by J. T. Edson
‘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. iii
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 behavior. 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 realized 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 color 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 u
p an open slope. Clearly it had just realized 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 disemboweled. 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 belabor 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 organized 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 favorite 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.
Chapter Six – Black Bear Hunt, Comanche Style
Once introduced to the art of hunting, Loncey spent much time at it. Accompanied by his grandfather, Ysabel, or on his own, he ranged the country around the village and learned many lessons. After a couple of trips. Long Walker allowed the boy to take along his bow and arrows. Not the first, nor second time did Loncey succeed in bringing down the animal he hunted. A whitetail deer took much more killing then a cottontail or jackrabbit and lived in country which made hunting the more difficult to accomplish.
Soon after the first hunt, the village separated into smaller groups. At that time of the year, the game tended to scatter over a large area and the buffalo, mainstay of the Pehnane existence, had gone north to its hot-weather grazing lands. At such a time the fall village could not find sufficient game in one area to supply its needs and so broke up into various war lodges or lesser numbers to range over their territory. Before separating, Tawyawp, Raccoon Talker and the other tribal elders made medicine to decide where the people should gather again for the autumn buffalo hunting. On the result of their estimations—be it by Divine inspiration or just plain guesswork backed by knowledge of the bison’s habits—depended the success or failure of the village’s hunting and the winter food supply for the people.
In many ways Loncey regarded the separation period as the best part of the year. True, much of the social whirl, dances, feasting, visiting other lodges, was to some extent curtailed, but there were other advantages. With only the Dog Soldier ledge families present, Long Walker need spend less time in his capacity of chief and could give more of his attention to his grandson’s education.
The search for food took the Dog Soldiers across their territory in the direction of the Waco Indian country, but that did not unduly worry any of the braves. Like all other Indians, with the exception of the Kiowa, the Wacos were enemies and could be raided, supplying loot and coups to the brave-heart Pehnane. Of course some of the old men pointed out that the Waco might regard the under-strength village in the same light, but no warrior paid any attention to such talk. Tsukup always took a gloomy, dull outlook, having forgotten the joys of the war trail or put aside their love of fighting.
While looking forward to a brush with enemies, Loncey concentrated on his lessons in the martial arts. He spent much time mastering the secret of throwing his Green River knife, showing typical Comanche and French Creole affinity with it as a tool and weapon. In addition, he now owned an even stronger bow, one approaching full power, and must improve his aim with it if he hoped to make use of its potential.
To help improve their skill with the bow and arrow, the boys were encouraged to test each other in various contests. Loud Voice and Comes For Food’s education kept pace with Loncey’s and the trio frequently competed against each other. Even though hot rivals at such times, nothing endangered
their friendship.
Of the three, Loud Voice excelled when indulging in the speed test. In that, each contestant stood on a line and shot an arrow as high as he could into the air. Then he tried to discharge as many more arrows as possible before the first landed back on the ground. Loud Voice developed great speed and always managed to get off at least two more arrows than either of his friends.
When playing at We’kere, shooting at the mark, Comes For Food mostly won. To play We’kere, one of the boys fired an arrow so that it struck into the ground some distance away; the contest being to see who could shoot nearest to it. On one occasion Comes For Food actually split Loud Voice’s shaft with his arrow at thirty-five yards.
Loncey came into his own when playing the most exacting game of all. To play Aritisi, the wheel game, called for quick reflexes and a keen eye. The wheel, a mere four or five inches in diameter, was rolled before the shooter at a distance of ten yards. Made of a willow rim coated in rawhide, the wheel had a one inch hole at its center and the contestant scored points by hitting the rawhide, or sending the arrow through the central hole.
Playing the wheel game gave Loncey instruction in the matter of rapid aiming and allowing for alteration in position when shooting at a moving object. Even before going on his first hunt, he had learned how to aim ahead and continue swinging even as he loosed the arrow. Once he took to hunting, that knowledge became very useful.
Having already taken a whitetail doe while out with his grandfather, Loncey looked forward to making his first lone-handed kill. With that thought in mind, he left the village early one morning and rode in search of what he might find.
Not for three hours did he find any sign of game worthy of a brave-heart hunter’s bow. Once he came within easy arrow-shot of a jack rabbit, but allowed it to bound away unharmed. The gobbling of a tom turkey calling its flock reached his ears but he ignored it. Only in time of severe shortage did the Comanche eat bird meat and Loncey was not hungry enough to repeat his early exploit in turkey hunting.