Part 15

Beartooth knew that if they argued against this ruling, suspicion might be aroused. So he bade his friends be quiet and line up again for the race.

The course for the race this year had been chosen very carefully. The boys were to run across the meadow and into the woods up the game trail until they reached the blaze marked on a fallen birch. Then they were to turn off the trail and head east until they came to the singing rock. That, Naltan knew, was the rock from which water trickled during and after a heavy rain, and made an unusual, almost tinkling sound. At the rock the boys would turn south, break from the forest, cross the meadow, and head for home. The first one to cross the finish line would be declared the winner and receive the coveted hunting knife.

The instructions were clear. The boys waited eagerly. When the warrior had made sure that all were lined up correctly, he gave them the starting signal. Instead of leaping forward, the racers began to mill around. Then several boys broke from the group and started to run along the course. Five young Indian braves, including Beartooth, Naltan, and Ceysoda, could be seen lying on the ground. Naltan and Ceysoda leaped quickly to their feet and began running. They had already lost a great deal of valuable ground, but the desire to win this race now burned especially bright in their hearts. They ran swiftly across the meadow in pursuit of the fast-disappearing figures of the leading braves, while others trailed behind them.

As they reached the woods, they began to overtake the other boys one at a time, because the running became harder as they got deeper into the woods. There were rocks and branches to hinder their way, and the footing was often unsure. As the two boys reached the blazed birch tree they turned eastward and continued swiftly on their way. They soon passed more of the young braves. As they reached the singing rock and turned for home only two boys were still between them and the finish line. When they broke into the open and reached the meadow, the gap between the boys narrowed rapidly, and they were greeted by cheers. It was clear to all that Naltan and Ceysoda would overtake the two leaders. The cheering grew louder when, with a sudden burst of speed, Naltan and Ceysoda passed them and sped across the finish line at exactly the same moment. They were declared winners in a tied race, and each was given a beautiful knife.

After the award was made, Naltan looked around for Beartooth, but could not find him. On the way home, Naltan asked his father if he had seen Beartooth.

“Why, my son,” his father said, “he was standing close to me as you and Ceysoda broke from the woods into the meadow on the last part of the race. Then he disappeared. Why are you so concerned. When you had picked yourself up from the ground and started after the other boys, the warrior in charge of the race spoke to Beartooth. Beartooth confessed his plan which, it seems, did not work out successfully. He will be punished for his plot. There is no need for you to be worried.”

“But I am worried, father, for there is no need to punish Beartooth. What he did was wrong, but I am sure he is sorry. And after all, no harm was done. I will go to him and speak with him and show him that I am not angry. Then I will talk to the warrior who started the race?”

Naltan left his father and went to Beartooth’s house. He called to his friend but there was no answer. When he called again, Beartooth’s mother came out of the wigwam and told him that her son had not returned from the foot race.

“But all the contestants have finished in the race and are home by now. Where could Beartooth have gone? I will look for him.”

Naltan left to find Ceysoda, who was showing his beautiful knife proudly to his many friends.

“Ceysoda,” Naltan called as he drew near. “Come, I must talk with you.” When he finished telling Ceysoda about Beartooth’s not returning home, the two boys went in search of him. They looked all through the village but could not find him anywhere. They asked all the children but they had not seen him. Finally, they found the boy to whom Beartooth had spoken about the plot and who was to have helped him. At first the boy denied knowing anything about where Beartooth might be; but finally after continued questioning from Naltan, the boy told them.

“Beartooth was afraid when the warrior at the racing field told him that he would have to be punished. So while everyone was milling around and shouting at the end of the race, he stole off and ran into the wood. He feared not only the punishment of the warrior and council, but also the punishment that you and Ceysoda would bring down upon him for playing such a trick.”

While they were talking, a few snowflakes began to fall.

“Come,” said Naltan, “we must go after him quickly. From the looks of the sky and this snow, there will be a heavy storm. Beartooth has had little experience with snow. His days alone in the forest have been few. If we do not go after him, he may be lost in the storm and threatened by the wild animals of the forest.”

“I cannot go,” the boy answered. “My father would not allow it. Besides, how would we know where to look?”

The boys stepped back and stared at the boy. “You are a coward,” Naltan said angrily. “I cannot waste time arguing with you. Come, Ceysoda, we must leave immediately.”

Without further words, the two friends turned and started for the forest. The snow was beginning to fall faster and thicker now. As they reached the forest, they stopped to choose the most likely trail that Beartooth would follow. The race had tired Ceysoda, and he was breathing heavily now.

“Wait, Naltan,” he pleaded. “The boy was right. How would we know which direction Beartooth would take? Besides, at the rate this snow is falling any trace of him would be covered. Is it wise to go on?”

