Part 19

The braves had a supper of delicious fresh lake bass and after they had sat around the fire telling of their adventures on the lake they all turned in for the night. Soon the fire had burned to just ashes and all the braves slept peacefully in the quiet of the night.

It had been a long day on the lake in the sun, and now the quiet spring breezes through the trees overhead sang a soft lullaby along the lake shore. When it had been quiet for a long time, Black Hawk sat up and noticed that Crooked Arrow was gone from where he lay down to sleep.

Black Hawk looked around and then suddenly he glanced toward the lake. There he saw Crooked Arrow standing quiet. Black Hawk rose and quietly slipped down toward the lake and to where Crooked Arrow was standing. Approaching the lakeside, Black Hawk respected the brave, Crooked Arrow, and when he had reached a point about five yards from the brave he stopped. He could barely hear Crooked Arrow and then he knew that Crooked Arrow was thanking someone.

“Finally, O Great Spirit, I, Crooked Arrow, humbly thank you for sending to me a friend, this boy, Black Hawk, who asked me to go with him on the fishing trip. For this I am thankful and also I am thankful that you sent the fish of the lake to his hook so that his catch was a large one. You have been very kind to Crooked Arrow this day and I will not forget. I have never known my family, but from this day forth I shall look upon Black Hawk as if he were my son. I know he has a father, a good and wonderful man, but I am sure he will not mind if I remain close to him, for his kindness to me this day has brought great joy to my heart. Thank you once again, O Great Spirit.”

Crooked Arrow turned and walked slowly back to where he had been sleeping and lay down once again. Either he did not look or did not particularly notice that Black Hawk was missing from his place upon the ground.

For a long time Black Hawk sat by the side of the lake thinking about what Crooked Arrow had been saying. Suddenly he realized what had happened here. He had made a friend, a very close friend, and it made his heart warm. Slowly he too returned to where he had slept and, lying down once again, was soon fast asleep.

Dawn broke bright and warm upon the lake and soon all the Indians were astir.

They all ate a hearty breakfast and as they were packing the remainder of the equipment and safely storing the canoes away once again, the first of the hunting party arrived.

They too had a very successful hunt, and Black Hawk counted five very plump bucks being carried by the hunting party.

Some of the braves were quick to point out to him that the largest buck had been brought down with an arrow from the bow of Tall Hawk and this made Black Hawk very proud of his father. The party started on the return trip to the village and it was a happy group which entered the circle of homes to be greeted warmly by friends and family who viewed the fine food supply with a great deal of laughter and joy. The party soon dispersed, each one returning to his own home.

When Black Hawk and his father returned to their home there was a fine meal awaiting them; and the rest of the family, his mother and two sisters, greeted the two hunters with praise for their success which had preceded them to their home by the little braves’ spreading the word through the village of the success of the hunters, especially Tall Hawk and his son Black Hawk, the great fisherman.

After supper, Black Hawk stepped out of his home and wandered through the village greeting his many friends and talking with them of the adventures he had just been through.

Finally Black Hawk had been to almost all his friends when he noticed one rather shabby wigwam set off from the rest on the far side of the village. Slowly puzzling a little bit about this, he wandered toward the wigwam. He saw one of his playmates, Walking Bird, and he stopped to ask who lived in the wigwam in the distance.

“Oh,” said Walking Bird, “that is the home of Crooked Arrow. He lives off by himself like that, for he seems to enjoy being by himself. He is a strange sort of man and he very rarely comes out of his wigwam to participate in the activities of the tribe, except when there is a hunting or a fishing party or a tribal celebration. Was not he on the same trip with you?”

“Yes, he was, and I think I shall pay him a visit.”

Quickly Black Hawk approached the wigwam of Crooked Arrow and when he had reached the flap that served as a door he called out and asked if he might enter.

“Come in, come in, my friend, Black Hawk,” called Crooked Arrow.

