Chapter VI: Part 6

The Comanche party was stunned. No one moved. Then one brave made a grab for his tomahawk. Great Hawk slapped his arm, saying, “Do not be a fool. You would be dead before your hand touched the tomahawk handle. Right now at least a dozen arrows are aimed at your body. Your tepee will be unhappy tonight if you are so foolish.”

Then Great Hawk rode out a little apart from the rest of the band. Raising his empty hands, he called to the Apaches.

“Who among you is the leader, for it is with him that I wish to talk?”

A tall, strong brave stepped from behind a boulder and made his way to the circle of warriors.

“I, Maskan, am leader here,” he said. “Why do you ride into our lands in such haste and with such anger on your faces?”

Then Great Hawk explained the events that had led up to this moment. When he finished, the Apache leader signaled, and three young Kiowa bucks were dragged from behind the boulders into plain sight of the Comanche party.

“These,” said Maskan, “are the three who stole your horses and ours. Their blood has run hot with the desire for adventure. So all alone, they set out last evening to invade your land and ours to steal horses. We have waited for them here among the rocks. We have watched you from the time they were taken by our warriors. You who seem to lead here have spoken wisely. The Kiowas will be punished as all Kiowa are in the Apache nation. We have your horses. They will be yours again. We ask you to go in peace from these hills. You have come in anger. Now you can leave in friendship. The older men of your tribe and ours know the trouble we are having with our young braves who want the glory of battle. One day war will come when the chieftains who want it are strong enough to convince the council. That day is not far away. But now return in peace to your village.”

Maskan turned and started for the boulder before Great Hawk could thank him. Maskan told his braves to bring out the stolen horses. At that moment Crooked Leg slipped his tomahawk from his belt and sent it sailing toward the Apache leader. It landed with a thud in the middle of Maskan’s back. Maskan cried out and fell to the ground, rolling in the dust. Immediately, Crooked Leg’s body was filled with arrows as shaft after shaft whined through the air. War whoops split the air as the Comanches rose to attack the Apaches who dodged behind the rocks that had sheltered them before.

Great Hawk realized that it would be useless to attempt any talk of peace now. With a sinking feeling in his heart he, too, joined the battle, struggling to reach his two sons. The great numbers of Apaches, well protected by large boulders, made the victory easy for them. The young Comanches fell under the hail of Apache arrows, and their war cries became screams of pain.

Then Great Hawk yelled to the warriors to retreat. The riddled band rushed toward their village. Sixteen young Comanche braves lay dead on the ground and seven strong Indian ponies were dead or dying. It was a ragged, tired, and bloody war party that entered the Comanche village that night. Badly beaten, their spirit defeated, they understood now that war was not as glorious as they had thought. As Great Hawk entered his tepee alone, Blue Star greeted him warmly but with fright in her eyes.

“Where are our two sons, Great Hawk?” she asked. Great Hawk looked at his wife and then at Little Turtle.

“Little Turtle, you have never learned to hate and you know nothing of war. Now both hatred and war must shatter your world of dreams. Your two brothers lie out there in the foothills, killed by sharp, well-aimed Apache arrows. They and fourteen others will no longer walk this earth with us. Among them lies Crooked Leg, who is to blame for these deaths today. Many Apaches and Comanches will yet die in a battle that never should have begun.”

From that day forward, Little Turtle left his dream world and walked in the real world of warring tribes, learning to hate his tribe’s enemies, to fight and revenge the death of his brothers.

The war continued for some time. Many Apache and Comanche braves were killed and injured. The council of Comanche chieftains met to discuss better ways of fighting the Apaches. Great Hawk, who had led so many attacks against the Apaches, stood in the council to speak. As he spoke, Little Turtle listened from just outside the lodge where he lay hidden.

“I, Great Hawk, have fought many battles with the Apaches. I am tired but I will fight as long as we must. Before this war started, I had great hate in my heart for the Apaches and Kiowas, as many of you know. I tried to teach this to my son. I know now how wrong I was. My son could not bring himself to hate someone or something he had not seen and who had done him no harm. On that unhappy day which could have ended peacefully, Crooked Leg sent a tomahawk into the back of Maskan, a brave and fair-minded warrior who tried to keep the peace. Then the war started. Two of my sons fell dead at my side, but still I fought on. When we who were left managed to escape with our lives and return to our village, I had to break the sad news to my family. Yet from that moment I held no hate for the Apaches.

“My oldest boys had gone from our village to follow Crooked Leg, a man whose whole life has been one of hate. They died because of that hate, though they died bravely, fighting as Comanches should. But now my youngest son has learned to hate as his brothers did and I am worried deeply. War comes with hate and is worse than disease or drought. The Comanches have always fought honorably, but Crooked Leg’s act will always dishonor our tribe. We cannot seek peace until we have cleansed our hearts of hate. We must do this for the happiness and well-being of our children and their children.”

