Part 18

Then a short distance down the shore there was a rustling in the brush and a splash, and soon the head of a doe would be seen bending to drink, and then another and another; and then the eight-pointed head of a buck could be seen a short distance beyond the does.

“Look, father, look. How many deer are there?” Little Black Cloud was very excited, for never before had he seen such a large number of deer in one place at the same time.

“Come, my son, we must leave our gear here and go in pursuit of the fine deer. They abide all along these shores and back away from the lakes in the shaded glens and the open meadows. It may not be as easy to catch them as it is to see them.”

Once again the canoe was placed in the water, and father and son set off to hunt the deer. They moved quietly down the shore, but no sooner had they reached a spot near enough to fire an arrow when the deer would turn and disappear into the woodlands. For several hours they paddled the shore but try as they might to approach the deer quietly the animals would turn as if warned and, with a flick of their tails, were deep in the woods by the time the canoe was within striking distance.

Soon dusk was drawing nigh, and the two turned their canoe to return to where they had left their gear.

“Come,” said Little Black Cloud’s father, “we will have some supper and when it is dark we shall hunt again.”

“But, father, how can you hunt when it is dark? You cannot see the deer.”

“I will show you, my son. First we must gather some pine knots.”

And so the supper was prepared and two very hungry Indians feasted and then sat back to allow the food to settle. Finally the father rose and taking his boy by the hand they wandered into the woods to gather pine knots. Finally they had gathered about ten pine knots and these they placed in the bottom of the canoe.

Then Little Black Cloud’s father made an attachment on the front of the canoe which would hold a burning pine knot. It was getting dark faster now, and so the two Indians loaded their weapons into the canoe and then strapping a piece of birch bark to the bow of the canoe to act as a reflector they pushed away from shore after lighting a pine knot and placing it in the holder which contained sand so the fire would not burn the canoe. It was then that Little Black Cloud was able to see why his father wanted the pine knots.

As they skimmed along the shore, the deer would see the light and be attracted by it to the shore. This would then make them easy targets, for their bodies would then be outlined on the shore.

Slowly the canoe moved along the shore until Little Black Cloud’s father motioned for him to stop paddling. Placing his paddle in the bottom of the canoe, Little Black Cloud took his bow and arrow and stood waiting. Soon the flash of a pair of eyes was seen and then Little Black Cloud fired.

There was a splash and all was still. They steered the canoe toward the place they had seen the deer and there lay a small buck. This was placed in the canoe and they moved on.

Little Black Cloud shot another deer that night, and then father and son returned to camp to skin and dress the two deer.

The following day they returned to the lake where they had started and were soon paddling down the lake shore for home. Little Black Cloud’s father decided not to stop that evening and so continued paddling swiftly until the friendly fires of the village were in sight. He beached the canoe, and a proud father and a very tired young Indian boy entered the village that night with two fine specimens of deer.

Black Cloud sighed as he lay under the pine. Yes, these were fond memories he had of the days when he was a youth.

But soon he would be doing the same thing his father had done twelve summers ago for when he returned to the village the next day, he did not know that his wife would be waiting for him with a new-born baby son, a boy who would some day paddle swiftly along the lake shore with his father.

THE MIRACLE OF THE PINE GROVE

The drums beat slowly. A cloud of sadness hung over the Iroquois village. People moved slowly about their tasks. Even the pets of the village seemed to have lost their playfulness. The little children were playing quietly at sitting games, rather than the usual noisy running games that they liked so well.

As Little Rock, a young Iroquois warrior, rode into the village with a dead buck slung across his pony, he became suddenly aware of the great feeling of sadness that was upon his village. Instead of hearing the usual gay greetings from the people of the tribe, Little Rock noticed that when he looked at them they would shake their heads and turn slowly away. Little Rock feared that great trouble had come and wanted to know what it was. So he dug his heels into his pony’s sides and sped toward his father’s wigwam. As he drew near, he saw a number of people gathered close to the entrance. The drums boomed slowly and sadly. As Little Rock came nearer his friend, Little Red Cloud, stopped him.

