The damp and humid air lured even the sun to rest lazily on dawn's horizon as the night rain hung in misty vapors, steamed up from the warm, moist earth. Sequannah perched in the crook of a knarled oak, half daydreaming and half following the routines of his father. Petawahin finished packing the food and weapons and hid their camp sign. He caught the boy's attention, then grunted his intention to leave. Two small sparrows appeared in the branches close to the boy's face, chirped alarmedly at him, then flew in tight circles just above his head. Sequannah scanned fruitlessly for the nest they would defend, then swung down beside his father.
"What does my young scout find this morning?" mused the seasoned warrior.
"Only a couple of sparrows," Sequannah answered meekly.
"Did you notice the sun move higher in the sky than we wished it to be when we leave?" Petawahin chided. Sequannah stared blankly towards the musty, wet buffalo robe at his feet.
"Know what others can see as well as yourself. Many will depend on you for their survival," Petawahin warned. "Carry the food and those buffalo robes today. You need to make yourself stronger."
"I will grow strong carrying meat back to the clan," Sequannah said confidently. Petawahin glanced sternly at him. Their hunting plans did not include large game on this trip, and arrogance was not tolerated until after a successful hunt. Sequannah's expression showed a sudden realization of his lack of humility, but his father became distracted.
Petawahin held a hand over his mouth to signify silence. He leaned an ear to the west. Sequannah noticed a faint buzzing, then silence. Petawahin appeared uneasy with the sound of cicadas at dawn. The air would become that of a sweat lodge.
"You will have to be stronger than me," Petawahin warned. "There are more Paccu tracks around here every year. During the coyote moon, there were more new stories about the Snake people than old ones. From what the other clans say, they have come back, and the words that have filled our tepees in the coyote moon...words older than the grandfathers' grandfathers, are true."
"Do you think the Paccus will be friendly?" Sequannah worried. "Or are they with the Snake people?" During the winter gathering, many horrifying stories had been circulating through the southern villages. The Snake people were not new. The old legends were laced with tales of a vicious people and their strange snakes. But they were thought to have disappeared long ago. And many thought they were just stories, created to pass the time in the dead of winter, when the people huddled in wickiups, and coyotes cried their hunger to the moon.
"We will not know that until they know we are here, that we claim this to be ours when we come here each summer...and this they shall know soon," Petawahin stated. "This we must show them, but first we must find out what kind of people they are before we decide how to show them."
"How do you know the Paccus do not already know we are here?" Sequannah asked.
"If you hid your tracks well, you would not have to ask. But I hid them for you. It is late to worry now. No one has seen any of their tracks around the camp, only out here beyond the lake. They do not hide their moccasin sign, so they must not know we are here," said Petawahin. "We'll scout the small ponds and see if we can find some geese to hunt."
Sequannah and Petawahin moved cautiously ahead, well beyond the lake where the band had been staying for nearly a moon. Although the Minnecou had only frequented this area for a few summers, they considered it their territory to use as they pleased. Contact with other tribes this far north was rare for the Minnecou, and establishing territory was accomplished simply by returning each year. Further south, most of the lands had been established for countless generations, and the only way of acquiring more territory would be through invitation or by routing a tribe out of its own domain. The Minnecou, though, had always preferred to summer well north and into the vast unclaimed areas of the plains, tundra, and up to the foothills of the Dark Mountains. Like the many other Minnecou clans, they lived by the trails and roamed the vast prairies to the north and west. During the winter months, they would return from their journeys and have great reunions with those clans called relative to the Minnecou who lived in the permanent villages in the south.
Most of these had been established farming communities for generations that provided fruits and vegetables to sustain the entire Minnecou tribe throughout the winter. In return, clans like the one Sequannah and Petawahin belonged to would bring in supplies of pemmican from bison, antelope, and elk; furs and hides for tanning and trading, flint and anything else of value they could manage to bring back with them. Petawahin was teaching Sequannah how to hunt geese so they would have meat to smoke and cache for the clan's journey back from their northernmost hunting areas.
As they approached the first in a series of small ponds, Petawahin motioned for Sequannah to stay low. Geese take flight if they sense any immediate danger, and like any other animal, they are much more difficult to hunt if they see you first.
"It is best to crawl," whispered Petawahin. "Until we reach those rushes, we will be in full view."
