Part 2

“Quarter Moon, we are not too far from the shore. Paddle harder and we will be able to reach the shore before the canoe fills so full that we cannot move it.”

So the boys paddled with all their strength and soon felt the bow of the canoe scrape against the sandy bottom of the lake shore. Jumping out, the two boys pulled the leaking canoe ashore and up onto the brush. Looking around, the boys realized that they were in unfamiliar territory. Neither boy had ever been this far along the shore, but now, by looking out upon the lake, they guessed that they were some distance north of their village.

“Well,” said Little Elk, “at least we are not lost, for by following the shore south, we will come to our village. Come, Quarter Moon! We will put our fish upon some green sticks and take them with us.”

The boys took their knives and cut out two young branches from nearby trees; by running the branch through the gills of the fish and out through the mouth, they were able to carry them comfortably. The boys then started to follow the shore for home. By this time the sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and the boys knew that it was getting quite late. So they hurried along the shore carrying their prize catch of muskellunge.

When they had gone less than halfway to the village, Quarter Moon suddenly called out to his faster companion.

“Wait, Little Elk, do not run so fast. I cannot keep up with you. I must rest.”

The two boys seated themselves on the side of the lake to catch their breath. It was then that they suddenly heard a noise. Turning around, Little Elk saw several feathers through the trees. He was about to call out when a warrior came into his sight and he realized that these were not Iroquois, but a roving band of Abnakes. Quickly he threw himself to the ground and pushed Quarter Moon down beside him. Quarter Moon almost cried out because he was so startled, but Little Elk motioned him to be still. He pointed into the woods and Quarter Moon could see why Little Elk had motioned him to be quiet. Then Little Elk counted the Abnakes who were moving quietly along the trail in single file, headed in the direction of his village. There were fourteen of them, all tall, strong, young warriors, each carrying a stout bow and a quiver of arrows.

When the band had passed, Little Elk turned to Quarter Moon and whispered:

“We must hurry. They are headed in the direction of our village and with our warriors all gone, there are none but the old men, women, and children. We must warn the village.”

They jumped up and began to run as fast as they could along the shore toward their village, forgetting all about their fish and fishing gear, in their haste to get to their village and warn their people.

Soon they saw smoke from campfires only a few hundred paces ahead. Even though both boys felt as if their hearts would burst, they forced themselves to continue running until the wigwams of the village were in sight. The boys slowed to a trot, and entered the village all out of breath. They ran straight to the wigwam of Quarter Moon’s uncle and tried, between gasps for breath, to tell him what they had seen. Finally Quarter Moon’s uncle raised his hand. “Wait! Wait! My boy, get your breath and then tell me what has brought you to my wigwam breathing so heavily and looking like a frightened deer.”

The boys took several deep breaths and then Little Elk told his story to the old man.

“But we are not at war with the Abnakes and surely we have nothing they would want in our village. But if this is an attack, we must warn the others. Go through the village and tell all the others to gather at the medicine lodge. There are some of us left who can handle weapons. Rather than give our few supplies or our women to an attacking band of Abnakes, we will gather every able-bodied man and woman and fight if we have to.”

Word was sent out through the village, and soon everyone gathered at the medicine lodge. Quarter Moon was ready to repeat to all what he had told the old brave when Little Elk looked through the fringe in the trees and spotted some warriors approaching. He was about to shout a warning when he saw his father in the lead of the party. Little Elk ran to his father, shouting that the Abnakes were near by. And then he saw, standing next to his father, a very tall and handsome Abnake. For some reason, Little Elk felt that this was no ordinary warrior. Then his father spoke.

“Wait, Little Elk, my son. What is this you say about our village being invaded?”

Little Elk was embarrassed and looked down at the ground. “My father, when Quarter Moon and I were returning from our fishing trip, we saw some Abnakes through the trees. They carried many bows and quivers of arrows, and they were moving swiftly and quietly toward our village. Quarter Moon and I ran as fast as we could to warn the village.”

“You did well, my son. But come, I want you to welcome a friend of mine. This is Chief Big Running Fox of the Abnakes. With him are fourteen of his finest hunters. Our hunting party searched far and wide for game but with little success. After many days of searching, we were ready to start for home, sad and empty handed, when we were met by Chief Big Running Fox. After explaining to him our presence in Abnake lands, we were invited to their village, where we received food and shelter for the night. The next morning Chief Big Running Fox explained that the bad weather this past spring had driven the game north. The Abnakes had plenty, but knew that their neighbors to the south would not have much game. So Chief Big Running Fox let us hunt on the Abnake grounds to get plenty of meat for our tribe. In return we have invited them here for a feast to thank them for this great kindness.”

“I am sorry, great chief, that I thought you were going to attack our village,” said Little Elk, feeling very much ashamed.

