Part 9

He had been on the trail for a while when he came to a narrow stream. Stooping to drink of the fresh, cool water, he stopped with his hand halfway to his mouth. He blinked his eyes and looked again into the stream, not moving a muscle. There, in a quiet pool next to his reflection was that of the head and antlers of a beautiful deer. Slowly the brave lifted his head until he was looking straight into the eyes of a magnificent buck standing directly across the stream, almost within reach. As Grey Squirrel straightened up slowly, the buck shied a little and backed off. Many thoughts passed through Grey Squirrel’s head, but the one which puzzled him most was why the buck shied only a little and then stood and watched him without any sign of fear after that.

Grey Squirrel lowered a hand slowly to reach for his bow which he had placed upon the ground as he was kneeling to drink. Grasping the bow firmly, he fitted an arrow onto the bow string and took careful aim. The great buck’s eyes stayed his hand from releasing the arrow and made him lower the bow. His mind told Grey Squirrel that this buck would provide good food, but his heart told him to stop. Then he noticed that the deer was favoring his right hoof and realized that the buck had an injury. The leg just above the hoof was swollen to almost twice its normal size. Grey Squirrel dropped his bow and arrow to the ground, and with careful and even steps, waded across the stream toward the buck.

The animal suddenly turned as if to spring into the forest, but his leg collapsed under him and he fell to the ground. Grey Squirrel guessed that the deer must have already used up his strength in escaping from whatever had caused the injury, had come to the stream to bathe the injured leg, and could go no further. Now the buck was struggling to rise and Grey Squirrel jumped quickly to his side. Firmly but gently, the Indian placed one knee against the buck’s side, one hand on the animal’s chest, the other on the buck’s neck to hold him steady. The animal was frightened and trembled. Grey Squirrel spoke softly to the buck and began to stroke its side, each time managing to bring his hand a little closer to the injured hoof. Finally the buck seemed to sigh and relaxed as though he understood that this man wanted to help him.

Grey Squirrel leaned over to look at the injured leg more closely. The buck apparently had run into some heavy brambles and a large thorn had lodged in the soft part of the leg just above the hoof, which had become infected and had begun to fester. Grey Squirrel took his knife from his belt and pressed the point of the blade into the flesh beside the thorn. The buck’s leg quivered slightly. Then the thorn and a misty fluid spurted from the wound. Grey Squirrel took wet leaves and mud from the bed of the stream and laid them over the wound. All through this operation the buck lay still, allowing Grey Squirrel to do as he pleased. The animal continued to lie there quietly as though waiting for any more help the Indian might gave him.

Grey Squirrel went back to the stream and, cupping his hands, brought some cool water for the animal. The buck drank it eagerly. A long time passed while Grey Squirrel kept vigil over the resting buck. Occasionally as he moved to another position, the buck would follow him with his eyes; when Grey Squirrel settled down again, the buck would put his head back on the earth and he too would rest again. Finally, dusk drew near and it began to darken in the forest. As if by signal, the buck arose, tested his injured leg, glanced at Grey Squirrel, and started for the protection of the dense trees. Grey Squirrel called and the buck stopped at the edge of the woods and turned to look back. He cocked his head to one side as if to say “thank you,” and then moved into the thick woods and out of sight.

Grey Squirrel suddenly became angry with himself and shouted aloud, “What a fool you are, Grey Squirrel! There, before you, was food for your family for a whole week. But you let the buck make you feel sorry for him. You cared for his injury, and now he has left you empty-handed after a whole day of hunting, with only the story of a deer who let you pet him—as if anyone would believe you! You are a fool, Grey Squirrel!”

Then there was a loud rustling near by. All of a sudden, Grey Squirrel heard a voice, calling his name.

“Grey Squirrel!” the voice boomed, echoing in the forest. “Don’t be angry with yourself. I witnessed what you did today. Your tribe will honor you. It takes courage to travel in the forests alone in search of food. But it takes greater courage to forget to be a hunter when his prey is so easy a target because of an injury. You sacrificed time and food for your family’s table to help the injured buck. If you had killed the animal, you would have felt cowardly. Return to our village, hold your head high, and tell of your deed today. Do not worry if they do not believe you at first. Your heart is happy for your kindness. Go, Grey Squirrel, it grows late. I will ask the chiefs to hear your story at the council fire tonight.”

In quiet wonder, Grey Squirrel stood gazing at Strong Heart, the great war chief of the Oneidas, who stepped out of the woods only a few paces from the spot where the buck had stopped briefly to gaze back at him. Lifting his bow from the ground, Grey Squirrel started back to his family and his wigwam. In his heart were a warmth and peace that he had never felt before.