The council was silent for several moments after Great Hawk had spoken. Then one of the head chiefs rose slowly and looked directly at Great Hawk. “You have spoken wisely, Great Hawk,” he began. “We must think this over carefully. If we want peace, it must be genuine and honorable. Let us go back to our tepees. Let us call the council to meet in two suns and make our decision then.”

When Great Hawk returned to his tepee, his son was waiting for him, having run ahead.

“Do not be troubled, father,” Little Turtle said, “for I have driven the hate from my heart. I hope this war will end soon and that there will be no room in anyone’s heart for hate. For hate eats men’s hearts and makes them like Crooked Leg, unhappy and selfish and cruel, bringing death and sorrow to those around them. These things are not for the Comanches.”

LITTLE HORSE AND THE PAINTED ARROW

Little Horse was a member of the proud and courageous Delaware tribe. He grew up in his tribe among a people who were peaceful. They hunted and fished and sang and danced and celebrated much as most tribes did in the very early days, but there was to come a time when all was not peace and contentment.

Little Horse had been well trained by his father, Running Bear, and he had taken his lessons as a young boy very seriously. Though he had practiced very hard, he had never become very good with the bow and arrow or the tomahawk. But he had become very good at using and throwing the traditional hunting knife which was his proudest possession.

It was spring in the valley of the Delawares and day followed day with the peaceful and warm sun shining down upon the village in which Little Horse lived. Occasionally the soft rains would descend on the forest and hillside making everything wet and a rich green color. All was happiness in the village until that fateful day when Little Horse decided to take his long trip.

Shouldering his stout bow and a quiver of arrows he started out along the forest trail. He desired to go to the upper end of the valley and search out some wild turkey which he had heard many of the returning hunters speak about. The fact that the place where these turkeys lived was almost a day’s journey from his village did not seem to bother him, for he had placed in his food pouch enough dried venison and he would have berries and nuts along the way.

As he walked along, he looked from side to side watching for signs of wild game, not wanting to kill any so close to home but wanting to test his senses of hearing and sight which had been trained by his father so patiently.

Once in a while, Little Horse would stop in his journey to partake of some fresh water or just to rest on a moss patch under some large tree and think about the wonders of nature and the wonderful peace in his tribe.

Then he would rise and continue his journey which took him further and further from home with each step. And not realizing it, he had soon crossed into the land of the Iroquois, for his particular tribe had their village close to the line which separated the lands of the Delawares from the hunting grounds of the Iroquois.

This talk of tribal lands and borders did not mean much to Little Horse, although he had heard his father speak quite often of the Iroquois; and though he had been told never to wander too far from the village, he felt he was grown up enough by this time to take care of himself. One other thing which meant very little to Little Horse was the fact that in this period, neighboring tribes were often at war with each other, for war between tribes was rather common among the American Indians. Stealing and quarreling among individuals and trespassing upon hunting grounds were but a few reasons for this constant state of war and feuding. But to a young lad like Little Horse, who was so wrapped up in his desire to hunt the elusive turkey, war and fighting were the furthest things from his mind.

Meanwhile Running Bear, back at the village, was asking about for his son, for today he was to have taken him fishing in the great lake. No one seemed to know where the boy was until Running Bear asked a group of children playing on the edge of the village, and one of them replied that he had seen Little Horse with his food pouch at his belt and his bow over his shoulder trotting up the trail that led to the north and into the land of the Iroquois.

Fear gripped Running Bear’s heart. Just that morning one of the hunters had returned from the forest to tell of having found three Iroquois painted arrows stuck in the ground in a row, which was a sign of open warfare and he had the three arrows gripped in his hand which had been found close by to the village. This could mean but one thing. For some reason the Iroquois had been aroused, and now no Delaware would be safe alone any great distance from the home encampment. As long as this open warfare lasted, now they would have to travel in groups.

Running Bear feared for his son. So Running Bear gathered a few of his friends, and in a group they started up the trail toward the land of the Iroquois, hoping that Little Horse had not gone too far after all.

But they were to be sadly disappointed, for Little Horse at this moment was deep in Iroquois territory on the trail of wild turkey.

As Little Horse walked silently along the forest trails, he suddenly realized that it had become very quiet. He stopped to listen for the song of the birds but he heard none. He even found it so quiet that the breeze sounded like a windstorm. Someone or something else was near by, for only for that reason would all the forest creatures grow silent.

Then he heard the call of one solitary bird ahead and off to the left. And then behind him to the right he heard a similar call and then Little Horse knew.

