Indian Captive Page 12

  Molly caught her breath. Was she dreaming? There before her, as if in answer to her thought, stood a deer—a tall and stately buck, with antlers like a growing tree upon its head. Molly’s hand flew to her mouth, to smother her cry of surprise. The deer paused a moment, as if listening, looking past her into the depth of the forest. Then, with a bound, away into the forest it leaped. Molly held its picture in her mind long after it was gone.

  Some moments later, she heard a movement inside the trunk of the tree behind her. She rose hastily, walked round the tree and soon found a long, narrow opening, wider at the bottom. The trunk was rotten inside and had been hollowed out. Along one side the bark was scratched and she could see the marks of claws.

  “If I were an Indian,” thought Molly, “I would know at once what animal it is. But I’m as stupid as four-year-old Storm Cloud.”

  She peeped into the hole. It was dark inside and she could see nothing. The movement continued. Seeing the Indian children not far away, she called and they came running.

  “Bear cubs!” announced Woodchuck, wisely.

  “Let’s take one home!” begged Star Flower. “I want a cub for a pet.”

  “What?” asked Molly. “What do you want him for?”

  “We will put a rope round his neck,” answered Star Flower, jumping up and down. “We will teach the bear cub to do tricks. Once when the trader came, he brought a bear cub that could dance and do tricks.”

  “You would take the bear cub away from its mother,” asked Molly slowly, “and make it a captive?”

  “Yes,” answered Woodchuck, coldly. “Why not?” This white girl who spoke in Indian was a queer person, indeed. Woodchuck scowled at her with disgust.

  “Oh, you have to take him very young,” cried Chipmunk, “if you want to tame him. If he’s too old, he will stay savage and manage to get away somehow. Or else, the men will kill him before he does, for bear meat.”

  “Let us first ask Earth Woman,” suggested Molly. “Earth Woman will not let you make a bear a captive. She will say it is better for the baby bear to run free in the forest…”

  “How do you know what she will say?” demanded Lazy Duck.

  “We will ask no one,” said Woodchuck, firmly. “I am the eldest boy and I shall decide. We shall take the mother bear, too. Bear meat is good to eat.”

  “Bears have lots of fat,” chimed in Storm Cloud. “My grandmother fries it out and makes a deerskin bag to hold it.”

  “Bear oil is good to spread on chapped faces in winter,” added Star Flower. “Bear oil makes my hair lie smooth and black and shiny. Is bear oil good for yellow hair, too?”

  Molly turned away from her and faced the two boys boldly. “How will you take the mother bear?” she asked with quiet patience.

  “Kill her, of course!” answered Woodchuck, promptly. “My mother is always pleased to have bear meat brought to her lodge. What does a pale-face know about bears, anyhow?”

  “I know this much,” retorted Molly, hotly. “I know that to kill a bear you must at least have a bow and arrow!”

  “Ho ho! A bow and arrow!” laughed Woodchuck.

  “We might chase her home…” began Chipmunk.

  “Here comes Earth Woman,” said Molly quickly, as she heard footsteps rustling in the leaves behind her. “Let us ask her and do what she says.”

  “Oh, may we take the bear cub?” cried the Indian girls, together.

  “Don’t let them!” begged Molly. “Oh, please don’t let them put a rope round its neck.”

  No answer came. Why did Earth Woman not speak? Molly turned and looked behind her. To her surprise she saw a huge black animal coming directly toward her.

  “There’s that big black dog again!” said Storm Cloud, pointing.

  Molly gasped. It was not Earth Woman at all. It was not a dog, deer or wolf. Anyone should know that such awkward, clumsy motions could only be made by a heavy animal like the bear.

  The children fell into sudden silence. “The-mother bear!” said Woodchuck, in a low voice. “The mother bear is angry!”

  Like falling leaves blown by a gust of wind, the children slipped noiselessly into the underbrush and disappeared. All but Chipmunk. Chipmunk and Molly stayed where they were.

