touch it, both being certain to destroy its power. So the shield must be hidden well clear of the village and its owner always made a full circle around the tepees when going to collect it.

Much as they would have liked to do so, Loncey and his two companions were forbidden to put on war paint or good clothing. The success of Long Walker’s plan depended on everything looking natural when the Wacos arrived; and young boys guarding the remuda did not perform their menial task dressed as warriors.

Following their orders, the three boys acted just as they might be expected to after an all-night session of guarding the remuda. They sat in a triangle, patient ponies close by, with blankets draped over their shoulders and, despite the excitement bubbling inside them, looking more than half asleep. Never had they been more awake than as the dawn began to lighten the sky upon that morning.

‘They’re coming,’ Loncey whispered. ‘I can see one behind you, Loud Voice.’

‘I’m not sorry they’re here,’ Comes For Food put in, speaking no louder. ‘It’s cold and I’m hungry.’

‘You always are,’ grinned Loud Voice. ‘There’s one coming down behind you.’

‘I can see another behind that clump of mesquite,’ Comes For Food stated, ignoring the comment. ‘He’s after your scalp, Loncey.’

The long hours playing at
Nanip’ka
paid dividends as the eagle-eyed boys detected the cautious advance of the Waco scouts. Against grown men the Wacos, would have been far more careful, but made the fatal mistake or underestimating Comanche training. Most likely they would have succeeded had the boys really been on guard all night and not expecting an attack.

‘There’s no sign of the rest of them,’ Loud Voice commented. ‘They’ll be around, waiting for the signal from the scouts,’ Loncey guessed.

Moving in on the three boys, the scouts saw there would be no chance of taking prisoners. Although the slope offered reasonable cover, some fifty yards separated it from where the boys sat. Long before the scouts could reach them, the trio would be alerted, afork their waiting ponies and fleeing to the camp to raise the alarm. That meant, as the leader of the scouts knew, they must use the second alternative.

Across the valley, the third scout caught his leader’s signal, knelt up cautiously alongside a rock and lined his bow on Loncey’s back. To be of any use, all three arrows had to strike at the same instant. Should one boy be hit too early, the other two might avoid their arrows and escape. So the brave drew back his bow, sighted the arrow at the boy some fifty yards away, and waited for the signal. A glance told him that his companions on the other slope were ready. Then the leader released his bow string and the other two followed suit only an instant later. Three barbed war arrows winged their silent, deadly way through the air towards the sitting boys.

‘Now!’ yelled Loncey, having watched the men behind his companions, even as the first arrow started to leave its bow.

Instantly each boy threw himself sideways and down, rolling clear of his blanket. The move had not come a moment too soon and every arrow would have found its mark had the boys remained seated. After the arrows hissed overhead, the boys sprang up and ran for the horses. Making a flying mount, Loncey landed afork the dun colt and started it running. No less agile, the other two sprang on to their mounts and headed for the remuda. Letting out wild yells, the boys startled the resting, grazing horses into motion and sent them running along the bottom of the valley in the direction of the distant, out-of-sight village.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEEING the speed with which the boys moved, the scouts’ leader wasted no time in notching another arrow and attempting to bring one of the fleeing youngsters down. There would be no chance to silence or stop all three, but maybe the remuda could be taken provided his party moved immediately. Throwing back his head, the scout let out a ringing wolf-howl. Clearly the Wacos possessed considerable skill in the art of silent horse-movement, for as the howl sounded hooves drummed out and mounted men swarmed over the top of either side of the valley. None of the Wacos needed explanations, they saw the fleeing remuda and knew that the plan to silence the boys had failed. Wild with humiliation, the scouts darted forward to bound on to the horses brought by their friends and joined in the chase after the remuda.

With the lustre of already having received the honour of a Give-Away Dance, Loncey brought up the rear of the remuda and allowed his friends to ride on the flanks. Doing so put the boy in the most dangerous position, but it fell on Comes For Food to land in trouble.

Up on the right flank of the racing horse herd, Comes For Food’s colt selected that moment of all times to drop its foot into a gopher hole. The colt went down, screaming as its leg broke, and pitched its rider over its head. Trained almost from birth at riding, Comes For Food felt himself going and lit down with cat-like agility on his feet. Catching his balance, he flung himself towards the passing horses in an attempt to mount one. Although his fingers brushed a racing pinto’s mane, he failed to obtain a grip and the horse brushed him aside.

Loncey saw the mishap and knew what he must try to do. Without a moment’s hesitation, or thought for his own safety, the boy swung his pony to the right and urged it on at a better speed in the direction of his friend. There could be no greater disgrace for a Comanche than to leave an unhorsed, wounded or dead companion to fall into enemy hands and Loncey refused to bring disgrace upon his family by doing so.

