Timid Hare by Mary Hazelton Wade
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Mary Hazelton Wade >> Timid Hare
When the talk was ended the men who had gathered at the council went
their way. Bent Horn's mind was made up. "My people must move to a
new camping ground," he said to himself. "We will journey to the
eastward. In that direction, the hunters say, we are likely to draw
near the feeding grounds of large herds of buffaloes. Tomorrow morning
at sunrise we must be on our way."
[Illustration: Bent Horn's mind was made up.]
The news was quickly carried from one tepee to another and the squaws
set to work with a will to prepare for moving.
When Timid Hare heard the news she thought sadly: "Shall I go farther
than ever from my dear White Mink?" The little girl had been so
frightened at the time of her capture that she was not sure in which
direction she travelled.
There was not a moment now, however, to consider herself, as Sweet
Grass and her mother kept the child helping them prepare for the
moving. The stores of grain and other dry food, the dishes and kettles
and clothing must be packed in readiness for the early start on the
morrow.
THE JOURNEY
"Awake, Timid Hare, for there is a faint light in the eastern sky. The
sun is already rising from his bed."
At these words from Sweet Grass, Timid Hare's eyes burst wide open and
she sprang from her bed. There was much to do at once, for the signal
must be given to the whole village from the home of Bent Horn.
So quickly did his squaw and young daughter work that a half-hour
afterwards the walls of the chief's tepee were flapping in the morning
breeze. Immediately afterwards the same thing happened to every other
home in the village. Next, down came the tent poles of the chief's
tepee, and then those of all the others.
Timid Hare went quickly here and there, obeying the orders of her
mistress. Ropes of skin must be brought to tie the poles into two
bundles. The little girl must help hold these bundles in place, while
Bent Horn's best pack horses were brought up and the bundles fastened
against the sides of their bodies, and at the same time allowed to drag
on the ground behind.
"Quick, Timid Hare," Sweet Grass would say, pointing now to this bundle
of bedding, and now to another of dishes or clothing. The horses were
restless and the bundles must be well-fastened to the poles before they
should be ready to start. Some of Bent Horn's dogs were also loaded in
the same way.
While Sweet Grass and her mother, with Timid Hare's help, were packing
their own stores every other woman in the village was doing the same.
In a wonderfully short time the procession was on its way, the squaws
leading the pack horses. When they started out, however, the braves
and youths, riding their favorite horses and ponies, were already far
ahead.
Timid Hare trudged bravely along beside her young mistress who led one
of the pack horses. She carried a big bundle on her back. So did
Sweet Grass and her mother. So did all the other squaws except those
who were too old and feeble.
"Let us move fast while we are fresh," Sweet Grass would say now and
then when Timid Hare began to lag. "When the day grows old, then is
the time to move like the turtle."
As they travelled along. Timid Hare passed The Stone who looked at her
with ugly eyes. The old squaw was thinking, "Had it not been for my
sending the girl that day to Sweet Grass she would now be making my
load light. Fool that I was!"
Afterwards Timid Hare and her mistress talked with The Fountain, the
pretty bride who lived near The Stone. The Fountain smiled pleasantly
at the little girl. She said, "Sometime, Timid Hare, you shall come to
see me in the new home. I may have a surprise for you."
The sun had nearly set when word came down the line: "The chief has
chosen a place for the new camp. It is beside a stream of clear water
and the tracks of buffaloes are not far distant."
Timid Hare was glad to hear the news, because her feet and back ached.
She was not strong as an Indian girl of her own age should be and she
knew it. "But I look like one," she said to herself. She was glad now
that her body was stained. She had colored it afresh of her own accord
just before the journey, for she felt she would not be jeered at by the
children of the Dahcotas so long as her hair and body were of the same
color as their own.
When the new camping ground was reached, she was very tired. "But I
must not show it," she thought. "I must be bright and cheerful." So
she moved quickly, helping to set up the tepee and get supper for the
family. But her eyelids closed the moment she lay down to rest, and
she knew nothing more till the barking of the dogs roused her the next
morning. At the same time she heard Sweet Grass and her mother talking
together.
"The Fountain was last seen when we stopped at a spring to get water in
the late afternoon," one of them was saying.
"I hope she is safe," replied the other, "and that the gray wolf was
not abroad."
Timid Hare shuddered. "Where can The Fountain be?" she wondered. "She
is so good and so pretty, I hope she is unharmed."
The very next moment a neighbor appeared in the door. "The Fountain
has just reached us," she said. "She spent the night by the spring,
and she now brings with her a baby son. He is a lusty child. May he
grow up to be a noble warrior!"
"I will go to her and give her my best wishes," declared the chief's
wife. "It is a good sign for the new home that one more is added to
our people."