4. HEROISM

LITTLE FAWN AND THE WOLVES

It had been a very poor hunting year for the Choctaw Tribe. Little Fawn, daughter of Wolf’s Tooth, sat in her wigwam, thinking about her hunger. Not just Little Fawn, but everyone in the village was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger. One month still remained before the ice would thaw in the lakes, and the fish would begin to swim again, and the young green sprouts of grass would burst through the earth and draw the game back to the hunting ground. A grave decision had to be made. When the Council had gathered, Wolf’s Tooth rose up and spoke.

“We need food. If we are not to starve, we must organize a strong hunting party, and travel south to seek out the animals that have wandered from our hunting grounds.”

There were many grunts of approval. The decision was made that a great hunting party would leave the following day for the south. There was much dancing and preparation for the hunt. Tough hickory bows were tested again and again for weak spots. Sinew cords that were old or might have weak spots were cast aside, and new ones strung on the hickory bows. Knives and tomahawks were made ready. The tension mounted until dawn when the hunting party started from the village toward the south.

Little Fawn gazed slowly around the encampment and immediately noticed that all the strong young braves were gone. All that remained were the old men, the sick, the women and children. This bothered Little Fawn, until she thought to herself, “What could happen? Nothing. We will be safe as long as we stay in our village.”

Before the men left on the trip, they had been so confident they would bring back home an ample supply of meat that they gave their families extra rations of meat and greens which they had been guarding well. Some of the families were careful and, though given plenty, still used the extra food sparingly; but many of the families could not resist the temptation to feast, and built up fires to cook the extra meat and greens. It was just this mistake that nearly cost many of the remaining Choctaw people their lives.

Just as the families were sitting down to eat, a howl echoed from out of the forest and then another and another from different directions. The women became frightened and some of the children began to cry. Some of the men began to cry too, because they realized that they were old and sick and could give little help to the women and children against the danger that was now just outside their village.

How well they knew the sounds which came from the forests on the edge of the camp! The wolves were hungry, for their hunting season had been a poor one too. These lean and starving savage beasts had been drawn to the outskirts of the village by the smell of the large quantities of meat cooking in the many vessels throughout the village. The howling continued, and it grew louder as many more voices joined the circle of wolves slowly closing in on the village.

Food and hunger were forgotten by the older squaws as they hurried to carry their children to the comparative safety of the wigwam. Suddenly, all were stricken with panic except Little Fawn. Though her little heart pounded in her breast, Little Fawn searched her mind for a solution to this threat of death to her people. She ran quickly to her home and there found her younger brother, Flying Squirrel, crouched in the corner of the wigwam, shaking with fear. Slowly she explained to him that he must stop shaking and listen carefully. Though only a young boy, she told him, he must now become a man. He must leave immediately upon the trail of the hunting party to bring help to the village while she, Little Fawn, stayed behind to do whatever she could to help her people.

Flying Squirrel knew the job he must do. So he immediately set out upon the trail of the hunting party, helped by the bright moon and driven on by thoughts of his brave young sister who was staying behind to face this howling menace of a pack of wolves. Both fear and courage lent wings to his feet as he sped through the circle of wolves and down the trail in pursuit of the hunting party.

Meanwhile, Little Fawn called two other young Indian girls to her and explained that the only reason the wolves were staying as far from the village was their fear of the many fires which still burned brightly in the village.

“So,” Little Fawn said, “it is our job to keep those fires burning all night, and to make torches and light them on the edge of the village to keep the wolves away.” Reluctantly the girls agreed, and fires were built up. The three girls made torches of pine knots and placed them in a wide circle at the edge of the village.

All night they kept the fires burning, and all night the howling of the wolves kept up. With the coming of dawn, however, the wolves scurried back into the forest. Only then did the girls who had helped Little Fawn decide to take a much needed rest. But Little Fawn could not rest because she was so worried about her little brother, Flying Squirrel. At just about this time, he reached the hunting party and, after explaining what had happened, collapsed in the arms of his father.

Wolf’s Tooth chose a half dozen warriors and immediately started home for the village which was almost a full day’s journey away.

Back at the village, Little Fawn was busy gathering wood for the fires that coming evening. Soon many willing hands were helping in this task. As the day wore on, Little Fawn anxiously watched the south trail for signs of the returning warriors. As the sun began to set, Little Fawn began to wonder if Flying Squirrel had been able to reach Wolf’s Tooth and his band. Little Fawn knew that the wolves would be back after the sun set.

It grew dark fast. Little Fawn went to look at the many torches around the village, lighting any that had gone out and preparing once again for the long wait. As she reached to set another torch ablaze, she heard a low, threatening growl almost beside her. Turning slowly around, Little Fawn found she was gazing into the sharp eyes of a hungry wolf who must have followed her right to this spot. Little Fawn drew back in fear until her back pressed against a hickory tree as the wolf crouched to spring. There was no escape and Little Fawn faced the wolf trembling. The wolf leaped. There was the sudden twang of a bowstring. A howl of agony came from the throat of the wolf as the arrow struck home. The rescue party had arrived just in time. Wolf’s Tooth’s arrow had found its mark. The rescue party killed most of the wolves and drove off the rest of the pack. All the next day Little Fawn and her brother, Flying Squirrel, were thanked and praised by her tribe.

