Comanche Dawn

by Mike Blakely

  Then Jean stepped out of the shadows, studying the horses first, then the weapons and the men. The ponies were small and rather poor, the weapons primitive—bows, knives, lances, war clubs. Most of the riders were Yuta, their dress and equipage familiar to him. He recognized two individuals: Bad Camper, of the Yuta nation, and Speaks Twice, the Tiwa translator from Tachichichi. He identified only four warriors whose dress he had never seen, and knew these four had to be the Horse People. In their eyes he saw the look of the lost. They were far from home.

  Jean doubted the Spaniards would notice any difference in the Indios at all. Indeed, their outward appearance would seem much like that of any other Norteño to an uninterested European eye. But Jean noticed many distinctions among these people:

  All four Horse warriors wore earrings of shell or bone. One especially fierce-looking brave had four earrings along the curve of each ear. They all wore their hair greased, parted in the middle, and braided on either side. A loose lock of hair remained at the front of the head and fell over the brow. The oldest warrior of the four wore a black feather in this scalp lock. The younger three wore yellow feathers there. The more mature warrior also had tattoos on his chest, and a scar on his shoulder accentuated by tattoos. They all went bare-chested today, though the wind was brisk, leading Jean to believe that they indeed came from somewhere far to the north, where they were accustomed to cool weather. Their leggings, though chafed and dusty from their long journey, were dyed a uniform blue.

  In physical build, Jean found the Horse People shorter and more muscular than their companions. The longer legs of the Yuta riders seemed to hang listlessly along the flanks of their horses, while those of the Horse People warriors clutched their mounts the way an eagle claw would grasp a fawn.

  Each pony of the Horse People wore two strange pieces of equipage. A loop of braided rawhide hung under the neck of each pony, woven in at the mane. Another rope wound loosely around the barrel of each mount, just behind the forelegs. One of the riders had his knees slipped under the coils of rope, making its purpose clear. None used more than a bear hide for a saddle.

  Jean only glanced at the faces of the men, not wishing to offend them with a long stare into their eyes, as though to discover their powers. Still, he looked long enough to realize that none of the Horse warriors grew any facial hair. The eyebrows and even the eyelashes had been plucked out.

  Jean broke the silence as he spoke to Bad Camper in Spanish: “Welcome, my friend. I hope you have come to trade, for we have new things from the Land Outside.”

  Bad Camper nodded. “We ride under many suns to bring the skins you like—beaver, fox, mink, and otter.”

  Jean smiled. “I hope you bring buffalo robes and deerskins.”

  “A few buffalo. Many deer,” Bad Camper replied.

  “Flints?”

  “Yes.”

  Governor Del Bosque spoke. “What about the yellow metal we asked you to look for. Have you found any?”

  Without looking toward the governor, Bad Camper said, “No.”

  “We will prepare a feast for your arrival at my hacienda,” Jean said. “After we eat, we will smoke. Then, we will trade.”

  “Who are these warriors with the blue pantalones?” Captain Lujan suddenly said.

  The observation impressed Jean, but then Lujan was a soldier, and soldiers knew of uniforms.

  “We call them Comanche,” Bad Camper said.

  Governor Del Bosque nudged his scribe, who dipped his quill into the small ink well and began writing.

  “It means ‘our enemies’ in the Yuta tongue,” Jean explained. “It is not the name these warriors would call themselves.”

  “No matter,” Del Bosque said. “As long as we record them.”

  Jean considered pressing the issue for the sake of accuracy, but knew it was useless. Neither the governor nor the crown cared what heathens called themselves. The Spaniards had adopted the word apache to refer to certain Inday bands only because a Zuni elder had so named them, apache being a Zuni term meaning “those against us.”

  It was too late to make sense of it all for the Spaniards. Some of the erroneous labels had been in use a hundred years. At least these so-called Comanches had been set apart with a name unto themselves, though it be an inaccurate one. It was not lost on Jean that even the term Indio was a misnomer left over from the bygone days of Columbus.

  Jean spoke to Bad Camper in the Yuta tongue, for he did not want the Spaniards to know as much as he: “My friend, who is the leader of these people you call Comanche?”

