Part 3

The boys worked their way around and above the fishermen until they were about three hundred paces upstream from the fishermen. Edging close to the side of the river near the top of the waterfalls, the boys crept out on a sloping ledge of rock that was only an arm’s length from the rushing water. They were so close that the spray wet their faces as they gazed downstream at the fishermen.

Soon Little Twig became so excited by what he was watching that he stood up and began to pretend that he was fishing for salmon, too. But he was not used to the slippery rocks as the men were, and he suddenly found that he was losing his balance. He called to Running Turtle to help him, but before Running Turtle could grab him Little Twig was tumbling into the rushing river. His body was caught in the great swirling waters that swept him downstream. He choked as his eyes and nose and ears filled with water. Just as he began to think he would die, he felt his body being lifted from the water, and heard a voice shouting.

“Look at this fine fish that I have caught,” someone yelled, laughing.

Then Little Twig realized that one of the fishermen had reached out with his net and snatched him from the river. Little Twig sputtered and coughed and rubbed his eyes as strong hands set him on his feet. There he was, in the middle of a circle of grinning warriors from the village. He began rubbing all the sore spots where river rocks had struck his body. Suddenly he recognized his father’s face. Instead of wearing the stern look which Little Twig had expected, his father was smiling.

“Were you so eager to take a swim that you dove into the river?” he asked the boy. “Or did you hope to catch brother salmon with your bare hands?”

“I disobeyed you, my father, and I am truly sorry. I was a foolish young boy to come to the river when you told me to stay at home. Now I know why I have not been brought on the fishing trips. This is truly a job for men.”

Little Twig looked toward the ground. His father reached down and lifted the lad into the air.

“Yes, my son, this is a job for men. Someday soon you will join us in hunting the swift salmon with spear and net. But for now, be happy to remain in the village with your friends. You were lucky that my brother had his net where he did, or we might have missed you and your body would have been carried away. Come, we will go back to the village to tell your mother of your swim this fine day.”

Then he laughed again. Little Twig laughed this time, too, and all the braves joined in the laughter. No one would speak harshly to him about his foolish act even though it had brought him near death. Indians believed that angry words make people sick. So Indian parents, like Little Twig’s father, always tried to speak happily.

Just then Running Turtle came out of hiding, and he started to laugh with the others.

LITTLE FIRE CLOUD’S DREAM

The Delawares were a peaceful tribe, hunting and fishing in their rich valley and not bothering their neighbors, for they had plenty and needed little more than they were able to obtain themselves with their strong bows and sharp arrows and their well-kept fishing gear.

It was late spring, and one day as Little Fire Cloud romped and played in the village his father called to him.

“Come, Little Fire Cloud, it is time we built a new canoe. Shortly we shall be needing a new canoe and if we do not start work now it will not be ready when the time comes to leave camp.”

So father and son started out to gather the materials to make a fine new canoe.

The Indians of the forest and lakes depended a great deal upon the canoe and were wise enough to construct them of material that was easy to obtain. Light cedar made the ribs and the planking of the canoe, and over this the Indians stretched a tight cover of birch bark. Then they took spruce roots and split them and these they used to sew the seams of the canoe together. They then would calk the spaces with a tarlike substance which was made from pine pitch and soot. When finished the product was firm and sturdy, but above all if the canoe should become injured in any way, the materials were always handy in the forest with which to make repairs.

Finally Little Fire Cloud and his father had gathered all the necessary equipment together and the work on the canoe was started. Father and son worked very hard at the job, and a few days later the canoe was completed. As the two finished their work they stood back to admire the job and Little Fire Cloud said,

“Is it not beautiful, father? It is the most beautiful canoe I have ever seen either in our own village or any of our neighbors.”

“Yes, Little Fire Cloud, it really is a beautiful canoe and one which we can be proud of.”

For the rest of that day that remained, Little Fire Cloud could talk of nothing else but the beautiful canoe that he helped his father to build. Finally supper was over, and it was time to retire.

That night as Little Fire Cloud fell asleep his head was all full of visions of canoes and rapids and great lakes and rivers. Soon the confusion of many things became one thing, and Little Fire Cloud found himself standing on the shore of a great lake. He did not know how he got there or what lake it was, but the water was a beautiful blue green and it was calm and smooth. It was daytime and, as Little Fire Cloud looked upon the lake, in the distance he saw a canoe coming toward him. In the bow of the canoe stood a great warrior, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes looking right at Little Fire Cloud.

In the stern of the canoe, a young warrior softly paddled the canoe forward toward the shore, directly to where Little Fire Cloud was standing. As the canoe drew closer, Little Fire Cloud saw that it was made of shimmering silver birch bark and it looked so clean and new.

As the bow scraped the shore, the warrior stepped from the canoe and walked to where Little Fire Cloud was standing.

