Chapter V: Part 5

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.

The night passed without incident but as dawn approached, Tani heard a rustle in the near-by bush. He raised his bow ready to fire, but recognized the head feathers of his Cherokee brothers and let the bow drop to the ground. He leaped forward with a happy cry. The two braves were from Talitanigska’s camp. They quickly made a sling hammock to carry Tani’s father and soon the four of them set forth for the great Chieftain’s camp.

Once safely within the camp, Tani’s father was well cared for and soon was able to stand once again on his injured foot. Two weeks after their arrival at Talitanigska’s camp a great council fire was held to celebrate the victory of the Cherokees over their enemies, the Senecas. As the festivities came to a close, Talitanigska stepped to the center of the ring and asked that Tani step forward. Then, in front of the great Cherokee Chieftains, Talitanigska took his stout hickory bow from his shoulder and placed it in Tani’s hands.

“This is for you, Tani,” he said, “for you are a great brave and now a man among men. You stood full of courage in the face of great danger. Because of your quick thinking, you saved your father’s life and made it possible for your father to bring me the valuable information. This information helped our fellow tribesmen to meet and defeat the Senecas, our enemies.”

Tani did not know what to say; but the following morning, as he and his father prepared to leave, he stepped in front of Chief Talitanigska and thanked him for the gift. He said he would always cherish the great hickory bow and remember the great kindness shown him by one of the great Chiefs of the Cherokee nation. Tani had his bow, just like his father’s. There was no happier brave alive as he tramped closely behind his father on the path home.

SINGING WATERS AND THE MEDICINE WELL

Singing Waters’ work as an Indian maiden in the Teton-Dakota tribe was typical of the work of Indian maidens across the continent. Each year she would make new clothing for her family and each day of the year she would cook and do the many little things that were the duty of a good Indian squaw. The work was hard but Singing Waters did not mind, for she loved her husband and her children and was very happy and proud to be able to help them.

When she found that she had some free time, Singing Waters would join the other women of the tribe to boast about her husband’s great deeds on the hunt and in battle. This was a favorite pastime of all the squaws. They would spend many hours throughout the years to talk, over and over again about the adventures of their braves. Each time they would repeat the stories with even more enthusiasm.

One day, all the tribe’s braves had left to hunt down a great buffalo herd for food and clothing for the tribe. Singing Waters was seated in front of her tepee, teaching her two daughters how to cook, when the morning sky grew suddenly very black. A great quiet fell upon the village. Even the dogs that seemed to spend their day barking for no good reason were silent. Singing Waters heard only the wind as it whispered through the village.

Then from the distance, there came a rumble that seemed to come slowly nearer and nearer to the village. Singing Waters realized quickly that a dust storm was heading for her village. The other squaws had heard it, too, and were rushing to gather their children into their tepees and bind the skins across the entrances as tightly as they could. The dogs whimpered and scattered for whatever shelter they could find. The village did not have to wait long, for the winds were soon lashing against the tepees, straining their fastenings, and the dust was whipping through the village like a flood tide rushing over the rocks on the seashore.

The dust reached into every opening in Singing Waters’ tepee. It wasn’t long before a fine coating of it covered everything and everyone inside. Her two daughters huddled close to her, crying slightly because of their fear of the storm. But soon the wind blew out of the village, and the last dust clouds settled to the ground. One by one the flaps of the tepees swung back. Mothers, children and old men began to come out. They found that many things, left outside in the haste of escaping from the storm, were covered with coats of light brown dust. Everyone began cleaning up the village and sweeping away the dust which had piled up against the sides of the tepees.

While this was happening a young boy, named Fat Buffalo because he was short and very fat, came running through the village, crying that his mother was lost. Singing Waters halted him and shook him a little to make him stop his screaming. When he had quieted, she was able to learn that Brown Fawn, the boy’s mother, had left the tepee early that morning to seek fresh water. She had been gone only a little while when the storm struck. Now she was not back in the tepee and Fat Buffalo was frightened.

Singing Waters was worried, but did not tell Fat Buffalo. She knew that an Indian woman out in such a storm might easily fall under the stinging pelting of the sand, only to be smothered by it. She might never be found unless, years later, new storms should blow away the dust and reveal the dry bones of a skeleton and a few bits of her clothing. Though Singing Waters felt panic in her heart, she quieted herself and spoke calmly to Fat Buffalo.

“Go back to your tepee, Fat Buffalo, and wait. Your mother probably found shelter from the storm. Now that it has stopped she will be home soon. If it will make you feel better, I will go and look for her. Return now to your tepee. I wouldn’t be surprised if your mother were there already.”