Soon afterwards Timid Hare and her young mistress were also on their
way to visit the young mother. She was very happy. So was her
husband. So was her baby; at least it seemed happy to Timid Hare as
she looked at it nestling quietly in its mother's arms. The little
girl longed for it to open its eyes.
"By and by," The Fountain told her with a smile, "my son will awake.
But now he must sleep, for he finds this world a strange one, and he is
tired."
"The Great Spirit has been kind to The Fountain," said Sweet Grass as
she walked homeward with her little maid.
"How powerful He must be," declared Timid Hare thoughtfully. "Whenever
He speaks to us in the thunder and lightning I tremble with fear. But
when I looked at the little baby just now I felt His love."
THE MEDICINE MAN
The next morning Timid Hare was allowed to go once more to visit The
Fountain and her little son. The baby lay fastened into a pretty frame
the young mother had made for him. The straps were embroidered with
porcupine quills, and finished very neatly.
As Timid Hare entered the tepee, The Fountain was about to lift the
baby in his frame to her back.
"I am going to see Black Bull," she said. "He is ill. He has not been
well since before the Dog Feast."
Timid Hare at once thought of a reason for Black Bull's illness,--he
had worried much over the thought of losing his dog. But Young
Antelope had not told her that he came near losing his life and of his
terrible fright at the time.
"Has the medicine man visited Black Bull?" asked Timid Hare.
"Not yet." The Fountain shook her head sadly. "I doubt if The Stone
cares whether her son lives or dies. But I am going to see the poor
creature. Afterwards, if the medicine man has not been sought, I will
ask my husband to get his help."
The Fountain started on her errand, and Timid Hare went back to the
chief's lodge to tell her young mistress what she had learned. On the
way she passed a clump of trees beneath which she saw several people
sitting and listening to the voice of a tall man who stood before them.
He was one of the most powerful medicine men of the band.
"He must be speaking of some great mystery," thought Timid Hare. "How
noble he is! How much he must know! It may be that he is telling of
the secrets he reads in the fire."
Turning her eyes towards the listeners, she saw they were thinking
deeply of his words. They looked with wonder at the medicine man.
"Yes, he must be speaking of the secrets no one but he can discover."
[Illustration: They looked with wonder at the medicine man.]
When Timid Hare reached home she spoke of this medicine man to her
mistress. "If only he could go to Black Bull, the sickness would leave
the poor fellow," she said.
Soon afterwards Sweet Grass herself sought the medicine man. She
brought him presents of buffalo marrow, deer meat, and a juicy,
well-cooked land turtle. Then she asked his help for the deformed
youth, and he promised to go to him.
The next day word came to the chief's lodge that Black Bull had gone to
join the people of the grave. Though the medicine man had gone to him
and worked his mysteries with songs and drum beating, the Great Spirit
had not willed that he should live.
"Better so," declared Bent Horn, when the news was brought to the
lodge. "Black Bull was of no help to his people. He suffered, and was
not happy. Better so!"
"I will take his dog," Sweet Grass promised her sad little maid.
"Smoke shall be cared for, though his master has left him."
THE WINTER HUNT
The new home proved to be a good one. Each time the hunters went forth
they returned with a load of game. The squaws were kept busy drying
buffalo and bear meat, packing away the marrow and cleaning the bones
and skins. Every part of the animals was put to some use.
The days of the long, cold winter were at hand, and all must work
busily. Timid Hare had much to do, but sometimes she was allowed to
play outside of the tepee with other children; they were kinder to her
now that she lived in the chief's home. She had plenty to eat, and
Sweet Grass and her mother treated her well, but she longed for
something that was lacking here but was freely given in the old home:
it was love.
The snow fell thick and fast. It covered the prairie for miles in
every direction. In some places it was deeper than Timid Hare was
tall. A thick crust formed over the top.
Young Antelope set to work to make himself new snowshoes. As he bent
the hoops for the frames and crossed them with networks of leather
strings. Timid Hare looked on with longing. She had had snowshoes of
her own before, and she had enjoyed skimming over the snow fields on
them, but they were far away--very far away.
"I will help you make some shoes," Young Antelope told her, when he
caught the look. "You can do the easy part, and I will do the hard."
Timid Hare was pleased because Young Antelope did not notice her very
often. The snowshoes were soon made and the little girl longed to try
them.
The very next day Young Antelope went out with the men on a winter
hunt. There were large stores of meat in the village, but the cold was
bitter and more warm buffalo robes were needed for beds and coverlets.
Moreover, at this time of the year the fur of the animals was heaviest.
"It will be easy to get our prey," Bent Horn said to his son the night
before the hunt. "There is little snow on the south slopes of the
hills, where the buffaloes will be feeding. We can take them by
surprise and drive them down into the ice-crusted fields. They are so
heavy that their feet will fall through. Then the hunter can draw near
on his swift snowshoes, and will pierce the heart of his prey with his
spear without trouble."
