Comanche Dawn

by Mike Blakely

  And the river called him.

  He did not know fear, for Hair-Like-a-Mane kept him near the camp of two-leggeds where the meat-eaters did not venture. He knew neither thirst nor hunger, for his good two-legged brought grass and water to him. He could hobble about and graze. His two-legged would squat on the ground and watch him, speaking to him. Noomah would avoid moving his wounded leg until the last moment. He would leave it in one place on the ground as his other legs shuffled forward and his teeth cropped grass, until he finally had to step forward with the useless leg. Then he would lunge clumsily, keeping his weight off the injured limb.

  Noomah could scarcely walk, much less run, and the river called to him.

  The two-leggeds brought mares to him. At these times, Noomah would forget his sorrow and think of his loins. The two-leggeds would hold the mares, and he would mount them, rising with a thrust of his good leg. Astride the withers of a hot mare, his legs served him well—even the wounded one, for its hoof did not reach the ground—and Noomah could clench the mare’s mane in his teeth and forget his sorrow for a few moments. Then the two-leggeds would lead the mare away, and Noomah would limp about in confusion. Had he not been well for a moment? Had he not felt sound, mounting the mare?

  His belly grew round and heavy with grass. His back sagged, and the river called Noomah’s name.

  Now Hair-Like-a-Mane was scratching his withers, making him feel good. He lunged forward to get another sprig of grass. His two-legged’s hand stroked him. Hair-Like-a-Mane made the noise Noomah liked, then turned away to the camp of the two-leggeds. Noomah watched him go. He wanted to follow, but he could not walk even that fast. He was slower than a two-legged. That was slower than slow. A gust of wind came from the river, and Noomah remembered what it had felt like to run. To run! He had so loved to run, his two-legged on his back, screaming the wild sounds, passing the other riders, the buffalo, the bleeding enemies. The gust came again from the river and it carried Noomah’s name.

  He made a lunge, then another, and another. He stopped to rest. He found the easy trail to the water’s edge, and hobbled down. The water smelled good. The stinking rotten things did not bother him today. He smelled fresh water. He felt thirsty. The summer sun beat down on him. The water was cool. He would roll and cool himself. The river called him closer.

  His name came louder on this day. The river had grown. It moved fast. Almost as fast as Noomah had once loped. It looked good, gliding by, carrying things that once had made Noomah fear its power. Something large and dark floated by on the frothy surface. It was too far away to strike, so Noomah just watched it. He stood now at the water’s edge. The thing moved quickly by him.

  He lowered his head, touched his muzzle to the surface. He sucked in a drought and felt it cool his throat as he gulped it. He raised his head, carrying a mouthful of water in which to loll his tongue about as if he were chewing it. The water sweetened the taste of green grass yet in his mouth. For a moment, Noomah forgot, and tried to put his weight on his bad leg. But the pain stabbed him and he had to lunge for balance.

  He found himself standing in water up to his hocks and knees. The cool river seemed to soothe his pain as it pulled at him. Noomah had always feared the power, but now the river seemed to be inviting him. Might he ride it? The way his two-legged rode his back?

  He pawed with his injured hoof. It did not hurt as much as stepping on it. He let it sink into the mud. It felt good. Noomah let his knees buckle and fell sideways in the water with a splash. The power of the river pushed against his belly. The water was cool on his back. He righted himself and, with a great thrust of his powerful hind legs, propelled himself deeper into the stream. He breathed deep, making himself float. It was like gliding above the ground, for Noomah could still feel the soft bottom under him. He was weightless, and he could use even his bad leg to kick and lift his neck and head out of the water.

  He turned his tail to the power, and kicked at it. The river answered with his name, mysteriously babbled among all the rushing-hissing-gurgling-trickling-roaring sounds. He began to move with the water at a speed he had not felt since that bad moment in the big fight. He used his injured leg to bounce off the muddy bottom, while the others kicked at the cool power and drove him forward.

  He heaved another breath, as in the old days when he would run. He lunged faster forward. Here, Noomah could use his power. Here, even his big belly did not drag upon his back. He was strong and fast. The riverbank slipped by his side, like timber moving by at a gallop. Then he saw the thing again. He was getting closer. The dark thing that floated in the water. He could catch it. He could.