How Singing Waters hoped that Brown Fawn was back in the village by now! It would be almost an impossible task to find her here on the plains if she were dead or even hurt. First, Singing Waters would not know in which direction to start. The water hole that she and most of the tribe used was to the south, but there were many water holes in many directions from the village. Singing Waters decided that she should go to Brown Fawn’s tepee and find out if anyone else in the family knew in which direction she had gone.

After warning her two daughters to stay close to home, saying that she would be back shortly, Singing Waters ran swiftly through the village. Reaching Brown Fawn’s tepee, she opened the tent flap and stepped inside. As her eyes grew used to the darkness, she saw Fat Buffalo kneeling in the far corner of the tepee, crying. Approaching slowly, Singing Waters saw that there was someone else in the tepee and that Fat Buffalo was kneeling next to that person. As she drew near, her heart was happy, for she thought that Brown Fawn had returned and was comforting Fat Buffalo. She was about to turn and leave when she suddenly realized that this woman was not Brown Fawn, but Fat Buffalo’s grandmother, Little Otter, who held the boy’s head on her lap.

Singing Waters approached quietly and spoke softly to Little Otter. “Has Brown Fawn returned yet with the water?” she asked with slight hope in her voice.

“No,” said Little Otter, “and it was because of me that she went in search of water. We have some water here in the tepee. But I have not been feeling well, and Brown Fawn thought that herbs brewed in fresh spring water from the rocks on the near-by hills might make a tea which would help my sickness to leave.”

“But,” said Singing Waters, “the hills where the streams flow are many miles from here. If Brown Fawn left when the sun rose, then she might just have reached the spring when the storm came. She is probably on her way back to the village right now.”

The sad news about Brown Fawn soon reached everyone in the village. Many anxious eyes watched the trail that led from the hills. Each person hoped to be first to catch sight of Brown Fawn and bring happiness to Little Otter and Fat Buffalo.

Later that afternoon, Singing Waters came once again to Brown Fawn’s tepee. She talked quietly with Little Otter and then hurried back to her tepee and placed a warm buffalo jacket across her shoulders. Then taking her two little daughters, she went to her sister’s tepee and asked if she might leave the children there for supper while she went in search of Brown Fawn. Her sister looked at her and asked, “Why do you not wait until the warriors return? They should be coming any time now, and they could go in search of Brown Fawn! You have two little children to think about.”

“Yes,” said Singing Waters, “I have two little children to think about, but we do not know when the warriors will be back. If the hunting is good they may not return for another week. Brown Fawn may not be too far from the village.” Nothing Singing Waters’ sister could say to her would change her mind. So she set out from the village toward the mountain spring known to the members of her tribe as the medicine well. It was getting late in the day, and Singing Waters knew that she must hurry if she were to reach the medicine well before sunset. She knew the trail well. As a girl she had followed it many times, for there always seemed to be some sickness in her village.

Singing Waters finally came in sight of the ridge beyond which lay the medicine well, still having found no trace of Brown Fawn. Tirelessly, she trotted on until she had climbed the ridge and had worked her way to the place from which the water flowed into the medicine well. As Singing Waters approached the medicine well, she called Brown Fawn’s name softly, but heard no answer. Then she began to call more loudly. Suddenly, from far ahead she heard a voice answer. Now Singing Waters began to run, for she feared that Brown Fawn was in serious trouble. She ran until she reached the side of the medicine well, but still did not see Brown Fawn. Then she called again and the voice answered. “Help me, I am over here.”

The voice was coming from beyond the medicine well. Singing Waters ran on further; then she stopped and called again. The voice replied again, and Singing Waters knew that she was closer. Brown Fawn’s voice seemed to be coming from just behind a rise ahead of her. She ran swiftly to the top of the rise, and there she found a water bag. As she looked down the side of the rise through the gathering gloom she could make out Brown Fawn’s figure down the side of the hill. She sat leaning against a boulder, and she called out to Singing Waters to help her. Singing Waters slipped and slid in her haste down the side of the hill until she was at the side of Brown Fawn. Brown Fawn was so glad to see her that she cried, great tears rolling down her now pale cheeks.

Singing Waters could see that Brown Fawn had twisted her ankle. As she began to lift the injured woman, Singing Waters asked her how she had hurt herself and how she had escaped the storm. Brown Fawn told how she had reached the medicine well just as the dust storm had broken. After filling her water bag, she had turned quickly to go and had fallen, twisting her ankle. When she was once again able to rise, putting her weight on her other ankle, she found that she had lost all sense of direction and had started hobbling in the wrong direction.