"I will be such a hunter on the morrow," the youth had replied. "My
spear is already sharpened. It shall bring death to more than one of
the creatures that provide us with comfort through the moon of
difficulty," as he had been taught to call the month of January.
As Young Antelope skimmed along over the snow fields next morning, he
thought more than once of the little captive at home.
"She behaves well," he said to himself, "and she will be a good
homekeeper when she is older. It may be--it may be--that I will yet
choose her for my wife."
Young Antelope was only sixteen years old, but he was already thinking
of getting married! It was the way of his people. The girls married
even younger than the boys--sometimes when only twelve or thirteen
years had passed over their heads. It was therefore not strange that
the chief's son should be considering what wife he would choose.
With many of the braves away on the hunt, the village was quiet, and
the squaws took a little vacation from their work, as on the morrow
they must be very busy caring for the supplies brought home by the
hunters.
In the afternoon Sweet Grass said kindly: "Timid Hare, you have been a
good girl and worked hard of late. You may have the rest of the day
for play. Try your new snowshoes, if you like."
The rest of the day--two whole hours before sunset! It seemed too good
to be true. Never had such a thing happened to the child since she
left the home of the Mandans.
Without wasting a moment, Timid Hare got the snowshoes and left the
tepee. For a moment she looked about her to see if any other little
girl would like to join her in a skim over the fields. But all seemed
busy at their games, and even now she was not enough at home with any
one of them to ask them to leave their own play and go off with her, a
captive.
So, binding on the shoes, she started off alone. What fun it was to
move so fast and so smoothly! How clear was the air! How delightful
it was to feel the blood rushing freely through every part of her body!
Her cheeks tingled pleasantly; her heart beat with joy.
Mile after mile the child darted on in the opposite direction from that
taken by the hunters in the morning. So happy, so free felt the child
that she forgot how far she was travelling. Sometimes there were
little rolls in the land. She would get up her speed as she approached
them, so as to have force enough to reach the summit of a roll with
ease. And then what fun it was to travel like the wind down the other
side!
On, on, on! and then suddenly, Timid Hare came to herself. Where was
the village? In what direction? Could she not see smoke rising
somewhere behind her, telling of the fires burning in the homes of the
people?
There was nothing, nothing, to guide her back--only some fields
apparently untrodden in every direction. So light was the little
girl's body that her shoes had rarely pressed through the crust. The
short winter day was near its end. A bank of clouds was gathering
about the setting sun, they told of an approaching storm; so also spoke
the chill wind that blew in the child's face.
Fright clutched at Timid Hare's heart. She thought of the power of the
storm-king. Here, in the snowy wilderness, it seemed that she must
perish. Was there no one to turn to in this time of danger? Yes.
"Help me, Great Spirit," cried the child, lifting her hands towards the
sky where she believed He dwelt.
With that cry came a feeling that somehow her prayer would be answered.
And at the same time Timid Hare remembered the little sock which she
always carried in her bosom. She pressed a hand against the place
where it should rest. Yes, it was safe.
"White Mink had faith in it. So will I," Timid Hare said to herself.
Many a time during the hard days with The Stone, she had repeated the
same words. It had always helped her to do so.
And now she turned in the direction she hoped was the village of the
Dahcotas, but her feet felt numb. It was hard to travel. Hark! what
was that? It seemed as though men's voices could be heard shouting to
each other in the distance. They came nearer. Could it be that Sweet
Grass had sent some of the village boys out after her?
Nearer! Nearer! Timid Hare stood still, listening. If they would
only hurry! She suddenly felt drowsy--the snow-chill was benumbing her
whole body, and somehow she no longer cared whether she was found or
not. She tottered, fell.
The next thing she knew, she was lying in the arms of a man with kind
blue eyes. He was smiling at her, and he was white! Another man,
white like himself, was rubbing her arms and legs.
"All right now," the first man was saying to the other. "Poor little
thing! How did she ever get out here? That Dahcota village is a good
dozen miles from here, and the child's moccasins tell that she is of
that tribe."
"We must waste no time in getting farther away from them ourselves,"
replied the other. "Little time would be wasted in taking our scalps
if they caught us alone."
"But we can't leave this helpless creature," said the first speaker.
"Do you know, Ben, she must be about the age of my own little daughter
if--" The man's voice broke suddenly.
"Poor fellow--yes, I understand. You never will get over that blow.
But, really, Tom, we must not stay here. The savages may be upon us
any moment. Here, use this. It may bring her to."
The speaker held out a bottle of cordial which the man who held Timid
Hare held to her lips. She tried to swallow, but it choked her.
"There," she said with a gasp, "it is enough," and she lifted herself
up.