  His legs drove him with a fury, and even the bad leg made no pain, though it would not push the way the others did. Noomah did not care. He felt joy. He was moving! He raced the thing—the big tree in the water. The muddy bottom fell away from him and he floated like a spirit-pony. He swam through patches of light and shadow where the sun shone through the timber on the bank. He found a place where the water moved fast. He would catch the thing in the river ahead. He trained his eyes on it and drove onward as he blasted foam from his nostrils.

  The tree was just ahead of him now, and it grew weary, for it sulled suddenly, the water piling up against it. It turned, and rolled, and lodged in the mud below it just long enough for Noomah to dodge around it and pass!

  Now there was only flat water ahead of him, and the current gathered him into a place that went still faster. Noomah was tired now, but he did not want to stop. Now he knew why the river had called him. He sank lower as he blasted more hot air from this lungs. His body burned with a good feeling of exertion. As he lunged, he felt water rush into his nostrils, but blasted it away. He liked the speed. He would not go back to the grassy banks, where everything stood still.

  He used all his strength, and all the power of the river, and went away—far away from the camp of his good two-legged friend. It felt like running. Yes, it felt almost like running. Noomah loved to run.

  67

  From where he sat on the bluff, Horseback could see the lodges of his camp. In the distance, to the northwest, he could see the set of rocks where his mother had been buried. He could see the bend in the River of Arrowheads around which Medicine-Coat had disappeared. He could see the beautiful shapes the ponies formed against the vast expanse of grass—large bodies, rounded with muscle and fat, powerful legs tapering to mere arrow points that danced upon the earth, graceful necks lifting noble heads, flowing manes, and tails that twitched with contentment.

  He sat, and smoked his pipe, and looked at these things. He saw a shadow on the ground, and heard an eagle scream between the shadow and the sun. He was weary. With a small party, he had ridden far in search of Battle Scar, in search of vengeance for his war pony, and his father. He had failed to find his enemy, but he had gone farther south than any Noomah warrior had ever ridden. He had seen strange new things.

  He had discovered a new land. A land of hills and timber and clear running streams. A land of people called Tonkawa. It was the land of the lesser deer, a cousin to the great deer Horseback had always known—the animal to whom he paid homage with his taboos. Yet, this lesser deer was not sacred to Horseback, and he could kill it and eat it. It possessed a tail that flashed a white warning. It was good to eat.

  There were bees in the land of hills and timber, and much honey. Trees grew there of a sort Horseback had never seen. One bore acorns, yet had small leaves that it held green through the winter. The lesser bear was abundant there, but the greater humpbacked bear did not exist at all. Horseback had followed a good river to this land, looking for his enemy, Battle Scar. He had found only the strange people called Tonkawas, with whom he had communicated in signs. They had advised Horseback that four sleeps south, a village of strange white men had built a large lodge of stone.

  Horseback had gone south—only two day’s travel for his mounted warriors—and had found the village of white men. They were Metal Men—Spaniards. He spoke to one of the Black
Robes there, who was amazed that Horseback knew Spanish and had seen Santa Fe and Taos. This village of Metal Men was called San Antonio de Bexar.

  Horseback and his party of explorers had stayed in the land of hills and timber into the winter, yet never saw snow fall. When he asked the Tonkawas why snow did not fall here, they only laughed. This was a place to spend the winter. He camped on a small stream, near a mound made of bones and burnt rocks that showed the Tonkawas had long considered this a good place to camp. He knew he would bring his people here in winters to come, for the low, timbered hills surrounded this stream like a pair of cupped hands holding water to drink. He had felt good camping there, for he never had to watch for the tracks of the greater deer. Only the lesser deer lived in this country of timber and hills. The Tonkawas would be easy to chase away, for they did not know how to ride and fight like Comanches. It was a good place, and he thought of it now, sitting on his bluff in the country of the River of Arrowheads.

