“The fact that he was placed under guard and was to be punished made little difference to him. But when he discovered that my plan was to hurt more than him and me, he spoke out for what he believed was the truth. Yes, I had hoped to force our tribe into war. I hoped that I might be honored for bravery in war, even though I would sacrifice the honor and friendship of my boyhood companion, Blind Dog, and many of our braves might be killed in useless fighting. To make myself once again a man in Blind Dog’s sight, let me repeat his words. ‘I am ashamed of what I have done.’ Let the council punish me so that I will not forget again the sacredness of truth and friendship and loyalty to my tribe.”
The incident around which this story is woven was told to the author by Sam Carpin, trapper, hunter, and former member of the Butte, Montana, Police Force.
The incident around which this story is woven was told to the author by Sam Carpin, trapper, hunter, and former member of the Butte, Montana, Police Force.
Long Bow for many moons had been the champion of the canoe racers in the Ottawa village and had accepted every challenge that had ever come his way.
From the time he was a young boy he had spent many hours upon the waters of the great lake practicing his canoeing until he felt there wasn’t another boy in the tribe that could come at all close to beating him in a fair race.
Soon the great hunt was upon them, and the warriors gathered their weapons and headed north to hunt the elusive deer. Whenever they went off on these hunts Black Rock, a short husky young warrior, always could be seen as the constant companion of Long Bow.
As the hunting party trotted along the woodland trail getting farther and farther from the village, Black Rock and Long Bow would hold conversation in sentences with very few words.
“I think we will have a good hunt, Long Bow.”
“Yes, Black Rock, for the signs of deer in this area are many.”
“We have had a good year, and if the gods bless us we will have another good year.”
“Soon the winter will be upon us and we must wait a long time for the spring.”
“Long Bow, you speak of the winter when here it is just late spring.”
“It will be a long summer for me.”
“Why so, friend Long Bow?”
“It used to be that during the summer when we held our games and contests there would be excitement and thrills.”
“Are there still not excitement and thrills for you?”
“Black Rock, my friend, I have become so skilled that there are none left in our tribe who give me any competition.”
“That is not a wise way to talk, Long Bow. One must never set himself above all others; that can be said only by the council.”
As they continued along the trail, Black Rock said no more to his friend, and Long Bow did not seem concerned that his friend offered no more conversation.
Soon they both forgot about the talk, for the hunting party had begun to split up in search of the game. For the next few hours the party made many fine shots and then it was time to return to the village.
Each of the two braves had a fine buck strung upon a pole between them as they walked easily along the trail homeward. Once again Black Rock and Long Bow were a team.
Now the excitement of the hunt was over and the catch was good, and all the braves were feeling very good about their success. And so as a result there was much talk and laughing and joking about the misses and successful shots. Long Bow noticed that Black Rock was especially quiet as they walked along the trail.
“Black Rock, my friend, what makes your tongue so still? You have made a fine kill this day and there will be much fresh meat for the village, yet you walk with a heavy step and your voice is still.”
“I am silent for a good reason, Long Bow my friend, for I fear that if I speak my heart will speak rather than my lips.”
Long Bow said nothing for a long while, trying to figure out what Black Rock meant by such a statement. Finally the leader of the hunt called a halt and the warriors placed their heavy burdens upon the ground and seated themselves under the shade trees to rest and drink of the water pouches before the journey homeward.
As Black Rock and Long Bow sat beneath a tree, Long Bow chanced a question of his friend.
“What did you mean, friend Black Rock, that your heart would speak rather than your lips?”
“As we approached the hunting grounds, my friend, you said that your summer would not be enjoyable because there was no competition for you. Would the fact that you are among your people not give you joy enough? Must there always be competition or contests to make your blood run fast?”
“Black Rock, you are one who can be contented with every-day living in our village. I cannot, and the yearly games and contests I have always looked forward to with great anticipation; but for the past three years there has been no competition among the braves, especially in the king of contests, the canoe race. Eagerly the young braves have met me on the lake, but I am so skilled that no one has been able to come even close to winning in the canoe race.”
“This is not a good way to feel, friend Long Bow, so I guess it is time that someone told you so. I, Black Rock, will challenge you upon the lake and then we shall see if there is no competition left in the village.”