The boy entered and Crooked Arrow rose to greet him.

“It is very kind of you to come and see me.”

“Is it not the thing to do for friends to visit one another?” asked Black Hawk. “Why do you live here by yourself? Have you no family?”

“No, Black Hawk, Crooked Arrow has no family, and I have liked living here on the edge of the village. It is quiet and I get much time to work on my tools for fishing and hunting. I like it here.”

Black Hawk stayed until it was quite late and he noticed that Crooked Arrow talked on and on about many, many things. Finally it was getting very late and Black Hawk rose to leave.

“Come again, little Black Hawk. My wigwam is always open to my good friend. The next time you come we will have another fine talk.”

“Thank you, friend Crooked Arrow. I shall return often for you have been a good friend.”

With that, Black Hawk turned and walked to his own wigwam. As he approached his home he noticed his father just leaving. When Tall Hawk saw his son, he stopped and called to him. “Black Hawk, my son, where have you been? It is quite late and your mother was getting quite concerned.”

“I was visiting with a friend, my father, a very good friend.” It was then that Black Hawk spoke with his father about the events on the fishing trip and about how Crooked Arrow had knelt at the lakeside and thanked the Great Spirit for his friend, Black Hawk.

His father listened attentively and then when Black Hawk had finished he said, “My son, I am very proud of you. You have done a great and generous thing. Crooked Arrow has been a lonely person. You have brought much joy to his life. To have a friend is a wonderful thing.”

“But, my father, if this is such a wonderful thing, why has no one befriended him before? Why does he still live alone on the edge of the tribe? Why is he alone on the hunt though he is with many braves?”

“He is not an easy person to talk to, my son. You, a boy, have spoken to him as an equal; this has meant much to him. The rest of us should be ashamed. We have been so busy that we have not taken time out to look at what is around us. It has taken a young Indian boy to bring to our attention this lack of concern for a fellow member of the tribe. If he had been a worthless brave who had sought pity and help from others, the treatment he had been given would have been what he deserved.”

But in thinking back, Tall Hawk realized that Crooked Arrow had always carried his share of the responsibility in the tribe.

When a hunting party was forming, he always volunteered; when a battle was in progress, Crooked Arrow was always found to be in the middle. When there was distasteful jobs to be done around the village or a new lodge to be built or some repairs needed or someone to stand night watch, Crooked Arrow would always be among the first to volunteer.

Yes, thought Tall Hawk, here is a man who has been treated with scorn who should have been treated with honor by his fellow braves.

The following day after giving much thought to the question, Tall Hawk went to consult with the leaders of the village.

After many hours, a delegation was formed and they proceeded to the wigwam of Crooked Arrow. The fat ugly warrior stepped from his wigwam and suddenly his eyes grew a little wild until he saw in the delegation Black Hawk, his friend.

“Why have you come to the humble wigwam of Crooked Arrow?” he asked of the leaders. “What have I done to cause you to come? If I have done wrong tell me and I shall do all in my power to make it right.”

“No,” said Tall Hawk, “It is we who have done wrong. We come to invite you to rebuild your wigwam within the village circle. There is a fine place right next to mine, and I would consider it an honor if you would build there and become my neighbor. My son has told me quite a bit about you and I can see now where we have been very unfair in the way we have neglected making you a part of our tribe. Come, become a part of our family. Share our fires and our food and we shall talk together of the great hunts. This we ask you to do as a sign that you will forgive us for this wrong which has existed so long.”

“Yes, I will come, but listen. You have done me no wrong. I have been happy living here on the edge of the village, watching the children play and taking part in the hunt. I have had a good life. I have never known what real friendship was from the time I was a little boy going from one to the other begging for food to keep me going. But Black Hawk has brought the meaning of friendship to my heart, and for that reason I have desired these last few days to live closer to my people. Yes, I will come. With gladness in my heart, I will come.”

