“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.” LITTLE HORSE AND THE PAINTED ARROW Little Horse was a member of the proud and courageous Delaware tribe. He grew up in his tribe among a people who were peaceful. They hunted and fished and sang and danced and celebrated much as most tribes did in the very early days, but there was to come a time when all was not peace and contentment. Little Horse had been well trained by his father, Running Bear, and he had taken his lessons as a young boy very seriously. Though he had practiced very hard, he had never become very good with the bow and arrow or the tomahawk. But he had become very good at using and throwing the traditional hunting knife which was his proudest possession.