“Wise or not, Ceysoda, we must go on. Beartooth must be found. Not knowing the forest too well, he would probably travel the main trail toward the north. We will go in that direction. If we hurry, we may be able to pick up a sign of his route before the snow has a chance to cover it completely, and reach him before he goes too far.”

The boys spoke no further but hurried up the trail to the north, keeping their eyes toward the ground to look for signs of the boy’s having passed that way. Soon Naltan stopped and pointed to a place in the trail where the snow had been disturbed.

“He must have fallen here. See the way the snow has been pushed aside. Come, quickly, Ceysoda, he cannot be too far ahead.” The two boys continued swiftly on the trail. Soon they were able to make out signs of fresh moccasin prints in the snow. But just when they felt they were getting close, the wind began to blow harder, sweeping along the trail and covering any tracks or other signs that they might have found. The boys had been traveling at a fast pace for some time, when Ceysoda stopped suddenly.

“Wait, Naltan, I must rest,” he said. “I am tired. I cannot go on without rest. Just for a moment let me catch my breath. Surely Beartooth will not continue without rest, too, and we will lose no ground by stopping for a short while.”

“All right,” said Naltan, “but just for a moment. The day is growing late.” The two boys squatted down by the side of the trail and breathed deeply to get their wind back again. Suddenly, Nathan gazed up through the trees and then, stretching his hands out in front of him, he said, “Ceysoda, my friend, look! It has stopped snowing. We are in luck. But we must hurry even so, because the storm will no longer slow Beartooth’s pace.”

The two boys rose and sped on up the trail. Truly they were in luck, for soon they came upon a place in the snow where someone had stopped to rest at the side of the trail. The prints of small moccasins were plain in the snow and led straight up the trail. Now the boys increased their efforts, for they knew they must be close. Suddenly, the tracks stopped and turned off the trail into the thick woods. This puzzled Naltan, but he turned to follow them. The two boys began finding the going a little rougher. Suddenly, they found that they not only were following moccasin tracks, but another set of tracks now appeared not far behind the boy’s. These were the tracks of a bear!

The bear, Naltan thought, must have been late in going into hibernation for the winter because he had not found enough food. Now a delicious morsel of warm-blooded food was on the trail ahead of him. Now Naltan understood why Beartooth had left the trail; he must have seen the bear ahead on the trail and turned off to escape him. But the hear was not going to be avoided so easily. Naltan suddenly stopped and turned to Ceysoda.

“What shall we do if we do come upon the bear and Beartooth?” he asked. “We are not armed with our bows and arrows. We could hardly defend ourselves against such a worthy opponent as a bear. Two young Indians such as we, no matter how brave, would be easy prey for a large bear. Yet we must go on and see if there is any help we can give. To turn back now would certainly mark us as cowards.”

Ceysoda did not like the idea of fighting a full-grown bear; yet he liked less the thought of turning his back on danger and returning to the village to meet his friends’ ridicule and his father’s anger for having been so cowardly. They would have trouble enough as it was, for having left the village without letting their parents or friends know where they had gone. Naltan’s voice swung his thoughts back to his present plight.

“I have an idea, Ceysoda. Between us we have two knives. Let us cut a couple of stout saplings to use as spears if we should need them. At least we will have some chance, even if it is not a very good one, against the bear.”

So the two boys immediately began cutting stout saplings to hack into crude spears—poor weapons against an angry bear, but the best the boys could think of at the moment. When they sharpened the points on their spears, they continued following the very clear trail in the snow. They did not travel as fast now because they sensed a danger lurking ahead of them. They did not know just how far ahead the bear was, whether he was still following Beartooth, or whether he had discovered them. In fact, at this very moment, he might be awaiting them, hidden among the rocks up ahead, which they could plainly see now as they watched the forest in front of them cautiously while following the tracks carefully in the snow.

They were continuing their anxious march in silence when they were startled by a sound that echoed through the forest, a sound all too familiar to them—the growl of an angry bear. It had come from in front and to the right of them. So the boys went on with even more caution. Suddenly, Naltan signaled to Ceysoda and the two boys crouched low to the ground. Ahead of them, about a hundred paces, the natural trail they had been following came to an end in a boxlike formation of rocks. The rocks reached almost straight up to the height of an elm tree. On top of this enclosure stood the bear and about ten feet below him on a ledge sticking out from the rocks was Beartooth. Behind the bear the boys noticed that the rocks continued to rise and they figured that they had come upon almost a dead end. Beartooth, Naltan figured, had reached the dead end and panic-stricken because of the bear, had either fallen or jumped to the ledge. For the moment he was safe, for the bear did not want to chance jumping to the ledge and there was no way that he could climb down. Suddenly he turned to the side and calmly walked around and down beside the wall until he was once again on the forest floor. He trotted to a spot directly beneath where the boy lay and studied the situation, trying to figure a way to get at this thing that had invaded the privacy of his forest at a time when he had been almost mad with hunger.