The group turned and started for the center of the village to proclaim what had just happened; and, as they walked, a small boy, Black Hawk, and a not so ugly, fat, young man could be seen walking hand in hand—a certain lightness in their step that had not been there before.

THE BOY AND THE WARRIOR CHIEF

Flying Owl was a very happy little Seneca brave. He had all he could wish for. His father was a very brave and honored member of the tribe. His mother was kind and made the best-tasting dishes of food for him when he was hungry. His sister and he would quarrel now and then, but most of the time they played and lived together very happily.

Their home was strong and warm in the winter and cool in the summer. There were always many nice clothes to wear and plenty to eat. Flying Owl was learning from his father every day about the ways of the forest and the stream. When anyone watched Flying Owl at play, he would think, “Now there is a lucky and happy little boy. I wonder if he knows how fortunate he is.” But Flying Owl was a rare little Indian brave, for he did realize how lucky he was. When he was still young, Flying Owl gladly shared his toys and other things with his friends. For this reason he was very much liked by both the braves and women and by the other boys and girls of the tribe.

One bright summer day, Flying Owl rose early from his bed and looked out at the bright warm sun shining down on the green forest and the blue-green lake at the edge of their village. He thought to himself, “What a wonderful day this is to go fishing. Only a short way from our home is the beautiful little hidden lake which my father has shown me. Surely there must be big fish in that lake. If I could catch some of them all by myself, my father would be proud of me and we would have a delicious supper this evening.”

So without any delay, Flying Owl gathered together his fishing tackle which he and his father had made with such care during the cold winter nights. Flying Owl was often allowed to go off by himself on short trips like this, so long as he did not go too far or stay away from his home after dark. He packed his fishing gear and some food and started out, waving good-bye to his mother and sister who stood at the entrance to their wigwam. His mother called to remind him to be back in time for supper. Flying Owl shouted that he not only would be back before supper but would bring their supper home with him. Then his mother and sister watched him trotting from the village until he was out of sight.

Flying Owl ran gaily along the forest paths, thinking that the many wild creatures had been awake since dawn. Now they were scurrying through the brush and the tree tops, enjoying the warm sunshine and cool breezes which blew gently through the forest. Flying Owl’s heart felt very happy. It was good to be alive, discovering new wonders of nature here in the forest instead of playing in the village that he knew too well. And he thought, “Perhaps some great adventure is waiting for me here in the green forest!”

He hurried on, impatient to reach the secret lake and catch the many large fish that he was sure were there. At the pace he was keeping, it was not long before he saw, through an opening in the trees, the blue-green, shimmering waters of the lake. Running faster, he reached the lake shore quickly and stopped a moment to look out across the waters and wonder where he would find the best place to fish.

He saw a tree that had fallen out into the lake, and decided to stand on the end of the log in the lake. He cast his line into the water and settled down to await the first nibble. He did not have to wait long. There was a sharp tug upon his line and he felt the line go taut in his hands. In fact, it had come so suddenly that Flying Owl was almost thrown off balance. Bracing the heels of his moccasins against the curve of the log, he started pulling at the line and brought in a fine fat fish. The catch now lay on the bank next to him and he was ready to cast again. In only a few moments, he felt another sharp tug and soon had landed another plump fish. “This is really fun!” Flying Owl said aloud.

Just then he heard a movement behind him. Turning quickly, he saw a tall handsome Indian brave dressed in the costume of the Woodland Indians, wearing the headdress of a chieftain. Flying Owl was startled, but the tall brave reached out his hand in friendship.

“Do not be afraid, Flying Owl,” he said. “I will not hurt you.”

“Who are you?” Flying Owl asked as he looked up at the brave. “I do not recognize you as a member of our tribe. How do you know my name?”

The brave smiled, stepped closer, and said, “Oh, I know your name because I _am_ of your tribe. I remember you as a baby who looked so much like his father whom I knew well.”