"Good," said both men, who knew a little of the Indian tongue.
"Oh, but my shoe!" cried the little girl in fright. It had slipped a
little from its usual resting place, and she now missed it. In spite
of being alone on the snow-covered prairie, with two strangers, her
first thought was of the little talisman White Mink had given into her
keeping. Oh! she could feel it pressing against her waist, and she
gave a happy sigh.
In the meantime, the men had decided that it would be best to take the
child to their camp. The rest could be settled afterwards.
"Can you trust yourself to your snowshoes again?" the man whom his
friend called Tom asked her gently.
She nodded, and with the help of one of her companions, they were bound
on her feet. A biscuit was now given her--she had never tasted its
like before--and she ate greedily. This was followed by another
swallow of the cordial, and the little girl was ready for the start.
Many miles were before her, but the men often took hold of her hands to
give her fresh courage. Besides, she was greatly excited. What was
coming? Were these strangers bringing her back to the village of the
Dahcotas, or guiding her to something far different? From time to time
one of the men struck a match--such a wonderful thing it seemed to
Timid Hare--and looked at a tiny instrument he carried in his pocket.
It seemed to tell him if they were travelling in the right direction.
"How wise," thought Timid Hare, "the white people must be! Perhaps
they are as wise as the medicine men!"
And she--why, she was of their own race, though her stained skin did
not show it! At the thought, she lifted her hand to her side. Yes,
her treasure was safe!
When it seemed to the child as if she could not move her feet longer, a
faint light shone out in the distance. The camp of the white men would
soon be reached.
When the travellers at last arrived at the journey's end there was
great excitement among the men who were anxiously watching for the
return of their two companions. They had feared that their friends had
lost their way and been overcome by cold; or more probable, that they
had been killed or captured by the Indians. They were in the Dahcota
country,--this they knew; also that these Dahcotas were fierce warriors
and hated the white men.
How surprised they were to see what they thought was an Indian child
with their companions! How did it happen? What was to be done with
her?
But now, as Timid Hare almost fell to the floor of the warm, brightly
lighted tent, all saw that she was quite exhausted. She must be fed,
and afterwards sleep. There would be time enough to question her next
morning.
Hot soup was brought, and never, it seemed, had anything ever tasted so
delicious to Timid Hare. And the heat of the burning logs--how
pleasant it was! Timid Hare was too tired to be afraid, or even to
think, and even as she ate, she fell sound asleep.
She awoke next morning with her hand clutching the place where the sock
lay hidden, and saw a kind face bending over her. It belonged to the
same man who had held her when she roused from the snow-chill.
"What is it?" he asked gently. He pointed to her hand.
"It is--my charm. It is to bring me good."
"May I see it?" The man's voice was so kind that it filled Timid Hare
with perfect trust.
"You will--help me?" The child's eyes were full of pleading.
"Yes, little one."
Slowly Timid Hare drew forth the sock. It was faded and soiled, yet
the pattern in which the silk had been woven into the worsted was quite
plain.
"How did--Why, tell me at once how you got this." The man's voice was
half stern, half pleading.
"It was--so." With this beginning Timid Hare repeated the story as
White Mink had told it to her. Many a time she had since told it to
herself during her hard life with The Stone. It was such a strange
story--so full of wonder to her still. The wonder of it was in her
voice even now.
The man listened with half-closed eyes, but saying never a word till
she finished. Then, as in a dream, he said in a low tone: "It is my
baby's sock--the pattern is one planned by my dear wife Alice who died
out on this lonely prairie. And then--the sudden attack of the
Dahcotas--and I made prisoner, while my baby Alice was left behind to
perish. Afterwards I was rescued, though I cared little to live."
"But child, child," he burst out, "though your eyes have the same
color, the same expression as those of my dear wife, your skin is that
of the red people."
"I stained it--The Stone made me--and when I saw Sweet Grass liked me
best so, I put on the color again and yet again."
"God be praised! I have found my darling who, I thought, was lost
forever." The man lifted Timid Hare and clasped her tenderly in his
arms. And she--well, the little girl rested there content and happy.
The next minute the rest of the party who had been out exploring,
entered the tent with word that the start must be made at once. The
clouds of the night before had lifted; the snow might not begin falling
for several hours, and the most must be made of the morning towards
reaching a larger camp where sledges would carry them a long ways
towards a fur station.
Great was the joy of the others when they learned the good fortune that
had come to their friend, and merry was the whole party as it made its
way onward. Yes, Timid Hare, or rather Alice, now more like the Swift
Fawn she had been, was merry too. But as she went on her way to the
new and beautiful life that would soon be hers, she begged her father
to take her back by-and-by for a visit to her foster-parents and Big
Moose in the Mandan village on the river. And he promised gladly.