"Your pony is not swift enough," replied the chief, and the young man bowed his head in shame.
"He has but one pony," Running Deer spoke scornfully to Star. "He is poor and his mare is old. When his father went to the Happy Hunting Grounds he left but two ponies for his son, and one of them has died. His heart is brave, but his pony's legs are weak, so he will not be sent."
As Quannah began speaking, Star lifted his head quickly.
"You shall go. Running Deer is the swiftest pony of the Comanche herd, and Star, her colt, though young and untried, should be fleet-footed and sure. You shall ride him to-day."
In a few minutes the young warrior was seated on Star's bare back. Running Deer watched anxiously. But the colt's back did not weaken, nor did he flinch beneath the man's weight. It seemed no more of a burden than when Songbird had ridden him.
"Watch out for prairie-dog holes and loose, smooth stones," cautioned Running Deer. "When you go most swiftly, hold your nose level with your shoulders, and look straight before you without turning your head from side to side. Do not leap high, but let your body drop low to the earth when you run, and in that way you can outstrip other ponies and not weary for many long miles. If your rider falls from you, do not leave him, but stay near by until he climbs again to your back, or someone comes for you. And always remember that you belong to the Chief of the Comanches."
While Running Deer was speaking, Quannah was talking in a low voice to the young man who sat on Star's back. As the chief's words ceased, the pony felt the rider lean forward, and his knees press closely against his sides; then, like an arrow shot from a strong bow, Star, son of Running Deer, darted on his way.
The fresh breeze swept into the pony's nostrils, it tossed his thick, black mane, and his long tail streamed like a tattered black flag, while the Comanche lying low against Star's shoulder seemed to be a part of the animal he was riding.
Across the wide prairie the pony raced, guided by a noose of plaited rawhide. He did not need the pressure of this rope on his neck, for the mere movement of the Indian's body was enough to tell him which way to go. No whip or blow from the rider's heels was necessary. Star understood that the chief had sent him, and the son of Running Deer must prove himself worthy of her training and his heritage.
All day they travelled. At intervals the Indian made him walk a short distance, then once more Star broke into the smooth, swift run. They passed near a band of startled antelopes which whirled and dashed away; farther off, a bunch of galloping buffaloes thudded with their heads held low down, the humps on their shoulders rising and falling like small waves of dark water, but the Indian on Star's back paid no heed to them. The quiver full of sharply pointed arrows remained slung across his back.