Part 6

Little Bear swerved his pony rapidly away from the herd. When the pony was able to check his forward speed, pony and rider withdrew to the side of the battleground to watch the rest of the hunt in safety. As the herd disappeared across the prairie, the members of the hunting party turned their horses and began the ride back to where the herd had been grazing. When the dust had cleared, Little Bear saw scattered across the prairie the bodies of many buffalo which had fallen before the accurate shooting of the hunters. Each brave would be able to tell his kill, for each arrow bore the mark of its owner.

Little Bear galloped toward the spot where he thought his buffalo had fallen. While he rode, his heart beat very fast. He tried to show little excitement as he drew near to a group of hunters who stood looking down at an object upon the ground. As Little Bear drew close, he slowed his pony. His father turned and smiled. Dismounting, Little Bear walked to his father’s side. Lying on the ground at the feet of the older braves was a bull buffalo of tremendous size. And there was the arrow of Little Bear exactly where the arrow of a good hunter should be. He had hit the buffalo in a vital spot.

Swift Eagle placed his arm across the shoulders of his son. Amid the many grunts and exclamations of approval coming from the warrior hunters, Little Bear heard the deep calm, proud voice of his father.

“You have done well, my son. This is a fine buffalo, one which we are sure will prove to be the largest one killed this day. The many hours spent in teaching you were not wasted. This you have proven today. You will return to our village a hero and tell of your exploits at the council tonight. No longer will you have to stay behind when the hunters go in search of food. Today you have become a hunter and earned the right to ride with the hunting party. Your father is proud.”

And so the procession, after attending the buffalo and stripping the hides and packing the fresh meat for the return trek, headed for home. At the front of the party rode Swift Eagle and Little Bear, a proud father and an even prouder son. Today the young brave had succeeded in his first hunt.

CRYING EAGLE SEES A GREAT BATTLE

It was a dark winter evening in the small Iroquois village. The cries of the wolf echoed in the forest as Great Eagle, war leader of the Iroquois, was preparing for bed. He stopped to take a last look for the night at his young son, Crying Eagle, and smiled at his boy who slept so peacefully. As he pulled the warm robe up around his son’s neck to keep the cold from seeping in and disturbing his sleep, he thought to himself,

“How lucky I am to have been blessed with such a son. Truly, he will be a leader among his people. Not because he is the son of Great Eagle, war chief of the Iroquois, but because he will be tall and strong and brave and will learn well the ways of the tribe. Soon he will be ready to be a leader and when that day comes, I will be proud to stand forth and say, ‘This is my son.’”

Great Eagle slept warm and soundly that night and arose with the dawn of the next day. Today his son was to go on a trek with him to learn the ways of the wild game in winter time.

Great Eagle moved to his son’s bed and called softly to him, “Come, my son, for we have a long way to travel and much to do today.”

Crying Eagle got up quickly, put on his warm winter clothes, and sat with his father at breakfast. As soon as breakfast was over, they gathered their weapons and left the protection of the Iroquois village and headed toward the forest. As they walked along the trail, Great Eagle pointed out different signs. Here the snow had been scraped by a deer nosing for anything green under the snow. There was a squirrel nest bulging with its store of winter food. And everywhere there were the tracks of many wolves. This had been a hard winter, and the hungry wolves were moving in packs to seek out easy prey. Many animals would not find enough food to keep them at full strength. Unless one were very careful, escape from an attack by these forest marauders would be impossible.

Crying Eagle began to get tired and his father motioned toward a small glen in the forest off to the side of the trail. There were some fallen logs upon which they could sit and have their lunch of jerked venison and water. As they sat eating slowly, Great Eagle watched the forest around them for any signs of game. But all was quiet except for the singing of the few winter birds that lived there, even in the coldest weather. Suddenly, they heard the crackling of some dry timber in the distance and Great Eagle raised his head.

“A buck leaping through the brush,” he said.

“How can you tell, father?”

“Listen, my son! You will discover that there is a moment of silence between each crackling of brush. That tells you that whatever makes the noise is leaping, and the heavy crashing of brush tells you that the animal is large. Because it leaps, you know it is not a bear. So we can be almost sure that it is a buck.”

Just as Great Eagle stopped speaking, they saw a large buck moving in long leaps among the brush and small trees. Suddenly, he stopped and sniffed the air. Great Eagle and his son stood perfectly still. The buck looked directly toward them. The breeze was blowing toward the buck and he had caught their scent. Crying Eagle raised his bow but felt his father’s hand upon his shoulder.

“No, my son. The buck is truly beautiful. But our wigwam is full of venison, and we have enough fine clothes to last for a long time. We do not kill the forest animals unless we really need to. Truly, I know how much you want to make a kill and tell your friends of the fine buck your steady hand brought down, but that must wait for another day. We are here to learn the way animals live during the winter, so that when you must hunt for your family, you will find it easy.”