“Wait, Little Rock!” his friend warned gently. “Do not go to your father now. The Medicine Man is with him.”

“What is the trouble with my father?”

“Do not worry, Little Rock. Great Rock is a great and strong Chief. He will be all right.”

“As my friend, Little Red Cloud, I ask you once again. What is the matter with my father? It cannot be so simple, when half the tribe gathers outside the entrance to my father’s wigwam. They usually come to talk or seek advice, but now they are silent and their faces are sad. Tell me, Little Red Cloud, what is wrong?”

Little Rock could not wait for an answer. He jumped from his pony and ran swiftly toward his father’s wigwam. He was met at the entrance by his mother.

“Wait, Little Rock! Do not come in yet. Tall Spear is making medicine for your father. He is very ill.”

“I must go to him. He may need me.”

Just then the Medicine Man joined Little Rock’s mother.

“Your father is asking for you, Little Rock,” the old man said. “You can see him now.”

Little Rock stepped inside the wigwam and found his father lying on the great buffalo robe, his head propped up. Great Rock’s face looked drawn and tired and he breathed with great difficulty. As Little Rock knelt beside his father, the sick man’s eyes opened wide.

“My son, you have returned.” Great Rock spoke slowly as though each word pained him greatly. “Did you have a good hunt?”

“Yes, my father. There was much game and I was able to bring a really fine buck back to our village. He will give us much fine meat, and his skin will make you a fine shirt.”

Great Rock closed his eyes for a few moments while Little Rock, his mother, and the Medicine Man waited anxiously in silence. Then Great Rock opened his eyes, wet his lips, and started speaking with great effort again.

“That is good, my son. You have learned the ways of the forest well. This was your first trip alone into the great forest, yet you have tracked down a fine buck.” The old chief seemed more tired than before.

Little Rock reached for a bowl of soup near by and spooned some of this to his father’s lips. The old man started to sip the soup slowly. Then he raised his hand weakly.

“My son, your father is old. Last night this sickness came upon me. I feel that the time is growing near when I shall journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds. I have raised you to be a warrior in our tribe. I have taught you the way of the bear and the way of the fox. You will have to be the man of the family now and provide for your mother.”

“But, my father,” said Little Rock, “you must not leave us now. Our tribe and all the Iroquois need you now more than ever before. There is trouble among the tribes. Soon the Great Council will meet. If your seat at the Council is taken by one who is not so wise, the trouble among our tribes will continue and become greater. You must get well, father, for much depends upon you.”

“There are others as wise, my son. My voice is but a small breeze in a big windstorm. The men who lead our tribes are wise in the ways of peace. They will make good decisions. Of that I am certain. But now leave me, my son, for I wish to be alone. I am tired and I must rest for the final journey.”

“Yes, my father, I will go now, but it is not to pine and weep, as the others do. I know you will get well. Tall Spear will make strong medicine. I have no fear.”

Little Rock left the wigwam and, without saying a word to anyone, he mounted his pony and rode swiftly from the village. For many hours he rode until it was nearly dark. Then he stopped his pony in a pine grove. Leaving the pony to graze, he walked deep into the grove until he came to a place where an opening in the trees allowed the last rays of light to stream in.

Under the spreading branches of a great pine tree, Little Rock knelt and started digging with his knife to root up some plants. When he had gathered a handful of roots, he arose. He walked toward a stream and near it he picked some berries from a bush. He dropped the roots and berries into a small leather pouch and rode back to the village. He thrust the pouch into his mother’s hand and asked her to brew the roots quickly in some fresh water.

When the broth had been bubbling for a short time, Little Rock grasped the gourd from the fire and carried it toward the wigwam where his father lay ill with fever. As he approached the wigwam, Tall Spear stopped him.