  Chipmunk was young and slim, younger even than Little Turtle. Bravely Chipmunk picked up a dead branch and shook it. He jumped toward the bear, to frighten it away. Then gradually he backed up, as the mother bear approached the hollow maple tree where her cubs were. Molly ran to the other side and so did Chipmunk. The tree was wide enough to hide them from sight.

  Chipmunk thought fast. He remembered Woodchuck’s boasting that they would take the bear and the cub. But Woodchuck had run away. How could Chipmunk do it? Still waving the stick, he peered round the tree again. Molly looked, too. To their surprise they saw that the mother bear was running off, her cubs following. There were two of them, big, fat and roly-poly. Chipmunk and Molly stared after them in silence. Soon they were lost to sight in the dense woods.

  The children came back at Chipmunk’s call. They looked in at the bed of dry grass in the empty hole in the tree where the cubs had been. Then Earth Woman and Beaver Girl came up. The children all talked at once, telling the exciting story.

  “The mother bear was more scared than we were,” cried Chipmunk. “Why didn’t you kill her, Woodchuck?”

  Woodchuck did not answer. He was still scowling.

  “She had two fine cubs!” cried Star Flower. “And we didn’t get one of them.”

  Earth Woman shook her head. “A mother bear is a dangerous animal,” she said. “If you had tried to take one of her cubs, she would have started fighting. You had no weapons with you. It is best she ran away with her cubs.”

  “We have lost our pets!” cried the children, sadly.

  “The cubs have no ropes about their necks,” said Molly to herself. “They are still free. I’m glad they are not captives.”

  10

  Old Fallenash

  “HERE, KEEP THESE FOR me!” Little Turtle dropped a few arrows on the ground beside Molly, who sat hidden under a clump of bushes in the forest. “I think the turkeys will soon be coming down to the river to drink.”

  Little Turtle walked cautiously into the woods again. He sat down upon a log and remained as motionless as possible. Then he began to sound his call on a turkeybone, imitating the get-together notes of the wild turkey, the way Shagbark had taught him: “Keow-keow-kee-kee-keow! Keow-keow-kee-kee-keow!”

  Molly felt sure that no turkey would recognize it as a human cry. She did not have long to wait. A flock of wild turkeys came hopping and running through the woods, gobbling noisily.

  Little Turtle held his breath as he picked out a bird and took aim. Putting his arrow to the bow string, he drew it and sent it flying. Whizz! The arrow hit the biggest gobbler square in the breast. After running a few yards with drooping wings, the bird tumbled over. Out from the bushes jumped Little Turtle. He picked the bird up by the neck and swung it round. Then he brought it over to Molly.

  The rest of the flock had long since flown up into the trees and disappeared.

  “I got him!” said Little Turtle, proudly. “I won’t need the other arrows. You can carry them.”

  Molly clutched them tightly in her hand. Slowly the boy and girl walked back to the village.

  “I expect Shagbark will have my new bow and arrows ready for me today,” said Little Turtle. “He will be pleased to learn that I brought down a turkey with my first shot.” The boy looked up at Molly and smiled happily. “I shall throw this bow and those blunt arrows away,” he went on. “I shall never use them again.”

  All at once he noticed that Corn Tassel had not spoken. He looked into her face and saw how sober it was.

  “What have I done to make you feel sad, Corn Tassel?” he asked. “Shagbark says that we should do no harm and bring no sadness to anyone. He says if we can make a person happy, we should do so. If we pass a stranger in the road, we should cheer him with
a word of greeting before we pass on.”

  Molly looked down at the ground and said nothing.

  “You need not speak,” said Little Turtle. “I know what troubles you. You remember your loved ones always and you cannot forget them. In Seneca Town, I asked Chief Standing Pine to send you home to the pale-faces, but he said it was not possible. If I thought it would help any, I would speak to Chief Burning Sky.”

  “No—don’t!” begged Molly. “I knew from the first you understood my trouble. It never leaves me, no matter where I go or what I do—but just now, it is the turkey that makes me sad.”

  “What!” cried Little Turtle, holding up his prize. “You are not happy then that I have killed this fine fat gobbler? The whole village will rejoice and tell me what a fine hunter I am. You are not happy that all the people in my mother’s lodge will dip their bread in turkey gravy tomorrow?