It came upon him suddenly like a thundering in his ears. He realized that he was no longer in Delaware country, for this was the call of the Iroquois which his father had taught to him. But what had he to fear? The Delawares and the Iroquois were not at war, and so he boldly shouldered his bow and turned to start for home down the trail. But before he had taken two steps there was a loud whooping from many directions and before Little Horse could do anything, he was surrounded and his arms pinned by four husky Iroquois braves. One of them brandishing a shining knife was about to take the boy’s life when another brave stepped from the brush and spoke, “Put down your knife. This Delaware is tall, but he is only a boy.”

“But he is still a Delaware,” cried the brave, holding the knife close to the heart of Little Horse.

“No matter, he is young and strong. We will take him back to the village with us. We have not had much sport these days of late. This young one will make a fair game for us. We will have him run the gauntlet to see whether he will be permitted to live. I, Crooked Hand, have spoken.”

Little Horse then realized that Crooked Hand must be some sort of leader in the tribe, for there was no more argument. The arms of Little Horse were then tightly bound behind him and he was roughly shoved along the trail toward the village from whence these warriors had come. His weapons had been gathered, and one of the braves carried these as the party trotted easily along the trail, pressing Little Horse before them.

It was not too long after this that Running Bear and his rescue party arrived at the place where the struggle had taken place. It was soon evident to all the braves in the party that Little Horse had been taken prisoner, for once past the marks of the struggle, it was easy to pick out the markings of his moccasins in the soft earth of the trail and Little Horse had made sure to come down heavily on his feet in order to leave a trail plain enough for any who might follow to see.

Running Bear and his party pressed forward, going more stealthily now, for they were deep in the territory of the Iroquois and from all signs quite close to the village. Suddenly Running Bear stopped and signaled the party to flatten themselves upon the ground. Through the trees he had seen the feather of an Iroquois and, hardly daring to breathe, they waited. Detection now would mean almost certain death, for they were tired from their long race through the forest and the Iroquois, being close to home and fresh, would have made easy victims of the Delawares.

The lone Iroquois brave had stopped and looked around and then satisfying himself that nothing out of the ordinary was around had continued along the trail in pursuit of the rest of his party which had Little Horse captive.

Running Bear, when he felt it was safe, gathered his friends about him and then spoke in a whisper.

“We will wait until it is dark and then I will approach the village and see if it would be possible for us to rescue Little Horse and return to our village. It is very late and surely he will not be in danger tonight, for the thieving Iroquois will go into council to decide what to do with him. He is definitely a prisoner and most likely since he is young and strong but yet a boy they will make him run the gauntlet tomorrow as a test as to whether he will be permitted to live or must die.”

When darkness fell, Running Bear slipped through the forest to the edge of the Iroquois village and there, hidden in the brush, he was able to view the happenings in the village. He noticed one particular wigwam being well guarded and this he presumed was where Little Horse was being held prisoner. Then as his eyes wandered about the village he noticed a number of older men entering the large council lodge.

This was a fairly large village of the Iroquois, and Running Bear felt that it would be useless for his small band to attempt a rescue of Little Horse.

Suddenly he heard a slight rustling to the side of the trail and peering into the darkness he saw the figure of a brave approaching the trail. He waited and when the brave was almost upon him he reached out and throwing his arms around the throat of the Iroquois he drove his knife into the brave’s heart.

Without a sound the Iroquois slipped to the ground. Running Bear turned and fled back through the forest. They must leave the land quickly, for as soon as the dead brave was discovered a large party would be sent to look for the killers. So as soon as Running Bear had returned to his friends they made a hasty retreat from the vicinity of the village and, running at a steady pace, returned to their village to report the findings. Running Bear planned to gather a large force and the following evening they would attack the Iroquois village and seek to rescue Little Horse.

Meanwhile Little Horse sat in the wigwam of the Iroquois village awaiting the decision of the council and it was not long in coming. Soon a rather tall Iroquois brave entered and standing in the doorway he informed Little Horse that the council had agreed to spare his life if tomorrow he could prove himself worthy of the gift of life by running the gauntlet.

When the sun was directly overhead he would be placed at the head of two rows of Iroquois and at a given signal would run the gauntlet of war clubs prepared for him.

It would be ridiculous to say that Little Horse was not frightened, for at this particular time Little Horse was a very scared little brave. He had known nothing but comfort and warmth and friendliness since the day he was born, and the loving care and kindness of his family and friends had been his only contact with Indian life. Here in the village of a tribe which he had not thought to be hostile, he suddenly found himself a prisoner and about to be forced to run the gauntlet of war clubs.

He had heard a great deal about the gauntlet from his father who had witnessed the gauntlet and had told of his experience as one of the line of braves making up the gauntlet when they dealt with some of their prisoners.