  “This one,” Bad Camper said, indicating the young warrior beside him.

  “Does he speak the Yuta tongue?”

  “Yes.”

  Jean turned to face the young warrior on the white mare. “What are your people called?”

  The young warrior lifted his chin high with pride, and said, “Noomah.”

  Jean tried to speak the name, but the young warrior corrected him, making him speak the name three times before approving.

  “Noomah,” Jean said with a nod. This would have been difficult for the Spaniards to pronounce and spell. The warrior had made the first vowel sound by spreading his lips, almost in a smile, making a sound that differed from the Spanish u sound. Perhaps Comanche was the better term to use after all. “Some of the nations know your tribe as Snake People,” he said. “Is this the meaning of Noomah?”

  The warrior stiffened on the back of his pony. He raised his right hand and signed his response. “No Snake. True Humans.”

  Lines creased the Frenchman’s tattoos as he smiled. He laid his palm on his chest. “Jean,” he said, then signed, “What is your name?”

  “Kiyu.” Upon stating his name, the Noomah warrior made a sign Jean had never before seen. He made the first two fingers of his right hand straddle his left hand as the legs of a rider would straddle a horse. He made the sign with emphasis, as if his name were a powerful thing.

  “What is he saying, Juan?” the governor demanded.

  “This young one is the leader of these warriors you have written down as Comanche. His name is Kiyu. It means…” Jean paused, considering the proper translation from the Noomah tongue to the Spanish language. “It means Acaballo,” he said, applying his best Castilian accent to the name.

  Del Bosque nodded as he spoke to the scribe. “Write him as down as Acaballo, chief of the Comanche.”

  The scribe recorded the name with the magic feather.

  “Ask him his purpose for coming here,” Governor Del Bosque ordered.

  “Why have you come to this place?” Jean asked, in the Yuta language.

  “Rescate,” Horseback said.

  “The ransom,” Fray Ugarte blurted. “He wishes to be bought from these other heathens.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jean said.

  “He said he came here for the rescate,” the priest insisted.

  “Many of the Norteños use the word ransom to mean trade, thinking it is one and the same.”

  “Nonsense,” Ugarte insisted. “This heathen speaks for himself. He is here for salvation, and therefore God demands that we grant it!”

  “He has come to trade—nothing more. Listen, I will test him out.” Jean turned to Horseback and spoke in Yuta. “What do the Metal Men have that you want?”

  Horseback simply smiled, leaned forward, and patted his white mare ostentatiously on the neck.

  Jean looked at Bad Camper and detected a hint of a smile. He continued to speak in the Yuta tongue so the Spaniards would not understand: “Go now. Come to my lodge at sunset for a great feast.”

  Bad Camper let the hidden smile break full across his face. He turned his pony around and left at a trot, followed by his warriors, the Noomah riders, and the Tiwa translator, Speaks Twice.

  “What was that?” Captain Lujan demanded. “Why did they leave?”

  “Relax, Capitán. I was only inviting them to come to my hacienda to trade tonight. You may all come, of course. I will negotiate a peac
e with these Noomah, whom you have written down as Comanches.”

  “You must arrange the ransom of that one called Acaballo,” Ugarte insisted.

  “He did not come here to be ransomed, Father. Does he look like a captive to you?”

  “You said yourself that the Yuta called him an enemy.”

  “Enemies sometimes travel together. The Indios employ the truce just as Spain and France do, when the need arises. I think our friend Bad Camper plays the coyote with Horseback. He takes advantage of Horseback’s ignorance. He wants us to believe that Horseback wishes to be ransomed, but Horseback is not a slave. Does a slave carry a war club? He told me that he came here to trade for horses.”

  “Then you should have told him he came to the wrong place,” the captain said.

  “I will explain it more diplomatically tonight, after food and gifts have been proffered. It is important to handle these Comanches delicately. Do you remember the messenger who arrived a few days ago from Tachichichi?”

  “Yes, what of it?” the governor replied.

  “I have spoken to him. He convinced me that these Comanches are the reason the Tiwa elders wanted Spanish protection at their ranchería.”