Wolf Tooth told them: “I am very proud of my children. My son moves even more swiftly than a flying squirrel. My daughter may be as gentle as a little fawn, but she is braver than a pack of wolves.”

THE ISLAND

White Eagle was a young Iroquois boy. His favorite friend was Shining Star, a young Indian girl from his tribe. The small village in which they lived stood on the shore of a large and beautiful lake that could become very dangerous in a sudden storm.

Scattered in the lake were many small islands. When parents were sure that their children could handle the tribe’s canoes safely in the lake, they allowed them to explore these islands. A favorite sport of White Eagle and Shining Star was to paddle to one of these islands to search for berries and other wild fruit.

One sunny summer day, White Eagle and Shining Star decided to take a canoe trip to one of the islands farthest from their village. As far as White Eagle knew, the island they planned to visit was at the other end of the long lake. Excitedly, the two children went down to the shore and set out on their adventure across the calm, blue lake. They enjoyed paddling in the sun because its beams seemed to warm them to their hearts.

They had been paddling gaily and laughing a great deal for some time when Shining Star suddenly turned to White Eagle with an unhappy look on her pretty face.

“White Eagle,” she said sadly, “I am getting tired. I think we should visit one of the islands nearer home. I don’t think I can help you paddle all the way across this great lake and back again.”

“Very well,” said White Eagle kindly, “there is an island over there that we have never visited before. We will go ashore there and hunt for berries.”

Without saying any more, the children turned their canoe and headed for the island about one hundred paces away. Soon their canoe was scraping bottom on a sand bar that seemed to lead from the island into the water. Stepping from the canoe, White Eagle steadied it while Shining Star stepped ashore. Finally, he pulled the canoe up onto the shore so that it would not be carried away from the island into the lake and leave them stranded. Then, hand in hand, the children began to explore.

Now these islands were not small and, if one were not careful, he could really get lost for a little while. So the children were careful to mark their trail with broken branches as they went. In their eagerness to explore this island they forgot what they had actually come for.

“We have never been on this island before,” said White Eagle. “At least, I don’t remember having been on it before now.”

“No,” answered Shining Star. “We have never been here before.”

“Well, the only thing to do is look around.” Maybe White Eagle was thinking of himself as an Indian warrior when he added, “Let’s see if we can find any enemies.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, White Eagle! We won’t find any enemies on this island,” Shining Star said, laughing and forgetting how tired she had been.

“Don’t fool yourself, Shining Star. My father tells me that sometimes the enemy will set up camp on an island near a village to keep watch on the tribe. Then when they feel that the village is off guard, they attack.”

White Eagle said this with such a serious face that Shining Star became frightened. “Let’s go home, White Eagle, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be silly, little one, I was only fooling.” (Now he played the part of a warrior again.) “There is probably no living thing upon this island but ourselves. Come on! We’re wasting time. Let’s start exploring.”

The two children continued to investigate the island, always making sure that they were leaving a plain trail so that they could return to their canoe in safety. After several hours, they decided that there were no berries on this island so they might as well return home. They turned around and started back for the shore, trying to follow their trail carefully.

Sooner than he had expected, White Eagle could see the lake waters, but when they reached the shore he realized that this was not where they had landed. And there was no canoe. Looking out across the water, White Eagle knew that they were on another side of the island. Perhaps they had followed a fresh trail someone else had left.

Shining Star seated herself on a log about ten paces from the shore to rest and wait for White Eagle to make a decision.

“Come, Shining Star,” he said confidently, “we will walk along the shore until we reach our canoe.”

So taking hands once again, the children started along the shore of the island. Suddenly, the sky became black, a strong wind came up, and dark storm clouds started moving in over the lake.

“Hurry, Shining Star!” he said with just a touch of fear in his voice. “A storm is coming over the lake. We must hurry if we are to reach home before the waves get so high that we can’t paddle our canoe.”

Shining Star started to run, but stumbled and fell, twisting her ankle. She cried out in pain and White Eagle knelt by her side.

“Oh, I’ve hurt my ankle,” Shining Star told him, holding back her tears.

White Eagle lifted the young girl in his arms and started carrying her. Soon they reached the place where the canoe was beached. Placing her gently into the canoe, White Eagle shoved the canoe into the water and climbed inside.