Now Long Bow had never raced against his friend Black Rock, for Black Rock had never entered the canoe race, leaving the glory to his friend Long Bow. He also knew that Black Rock was considered a good man in a canoe but not good enough to defeat the great Long Bow.
“Then this is a challenge, friend Black Rock?”
“Yes, Long Bow, when the moon is full, on the following dawn we shall man our canoes on the great blue water. We shall race and see who best handles the canoe.”
Long Bow laughed. “Oh, Black Rock, are you serious? Do you really think that you can beat your friend Long Bow in a canoe race?”
“I do not know, Long Bow, but someone has to try.”
The leader called, and the men picked up their burdens and continued on their way home.
In the days that followed, whenever Long Bow had no work to do he could be found out on the lake paddling up and down the shore line practicing hard for the coming event. Black Rock on the other hand very rarely would be seen in a canoe unless he were fishing or trapping.
Word had spread swiftly through the village about the canoe race, and the excitement was growing as each night the moon appeared more full. Finally the moon was full and that night there was a great celebration in the camp in preparation for the big event.
Many of the braves were making wagers as to who would win, and there even were some hot words; but the men realized that this was to be a friendly challenge. Suddenly one of the braves realized that Black Rock was nowhere to be seen. This was unheard of the night before a great contest and they looked high and low but could find no trace of him. Finally one of the men thought to ask his wife who had been sitting quietly off to one side.
“He has taken a walk before retiring. He said that he wished to be alone this night.”
Black Rock was alone. He had walked to a small glen a short way from the camp, and there if one had come he would have seen a young warrior kneeling talking to someone although no other person could be seen.
“O, Great Manitou, who guides the lives of all red men, give me strength tomorrow to wield a strong and sure paddle. Carry my canoe swiftly across the waters and on to victory. Not for the glory that it will bring me but to wipe from the heart of my friend Long Bow his feeling that he is above the other men of the tribe. If he can be made to see right again, as a good Ottawa brave should, this is all that I ask.”
When he had finished Black Rock rose and returned to his home. The celebrating was still going on, but quietly Black Rock said good-night to his wife and wrapped himself in his blanket and was soon asleep. He had been troubled, but his walk and his prayer had eased his mind, for now he knew that it rested with the great spirits.
The following day dawned bright and clear, and before the sun had risen very far in the heavens the lake shore was crowded with eager spectators waiting for the start of the race.
The rules were outlined to the two warriors and then each took his position along the shore, standing in their respective canoes. About a mile down the shore of the lake a warrior stood with a gayly colored coup stick. This was the point which would indicate the finish line. The signal was given, and the two men bent to the task.
The crowd cheered as the two canoes sped down the shore line, neither one getting far ahead before the other would pull alongside. As they neared the finish line, the watchers on the shore could see the muscles of the two men striving in their backs and shoulders.
Finally the finish line was just a few yards away, and with a mighty surge, Black Rock drove his canoe across the finish line first.
There was a mixed chorus of groans and cheers as the men returned to the starting point and beached their canoes. The crowd milled around Black Rock as he stepped ashore, but he raised his arms for silence.
“Long Bow has lost the race this day, but let no man say that he is not a good man with the canoe; for there are none among us who to this day have been able to defeat him. I shake the hand of my brother Long Bow and to him I say, it was a great race and I have won, but it was a close race and if we raced again I might not be so lucky.”
“No, Black Rock, it was not luck this day that won the race, but rather a strong back being helped by a true loyal heart. I know now why you challenged me and I could not have won if you had tied one hand behind your back. I have been selfish and ungrateful for the many friends and good things that have been showered upon me. I have lost this battle of the canoes, but it has helped me win a battle with myself. I thank you, Black Rock, for bringing a straying warrior once again into the camp of good Ottawas.”
When the excitement was over in Flying Arrow’s wigwam and all the Shawnee had returned to their own homes to sit and talk of the birth of a new son to Flying Arrow, Standing Fawn, daughter to Flying Arrow, wandered off from the wickiup to think about this thing that had happened.