Often at play the boys practised the move Loncey aimed to make. A yell alerted Comes For Food and informed him that help came. Twisting around while still running, he saw Loncey tearing in his direction. Both boys knew just how difficult the rescue would be. A brave, seated upon the firm base of a saddle, could scoop up an uninjured companion while going at full gallop with no difficulty. To attempt the same feat riding bareback took skill, courage—and not a little luck. Leaning over, with one hand firmly locked in the pony’s mane and legs clinging to the barrel of its body, Loncey reached down towards his friend. He caught hold of Comes For Food’s wrist and gave a heave which assisted the other’s upward leap. Even as Loncey felt they would tumble together from the pony, Comes For Food hooked a leg over its back. Given that much purchase upon a horse, any Comanche boy could stay astride it. Locking his legs instinctively the moment they felt the horse between them. Comes For Food clung on behind Loncey. Despite their youth and lack of a saddle, the two boys had performed a mighty smooth pick-up and only lost a little time in making it.

Furious at the failure of their original plan, the Wacos urged on their horses with rage-filled cries. White Crow saw a chance to still make something out of the failure. Guessing that the boys ran the horses towards the village, he kept his men moving. A stampede through the village would effectively prevent any cohesive defence happening and offer a chance of coups and loot.

Seated astride a magnificent paint stallion, his war-bonnet trailing in the wind, White Crow drew ahead of his companions. He knew he must set them an example and prove the strength of his medicine. Reaching over his shoulder, he slid an arrow from his quiver. If his men saw him make a kill it would give them heart and increase their desire to count coup on an enemy. With that in mind, he urged his paint after the double-loaded pony.

Even carrying only Loncey the little pony would have been hard put to out-run the stallion; and with the extra weight of Comes For Food on its back stood no chance at all. With each raking stride, the huge paint closed the distance and White Crow sat gracefully erect as he drew back the bow. A thought struck the chief and caused him to refrain from releasing the arrow. If he rode closer, he could drive his shaft through the body of the
Pehnane
boy into the skinny frame of the white ‘captive’ riding before him. To kill both boys with one arrow would he visual proof of the strength of White Crow’s magic and a feat to boast about around the Victory Dance fire on his return to the Waco village.

Closer and closer drew the paint, with its rider determined to make good the double kill. Even as the chief prepared to release his arrow, something swished through the air towards him. Sudden, numbing, sickening pain knifed into the Waco as a
Pehnane
war arrow sliced between his ribs and sank to its turkey feather flight in his chest. White Crow jerked backwards under the impact. Although he released his hold on the bow’s string, his left hand jerked in a convulsion of agony and the arrow flew wild.

Kneeling concealed among a clump of cranberry bushes, Long Walker had watched his grandson’s actions with considerable pride, but did not allow it to blind him to the boy’s danger. Carefully he notched an arrow and drew back his own bow, aiming at the Waco chief. Much as he wanted to, Long Walker knew he must not shoot too soon. Scattered in cover on either side of the valley, which narrowed at that point, every able-bodied man and youth of the village waited for his signal before cutting loose on the enemy. If he started them too early, they would not have the Wacos far enough into the kill-area and the trap might fail. So Long Walker hung on to the very limit of safety. Knowing the power of a war bow, he felt sure that the Waco’s arrow would be able to penetrate Comes For Food and seriously injure Loncey even if it failed to make a double kill. Only when certain that he dare wait no longer did Long Walker release his arrow, sending it with unerring accuracy into the war bonnet chief’s chest and tumbling him from the racing paint.

As might be expected from such excellent fighting men, the Comanche party obeyed their orders. They remained concealed and offered no hint of their presence until Long Walker’s arrow gave them the cue to make their move. Gun shots crackled in an irregular volley as the men owning firearms cut loose. Arrows swished a near-silent and deadly way through the air towards the on-rushing enemy.

Swarming forward eagerly, every man trying to be the first to catch up on the fleeing remuda, the Wacos could not have been better positioned to receive a volley of bullets and arrows. Chaos reigned as the leading men or horses went down and the riders in the rear tried in vain to halt their mounts before piling on to their fallen companions. Such a transition from attackers to attacked was guaranteed to demoralise and disrupt any force. So it proved with the Wacos, for they received no respite in which they might have recovered from their surprise.

No Comanche could sit back and watch an enemy from a distance under such conditions. To kill with arrow or bullet took no special courage in the People’s eyes; even a squaw could do it. When a Comanche fought, he expected to count coup by personal contact rather than from a distance with his bow or firearm. So after that devastating volley, it would have taken stronger discipline than any
Nemenuh
submitted to for the braves to hold back.

Laying aside bows or firearms, the men caught up their war shields, drew knife, war club or tomahawk and launched a charge down on the disrupted Wacos. Hurt almost to death, White Crow still managed to lever himself on to his knees and reached for the Mills percussion pistol in his belt. Down charged a young
Pehnane tuivitsi
called Rains Coming, like a cougar tackling the last deer on a mountain. Ignoring the menace of the .75 calibre pistol, Rains Coming closed with White Crow. Around whistled the
Pehnane
war club, smashing into White Crow’s head and laying it open.

‘A’He!”* whooped Rains Coming as the Waco chief’s body tumbled to the ground and he sprang on in search of more glory.

Although shattered by the bloody, unexpected repulse, the dismounted Wacos prepared to sell their lives dearly. Those still mounted turned and fled, but the dismounted braves, knowing they could expect no mercy, fought back.