Little Horse was afraid, and his fear kept him from resting his body for the coming ordeal. Then in the midst of this fear which gripped his heart, Little Horse remembered the words of his father.

“My son,” Running Bear had said to him one day, “if ever you should find yourself in trouble or in danger, remember that you are a Delaware and the Delawares are a strong and proud people. Rest as much as you can, force your body to relax so that you may be prepared for whatever ordeal you must face. You have been taught every skill possible except the skill of courage. This you must have in your heart and if courage abides in your heart as the beaver in the stream, then fear can be overcome and one can consider himself prepared for any hardship which may lie ahead.”

Remembering those words was great comfort to Little Horse and again and again he kept repeating them to himself. Soon the chill that seemed to be in his body left him and the cold fear that gripped his heart released its hold and he was calm once again. When his body relaxed and his mind was at ease, Little Horse slept.

No sense to worry over what tomorrow will bring, but remember the words of Running Bear. Twice more he repeated the words of his father to himself and with that he was asleep.

He had not been asleep long when the door of the wigwam was darkened by two of the braves who had aided in his capture that afternoon. As they viewed the boy asleep on the floor, the taller of the two spoke.

“He sleeps. Look how calm his face is. Notice the slight smile upon his lips. This is the sign of a growing warrior. Courage burns deep in his heart. For even now, knowing that tomorrow he may have to die, he sleeps the peaceful sleep of a baby. This lad can be no more than fifteen and yet he is tall and strong and he had a good face. For many moons we have been at peace with our brothers the Delawares and now war and bloodshed.” The other brave shook his head and, looking at the lad, he spoke.

“If you had not been present when he was captured, his hair would now be hanging from the wigwam of the vicious one. He has the blood of several Delawares upon his hands now and one more would only have added to his greatness even if it were only the scalp of a boy.

“Masi is a ruthless brave. Ever since he was beaten in battle by the brave Delaware, Running Bear, he has carried hatred in his heart for the Delawares. Their having sent hunting parties into the land of the Iroquois and taken game from our hunting grounds was all the excuse that was needed. And so our tribes are at war, and it will not cease until many are dead and there is much sadness in the wigwams of both tribes.” With these words, the warriors withdrew from the door.

Little Horse had heard all and pondered the words of the Iroquois. He had not known that any of their tribe had invaded the hunting grounds of the Iroquois unless it had been himself. This troubled him, but he pushed the thoughts from his mind and slept once again. Because of his training he slept soundly and as dawn broke through the greyness he awoke feeling quite hungry and thirsty.

The guards at his door looked in, and soon food and drink were brought to him. He ate hungrily and drank long of the cool water and when he had finished, his guards stepped forward and once again bound his wrists. However, they took him outside the wigwam and allowed him to walk up and down for a short while to give his muscles exercise. The morning passed quickly and soon it was time.

Little Horse felt the old fear once again returning to his breast and now there was nothing he could do to force it back. As the guards approached they noticed Little Horse looking upward as if to speak with someone and it was true, for Little Horse was calling upon the powers of nature to give him strength at this hour of trial.

His guards approached him and, grasping his arms, dragged him from the wigwam, for now fear had gripped the heart of Little Horse and he fought the hands of the Iroquois which held his arms in firm grip and he fought the tough thongs which bound his wrists. But twist and turn as he would, it did no good and soon he was standing before the elders of the tribe.

Across the center of the village he saw the gauntlet of tall powerful braves begin to form and his legs trembled slightly. The elders talked among themselves, and then one old man stepped forward and spoke to Little Horse.

“Your tribe has invaded the lands of the Iroquois in seeking wild game and in doing so they have broken the law of the tribes. If they had stayed on their own ground there would have been no need for war. But for the Iroquois to do nothing when their neighbor invades the sacred hunting ground would be as if we shouted through the forest that we were weak and afraid of the Delawares. You have been captured on our land and as an example to all Delawares you will be made to run the gauntlet. If you do so successfully your life will be spared, but if not the war clubs my braves now hold shall beat your body till it blends with the dirt of the forest floor and you are no more. Are you ready for the ordeal?”

Little Horse held his head high and looking straight into the eyes of the elder warrior, he said, “I know not of any of our braves that invaded your hunting grounds unless it was myself. In pursuit of the wild turkey, I ran quickly along the trail and was in the land of the Iroquois before I realized. I did not think that the great Iroquois would miss one little wild turkey.”

The old warrior looked stern and then he said, “It is not you but other braves of your tribe who have entered our grounds, but you and I are not here to argue, for I will not even discuss it, the law has been broken and war has been declared. Already the blood of one of our warriors had been spilled on the very edge of our camp.”

With this statement the heart of Little Horse beat just a little faster, for if one of the Iroquois had died close to the village then the Delawares must have followed and there was still hope that he would be rescued.