Until this day, little Standing Fawn had been the center of attention in the home of her mother and father and also when they went to visit friends; but now a new baby boy had been born, and everyone was very excited. When Standing Fawn had come running to tell her mother how she had helped her grandmother to dry rabbit skins and to make furry ropes for blankets her mother had said how nice that was, but went right back to taking care of the little boy Indian that now held the place of honor in the home of Flying Arrow.
This Standing Fawn could not understand, but for the time being she did not think about it any more but went to join the other girls that were gathering nuts. The girls had to hurry so that they gathered enough nuts for the tribal families before the squirrels got them all.
The walnut and butternut hulls were used for dyeing quills and so many, many nuts had to be gathered that soon the baskets were bulging with these and beechnuts, hazelnuts, and hickory nuts. When the task was over Standing Fawn returned home to her father and mother and her little brother.
As she entered the wickiup she could hear her mother singing softly to the new baby. There against the wall was the carrying case for the baby which Standing Fawn had helped her mother to make. That was fun working with her mother, but now mother was busy with the new baby and so Standing Fawn felt that she was no longer loved.
After supper, she crawled into her warm blankets and was soon asleep, but she awakened a short time later as the new baby cried for food. The crying continued until he was fed and then Standing Fawn was asleep once again.
For many weeks there was a great deal of work to be done with the new baby in the house, and Standing Fawn found that more and more she was asked to carry on the duties that her mother had done before this time.
When friends came to visit, they still had a smile and warm pat on the head for Standing Fawn, but most of the attention was given to her little brother, or so it seemed to Standing Fawn.
One night the little baby was very restless and did a lot of crying. Standing Fawn did not sleep well that night and in the morning when she rose to stir the coals for the morning fire and prepare to cook the breakfast she was feeling very cross. Her mother called to her from the wickiup.
“Standing Fawn, will you go to the stream and fetch some fresh water and heat it for me, please?”
“Yes, mother, I will go, but I am so tired,” Standing Fawn heard herself answer. “Today I would like to go to grandmother’s to help her with the quills if I may.”
“But, Standing Fawn, I need your help here today.”
“I want to go to grandmother’s today.”
“All right, Standing Fawn, you may go to grandmother’s today. I will manage alone.”
So after Standing Fawn had fetched the water she skipped merrily on her way to join her grandmother who was busy this winter in making fancy quill work upon moccasins and leggings, knife sheaths, and anything else that needed bright decoration.
“Welcome, Standing Fawn, you have not been to see your grandmother for a long time. I was beginning to think that you had forgotten old Granny.”
“No, grandmother, it is just that with the new baby I have been kept so busy that I have not been able to leave home for very long at all. I wish the new boy had never come to our home.” With that Standing Fawn kicked her foot at some soft rabbit hides that lay on the floor of the wickiup, more angry at herself than anything else.
“Now, now,” said her grandmother. “That is no way to feel, especially about a little boy who was not able to choose whether he would come to the house of your father or not. He is very small and he does not understand if you are angry with him, but he does understand love and attention.”
“Yes, grandmother, and he is getting plenty of that from everyone who comes to our house. Since he has come I have been very unhappy, and I shouldn’t be unhappy, should I, grandmother?”
“No, Standing Fawn, that is not the right feeling to have in your heart. Let me explain something to you as best I can.
“When you were born your father was disappointed, for you were a girl and he had hoped so for a warrior son, but he loved you as much as if you were a boy; for, as your mother said to him, your daughter will bear many sons. Your parents loved you and cherished you and did everything they could to make your life a happy and pleasant one. When your mother was heavy with child you were a great help to her around the wickiup. When your brother was born, there was much excitement in the village, for it was a boy and now your father had a warrior son and a beautiful daughter.
“For this he was very thankful and went to the hills to thank the great spirit for blessing his home so. When he returned there was great rejoicing once again just as there was when you were born, but then the work started just as when you were born, and your mother had no one to help her when you were a very small baby, but now she had you and she depends a great deal upon you to help her with your little brother. Soon he will be big and strong and you will be very proud to be called his sister. But now he is small and needs your love and attention.”
“I understand, grandmother, and I have been a very foolish girl. I will try to make up to my brother for this feeling I have had in my heart that is bad.”