  His enemies, the Na-vohnuhs claimed all this land between the River of Arrowheads and the country of hills and timber. Yet, the Horseback People crossed this Na-vohnuh domain whenever they chose, without fear. One day, this would all be Comanche land. And yet, Horseback was weary of war with the Na-vohnuh. For many winters he had carried battle to any band of Na-vohnuh he could find, stealing ponies, killing warriors, taking women and children to sell to the Metal Men. He had seen friends and young warriors die. His people spoke constantly of war. War, war, war. In the council lodges, the veteran warriors—the Crazy-Dogs and the Foolish Ones, the Swift Foxes, Ravens, Buffalo Bulls, and Afraid-of-Nothings—they all spoke of annihilation—total destruction of all Na-vohnuh people, as the Northern Raiders and Crow and Yuta and Wolf People had once sought to destroy the True Humans. As the Na-vohnuh themselves, in the time of his grandfathers’ grandfathers, had once sought to rub out the Noomah, almost succeeding.

  Horseback was the greatest warrior in all of his nation. He had led the movement south. He had carried the war against Battle Scar and the Na-vohnuh. He had wanted total destruction of his enemies. But now, he was weary, and the spirits were speaking to him of changes. Perhaps his people would not understand him at first—especially the wild young warriors seeking glory—but he would begin a new kind of warfare. He had dreamed of it.

  Raccoon-Eyes had come to Horseback in a dream vision during last night’s sleep. Horseback had expected this ever since Paniagua rode a mule into his camp and informed him of Raccoon-Eyes’s death on the Filthy Water. In his dream vision of last night, Raccoon-Eyes had appeared naked, and showed Horseback the wound Bald Man had given him.

  “It is not a bad wound,” Raccoon-Eyes had said. “In the Shadow Land, it does not hurt. Nothing hurts in the Shadow Land. There are buffalo and elk to hunt. But these are not things for you to think of yet. You have work to do.”

  “Hah,” Horseback had said. “I must destroy my enemies.”

  Raccoon-Eyes had laughed as Horseback had never seen any man laugh. “The destroyer becomes the destroyed. The mistletoe feeds on the tree and thrives. Then the limbs break off, and the mistletoe dies. The sacred way of things that grow is the way of the spirits. Remember what the Metal Men have said about their sheep. Kill the sheep and skin it once. Let it live, and shear it many times.”

  “What then is my work?” Horseback asked.

  “Think of questions the spirits would ask you. Think of Sound-the-Sun-Makes. Think of the Land of the River of Arrowheads where the grass grows and buffalo number like stars. Think of the Land of Hills and Timber, where the lesser deer lives and honey flows from hollow trees. Think of the life you will leave for your grandchildren’s grandchildren. Farewell, my friend. I will keep your pony ready for you.”

  Raccoon-Eyes had turned and walked into a mist that shrouded the pass to the Shadow Land, and Horseback’s dream for the rest of the long night was a dream of this mist.

  Now he sat on this bluff and looked over the good Land of the River of Arrowheads. He smoked the last of his tobacco and rose to swing up on his pony, a son of Medicine-Coat. Riding down the gently sloping back side of the bluff, he circled to his camp and staked his pony downwind to keep dust out of the cook fires and lodges. He walked into camp and found his wives tending to a buffalo hide.

  They were working the heavy robe through a small wooden circle made of a branch bent and tied into a hoop. The hoop was lashed vertically to a scaffold with rawhide, and the women would pull the hide one way, then the other, through the loop, using all their strength to force it through, for the loop was small and the hide fit tightly through it. This would make the robe soft.

  Horseback smiled. They worked well together—Teal, Dipper, and Sunshade—often laughing and calling one another sister. Yet, each had her own special talents that she worked at improving. One wife alone would not have had the time to develop such special talents, but one wife among three did.

  Teal had learned better than anyone how to train dogs to pull the pole-drags for babies’ cradle boards. Mothers from all over the camp wanted dogs trained by Teal, and she traded these dogs for many good things. She also owned her own ponies that she trained to pull the sturdy pony-drags she built.

  Dipper liked to sit quietly and work on things like moccasins and shirts, making exquisite quill work, and a new kind of work with beads obtained from the Metal Men.

