  Little Turtle was a young Comanche who lived happily with his mother, father, and two older brothers on the great prairies. His father was well respected by the tribe, above all for having three sons who would grow to manhood and bring honor to the Comanche name. Each day was a new adventure for Little Turtle and he welcomed each dawn with great excitement. He never knew just what was planned for him or what the other children of the village would decide to do, but he was always ready to take part in whatever would happen. For some time now, Little Turtle, who had just turned ten, had been in the complete charge of his father. On certain days his father would take him far from the village to hunt and learn how to stalk wild game and find their signs. He learned his lessons well. At night in the tepee, he would sit next to his father because he was the youngest, and he would listen carefully while his father explained many things a young brave must know to become a strong and great Comanche warrior. Because the Comanche village had been at peace for the last three years, Little Turtle had only love in his heart for everyone he knew or met. Sometimes his brothers and his father would speak to him of the hated Apache and Kiowa and the many reasons the Comanches had for hating them. But this meant very little to the lad. He never let such thoughts of war spoil his fun. One evening after the three boys were asleep, Little Turtle’s father spoke with his mother. “Blue Star,” he said, “for many days now I have talked to our youngest son of the Apaches and the Kiowas, but he does not seem to understand. I have told him of their many cruel ways and about our warriors who have fallen under the arrow and the tomahawk of the Apaches and the Kiowas. Still he refuses to speak harshly of such neighbors. Maybe Little Turtle is right. Maybe I am wrong in hating these neighbors to the north. You are wise, Blue Star. Your advice is often sought. Tell me now what I should teach our son. Shall I teach him to hate the horse stealers from the north? Or shall I not speak even their names in our daily talks?” Blue Star thought for a moment and then said, “My husband and great warrior of the Comanches, hatred is a word which Little Turtle will learn soon enough. Now he is young and innocent. He enjoys the coming of each new day for the adventures that it will bring in his world of dreams. He is a happy child and to us a very wonderful boy. Do we want to change this wonderful boy to a grown warrior filled with hate? He knows nothing but love. Possibly peace will be a long time upon our village. We, his parents, would not want to spoil that happy world in which he lives.” Great Hawk thought long about his wife’s words. Then he left the tepee to walk alone and solve this problem which lay so heavily upon his heart. Since his early days, Great Hawk had been taught to hate the Apaches and the Kiowas. His own father had lost his life in a battle with the Apaches. His brother’s hair now hung from the tepee of Grey Wolf, the Kiowa chieftain who sat at the head of the council lodge. And Grey Wolf was a cruel leader of a tribe that always looked for enemies to kill. Great Hawk knew that he had strong personal reasons for hating the tribes to the north. But was it right for him to think of punishing his son for not hating them, too, in the way he did? Until he had talked with Blue Star, he had planned to question his son tomorrow about the Apaches and Kiowas, and if his son did not show a growing hatred toward them, then he would punish him. But now he was not sure. No, he would wait and be patient. After all, as Blue Star had said, there had been peace for three years now. Thoughts of war were kept alive only by the young bucks of the tribe who were eager for battle and glory. War was far from the minds of the older and wiser men of the tribe. They knew that peace had brought them prosperity and happiness, but war made them poor and brought them hunger and pain and the death of friends. Great Hawk began thinking about Crooked Leg, one of the chieftains. He was the only member of the council of Comanche chieftains who was not happy that war had not come again. Early in his youth Crooked Leg had fallen into the hands of the Kiowas and had been tortured badly. When his body was found being dragged by a Kiowa pony that had been turned loose, he had been beaten and twisted so badly that he lay close to death for many months. He had lived, but his leg had never healed straight. He always rose in pain and could never run again. Crooked Leg had stayed behind in the village during all later battles. His hate for the Kiowa had grown until he now thought about it all the time. At council meetings, he would always argue that the Comanches should once again take to the warpath against the Apaches and Kiowas. Each time he spoke, only a few council members would agree with him. So Crooked Leg was asked to be quiet while the council talked about tribal business. But the young bucks who thirsted for the taste of battle would carry his words through the village after each council meeting. For many days, the village would talk for war and against war. Soon the wise council members would win out, the bucks would quiet down, and Crooked Leg would be left to grumble in his tepee alone and forgotten for awhile. Crooked Leg’s life had a lesson for Great Hawk. As he was returning to his tepee, he promised himself that he would not speak of hatred again to his son. He must not allow