Part 7

Soon the meadow of the Blue Star was reached, and the tribe of Swift Hawk chose a place to set its village in the great circle with the tribe’s sacred tepee as its center. Campfires began to burn merrily, and the smell of cooking food filled the air. Old and young warriors walked about to renew old acquaintances and talk about what had happened during the past year. Dancers could be seen here and there practicing seriously for the time of the great ceremony.

Soon word spread through the encampment that there were to be riding contests at the far west side of the meadow on the following day. These contests would be open to young braves who had made their first buffalo kill during the last year. This made Swift Hawk leap and shout for joy. Just last month he had brought down his first buffalo. This meant he could enter the riding contest. For many years now Swift Hawk had watched the contests from afar. Each year he promised himself that next year he would enter and win. Each year his father told him to be patient and that his time would come.

It was a very difficult contest to test the skills of the young warriors. Each boy was to start his ride from the top of a hill that sloped sharply down into the meadow. At every one-hundred-yard point along a twisting path down the steep slope, for a distance of five hundred yards, were four sets of poles, two poles to each set. Each set was driven in the ground a buffalo’s length apart until they stood between four and five feet above ground. Between these two poles a buffalo hide was stretched to look like a buffalo running directly toward the sloping path, his flank toward the young warriors as they rode down.

Each young brave was allowed a bow of his choice, four arrows, and a quiver. The brave, when given the signal to go, would race down the slope at full speed. Drawing an arrow from the quiver and bending his body down under the neck of his pony and holding on with his feet, he would aim his arrow under the neck of the pony and shoot the arrow into the buffalo hide. He would do this with each of the four arrows.

Such a contest would surely test the strength and courage of any young brave. But young Indians were brought up to fear little and to welcome a test like this. For this reason it was no surprise to the great chieftains when a rather large group of young braves gathered at the starting point the next morning. Each boy sat astride a fine looking pony, usually the gift of his father or some other leading member of the tribe. Each boy had his bow, his quiver, and four very special arrows which had been worked over and cared for like a pet or one of the family.

Final instructions were given to the young braves, and the riding contest was on! There was a great cheer from all who were watching as each rider left the starting point. This was a friendly match among boys from many tribes that often fought each other the rest of the year. Down the steep slope a lone warrior could be seen stationed at each buffalo hide. Here he could not only retrieve arrows but help to judge the young braves as they rode by and fired at the target.

Soon it was Swift Hawk’s turn. Remembering all that his father had taught him, he dug his heels into his pony’s sides and started his fast and dangerous ride. Carefully he drew an arrow from the quiver; then bending under the pony’s neck, he placed the arrow to the bow, and as the target came into view, Swift Hawk let his arrow fly! He heard the plunk as the arrow struck the hide. With his head still under the pony’s neck and riding so hard, he could hardly have seen where it had landed. But a loud cheer told him that he had made a good shot. Down the steep, winding course, Swift Hawk swiftly shot his arrows at the three other targets, and went back toward the starting point.

As he reached the hilltop he heard a great shout go up. Looking down the course he saw a young Crow brave just turning his pony to return to the starting point. The loud cheer meant that he had ridden well and made many good hits.

One by one each of the other young braves made his attempt but none could equal the riding and skill of the young Crow Indian. And so it was when the last contestant had made his ride and fired no better than the rest that the Crow brave was announced as the winner. Swift Hawk was one of the first to reach his side and congratulate him on his victory. Deep in his heart, Swift Hawk was sad. But he was also very happy for this young brave. Surely the young man had deserved to win; and, above all, Swift Hawk realized how happy the young brave and his family must be that he had won.

The contest over, Swift Hawk returned to his home and his father, disappointed but not unhappy now. There would be other contests, and this was a time of celebration and joy. His father found him sitting beside a tree stump.

“You did very well, my son,” Slow Tongue said, placing his hands upon Swift Hawk’s shoulders. “The Crow boy who won did just a little bit better, but all the Cree are proud of you. There will be other contests and many games. Soon your turn will come. But even if it should not, remember what I have told you. As long as you play fair with your fellow braves and obey the rules, there is nothing to be ashamed of when you lose to someone who plays fair and has great skill.”

“Thank you, father, I shall always remember that.”

Games and new contests were beginning. Just as Swift Hawk’s father had told him, his time would come and sooner than he expected. In the foot race he ran much faster than any of his fellow braves, winning easily. Swift Hawk was as good a winner as he had been a good loser, boasting to no one about his victory.

SINGING EAGLE’S FIRST CLOTHES

The Huron tribe were a rather typical tribe of the Eastern woodlands. They were a hunting and fishing tribe, and when their villages were built they were built to last for a long time.