“I am ready for the gauntlet,” Little Horse said.

With that he was dragged to the head of the two lines. He looked down the two long rows of warriors standing like statues with war clubs raised, each one hoping that his blow would be the one that would deal death to this Delaware. Then the signal was given, and Little Horse took a deep breath and started running with top speed. As he ran he ducked from side to side and hesitated, forcing one blow to come down too soon or miss entirely. Halfway down the line he had not fared too badly, but as he came to the second half he was thrown a little off stride and could not duck so many of the blows. Several landed rather solidly upon his back and shoulders and arms and he began to feel weak, but with a last spurt of speed he reached the end of the line just as the club of Masi glanced off the side of his head. Instead of slumping to the ground between the two rows, Little Horse fell forward clear of the line and as Masi raised his club to strike again the elder stepped forward and raising his arms he said,

“Cease, Masi, for the boy is clear of the gauntlet. He has received quite a beating, but breath still stirs in his body. He is a brave lad and has earned the right to live.”

Little Horse was then carried to a wigwam where his bruises were cared for. Food and water were brought and he was made comfortable. The tall warrior that had prevented his death upon the trail entered the wigwam and spoke with Little Horse.

“O my brave young man, you have proved to be quite courageous this day, and the Iroquois admire the courage of even their enemies. You will rest now and when you are well we will talk.”

With that he left the wigwam, and sudden darkness came once again to Little Horse as he fell unconscious.

Meanwhile Running Bear had gathered quite a force of Delawares and was approaching the village from the south. Advance scouts who had been near the village of the Iroquois throughout the day reported the gauntlet and the exact location where they had placed the boy.

Running Bear swiftly gave his orders and the band advanced at a quicker pace, spreading out so that by the late afternoon a strong semicircle of Delaware braves surrounded the Iroquois stronghold.

At a given signal from Running Bear, the attack was on. The attack was such that the Iroquois were caught completely by surprise. Though the band of attacking Delawares was much smaller than the number of Iroquois in the village, they swooped into the village to surprise the guards surrounding the wigwam of Little Horse.

They rushed in and gathering the body of the still unconscious boy they rushed out again and into the forest, and were away before the Iroquois had gathered themselves together. By the time the Iroquois were ready to do battle, the Delawares had left, leaving the bodies of four Iroquois and two of their own attacking party dead upon the ground surrounding the wigwam where Little Horse had been held captive.

Once the rescue had been accomplished the attacking Delawares did not wait to join in battle with the now furious Iroquois but sped swiftly toward the south and the safety and security of their own village. They traveled at a very fast pace and though it was growing dark it was not long before they had placed many miles between themselves and the village of the Iroquois.

Onward through the night and into the next day they pressed until soon they could see the smoke of the Delaware village. They arrived in the middle of the village among the welcoming shouts of their friends and families who had awaited their return with growing anxiety.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Little Horse was placed in the warmth and seclusion of his father’s wigwam and when his hurts had been attended to, his father knelt by his side to add what comfort he could, and to add his praise to the courage of the boy. He promised that he, Running Bear, would not rest until he had paid back the Iroquois for the injuries they had inflicted upon his son.

“Now rest, my son,” Running Bear said, “and when you have rested and eaten we shall talk some more.” Running Bear turned to leave but Little Horse placed his hand upon his arm and bade him stay.

“Wait, my father, for there is something I must tell you. While at the village of our neighbors the Iroquois I learned why it was that they had declared war upon the Delawares. It was reported to them that the Delawares had invaded their hunting ground and made off with many kills. This being a breach of the peace between the tribes, they had no choice but to declare that war existed between their own tribe and that of the Delawares.”

“This is a serious matter, my son,” said Running Bear, “for we have had plenty of food on our own land and I see no reason for any of our braves going into the land of the Iroquois to hunt. But this matter is of grave importance and we must hold a council immediately, for the Iroquois are probably at this very moment preparing a great dance, since tomorrow they will no doubt move to attack our village.”

With that, Running Bear left his wigwam and calling the elder braves together, they immediately went into council. After telling the council all that his son had reported to him, Running Bear asked that the tribe be assembled and told of the situation that existed. The council agreed and very shortly the whole tribe was gathered in the center of the ring and one of the elders rose to speak.

“The Iroquois have declared war, and Little Horse tells us that the reason for this is that some of our braves have invaded their hunting grounds to kill the swift deer. If this is true we have done the Iroquois a grave injustice. The forest and fields of our land have yielded us much food this past year and I see no reason for having left our lands to hunt elsewhere. Who among you has caused the wrath of the Iroquois to be brought down upon our heads?”