hatred to run his life as it had run Crooked Leg’s. If he did, even his friends might forget him and he would be of little use to anyone. The following day promised little peace. Dawn brought a roaring storm that smashed at the Comanche village. The pounding rain had soon churned the ground into deep mud. Families remained indoors and fathers sat around their fires teaching sons how to make stout bows and straight arrows, knives, tomahawks, and other handmade tools a young brave needs to survive. Great Hawk used the time to talk to Little Turtle of the great powers of nature and peace and the Comanche people. “As you grow,” he told Little Turtle, “remember to stay straight and true and do all things that are right, and you shall live a rich and happy life in our tribe. The Comanches have been favored greatly. We have lived in peace for the past three years and though it has been very dry, we have never been without water. Now the sky has opened and allowed the rains to fall so that we have water for our families and our horses. We have not suffered from great thirst since the great drought visited our land when we were last at war. After two years the supply of water was so small that our people were dying more from the great thirst than from the arrows of the enemy. Before long our chiefs sat down in council with our enemies to smoke the peace pipe. Now peace reigns over our people and they have plenty of food and water.” Little Turtle had listened carefully while his father was speaking, then turned to his mother and said, “Mother, I am a very lucky boy to be a Comanche and to have such a wonderful family. I have a strong, wise, and kind father. You have cared for me as a baby and given me good food so that my bones would grow strong and straight. And I have two brothers of whom I am very proud.” Blue Star smiled happily and began to make lunch. While the family was eating, the rain stopped. Soon the sun broke through the dark clouds and began to dry the earth. In the middle of the afternoon, Great Hawk rose and touched his son upon the shoulder. “Come, Little Turtle,” he said. “It is time you learned to ride a horse. We will go to my string of ponies and pick one that you may ride and call your own. If you are to go on the hunt and take part in the many other riding events in the village, you must learn to ride well.” Little Turtle’s heart leaped excitedly. He had been looking forward to the day his father would teach him to ride. Slowly Great Hawk and his son walked to where the tribe’s ponies were kept tied. Great Hawk began to look amongst the herd for a special pinto pony he had planned to give Little Turtle. It was small but strong and could run for a long time without getting winded. Great Hawk saw quickly that something was wrong. He began counting and discovered that three of his string, including the pinto, were gone. At first he thought that the storm had frightened them and they had broken loose from the main line which held the whole string. But as he reached the main line where the three ponies should have been tied, he saw the dangling ends of ropes that had been cut by a knife. The pony guard must have left the herd to seek shelter during the storm. So it was easy for someone to steal his three ponies. Without thinking of Little Turtle, Great Hawk knelt in the mud to look closely at the clear tracks that the thieves had left. He rose to his feet quickly. “The Apaches have stolen my ponies!” he cried out defiantly. “I shall ride after them and bring the ponies back even if blood must be shed!” Then he remembered Little Turtle. “Go, Little Turtle,” he ordered. “Return to the tepee and explain to your mother what I must do. The Apaches have stolen three of my best ponies. I must ride fast to catch up with them before they get too far into the hills. I shall not rest until the ponies are back in our village or the scalps of the Apache thieves hang in our tepee.” Then Great Hawk jumped onto a pony and sped off toward the hills. Little Turtle ran home and told his mother and brothers what had happened. Little Turtle’s brothers had been two of the young bucks who had agreed with Crooked Leg’s war talk. So they rushed out of the tepee, happy for this chance to fight. They stopped outside their tepee just long enough to pick up their weapons and shout the news to other young bucks of the tribe. Many of the young braves rallied quickly, grabbed their weapons, and dashed toward their ponies. This was just what Great Hawk had wanted to prevent. He thought that if he could overtake the thieves he would be able to bring them back as prisoners. Then the council of chieftains would decide how their stealing should be punished. Only three Indians—not a large Apache band—were fleeing with the ponies. Great Hawk saw this clearly from the tracks he was following. He thought it might be three young Apache bucks who wanted to start trouble and had turned to stealing horses as a way of making the Comanches angry enough to fight. He must hurry, for if he did not reach the thieves before they got to the safety of the hills, he would have to report their escape to the council. Even the older Comanche chieftains probably would decide that war was the only answer. When he reached the base of the hills, Great Hawk lost the trail of the thieves in the rocks. Slowly, he turned his mount and started for the village. This would now mean war. Great Hawk turned back toward the hills. Shaking his fist at the Apaches’ stronghold, he swore