“I am glad, granddaughter, to hear you say that. Now you had best run along, for your mother will be needing help this day.”
“Yes, my grandmother, but first I have something I must do.” So Standing Fawn strolled off to a corner of her grandmother’s wickiup and there she gathered some items into her lap and began working busily at something. Soon it was finished and she rose and saying good-bye to her grandmother, walked back to her own wickiup. Her mother was busy preparing supper, for the project Standing Fawn worked on had taken most of the day.
“Well, my daughter, did you have a nice day with your grandmother?”
“Oh yes, mother, a very nice day.” Standing Fawn was sure to keep her hands behind her back so that her mother could not see what she held.
Finally she excused herself and ran into the wickiup. There where he usually hung was her baby brother in his cradleboard, warm and sleeping. To the large cradle loop above his head, Standing Fawn hung a dainty little doll, all dressed in buckskin, that she had been so busy making that day. Next to the doll she placed a very small bow and arrows and tiny moccasins. Just at that moment her father entered the wickiup.
“See, father, what I have made for my little brother, who will one day be a great warrior. When he sees this doll it will make him want to run fast and shoot straight and carry himself as a warrior should.”
As Standing Fawn talked her mother had entered and was standing next to her father.
Flying Arrow motioned for his daughter to come to him and then kneeling on the ground and placing his hands upon his daughter’s shoulders he said:
“Surely, my daughter, if he were not destined to be a great warrior he would not be blessed with such a fine and beautiful sister. I am a very proud man to have such a wonderful family.”
Standing Fawn looked at her mother, and her mother was smiling. And inside, Standing Fawn felt all warm and good.
It had been many weeks since the Seneca hunting party had seen the friendly smoke of their own village and as they lay among the pines, resting now, they were thinking of how it would be in their village when they returned the following day to speak of their success on the hunt. Their catch was large and there would be much dancing and celebration when they did return.
Black Cloud, leader of the hunting party, lay stretched out beneath the boughs of a large pine and gazed up through the branches at the clear sky lighted this evening by a bright full moon. The heavens were filled with stars, and this would mean a good clear day for travel when dawn finally broke upon the forest.
The party had traveled far in search of food but their labors were not in vain for they were returning loaded down with good fresh meat for their tribe.
The trip had been an exciting one from the standpoint of the hunt, but now the excitement was over and the warriors were tired. A half day’s journey lay between them and their homes, and they were eager to start the next morning.
The canoes had been pulled up the side of the lake and rigged for shelter in case of rain but all the party were sleeping in the open. As Black Cloud lay gazing at the stars he remembered back to his days as a boy when he had made his first hunting trip with his father.
“Come, father, hurry, we must get started!” Little Black Cloud had called as he waited at the beach for his father to join him. His father finally arrived and, approving of the canoe which his son had chosen, he turned it upright and pushed it into the lake. They loaded their packs and hunting weapons and soon Black Cloud was seated in the middle of the canoe as his father pushed from shore.
“Where are we going to hunt, father?” asked Little Black Cloud.
“Well, my son, I thought that we would try Bear Lake; for many of our warriors have reported fine deer around Bear Lake, and you saw the two beauties that were brought to the camp last week.”
“Yes, father, they were beautiful bucks, and I hope we are as fortunate.”
“We have a hard long journey ahead, my son, and so pull hard upon the paddle; for we must reach the upper end of the lake before nightfall. There we will make camp and tomorrow we shall carry our canoe to the upper lake known as Bear Lake. It is quite a distance and though it may seem close it will take us some time to reach our destination.”
Father and son pulled upon the paddles, and soon the canoe was moving steadily forward toward the upper end of the lake. As the craft skimmed through the water, Little Black Cloud’s father pointed out the many signs of wild game that could be seen along the shore.
Here was evidence of where brother beaver had been at work cutting logs or here was a grey muddy hole near the lake’s edge to which the forest animals came to drink. Always the canoe was kept near the shoreline, for this made the trip more interesting since there was much to see.
As noon approached, Little Black Cloud’s father directed the canoe in to the shore and beached it in a small cove. Father and son stepped ashore and pulled the canoe up after them. Near by there were some fine berry bushes and, walking inland a short way, they came upon a clear swift flowing stream. They picked some berries and, seating themselves near the stream, they made a meal of some fried venison they had brought with them, berries, and water. After eating they relaxed for a few moments and then the two walked back to the lake edge and climbing aboard their canoe once again were soon continuing their journey up the lake shore.