“Come, Little Fire Cloud, step into the canoe, and we shall take a short trip.”

“I do not know if I should,” said Little Fire Cloud overcome by the great warrior who stood before him. “My father might wonder where I had gone.”

“Do not worry about your father for you will be gone only a short while and we shall return you to this point on the shore. I have something I want to show you.”

So Little Fire Cloud feeling a warmth toward this great warrior stepped in and seated himself in the middle of the canoe. Then the great warrior stepped in and pushed away from shore. The warrior in the stern turned the canoe toward the middle of the lake and began to paddle steadily, his blade cutting the water neatly and hardly making a ripple.

The canoe glided softly and smoothly across the water. Up ahead a mist had settled upon the water, and soon the canoe had entered this mist and was gliding softly through the water with nothing on any side but the cloudy white mist. All that Little Fire Cloud could see was water right next to the canoe.

Little Fire Cloud called to the warrior.

“Where are you taking me, O great warrior of the lake?”

“You shall see, little brave,” said the great warrior without turning in the canoe.

Soon the mist lifted, and there surrounding the canoe was a beautiful pool of water with many streams running off in different directions.

The Indian who was paddling guided the canoe into one of these streams, and as the canoe moved forward the warrior pointed toward the shore. There along the shore, Little Fire Cloud could see many beaver working diligently at gathering material for their homes. As the canoe continued along the stream, Little Fire Cloud saw many beautiful flowers and plants, and occasionally a deer could be seen drinking at the water’s edge. Little Fire Cloud was quick to notice that the animals seemed to pay no attention to the canoe when it sailed past where they stood except to lift their heads and look at this craft as it moved smoothly along the stream under the expert hands of the brave in the stern.

Little Fire Cloud noticed that there were no weapons in the canoe.

Soon they had reached a fork in the stream, and again the canoe was guided into one of the openings and the trip continued. Many more wild flowers and animals were observed by Little Fire Cloud until suddenly they were in the mist once again and all the beauty was behind them as they moved swiftly through the mist.

When they broke from the cloud, Little Fire Cloud could see the shore of the lake once again and he realized that they must have traveled in a circle. Soon the canoe scraped the shore and the warrior stepped out and assisted Little Fire Cloud. When the boy was safely ashore the warrior said, “Did you enjoy your trip?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Little Fire Cloud. “Everything was so beautiful. Thank you very much for the nice ride and for showing me all the beautiful things of nature.”

“Yes, Little Fire Cloud, there are many many beautiful things in nature that can be seen if one travels quietly and peacefully in a good canoe. Nature is our friend and, if we remember this, many pleasant hours will be spent seeing nature. Do not do anything to spoil this picture which will remain with you always. If you never raise your bow to kill unless you have need for food or clothing game will always be plentiful. But if you wasted this beauty which is given to the Indian you yourself and your people would soon die from hunger and cold. To kill for the sake of killing is cruel and wasteful. Now I must say good-bye, for I have many miles to travel. Good-bye, Little Fire Cloud, and remember your trip into the misty lake.”

With that the warrior stepped into the canoe, and soon the canoe turned and disappeared into the distance.

Suddenly Little Fire Cloud felt a hand upon his shoulder and someone was shaking him.

“My son, my son, wake up, you have been dreaming.”

When Little Fire Cloud opened his eyes he was lying on his bed, and his father was standing over him.

“Oh, father, I had the most beautiful dream. A great warrior came and took me for a ride in a beautiful canoe and showed me the wonders of nature in all their splendor.”

And Little Fire Cloud went on to tell his dream in all the beautiful detail that he could remember. His father was a good father and so he listened patiently to his son; and when Little Fire Cloud had finished telling about the dream, his father said, “Yes, my son, it was a beautiful dream, and in the dream you learned a great lesson concerning the creatures of the wild which I hope you will always remember.”

THE CRY OF THE HORNED OWL

Little Beaver was full of excitement, for soon the winter would be over and he and his friend Jumping Rabbit would once again be able to take their little canoe and go to the lake and streams to catch the fine fish that waited in the early spring for the bait to be cast.

The Cayuga village had weathered the winter well, and now the first signs of spring were beginning to show. With the bursting forth of the spring flowers and the green shoots of plants and grass and the green leaves the Cayuga village seemed to come alive.

One of the first tasks was the uncovering of the canoes. (When winter approached, the canoes were all hauled far above the lake water’s edge and covered completely with mounds of sand. This kept them from drying out and cracking during the cold winter.) Finally all the canoes had been uncovered, and the Indians took to the lakes and the streams again, fishing and hunting to replenish the food supply that had been used during the winter.

One morning Little Beaver searched for his friend Jumping Rabbit for a long time and when he could not find him, he decided to go off by himself. Walking to the edge of the lake he found that his father had uncovered his canoe for him.