vengeance upon them. As he headed for home again, he met the war party of young Comanche bucks, led by his two sons. “Wait!” he said, raising his hand. “Why do you ride so hard?” “We ride to avenge the theft of your horses,” Great Hawk’s oldest son replied. “We will catch the Apache party and soak the foothills with their blood. No matter how many they are, we shall defeat them!” “Wait!” Great Hawk pleaded. “There were only three men. They are already in the hills. We will lose many men if we try to attack them here. We do not know this ground, but the Apaches know it well. We must take this problem to our council.” Just as Great Hawk spoke of the council, Crooked Leg rode out from amidst the young warriors. Great Hawk had not seen the old warrior who rode up close to Great Hawk. “Out of the way, old and weak one,” Crooked Leg screamed. “You are afraid of these thieving vultures who steal from us under cover of a great storm. We are not afraid and we will go on until we find them. We have sat back too long getting fat and lazy on the buffalo meat. We have closed our eyes to the Apaches’ great war plans against our village!” There were many shouts of approval from the young bucks, who were starting to move about impatiently. “Wait!” shouted Great Hawk above the yelling of the young Comanche braves. “This long-planned war plan against our village was carried out by just three braves, as the trail will show you. They did not attack. They killed no one. They only stole three horses. This was no attack by the Apache tribe. It was probably the work of three young bucks, like many of you here, who could not be held back. They went off on their own to try to stir up trouble between our two tribes. They baited the trap and you are riding right into it. What has happened here must be settled by our council. Do not let Crooked Leg drive you into something you will regret the rest of your lives—if you live to regret it!” The young men grew quiet as Great Hawk was speaking. “And now I speak directly to my two sons,” he continued. “I, your father, order you to return with me to our tepee.” But the fire that Crooked Leg had been building for so long burst into flame again as he urged the young bucks to go on. They surged forward toward the hills. Great Hawk was forced to rein his pony aside to avoid being run into. He knew that if Crooked Leg succeeded in clashing with the Apaches, he, Great Hawk, would lose importance in the tribe. But if Crooked Leg were defeated at the hands of the Apaches, the council would deliver fair judgment and punishment. The young Comanche men had never fought before and might be defeated easily. So for the sake of his sons, Great Hawk turned his pony and fell in with the young bucks. When they saw that he had joined them, they urged their ponies ahead at a faster pace. Soon they were deep in the hills of the Apaches. The party halted, and Great Hawk moved to the front. Grasping the bridle on Crooked Leg’s pony he swung the animal around sharply. “You will ride no farther,” he told the old warrior. “I command you to go back to our village now. We have no idea where the horse thieves are. You are willing to gamble the lives of these brave young Comanches to satisfy a hate that burns deeply in your heart and mind.” While Crooked Leg watched him angrily, Great Hawk spoke to the young men. “Your wish to see justice done is good,” he began. “But the Apache has great strength, even greater here in his own home. We are few and most of us have never fought. If we fight here, our scalps will hang in the tepee of the Apaches before nightfall. Do not follow Crooked Leg any longer. What he suggests can bring only death to yourselves and much sadness to your families. We must return to the council and seek the wise advice of our chieftains.” Great Hawk could see that his words were beginning to have an effect. He continued talking to the young bucks until their ranks began to break as a few turned their mounts toward home. Others followed, and Crooked Leg started screaming at them to come back and follow him to glory in the defeat of the Apaches. Then, just as the last few braves were heading back down the trail, the hills suddenly bristled with Apache warriors, each aiming an arrow at a young Comanche brave. As Great Hawk looked slowly around, he saw that there were twenty times more Apache than Comanche warriors. The Comanche party was stunned. No one moved. Then one brave made a grab for his tomahawk. Great Hawk slapped his arm, saying, “Do not be a fool. You would be dead before your hand touched the tomahawk handle. Right now at least a dozen arrows are aimed at your body. Your tepee will be unhappy tonight if you are so foolish.” Then Great Hawk rode out a little apart from the rest of the band. Raising his empty hands, he called to the Apaches. “Who among you is the leader, for it is with him that I wish to talk?” A tall, strong brave stepped from behind a boulder and made his way to the circle of warriors. “I, Maskan, am leader here,” he said. “Why do you ride into our lands in such haste and with such anger on your faces?” Then Great Hawk explained the events that had led up to this moment. When he finished, the Apache leader signaled, and three young Kiowa bucks were dragged from behind the boulders into plain sight of the Comanche party. “These,” said Maskan, “are the three who stole your horses and ours. Their blood has run hot with the desire for adventure. So all alone, they set out last evening to invade your land