Part 8

“Then you know, my son, what you have to do,” answered Great Cloud. “These many weeks you have probably wondered why I have not called you to me before. It was because I felt that you were not ready to bear the ordeal of spending many lonely nights in the forest alone. When one retires to the deep green of the forest to await the voice of the Thunderbird or the Sun or other powers of nature, one must go alone with just his weapons. Your education has been such that you would not have been able to survive in the forest very long before now, and that is why I have so carefully trained you in the many ways of nature and the forest these past few weeks. As you know, before you may be considered a mature Indian in the Algonquin tribe you must first hear the voice of one of the powers of nature promising you courage and success in your adult life. Are you now prepared to go into the great forest and endure this ordeal?”

Red Cloud hesitated, for he knew that his answer must be a straightforward one and honest, for truth was a sacred thing to the Indians.

“O my father, I must be truthful, for so you have taught me in my younger days. I have listened and watched patiently each day as I trotted at your heels along the trail and I have locked away in my heart and in my mind all the careful little bits of information you have given to me which would make me a boy worthy to be called the son of Great Cloud. The forest has been a friendly place to me, for I have spent many happy hours there with you. Now I am faced with a decision which I must make here and now, and all I can say to you, father, is that I, Red Cloud, your son, am ready to go into the great forest to await the word from the powers of nature.”

Great Cloud placed his hands upon the shoulders of his son and smiling at him said, “You have spoken well, my son. Tomorrow you shall leave for the forest and look for a place where you will not be disturbed. Take with you your weapons and your blanket, but no other goods such as food, for you must fast while you await the dream.”

With that Red Cloud departed from the wigwam to prepare for his journey the following morning.

There was no sleep for the young Red Cloud that evening, as he thought of his coming trip into the big forest. Finally the early light of dawn peeked through the door of the wigwam and before most of the village was even astir, Red Cloud was up from his bed and had gathered his precious weapons and his blanket for the trip.

He bade good-bye to his mother, Morning Star, and his father, Great Cloud, and started for the forest.

It was a beautiful morning. The bright sun shone down through the leaves of the great green trees of the forest and the spring flowers were all in gay bloom, dressed in their finest colors of reds, blues, yellows, purples, and oranges. As he trotted along the trail Red Cloud could hear overhead the many different calls and songs of the forest birds. Occasionally there was a rustle along the side of the trail or a rabbit would scamper across the path of Red Cloud.

Once through the branch of a low-hanging birch tree, Red Cloud saw the magnificent body of a full-grown buck with six points. Oh, how he regretted that he was not upon a hunting trip, for wouldn’t that buck have made a beautiful trophy to bring back to the village?

The buck, too, seemed to be aware of the reason for Red Cloud’s journey, for though the boy moved carefully he did stir the leaves as he walked and though the buck turned his majestic head he did not move from his spot in the glen of the forest.

Red Cloud smiled to himself, recalling words of his father, “Sometimes the wild animals seem to sense the reason for your journey and fear not the approach of a warrior who is not on a hunt.” At the time Red Cloud had not thought much about the statement but here beside the trail it had been proved to him by the actions of the majestic buck.

Soon Red Cloud felt that he had journeyed deep enough into the forest along the well-known trails, so he turned from the path to go into the forest where no trail was known to him. It was not easy going, for he had to cut small brush from his path. Occasionally he would take a small piece of bark from the side of a tree to mark the direction he had taken in order to find his way back to the main trail.

Soon he came to a stream and stooped to drink of the cool refreshing water. As he stood up once again he gazed up through the opening in the trees and noticed that evening was fast approaching and soon it would be dark. So he moved on more rapidly and he noticed that his direction was taking him up the side of a small ridge. Finally, tired and realizing that darkness would soon be upon him, Red Cloud decided to stop and make his camp. He found that where he had chosen to stop, there was a small formation of rocks which provided a natural shelter from the cool evening breezes.

Within the shelter of these rocks he built himself a small fire and then, wrapping his blanket around him, settled down to sleep through the comforting night, hoping as all boys do that the dream would come to him on this, his first night and that he could return to the warmth and shelter of his friendly wigwam and his family on the following day. But also Red Cloud was prepared to spend many days, if the need arose and many nights, for he had been taught endurance by his father.

The night passed quickly, and suddenly Red Cloud opened his eyes to the rays of the sun and a new day. Climbing from under the folds of his blanket he realized that he was quite thirsty and hungry. Water he could seek and drink, but he realized that until he had the dream he was to partake of no food regardless of how long he must wait. Unless, of course, he desired to return to the village and report that the spirits had not spoken to him in a dream and then as was the custom of his tribe he would be considered a poor unfortunate person with little hope of success in life. So Red Cloud put the thoughts of food from his mind and started in search of water.

