‘I will kill him!’ No Father promised.
‘So my medicine tells me,’ his mother assured him.
‘Does it tell you when and how?’
‘Only that you must watch your chance and take it when it comes.’
Which, while not satisfactory, proved to be the only answer No Father received. However once the idea had been planted in his head, he devoted much thought to how he might find a safe, sure way to bring about the other boy’s death.
Further fuel was added to No Father’s hate when it became apparent that he could not arouse interest in celebrating his big kill. The time being mid-October, everybody in the village thought only of the forthcoming winter buffalo hunts. At that period of the year, only a major event like Loncey’s could distract public interest from what amounted to the
Pehnane’s
harvest time. With the Give-Away Dance ended, preparations for the big hunt began.
During the days which followed, No Father received little or no chance to make a move against Loncey. With so many exploits to his credit, Loncey found himself the hero of the young and adolescent boys. However, a few resented his fame and among them No Father recruited a small band of followers. Try though he might, No Father failed to stir any of his band into chancing an attack on Loncey. So matters rested and the everyday life of the village continued its flow towards the supreme period of the year.
Naturally such a major event could not be jumped into without planning and preparation. While scouts ranged far in search of the choicest herds, men saw to their weapons and women made ready packs, hunting tents, supplies of food to be used while away from the main village. For all the hard work involved, everybody showed the best of spirits, looking forward to plenty of food and the gathering of the necessities of life. Each night the Buffalo Dance fires blazed and an even number of musicians, never an odd, beat out the traditional rhythms for all who wished to join in.
When the scouts returned, a huge council gathered, listened to the reports and gravely debated the findings. At last, when all who wished had spoken their piece, the war chiefs gave a decision on where the hunt would take place and went into details of its organisation.
On the appointed day, almost four weeks after the preparations began, the majority of able-bodied men, women and older children left the village. Only a small, well-armed guard remained behind to protect the younger children, old people, tepees and property. With numerous pack animals, the hunters rode out in search of the big herd on which they intended to live until the summer hunts. Even at the temporary camp, the Buffalo Dances continued. These had no religious significance, the coming of the buffalo still being so assured that no medicine was required to find them, but merely served to show everybody’s high spirits.
Working swiftly, the men cut poles and erected scaffolds upon which the meat could be hung to dry in the sun and the women put up hunting tents made of a couple of undressed hides draped over a wooden frame in the fashion of a white soldier’s pup tent.
When all had been made ready, the hunting began. Several parties had been formed, each under the command of a noted hunter. By common consent Ysabel led his group and took along Loncey, Comes For Food and Loud Voice. Being of the right age, No Father also attended the hunt, working with an Owl lodge party. The boy brought along a Hawkens rifle as well as his bow and arrows.
Long experience had taught the Comanche never to use a saddle when hunting buffalo. Such strenuous work put the horses involved under a strain and every extra ounce of weight carried lessened the chances of success. To offer some assistance in riding and using the bow, a rope would be wound loosely about the horse’s body just behind its forelegs. With his knees in the coils, the rider stayed on in safety if not comfort. Stripped to their breechclouts, with full quivers on the shoulders, the hunters gathered before dawn and rode out with their leaders. Although Ysabel and Loncey each left his rifle behind, knowing he bow to be superior for their kind of hunting, they retained heir gunbelts, each with a revolver butt forward in its holster n the right and sheathed bowie knife at the left. Some of the men carried lances instead of bows, but they belonged to the elite of the tribe who used the same weapon in war and scorned fight from a distance.
The ideal location for a herd was in a narrow valley with numerous ravines splitting from it. In such an area, the hunters formed a semi-circle around the grazing animals, mounted but staying down-wind and concealed. On their leader’s signal, the men charged down on the herd, rapidly forming a complete circle. Properly executed, the surround—as it was called—made the herd bunch and not try to run, and allowed easy killing.
Unfortunately Ysabel’s party did not find their herd in such a place, but grazing out on open land which did not allow for the neat surround. So he held his men in a line and they stalked carefully from down-wind towards their prey. While the buffalo had a fair sense of smell, being essentially a creature of vast herds made it far less wary then deer, antelope or elk.
Sitting the buffalo-trained horse loaned to him by Long Walker, Loncey watched the herd and restrained his eagerness. For once the individualistic Comanche did not give free rein to their desires, but stayed obedient to orders. A premature rush by a small group might easily scatter the herd and certainly cause it to run. Meat from an animal overheated by a long chase spoiled quickly, so the mass rush which brought a number of the animals down was needed to prevent long chases.
Loncey locked an arrow to his bow string and felt the horse quiver under him. Much as he enjoyed the prospect, he wished that he owned and had trained the horse. That would be the last, final sign of manhood; to capture, break and train his own horse, turning it into the friend, companion and guard which a warrior’s favourite mount must be.
All thoughts of horse-training fled abruptly as Ysabel, satisfied that the moment had come, gave the signal to charge. From low, cautious walk, the line sprang forward in a wild rush, its flank turning in to form a crescent and try to encircle the herd. Too late the buffalo realised their danger and started to lumber away across the plains.