As a reward for the risk they took while acting as decoys, Loncey and his two companions had been given permission to watch the fight. Once through the kill-area of the ambush, the trio allowed the remuda to race on and be collected by waiting boys who would halt it before it reached the village. Riding to the top of the valley’s left side, Loncey, Loud Voice and Comes For Food came to a halt and turned to watch a bloody hand-to-hand mêlée after the classic example of Indian tactics.

Being a name-warrior of high standing, Long Walker had no further need to add to his fame. Already his family had achieved distinction that day, with Loncey’s courageous rescue of Comes For Food, so the chief felt he could allow the younger men to go in first and have a better chance of counting coup. Such an action was not regarded as cowardly among the
Nehenuh
when a name-warrior did it. In fact he received credit for his magnanimous behaviour in foregoing the chance to count coup in favour of the
tuivitsi
.

Even more important to the Comanche than loot and far over the taking of a scalp—‘Anyone can scalp a dead man.’—was counting coup; laying a hand upon an enemy. Some tribes allowed the practice of counting multiple coups on a single enemy. The Cheyenne permitted the first three men to lay hands upon the enemy to claim him. Among the Arapaho, four braves could each count coup on a single victim. A common belief among the Comanche was that Osage, lowest of the Plains Indian low, allowed anybody who wished to claim it, whether present at the time or not. That did not apply to the Comanche; born fighters with sufficient enemies to make such aggrandisement unnecessary. The People permitted two braves to share a coup only when the first’s blow came from a distance by arrow or bullet. Even then the main credit went to the man who made physical contact with the stricken enemy.

Bounding forward on the heels of the younger men, Long Walker saw a sprawled-out Waco suddenly rise to one knee and raise a rifle. By feigning death, the Waco avoided the attentions of the charging
Pehnane
braves and saw a chance of making a memorable kill before death took him. What he failed to take into consideration was the shield on Long Walker’s arm.

Much time, thought and effort went into the making of that shield, turning it into a first-class specimen of a highly useful piece of Comanche warrior’s equipment. Pieces from the shoulder hide of an old bull buffalo, rated the toughest kind of leather, had been steamed over boiling water until thickening and contracting to the desired degree. While still hot, a careful rubbing with a smooth rock removed all the wrinkles and painstaking work cleared away any vestige of flesh remaining after the skinning. Four layers of hide were stitched flesh-side out around a wooden shaping hoop, packing the spaces between the layers with feathers, hair, or—when it became available from the white man—paper to act as a cushion against the blows which the shield would receive. After the resulting circle had been moulded into the correct saucer shape, a buckskin cover was fitted over it and two loops of rawhide, carefully adjusted to hold the finished product in just the right position upon the left arm, securely fastened to the concave inner surface. When thoroughly dried and hardened, the shield received a test. Set up against a tree, it had to deflect an arrow and bullet fired at it from a range of not more than fifty yards. If it failed the test, it would be cast aside as useless. Passing the test, the shield went into its final stage of production. Around the cover, a ruffle of feathers hung suspended by rawhide and upon the convex outside were the insignia of the owner. Bear teeth showed the owner to be a mighty hunter; scalps proclaimed a warrior of note; a horse’s tail that he was a raider of the first water. Long Walker could claim to be one of the few Comanches with the right to show all three insignia.

Such a shield possessed flint-like hardness on its exterior with the layers of packing to act as cushions against impact. When on the left arm and moved by the warrior, the ruffle of feathers waved and weaved in a manner which distracted an enemy’s eye and spoiled his aim.

Swinging his shield effortlessly, Long Walker positioned it between him and the Waco. He anticipated the other’s aim and, as the rifle cracked, turned the shield slightly. At such close range the bullet might have pierced the shield if striking it straight on. Due to Long Walker’s skilled manipulation, the bullet, struck on the shield’s curve and glanced off again harmlessly. Before the Waco could start to reload, Rains Coming arrived and used the war club once more with deadly effect.

For several minutes the fight raged. Screams of dying mingled with war yells, cries for help and the Comanche coup yell of ‘A’He!’. Then it was over and the only Wacos in the valley lay dead. Not until the last enemy fell did any Comanche worry about taking scalps. Swiftly the knives did their work, with Long Walker urging his men on. He wanted to get them back to their bows and guns in case the Waco who fled should return.

‘Broken Nose, Bent Dogwood!’ he called. ‘Go after them and see what they do!’

Flushed with the heady success of victory, the two men named turned and went to collect their horses. As it happened, they might have saved themselves a ride. One such defeat, which cost them some eighteen dead—not counting those wounded who managed to stay mounted, or were scooped up by companions—proved sufficient to damp down any Waco desire for Comanche horses and loot. The
Pehnane
were known to live up to their name, the Quick Stingers, so every Waco rode at his fastest and with the fear of Comanche vengeance in his heart.

Long Walker had no intention of taking a revenge-seeking party out after the Wacos. Given more men at his disposal, he might have done so. With the village so short-handed, he declined to take the risk.