Two hours before sunset Star awakened from his sound sleep, but the white horse only lifted its head long enough to blink at the Comanche pony as it rolled over. Then Star scrambled to his feet and gave a hard shake of his body, which is the way a pony stretches after a good nap.

Running Deer was not far off, so the colt joined her, and after an exchange of gentle bites, they moved slowly away from the herd, grazing as they went. Star told his mother all that the troop horse had been talking about, and Running Deer was as much surprised as her colt had been, for she had no idea of how white men lived.

The two Comanche ponies were so interested in their conversation that neither of them noticed they had wandered quite a distance from the herd. The Indians on guard over the other ponies had not tried to stop Star or Running Deer, because all the Comanches knew that neither of these ponies would stray far away. But the rolling hills stretched temptingly, and at times Star and his mother raced after each other, kicking up their heels or even lying down to roll and kick, then jumping up to dash away side by side. When the sun dropped out of the sky Running Deer was startled, and reminded her colt that they must go back at once.

They were standing on a little knoll overlooking a shallow depression between a group of small hills. The sun had disappeared, but like a warrior's banner beautiful crimson rays were flung across the deep blue sky. The cool evening breeze twisted its fingers in the ponies' manes, lifting the heavy black hair and tumbling it across their eyes, so that it tickled their ears until Star tossed his head. The only sound was the song of a mockingbird guarding the nest on which its mate sat patiently with her wings spread over the little ones that the night air might not chill them. The grassy slopes were studded with wild flowers, many of which, sleepy from their long day's play with the breeze, nodded on their stems with their petals folded as though their hands were clasped in prayer.

Here and there jack-rabbits, their long ears perked nervously, twisted to see if any danger threatened, then dropping on all four feet they hopped, and chased one another in play, or nibbled at the grass roots. An antelope with her fawn at her side appeared for an instant on one of the hilltops, her head lifted alertly, her nostrils twitching as she sniffed the air. She started, whirled on her slender legs, then with her fawn dashed out of sight.

Running Deer watched her go, but Star spoke and she looked at him.

"Now that we have the ponies of the white men, they cannot follow us any more," he was saying. "But I like the old white horse, and I am glad that he is going to stay with us. He is a very wise animal, I think, and I am going to ask him to tell me all he knows, then I shall be wise, too!"

Before his mother could reply, the sharp "Yip, yip, yip" from a distant point warned the two ponies that the coyotes were gathering for the night. Both Star and Running Deer snorted and glanced quickly about, to see if any had crept too near.

They knew the ways of the small gray wolves. Each night at sunset the pack followed its leader to a point where he could command a view for some distance. Then he squatted silently, watching everything with his keen, green eyes while his pointed nose sniffed the wind for hidden foes or some animal that would furnish the pack with food.

So long as the wind came toward him from any living thing, he could escape, but when the wind blew away from him toward another animal or a man, the coyote knew that he was not safe from surprise or attack.

Trained from puppyhood by their mothers how to meet their enemies and preserve their own lives, the coyotes always picked the strongest, swiftest, and most daring of a pack for the leader. At nightfall these leaders raced ahead of their packs across the prairie land, and when one leader reached high ground he squatted down on his lean haunches and sent out the call of his tribe.

Before the echo had died away into silence, another leader gave answer. After that other coyotes took up the cry, and then from all sides the packs swept down the slopes and came together in a big gray mass.

Their long tongues lolled from their mouths as they ran, their green eyes glanced ravenously from side to side. Rabbits and other small game, hearing the cry of the pack, scurried into hiding. Antelopes and deer huddled more closely, keeping the young, weak fawns in the centre. Often the hungry coyotes formed yelping circles about the antelopes, and at times made dashes at them, hoping to frighten some fawn so that it would run alone. For if it left the shelter of the herd only half a minute, the coyotes would leap upon it and tear it to pieces.

The does and the stags of the herd knew the danger. So while the mothers' bodies sheltered their little ones, the stags, with long, many-pronged horns, dashed at the coyotes and, if close enough, tossed or gored their foes, often rearing straight up on their hind legs to stamp on the coyotes with sharply pointed little hoofs that cut like keen knives.

With all other animals of the plains, the Comanche ponies knew that if any colt ever strayed alone from the herd, he might fall a victim to the coyote packs. Even buffalo calves had been dragged down by a bunch of the prowling animals. Star's mother had many times shown him torn bits of buffalo hide and scattered bones which told that the pack had found a buffalo calf unprotected. Hundreds of coyotes gather in each band, and swift as the wind, they cover many miles in search of a victim.

Now, as the first call of the gathering coyotes died away, Running Deer spoke hurriedly to Star, who needed no urging. Turning sharply on their hind hoofs, they started on a swift run toward the place where all the other ponies were being herded.

It was much farther than Running Deer or Star had thought. The coyotes were not far behind. The sound of the pack grew louder, and the gray brutes came over the hill yelping with glee as they saw the two ponies. Running Deer kept talking quietly to her colt as they ran.