One at a time the leaders of the families stepped forward to deny that they had left the sacred hunting grounds of the Delawares until all had spoken. When no one had accepted the guilt, Running Bear rose and spoke.

“If no one of our village has violated the sacred lands of the Iroquois, we have committed no crime. Of this I must speak further. For at this moment the Iroquois are probably on their way to our village to seek revenge for our attack last night. I will take with me two warriors and without weapons we shall go to speak of peace with our neighbors, the Iroquois.

“Already seven brave young men are dead, and my own son lies hurt and bleeding in my wigwam. In order to prevent the shed of further blood, I must go to meet the oncoming Iroquois with only talk of peace. Somewhere, somehow, an injustice has been done, and we must right this wrong before peace can once more prevail over our land.”

With that, Running Bear selected two stout warriors and leaving their weapons behind they proceeded at a steady pace back up the path toward the Iroquois country. They traveled swiftly and many hours later Running Bear suggested they stop and rest.

As the three warriors rested at the side of the trail, they were suddenly surrounded by many Iroquois braves. Their arms were tightly bound and menacing motions with tomahawk and knife were made. But the same warrior that had prevented the death of Little Horse stepped forward and, raising his arm for silence, he spoke to Running Bear.

“You appear to be the leader of this small party and I ask you why you come to the land of the Iroquois without arms when open war exists?”

Running Bear spoke loud and clear for the whole Iroquois war party to hear. “I, Running Bear, with my two fellow warriors come in peace to speak with the council of the great Iroquois. As you can see, we carry no arms and we rested in the open along the trail, hoping that we would find our Iroquois neighbors before they and the Delawares shed each other’s blood once again.”

The Iroquois brave said nothing, but having the wrists of the three Delawares bound they were herded along the trail back to the camp of the Iroquois.

As the party entered the camp they could hear much moaning and crying from the families of the Iroquois that had been slain and also they observed the menacing looks as the people of the village crowded around the party, pressing ever closer hoping for a reason to swing a club or a tomahawk or drive a knife deep into the head or hearts of these Delawares who so boldly approached the village without arms.

But the tall leader of the war party guided them safely to a wigwam where they were placed under heavy guard until the council lodge had been prepared for the great council.

When the elders and wise men of the tribe had gathered, the prisoners were led before them. Running Bear spoke briefly of their mission and then in a loud clear voice he said,

“The Delawares have sworn to their chiefs that none among our village have invaded the hunting grounds of the Iroquois and therefore there is no need for war between us.”

There was some hushed conversation and then one of the elders spoke to a guard at the door. “Summon the warrior known as Masi.” Masi was brought to the council and the elder who had summoned him spoke.

“Masi, it was you who reported to the council of the thievery of the Delaware and it was you who brought to our council the entrails of a deer to prove before the council your story of having seen the hunting party of Delawares invade our lands and kill much wild game. Now tell these warriors who come to us from the Delawares that you have seen this with your own eyes.”

Masi spoke and told of having seen a hunting party of some fifteen braves of the Delawares stalk, kill, and strip the carcasses of several deer and take several wild turkey and other wild game. When he had finished, the council looked first at Masi and then at Running Bear. The elder was about to speak once more when the tall warrior who had saved the life of Little Horse stepped forward and spoke to the council.

“I do not know why,” he said, “but my heart tells me the Delaware speaks truth. For many weeks now Masi has brooded over the death of his sister, and his mind has not been quite right since she died of the great sickness. We know that Masi has been a great warrior, but ask him once again to repeat what he saw. For when he first told his story the hunting party of Delawares were six in number. Suddenly they have increased to number fifteen.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Masi, “and there have been many, many more since that day. If we are not careful they will be in our village in one more sun and we shall all be murdered in our sleep.”

With that, Masi began to scream and he threw himself upon the ground, tearing at the ground and bemoaning the death of his young sister whom he had loved dearly. He was truly a grief-stricken brave gone mad.

The elder who seemed to be a leader in the council stepped forward then and placing his hands upon the shoulders of Running Bear, he said, “There has been a great wrong done here, and we must sit and smoke the peacepipe together. We ask forgiveness, for we have wronged each other greatly. Once again peace shall exist between the Iroquois and the Delawares and let us not allow anything to break that peace. Brothers we have been in the past, and brothers we will be again. Come sit with us and we shall smoke the pipe.”

With that, the peacepipe was passed from hand to hand and when all had smoked, food and drink were brought. Then there was much rejoicing as the village was told of the results of the council meeting. Loaded down with gifts, Running Bear and his two warriors returned to their village with the word of peace.

After telling of the good news, Running Bear went to his wigwam where he found Little Horse now able to sit up and partake of solid food. He seated himself next to his son and once again praised him for the courage he had showed and explained to him how important the information he had brought had been—how he, Running Bear, was able through talk with the council of Iroquois to bring about peace between the Delawares and the Iroquois.