In the great forest one did not have to look too far for water because all through the great forest there ran many streams of clear cool water. So it was not long before Red Cloud found such a stream and, after splashing the icy cold water in his face to chase the sleep from his eyes, he drank deeply until his thirst was satisfied. Then turning from the stream he started back toward his camp.

When he arrived back at his blanket, he spread it on the ground and then lay down to gaze up into the sky through the openings in the trees. He passed an hour or more making wonderful pictures in his mind from the formation of clouds that floated overhead across the heavens. Billowy white puffs of smoke they seemed to be, and Red Cloud marveled at how soft and pure they looked. But soon his restless heart made him rise from the blanket and he decided to explore. He started for the top of the ridge many miles away and when he had reached there he knelt, turning his head toward the heavens and raising his arms. And so as if reaching for the sun he made his prayers to the great Wakanda.

When he had knelt in this position for an hour or more he rose to start down the ridge toward his campsite again, planning to go in another direction from the campsite and eventually explore the whole surrounding area. It was then that he noticed a slight stirring in the brush. Quickly Red Cloud dropped behind a shelter of rock and watched the spot in the brush. He did not know what to expect, for this part of the forest was strange to him and he did not know what might be hidden in the brush. Then as he watched the brush he realized that the slight breeze that was blowing would be carrying his scent right toward whatever was concealed in the patch of brush.

Then he saw it was a tremendous brown bear which was six feet tall on its hind feet. Evidently the bear had been eating blueberries from the bushes which covered the side of the ridge and had suddenly become aware of the presence of someone or something which was foreign to him. The bear was now raised up on his hind paws in order to look over the tops of the bushes and see if he could discover this thing which had invaded his feeding grounds.

Red Cloud crouched even lower behind the rock, for he knew that a brown bear could be very mean, especially when he was hungry. Then Red Cloud thought of his weapons. In seeking water he had left his weapons at the campsite and had nothing with him but his hunting knife, which he felt would do him little good against a mad full-grown brown bear. So the best thing he could do was to attempt to circle the bear and get downwind from him so that the bear could no longer smell him. But he must do it by keeping out of sight.

Slowly Red Cloud edged himself out from behind the rock, keeping his body pressed close to the ground. Before he started to move he noticed that the bear had settled down to feeding once again. The breeze had died down but there was always the danger of a quick gust again and Red Cloud realized he was still in a dangerous position. He hugged the ground as hard as he could and continued to squirm away from and around this dangerous bear.

Then Red Cloud was aware of another danger. Having gone without food for almost two whole days, he was not the strong lad that he would have been when eating two hearty meals a day. He wondered, if the bear did see him, whether he would be able to run fast enough to get away from the bear. But getting downwind was the most important thing at this time, so Red Cloud continued to crawl and the rough stones on the forest floor cut through his shirt and into his skin, scraping it raw; but the more it hurt the harder Red Cloud pressed his body against the friendly earth.

He slowly raised his head and realized that he was now almost completely downwind from the bear and that the big fellow had gone back to munching the berries. For what seemed like hours, Red Cloud lay quietly in hiding behind a great oak tree, not daring to look out for fear the bear would be looking around just at the time he peeked out from behind the tree.

And then it happened. Red Cloud had been lying so still, afraid to move, that suddenly he felt his leg go numb and he realized that his leg had gone to sleep. He moved it slightly to bring circulation and life back into it and in so doing he dislodged a fairly large stone which began its noisy fall down the side of the ridge and as it rolled it would click against other stones and they too would join the miniature landslide. Red Cloud huddled behind the tree and then he heard a low growl. He decided he had better take a chance and glance from behind the tree, and as he did his heart leapt, for the bear was looking almost right at him. The bear let out another terrible growl, and then from above where Red Cloud lay in hiding, the young brave heard another growl.

Slowly turning his head so that he could look up the ridge, he saw the reason for the bear’s sudden anger. His berry patch had been invaded by another large brown bear who was now growling out a challenge. If either bear had spotted Red Cloud, he was forgotten now, for they had eyes only for each other and possession of the berry patch was the prize which they both sought.

With mighty growls they dropped to all fours and charged at each other. Red Cloud, at first fascinated by this battle between two creatures of the forest, stood rooted to his hiding place, but then thought more wisely of it and taking the chance offered him by the two bears being involved in a battle to the death, ran as swiftly as he could down the ridge and away from the danger that threatened his very life.

He did not stop running until he had reached his campsite miles away and then, throwing himself flat on the ground, thanked the great Wakanda for sparing him from this danger which had threatened and for bringing him safely to his campsite.