In this particular village of the Hurons, there lived a young boy by the name of Singing Eagle. Now as was the custom among most of the tribes of that area, a young Indian child did not own any clothes at all until he reached the age of ten.

This particular day was to be a great one for Singing Eagle, but when he woke that late summer morning, it was just another day for him.

After eating his breakfast, he dashed away to play with the other children. Meanwhile back at the wigwam, Singing Eagle’s mother, Early Dawn, was very busy indeed. For many days and nights she had been working quite hard making Singing Eagle his first real set of clothing.

Singing Eagle’s father had hunted the big brown buck early last spring and his long chase had finally been rewarded, when he was able to shoot and kill a very fine large buck. Carefully skinning the buck, he had returned both the skin and the meat to his wigwam, where his wife immediately set to work tanning the skin in preparation for making it into a winter outfit for young Singing Eagle.

When the skin had been carefully tanned, Singing Eagle’s mother had fashioned from it a pair of leggings. The leggings of the woodland Indian were made in matched pairs. They covered the whole leg and fitted rather snugly and were held up with a thong fastened to the waistbelt. The buckskin was sewn together with threads of sinew.

The shirt, which Singing Eagle’s mother was so proud of, had long sleeves and would reach to Singing Eagle’s knees, but above all the shirt was beautifully decorated with painted pictures. When Singing Eagle grew up, the paintings would be upon his future shirts and beadwork would also be added. The shirt was of buckskin.

Finally Singing Eagle’s mother proudly held up, for her husband to see, the beautiful moccasins. The moccasins of the woodland Indian were fashioned from one piece of skin and were soft-soled and often these too were decorated with beadwork. Here Singing Eagle’s mother had decided not to wait until her son grew any more, but had put a beautiful beaded design on the toe of each moccasin. This was to be a truly wonderful day.

After lunch, Singing Eagle lay down to rest, for he had been playing very hard that morning with the other children. When he awoke, he looked around and his eyes fairly jumped from his head. There at the foot of his bed was his first suit of clothing. Quickly he grasped them to him and hugged them, feeling how soft and pliable they were, following the many days of work.

Quickly he slipped into the clothes and when he was completely dressed, ran from the wigwam to find his father and show him his beautiful clothes. Soon he found his father at the edge of the village talking with two other braves of the tribe. All excited, he pulled at his father’s sleeve until his father turned and noticing the clothes, quickly changed his expression from anger to one of surprise.

“How handsome you look, my son. Your mother has done a fine job on your clothes. I wish that my shirts were as beautiful as the one you now wear upon your back. You look very much like a man now, my son.”

Singing Eagle was very proud that his father had noticed his clothes and given him such fine compliments. But time was wasting. As was customary when a young Indian boy received his first full set of clothing to wear, the rest of the day was spent in showing off his new clothes to his many friends. And so that day, in a matter of a couple of hours, the whole Huron village knew that Singing Eagle had his first real Indian suit, made from a fine buck that his father had shot just for him.

THE NEW TEPEE

The Blackfoot village was all astir to greet the new day. It was late in the springtime, and the great hunters of the tribe had been off to hunt the buffalo. Word had just reached the village that the hunt was over and the hunting party was on the way home.

This made Little Bird very happy, for she knew that her husband, Big Red Bear, would be returning to the tepee and that there would be much celebrating in the tribe. Everything must be made ready to greet the hunters.

The women of the village began dashing around preparing for the arrival of the hunting party. There was much to be done and much work lay ahead, now that the buffalo had been killed. The meat must be stored and some of it smoked, and the hides must be turned into new tepee covers and robes. All this would take place after the celebration, but still the women of the tribe knew they had a long job ahead.

The news was good. The hunt had been successful, and many buffalo had fallen before the weapons of the hunters. The buffalo had a good winter and were not thin or ragged. The grass had been full-grown and rich. Enough rain had fallen to provide the food and water necessary to make the buffalo fat and a good target for expert bowmen.

Soon all was in readiness and everyone waited impatiently for the first signs of the returning hunters. And then the signal came! A young brave on a shaggy brown pony came dashing through the village, announcing the arrival of the hunters.

Everyone was out to greet them and shout thanks and praise. Husbands and wives, fathers and children greeted each other warmly. The tribe was filled with joy.

Night came swiftly. Before long the beating drums told the people that the dancing and feasting was to begin. This celebration often lasted all night and sometimes into the next day; then as dancers tired, they would wander off to their tepees for the first really peaceful sleep since the hunting party had left the village.