FALLING WATER EARNS A FEATHER

Falling Water came galloping into the Dakota-Sioux camp on his brand-new pony. The pony had been a present from his uncle, Walking Bear, one of the leaders of the tribe. Proudly Falling Water rode it up and down through the camp so all the other young braves could see what a beautiful pony he had. When he felt that everyone had seen the pony he rode swiftly back to the tepee of his father and dismounting ran to show his father the fine gift.

One Horn, so named because he had lost an ear in a battle with a band of Shoshone braves a few years ago, stepped from the tepee and admired this fine gift.

“It is a strong pony and a young one, my son. Treat it well, for a horse can be your best friend.”

“Yes, father, I will take good care of the pony and I will ride him on the hunt. I am now a man and with my own weapons and my own horse, I can now go on the hunt.”

“Yes, my son. In fact tomorrow your uncle is leading a hunting party in search of the buffalo, for it is almost time for the big buffalo hunt. So see to your weapons and be sure you are ready for the great hunt.”

Falling Water rushed into the tepee and the rest of the day he spent working on his weapons in preparation for the hunt. He was sixteen now and considered a man but until now he had not been on any of the big hunts, for he had been sick the season of the hunt last year and now he was well and strong and prepared to ride with the best of them.

The following morning, Walking Bear gathered the warriors about him and made sure that all were prepared for the trip ahead.

“We will divide into three groups and go in different directions. When the sun has crossed the great sky twice we will meet where the Whispering River flows. There we will compare what each group has found, and the largest herd shall become our target. Let me warn you each and every one that though we are hunting buffalo, we must be ever aware that our enemies the Shoshones are all about us and we must be on guard that these jackals do not add our scalps to their belts. Calling Hawk, you will lead one party, Speaks Like Thunder, you will lead the second party, and I will lead the third. Good hunting, and may we all meet with our hair still upon our heads, come the end of the second day.”

So it was that Falling Water, in Calling Hawk’s party, was off on an adventure that was to earn him his first feathers for bravery.

Calling Hawk led his party to the west, for scouts had reported a fine herd of buffalo moving in that direction. The party moved steadily along keeping their eyes alert for signs of dust clouds that would signify a moving herd or horsemen. One or two braves were sent ahead to sweep wide of the main party to see what they could possibly find. From time to time these scouts would ride back to the main party and two more would take their place.

The first day ended with no sight of buffalo or of marauding Shoshones, and the group made camp in a small clump of trees.

The following morning after a breakfast of pemmican they were on their way once again.

It was late in the morning when a scout riding hard brought his pony to a halt in front of Calling Hawk. He reported that he had spotted a herd of buffalo about a quarter of a mile ahead of the group. And so the party quickened its pace and soon came to the top of a rise. There below it on the prairie was a fine large herd of buffalo. They were not moving and therefore no dust cloud had been seen.

Calling Hawk asked two of the braves to remain and keep watch on the herd while the others continued to the Whispering River which was but a short distance ahead, there to join with Walking Bear and make their report.

Unknown to Calling Hawk and his party, the herd had also been seen by a hunting party of Shoshones, slightly larger than the Dakota-Sioux party, and also at the same time they had seen the party of Calling Hawk. As the Sioux moved toward the river, the Shoshones moved parallel awaiting the best place to attack.

And now it was Falling Water’s turn to ride scout and he moved out from the party. He rode hard to get a long lead on the party and then began to move steadily to the side of the group and ever toward the river. Soon he felt it was time to return to the group.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and as he turned to return he saw to the north a small cloud of dust. Urging his horse to the top of a near-by rise he slid from his back and, crawling to the very edge, peered over into the valley below. There he saw a sight which made his blood run hot.

A band of perhaps twenty Shoshones were riding hard toward the unsuspecting Sioux party which was about twelve in number. Quickly mounting his horse, Falling Water rode like the wind back toward his brothers. Finally coming over a slight hill he saw the party moving slowly forward. Then he began to shout his warning of Shoshones and Calling Hawk called his party to a halt.

Falling Water galloped up and reported what he had seen. Quickly the Sioux formed a line and drawing their weapons they moved forward to meet the Shoshones.

Soon the Sioux saw the oncoming enemy and urged their horses to even greater speed.

The two groups clashed, and there was a mixture of rearing horses and screaming men. Knives flashed and arrows swished through the air, some flying harmlessly or some thudding into flesh.