Sequannah crouched down low and carried his decoy carefully so that it slipped silently through the unyielding brush. He enjoyed hunting with his father more than anything else, but spent many more of his days fishing with his grandfather. He liked the fishing and Kwoita's stories, but fishing required no long journeys or tracking or sleeping outside of the lodge. Petawahin spent more time scouting and on the trail than in the Minnecou camps, and the times when he was with the clan, Sequannah most often lingered around the council lodge waiting for him to finish his long meetings with the chief and the Washan. But Petawahin knew the animals, their secrets, and the skills needed to find their trails and ambush them. Although his father had gained most of his knowledge from other elders in the band, Sequannah was certain it was all of his own design.
The two hunters crawled silently, yet skillfully through the rushes. They waited patiently for gentle breezes. The rustling wind obscured the movement of reeds and the crunching of dead leaves and straw. During the still moments, they planned their silent maneuvers.
Midway through the bulrushes, they reached a marshy area and kneaded their way through the warm, soft muck. Still, their pace quickened as it was much less noisy than stepping on dry leaves. Close to the open water, they submerged in the warm pools of the marsh and placed the decoys over their heads. They were made in the old way: from gourds that had been dried in the sun, then cut, shaped, and sewn together in the common shape of waterfowl. Their tawny color seemed to contrast sharply with the colors of real birds. Instead, they aroused the curiosity of ducks and geese that would swim close by to get a look at the new creatures.
Two slots located above the water line allowed the hunters to breathe and find their way around. They carried their spears submerged for when the geese would not swim close enough. But most often, when their quarry was lured in, the hunters would reach out and grab the duck or goose's feet, yanking it underwater quickly so that there would be no time for the bird to honk out a warning. They would then throttle the bird and tie the legs to their breechclouts with rawhide.
The two hunters moved slowly, grabbing onto strands of weeds to pull themselves through the mire until they reached the open water. Here, they scanned the area to see if they could find the geese once again. Sequannah spotted them off to the right in a small cove. About thirty birds floated aimlessly around, occasionally diving or honking.
Petawahin signaled to move in closer. They tread on their knees through the muck and wilted rushes lying on the pond bottom until only a patch of water lilies stood between them and the geese. Petawahin grabbed Sequannah's arm and whispered to him, "Face to the left of the geese and keep them out of your view. I will circle slowly around you and draw their attention to us."
Petawahin moved cautiously around his son, always facing him and glancing through the slots at a small group of curious ganders slowly approaching the edge of the lily pads. Petawahin kept circling as one of the boldest ganders advanced close to the two hunters. Suddenly the gander swerved and all of the geese swam rapidly away. Even the ones in the cove began to paddle down the shoreline. Petawahin sensed something was wrong and whispered to Sequannah, "Quick, move back into the rushes."
The two hunters maneuvered themselves into the tangled weeds, removed their decoys, and waited. They heard the sound of voices and then laughter. Moments later, a man and woman came into view.
The surface of the pond was thick with the green seed of pickerel weed, yet the young couple quickly tossed off their deer hide clothing and dove into the open area of water. The surface was warm, but beneath this deceiving layer the temperature rapidly chilled. They knew just where to find the spring that fed this small pond. The ascension from the icy depths back towards the warm layers near the surface provided just the relief they sought on hot summer days. The two young Paccus reappeared and posed like frogs surveying the surrounding flora for dangers, but they did this more as a game than because they sensed they were in any real danger.
After a short time of stifled laughter and affectionate splashing, they waded back out onto the grassy banks that made up the western shore of the pond and lay down on their clothing. Here they became involved in a more serious romantic encounter.
On the other side of the pond, Sequannah tried desperately to get a better view, but the breezes kept blowing the rushes back and forth in front of him. He heard a muffled snort behind him and turned to see Petawahin with both hands over his mouth, trembling with laughter. Sequannah's ears burned red as he realized that his father had been watching his desperation. Then a refrain of unusually loud grunting and moaning reverberated from the far side of the pond. Petawahin and Sequannah looked at each other and both Minnecous had to dunk their heads underwater to keep their laughter from being heard. The raucous grunting slowly climbed a torturous peak, then they fell apart from each other in a tumble of exhausted sighs. A movement in the bushes some distance behind them caught Sequannah's attention. An angry boar grizzly raised up on his hind legs, towering over the surrounding brush and sniffing in every direction.