It was near dark when they reached the top of the lake. Little Black Cloud’s father guided the canoe into a small stream leading from the lake and, calling to his son to stop paddling, he guided the canoe softly against the shore of the stream. The two Indians stepped from their canoe and then, lifting the canoe from the water, set it upon the shore.
“We shall make camp here for the night, my son. You will gather some wood and I will see if I can catch us some fish for our supper. I shall not be gone long and there will still be plenty of daylight.” Saying this, Little Black Cloud’s father took up his fishing line and bone hook and a bright spinner and started back through the woods for the lake shore.
Little Black Cloud meanwhile started busily preparing camp and gathering wood for a fire. In an hour his father was back carrying a fine fish and soon they were having fresh fish steaks broiled on green sticks. These they flavored with some sugar, which they always carried, and washed it down with fresh water.
“And now, my son, we must sleep, for in the morning we have a long walk ahead to reach the Bear Lake.”
Father and son rolled into their blankets and the night noises around them provided a lullaby.
When dawn broke, Little Black Cloud found that his father had been up for some time and that breakfast was ready and waiting.
Following a hearty breakfast, Little Black Cloud picked up his pack. His father strapped his own pack upon his back and, balancing the light birch bark canoe upon his head, led the way through the forest toward the lake. The woodland Indians often had to make portages like this in order to reach their final destination.
After traveling for some time in this manner, Little Black Cloud noticed a clear space among the trees ahead. His father seemed to sense what he was thinking, for he called to his son, “That is Bear Lake just ahead. It was given that name many moons ago by our people, for it used to be the home of many bears who lived and thrived here, but when our people discovered that many fine fish lived in these waters they had to drive the bears off in order to make the fishing grounds safe for our people.
“Since the disappearance of the bears the deer have flocked to the shores of this fine lake, and now whenever fresh meat is needed a small party of us come to the lake and in a short time we have enough meat for the needs of our people.”
Soon the two had reached the shores of Bear Lake and, looking out upon the calm waters, Little Black Cloud said, “My, how peaceful the waters look, father. It seems as though nothing or no one had ever visited these shores before.”
Then a short distance down the shore there was a rustling in the brush and a splash, and soon the head of a doe would be seen bending to drink, and then another and another; and then the eight-pointed head of a buck could be seen a short distance beyond the does.
“Look, father, look. How many deer are there?” Little Black Cloud was very excited, for never before had he seen such a large number of deer in one place at the same time.
“Come, my son, we must leave our gear here and go in pursuit of the fine deer. They abide all along these shores and back away from the lakes in the shaded glens and the open meadows. It may not be as easy to catch them as it is to see them.”
Once again the canoe was placed in the water, and father and son set off to hunt the deer. They moved quietly down the shore, but no sooner had they reached a spot near enough to fire an arrow when the deer would turn and disappear into the woodlands. For several hours they paddled the shore but try as they might to approach the deer quietly the animals would turn as if warned and, with a flick of their tails, were deep in the woods by the time the canoe was within striking distance.
Soon dusk was drawing nigh, and the two turned their canoe to return to where they had left their gear.
“Come,” said Little Black Cloud’s father, “we will have some supper and when it is dark we shall hunt again.”
“But, father, how can you hunt when it is dark? You cannot see the deer.”
“I will show you, my son. First we must gather some pine knots.”
And so the supper was prepared and two very hungry Indians feasted and then sat back to allow the food to settle. Finally the father rose and taking his boy by the hand they wandered into the woods to gather pine knots. Finally they had gathered about ten pine knots and these they placed in the bottom of the canoe.
Then Little Black Cloud’s father made an attachment on the front of the canoe which would hold a burning pine knot. It was getting dark faster now, and so the two Indians loaded their weapons into the canoe and then strapping a piece of birch bark to the bow of the canoe to act as a reflector they pushed away from shore after lighting a pine knot and placing it in the holder which contained sand so the fire would not burn the canoe. It was then that Little Black Cloud was able to see why his father wanted the pine knots.
