Comanche (A J.T. Edson Western Book 1)

by J. T. Edson

  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 practiced 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 defense 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 demoralize 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 caliber 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!” iv 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 Nemenuh when a name-warrior did it. In fact he received credit for his magnanimous behavior in foregoing the chance to count coup in favor 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 aggrandizement unnecessary. The People permitte
d 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 molded 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.

  After seeing to the wounded, Long Walker went to where the three boys sat on the ground. All rose as he came near, trying to hide their excitement and look like men used to performing brave deeds.

  ‘You did well,’ the chief told them and they could have asked for no greater reward then the words, especially as he continued, ‘Ride into the village and tell of our victory.’

  On returning from a successful war path, raid or battle, the warriors always sent word ahead so that a fitting welcome could be arranged. Normally the youngest tuivitsi carried the word, but Long Walker gave the honor to the three boys whose courage made the victory possible. In view of Loncey’s actions, the chief planned another reward for the boy.

  Everybody in the village gathered to hear the news. Eagerly they began to prepare a welcome for the returning warriors, to be followed by a Victory Dance that night. Even the families of the three men lost in the fight joined in the preparations. Each of the dead men had counted coup before being killed and the People considered it to be a great honor for a brave to count coup and be killed in the same fight.

  While the people in the village made ready, each warrior freshened his war paint, tidied his clothing and put a shine to his horse’s coat with a vigorous rubbing by handfuls of grass. Having counted coup twice, including on the Waco war bonnet chief, Rains Coming was granted the privilege of fastening one of the scalps he took to the lower lip of his horse. That showed he had distinguished himself and expressed contempt for the defeated enemy. When sure all was ready in the village, the men mounted. Led by Long Walker, as commanding chief, and Rains Coming, the men rode towards the tepees.

  Taking up a long, slender scalp-pole, Raccoon Talker led the people out to greet the returning braves. As medicine woman of the tribe it was her right to do so and also to lead the victory songs which welcomed the men home. In passing the woman, each warrior who could tied a scalp to her pole. Followed by the women, children and such men who had not been involved in the fight, the braves paraded into the village. After passing through the length of the village, the warriors separated. Each man rode to his tepee, dismounted and handed over horse and weapons to wife, mother or sister. While the women tended to the horses, the men rested so as to be in good condition for the activities of the Victory Dance.

  After dark, a huge fire threw its glow of light upon Raccoon Talker’s scalp pole as it stuck into the earth in the center of the village. Near the pole sat drummers and singers to supply the music for the dancers who formed up, men facing women, ready to celebrate.

  Among the other rights won by Long Walker was that of Piane’epai’i, the Big Whip. At a Victory Dance he carried his whip; its wooden handle having a serrated edge and bearing symbols which represented his great deeds and two short lashes of otter-skin swinging free. The whip signified that he acted as a kind of master-of-ceremonies and anybody to whom he pointed must rise and dance, or be whipped. At various times during the dance, the Big Whip had to halt the music and relate a great deed performed by himself, ending it with a sacred oath attesting the truth of his words.

  ‘Sun, Father, you saw me do it. Earth, Mother, you saw me do it. Do not let me live another season if I speak with a forked tongue.’

  Should a warrior not wish to dance when called by the Big Whip, he had the right to rise and tell his greatest deed. If the crowd decided the deed was stronger than that of the Big Whip, its teller need not dance. To gain the title of Big Whip, a man must be the bravest of the brave; so his deeds could rarely be bettered.

  In the case of a major victory, or return of a very successful raiding party, the ensuing Victory Dance might continue for several days. The fight that morning did not merit such lengthy celebrations and it broke up soon after midnight. However, before it ended Long Walker announced that Loncey would be given his second Give-Away Dance as a reward for rescuing his friend during the attack.

  Much comment greeted the words, but everybody agreed that the boy merited the honor. Never before had any Comanche received two Give-
Away Dances at so young an age. Clearly Loncey would be a name-warrior and a pride to the Pehnane if he continued to show such courage and ability.

  Not to be outdone, Loud Voice and Comes For Food’s parents also announced a Give-Away Dance. For convenience’s sake, the three celebrations were held on the same night and acclaimed a great success. Each of the boys received, among other things, a good horse and a saddle. The latter gift caused much puffing out of young chests and delighted grins. Usually a boy rode bare-back or on a blanket until old enough to ride in his first buffalo hunt, which normally preceded being taken on the war path; but public opinion demanded special awards for the trio’s courage.

  One prize came Loncey’s way at the Give-Away Dance. Hearing of Loncey’s exploits, Sam Ysabel declared it to be time his son possessed a man’s weapon. Among other items brought back from the trip was a Tryon, Son and Co. Mississippi rifle. At the height of the dance, Ysabel brought the rifle forward and presented it to his son along with a powder flask and, bullet pouch. Despite the fact that the rifle had a length of four foot, one inch, and a caliber of .54, Loncey did not feel worried. Hefting the rifle in his hands, looking at its fine walnut stock and fore grip, the iron ramrod under the barrel and the patch box in the butt, he grinned like to split his face.

  ‘How’d you like it, boy?’ asked Ysabel.

  ‘I like it fine, ap,’ enthused Loncey.

  A grin split the big white man’s face and he winked at Long Walker. ‘Now all you have to do is learn to shoot with it, Loncey.’

  ‘If he’s his father’s son, that won’t be hard for him,’ prophesied Long Walker.

  In view of the way things would turn out, the chief made a mighty shrewd guess.

  Chapter Nine – A Chance to Return A Gift

  Although it tested his young muscles severely, Loncey quickly came to master the rifle. Coming from Kentuckian stock on his father’s side, he appeared to inherit that rifle-toting breed’s ability to aim true. Even quicker then accuracy came the ability to care for, clean and prepare the rifle to be fired. Although paper cartridges might be popular among the white settlers, Loncey knew nothing of them in early days. Instead he poured the powder charge direct from the horn, its built-in measure preventing him from using too many grains, and patch-loaded the bullet.