"I will paint a chief's daughter who did not cry," the old woman answered. "Men fight with spears and arrows or knives, and they win honour and praise, but women fight alone and no one knows when they fight. Brave women do not weep. You are the daughter of the chief. His mother rode beside his father when the fire-sticks screamed at them, and she was not afraid. You will not cry even though Quannah does not return to us."
"No"—the voice that answered Moko was very low and trembling—"I will not cry, Moko."
The old Picture-Maker, clutching a lock of Star's mane in her wrinkled hand, looked after the little figure that walked proudly away and disappeared into the chief's tent. Moko shook her white head sadly as she gave some dried corn to Star, then tethered him with a long rope made from plaited strips of buffalo hide. In the big tepee Songbird lay across the bed of furs, choking back sobs that must not be heard.
During the following week the squaws and children watched, while Songbird and Star went daily to the highest point overlooking the camp, hoping for some sign of the returning warriors. As the two were about to start up the hill on the morning of the eighth day, a Comanche warrior, mounted on a black pony, appeared on the point above the camp. Star was the first to see him. Star knew that black pony had sharp teeth and very strong jaws. Running Deer answered her colt's welcoming call, then Star tore madly toward his mother, who, with Quannah on her back, scrambled hastily to meet her colt.
As the ponies met, Songbird held out her arms, and her father lifted her from Star's back. Holding her before him, the chief rode down into the camp, while Songbird's eyes glowed with pride and joy. Star, keeping closely beside his mother, kicked his heels, shook his head, and nipped his mother's neck.
Over the crest of the hill behind Quannah, rode the cavalcade of Comanche warriors. Their war-bonnets trailed over their shoulders and fell almost to the ground, their shields were held aloft, and the silver trinkets on each pony jingled loudly. One by one the Comanches dashed furiously into the camp, formed in single files and raced in and out between the tepees, uttering shrill cries of triumph, while the women and even tiny children joined in the song of victory.
Songbird had been dropped lightly to the ground, and now, among the other children, she watched her father as he sat on Running Deer towering above all the other warriors. Her little heart seemed ready to burst with pride. Never had there been such a Comanche Chief, she thought.
The war-bonnet of eagle feathers which encircled his forehead swept down his back, and over Running Deer's glossy black flank to the mare's fetlocks. Large hoops of brass were in the chief's ears, and a necklace of bear's claws hung about his neck. Quannah had killed those bears, and each one had been big and very fierce. Only a brave warrior could have killed them alone. Tight trousers of buckskin, fringed at the outer seams, and moccasins trimmed with bits of red cloth, finished the best clothes of a Comanche chief. Songbird thought it a beautiful way of dressing.
His hair, braided with otter fur and tied with strips of red material, formed a long scalp-lock. It was a disgrace for a warrior to have no scalp-lock. In battle his enemies always tried to capture it as a trophy of victory and proof of bravery.
Many of the ponies were striped with different colours. The stripes were used on buckskin, white, gray, or sorrel ponies to prevent detection by foes, but the darker ponies, such as blacks or bays, did not need such precautions. Running Deer, being coal-black like Star, had not been painted. The mare's bridle was heavy with silver ornaments which had been hammered firmly on reins and headstall, while her long tail and thick mane were braided with the same kind of red cloth that tied Quannah's scalp-lock.