Star

was doing without him to share her days. If he had known the loneliness of his little playmate, he would have race

ith Quannah to fight the white men. The squaws tried to interest her in the work they were doing, and took the best b

n crowded up noisily and ate the crisp tender meat, laughing when one child held his stick too long, so

hem on, she did not run to show them to the other children. Always she had hurried to her father first, that he might praise her new things. As she remembered it, she slipp

hes in the creek could hear her and understand, "I could follow hi

d its thickly haired head against her shoulder, and pretended to fight her, but she did not laugh at it as she had always done while her father stood beside her. She

all insects. The bright orange, black, and red colouring of their backs made a beautiful design and looked as though an artist had painted them. Each head had a circlet of small sharp horns, while two larger ones s

he placed them back in the bowl and carried

ily at the entrance of her home. Its beady eyes blinked up at her, and its head twisted sidewise in a

w!

olding a deep earthen bowl which she placed on the ground. The crow sidled up, cocking its head to see if any

knees drawn up and her hands propping her chin. Very

en able to pick up food from the ground or eat anything solid as the others could do when they pecked very hard. It had been almost d

t came to the tepee, knowing it would find food. The meal finished, it always bobbed and stalked around, repeating its cry, "Caw! Caw!" until at last it flapped its glo

he side of the tepee as though it were trying to frighten her. Its nose sniffed the empty bowl as it stood poised on slender legs and stretched its graceful neck. Songbird tipped the bo

o the place where Moko, the Picture-maker, lived. She was a very wonderful old squaw wit

ies and earths, mixed in a way that the old Picture-maker alone understood. Moko did not like any one to watch her at work, but Songbird was always welcomed. The child would sit for hour

to make pictures, Mo

rd had ever seen. The robe was the largest buffalo hide that any Comanche had ever owned. Quannah had killed the enormous beast with just one arrow, and the me

ordered with the fighters, but in the very centre was an Indian boy riding a swiftly running pony. In his arms was a little girl. Songbird knew tha

war with us?" she asked at last, for the

m robes, nor clothes, nor moccasins. Our ponies would all die if the white men had the prairie lands, and the white hunters killed the game which they did not need for food. Other Indians have told us how the white men cut the hides from buffaloes that lie as

spoke, "why cannot all men dwell in

he Great Spirit. He gave us the land, He gave us the wild horses that we might tame and use them, He gave us the buffalo and deer, the antelope on the

f he broke it. But long years ago tales came to us through other tribes, of men with white faces who lied, stole, and cheated Indians who had believed in them. These white-faced men killed the game

, fearing the old woman might not sp

coming, did not ask why our men had wandered from the camps, but began to fight. After that day our warriors fought every white man they met. Each chief knew that unless he fought, his

y from us," said Songbird. "Many times he

leave her with us, but they would not listen to her. So Preloch, the white squaw of Peta Nocona, and her baby daughter, Prairie Flow

ied her to our camp." Songbird leaned forward. Her body rested on the ground, but her elbow propped he

looked through the tepee opening across the rolling prairie, as though she saw onc

t night, two little pieces must have been kept to make her blue eyes. As she grew up among us she was different, for she was as gentle as a young doe.

nd for a few seconds the old woman forg

could not follow nor find us. As we fled, the rain fell upon us, and Karolo, the Medicine Man, called upon the Great Spirit to send the spirits of Peta Nocona and all the other Comanch

olo said as the rain beat on his face. "He is weeping now

nches of the Quahadas kept their hair cut short because we were mourning the death of our great War Chief, Peta Nocona, and the loss

il I have painted one more robe, so that you may hang it in your tepee with this one. Your children's children shall read the pictures and learn how your father, Quannah, Chief of the Quahadas, conquere

Peta Nocona," said Songbird. "I can shoot arrows as we

. Our chief says that the work of women is to teach children to be fearless and truthful. That work is as great as fighting. Sometimes I think it may be greater work. Preloch said that it

more, so she slipped away from the tent and sat watching the sun drop over the edge of the world. Two white clouds closed together, and Songbird knew that the Spirit of the Su

uld be sleeping. Her eyes filled with tears and her lip

darkness toward her father's couch of skins, she heard the shrill yelps of coyotes gathering