The buck seemed to wait for Great Eagle to speak with his son. Then he leaped away through the forest. Great Eagle and his son spent the rest of the afternoon studying other signs of wild life. As the sun began to sink low in the west, Great Eagle turned and started on the trail for home. After they had gone a ways, Great Eagle halted and motioned for his son to be still. Together the two Indians crouched low and Great Eagle pointed through the trees. There, only three hundred paces away in a clearing, stood a large buck. Off to the right of the buck stood a beautiful brown doe and further on through the trees was another buck, moving slowly forward through the trees.

“Why do we stop, father?” asked Crying Eagle, still crouching low in the snow.

“Because, son, I believe that we are about to see something very rarely seen by humans. The buck in the clearing is standing guard over his bride, the doe on our right. The buck coming through the trees is young and wants the doe, too. So he is challenging the old buck to a duel. The winner will get the doe. In a moment they will face each other in the clearing. They will meet head on and the battle will be on. The buck that gives up first and turns from the battle will be the loser, and the other will claim his bride.”

Soon, as Great Eagle had said, the younger buck entered the clearing. The two faced each other, the younger pawing at the ground while the older stood surveying this young challenger of his right to the doe, who lay watching them calmly from the brush to the side of the clearing. Then the two bucks began to circle. They stopped and almost at once the young one charged. The older buck met the attack head on and there was a loud crash as their antlers met and locked. They pushed and pulled and wrenched until suddenly their antlers were free. They were almost equally matched, for even though the younger buck seemed faster, the older was a veteran of many such battles and knew more tricks in fighting.

Again they locked horns but unlocked quickly this time. Then the older buck’s antlers slashed into the side of the young buck. Back and forth the battle waged and then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The young buck had had enough. He tossed his head into the air and leaped off into the forest, to lick his wounds and wait for another doe. The old buck walked with what looked like pride to his doe. She rose to her feet and, side by side, they began pushing their noses into the snow to smell out food.

“Come,” said Great Eagle, “let us leave them in peace. You have seen one of the great events in the life of wild animals. Remember it well for you may be called upon to defend the persons and things you love, even when you think the enemy is stronger. Remember how strength alone is not enough. You must know how to fight well in order to win.”

Crying Eagle was thinking about each word his father had spoken as they headed home. They moved rapidly because they wanted to reach the village before dark. Soon through the trees they could see the flickering of many campfires. In a few moments they were in the camp and at home. A hot meal of stew was waiting for them, and father and son ate heartily. When they had finished, Crying Eagle spoke to his father.

“My father, you opened my eyes today to many new things. I hope that I have learned my lesson well and will always obey your teaching.”

Crying Eagle kept his promise well. Some years later there was trouble between his village and the neighboring tribes. While the young bucks shouted for blood and the scalps of their neighbors, Crying Eagle called for peace and talk. Like his father in battle, he was a brave warrior, but where talk around the council fire could save lives, Crying Eagle was a great leader and peacemaker.

Crying Eagle lived to a very old age, but he never forgot that walk through the winter forest with his father Chief Great Eagle, war chief of the mighty Iroquois.

Based on a story told to the author by John Fitch, Vermont farmer, 1937.

SPOTTED TAIL AND THE GHOST WOLF

The Mohawk village of bark houses nestled along the river, and all was peace and contentment in the village. Spotted Tail and his family lived in peace and contentment in the village, for they were a happy people. The hunting and fishing were good and there was little sickness among the people of his tribe and all was made so that the people would be happy.

When young Spotted Tail had reached his fifteenth summer, something happened to his tribe. Suddenly the game of the forest became scarce. The deer began to disappear and even the smallest of game was becoming hard to find. This concerned the council, for never before had this happened to their hunting grounds. And then one day while the warriors were busy preparing to go out on the hunt, a young Mohawk warrior staggered into the camp. Blood dripped from his body and as he reached the center of the village he collapsed.

Eager hands lifted him and carried him to his house and when his wounds had been bathed the great chief of the Mohawks came to talk with him.

“What has happened to you, my brother? Surely this is the work of some great savage beast that you have encountered in the green forest.”

“O Great Chief, my companion and I had been following the tracks of a deer and feeling we were quite lucky to have come upon such a find. Suddenly as we trotted along the trail following the deer there was a horrible snarling from off to the side of the trail. We stopped and looked toward the side of the trail, and there before our very eyes was a pack of ferocious-looking wolves. Before we could even draw our bowstrings they were upon us. My companion and I fought them, but soon they had dragged my companion to the ground. They began to fight among themselves over one of their wounded comrades, and it was then that I crawled off into the brush and when I saw my chance I ran as fast as I could toward our village. I could hear the snarls of the pack behind me but I ran as fast as my legs could carry me and soon I heard them no more. But one thing I will always remember is the leader of the pack, a white wolf of tremendous size. He had a beautiful white coat and was much larger than the rest of the pack. I am tired, I must rest now.”