As they skimmed along the shore, the deer would see the light and be attracted by it to the shore. This would then make them easy targets, for their bodies would then be outlined on the shore.
Slowly the canoe moved along the shore until Little Black Cloud’s father motioned for him to stop paddling. Placing his paddle in the bottom of the canoe, Little Black Cloud took his bow and arrow and stood waiting. Soon the flash of a pair of eyes was seen and then Little Black Cloud fired.
There was a splash and all was still. They steered the canoe toward the place they had seen the deer and there lay a small buck. This was placed in the canoe and they moved on.
Little Black Cloud shot another deer that night, and then father and son returned to camp to skin and dress the two deer.
The following day they returned to the lake where they had started and were soon paddling down the lake shore for home. Little Black Cloud’s father decided not to stop that evening and so continued paddling swiftly until the friendly fires of the village were in sight. He beached the canoe, and a proud father and a very tired young Indian boy entered the village that night with two fine specimens of deer.
Black Cloud sighed as he lay under the pine. Yes, these were fond memories he had of the days when he was a youth.
But soon he would be doing the same thing his father had done twelve summers ago for when he returned to the village the next day, he did not know that his wife would be waiting for him with a new-born baby son, a boy who would some day paddle swiftly along the lake shore with his father.
The drums beat slowly. A cloud of sadness hung over the Iroquois village. People moved slowly about their tasks. Even the pets of the village seemed to have lost their playfulness. The little children were playing quietly at sitting games, rather than the usual noisy running games that they liked so well.
As Little Rock, a young Iroquois warrior, rode into the village with a dead buck slung across his pony, he became suddenly aware of the great feeling of sadness that was upon his village. Instead of hearing the usual gay greetings from the people of the tribe, Little Rock noticed that when he looked at them they would shake their heads and turn slowly away. Little Rock feared that great trouble had come and wanted to know what it was. So he dug his heels into his pony’s sides and sped toward his father’s wigwam. As he drew near, he saw a number of people gathered close to the entrance. The drums boomed slowly and sadly. As Little Rock came nearer his friend, Little Red Cloud, stopped him.
“Wait, Little Rock!” his friend warned gently. “Do not go to your father now. The Medicine Man is with him.”
“What is the trouble with my father?”
“Do not worry, Little Rock. Great Rock is a great and strong Chief. He will be all right.”
“As my friend, Little Red Cloud, I ask you once again. What is the matter with my father? It cannot be so simple, when half the tribe gathers outside the entrance to my father’s wigwam. They usually come to talk or seek advice, but now they are silent and their faces are sad. Tell me, Little Red Cloud, what is wrong?”
Little Rock could not wait for an answer. He jumped from his pony and ran swiftly toward his father’s wigwam. He was met at the entrance by his mother.
“Wait, Little Rock! Do not come in yet. Tall Spear is making medicine for your father. He is very ill.”
“I must go to him. He may need me.”
Just then the Medicine Man joined Little Rock’s mother.
“Your father is asking for you, Little Rock,” the old man said. “You can see him now.”
Little Rock stepped inside the wigwam and found his father lying on the great buffalo robe, his head propped up. Great Rock’s face looked drawn and tired and he breathed with great difficulty. As Little Rock knelt beside his father, the sick man’s eyes opened wide.
“My son, you have returned.” Great Rock spoke slowly as though each word pained him greatly. “Did you have a good hunt?”
“Yes, my father. There was much game and I was able to bring a really fine buck back to our village. He will give us much fine meat, and his skin will make you a fine shirt.”
Great Rock closed his eyes for a few moments while Little Rock, his mother, and the Medicine Man waited anxiously in silence. Then Great Rock opened his eyes, wet his lips, and started speaking with great effort again.
“That is good, my son. You have learned the ways of the forest well. This was your first trip alone into the great forest, yet you have tracked down a fine buck.” The old chief seemed more tired than before.
Little Rock reached for a bowl of soup near by and spooned some of this to his father’s lips. The old man started to sip the soup slowly. Then he raised his hand weakly.