Falling Water, right in the middle, rode toward a large Shoshone buck. As he did, a knife thrust slashed his arm and he dropped his weapons, but now he was too close to the Shoshone to stop the forward move of his horse. Ducking under the slashing knife of the Shoshone warrior, he placed his hand upon the brave’s shoulder and pushed. The brave was thrown off balance and almost lost his seat and, while he was trying to regain his seat, Falling Water dashed to the outer circle.

Soon the fight was over and twelve Shoshones and three Sioux lay dead upon the ground while a badly beaten group of Shoshones beat a hasty retreat into the distance. The felled warriors were placed across their horses’ backs, and the group continued to their meeting place.

When Calling Hawk reported to Walking Bear their fight with the Shoshone, Walking Bear ordered a return to the village.

When the party entered the village the people were immediately aware of what had happened because of the bodies and the Shoshone scalps hanging from the belts of several warriors.

That evening a council was held, and Falling Water rose to report to the council of his great deed of courage. He had rushed in and touched an enemy while still alive. When he had finished, Walking Bear said,

“Are there any here that were witnesses to this event?”

Calling Hawk stepped forward and in very descriptive words retold the event. The others told their stories of bravery and then Falling Water was called before the chief, his uncle.

“I am very proud of you, my brother’s son. You have proven yourself a great warrior this day and for that you shall be privileged to wear two eagle feathers.”

There were many shouts of praise and approval, and Falling Water felt a warm glow as his father placed his hands across his shoulders and said, “I am proud of you, my son.”

Today Falling Water had earned his first feathers.

THE RACE WITH DEATH

In the high range of mountains lived the great and powerful Apaches. For many, many years the war between the Long Knives and the Apaches had been waging back and forth.

The Long Knives, as the white men’s cavalry were known in those days, had at last worked out a treaty with the Apaches and all was peaceful for the time being. With the coming of peace to the Apaches, the return of normal family life was slowly but surely noticed by the younger of the warriors.

There was more time now to teach the young braves their lessons, and the women were happier than they had been. For the past few years all the talk had been of war and killing, but now conversation turned to other topics. Of course there were a few young bucks who still chanted for war, but the wiser chiefs desired to stay at peace for as long as was possible.

One evening some of the older chiefs were seated around the fire smoking and talking to pass the evening hours away when their attention was called to Chief Running Dog, one of the older chiefs of the tribe, who had been sitting quietly in the circle not saying much but gazing off into the night as if he were looking for something.

Twisted Wolf spoke. “What do you look for, friend Running Dog? Do you see something in the distance with those old eyes that the rest of us should be looking for?”

“No, Twisted Wolf, I do not look for anything in the present, but rather I am looking far into the past, to a time when I was just a small boy and there had been peace and happiness in our tribe for many years.”

“Why should you think about the past now, old one? Is there something particular that you are trying to recall?”

Running Dog laughed, “Oh, I do not have to think too hard to recall what I want to think about. Something happened when I was a young boy that I shall long remember. Some of you should remember this one adventure too, for some of you were just about my age at the time.”

“Tell us,” they cried, “tell us what adventure you recall as a boy.”

“Well,” said Chief Running Dog, “the story I remember is one which my father liked to call the Race of Death. But I do not want to bore you with tales of my childhood. They are only memories of an old man who lives in a world of dreams.”

“Now, Running Dog, do you want us to coax you? I have never known you to need prompting to tell a story. Why do you need coaxing at this time?”

“Well, it is not a funny story and to me at the time it was not a very nice experience to go through. Just recalling it brings back some of the fears which filled my heart at the time. But, if it is your desire, then I shall tell you the story. Fill your pipes and settle back, because it is quite a long story and we will be here at the fire for some time until I have finished. But remember that I warned you. If you get bored, it is your own fault, for you have asked for this story.”

“Do not ramble, Running Dog. Get on with the story.”

So it was that Running Dog, old Apache warrior, told his story that evening on the plateau of Apache country around a blazing council fire with his friends there to relive the experience of his childhood once again.

“It was many years ago,” Running Dog began. “The Apache village in which I lived had a very long and difficult time of sickness. Many of our number had died of the great coughing sickness which the Long Knives call pneumonia, but it seemed that at last the sickness was leaving us and our people were returning to a time of good health and prosperity. There was much mourning for loved ones, but our family had been very lucky. My father and mother had both survived the epidemic and I, their only son, had been well all through the siege of sickness.

“The sick continued to get well and little by little the tribe returned to its normal activity. Once again the contests and games took place and there was much joy at the ceremonial dances and feasts.

“It was just after one of these feasts that my friend White Cloud and I decided to take a hunting trip into the far hills. We sought the permission of our fathers, and packing some food and blankets we placed these upon a pack horse and started off for the distant high mountains.

“What exactly we were going to hunt we did not know, but we were so excited about the prospect of living by ourselves for a few days that the problem of what to hunt did not seem to bother us too much at the time.