Chief Big Running Fox placed his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Do not feel ashamed. It could have been an unfriendly visit and you were right to warn your people of strangers near your home. Your father can be proud to have you for a son, and we are glad to have you as a friend.”

The hunting party of Iroquois and Abnakes moved into the village side by side. That night, instead of war dances, there were happy dances celebrating their good hunting and finding a new friend. Right in the center of all the excitement sat Little Elk and Quarter Moon, the heroes of the day.

A KITTEN BRINGS A BOY HIS FEATHER

Between the swift running Snake River and the rumbling Grande Ronde in the beautiful Valley of Winding Waters, there lived a band of Indians called the Wallows, a branch of the Nez Percé tribe.

Little White Wolf was one of the young boys who was trying to earn his first feathers which would show that he had become a full-fledged brave. Often he would wander from the camp into the forests that covered the slopes of the valley. There he would try to think of things he could do to get his feather—an act of bravery or great hunting skill. Two summers had passed since he first tried to win his feather. His little friends, Swift Owl and Gray Frog, had earned their feathers and now strutted proudly through the village to call attention to their feathers. They both took special care to spend most of their time playing near Little White Wolf, no doubt to make him jealous of their awards.

One day, when Little White Wolf was watching his mother mold a small bowl from clay, he caught sight of his father, Big White Wolf, striding into the village with a large brown animal slung over his shoulders. Little White Wolf knew that his father had made a kill. The boy raced forward excitedly to greet his father. As his father came nearer, the boy saw the large claws of a mountain lion. He was thrilled and proud and asked impatiently for his father to tell him the story of the kill. But his father only shook his head and put his hand on Little White Wolf’s shoulder to quiet him.

“My son,” he told him, “you will have to wait until the big fire tonight when I tell the tale for all to hear.”

That night as the braves gathered around the evening fire, Little White Wolf settled as close as he could to the spot where his father would stand to tell his tale of adventure. After the other braves had told their stories, Little White Wolf’s father walked with long, firm steps to the center of the circle and began to speak. While Little White Wolf listened, he thought that his father looked unusually strong and tall.

Big White Wolf told how he had been tracking a deer in a small glen at the southern end of the valley when he heard a snarl. Turning quickly, he saw a large female puma poised to spring at him from a tree. Just as the cat leaped, Big White Wolf shot his arrow. The cat fell dead at his feet. He could not explain why the big cat had been roused unless he had been close to a lair of kittens which this mother cat had been guarding.

Little White Wolf leaned forward listening intently. Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind. He could not sleep soundly that night because he kept thinking of his secret plan. As dawn broke, Little White Wolf arose silently and gathered his bow and arrow and a small pouch of food. Then he started off for the southern end of the valley. He came soon to the place where his father had killed the big cat. The boy began to search every nook and cranny for the little kittens that must be here. He felt sure his father had been right in guessing why the cat had sprung at him.

Finally, after many hours of searching, Little White Wolf was about to give up when he heard a faint cry coming from his right. He moved behind a small tree and parted the branches to see what had made the sound. Just a few paces away in the hollow of a rock lay a small ball of brown fur. Now Little White Wolf must carry out his plan to bring the puma kitten back to camp alive. He moved slowly and quietly so that he would not frighten the kitten. The little puma was looking away from Little White Wolf.

When the boy was only two paces away, the kitten heard him. The animal jumped up quickly and started to run. But the Indian was too fast. He leaped and caught the kitten by the scruff of the neck. Then he lifted the little puma gently and began to scratch its head and pet it. In a few moments, the animal was curled up in Little White Wolf’s arms, leaning contentedly against the boy’s chest. The boy started back to camp with his prize.

No one had known why he had left or where he had gone, so Little White Wolf was greeted excitedly by the other boys as he marched into the camp. Even Swift Owl and Gray Frog praised him for having rescued the little puma and for having braved a possible attack from some grown puma.

That night Little White Wolf told his story. With great dignity, the Chief awarded the boy his feather. He was a very proud young brave. Now he could strut with Gray Frog and Swift Owl throughout the camp.

Little White Wolf never realized how thankful his father was that his son had returned safely. Big White Wolf knew that the father cat might have returned while the boy was taking the kitten. If that had happened, there might have been no feather award council fire that night.

LITTLE THUNDER FINDS A FRIEND

Little Thunder was always the first one awake in his woodland Wyandot village, running about doing many chores before his parents were even awake. He would build up the breakfast fire and make sure there was enough wood to keep it going during the day. He would take the water bags to the cool spring and refill them with fresh water for that day and do many other little chores.