  “It made me feel sick to see it die!” confessed Molly, in a whisper. “Oh, why did you ask me to come with you to the woods?”

  “Hoh!” cried Little Turtle, puzzled. “That I do not understand. The spirits of the animals go up to the sky. ’Tis only their bodies we kill. Indian girls—Beaver Girl, Star Flower and the others—none of them weep. Do the pale-faces, then, never kill animals for food? Is a pale-faced girl different from Indian girls that it makes her feel sick?”

  “This pale-face is different,” said Molly. “Corn Tassel can only weep to see a bird suffer pain.”

  “Weeping is weakness,” replied Little Turtle, sternly. “To be sick is weakness. To refrain from weeping is to gain in strength. Indian girls must be strong and well-hardened.”

  “But I am not an Indian girl!” Molly broke out, indignant. “I shall never be an Indian girl as long as I live!”

  Old Shagbark was working busily, as usual, surrounded by his finished handiwork—bark barrels, wooden bowls, carved pipes and ladles. In his hand he held an arrow-point of flint. With a piece of deer antler he flaked it on the palm of his hand. The two children watched him in silence.

  Soon he laid down the piece of deer antler and picked up a red willow shaft which had been smoothed with sandstone. With deer sinew he bound the arrow head fast to the shaft. Then he held it up.

  “My son,” he announced solemnly, “you may have your arrows feathered with the best eagle or hawk, feathers, whichever you prefer, and dyed whatever color you choose.”

  “Feathers are useful,” said Little Turtle, thoughtfully, “to make the arrow fly straight to the mark. But eagle feathers I do not care for, and hawk feathers are not to my liking. Could I not have turkey feathers, Grandfather?”

  “Turkey feathers?” asked Shagbark, with all the appearance of surprise and a touch of anger. “Where, then, would we get turkey feathers, may I ask?”

  “Here!” cried Little Turtle. With a proud, bold gesture, he lifted up the bird which he had killed and held it in the air.

  “Oh ho!” laughed Shagbark. “So now I see! Where did the big, fat turkey come from, may I ask?”

  With pride and delight, Little Turtle told his story and to please him, Shagbark fastened turkey feathers in their natural color to the end of first one arrow shaft, then another.

  “When your arrows fly through the air,” said Shagbark, smiling, “they will sing always the song of the wild turkey. Through the air your arrows will go singing gobble-gobble-gobble-gobble-gup!”

  Little Turtle pulled two long tail feathers from his turkey. Then he brought out his cap. “Please, Grandfather, could you not fix them in a socket on top of my cap, so that they will turn in the wind?”

  “What splendid ideas fly through this young hunters mind!” cried Shagbark, attaching the feathers as requested. When it was done, the boy put the cap on his head. “At night I will hang my feathered cap on the wall over my couch,” he exclaimed, happily, “but as soon as morning comes, I will put it on my head.”

  “Your name is no longer Little Turtle!” announced Shagbark, picking up the turkey and weighing it in his hands. “From now on, your name shall be Turkey Feather for the turkey feathers from your first turkey which you wear in your cap.”

  “My happiness would be great, Grandfather,” said the boy, “except for one thing. Corn Tassel weeps because the turkey is dead.”

  Shagbark turned to Molly, who had said no word since she came in. He drew her to one side and asked, “What lies heavy on your heart, little one?”

  Molly gulped, then spoke haltingly: “It is good for Little Turtle…to have turkey feathers on his arrows…to make them go faster. It is good for him to have turkey feathers…to wear in his cap. But…oh, why did he have to kill the turkey? Its feathers were shining so brightly even in the dark forest and it was so happy, running fast to the river to get a drink of water. It only wanted to go on living and to have a drink of water. But after the arrow hit it, its wings began flopping and it fell over and died.”

  “I see what troubles you,” said Old Shagbark, full of sympathy, “and I believe I can help you. An Indian never kills for the sake of seeing an animal die. Hunting is not a game—it is a necessity. A hunter kills only when meat is needed. Before killing, he asks permission of the animal’s spirit, telling it that its body is needed for the good of the people. To the moose or bear, the hunter says in a low voice, ‘Brother Moose. Brother Bear, I am sorry to take your life, but I need your flesh for food and your hide for clothing. It is your turn to die; some day it will be mine.’ Afterwards, when he ties the tail or a tuft of hair to the twig of a tree, he offers the spirit his thanks.