  “Ridículo!” Lujan said. “Their weapons are primitive, their horses are poor. And there are only four of them!”

  “There were five at Tachichichi. One was wounded in a scuffle with Battle Scar’s Apaches and could not travel. And of course they would not have ridden their best horses into our city.”

  Governor Del Bosque shook his head. “Even so, Juan. Are we to believe that five warriors have thrown an entire ranchería the size of Tachichichi into a state of panic?”

  “The Tiwa elders have had visions.”

  “Heresy,” Ugarte snapped.

  “Even if we do not believe in their visions, Father, they do—wholeheartedly. Their visions warn of a powerful nation of Horse People from the north.”

  The governor chuckled. “Still, Juan…”

  “These Comanches are said to be very good horsemen.”

  Captain Lujan began laughing, and his soldiers joined him. “Is this the intelligence you have gathered? Are we to believe that those four scrawny warriors on their sorry mounts will overwhelm the entire northern frontera?”

  “Yes, beware,” Father Ugarte added, a rare smile on his face. “The four riders of the apocalypse!”

  The soldiers burst into obligatory laughter.

  “It is only a scouting party,” Jean replied, “but those four riders put on quite an exhibition at Tachichichi. The four of them attacked Battle Scar’s entire band and exacted revenge for their kinsman wounded in the scuffle the night before. I am told that they stormed into the middle of Battle Scar’s band, stole all the Apache horses, and scalped one of the warriors alive without ever dismounting.”

  “Nothing but fantastic gossip spread by the same Norteños who claimed only a few days ago that a huge invasion force of Pani and French was coming across the plains!” Captain Lujan spit in the street to punctuate his disgust. “Governor, may I dismiss my men, now that the horrible Comanche threat has retreated?”

  “Go ahead, Capitán.” Governor Del Bosque answered, a weary tone to his voice. Ever the politician, he shrugged apologetically at Jean when the captain turned his back.

  After the soldiers and the friar left the street, Del Bosque spoke to Jean with a tone of confidentiality. “We come into contact with new nations of heathens from time to time,” he said, a hopeful glint in his eye. “Why must these Comanches be treated with any greater degree of diplomacy? Are they rich?”

  Jean shook his head. “It is said that the Snake People are poor.”

  “Then why must we be so cautious with them?”

  Jean paused, watching the riders disappear around a corner. “Because they are tired of being poor.”

  34

  In seasons to come, under the great council lodges, during the Moon of Blinding Snow, the elders would tell of the searchers’ first journey south, the fighting and the glory, the wealth of buffalo and horses, the blessings of spirit-protectors. They would tell of Horseback in the city of the Metal Men.

  “There,” a wise elder would say, “Horseback learned as quickly as the colt who stands and walks and nurses his mother in the short time the sun takes to dry his soft coat of curly hair.”

  Raccoon-Eyes came to Horseback that first night in the strange land, after the feast and the presentation of gifts. It was inside the walls of the square lodge owned by Raccoon-Eyes. Horseback did not like the walls around him, but the gates stood open, and there were ladders like those at Tachichichi leading to the roof of the lodge. He saw many ways to escape, and he watched them closely, in case the Metal Men tried to close the gates and take down the ladders, making him a prisoner.

  Raccoon-Eyes spoke to him in the Yuta tongue, and with the hand talk. “Last night I had a dream,” Raccoon-Eyes began. “I found a great wealth of good things out on the plains. There were robes, weapons, skins, furs, and many sacred objects. I found tobacco, fresh meat, sweet water, paints, and feathers. Tall lodge poles, wood stacked high, vessels filled with fruits and pine nuts and good roots. When I tried to gather all this wealth in for myself, it shifted shape, and became a pony who ran about me in a circle, and shot arrows with his eyes.”

  Horseback smiled. He was admiring his braids in the looking glass given to him by Raccoon-Eyes—a thing as wonderful as a pool of still water. “I, too, dream of ponies.”

  “I know you have ridden far,” Raccoon-Eyes said. “But I cannot make a trade to you for horses. It is forbidden.”