“Why didn’t you lie down among the rocks until the storm passed?” Singing Waters asked.

“I wanted to rest,” Brown Fawn replied, “but then I would think of my mother and son and I felt I must return to her and Fat Buffalo immediately with the medicine water.”

“But,” said Singing Waters, “you are safe now. Now we must return to the village while there is still a little light or we may become lost out here on the prairie far away from the warmth of our tepees. Come, Brown Fawn, lean upon me and I will help you to walk.”

So Brown Fawn placed her arm across Singing Waters’ shoulders. Together they slowly started back to the village. It was dark by the time they had reached the fringe of the village, but bright fires had been lighted to show them the way home. There was much rejoicing as Singing Waters entered the village half carrying Brown Fawn. Gentle hands grasped Brown Fawn and placed her gently upon the buffalo robe in her tepee. Soon her eyelids flickered and she opened them wide, looking around for a face which meant much to her. But Singing Waters had returned to her own home and her children and was recounting for them the adventure she had just had. They smiled, knowing that their mother was a woman of great courage. They were very proud.

THE WAR THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED

Little Turtle was a young Comanche who lived happily with his mother, father, and two older brothers on the great prairies. His father was well respected by the tribe, above all for having three sons who would grow to manhood and bring honor to the Comanche name.

Each day was a new adventure for Little Turtle and he welcomed each dawn with great excitement. He never knew just what was planned for him or what the other children of the village would decide to do, but he was always ready to take part in whatever would happen.

For some time now, Little Turtle, who had just turned ten, had been in the complete charge of his father. On certain days his father would take him far from the village to hunt and learn how to stalk wild game and find their signs. He learned his lessons well. At night in the tepee, he would sit next to his father because he was the youngest, and he would listen carefully while his father explained many things a young brave must know to become a strong and great Comanche warrior.

Because the Comanche village had been at peace for the last three years, Little Turtle had only love in his heart for everyone he knew or met. Sometimes his brothers and his father would speak to him of the hated Apache and Kiowa and the many reasons the Comanches had for hating them. But this meant very little to the lad. He never let such thoughts of war spoil his fun.

One evening after the three boys were asleep, Little Turtle’s father spoke with his mother.

“Blue Star,” he said, “for many days now I have talked to our youngest son of the Apaches and the Kiowas, but he does not seem to understand. I have told him of their many cruel ways and about our warriors who have fallen under the arrow and the tomahawk of the Apaches and the Kiowas. Still he refuses to speak harshly of such neighbors. Maybe Little Turtle is right. Maybe I am wrong in hating these neighbors to the north. You are wise, Blue Star. Your advice is often sought. Tell me now what I should teach our son. Shall I teach him to hate the horse stealers from the north? Or shall I not speak even their names in our daily talks?”

Blue Star thought for a moment and then said, “My husband and great warrior of the Comanches, hatred is a word which Little Turtle will learn soon enough. Now he is young and innocent. He enjoys the coming of each new day for the adventures that it will bring in his world of dreams. He is a happy child and to us a very wonderful boy. Do we want to change this wonderful boy to a grown warrior filled with hate? He knows nothing but love. Possibly peace will be a long time upon our village. We, his parents, would not want to spoil that happy world in which he lives.”

Great Hawk thought long about his wife’s words. Then he left the tepee to walk alone and solve this problem which lay so heavily upon his heart. Since his early days, Great Hawk had been taught to hate the Apaches and the Kiowas. His own father had lost his life in a battle with the Apaches. His brother’s hair now hung from the tepee of Grey Wolf, the Kiowa chieftain who sat at the head of the council lodge. And Grey Wolf was a cruel leader of a tribe that always looked for enemies to kill.

Great Hawk knew that he had strong personal reasons for hating the tribes to the north. But was it right for him to think of punishing his son for not hating them, too, in the way he did? Until he had talked with Blue Star, he had planned to question his son tomorrow about the Apaches and Kiowas, and if his son did not show a growing hatred toward them, then he would punish him. But now he was not sure. No, he would wait and be patient. After all, as Blue Star had said, there had been peace for three years now. Thoughts of war were kept alive only by the young bucks of the tribe who were eager for battle and glory. War was far from the minds of the older and wiser men of the tribe. They knew that peace had brought them prosperity and happiness, but war made them poor and brought them hunger and pain and the death of friends.

Great Hawk began thinking about Crooked Leg, one of the chieftains. He was the only member of the council of Comanche chieftains who was not happy that war had not come again.