Little Bird and her husband enjoyed the great feast and celebration. The next day Little Bird set to work on the buffalo skins for her family tepee. It had been a hard winter and the weather had damaged many Blackfoot homes. There were more than enough skins brought back by the hunters, so that those tepee coverings that had become worn and tattered could be replaced. So Little Bird set to work with the women of the tribe who were busy preparing and sewing together the buffalo hides to make new covers for the tepees.

One day Little Bird learned that a new tepee was to be built in the village. The old tepee of the chief had been damaged so badly by the winter snow and ice, and the poles had become so rotted, that the tribe agreed to build him a new tepee. The building of a new tepee was important because everybody in the tribe helped to make it. All the friends and neighbors would be invited to attend a great feast and when the feast was over, the women would begin sewing the skins together.

Little Bird and her husband went to the feast. When it was over, Little Bird sat down with the rest of the women and, taking up her bone needle, began to sew two buffalo hides together. The cutting of the skins had been entrusted to Slow Water, the wife of Black Fox, the tribe’s best hunter, since she had great skill in judging the number of skins needed by their size and shape. They used no patterns, so only a woman with this kind of skill was asked to do the cutting.

As the sewing continued and the tepee walls began to take shape, even more whispering went on around Little Bird. When Little Bird asked one of her friends what it was all about, her friend would only say, “Be patient, Little Bird, for soon we shall all know what they have been whispering about.”

The next day the women who had been working on the skins came to the tepee of Little Bird. Because her husband was away, Little Bird invited the women to sit and talk. There was a great deal of laughter as the women sat down. Slow Water, the skillful cutter, had been chosen to speak to Little Bird for all of them.

“Little Bird,” she began, “we are here to ask you to do something for our tribe. You always have a smile for everyone wherever you go in the village. As you know, we must choose someone who is always cheerful to work on the smoke flaps for the new tepee. We are here to ask you, Little Bird, to work on the smoke flaps of the new tepee, so that your happy spirit will be woven into the flap and the smoke will depart from the tepee evenly and smoothly.”

Little Bird smiled. Her heart was happy. This was truly a great honor. Now she understood why all the whispering had been going on the last couple of days.

“I will be happy to help sew the smoke flaps of the new tepee. It is a great honor for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

And some say that as long as that tepee stood, the chief never had to worry about the smoke rising out of the tepee easily, even on stormy, windy nights. The Indians believed that the happy spirit of Little Bird really lived in that flap.

LITTLE DOVE LEARNS TO WEAVE

When Little Dove, a Winnebago baby girl, was born she had everything a new-born baby could ask for. First of all, her father was chief of the Winnebagos, and her mother was considered one of the most beautiful women in the tribe.

There were many relatives who came to view the new child and left many precious gifts for her.

When she was born, Little Dove was strapped to a cradle board and carried by her mother in this fashion. Each day her mother would unwrap her and clean her body all over and massage her little limbs. Then she was wrapped once again on the board, and life continued this way until the baby was able to walk.

She was always fed when she was hungry and was never but a few feet from her mother’s side. But soon Little Dove began to walk and so she left the cradle board and began to run and play with the other children in the out of doors.

Everyone was affectionate and indulgent toward the girl as Indians always were toward their children. Soon, however, they realized that Little Dove was beginning to grow up. Little Dove was already ten summers old, when her mother called her to the side of their home to talk with her.

“Little Dove,” she commenced, “you must start to prepare for your life later on as a wife and a mother. If you are to be a good wife, you must learn the work that all Indian women must do.”

Most Indian girls welcomed this advice from their mothers, but Little Dove was different. Because she was the chief’s daughter some people had given her the idea that she would be waited upon for the rest of her life—if not by her mother or other women of the tribe, then eventually by her husband. When she told this to her mother, her mother tried to explain, but Little Dove did not want to listen and simply walked away.

Soft Feather, her mother, was very much concerned and went to talk to her husband. But just as many fathers do even today, the chief said,

“Be patient, she is young and she will learn.”

Soft Feather was quite disturbed and each day she would ask Little Dove to come and begin to learn, but each day Little Dove would run off to play with the younger children while the older children were busy learning the work that goes with adult life.

One day young Little Dove noticed an Indian boy that she had seen several times sitting by himself shaping a bow.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am shaping a bow so that when I marry I will have a fine weapon with which to bring down the running deer.”

For a long while Little Dove sat with the young boy, and nothing more was said. Finally the young brave rose and, bidding good-bye to Little Dove, started for his home.

Little Dove was now twelve and each day she would see the young boy at work or play. Finally she went to her mother.

“Mother, the young boy who has the pretty belt and bone-handled knife, who is he?”

“That, my daughter, is your father’s best friend’s son, Straight Arrow. Why, do you like him especially?”