“Little Rock, what is it you carry in the gourd?” the Medicine Man asked.

“Many moons ago, my father and I traveled deep into the forest. Finally we came to a large pine grove. Deep within the pine grove, my father pointed out certain roots and berries that grew there and nowhere else near our village. He told me that those berries and roots would make strong medicine for anyone sick with hotness of the skin. When I spoke with my father, I remembered those roots and berries. I thought that a broth made from them might save his life. So I have brought them to his wigwam.”

The Medicine Man grasped the gourd and was about to turn away when Little Rock seized his arm.

“Make him drink, Tall Spear. Tell him this is broth made from the plants in the pine grove. He will understand and he will drink.”

“I will give him the medicine and I will tell him. You have done well, Little Rock. Your respect for your father’s wisdom is very great.”

With that the Medicine Man disappeared inside the wigwam, and Little Rock sat upon the ground to wait. Soon Tall Spear came out again.

“Your father has sipped the broth. He told me to clasp your hand as he would in thanks for bringing the roots. He is resting now. All we can do is wait.”

As time went by, Little Rock became drowsy and soon could keep his eyes open no longer. As he fell asleep, the old Medicine Man took his blanket and wrapped it around the young brave’s shoulders.

A new day was dawning as Little Rock awoke. He looked quickly toward the entrance of the wigwam. Suddenly Tall Spear appeared, his face looking cheerful.

“Your father is asking for you. He is weak but he will not die. He will sit at the Council soon to decide for peace. Go to him and go with your head held high, for you have much to be proud of this day.”

Little Rock entered the wigwam and hurried to his father’s side. At that moment his father reached out his hand and Little Rock bent down to take it. The eyes of father and son met in silence. No words were needed to tell how much more closely their lives were tied together.

Tall Spear stepped quickly outside. It seemed only a moment to the men inside the wigwam when they heard the voices of their Oneida brothers speaking loudly and happily again.

CROOKED ARROW FINDS A FRIEND

Black Hawk was a young Shawnee brave who lived in the earliest days of the American Indian. Black Hawk had been raised in his village by his father, Tall Hawk, who was very proud of him.

Tall Hawk had very carefully taught Black Hawk all there was to know about hunting, fishing, stalking, and all the other necessary ways of forest and stream.

Each year, Tall Hawk would look at his son growing and exclaim to his wife, Soft Bird, “See how tall and strong he grows. Surely he is the most handsome brave in our village. Not only is he handsome but brave and strong as well; he will bring much honor and glory to his father.” At this Soft Bird nodded, for she knew how much Tall Hawk thought of his son.

It was late spring, and the Shawnee were preparing to take the trail of the wild fish and game. It was time they began thinking of new skins for clothing and housing and food for their families. Each father who had a son, carefully trained his son for just this day.

Finally all was in readiness and the great hunting party, after bidding good-bye to their friends and loved ones, took the trail to the north where scouts had earlier reported seeing herd of deer. Perhaps this would be easier than they had thought, but as they traveled onward, Tall Hawk began to realize that they were quite a long way from the village.

He signaled for the party to stop and called two of the leader warriors to him. “We have traveled far from our village. Do you think it wise that we go on? Surely along the way we have seen many single deer, but nowhere have we seen signs of a herd or a large number. This territory which we now enter is the home and hunting grounds of the Conestogas. We must leave here, for we are on land that does not belong to us.”

Tall Hawk was turning to speak to the others of the party when one of the warriors interrupted him. “Yes, this is Conestoga country, but we are to stop now because of a few woodland weasels that call this their land?”

“But it is their land and we shall do just that, turn around and go back. Such foolishness this day could bring the angry Conestogas down on our heads in a very short space of time and we would be badly outnumbered. Our party is not too strong, and any attack upon us here in unfamiliar territory would mean that many lives would be lost.”

“Are you afraid, Tall Hawk? Does your stomach swim and your heart flutter like a bird? Surely the Conestogas do not concern you?”