  “The wild creatures are our brothers and even the dangerous ones are not molested unless they make an attack. Little Turtle or Turkey Feather, as we shall now call him, will take the turkey to his mother. It will make a fine meal for all the members of his mother’s family.”

  Shagbark looked at Molly and still saw sadness on her face.

  “The Great Spirit has told the Senecas they may kill only enough animals for their food and clothing and no more,” said the old man. “If the children of the forest had no meat, they would die. He placed his children in the forest and he gave them the animals for their food.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Molly, unhappily, “but…but it still makes me feel sick inside.” Then she lifted her chin and cried out boldly: “It is not weakness to hate to see a cruel deed, as Little Turtle says. It is not bravery to make oneself hard and unfeeling and to close one’s eyes to suffering. It is braver far to hate the sight of another’s pain. You call the animals your brothers…and yet you deny them the right to live…The animal’s life is as dear to him as ours to us. It makes me weep to see an animal die. I will not be strong and hard like an Indian girl. I am not ashamed of my tears—I would save the animal’s life if I could…”

  Sobbing, she turned away, but Shagbark drew her back again.

  “The Senecas are the richer for having a daughter like you, Corn Tassel,” said the old man. “They have much to learn from the pale-face. Sympathy, love for our brother, is what we all most need. That you can teach us as no one else can, little one. Perhaps that is why the Great Spirit led you to come to us. Perhaps only you, in all the world, could do this for us and that is the reason that you became a captive!”

  He paused, then continued: “Hunting is a man’s work. It is not meant for women. Their tender hearts are better suited for the care of little children and for tending growing things—the corn, beans and squashes. It is man’s duty to bring in meat for food and woman’s to prepare it for eating. And now, let us see. This young hunter, who has brought a fine, fat turkey to his mothers lodge, has earned a reward. He shall have not only a quiver full of new flint-headed arrows, but a new bow as well. From now on, he shall hunt with bow and arrows fit for the best hunter in the tribe.”

  Shagbark brought out a strong, beautifully shaped, carved bow made of a hickory sapling and strung with sinew cord.

  “See if you are able to draw this bow, Turkey Feather,” he said to the boy.

 
Turkey Feather drew the bow easily. Shagbark handed him an arrow and bade him come outdoors. Pointing to a great hickory tree, he said, “Take aim at the topmost branch of that tree, but do not shoot.”

  Turkey Feather took his position and pulled the arrow back.

  “Shoot that duck as it flies across!” said Shagbark, quietly.

  Whizz! The flint-headed arrow went singing through the air and in a moment the bird dropped to the ground.

  “One of these days,” said Shagbark, solemnly, “Turkey Feather will be a great hunter.”

  “Please accept this duck for your supper, Grandfather,” said Turkey Feather, running back with the bird in his hand. “May I always be worthy of the man’s bow and arrows which you have seen fit to give me.”

  “We will go now to Chief Burning Sky’s lodge,” said Shagbark. “We will present the new hunter, Turkey Feather, to the Chief.”

  Dusk fell and evening came. The night air was cold with the fresh briskness of late autumn. Inside Chief Burning Sky’s lodge, a crowd had gathered. A bright fire burned on the hard clay ground and threw flickering lights on the upturned faces. Several women moved silently about in the shadows, bringing in loads of hemlock and pine wood which crackled and sputtered as the fire consumed it.

  Inside the door, Molly hesitated. She had not yet mixed with the people of Genesee Town. Except for the children, they were strangers to her. Perhaps they did not know that a white girl captive had been brought to the village. Then she wondered why they were so quiet. Something unusual must be about to happen. She looked over their heads. She saw Old Shagbark and Turkey Feather go into the adjoining room and speak to the Chief and his men. Then, in a moment, she forgot them entirely, for she saw something which took her completely by surprise.