Early in his youth Crooked Leg had fallen into the hands of the Kiowas and had been tortured badly. When his body was found being dragged by a Kiowa pony that had been turned loose, he had been beaten and twisted so badly that he lay close to death for many months. He had lived, but his leg had never healed straight. He always rose in pain and could never run again. Crooked Leg had stayed behind in the village during all later battles. His hate for the Kiowa had grown until he now thought about it all the time. At council meetings, he would always argue that the Comanches should once again take to the warpath against the Apaches and Kiowas. Each time he spoke, only a few council members would agree with him. So Crooked Leg was asked to be quiet while the council talked about tribal business. But the young bucks who thirsted for the taste of battle would carry his words through the village after each council meeting. For many days, the village would talk for war and against war. Soon the wise council members would win out, the bucks would quiet down, and Crooked Leg would be left to grumble in his tepee alone and forgotten for awhile.

Crooked Leg’s life had a lesson for Great Hawk. As he was returning to his tepee, he promised himself that he would not speak of hatred again to his son. He must not allow hatred to run his life as it had run Crooked Leg’s. If he did, even his friends might forget him and he would be of little use to anyone.

The following day promised little peace. Dawn brought a roaring storm that smashed at the Comanche village. The pounding rain had soon churned the ground into deep mud. Families remained indoors and fathers sat around their fires teaching sons how to make stout bows and straight arrows, knives, tomahawks, and other handmade tools a young brave needs to survive. Great Hawk used the time to talk to Little Turtle of the great powers of nature and peace and the Comanche people.

“As you grow,” he told Little Turtle, “remember to stay straight and true and do all things that are right, and you shall live a rich and happy life in our tribe. The Comanches have been favored greatly. We have lived in peace for the past three years and though it has been very dry, we have never been without water. Now the sky has opened and allowed the rains to fall so that we have water for our families and our horses. We have not suffered from great thirst since the great drought visited our land when we were last at war. After two years the supply of water was so small that our people were dying more from the great thirst than from the arrows of the enemy. Before long our chiefs sat down in council with our enemies to smoke the peace pipe. Now peace reigns over our people and they have plenty of food and water.”

Little Turtle had listened carefully while his father was speaking, then turned to his mother and said, “Mother, I am a very lucky boy to be a Comanche and to have such a wonderful family. I have a strong, wise, and kind father. You have cared for me as a baby and given me good food so that my bones would grow strong and straight. And I have two brothers of whom I am very proud.”

Blue Star smiled happily and began to make lunch. While the family was eating, the rain stopped. Soon the sun broke through the dark clouds and began to dry the earth. In the middle of the afternoon, Great Hawk rose and touched his son upon the shoulder.

“Come, Little Turtle,” he said. “It is time you learned to ride a horse. We will go to my string of ponies and pick one that you may ride and call your own. If you are to go on the hunt and take part in the many other riding events in the village, you must learn to ride well.”

Little Turtle’s heart leaped excitedly. He had been looking forward to the day his father would teach him to ride. Slowly Great Hawk and his son walked to where the tribe’s ponies were kept tied. Great Hawk began to look amongst the herd for a special pinto pony he had planned to give Little Turtle. It was small but strong and could run for a long time without getting winded. Great Hawk saw quickly that something was wrong. He began counting and discovered that three of his string, including the pinto, were gone. At first he thought that the storm had frightened them and they had broken loose from the main line which held the whole string. But as he reached the main line where the three ponies should have been tied, he saw the dangling ends of ropes that had been cut by a knife.

The pony guard must have left the herd to seek shelter during the storm. So it was easy for someone to steal his three ponies. Without thinking of Little Turtle, Great Hawk knelt in the mud to look closely at the clear tracks that the thieves had left. He rose to his feet quickly.

“The Apaches have stolen my ponies!” he cried out defiantly. “I shall ride after them and bring the ponies back even if blood must be shed!”

Then he remembered Little Turtle. “Go, Little Turtle,” he ordered. “Return to the tepee and explain to your mother what I must do. The Apaches have stolen three of my best ponies. I must ride fast to catch up with them before they get too far into the hills. I shall not rest until the ponies are back in our village or the scalps of the Apache thieves hang in our tepee.”

Then Great Hawk jumped onto a pony and sped off toward the hills.

Little Turtle ran home and told his mother and brothers what had happened.

Little Turtle’s brothers had been two of the young bucks who had agreed with Crooked Leg’s war talk. So they rushed out of the tepee, happy for this chance to fight. They stopped outside their tepee just long enough to pick up their weapons and shout the news to other young bucks of the tribe. Many of the young braves rallied quickly, grabbed their weapons, and dashed toward their ponies. This was just what Great Hawk had wanted to prevent. He thought that if he could overtake the thieves he would be able to bring them back as prisoners. Then the council of chieftains would decide how their stealing should be punished.