and ours to steal horses. We have waited for them here among the rocks. We have watched you from the time they were taken by our warriors. You who seem to lead here have spoken wisely. The Kiowas will be punished as all Kiowa are in the Apache nation. We have your horses. They will be yours again. We ask you to go in peace from these hills. You have come in anger. Now you can leave in friendship. The older men of your tribe and ours know the trouble we are having with our young braves who want the glory of battle. One day war will come when the chieftains who want it are strong enough to convince the council. That day is not far away. But now return in peace to your village.” Maskan turned and started for the boulder before Great Hawk could thank him. Maskan told his braves to bring out the stolen horses. At that moment Crooked Leg slipped his tomahawk from his belt and sent it sailing toward the Apache leader. It landed with a thud in the middle of Maskan’s back. Maskan cried out and fell to the ground, rolling in the dust. Immediately, Crooked Leg’s body was filled with arrows as shaft after shaft whined through the air. War whoops split the air as the Comanches rose to attack the Apaches who dodged behind the rocks that had sheltered them before. Great Hawk realized that it would be useless to attempt any talk of peace now. With a sinking feeling in his heart he, too, joined the battle, struggling to reach his two sons. The great numbers of Apaches, well protected by large boulders, made the victory easy for them. The young Comanches fell under the hail of Apache arrows, and their war cries became screams of pain. Then Great Hawk yelled to the warriors to retreat. The riddled band rushed toward their village. Sixteen young Comanche braves lay dead on the ground and seven strong Indian ponies were dead or dying. It was a ragged, tired, and bloody war party that entered the Comanche village that night. Badly beaten, their spirit defeated, they understood now that war was not as glorious as they had thought. As Great Hawk entered his tepee alone, Blue Star greeted him warmly but with fright in her eyes. “Where are our two sons, Great Hawk?” she asked. Great Hawk looked at his wife and then at Little Turtle. “Little Turtle, you have never learned to hate and you know nothing of war. Now both hatred and war must shatter your world of dreams. Your two brothers lie out there in the foothills, killed by sharp, well-aimed Apache arrows. They and fourteen others will no longer walk this earth with us. Among them lies Crooked Leg, who is to blame for these deaths today. Many Apaches and Comanches will yet die in a battle that never should have begun.” From that day forward, Little Turtle left his dream world and walked in the real world of warring tribes, learning to hate his tribe’s enemies, to fight and revenge the death of his brothers. The war continued for some time. Many Apache and Comanche braves were killed and injured. The council of Comanche chieftains met to discuss better ways of fighting the Apaches. Great Hawk, who had led so many attacks against the Apaches, stood in the council to speak. As he spoke, Little Turtle listened from just outside the lodge where he lay hidden. “I, Great Hawk, have fought many battles with the Apaches. I am tired but I will fight as long as we must. Before this war started, I had great hate in my heart for the Apaches and Kiowas, as many of you know. I tried to teach this to my son. I know now how wrong I was. My son could not bring himself to hate someone or something he had not seen and who had done him no harm. On that unhappy day which could have ended peacefully, Crooked Leg sent a tomahawk into the back of Maskan, a brave and fair-minded warrior who tried to keep the peace. Then the war started. Two of my sons fell dead at my side, but still I fought on. When we who were left managed to escape with our lives and return to our village, I had to break the sad news to my family. Yet from that moment I held no hate for the Apaches. “My oldest boys had gone from our village to follow Crooked Leg, a man whose whole life has been one of hate. They died because of that hate, though they died bravely, fighting as Comanches should. But now my youngest son has learned to hate as his brothers did and I am worried deeply. War comes with hate and is worse than disease or drought. The Comanches have always fought honorably, but Crooked Leg’s act will always dishonor our tribe. We cannot seek peace until we have cleansed our hearts of hate. We must do this for the happiness and well-being of our children and their children.” The council was silent for several moments after Great Hawk had spoken. Then one of the head chiefs rose slowly and looked directly at Great Hawk. “You have spoken wisely, Great Hawk,” he began. “We must think this over carefully. If we want peace, it must be genuine and honorable. Let us go back to our tepees. Let us call the council to meet in two suns and make our decision then.” When Great Hawk returned to his tepee, his son was waiting for him, having run ahead. “Do not be troubled, father,” Little Turtle said, “for I have driven the hate from my heart. I hope this war will end soon and that there will be no room in anyone’s heart for hate. For hate eats men’s hearts and makes them like Crooked Leg, unhappy and selfish and cruel, bringing death and sorrow to those around them. These things are not for the Comanches.” |
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