  Sunshade liked to cook, and made almost all the meals enjoyed by Horseback, his wives, their children, and Horseback’s Mother, Looks Away, who always ate with Horseback’s family.

  In addition to these, each wife possessed her own special talents when wrapped in a robe with her husband at night, but Horseback did not mention these, for fear of making his wives jealous of one another.

  He stalked within hearing distance of his wives and said, “Teal. I wish to speak with my sits-beside wife.”

  Teal left the other two women to work with the hide and followed Horseback to his lodge. He sat inside, and she sat beside him.

  “I will call the warriors together in a council lodge. I have had a dream vision. I want you and your sister wives to listen outside the lodge when I speak.”

  “Will you go to make war?” she asked.

  “Listen, woman, and you will know. Now, go.”

  * * *

  The seasoned men of the Horseback People gathered in the council lodge and smoked. They all looked at Horseback as he rose. He stood there a long time before he spoke. When he began, he looked northward, as if he could see a long way, though the fine cow hides of the council lodge closed all around him.

  “When I was a little boy, in the old country of long winters, I saw the best warriors of the Burnt Meat People die defending their women, their children, and their lodges. These men were brave, but our enemies numbered like flocks of geese, and they carried away our women and babies and burned our lodges. The Northern Raiders, the Crow, the Flathead, the Wolf People, and even the Yutas, who are now our allies. When I was a boy, the enemies of my people were powerful.

  “Now, the True Humans who have come to this new place are powerful. We use the strength of our ponies. It is good here. We eat until our bellies are full. We carry battle to our enemies. We do not move our camp to get away from them.”

  He paused to look at the prideful visages of his friends. “Yet, I am weary of war with the Na-vohnuh. I see young warriors go to count coups and take scalps, yet come back tied to the backs of their ponies. No man wants to die old. But, no boy should die so young.

  “I have had a dream vision. A friend has come to visit me from the Shadow Land. I have thought about this dream. I know what it means. I have avenged my grandfathers’ grandfathers. No longer must I carry on the ancient war with the Na-vohnuh. The battles I fight with them in days to come will be for reasons of now, not reasons of long-ago. Yes, I will raid their camps and take their ponies. I will strike and kill any who challenge me. I will take swift vengeance on any who violate my peace. But, no longer will I kill Na-vohnuh warriors to avenge
my ancestors. The spirits tell me that I have killed enough. The ancient war is over.”

  Horseback paused to give his words the weight of stone. He lifted his arms, and shook the long fringes of buckskin on the beautiful antelope-skin shirt Dipper had made for him. “I have found a good new land—the Land of Hills and Timber—far to the south and east. Our enemies hold this land, but my people will take it. The spirits have told me how. We will camp here in the valley of the River of Arrowheads when the hunting for buffalo is good. We will camp in the Land of Hills and Timber when the winters are cold. We will make a trail between these places, and camp wherever we wish to camp along this trail. If our enemies attack us in our camps, we will rub them out.

  “This trail between the River of Arrowheads and the Land of Hills and Timber will divide the Na-vohnuh nation. It will drive them apart. Some east, some west. They will fear crossing this trail. These Na-vohnuh are weak and foolish. They fight among themselves. They do not know how to rise together, though they number far greater than the True Humans who have come to this country.

  “There is only one chief among the Na-vohnuh who has the power to harm our people. He has gathered many warriors of many Na-vohnuh bands. He is sly and cruel. He skulks like a coyote, yet he is as dangerous as a great bear. He keeps many warriors around him to protect him, for he does not have the courage to act alone.

  “I have the courage.”

  Horseback took the time to look at each man’s face. The elders sat with mist in their eyes, remembering their own days of strength and bravery. The veteran warriors appeared rigid and ready to fight, their eyes bright and jaws taut Among them were Trotter and Bear Heart, who had seen much danger and warfare with Horseback. The younger warriors leaned forward with their heads turned, like eager birds listening for the next sound. Among the youngest was Horseback’s son, Sandhill, who had made his first hunt, and was eager for his first fight.