And with that the warrior closed his eyes and slept.

The chief immediately called a council of his warriors and among them was Spotted Tail’s father. Now the reason for the lack of game was known. The winter further north had been very severe and so the wolf pack had come further south seeking food. But now that they had been roaming so free for so long they decided to stay.

The chief rose before the council and said:

“We must set out on the hunt immediately, but we must hunt this pack of wolves and destroy them before they cause all the deer to disappear. If we fail, our smoke racks will become empty and our people will starve.”

So party after party of warriors were sent out in search of the wolf pack, but they always returned disappointed; for they had often come upon the pack but never had been able to get close enough to do any real damage.

Finally Sleeping Water, one of the young warriors, Suggested that instead of going in large parties they ought to go out in pairs or three at a time and when sighting the pack send word to a larger hunting party and they in turn could surround and destroy the pack.

The council approved of this method and so the warriors began to go out in pairs. It was now that Spotted Tail began his adventure which was to be spoken of in the lodges for many moons to come.

Spotted Tail was chosen by Sleeping Water to go as his companion, and the two braves started on the hunt. They ranged far and wide and finally picked up the trail of the pack. Sleeping Water knelt by the tracks of the wolves and could tell that they were fairly fresh tracks.

Quickly the two braves trotted along the trail in pursuit of the pack and soon through the trees ahead Sleeping Water spotted the pack moving stealthily through the trees as if stalking an animal. Turning to Spotted Tail he said, “Spotted Tail, you will keep the pack in sight and follow them as they move, marking your trail. I will return and fetch a large hunting party and we shall destroy this pack of wolves. You are not afraid to keep watch?”

Spotted Tail felt it a great honor to be asked to do such an important job and he told Sleeping Water that he would keep close watch on the pack and if he moved he would mark his trail well.

When Sleeping Water departed, Spotted Tail kept close watch on the pack as it milled around. Evidently the hunt they were on was ended, for many of the wolves were circling in the snow and finding resting places.

It was fast growing dark and Spotted Tail hoped that they would not decide to move in the dark or he would surely lose them before the dawn. Then he saw him—the giant white leader of the pack—standing off to one side of the pack as if on guard. He was truly a majestic animal, fully half a foot taller at the shoulder than the other wolves and his coat was a shimmering white as pure as the snow.

As night settled, a bright moon came out and the night was shattered by the baying of the wolves at the moon.

On a rock pinnacle overlooking the wolves’ bedding ground, the great white leader stood guard, his eyes never still, moving from side to side as he watched for any approaching danger. Spotted Tail remained awake as long as he could, but soon his eyes felt very tired. He was about to drop off to sleep when he noticed the pack stirring. He gazed out into the shadows of the night and the leader seemed to be staring right through the brush and trees into Spotted Tail’s hiding place.

Then Spotted Tail saw the reason for the movement: a deer had wandered to within a short distance of the wolves, and now the pack was preparing to kill this unsuspecting victim.

The leader seemed to bark instructions and suddenly the pack was up and circling the deer. There was a mad rush and suddenly the excitement was over, the booty was shared, and the pack settled down once again.

Spotted Tail breathed a sigh of relief, for the pack in chasing the deer had come too close for comfort to his hiding place in the thick brush. Dawn was fast approaching, and now the pack was on the move once again. Spotted Tail followed as close as he dared, making sure that he kept downwind from these lean hungry wolves that had caused death and starvation to come to his People. Then he got an idea.

If he could get a good shot in and wound or even kill the leader, it might have the same effect as if a chief died, the pack would be without a leader and might be so disorganized that the hunters from his tribe, who he was sure were fast approaching, would be able to make easy work of the rest of the pack.

Then the opportunity came his way. There standing off to the side of the pack was the large white leader. Spotted Tail settled himself upon one knee in the snow and drawing careful aim with his bow, he let fly. The arrow seemed to go right through the great beast and he leaped high in the air. Spotted Tail was about to shout of his great shot to the heavens when he saw that the wolf had come to rest on all fours and was turned now in his direction, his teeth bared and a terrible snarl coming from deep within his throat.

Gathered behind the great white wolf like an army, was the rest of the pack, snarling and waiting for the orders from their leader, but the leader seemed to warn them away—this was his kill—and slowly began moving toward Spotted Tail.

Spotted Tail stood firm and placed another arrow to his bowstring. He fired again, and the arrow again seemed to go straight to its mark but still the beast kept moving forward. Now the wolf began to run in a steady loping trot toward the Indian and suddenly he was leaping.