The wind was blowing into the faces of the boys so they knew for the time being they were safe because the bear could not smell them, but if the wind should shift they would then be in trouble, for the bear would turn his attention to them. This also gave them time to think and work out a plan. Suddenly Ceysoda touched Naltan’s shoulder.

“My brother,” he said, “he moved. Beartooth moved; he is alive. We must do something.” “Yes,” said Naltan, “for in his present situation he might fall from the ledge and then it would be all over. If we can somehow drive the bear off, we could then rescue Beartooth and return to the village.”

“That is a good idea, Naltan, but tell me, friend, how do we get Beartooth off the ledge once we have chased the bear away, if we can chase him away?”

This was a serious problem, for the boys had nothing they could use as a rope and, besides, Naltan could for the moment think of no way to get rid of the bear.

Just then the boys noticed Beartooth moving again, but this time he rolled even closer to the ledge. Without thinking, Ceysoda stood straight up and shouted at Beartooth. “Look out, Beartooth, you are right at the edge of the ledge. Look out, you will fall.”

Then Ceysoda realized what he had done, and he stood frozen as the bear turned and raising himself on his hind legs, emitting a terrible growl, started for the boys. Ceysoda’s shouts had roused Beartooth and he worked his way back from the edge of the ledge close to the wall and safety. Meanwhile the bear was increasing his speed toward the two boys. The boys stood almost frozen with fear, but suddenly they were able to shake off the paralysis that had gripped them, and both boys drew their rustic spears in front of them to await the charge of the bear who was coming ever closer.

Naltan stepped slightly in front of Ceysoda in order to take the brunt of the attack, but Ceysoda would have none of it and edged up right next to Naltan. By this time the bear was almost upon them and with a terrifying snarl came rushing the last few yards.

Naltan and Ceysoda, with the ends of the spears jammed into the ground held fast as the bear rushed right into the sharp points. The bear stopped in his tracks as if suddenly he had forgotten something and then with an agonizing snarl fell over dead, the two spears protruding from his body. Immediately Naltan and Ceysoda ran forward to the base of the ledge. Climbing to the top above Beartooth, the boys cut a long stout staff and lowered the end to Beartooth who grasped it and was pulled to safety. Then swiftly the three boys started for the village. On the way, each in turn told their story.

First Beartooth told of how he had run away and how he had been chased to the top of the rock formation by the bear and, in trying to avoid him, had fallen. The two boys told how they had followed Beartooth to bring him back and of their coming upon the bear and their narrow escape.

When they reached the warmth and security of their village again, Naltan and Ceysoda went with Beartooth to his wigwam and there assured him that they had no desire to punish him in any way for his trickery of that morning. “What you did was wrong, but what has happened to you today we firmly believe is punishment enough. Let us forget the incidents of this day. We are still friends and friends we must remain, for only through unity and friendship will we grow into strong good Oneida warriors.”

Beartooth smiled and thanked his two friends, and he continued to smile as Naltan and Ceysoda walked off arm in arm toward their homes and large suppers that awaited the returning heroes.

LITTLE THUNDERBIRD TELLS THE TRUTH

The Blackfoot tribe was on the move. The buffalo had begun to search for new pasture. So the tribe had packed all its tepees on the travois and were moving to follow the herd. Their lives depended upon these prairie beasts, and they did not dare to be too far from them. For two days the herd moved until it found enough grass and water, and then it milled around and started to graze. How long or how short a time they would stay in this new place, no one knew; but here the tribe must make its camp until the buffalo forced them to move again.

As soon as his family’s tepee was set up, Little Thunderbird wandered off in search of some excitement. He was a Blackfoot lad who seemed to be able to get into trouble no matter where he was—like the day he cut the string on his father’s bow, or the day he burned a hole in his mother’s new dress. These are only samples of the kinds of mischief Thunderbird got himself into. So today he planned to stay far from his home until mealtime and in that way keep out of trouble.

Skipping through the village, he saw some of his friends throwing stones to see who could throw the farthest, and he ran up to them to ask if he could play. His friends told him to get in line and wait his turn. Soon he was throwing stones along with the other children. After they had played this game for a while, the children decided to play Follow the Leader. There was a great deal of talk about who would be leader for the game. Finally, one of the older boys was chosen, and he led off by dodging through a rack of drying buffalo meat.

After everyone had run through the rack, the leader headed for the strings of ponies which were picketed out on the edge of the village. Here he ducked under the lines of many ponies that reared and whinnied from fright as the shouting youths leaped past them one after another. This kept on until one of the braves who was guarding the ponies chased the boys back into the village. The leader ran over boulders, danced between tepees, and did many other stunts which each boy repeated until finally the leader sat down, tired out. All the other boys admitted they were tired, too, and the group sat around talking about their fathers’ great deeds.