Stepping into the canoe he paddled across the lake to the mouth of a stream which was new to him. This stream led to the Lake of the Rushes where the girls and women gathered the rushes each spring to make new mats for the platforms of the wigwam. Here he had not been before.

As Little Beaver paddled he saw many signs of spring, but he was searching for big game. He wanted to be the first young boy to bring a deer back to the village.

Soon he beached his canoe on the side of the Rush Lake and moved inland searching for signs of the deer. Suddenly he came upon the tracks of what seemed to be a fine big buck. Following carefully along the track of the deer he noticed that the deer was moving slowly. Then suddenly the spaces between the tracks became bigger and he knew that the deer had begun to move faster.

Suddenly the noises of the woods ceased and it was very quiet. Up ahead a shadow flitted across the trail. Little Beaver dropped upon his belly and then he heard it—the cry of the great horned owl. But still he knew that the owl would not cry at this time of day and from a short distance off the trail he heard an answering cry.

Through the fading light among the trees up ahead, he saw a small group of warriors gather. One of these warriors placed his hand alongside his mouth, and the cry of the horned owl once again was heard and from another direction an answer.

Then Little Beaver knew that these were unfriendly Indians from the north and they had invaded the land of the Cayugas. They could be here for one reason only, to raid his village.

“I must return at once to the village and warn my people of this danger.”

Little Beaver turned and retreated down the path to where he had left his canoe. Pushing it out into the lake he immediately began paddling as fast as his arms could go for the mouth of the stream that would lead into the next lake and to the shore of his village. He reached the mouth of the stream just as the dark storm clouds started to gather over the lake.

And then it was raining and raining hard. This would slow up the attackers, but it would not stop them and Little Beaver had to get to his village quickly to warn his people of the danger. He dipped his paddle deep into the waters of the lake and the canoe moved forward. But now the wind was getting stronger and his arms began to ache from the effort. He paddled harder and harder but soon his arms became weak and he was still a great distance from the shore. Besides the danger of the storm it was fast approaching nightfall, and ahead Little Beaver could see the friendly fires of his village being lit one at a time.

These would act as beacons of direction for the enemy.

He chanced a glance behind and then he heard it again. The cry of the horned owl. The cry was coming from almost directly behind and in the dusk he could see the canoes of the enemy slipping from the stream into the lake.

The storm passed and the waters became calm, and now Little Beaver’s job was easier, but so was that of the enemy. He paddled with all his might though he felt his arms would fall off.

Finally he reached the shore and he leaped out onto the sand. Without waiting to pull his canoe ashore he rushed for the village. He turned to glance at the lake once more and he could see the canoes of the enemy drawing along the shore, closer to the village with each stroke.

He rushed to his father and quickly told him what he had seen. His father dashed from the wigwam and glanced toward the lake. Just then they both heard it once again. The cry of the great horned owl. His father stopped and listened and then placing his own hand to the side of his mouth he answered the whistle. Then he turned to his son.

“It is all right my son. These are friends come to join in a great celebration. It is your uncle and his people from the north. Be not afraid, for they are friends.”

Little Beaver looked at his father. He smiled and taking his father’s hand they walked toward the lakeside. Stepping from the canoes were a number of Cayuga warriors and they came with many bundles.

The two groups greeted each other and then the leader of the visitors came forward.

“Your father has explained that you thought we were unfriendly Indians come to call. I, for one, am glad that you are not a grown warrior right now, for your arrow shaft might have found its place in my heart in the forest. We had hoped to surprise your people with our visit but when we saw your canoe glide away from the Lake of the Rushes we knew we had been seen. And so, my little brave, let me congratulate you on a fine job of paddling. You came across the lake in a storm without slowing your stroke. I have told my brother that if we had been the enemy you would have reached the village far ahead of us and we would now be walking the trail of the happy hunting ground.”

That night Little Beaver slept very soundly. He had a great adventure on his first trip to the Lake of the Rushes and it would be a long time to come before he would go alone again.

THE DREAM THAT LED TO VICTORY

Singing Fire, the young Apache brave, rode swiftly through the hills toward the village of his people. He had been hunting and now was returning to his tepee to join his family in a hearty evening meal. His hunger made him urge his pony to an even faster pace. Soon he could see the smoke of the fires in the village. It was only a few moments later that Singing Fire brought his pony to a quick stop on the very edge of the village. To ride his horse through the village this evening would have been unkind. The summer had been very dry, and his pony’s hoofs would have raised much dust that would settle in the cooking pots.

Walking through the village, the young brave waved and called to his friends. He laughed when they joked with him about his empty hands. He had been unable to find any game that he felt was worth bringing to the village. Soon he reached his father’s tepee and was welcomed warmly by the family.