“But I do not ever remember seeing you and I thought I knew everyone. If you are one of our tribe, I should know you, and above all because you are wearing the headdress of our Chief. Surely all, even the children, know our great Chieftains.”

The brave drew closer until he was no more than a pace from Flying Owl. Then he took a small deerskin jacket from his shoulders, laid it on the ground, and sat cross-legged upon it, facing the boy. “My name is Bear Claw and I am truly your Chief. If you do not believe me, you may ask any question you wish about our tribe, and I will give you the answer.”

Flying Owl accepted the challenge and began to question the tall brave carefully until he was sure that the man was telling the truth. Still he had never seen or heard of him.

“Surely,” the chieftain said, “you must know now that I am one of your tribe. But let me ask you a few questions. You have been asking me many, and now it is my turn.” He waited with a laughing sparkle in his eyes while Flying Owl watched his face closely. “What reason would you have for questioning me, Bear Claw?” Flying Owl asked.

“I would merely like to ask why you came to the still lake on such a beautiful summer day,” replied the brave, not taking his eyes from the boy for one moment.

“Well,” said Flying Owl, “I thought it would be fun if I came here today and caught enough fish for my mother to cook for our supper.”

“Oh,” said Bear Claw smiling, “that is a very good reason. Please do not let me stop your fishing.” Then Bear Claw stretched out on the bank of the lake and lay gazing up through the trees at the bright blue sky.

Flying Owl hesitated, thinking about this strong brave’s strange behavior. Then he remembered the fish he must catch and how he must return home before dark. So he cast his line into the water again and almost immediately caught another large fish. This he placed with the other two and went on fishing until he soon had a good catch. Seeing the sun sinking lower in the afternoon sky, he knew that he must hurry to reach the village in time for his mother to cook the fish for supper.

Taking a stout birch branch, he ran one end of the branch through the gills of the fish to carry his catch over his shoulder. As he turned to say good-bye to the brave who had kept him company at the lakeside, he was surprised to find him gone. Beneath the tree, he saw only the flattened fir needles where the brave had lain watching him. He looked all around and could find no further trace of him. Flying Owl moved even faster toward home, because now he certainly had a great deal to tell his friends. He reached home in plenty of time before supper and handed the fish to his mother, telling her that, like his father, he had brought their meal for the evening. His mother was very proud and told him so. Then she asked, “Did you have any strange and wonderful adventures today, my little Flying Owl?”

The boy was just about to blurt out that he had, when he decided that he should wait to tell his father first about everything that had happened. So all he said was, “We will talk later, mother. I have much to tell you.”

Impatient now to break the news to his father, he went outside to look for him. Flying Owl found him talking with another brave and waited respectfully until his father had finished and was starting home. Planting himself in front of his father, Flying Owl began to tell his story, but he was speaking so fast that his father could hardly understand him.

“Wait, my son! You must speak more slowly. I want to hear about everything that happened to you today, but your words tumble out so swiftly that my brain can’t make any sense of them. Now start from the beginning again.”

Flying Owl took a deep breath and began slowly this time to tell his father all about his adventure at the great still lake in the deep forest. As he talked, his father’s face looked more and more puzzled. When Flying Owl had finished, his father put one hand on his son’s shoulder, and they started for the wigwam. Nothing more was said about the adventure until they reached home. While Flying Owl was washing, his father turned to his mother and asked her what she thought of their son’s story.

“He has not told me about it yet. He wanted to wait until he found you and tell you first.”

When the family had begun eating the supper of fish Flying Owl had caught, the young brave told his story once again for his mother’s benefit. When he had ended it, his parents looked at each other and smiled and said no more about it.

When the children had gone to bed, Flying Owl’s mother said to her husband, “Surely you do not believe this story that Flying Owl has told us. It must be something he imagined. He probably had a dull day and believed that he had to think up some adventure to tell his father.”