Finally when the rest of the village began to stir, Little Thunder would rush about gathering up his many small treasures and lay them all out in front of him on the ground to choose the ones he would carry with him that day. He had pieces of flint, a deer’s horn, colored stones from the brooks, birch bark on which he had burned pictures, and many other things important to an Indian boy. Then his mother would call him in to eat. When breakfast was over, his father and mother would explain the family’s plans for the day. Then each would set about doing his share of the work.

One morning just before Little Thunder’s father was to go off on a hunt with the other warriors of the village, he called Little Thunder to him.

“You must take care of your mother while I am away,” Big Thunder told the boy. “You must be the man of the house now. You must protect your mother and your home and see that all of the work is done.” He smiled and pressed his son’s shoulders. “You will soon be a man and then we can go on the big hunt together. But you are man enough now to watch over your mother while I am away.”

Little Thunder felt very proud of the way his father had spoken to him. When all was in readiness and the hunters had left the village, Little Thunder turned to his mother and stood very straight as he looked at her.

“Do not be afraid, for I will watch over you, mother,” he promised. “To show that I can get all the food we need, I will go into the woods and bring us a fine fat rabbit for supper.”

Now Little Thunder had a good hunting bow which his grandfather had made for him many moons ago. It was of stout hickory and had an even curve to it when the sinew string was pulled tight. Little Thunder had worked carefully to make straight, strong arrow shafts. He had chosen the best willow shoots from which be peeled the bark. Then he seasoned and straightened them over the fire, and rubbed them smooth with sandstone. His arrowpoints were made of flint which he had chipped with a piece of deer’s antler after much practice under the eyes of his father. These were his best arrows and he was saving them for the time he would go with his father on the hunt.

Little Thunder laid these big-game arrows aside and picked up the set he had made for use now as a young Indian boy. They had bone points which he had ground sharp and bound into the split end of the shaft with wet sinew that tightened as it dried. On the other end he had glued and tied carefully trimmed goose and turkey feathers to help the arrow fly straight to its mark. He selected several arrows and tested his bow. Little Thunder knew he would find plenty of game because the Indians never killed without needing the food or skin of an animal. Having finished all preparations for the hunt, he said good-bye to his mother and started off to find the fat juicy rabbit he had promised her.

Little Thunder trotted along the forest trails at a fast jog, looking in all directions for signs of game. He moved softly on his toes and the balls of his feet, as his father had taught him, so that he would not frighten the creatures of the forest.

Soon he came out of the forest into a large clearing that he believed would yield the game he was after. He had walked watchfully only a short while when, not seven paces from him, he saw a rather large clump of tall grass move. He dropped to the ground, pressed his body flat against the earth and waited. The grass did not move again. He tested the slight breeze by wetting a finger in his mouth and holding his finger in the air. The side of his finger away from him felt cool and he knew that the breeze was blowing toward him. Whatever was in the grass ahead of him would not be able to catch his scent. He crept forward softly. When he was about three paces from the clump of grass, he stood up with bow and arrow ready to shoot.

But before he let the arrow fly, he stopped short. There, nestled in the grass, was a young fawn which appeared to have been born only a short while ago. The fawn, frightened by Little Thunder, lay perfectly still, his coat blending in almost perfectly with the grasses and shrubs around him.

Little Thunder put the arrow back in his quiver. He moved toward the animal slowly. The fawn struggled to his spindly little legs and wobbled slightly. Then his legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Little Thunder could not help laughing at the awkward little animal. This scared the fawn even more and he rose to his feet again and tried to run but again tumbled to the ground. Little Thunder ran forward to where the fawn lay, fearful that the fawn might have hurt himself. When he reached the side of the fawn he knelt down and placed his hands along the soft silky neck. The fawn trembled but he made no attempt to move. Gently, Little Thunder stroked his neck and head and back and soon the little fawn quieted down. It was not too long before a rough little tongue reached up and swiped at Little Thunder’s face. Little Thunder laughed again and the fawn trembled. Speaking softly, Little Thunder told the fawn that everything was all right and that no one would harm him.

Little Thunder realized that the mother deer must not be too far off, because only rarely would a mother deer leave her young—and then only to get a drink of water or find a new place to hide her fawn. Little Thunder rose from the ground and decided to look around for the fawn’s mother. Walking to the opposite edge of the clearing, he looked down through the forest and saw a lake. Winding his way through the trees and brush, he was soon standing upon the shore of the lake. There he found fresh tracks of a full-grown deer. Then he saw some blood on the shore near more deer tracks, but he could find no further trace of the deer. Then he spotted the prints of a pair of moccasins. He realized that a warrior from a neighboring tribe in search of food had probably come upon the doe while she was drinking, shot her, and carried her away. He knew his guess was right when he saw a deer’s stubby tail tied to the branch of a low-hanging tree—a sign always left by an Indian near the place where he had killed an animal for food or clothing.