When supper was finished, Singing Fire went to talk with his friend, Many Painted Ponies. The two braves had always been together since they were very young and just learning to walk. Now whenever they had time, they would sit and talk about their future together as great leaders of the Apache tribe. He found his friend working at making new arrow tips.

“Hello, my good friend, Many Painted Ponies, and how are you this fine evening?”

“My stomach is full and my heart is happy, Singing Fire. Could a brave ask much more of life? I have been very fortunate in having such a fine father and mother who have made my life such a pleasure. As I saw you ride in from the hunt, I noticed you carried no game. Was there no game where you rode? Usually you do not return empty-handed.”

“Today was bad for the hunt. The largest game knew that I was hunting and ran for cover, and I was not as quick as they to find the hiding places.”

The two young men laughed and then spent some time talking until darkness came. Each young man went back to his tepee for a well-earned sleep.

The next day there was great excitement in the village. As young Singing Fire stepped from his tepee, he saw that people were gathering in the center of the village to hear a tall Apache warrior who was talking loudly and rapidly to the chief of the village. As Singing Fire drew near, he was able to catch some of the words spoken by the warrior.

“It is true, my Chief, the Comanches have been seen in our land. If we are not careful they will raid our pony herds and make off with many of our best mounts. I have seen them to the east, and they skulk like the lowly wolf in the night.”

The great chief listened quietly until the young warrior had finished. Then he motioned to the older men of the tribe to gather in his tepee. When they were all inside, Singing Fire, Many Painted Ponies, and the other young braves stood outside waiting impatiently for what the elders of the tribe would decide. They could hear the young brave who had first reported to the chief repeating his story for those who had come late. He said that while trailing some ponies that had strayed from the herd he had come upon the coals of a recent fire. Because the marks in the sand were not Apache, he had followed the tracks made when the group broke camp. Traveling at a rapid pace, he soon had come upon the band of Comanches in a small gully. After watching them for a short while, the brave had mounted his pony and ridden as fast as he could to the village to tell the chief of this threat to their property and peace, within such a short distance of their camp.

Finally the Chief came out from his tepee and spoke to the young warriors.

“The Comanches have entered our hunting grounds. Not only have they broken the law, but they dare to ride within a short distance of our camp. We will gather a war party and go in search of these thieves of the night. We will give them a sound lesson by whipping those wild dogs so badly that they will return to their own land with their tails between their legs—if there are any left to return when we have met them upon the field of battle.”

With low shouts of agreement, everyone ran to prepare for the warpath.

Singing Fire and Many Painted Ponies returned to check their weapons and when preparations were completed returned to where the chief sat astride a great white horse. When everyone had assembled, the party left camp in search of the invading Comanches. For several days the party searched but no sign was found other than the old fire, that anyone had been in the vicinity. At last the chief turned to his men and said, “They have seen our strength and afraid have returned to their own land. They respect the might and fighting ability of the Apaches. Come, we will return to our village.”

The party started for home, but as Singing Fire and Many Painted Ponies rode along, Singing Fire was quiet.

“What is it, my friend, Singing Fire? You are so quiet.”

“I was just thinking, my friend, that the Comanches are not known as cowards; they surely would not turn from a fight. I do not believe they have left our land.”

“But, Singing Fire, for three days we have searched the land and no sign do we see of the Comanches. Certainly the earth did not open and swallow them up.”

“That is just the point, my friend. What has happened to the party? The brave reported seeing them and took us to where they had their fire. The tracks led away but suddenly stopped, and we have seen nothing to indicate that they returned to their own lands across the great river. I just am not satisfied that they have left.”

Nothing more was said for the remainder of the trip back to the village, and that evening after supper, Singing Fire went to sleep thinking about the hunt for the Comanches.

As he slept, he dreamed there were Comanche warriors mounted upon fast horses and they all seemed to be riding toward a solid wall. Singing Fire suddenly awoke recalling seeing that wall before.

About a day’s ride from their village was a small valley which they called the valley of the snake because it twisted and turned between the mountains. As the thundering riders neared the wall, it seemed to open up and they had disappeared within. Then the walls closed again and there was silence. Singing Fire leaped from his bed and rushed to his father’s side.

“My father, I must speak to our chief. It is of great importance that I see him now.”

“But it is late, my son, and certainly what you have to say can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, father, I must speak to him now.” With that, Singing Fire left his tepee and soon was standing before the tepee of the Great Chief. He made his presence known and was invited into the tepee.

The chief invited him to sit and then asked, “What brings you to my tepee so late, young Singing Fire?”

“Tonight, O Great Chief, in a dream I was drawn to the painted hill which stands guard over our village. Here I stood troubled in heart and mind because of what has been reported to our tribe.” Then Singing Fire proceeded to tell in complete detail of the dream he had had. When he finished, he waited for the chief to speak.