The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The boy waited a little longer, standing there in the shade with his rifle ready, and eyes and ears intent. He stood thus for a quarter of an hour, scarcely moving. The brilliant sunshine poured down upon him, bringing out every line of the strong young figure, illuminating the face which was thrown a little forward, as the blue eyes, gazing intently through the undergrowth, sought some evidence of a hostile presence. Finally the eyes turned to the horses which were grazing calmly in the full circle of their long lariats. Phil decided that such calm on their part signified the absence of any enemy. If either man or beast came near they would raise their heads.

Then Phil moved forward through the bushes, putting into use all his new skill and caution. The bushes closed softly behind him, and he entered a slope covered with great trees without undergrowth. His eyes could range forward several hundred yards, but he saw nothing. He advanced for a few minutes, steadily descending, and he was tempted to shout his loudest or fire off his rifle as a signal to the derelict Bill Breakstone that it was time for him to come back. But he resisted both temptations, and soon he was glad that he had done so. The slope was very gradual, and he traveled a full two miles before he came to the edge of the woods and saw before him the plain that Bill Breakstone had predicted. He took one look, and then, springing back, sank down in the covert of the bushes.

Before Phil lay a fairly level plain about a mile in width and of unknown length, as in either direction it parsed out of sight among the hills. In the center of it was a shallow but wide creek which perhaps flowed into the nameless river. The valley was very fertile, as the grass was already rich and high, despite the earliness of spring.

At the widest point of the valley stood a large Indian village, two hundred lodges at least, and Phil could not doubt that it was a village of the Comanches. Hundreds of ponies, grazing in the meadows to the north, and guarded by boys, proved that they were horse Indians, and no other tribe dared to ride where the Comanches roamed.

Phil could see far in the dazzling sunlight, and all the normal activities of human life, that is, of wild life, seemed to prevail in the Comanche village. Evidently the warriors had been on a great buffalo hunt. Perhaps they had struck at another point the same herd into which the train had run. Over a wide space buffalo hides were pegged down. Old squaws were scraping the flesh from some with little knives, while others, already cleaned, were drying in the sun. Vast quantities of buffalo meat were being jerked on temporary platforms. Little Indian boys and girls carried in their hand bones of buffalo or deer, from which they ate whenever they felt hungry. Everywhere it was a scene of savage plenty and enjoyment, although signs of industry were not wholly lacking, even among the warriors. Many of these, sitting on the grass, were cleaning their rifles or making new bows and arrows. Now and then one would make a test, sending into the air an arrow which some little boy was glad to run after and bring back. At another point a number of boys were practicing at a target with small bows and blunt-headed arrows. Two warriors on their ponies came up the valley, each carrying before him the body of a black-tailed deer. They were received with shouts, but soon disappeared with their spoils among the lodges, which were made universally of the skin of the buffalo. Down at the end of the village some warriors, naked to the breech cloth, danced monotonously back and forth, while an old man blew an equally monotonous tune on a whistle made of the bone of an eagle.

Phil, lying close in his covert, watched with absorbed eyes, and with mind and vision alike quick and keen, he took in every detail. The warriors were tall men, with intelligent faces, aquiline noses, thin lips, black eyes and hair, and but little beard. The hair grew very long, as they never cut it, and in many cases it was ornamented with bright beads and little pieces of silver. They wore deerskin leggins or moccasins, and a cloth of some bright color, bought from American Mexican traders, wrapped around the loins. The body from the loin cloth upward was naked, but in winter was covered with a buffalo robe. The women were physically very much inferior to the men. They were short and with crooked legs. Moreover, they wore their hair cut close, being compelled to do so by tribal law, the long-haired Comanche men and the short-haired Comanche women thus reversing the custom of civilization. Both men and women wore amulets. The Comanches, like most Indian tribes, were great believers in dreams, and the amulets were supposed to protect them from such as were bad.

Phil's roving eye lighted upon a small frame structure built of slight poles, the only one in the village not of hides. Such a building was always to be found in every Comanche village, but he did not know until later that it was a combined medicine lodge and vapor bath house. It was spherical in shape, and securely covered with buffalo hides. When a warrior fell seriously ill, he was seated in this lodge, beside several heated stone ovens, on which water was thrown in profusion. Then, while a dense, hot vapor arose, the shaman, or medicine man, practiced incantations, while men outside made music on whistles or the Indian drums. The hot bath was often effective, but the Comanche ascribed at least a part of the cure to the medicine man's incantations. Young Comanche men, also, often took a vapor bath before going on the war path, thinking that it had power to protect them from wounds.

Then Philip saw to the right a far larger building than that of the vapor bath, although it was made of dressed skins with just enough poles to support it. This was the medicine lodge of the Comanche village, a building used for important purposes, some of which Phil was to learn soon.

The boy did not doubt that his comrade had been taken, and, unless killed, was even now a captive in the Comanche village. He might be held in that huge medicine lodge, and the boy's resolution strengthened to the temper of steel. He could not go back to the train without Bill Breakstone; so he would rescue him. He did not yet have any idea how, but he would find a way. There were depths of courage in his nature of which he himself did not know, and springing from this courage was the belief that he would succeed.

While he yet lay in the covert he saw a band of Indians, about a dozen in number, riding up the valley. They were apparently visitors, but they were welcomed with loud cries. The leader of the band, a large man with brilliant feathers in his hair, replied with a shout. I Then a horseman rode forth to meet him. Even at the distance Phil recognized the horseman as Black Panther. He, too, was arrayed in his finest, and, as a great crowd gathered, the two chiefs slowly approached each other. When their horses were side by side, Black Panther leaned over in his saddle, put his head on the other's shoulder, clasped his arms around his chest, and gave him a tremendous squeeze. The stranger returned the salute in kind, and then the two, amid great shouts of approval, rode among the lodges, disappearing from Phil's sight.