Little Thunder ran back quickly to the little fawn, still nestled in the tall grass. Even though he trembled as Little Thunder came near, he soon became calm as the young Indian petted him gently.

“Your mother has been killed, little one,” Little Thunder murmured to the fawn. “That leaves you with no one to look out for you. Do not worry. I, Little Thunder, will be your friend. But first we must get you to a safer place, for there are many animals that would make life dangerous for you here in the open.”

Little Thunder lifted the young fawn in his arms and carried him into the woods where he found a small thicket. Hiding the fawn in the thicket, he returned to the lake and brought some water to the fawn. Then picking up his bow and arrows, he trotted swiftly toward home to tell his mother of his adventure. On the way, a plump rabbit ran across his path. Little Thunder’s shot was easy and accurate. So he brought his mother the big rabbit he had promised—and a big but true story, too.

For many days after that, Little Thunder went back with food to his newly found friend. The young fawn soon became strong and was able to frisk about. Soon Little Thunder and the fawn were playing games together in the clearing. He even taught the fawn to come when he whistled.

At last, his father returned from the long hunting trip and Little Thunder told him all about his adventure with the young fawn.

“This I will have to see for myself,” Big Thunder told the boy. “Tomorrow we shall go together to the thicket in the forest.”

So the next morning Little Thunder took his father to the forest, but when they reached the thicket, it was empty. Big Thunder smiled at his son as if to say that the boy had dreamed the whole adventure.

“He is probably out frisking in the clearing,” Little Thunder said hastily, “or he’s down at the lake having a drink. He will be back soon. Come, father, we will sit over here and wait.”

Though they waited patiently long into the afternoon, the deer did not return. For several days after that, Little Thunder came back to the forest and clearing and lake, but there was no sign of his animal friend. Little Thunder lost all hope of finding the fawn and soon forgot all about him, until one day about twelve moons later.

Little Thunder had gone hunting that day and found himself on the trail of a young buck. He followed the buck all morning and just as he was about to give up the trail and return home, he saw the clearing where he had found the fawn. Approaching quietly he looked out across the clearing. At first he could see nothing. Then as he gazed along the side of the clearing near the forest, his eyes stopped at the small thicket. Something moved. Could it be the fawn, he wondered hopefully.

Slowly he stood up and moved toward the thicket. Then something stirred again. A beautiful young buck stood up in the thicket. The buck turned to run. Little Thunder whistled and called out softly. The buck stopped, turned and looked at the boy. Then, without fear, the buck ran forward to where Little Thunder stood with his hand outstretched. The animal’s tongue licked the Indian’s hand, and Little Thunder reached up and scratched the young buck’s head. The boy knew that his friend had come back at last. He would have much to talk about to the buck—and even more to tell his father.

HOW NOT TO CATCH A FISH

The Bella Coola were a tribe that lived along the Northwest coast. Like most of the Indians in this part of the land, they were fishermen and woodcarvers. Some of the most beautiful carvings in the world have come from these tribes. Their chief source of food was fish. Each year at the time the salmon were running, the Indians would go out to the great rivers with spears and fish nets to make large catches. Each salmon was then split and dried and stored.

As soon as the Bella Coola boys were old and strong enough, they were taken out to the rivers and taught how to throw the fish spear with its long line attached. They were also taught the use of the large fish nets. Both the spear and the net were hard to handle and sometimes dangerous.

One day Little Twig (who had that name because of his size and the thinness of his body when he was born) begged his father to take him on the salmon hunt. All the men of the tribe were getting ready to head for the river steps where the salmon would be leaping. But Little Twig’s father stooped beside his son and spoke slowly to him.

“My son, I would like to take you along, but this is man’s work and you are still a young boy with much to learn. Stay here in the village and play with the other children. Your day of hunting and spearing the great salmon will come before you know it. But this time the answer must be No.”

Little Twig watched his father leave the village. When all the other fishermen had left, Little Twig went in search of his friend, Running Turtle. He found him carving a new handle for his knife.

“Running Turtle, let us go and watch our fathers fish for the great salmon,” he said. “We can go far above them on the river and watch from the ledge. We will stay only for a short while and will be back in the village before we are missed. I have never seen them fish for the great salmon because my father says that it is too dangerous for Indian boys. Will you go?”

“My father will not let me go to fish with the men of the village either. But he never said that I could not watch the men as they fish. Come, Little Twig, let us hurry. The men are probably already there.”

The two boys set out swiftly after the fishing party. Soon they could hear the river roaring just ahead of them. They stopped at the trees that grew close to the river shore. Peering through the branches, they could see the men of the tribe spread out on both sides of the river, some with nets and some with spears. At the feet of each fisherman were large baskets into which he threw the fish he caught.