Riding like the wind, Loncey led the flank riders towards the herd. His attention centred upon a young bull in the prime of condition. Without needing more guidance than a knee-touch in the required direction, the horse ranged itself slightly behind and on the fleeing bull’s right side. Drawing back his bow until the arrow’s flight brushed his cheek, Loncey aimed at the area between the bull’s hip bone and short rib. Only there could he hope to obtain sufficient penetration for his purpose. A buffalo’s heart lay low in its chest cavity and an arrow launched from above stood its best chance of reaching the vital organs at that angle.
Wise in the ways of buffalo, the horse started to swing away as the bow twanged and arrow flew. If a charge came from the wounded bull, the horse aimed to be clear of it. Loncey heard a thud and twisted his head to see the bull sliding with buckled legs and head on the ground, to crash on to its side. Even as he whooped his joy, he felt something strike the horse, thought he heard a shot mingled with the thunder and grunting of the fleeing buffalo and scream from the horse.
Only before the sound could register in his mind, he felt the horse falling under him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WITHOUT conscious thought, Loncey realised his danger and reacted to it at top speed. Jerking his knees from the rope, he tossed his left leg over the falling horse’s back and thrust him-elf clear. Years of practice saved him, for he landed on his feet with all the agility of a cat. Even though he did not fall, the boy round himself to still be in serious danger. During the rush, his light weight enabled the horse to carry him ahead of his companions and he had been up with the leaders of the fleeing herd when the accident happened.
Led by a big bull, a considerable section of the herd swung in the boy’s direction and came boiling down on him. Fortunately the bull turned ahead of the others, its following merely acting on herd-instinct. Down went Loncey’s right hand, turning palm-out and closing on the Dragoon’s butt. While he could not make a real fast draw, he brought out the revolver in a passably swift move. His left hand came across to close on the right and give support, while both thumbs eased back the hammer. From so close that he could not possibly miss, Loncey fired and drove a bullet into the centre of the bull’s lowered head. Forty grains of black powder gave the old Dragoon revolver a power unequalled in handguns until the coming of high-grade steel and smokeless explosives, so the bullet shattered through the bone of the skull and into the brain beyond. Down went the bull, crumpling forward and sliding along the ground.
Loncey flung himself to one side, avoiding the dead bull, but he was not yet out of danger. More of the herd thundered down, trampling upon the fallen horse in their flight. Yet no buffalo ever went over the body of a fallen companion, so Loncey sprang forward to land on the bull’s back and lie there. Shaggy bodies brushed by on either side as the herd split around he dead bull, leaving the boy untouched.
With the danger past, Loncey dropped to the ground and looked around him. The dust churned up by hunters and hunted swirled away and he could see the result of the run. Not until then did any of the others notice his predicament, so busy and engrossed had they been. Whirling his horse, Ysabel galloped towards his son with Loud Voice and Comes For Food hot on his heels.
‘What happened, boy?’ asked Ysabel.
‘I’m not sure, ‘
ap
,’ Loncey replied. ‘But I thought I heard a shot and then the horse fell.’
Dropping from his saddle, Ysabel strode to the fallen horse and looked down. In passing the buffalo had hooked the horse with their horns and trampled on it, ripping the flesh almost beyond recognition.
‘There’s no way of telling what happened,’ Ysabel said, examining the horse’s legs. ‘But it didn’t bust any bones.’
Which proved nothing, as he well knew. In the heat of a buffalo run, a chance false step might bring the horse down without breaking bones; and, before it could rise, the buffalo had been upon it. More than once Ysabel had seen buffalo deliberately gore and trample a fallen horse, as if seeking revenge on the animal for its part in the hunt.
‘Are you sure there was a shot?’ Ysabel asked.
‘No,’ admitted Loncey. ‘I may have been wrong.’
‘None of our men has a gun along,’ mused Ysabel. ‘Maybe—’
At that moment one of the hunters galloped up. ‘Ysabel, there is a dispute over who killed a bull.’
‘I’ll come.’
One of the hunt leader’s tasks was to keep the peace and give judgement in doubtful cases where two men both shot the same animal. Riding over to the disputed animal, Ysabel examined the arrows in its body with a view of deciding which inflicted the more serious injury. In this instance either arrow would have killed, so he insisted that the meat be divided between both men and the hide—major point of dissension—go to some
tsukup
who had no son on the hunt. Accepting their leader’s decision—Which pride prevented either hunter from suggesting, lest he be thought afraid of the other—the men withdrew their arrows and waited for the arrival of the women. Ysabel found himself fully occupied with the business of butchering the kill and Loncey joined the other warriors to enjoy the perks of their labour, a feast of the usual delicacies. So the boys forgot his thoughts on the cause of the horse’s death, although he wondered what he would do through the rest of the hunt.
Up on a rim overlooking the kill-area, No Father saw with relief that no search had been made to discover who shot Loncey’s horse. Instead of accompanying a hunting party, he had trailed along unnoticed behind Ysabel’s group. On seeing Loncey take up a position on the end of the line, No Father decided to grab any opportunity to make his mother’s prophesy come true. Leaving his horse, he took his rifle and cut across country until ahead of the herd. Then he found a well-concealed place and settled down to wait. Watching the rush begin, he lined his rifle and, as Loncey approached, prepared to shoot. Pure luck caused the horse to turn almost level with No Father and he had seen it fall.
Ka-Dih
Himself must have been riding with the hated Loncey, for the white boy still lived.
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 labour 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 centre 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 realised 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.