Once again he offered his prayers to the powers of nature and then, wrapping himself in his blanket and building up the fire, he settled down for the night.

It was during the warm sleep of that evening brought on by the fatigue of his day’s adventure that Red Cloud had his dream. In his dream the great Thunderbird appeared to him telling him that he would have much courage added to the courage already in his heart and that as an adult in the tribe he would have a great deal of success in all he attempted. Upon awakening at the first rays of the dawn, Red Cloud felt suddenly refreshed. He had been visited in his dreams and now could return to the village.

Gathering his weapons he put out the embers of the fire he had made and scattered the dead ashes. Then with a light heart and a quick step he started back upon the path he had blazed until he reached the main trail. There he quickened his step and just as dusk was beginning to fall, entered the village, being welcomed warmly by his many friends. His father and several of the lesser chiefs were at the door of his father’s wigwam and that evening a council was held at the central lodge.

There Red Cloud rose before the male members of his tribe and recounted his adventures in the great forest, closing by repeating his dream. As he finished there were many grunts of approval and words of praise.

But Great Cloud said nothing, and Red Cloud wondered about this until he looked into the eyes of his great father; and there he saw the fire of pride burning brightly and in his heart he was very happy. Together father and son left the central lodge that evening, and true to the dream, Red Cloud grew in the tribe to become one of its greatest warriors.

This story is based upon an incident in the life of Red Cloud, an Algonquin warrior, as told to the author by John Fitch, a farmer from Vermont.

BROKEN TOOTH AND THE WAR BONNET

The Apache warriors had been waiting a long time for this revenge upon the maurauding Kiowas and now the time had come. The leader of the Apache band raised his hand and the attack was on. The Apache war party swept down the hillside into the midst of the Kiowa camp. The camp had been caught off guard and the raiding Apaches were making short work of the few Kiowa braves who would stand and fight.

Broken Tooth, one of the most honored warriors of the Apache tribe, rode down to a Kiowa brave and touched him with his coup stick. Then he rode on a short ways, turned abruptly and sent an arrow into the Kiowa’s chest.

The battle was short and furious. The Apache raiders withdrew from the village and slowly returned home to count their coup and to sing of their victory at the great council. As they rode, Broken Tooth was thinking ahead to the great council that night. After this raid today a great event would take place in his tepee on the morrow.

The party entered the camp and there was much rejoicing. Finally, the evening meal was eaten and the word was sent out that the council would meet to hear the deeds of the day.

When all the men of the tribe had gathered in the council lodge, they rose one by one to recount their deeds of the day. Finally, Broken Tooth rose and told of his riding down upon the Kiowa warrior and touching him with his coup stick. He then related his other exploits of the day. The great chief rose from his place and then he spoke, “Broken Tooth, you have been a brave warrior and you have earned many honors. Today you have added even more honors for your brave deeds.”

The council then broke up, but the following day word was passed that Broken Tooth was on that day going to make a new headdress. As was the custom, the men of the tribe gathered that afternoon in the tepee of Broken Tooth and all his feathers were spread upon the ground. They were then sorted according to size, and the making of the headdress began. As each feather was being prepared for the headdress, Broken Tooth recounted for the men the story of the deed that had won him that feather. The men would listen and smoke and grunt approval after each story. Finally, the bonnet was finished and there was no more beautiful piece of handiwork in the whole village.

The following day there were reports from the scouts that the Arapaho were banding together and would be attacking in force. The Apaches gathered their warriors and rode forth to meet the enemy. A large plain between the two villages was picked as the place of battle and the tribes met in both hand-to-hand and long-range battle. It was a hard-fought battle and soon both tribes withdrew, bearing their dead and wounded.

Among the dead was Broken Tooth. As his body was borne back to the Apache village many praised the beauty of the war bonnet which had been worn so proudly by its owner for a single day.

GREY SQUIRREL HEARS HIS NAME

The Oneidas were a tribe of the Iroquois Nation which had swept north to invade the lands of the Algonquins, spreading death and destruction. After having beaten all the surrounding Algonquin tribes badly, the Iroquois tribes fell to fighting among themselves—the Onondagas, Mohawks, Cayugas, and Senecas, as well as the Oneidas. This constant bloodshed in the Mohawk valley in time weakened the tribes so that they were always in danger of attack from the revenge-seeking Algonquins.