“My son, your father is old. Last night this sickness came upon me. I feel that the time is growing near when I shall journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds. I have raised you to be a warrior in our tribe. I have taught you the way of the bear and the way of the fox. You will have to be the man of the family now and provide for your mother.”
“But, my father,” said Little Rock, “you must not leave us now. Our tribe and all the Iroquois need you now more than ever before. There is trouble among the tribes. Soon the Great Council will meet. If your seat at the Council is taken by one who is not so wise, the trouble among our tribes will continue and become greater. You must get well, father, for much depends upon you.”
“There are others as wise, my son. My voice is but a small breeze in a big windstorm. The men who lead our tribes are wise in the ways of peace. They will make good decisions. Of that I am certain. But now leave me, my son, for I wish to be alone. I am tired and I must rest for the final journey.”
“Yes, my father, I will go now, but it is not to pine and weep, as the others do. I know you will get well. Tall Spear will make strong medicine. I have no fear.”
Little Rock left the wigwam and, without saying a word to anyone, he mounted his pony and rode swiftly from the village. For many hours he rode until it was nearly dark. Then he stopped his pony in a pine grove. Leaving the pony to graze, he walked deep into the grove until he came to a place where an opening in the trees allowed the last rays of light to stream in.
Under the spreading branches of a great pine tree, Little Rock knelt and started digging with his knife to root up some plants. When he had gathered a handful of roots, he arose. He walked toward a stream and near it he picked some berries from a bush. He dropped the roots and berries into a small leather pouch and rode back to the village. He thrust the pouch into his mother’s hand and asked her to brew the roots quickly in some fresh water.
When the broth had been bubbling for a short time, Little Rock grasped the gourd from the fire and carried it toward the wigwam where his father lay ill with fever. As he approached the wigwam, Tall Spear stopped him.
“Little Rock, what is it you carry in the gourd?” the Medicine Man asked.
“Many moons ago, my father and I traveled deep into the forest. Finally we came to a large pine grove. Deep within the pine grove, my father pointed out certain roots and berries that grew there and nowhere else near our village. He told me that those berries and roots would make strong medicine for anyone sick with hotness of the skin. When I spoke with my father, I remembered those roots and berries. I thought that a broth made from them might save his life. So I have brought them to his wigwam.”
The Medicine Man grasped the gourd and was about to turn away when Little Rock seized his arm.
“Make him drink, Tall Spear. Tell him this is broth made from the plants in the pine grove. He will understand and he will drink.”
“I will give him the medicine and I will tell him. You have done well, Little Rock. Your respect for your father’s wisdom is very great.”
With that the Medicine Man disappeared inside the wigwam, and Little Rock sat upon the ground to wait. Soon Tall Spear came out again.
“Your father has sipped the broth. He told me to clasp your hand as he would in thanks for bringing the roots. He is resting now. All we can do is wait.”
As time went by, Little Rock became drowsy and soon could keep his eyes open no longer. As he fell asleep, the old Medicine Man took his blanket and wrapped it around the young brave’s shoulders.
A new day was dawning as Little Rock awoke. He looked quickly toward the entrance of the wigwam. Suddenly Tall Spear appeared, his face looking cheerful.
“Your father is asking for you. He is weak but he will not die. He will sit at the Council soon to decide for peace. Go to him and go with your head held high, for you have much to be proud of this day.”
Little Rock entered the wigwam and hurried to his father’s side. At that moment his father reached out his hand and Little Rock bent down to take it. The eyes of father and son met in silence. No words were needed to tell how much more closely their lives were tied together.
Tall Spear stepped quickly outside. It seemed only a moment to the men inside the wigwam when they heard the voices of their Oneida brothers speaking loudly and happily again.
Black Hawk was a young Shawnee brave who lived in the earliest days of the American Indian. Black Hawk had been raised in his village by his father, Tall Hawk, who was very proud of him.
Tall Hawk had very carefully taught Black Hawk all there was to know about hunting, fishing, stalking, and all the other necessary ways of forest and stream.
Each year, Tall Hawk would look at his son growing and exclaim to his wife, Soft Bird, “See how tall and strong he grows. Surely he is the most handsome brave in our village. Not only is he handsome but brave and strong as well; he will bring much honor and glory to his father.” At this Soft Bird nodded, for she knew how much Tall Hawk thought of his son.
