/0/15208/coverbig.jpg?v=e50fb226bbf50603e9f7ec21cd2a6339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Star by Forrestine C. Hooker
Chapter 1 No.1
The first streak of dawn was turning the sky from gray to pale pink as Star lifted his head and looked sleepily at the twelve hundred Comanche ponies stretched on the ground around him.
Farther away were many tepees made from buffalo skins, but only the wolf-dogs, curled in holes they had dug near the tepees, showed that the camp was not deserted. Star knew that the Comanche braves, squaws, and papooses would soon awaken and come out wrapped in blankets which had been woven by the squaws and dyed in bright colours made from roots and berries.
One tepee, larger than the others, belonged to Quannah, Chief of the Quahada Comanches, and Star looked at it as he recalled the story his mother, Running Deer, had told him many times while they grazed side by side or rested on the banks of the creek near the camp. Star loved Quannah, but more than all else he loved Quannah's little daughter, Songbird, for she was Star's mistress. He remembered the day when he had been too tiny and weak to stand up, and Quannah, with Songbird, had stooped to pat Running Deer's colt.
"We will name him Star," the chief had spoken. "He belongs to you, as his mother belongs to me, and as his mother's mother belonged to my father. Swift, sure, and strong, they have been worthy to carry the Chiefs of the Quahadas."
So the colt understood the honour given his mother and the honour that was to be his when he was big enough to be ridden. And the tale his mother told many times never wearied him.
"My mother told me the tale," she would always begin, "and now that she is dead I tell it to you. When I am dead, you shall tell it to other ponies, so that it may be remembered as long as Comanche herds wander over the plains.
"The squaws tell their papooses the great deeds of their forefathers, that none will forget, that the young boys may become great warriors, while the girls grow to be worthy squaws and train their own sons to live with honour. So I, too, tell the story of our part in the life of our great Chief and his Pale-face Mother, as my mother told it to me, long ago, before you were born.
"When she was a very young mare, the swiftest racer of all the Comanche ponies, our tribe wandered long distances over plains covered with grass knee-high. Vast herds of buffaloes and thousands of beautiful antelopes shared the prairie lands with us. When the tepees were set up there were so many that they reached out like stars covering the sky at night. Our pony herd was so large that each brave owned many ponies, and he who owned the most ponies was the richest man of all.
"The Comanches could not live without us. It needs a swift, sure-footed pony to follow the antelope near enough to send an arrow to its heart as it runs. You know, as well as I, that antelope meat must be brought to the camp to feed the women and children. Because the Comanches are such great hunters, other tribes call them the 'Antelope Eaters.' And from the hundreds of buffaloes ranging on the plains, our warriors obtain hides for clothing, for warm robes and to make tepees that will defy the cold winds and snows that rush upon them from the place where the Great White Spirit of Winter dwells.
"Without good ponies the Comanches would be cold and hungry, as you must see. And so we are honoured by the warriors and loved by the women and children for whom we provide food and shelter. When the enemies of the tribe come against us in battle, the ponies share the dangers with their owners. None of us has ever been vanquished. Ponies have died beside their masters, but have never deserted them. When a warrior dies, his favourite pony dies with him, that the warrior may ride it in the Happy Hunting Grounds to which he and it have journeyed through the Land of Shadows. There they are happy together. That is a great honour, but the greatest honour of all is to be the favourite pony of the Chief."
"Like you!" interrupted Star with a proud toss of his head as he glanced at other colts whose mothers belonged to men who were not chiefs.
"Like me and like my mother," Running Deer never failed to answer. "Lie down beside me while I tell you the tale again, so that you will make no mistake in telling it to other ponies when you are old and others have forgotten it all."
Star settled himself comfortably at her side, and as she talked, he nipped daintily at bits of tender grass which made a soft bed beneath over-hanging branches of a tall tree.
* * *
/0/4256/coverorgin.jpg?v=3a8429feb784e528c08271b50fe6dc5b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86395/coverorgin.jpg?v=55bb4b33b13d15db79b49aea662af755&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82937/coverorgin.jpg?v=2907194aa510c647b04f7cba8770d5c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90950/coverorgin.jpg?v=22f020468c7893d4fba41f46b54ff5a2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/87925/coverorgin.jpg?v=6a06bbc4611dac70bc379094911a1499&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81262/coverorgin.jpg?v=54deda504a91a0eb1f8c5549d31d6a2f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/65282/coverorgin.jpg?v=513f43e8f6163cc416a9e7c20cd3248e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Chapter 1 No.1
06/12/2017
Chapter 2 No.2
06/12/2017
Chapter 3 No.3
06/12/2017
Chapter 4 No.4
06/12/2017
Chapter 5 No.5
06/12/2017
Chapter 6 No.6
06/12/2017
Chapter 7 No.7
06/12/2017
Chapter 8 No.8
06/12/2017
Chapter 9 No.9
06/12/2017
Chapter 10 No.10
06/12/2017
Chapter 11 No.11
06/12/2017
Chapter 12 No.12
06/12/2017
Chapter 13 No.13
06/12/2017
Chapter 14 No.14
06/12/2017
Chapter 15 No.15
06/12/2017
Chapter 16 No.16
06/12/2017
Chapter 17 No.17
06/12/2017
Chapter 18 No.18
06/12/2017
Chapter 19 No.19
06/12/2017
Chapter 20 No.20
06/12/2017
Chapter 21 No.21
06/12/2017
Other books by Forrestine C. Hooker
More