"Don't jump high, run low and save yourself all you can," she said, her nose near Star's, but her eyes straight ahead of her. "They run fast to-night because they have not eaten nor found water. So we must be careful."

It was the first time that Star had been chased by coyotes. He knew that his mother had been followed many times, so he listened to every word and obeyed her. Both ponies were puffing slightly, but their pace did not change though their way often led up steep slopes then down opposite banks while their forefeet ploughed deeply into the earth.

"Don't slip," warned Running Deer as they raced neck and neck. "The coyotes cannot catch either of us unless we stumble. If I should fall, you must not stop, but go right on to camp."

Star did not answer. He knew that if his mother fell, he would stay with her and fight the coyotes with his teeth and his heels so the hungry beasts could not tear her to pieces before she could get up again and run with him.

Twice he slipped on loose stones that rolled down the slopes in front of him, and once he fell and skinned his knees, but he leaped to his feet and kept at his mother's side.

At times the pack behind them ran silently, then Running Deer's eyes rolled backward to see how near they were. Star wondered how it would feel to have a coyote leap on him. He shivered, but all his fears vanished at his mother's next words.

"They are falling back now! We are gaining at every step!"

He glanced around. She was right. The coyotes were farther away, and evidently realized that the ponies had outdistanced them, for they were all running much more slowly. A few had halted and showed plainly that they intended to look elsewhere for their dinner that night. One by one the pack thinned, and finally a mournful howl told that the last pursuer had given up the chase, leaving Star and his mother alone and safe.

"When you fell to your knees"—Running Deer was walking now, and her nose reached across to Star's—"I thought we two had run our last race. They were very close just then."

"But you could have escaped," replied Star, whose bleeding knees made him wish he could stand in cool water for a little while, and he thought happily of the creek near camp.

"I would have stayed with you," his mother said quietly. Star was not surprised at her words, for he knew that he would have done the same thing for her, but he was glad it had not been necessary for either of them to make such a fight against their foes. With several hundred hungry coyotes against them, how could two ponies have kept up the fight till dawn? That was what he asked himself, and Running Deer had the same thought, though neither spoke of it.

In a few more minutes they both recognized the top of an elevation that overlooked the grazing place and safety for the night. Star, because of his raw knees, lagged slightly behind his mother, and as she stopped suddenly he hastened to her side, where both of them stared in amazement.

"I thought we had reached the herd." Star was the first to speak as they looked down on a place where no pony was in sight.

"It is where we left the herd," she answered. "They have moved it to Quannah's camp. Come! We must hurry. They must have missed us by this time. Quannah will be angry with the herders and punish them for letting us get away."

Without going down into the former herding camp, Running Deer led her colt along the top of the ridge, knowing that it would take them just above Quannah's camp, about a mile farther on. Star understood her worry, or at least he thought he did; but he wondered at her nervous starts and snorts, for there was nothing that threatened either of them now. Coyotes sometimes ventured close to the camps, but they only squatted at the outer edge and Star knew that they would keep away from any camp fire, lurking in the shadows to avoid being seen or shot at by the Comanches guarding the herd.

Though it was now more than an hour after sunset, it was still quite light when Star caught the scent of the pony herd and knew they were close by. But he jumped back snorting as he saw his mother, who had reached a higher point of ground, rear suddenly and turn.

"Run! Run! Run as fast as you can! The white men have all our ponies! They have captured the herders, too! Quannah is over the hill. We must go to him! He may need us now!"

Before they could cover the ground between the captured ponies and Quannah's camp, almost a mile away, they heard the terrible noise of fire-sticks. It came from the direction of Quannah's camp. The white men were there, too!

Star and his mother stopped instantly and looked at each other. Both trembled with fear of the fire-sticks. They knew what those things meant.

"What shall we do?" the colt asked in fright.

"I belong to Quannah," his mother spoke. "I shall follow him wherever he goes. You belong to Songbird. You must go to her and help her escape the white men, so that they may not take her away as they took Quannah's mother and sister. Go back to the camp and find Songbird!"

The colt hesitated. He had never been anywhere by himself. Always the pony herd and his mother had been with him, except for the few hours when Songbird had ridden him near the big camp. He thought of the packs of coyotes and the long, lonesome miles that he must travel to reach the camp where the women and children waited the return of Quannah and his warriors who were now fighting the white men and the fire-sticks. Star knew they were fighting, for the noise hurt his ears as he stood facing his mother.

She heard it too. Her ears went flat back against her beautiful head, her nostrils were drawn in so that her nose looked thin, and little red sparks of anger glittered in her dark eyes. Then she said in a voice that made Star shrink back ashamed of himself.

"Is the big colt of Running Deer a coward? Go! I tell you go at once! You belong to Songbird! She needs you now!"

Running Deer's strong teeth caught Star's back and sank deeply into the soft flesh. With a squeal of pain and surprise, the colt leaped away. Forgetting the coyotes and the loneliness of the trail and with no further thought of his cut knees, he raced furiously into the gathering darkness of night to find his little mistress, who had no one but himself to help her, now that Quannah was unable to reach her.