It was late spring, and the Shawnee were preparing to take the trail of the wild fish and game. It was time they began thinking of new skins for clothing and housing and food for their families. Each father who had a son, carefully trained his son for just this day.
Finally all was in readiness and the great hunting party, after bidding good-bye to their friends and loved ones, took the trail to the north where scouts had earlier reported seeing herd of deer. Perhaps this would be easier than they had thought, but as they traveled onward, Tall Hawk began to realize that they were quite a long way from the village.
He signaled for the party to stop and called two of the leader warriors to him. “We have traveled far from our village. Do you think it wise that we go on? Surely along the way we have seen many single deer, but nowhere have we seen signs of a herd or a large number. This territory which we now enter is the home and hunting grounds of the Conestogas. We must leave here, for we are on land that does not belong to us.”
Tall Hawk was turning to speak to the others of the party when one of the warriors interrupted him. “Yes, this is Conestoga country, but we are to stop now because of a few woodland weasels that call this their land?”
“But it is their land and we shall do just that, turn around and go back. Such foolishness this day could bring the angry Conestogas down on our heads in a very short space of time and we would be badly outnumbered. Our party is not too strong, and any attack upon us here in unfamiliar territory would mean that many lives would be lost.”
“Are you afraid, Tall Hawk? Does your stomach swim and your heart flutter like a bird? Surely the Conestogas do not concern you?”
“One Conestoga against one Shawnee, or even two Conestogas against one Shawnee, and I would not in the least be afraid, for the gods know that one good Shawnee brave could hold his own against any two Conestogas. But we are on their home grounds. Any attack by a large force of Conestogas and any one of us would be lucky to live. No, foolish one, we shall turn and go back in the direction we came. We shall search elsewhere for the elusive deer.”
With that, Tall Hawk turned to the hunting party and repeated what had gone on between himself and the other two braves. There were some grunts from braves who disagreed with Tall Hawk, but for the most part they were willing to return.
As the party turned to go back down the trail, one of the scouts who had been sent ahead came running into the circle to report that a large band of Conestogas were heading for just that place and they would be better off to start immediately for the home village. Tall Hawk gave the signal, and the hunting party turned quickly and trotted south toward the village.
It was fully a day’s journey and they had no rest. The long grind began to tell upon their numbers. When they would falter and were about to collapse, Tall Hawk could be heard to shout, “Keep running, fools! Do you wish your hair to grace the home of one of our Conestoga neighbors?”
This threat served its purpose, and the braves who were tiring suddenly found fresh strength and would continue the grueling run.
Soon they reached their own hunting grounds and were safe on the other side when the Conestogas broke from the cover of the forest and into the meadow which separated the hunting grounds of the two tribes.
Suddenly the leader of the Conestogas raised his hand, and the band of braves with him stopped running and listened. The chief explained that they had reached the border and could go no further. And so the score was equal. Black Hawk was proud of his father, for once again he had proved to his fellow braves that he was a wise man.
The hunting party slowed down a bit now and, after traveling about two miles, they camped for the night. They were tired and after a hasty supper they fell off to sleep one by one until all but the guards were sound asleep. Black Hawk was soon sound asleep as well, but Tall Hawk lay awake thinking.
Why did they not sight the deer before they reached the land of the Conestogas? Surely the scouts that had reported the deer herd to the village had not imagined seeing so many deer, or had they? And why had the chase taken them into Conestoga land? Over and over he asked himself these questions until he could not stay awake any longer and finally he was asleep with the rest of the party.
The next morning after breakfast the party continued on its trek, this time turning westward. Soon they came to a large lake and Tall Hawk divided the party, requesting some of them to remain here and fish and the others to continue on around the lake in search of game. Black Hawk was among those chosen to stay and fish and he was very happy about it. He saw that he was the only young brave allowed to stay with the fishing party and he felt it was because he was such a good fisherman.
When the hunting party had finally gone out of sight, Red Hand, the second in command, gathered the group and explained to them their mission. This lake should have plenty of fish, and so they would spend the next day and night here fishing and in the morning of the second day return to their village, as they hoped, with a successful catch of fish from the beautiful lake.