“I like him a lot.”

Several weeks passed, and one day as Little Dove was idling her time away dangling her feet in a stream, young Straight Arrow came to the water’s edge to wash some dirt from his arms and legs. He had been working in the garden with his father and now was going to clean up. Little Dove looked directly at him and said,

“Are you planning on taking a wife very soon, Straight Arrow?”

“I suppose so, Little Dove, for I am almost sixteen and my father said that I should be married now.”

“I too am planning to be married soon,” said Little Dove.

“Can you cook, or sew, or weave baskets?”

“No, I cannot do those things. Will I have to?”

“Well, I do not know about you but any girl that I marry must be able to do that and lots more. Well, I must be going now. It is time for lunch and I am very hungry and my sister is a very good cook.”

With that, Straight Arrow left the side of the stream and he left behind a very angry Little Dove.

Little Dove rushed home and told her mother what had happened. When she had finished blurting out her story, her mother said,

“And now what do you want me to do about it, my Little Dove?”

“Mother, will you teach me to weave baskets and sew and cook?”

So the lessons began that very afternoon. The cooking was easy but when it came to the weaving, that was a little more difficult and it was a long time before Little Dove could weave a basket that looked like a basket.

First, she and her mother would gather some thin ash and linden trees. These had to be straight and free of knots. They they would strip them of the bark. These they pounded until they came apart in long splints. Then these were dyed and woven into baskets. Also Little Dove learned how to make shredded basswood fibers. These were made almost the same way except that they were made into a strong thread by twisting them and rolling them against the thigh of one’s leg. These threads were used to weave belts and tump lines and square bags.

Soon Little Dove had become quite expert at cooking and sewing and weaving, and once again she looked for Straight Arrow. She found him one day seated by a small stream that ran near the village. She sat down and began throwing pebbles into the stream.

“I have learned to cook and to weave and to sew, Straight Arrow,” she said rather quickly.

“That is good,” he answered, “for now you will make someone a good wife.” With that he rose and walked slowly back to the village. Little Dove sat and cried. When she could cry no longer she sat and looked into the water until it was dark, and then she returned to the village. Her mother was waiting for her.

“Your father wishes to speak with you, Little Dove.”

“Yes, my father, you sent for me?”

“Little Dove, today a young brave came to see me. He wants you for his wife and he has offered me many fine horses. I think he will make you a good husband, so in four moons’ time you will be married, my daughter.”

Little Dove felt her heart sink.

“Who is it that has asked to marry me, father?”

“Straight Arrow, son of Big Bow, my daughter, for today you told him you could weave.”

Father and daughter smiled at each other, and then Little Dove left to talk with her mother and tell her how wrong a foolish young Indian girl could be.

RED CLOUD’S DREAM

Red Cloud was a young Algonquin lad who played and romped in his village along with the other young Indian braves and girls. He was a tall Indian for his age and quite good looking.

As was the custom among the Algonquins, however, no child, boy or girl, would be considered mature until he or she had a dream in which the powers of nature promised success and courage in his or her adult life.

Red Cloud entered adolescence and he knew that the time was fast approaching when he would be required to spend many lonely nights in the forest, fasting and waiting, until the Thunderbird, the Sun, or other powers of nature had spoken to him.

Each day Red Cloud would awake and expect his father to call him to inform him that today was the day. But many days passed, and still Great Cloud did not call for his son. Soon with the excitement of the games and the learning of lessons from his father concerning the use of weapons and tracking, the problem of coming into maturity left the mind of Red Cloud and going off alone into the forest was the farthest thing from his mind.

Each day in the beginning as he had padded along the trail with his father he had expected to be told of the ordeal he must go through, but as each day passed and nothing was said, Red Cloud began to look forward to his lessons and to forget even the possibility of anything else on these daily walks.

Several months passed, and Red Cloud became quite a good hunter and tracker and his ability with the bow was unchallenged. His father was very proud of him and each day as they returned along the trail, Great Cloud walked with his arm lovingly across the shoulders of his son.

One afternoon when they had returned from tracking a deer, Great Cloud summoned Red Cloud to his wigwam. Red Cloud thought that he might have done something on the hunt which displeased his father, but he entered the wigwam walking straight and proud as his father had taught him. Great Cloud motioned for his son to be seated and when he had done so, Great Cloud began to speak.

“My son, in your dreams have any of the powers of nature appeared to you promising success and courage in your adult life? Now think hard, for this is very important.”

Then and only then did Red Cloud realize that the time had come for him to be put to the test. Now he realized that his father was asking him whether he was a mature Indian brave or whether he was still a child.

“No, father, I have had no dream in which the powers of nature appeared.”