"I hate men with white faces," snorted Star, stamping his forefoot angrily. "My mother says that they will take our game and our grass and kill all the Comanche ponies and people. The white men took Quannah's mother and sister away and they never came back to us. That is why I hate men with white faces!"
"Not all of them are that way," the big horse said earnestly. "Many white people do not wish to fight. Sometimes Indians have killed white women and children and have burned their homes, or taken them prisoners. Then the Great Father of the whole world, who is over the white people and the Indians, too, has to send soldiers to find the white prisoners and make the Indians keep away from the homes of the white men."
Star thought over these words before he asked, "Who told you all this?"
"I learned it myself, through many years of hard work," was the reply. "Ever since I was five years old I have belonged to the White Horse Troop which was captured by the Indians last night. Only white horses are in that troop, but in other troops there are blacks and bays and sorrels. Each of the troops has three officers and the captain is in command while the others are under him. So for many years I have gone with the troop over miles of rough country, sometimes swimming great rivers, and often we encountered big bands of Indians who fought us. Maybe the Indians are wrong, maybe it is the white man, but men are our masters and so, right or wrong, we obey them and love them. Yet we horses do not understand, nor do we fight the Indian ponies. I am old and I do not wish to fight any one. But we must obey our masters. When I was young I did not ask questions, but now that I am stiff from years, I wonder why people fight one another."
"Do all your horses fight?" was Star's puzzled comment.
"Not the band horses," replied the white horse. "They do not go out of the garrison where we all live together. Their riders have shining horns and big drums that make such beautiful music that when we troop horses come out on parade, we cannot keep our feet from dancing or our necks from curving with pride. The Band horses are very proud and keep to themselves when we are all out grazing, and of course, no one could blame them for that."
Star listened in amazement. He was anxious to learn all that he could, so as to repeat this wonderful story to his mother.
"You use so many strange words," he said at last. "What is a parade?"
"Why, just a big green piece of ground, but all around it are buildings where officers and soldiers live. In the centre of each parade is a very high white pole. On top of it floats a beautiful flag."
"What is that?" interrupted Star, bewildered.