"Run! Grizzly! Run!" Sequannah screamed.
Petawahin missed Sequannah's breechclout in a futile attempt to keep the boy down. The seasoned warrior followed the boy into the water, his jaw clenched in anger at Sequannah's foolishness. He clutched his spear with one hand and slashed away at the reeds with his chert knife. The young Paccu on the other side of the pond sent the woman scrambling through the bushes while he stood defiantly with his spear against what he perceived to be two enemies on the attack. Rushing suddenly into the water at the two Minnecou, he charged no more than a few paces when he realized they were not attacking, but trying to warn him. The Paccu turned slightly and glimpsed the oncoming blur just in time to dive quickly under the water before the grizzly reached the pond's edge. He swam until he could hold his breath no longer and burst up within a couple of lengths of the Minnecou clansmen.
The summer-fattened bear advanced rapidly through the churned water towards the three warriors. Petawahin signaled to split up, and the Paccu struggled in the opposite direction of the two Minnecou. The grizzly chose to follow the Paccu. Immediately, Petawahin turned and took pursuit on the grizzly. The water felt thick as he ran hip-deep trying desperately to catch up with the bear. Once within striking distance, he lunged with his spear at the grizzly's ribs, praying to hit a vital organ. The bear howled ferociously and turned on his unseen assailant. At that moment Sequannah forced all of his strength into his spear-throwing arm, and caught the silver-haired beast in the throat. The Paccu turned back, poking at the grizzly's face with his spear to keep him at a distance.
Though the heavy bear began to founder in the muddy water, he was still extremely dangerous. Soaking wet, hair bristled fury on his neck and down along his spine. He lashed out repeatedly at the Paccu warrior, narrowly missing with his deadly swipes. Petawahin attacked the bear from behind once again, this time with his knife. He latched onto the bear's neck, his arm locked under the snout, and repeatedly stabbed into the chest and throat. Sequannah yanked out his spear and maneuvered for another thrust. The enraged grizzly shook Petawahin off, raking deadly claws over his back, and in the same motion, lunged at Petawahin, and bit into the soft flesh of his side.
Sequannah and the Paccu warrior immediately attacked the raging bear, Sequannah stabbing violently with the spear he had retrieved, and the Paccu jabbing at any part of the bear within reach. The grizzly became confused and let go of Petawahin. Bleeding and dazed by the onslaught, water-laced lungs stifled his screams as the beast finally let him surface. Sequannah hooked his father's arm and dragged him towards the water's edge. The Paccu backed away in the same direction. The bear snarled ferociously, a bloody froth ringing his mouth, but he was exhausted and severely injured.
The Paccu helped Sequannah drag his father up the bank on the west side of the pond, while the grizzly howled, grunted and twisted in the water, slowly advancing towards the level shoreline to the left of them. Petawahin, still pale from the shock of close combat with a grizzly, sputtered, choked and forced his speech at Sequannah and the Paccu.
"Keep him in the water; throw spears, stones or anything you can find. He'll be much quicker on land if he's not injured enough, and there's a lot of meat to be lost for the fighting we've done."
Sequannah grabbed a tuft of grass and handed it to his father to press onto his bleeding wound. He then scrambled frantically, searching for stones and anything else that could be used as a weapon. He tried to make the Paccu understand, but the bear was getting too close to the shoreline. Sequannah strained with the heaviest rock he could lift and heaved it at the bear, missing him by a full length. The bear diverted some, but paddled furiously to get out of the water where he could easily outrun a human.
The Paccu warrior picked up a couple of jagged, fist-sized rocks and hurled them with deadly accuracy, hitting the bear directly in the eye with one. The stunned beast foundered and slipped under the surface of the water, only to reappear a short distance away, even closer to the shore. Petawahin stepped in between them, heaving a huge boulder onto the base of the grizzly's skull, and the bear slipped underwater for a second time. Air bubbles burst through the churned surface.
The three of them waited intently for the raging grizzly to reappear, but its lungs had filled with water and the carcass had sunk to the murky bottom. Petawahin tore off a piece of his breechclout and tied it over the grass he had pressed onto the wound at his side. Sequannah was relieved to see that his father was not mortally wounded.
"Sequannah," Petawahin admitted proudly, "You were as brave as a true warrior. As much if not more than the Paccu. The People shall know of this when we return. Everyone will be proud to have you in their camp for your first deeds as a warrior, though they may be upset that your actions have caused the Paccus to be aware of us."