Only three Indians—not a large Apache band—were fleeing with the ponies. Great Hawk saw this clearly from the tracks he was following. He thought it might be three young Apache bucks who wanted to start trouble and had turned to stealing horses as a way of making the Comanches angry enough to fight. He must hurry, for if he did not reach the thieves before they got to the safety of the hills, he would have to report their escape to the council. Even the older Comanche chieftains probably would decide that war was the only answer.

When he reached the base of the hills, Great Hawk lost the trail of the thieves in the rocks. Slowly, he turned his mount and started for the village. This would now mean war. Great Hawk turned back toward the hills. Shaking his fist at the Apaches’ stronghold, he swore vengeance upon them. As he headed for home again, he met the war party of young Comanche bucks, led by his two sons.

“Wait!” he said, raising his hand. “Why do you ride so hard?”

“We ride to avenge the theft of your horses,” Great Hawk’s oldest son replied. “We will catch the Apache party and soak the foothills with their blood. No matter how many they are, we shall defeat them!”

“Wait!” Great Hawk pleaded. “There were only three men. They are already in the hills. We will lose many men if we try to attack them here. We do not know this ground, but the Apaches know it well. We must take this problem to our council.”

Just as Great Hawk spoke of the council, Crooked Leg rode out from amidst the young warriors. Great Hawk had not seen the old warrior who rode up close to Great Hawk.

“Out of the way, old and weak one,” Crooked Leg screamed. “You are afraid of these thieving vultures who steal from us under cover of a great storm. We are not afraid and we will go on until we find them. We have sat back too long getting fat and lazy on the buffalo meat. We have closed our eyes to the Apaches’ great war plans against our village!”

There were many shouts of approval from the young bucks, who were starting to move about impatiently.

“Wait!” shouted Great Hawk above the yelling of the young Comanche braves. “This long-planned war plan against our village was carried out by just three braves, as the trail will show you. They did not attack. They killed no one. They only stole three horses. This was no attack by the Apache tribe. It was probably the work of three young bucks, like many of you here, who could not be held back. They went off on their own to try to stir up trouble between our two tribes. They baited the trap and you are riding right into it. What has happened here must be settled by our council. Do not let Crooked Leg drive you into something you will regret the rest of your lives—if you live to regret it!”

The young men grew quiet as Great Hawk was speaking.

“And now I speak directly to my two sons,” he continued. “I, your father, order you to return with me to our tepee.”

But the fire that Crooked Leg had been building for so long burst into flame again as he urged the young bucks to go on. They surged forward toward the hills. Great Hawk was forced to rein his pony aside to avoid being run into. He knew that if Crooked Leg succeeded in clashing with the Apaches, he, Great Hawk, would lose importance in the tribe. But if Crooked Leg were defeated at the hands of the Apaches, the council would deliver fair judgment and punishment.

The young Comanche men had never fought before and might be defeated easily. So for the sake of his sons, Great Hawk turned his pony and fell in with the young bucks. When they saw that he had joined them, they urged their ponies ahead at a faster pace.

Soon they were deep in the hills of the Apaches. The party halted, and Great Hawk moved to the front. Grasping the bridle on Crooked Leg’s pony he swung the animal around sharply.

“You will ride no farther,” he told the old warrior. “I command you to go back to our village now. We have no idea where the horse thieves are. You are willing to gamble the lives of these brave young Comanches to satisfy a hate that burns deeply in your heart and mind.”

While Crooked Leg watched him angrily, Great Hawk spoke to the young men.

“Your wish to see justice done is good,” he began. “But the Apache has great strength, even greater here in his own home. We are few and most of us have never fought. If we fight here, our scalps will hang in the tepee of the Apaches before nightfall. Do not follow Crooked Leg any longer. What he suggests can bring only death to yourselves and much sadness to your families. We must return to the council and seek the wise advice of our chieftains.”

Great Hawk could see that his words were beginning to have an effect. He continued talking to the young bucks until their ranks began to break as a few turned their mounts toward home. Others followed, and Crooked Leg started screaming at them to come back and follow him to glory in the defeat of the Apaches. Then, just as the last few braves were heading back down the trail, the hills suddenly bristled with Apache warriors, each aiming an arrow at a young Comanche brave. As Great Hawk looked slowly around, he saw that there were twenty times more Apache than Comanche warriors.