Spotted Tail drew his knife, but in mid-air the wolf seemed to stop and try to turn and return from whence he had come, and then the body was crashing to the ground, an arrow quivering in his side. Then there were howls and yells and cries from many points of the forest and arrows came flying into the wolf pack. Beast after beast fell under the onslaught of deadly shafts being fired by revenge-seeking Mohawk warriors until suddenly the whole pack lay dead in the quiet of the winter forest.

It all happened so quickly that before Spotted Tail realized what had happened, Sleeping Water was lifting him from the snow smiling.

“You have done well, my young brother, you have been brave this day. You left very clear signs for our party to follow and because of that we were able to wipe out this pack of beasts which have killed so much game.”

“But the leader of the pack—I fired an arrow into him and it went right through him. Twice I saw this happen. He must have been a ghost and yet I saw his body hit the ground with the arrows of my brothers. How do you explain this, Sleeping Water?”

“Come, Spotted Tail, I will show you.” Together they walked to where the great beast lay.

“You see, his coat was such a pure white that it blended with the snow and when you fired it seemed as though you hit him but actually you missed. It is no shame, for it was a long and a difficult shot and when you fired a second time as he was moving toward you, the sun on the snow caused reflection to make you misjudge your shot.

“We observed all this from our hiding places, for we came upon you just as you were preparing to make your first shot. But, please, Spotted Tail, do not take a chance like that again. It is very foolish to try something so dangerous when you are alone and especially when you knew that help was on the way. But this adventure has ended well, and you will have much to tell in the medicine lodge tonight, of the great ghost wolf that hunted these lands.”

And so the pack was destroyed and soon the game returned once again to the hunting ground of the Mohawk and once again all was peaceful and happy along the Osage River.

This story was told to the author by Jim Nutley of the Canadian Forest Ranger Service.

3. CUSTOMS

THE TRIBES GATHER

The Cree were plains Indians. Today their village was full of activity. A hunting party had just returned after a very successful hunt. The braves were already around the great council fire, telling of their exploits. Among these warriors was Slow Tongue, whose bravery and courage among the Cree was never questioned.

When all the celebrating was over, Slow Tongue returned to his tepee and his family. His young son, Swift Hawk, had waited up for him and, with pride in his eyes, he looked up into his father’s face and said, “I am very proud to have you for my father.”

“My young son, it is long past your bedtime and you should have closed your ears to the night noises of the prairie many hours ago. But I must also say that I am proud to have you as a son and tomorrow we shall talk and I shall tell you all about the hunt.” Slow Tongue turned to leave his son’s side when he heard a noise at the entrance of his tepee.

“Slow Tongue,” a voice called quietly, “it is I, Seeing Bear. Come, I must speak with you.”

Slow Tongue left the tepee. “Why do you call me from my tepee so late in the night, Sleeping Bear,” he asked. “I am tired and my buffalo robe beckons to me to come and wrap myself in its warm folds, for my body aches.”

“Look, Slow Tongue! Look to the north! At first I thought the heat of the day had made me see things that do not exist. But now I am sure it has not. Look and tell me what you see.”

Slow Tongue turned his head to the north and gazed out into the darkness of the night. Far in the distance he saw a red glow which disappeared, appeared again, and disappeared many times.

“What can it mean, Slow Tongue?”

“It is a message, Seeing Bear. The fire signal tells that the tribes of the plains are gathering for the Sun Dance. Truly this is great news. Tomorrow we must break camp and leave for the northern meadow of the Blue Star, for it is there that the great celebrations will be held. You go to the southern part of the village and I will go to the northern part, and we will spread the word. It is late and many are asleep, but surely this is news for which they will be glad to be awakened.”

The next morning there was great excitement in the Cree village. The gathering for the Sun Dance not only meant gathering to celebrate the greatest religious ceremony of the plains Indians, but it also meant that it would be a time for great feasts, mock battles, ceremonial hunts, and the recounting of the past year’s experience with many old friends. And, of course, the men looked forward to smoking the ceremonial pipes which was also a part of this great occasion.

The tribe had soon broken down its village and packed and the great procession headed north toward the meadow of the Blue Star.

For two days and two nights the Cree village moved northward. Their progress was slow but steady, and there was much gaiety. There was much to look forward to, and many of the younger braves could hardly be kept from rushing on ahead of the tribe.

Soon other tribes began to join the Cree in their trek north. In all directions smoke signals could be seen, sent up by eager messengers reporting the movements of the tribes as they converged on the sacred grounds.

It was very clear to Swift Hawk now that friend and enemy were walking side by side. This was one time during the year when the burning desire to strike out at your enemy was replaced by a stronger desire to do worship together in the hope of a good year to come.