“No,” said her husband, “that is not the reason, for the catching of many sweet fish would be enough of a story. There is something more behind this and I must find out what it is. How would he know Bear Claw’s name? He was only a baby when the great chief vanished. Tomorrow I will go with the boy and see for myself this place where he says he met Bear Claw.”

The next morning, Flying Owl’s father remarked to his son that it was such a nice day that they ought to go fishing once again at the still lake. Surely if there were more fish like those they had eaten the night before, they should try to make another large catch and share them with other families in the village. Flying Owl was thrilled with the thought of going fishing with his father and gathered his gear together quickly. Father and son started off together into the forest, traveling at a slower pace than Flying Owl had gone the day before. It was almost mid-day when they reached the side of the lake. Flying Owl’s father suggested that they eat lunch before they began fishing. When they were through eating, Flying Owl’s father looked at the boy curiously.

“My son, show me where you saw this Seneca Chief yesterday.”

“Certainly, father,” Flying Owl said confidently.

He took his father’s hand and walked back to the fir tree under which the warrior had rested. They both looked carefully at the ground.

“I see no signs of where a person lay under this tree, my son,” Flying Owl’s father finally said. “Are you sure that you saw a Seneca Chief when you were here yesterday?”

“Oh yes, father, I know I did. We can’t find any trace of the spot he lay on because the fir needles have risen again like the grass on which a deer has lain. Surely you don’t believe that I would lie to you, father?”

“No, my son. I do not believe you would, but I know of no one by the name of Bear Claw who lives in our village. Perhaps one of our unfriendly neighbors was playing a trick on you, or maybe your imagination wanted a little adventure of its own.”

Flying Owl paused for a moment, thinking seriously.

“No, father, you have taught me to be truthful at all times, and to tell you exactly what I have seen and heard. I did see a tall Seneca standing right there, wearing a Chief’s headdress that was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. It was not something in my imagination, and it was not one of our neighbors, for he wore no mask and no paint to hide behind. His costume was Seneca, and when I questioned him about our village, he knew every answer.”

“All right, my son, we will speak no more about it. But come, we must cast our lines. It is growing late and we must hurry if we are to bring home another meal this evening.”

So they started to fish and waited a long time without getting even a nibble. They changed their bait and moved to a new position farther along the lake shore, but nothing did any good. When the sun had sunk very low, Flying Owl’s father announced that it was time to start for home. As they trotted back through the forest, neither spoke to the other, because both were thinking busily about Flying Owl’s story, his good catch of yesterday, and their poor luck today.

When Flying Owl’s mother saw them returning empty-handed, she said nothing of the fact that there were no fish. When the children had finished their supper and gone to bed, their parents spoke of the boy’s adventure. Now they were more puzzled than ever. Just at that moment there was a loud muttering of voices, followed by such shouting and laughter and cheers as had not been heard in the village for many moons. Flying Owl’s father dashed from his home, grasping his bow as he went. Certainly something wonderful must be happening. As he reached the center of the village, the first thing he saw was a tall Seneca Chieftain standing amidst many warriors who were shouting and dancing. It was Bear Claw, a Seneca Chief who had disappeared after a great battle. His people had returned to their village defeated and heartsick, believing him dead, and there had been much sadness. It had happened so many moons ago that Chief Bear Claw had almost been forgotten. Now he had appeared in the village as if from nowhere. Finally Bear Claw raised his arms in the air, asking for silence.

“Your Chief has returned. I have much to tell you, but I must wait because I am tired and need rest. Tomorrow we shall have feasting and dancing and a Great Council. Then I will speak.”

The great warrior turned and walked to his wigwam where his wife and young son, who had been leading the tribe, waited for him. Flying Owl’s father walked slowly back to his home where the boy lay sleeping, unaware of the great event that had been taking place.

The next day the sun rose and covered the small village with a warm glow, as though greeting Bear Claw’s return. Flying Owl walked out into the sunshine and found everyone preparing for a great celebration. He ran to ask his father about the reason for all the excitement.