“One Conestoga against one Shawnee, or even two Conestogas against one Shawnee, and I would not in the least be afraid, for the gods know that one good Shawnee brave could hold his own against any two Conestogas. But we are on their home grounds. Any attack by a large force of Conestogas and any one of us would be lucky to live. No, foolish one, we shall turn and go back in the direction we came. We shall search elsewhere for the elusive deer.”

With that, Tall Hawk turned to the hunting party and repeated what had gone on between himself and the other two braves. There were some grunts from braves who disagreed with Tall Hawk, but for the most part they were willing to return.

As the party turned to go back down the trail, one of the scouts who had been sent ahead came running into the circle to report that a large band of Conestogas were heading for just that place and they would be better off to start immediately for the home village. Tall Hawk gave the signal, and the hunting party turned quickly and trotted south toward the village.

It was fully a day’s journey and they had no rest. The long grind began to tell upon their numbers. When they would falter and were about to collapse, Tall Hawk could be heard to shout, “Keep running, fools! Do you wish your hair to grace the home of one of our Conestoga neighbors?”

This threat served its purpose, and the braves who were tiring suddenly found fresh strength and would continue the grueling run.

Soon they reached their own hunting grounds and were safe on the other side when the Conestogas broke from the cover of the forest and into the meadow which separated the hunting grounds of the two tribes.

Suddenly the leader of the Conestogas raised his hand, and the band of braves with him stopped running and listened. The chief explained that they had reached the border and could go no further. And so the score was equal. Black Hawk was proud of his father, for once again he had proved to his fellow braves that he was a wise man.

The hunting party slowed down a bit now and, after traveling about two miles, they camped for the night. They were tired and after a hasty supper they fell off to sleep one by one until all but the guards were sound asleep. Black Hawk was soon sound asleep as well, but Tall Hawk lay awake thinking.

Why did they not sight the deer before they reached the land of the Conestogas? Surely the scouts that had reported the deer herd to the village had not imagined seeing so many deer, or had they? And why had the chase taken them into Conestoga land? Over and over he asked himself these questions until he could not stay awake any longer and finally he was asleep with the rest of the party.

The next morning after breakfast the party continued on its trek, this time turning westward. Soon they came to a large lake and Tall Hawk divided the party, requesting some of them to remain here and fish and the others to continue on around the lake in search of game. Black Hawk was among those chosen to stay and fish and he was very happy about it. He saw that he was the only young brave allowed to stay with the fishing party and he felt it was because he was such a good fisherman.

When the hunting party had finally gone out of sight, Red Hand, the second in command, gathered the group and explained to them their mission. This lake should have plenty of fish, and so they would spend the next day and night here fishing and in the morning of the second day return to their village, as they hoped, with a successful catch of fish from the beautiful lake.

Red Hand led the way down the shore of the lake to where the last fishing party had hidden the canoes. Then, asking the party to team up in pairs, he slipped a pouch from his shoulder and gave out fishing equipment to each brave. When each one had received his equipment, Red Hand said, “We shall fish the lake for one day and we shall rest on shore for one night. On the dawn of the second day the hunting party will return and we shall all leave for our homes together. Let us pray that the gods will smile favorably upon us this day and that our catch will be a large one. Good luck to all of you, and may your lines be heavy with fish when you return.”

With these words ringing in their ears the Indians rushed to the canoes and pushed off into the quiet blue waters of this great lake. Black Hawk had chosen as his partner an older brave of the tribe by the name of Crooked Arrow. Perhaps it seemed strange that Black Hawk should choose his partner because he was so young, but Crooked Arrow very rarely spoke and many of the Indians of the tribe did not like him. Why they did not like him, Black Hawk did not know. He did know that Crooked Arrow was not very good-looking and that he was a little fatter than most of the other men of the tribe. But, aside from that, Black Hawk could see no reason for not liking him and so had asked him if he would be Black Hawk’s partner in the fishing trip.