The sky had become very dark. They could hear thunder and see flashes of lightning across the lake. Rain was beginning to fall fast. Now even White Eagle was afraid, but he tried his best to hide his fear from Shining Star. Using all the strength he could muster, he paddled furiously toward home, but the winds now were pounding the light canoe and seemed to drive him further and further from their village. Shining Star lay quietly in the bow of the canoe. She was too brave an Indian girl to cry but her eyes, peering through the driving rain toward White Eagle’s face, pleaded with him to get them safely home.

And then, without warning, a great gust of wind caught the bow of the canoe and swung it hard. White Eagle leaned in the opposite direction to balance the canoe. Suddenly, the wind shifted. Before White Eagle had a chance to turn the bow into the wind, it caught the canoe again and, with a loud swish, turned it over into the lake.

Amidst his surprise and confusion White Eagle’s first thought was for Shining Star. He heard the girl sputtering and coughing. He looked to see her head just appearing above the water beside the canoe. Reaching his hand out, he grasped her arm and pulled her to him. Then grasping the underside of the overturned canoe, he pulled Shining Star so that her arms rested on the canoe and she was able to grasp the keel.

Thus the two children hung on for what seemed like hours but actually was only a few minutes. The water was cold. White Eagle began to shiver, not so much because the water was cold, but because the rain was colder and the biting wind made it even worse.

And then as quickly as the storm had come, it was gone. White Eagle tried, but did not have the strength to hold on to Shining Star and turn the canoe. Just when he was giving up any chance of getting to shore, strong hands gripped his arms. It was then that White Eagle realized that he was losing consciousness. Everything went black.

When he finally woke, he found that he was in his bed in his own wigwam. His mother was kneeling by him with a cup of hot broth. Slowly he sipped. And then he could hold back no longer.

“My mother, what of Shining Star?”

“She is all right, my son. You have done well this day. It was feared that you children would be caught in the storm, so your father and Shining Star’s father set forth in their canoes and reached you both just as you were slipping from the canoe. You are a brave lad, White Eagle, and your father is proud as is the father of Shining Star. You saved her life and she was brave, as you were.”

A NEW BOW FOR TANI

Tani was a small Cherokee lad who lived during the great Hundred Years’ War between the Northern and Southern tribes. When he was twelve years old, Tani’s only wish was to own a bow like his father’s—a strong hickory bow with a stout hide thong and a quiver of straight strong arrows.

Each time he would approach his father about owning such a bow, his father would laugh, and placing his hand on his son’s head, tell him in a kindly voice that he was still a little too young to handle a man-sized hickory bow. This always made Tani feel a little sad because, being a boy of twelve, he thought he was man enough to own one.

One day Tani’s father called Tani to him and told him they would be going on a hunting trip and asked if he would like to go along. Tani was overjoyed and all he could think about for the next three days was the forthcoming trip with his father. When the time finally arrived, Tani prepared for the trip just as his father did and noticed his father place war paint on his face and chest and arms. Tani said good-bye to all, and when he said good-bye to his mother he noticed she was crying. He did not understand, for his father had not told him that the hunting trip they were going on was to seek out Talitanigska, one of the great Cherokee Chieftains, and report to him the movements of a large band of Seneca Indians. This was a very dangerous journey, for the Seneca Indians were deadly enemies of the Cherokee Tribe.

As Tani and his father traveled swiftly along the back paths of the vast forests toward the encampment of Talitanigska, one thought kept rushing through the little brave’s mind: What great adventure was his father leading him into? Tani soon learned the answer to this question. That evening, as Tani and his father were seated at a small guarded fire off to the side of the trail, Tani’s father told him the nature of their task.

The little brave’s heart pounded as he learned the reason for their journey. That night as they rolled in their blankets and slept, Tani dreamed of many Seneca Indians attacking his father and himself and of his standing back to back with his father, beating off the attackers.

When the dawn broke, Tani and his father were on their way. They were careful to avoid any soft earth that might leave signs for roving Senecas to find and follow.

About midafternoon Tani’s father turned into a shallow stream and started north against the current. Suddenly, his father slipped and fell heavily head first into the stream. Tani reached his father’s side and found his father could not stand. He helped him ashore and seated him against the trunk of a tree on the bank. A gash was red with blood across the forehead of Tani’s father. Tani saw that his father’s ankle was badly twisted. Not a word was spoken, but Tani built a small fire and made his father as comfortable as possible.

For several hours as the sun slowly sank behind the hills, Tani’s father worried about the situation he and his son were in. He was tired and he must have dozed, for he woke with a start as he felt his bow being lifted from his fingers. He watched in silence as Tani fitted an arrow to the bow, pulled back the string and let fly. The arrow buried itself in a near-by bush. There was a thud, followed by a terrifying scream. A Seneca sprang up and fell dead across the path. Tani rushed forward and, having made sure their enemy was dead, returned to his father’s side. Without a word he continued his sleepless watch.