Soon it was Little Thunderbird’s turn and he stood and walked to the center of the circle, the way the big braves did in council. Then he raised his hands for silence from the group.

“My father is the greatest of Blackfoot warriors,” Thunderbird began. “One day, while he was out on a hunt with some other braves of the tribe, he spotted a mountain lion. They were high in the hills and they had been looking for some ponies that had strayed from the herd. When my father saw the mountain lion, he spoke with the other braves and they decided to kill the beast. As you know, the mountain lion preys upon our pony herds. By killing this one, that would be one less lion to worry about. My father looked around the circle of braves and asked who would go with him to kill the lion. The braves talked a great deal and at last two of them stepped forward and said that they would go.

“Slowly the three men began the climb into the hills. The lion had seen them coming and headed for higher ground. But finally he came to a solid wall and could climb no farther. My father stepped forward and drew his bow and shot an arrow toward the lion. He missed and the lion started toward him, snarling. The other braves turned and ran for their lives. There was no time to shoot another arrow, so my father drew his knife and waited for the lion’s charge.

“The beast leaped, and my father caught the lion on his knife. Again and again, he plunged the knife into the lion. The fight ended quickly. The lion lay dead at my father’s feet. My father had not even been scratched. Dancing around his victim, my father cut the lion’s tail off and placed it in his pouch. Then he caught up with the other braves farther down the trail, and they continued on the hunt for the ponies.

“After they found the ponies and brought them back to the village, my father told the council of his brave fight and held the tail of the lion on high for all to see. For his courage, he was allowed to wear another feather in his headdress. Now he is really a brave worthy of honor from all. But the two who deserted him were cowards and do not deserve to be members of our tribe.”

When Little Thunderbird had finished, he seated himself in the circle once again. He was proud of the way the other boys listened to his story and the way they talked of his father as a great brave. Little Thunderbird enjoyed the attention he was getting, but in his heart he was troubled. He had made up the whole story. There was no truth at all in it. Then the test came.

“Take us to see the lion’s tail, Little Thunderbird,” one of the boys said. “We want to see the lion’s tail.” And the rest of the boys took up the cry.

Now what was Little Thunderbird to do? But he decided to bluff it out anyway. He led the boys to his father’s tepee. When they got there, he searched hurriedly for something that looked like a lion’s tail. But he could not find anything. The boys began to get angry.

“You lied to us, Little Thunderbird,” one of them said. “Your father never killed a lion, and he is not the greatest brave in the tribe!”

The other boys agreed. They ran out, leaving Little Thunderbird standing at the entrance to his father’s tepee. Suddenly, Little Thunderbird felt very much alone. In the next few days, he began to feel even more lonely because the other boys would not play with him or speak to him. This went on, until one day Little Thunderbird refused to leave the tepee. His mother asked him if he felt sick, and he told her he was “just a little tired.” But Little Thunderbird’s mother knew that something must be wrong and so she talked with her husband about it.

“I know what is wrong, my dear wife. My friends have told me of Little Thunderbird’s tale to the other boys one day about the brave deed of his father, the greatest warrior the Blackfoot have ever known. When they asked Little Thunderbird to prove the story, he could not. He had lied to his friends and his conscience is punishing him.”

“But can’t you help him?” the boy’s mother pleaded.

“There is nothing I can do. Many moons ago I taught my son the strength of truth. He does not have to lie now. If he is not proud of his father, let him say so. I am not ashamed that I have not done something great and have not done something very brave. I have done no more and no less than most of the braves of the tribe. Surely I am not the greatest warrior in the tribe, and I have never given Little Thunderbird any reason to say that I am. The boys will not make fun of him if he tells the truth. They know that their fathers are like me. The boys will probably praise him if he admits that he lied.”

Little Thunderbird lay just inside the tepee and had heard his father speaking with his mother. Rising from his bed, he ran out of the tepee and headed through the village to find his friends. His parents understood and did not try to call him back. Finally, he found them, once again seated in a council circle like the men of the tribe. When they saw him coming, the tallest arose from his place and stopped Little Thunderbird before he could reach the circle.

“What is it you want here, teller of lies?” he asked angrily. “We do not want you for a friend. Go from this place. There is none here that you could call a friend.”

“Wait, let me speak,” Little Thunderbird begged. “I have something important to say and I want to be heard.”

“All right, speak,” the tall lad said, “but be brief—and none of your lies!”

Little Thunderbird stepped to the center of the circle. He was about to raise his arms for silence as he had done before, but he thought better of it and waited until the boys were quiet once again.