It was during this unhappy time that a young brave, Grey Squirrel, lived among the Oneida people. He was not an unusual Indian. He was of average build with average good looks and average abilities. He took part in only the things the average young man in his tribe enjoyed—hunting, fishing, trapping, and doing all the things they did. However, there was one difference that set Grey Squirrel aside from his brothers of the tribe: Grey Squirrel had never heard his name spoken by the chiefs of the tribe. All the other braves of his age had either heard the chiefs call their names while on the hunt, at a tribal ceremony, or while walking in the woods or swimming in the stream.

So Grey Squirrel began to wonder whether he had ever done anything which, in the eyes of the chiefs, made him unworthy. He had fought in great battles, but he had never been cowardly. So cowardice could not be the reason. He had never failed to hunt well, to keep his wigwam warm and sturdy, and to see that there was enough food for all the family. He could see no way in which he had been unworthy of the chiefs’ notice. Often Grey Squirrel would walk by the quiet stream and ponder the reason for his being a brave forgotten by the chiefs.

As Grey Squirrel’s heart grew troubled, he sought the wise advice of his father, Grey Owl. One evening, he approached his father’s wigwam and asked if he might speak with him about something which tormented his mind. Grey Owl invited him into his home and they both sat cross-legged around the small fire in the center of the wigwam. There was a long period of silence and then Grey Owl spoke.

“What is it that troubles you so deeply, my son? I have often watched you wander from the village to the near-by stream and sit and ponder. I have watched you return with a downcast look from the hunt or battle when you should have been joyful that your bow had proven straight and true in whatever task you set for it.” His father paused. “Speak, my son, unburden your heart to your father who has loved you and guided you from babyhood to fine young manhood.”

Grey Squirrel looked long at his father and as he watched his father’s eyes, his face softened and he said, “O wise and kind father, many years I walked the forest trails at your heels carefully watching every move, imitating all that you taught me to the best of my ability. Many, many hours we spent together beneath the sheltering branches of the towering oak trees, listening with our ears to the voices of the forest. You taught me how to listen and what to listen for, so that my ears have grown very keen. Today the deer may not tread the forest floor that I do not hear, nor the rabbit scurry for cover that I cannot uncover the entrance to his home, nor the bluebird set his wings for flight that I cannot immediately see his starting place. And yet, dear father, there is one sound I have listened for and have not heard.”

Grey Owl had been listening calmly to all that his young son had to say. Surprise crossed his face with his son’s last words, and then a gentle smile came upon his lips. “Tell me, Grey Squirrel, what is this sound you listen so hard for but cannot hear?”

“O father,” Grey Squirrel said, “I have listened for the voices of our great chiefs calling my name, but to this day I have not heard them. Am I not in favor with those who watch over our tribe and guide our feet along the safe paths? Tell me, father, why do I not hear my name spoken by them? I have listened along the forest trails or in the din of battle. I have lain awake in the quiet of my wigwam listening for just a whisper. All the other braves of our village are proud that they have heard their names repeated by the chiefs. I alone have not. What is wrong, father? I have come to you to seek your wise answer.”

Grey Owl lowered his eyes to the ground as he searched his thoughts for the right reply. Then he lifted his head slowly and studied his son’s face. He began to speak slowly and kindly. “My son, you have made one very great mistake. Without having meant to do so, you have done the one thing which could have prevented you from hearing the chiefs call your name.”

“Tell me, father,” Grey Squirrel said impatiently, “tell me what it is!”

Grey Owl rose and walked behind his son. Placing his hands upon the young man’s shoulders, he said, “Because you have walked in search of their praise you have spent many hours expecting to hear them praise you. Do not listen so hard, my son. Live your life the best you know how. One day you shall be rewarded by hearing the voices of the chiefs who watch over our tribe. Do not be troubled any longer. Return to your wigwam and your family and continue to be a good husband and father. If you allow it to worry you greatly, it will soon hurt your whole life. You are young, my son. You have not been forgotten.”

Grey Squirrel rose then, and faced his father. “Father,” he said, “your words are of little comfort. But I will follow your advice, for it has been wise and good through the years of my youth.” With that, Grey Squirrel turned and left his father’s wigwam.

He returned to his own home and was greeted warmly by his good wife, Morning Star, who had prepared a fine meal for him. All through his dinner, Grey Squirrel thought carefully about his father’s words. But when he went to bed that evening, he decided that he should drive these troubled thoughts from his mind. The weeks that followed were very pleasant for Grey Squirrel. The hunting and fishing were good. Everything was going well. The people of the village saw the sudden change in Grey Squirrel and the fact that he no longer appeared worried. Grey Squirrel felt better, greeting each new day happily.

One day Grey Squirrel shouldered his bow and chose his best arrows. Bidding his family good-bye, he started toward the forest to hunt for fresh meat for his family. He trotted easily along the forest trail, stopping now and then to study the ground and look for signs of moving game.