Crooked Arrow had shaken his head and without saying a word had followed Black Hawk to the canoes and helped him lift one into the lake. The other braves had laughed at Black Hawk when they saw him choose Crooked Arrow as his partner, but Red Hand had motioned them to be quiet and stop making fun of the boy.

When the instructions had been given out and the equipment distributed among the braves, Black Hawk and Crooked Arrow stepped into their canoe and pushed away from the shore. They dipped their paddles softly into the lake and the canoe glided quietly across the waters.

Soon they had pulled away from the other canoe and Crooked Arrow who had taken the stern of the canoe, was steering the canoe for a point of land about a half a mile down the lake shore. Black Hawk turned to him and asked, “Why do you steer for that part of the lake, Crooked Arrow? I should think that that section of lake over to the eastward would be better.”

“Crooked Arrow knows where the fish are, little Black Hawk.”

He said nothing more but pulled strongly with his paddle and the canoe fairly skimmed across the water. Black Hawk thought to himself that they would probably have gone even faster if he, Black Hawk, had removed his paddle from the water, for he could not keep up with Crooked Arrow’s stroke and was causing a backwash with his paddle by dragging it through the water.

Finally Crooked Arrow said, “My little friend, dip your paddle deep and pull strongly back toward the stern of the canoe. When you have completed the stroke, draw your paddle completely from the water and reach it forward high in the air before placing it in the water again.”

Black Hawk followed his instructions, and soon he found that the paddling was a lot easier by using that technique than the way he had been trying to paddle. He had been concentrating so hard on his paddling that he did not realize that they were soon to the place where Crooked Arrow said that they would be sure to catch some fish.

Crooked Arrow motioned for Black Hawk to throw his line overboard, which he did, and with that Crooked Arrow slowed down the canoe to an even, smooth pace which would take them just past the small jutting of land.

Black Hawk could see his own lure shining in the water. As the lure came parallel with the jutting land there was a great swirl of water, and the fight was on.

A very large fish had grasped the lure in his mouth and it was now a fight between the boy and the fish. It was a huge bass that was threshing around in the water and soon it was obvious that Black Hawk would be the victor. With some swift overhand strokes he had pulled the fish up to the side of the canoe. Then with a thrust of his arm, Crooked Arrow speared the fish with his fish spear and brought him safely aboard. He was a beautiful big bass and Black Hawk was so proud he nearly tipped over the canoe in his excitement to see the fish.

“Be not so excited, my young friend. It is a nice-sized fish, but the day is young and we must catch many, many more.” Black Hawk cast his lure in again, and soon the episode was repeated. Back and forth Crooked Arrow paddled near the jutting land and fish after fish fell victim to the line of Black Hawk and the spear of Crooked Arrow.

Soon shadows began to gather and Crooked Arrow turned the bow of the canoe toward the place they had started from. Black Hawk paddled even harder now going home, for he was very proud. There in the bottom of the canoe, all nicely strung on an improvised leather loop, were twelve plump large fish.

When they reached the shore, Black Hawk with his fish in hand dashed ashore to report his success to Red Hand. Red Hand looked with pride upon the catch Black Hawk held up to show him and then he said, “My, but that is a fine catch of fish. Did you catch them all by yourself?”

“Oh no,” said Black Hawk, “Crooked Arrow and I both caught them. They would strike at my line and when I pulled them to the side of the boat, Crooked Arrow would spear them and bring them on board. Oh, what an exciting trip we have had. How did the others make out, or are we the first to return?”

“Yes, you are the first to return, but remember you were not too far from the landing place. The others will be here shortly. Sit down and we will smoke and rest while we wait for the others.”

They sat down and waited. Soon the other canoes, one by one, would slip up to the shore, and the braves would leap out and triumphantly tell Red Hand of their catch. Soon the last of the canoes had been beached and the last of the fish carefully packed away for the journey home the following morning.