  “I came for horses.” He struck a few sparks on the fire-making thing that the Metal Men called a chispa. It sparked even better than the flint stone on Trotter’s musket. “I must take many horses back to my country.”

  “Where will you get them?”

  “From the Na-vohnuh. Those who call themselves Inday. They are evil things. Not even human. In ancient times, there was a great war between the Noomah and the Na-vohnuh. The Na-vohnuh tried to kill all of the True Humans, but my grandfathers’ grandfathers escaped into a bad country. There, the Noomah have lived for generation upon generation. We have become like our wolf ancestors. We have learned to fight and survive. Now it is time to hunt down our enemies as though they were rabbits, and tear them to pieces. We will have horses.”

  Raccoon-Eyes paused out of respect for the power of Horseback’s words. “Will you make a sacred peace with the Metal Men?”

  Horseback looked beyond Raccoon-Eyes and saw the suspicious glares of the Black Robe, and the hairy-faced war chief. The wealthy peace chief looked on, too, but with trust for Raccoon-Eyes. “I will smoke with the peace chief,” he said. “The one who wears the red cloth around his waist.”

  Jean nodded. “It is good, my friend.”

  After Horseback passed the pipe with the peace chief of the Metal Men, Raccoon-Eyes invited him to come as often as he wished to his square lodge, and learn the ways of the Metal Men. Horseback’s heart told him to trust this Raccoon-Eye white man, and he began to learn many things—so many things that when he went back to the lodge of the searchers at night at the camp on the river, his head swam with images, and his heart ached with questions.

  “I must learn many things here,” he said to himself. “Teal’s father will respect my knowledge as much as my ability to offer the gift of ten horses.”

  Horseback’s name in the language of the Metal Men was Acaballo but Raccoon-Eyes called him Kiyu, as a True Human would. “Come, Kiyu, my friend,” he said the first day. “I will show you all about the Metal Men’s ways with horses.”

  Horseback learned that the whites strapped much iron and other heavy things upon their horses, taking from them much speed and many tracks. They forced large pieces of iron into the mouths of their horses. The saddles used by the Metal Men were beautiful, but heavy and rigid, locking onto the withers of the horses where they were strapped down tight. The foot pieces called stirrups
were made of iron, while the rest of the saddle must have taken half of a hide from one of the lesser buffalo the whites called cattle. The leather from these cattle was not as fine as buffalo hide, yet the Metal Men knew how to paint, carve, and polish it. Raccoon-Eyes let Horseback ride upon one of these saddles one day.

  “How do you like it?” Raccoon-Eyes asked.

  “I can not feel the heart of the pony between my legs through all that wood and leather.”

  Later, Raccoon-Eyes took Horseback to a place where slaves were making saddles. They started with a piece of wood that the Metal Men called a tree. They covered this tree with wet rawhide, stitched on. When the rawhide dried, it shrank around the tree, making a strong saddle. To this tree, the slaves fixed the leather pieces with tiny iron thorns.

  Horseback picked up one of the saddle trees and said, “It is not heavy this way. Too much leather makes it heavy. You should ride your saddle like this.”

  Raccoon-Eyes’s brows raised when he heard this. He told a slave to fit the saddle tree with light iron stirrups, a leather cinch strap to hold it onto the horse, and also a sheep skin to make the seat soft. He threw a blanket over a horse, and strapped the saddle tree on over the blanket.

  “Yes,” Horseback said, after riding the padded saddle tree. “It is better than your heavy saddles. I am closer to the heart of the pony.” He leaned to one side, then the other, noting the way the saddle stayed locked onto the withers of the horse. “This would be a good saddle for a woman.”

  Raccoon-Eyes laughed. “I give this saddle to you as a gift from the nation of Metal Men. Perhaps you will present it to one of your Noomah women.”

  Horseback smiled as he dismounted and removed the saddle carefully from the pony.

  The next day they rode to a place called a forge where slaves from many nations made things of iron. Here, the strong puha of fire spirits caused powerful things to happen. It changed hard cold iron to a thing that glowed, smoked, and moved like a living being trying to escape. The slaves would pour it into shapes, and beseech the iron to change like water to ice. Once cool, it possessed a heft and a hardness greater than any stone.