"I did not know what I was doing," Sequannah said modestly. "I saw the bear and warned the Paccus, and when the bear came after us, I just tried to keep him from killing us. I only did what you told me to do."
"Or so you thought I told you," countered Petawahin. "I did not want you to go after the bear again after we had split up with the Paccu, but I am thankful that you did because you saved my life. I am proud of a son who is brave enough to stand against an angry grizzly in order to save another's life. Facing a grizzly is the same as standing up to an enemy warrior, and you will be honored and respected as such from this day forth."
The young Paccu warrior was poking around with his spear in the mud-churned water when he called out to the two Minnecou announcing that he had found the sunken carcass. Although neither Petawahin nor Sequannah understood his language, they both waded into the water to help retrieve the beast. The huge grizzly was moved with relative ease through the water, but had to be rolled once they got it close to shore.
The three warriors butchered the carcass into quarters, blood streaming down their arms. Normally, they would have sliced off long strips of choice meat to eat while they worked, but bear meat had to be cooked before it could be eaten. Sequannah scraped the excess meat off the hide and Petawahin went to retrieve their sleeping bundles, while the young Paccu made two small travois for hauling the heavy slabs of meat. As they set the meat on the travois, the Paccu motioned for them to put one quarter on one of the travois and the remaining three on the other. Then he picked up the travois with the lightest load, put the yoke around his shoulders, and began to drag it off towards the west.
Petawahin motioned for him to stop. He was pleased at the amount of meat the Paccu was willing to give to them, but there was too much to carry back to the Minnecou encampment.
"We have a long way to go," said Petawahin. "We cannot carry all this meat that far. It will go bad."
The Paccu did not understand. Petawahin and Sequannah rolled one of the quarters off their travois and put it on the Paccu's. He looked disappointed, but tugged against the yoke, and grunted and strained his way up the grassy bank, out unto the scrub. Petawahin could not tell if the Paccu's disappointment was because he truly felt that the Minnecou deserved a larger share, or if he just didn't want to carry such a large load himself.
Petawahin tried the yoke over his neck and shoulders and began to pull the heavy load. "The Paccus do know how to make a good travois," he admitted to Sequannah. But his injuries could not withstand the constant jarring and chafing, and he was forced to take turns with Sequannah. Sequannah was not much help either, for he could only drag the travois at a very slow pace for short distances. After that, he was totally exhausted, having dragged three times his weight over a coarse, bush-laden terrain. They hadn't gone very far when Petawahin decided it would be better to carry the meat suspended from two stout poles than to drag the heavy load over the bumpy ground, jarring his raw and aching side the whole time.
"Sequannah," Petawahin said, nearly out of breath, "Grab your spear from the travois and guard the meat. Stay hidden in the bushes. Keep the buzzards and coyotes away from the meat. But if the Paccus should try to follow or a pack of wolves should appear, I'll be down in the valley next to the stream where those trees are in the distance. Move quickly and find me, but signal so I will know that it is you. I'm going to get a couple of strong poles from those trees. These are too heavy for carrying," he said, pointing at the travois.
Sequannah picked up his spear and bow and blended into the brush.
"And remember to think first before you act," Petawahin added. "We could both be dead right now if our Creator didn't see fit to help us. Your actions caused us to be known to the Paccus. Keep your mind on the people and your family, Sequannah. Doing a good deed for strangers does not mean that they would do the same for us...or even that they would not still see us as enemy."
Petawahin moved swiftly through the bush country, fully aware of the perilous position in which he had left his son. The earth became gravelly, though the brush remained thick. Thoughts of being known to the Paccus distracted him, and the trying terrain demanded all of his attention.
Petawahin crossed a stretch of horsetails before reaching the stream. He remembered chewing on the young shoots as a child. He thought to himself how tough and tasteless they are at this time of the year. Moments later, the stream sparkled before him. A catbird whined from among the reeds; red-winged blackbirds trilled like burning logs, screaming in the flames. The morning sun slowly climbed the sky.
Petawahin shimmied a slender alder until his weight caused the tree to bow. He rode the sapling to the ground and forced down on it, causing it to snap just above the base. By walking the end around in circles, he twisted the tree off its unyielding trunk. He repeated his efforts and doubled back towards Sequannah with two lightweight but durable carrying poles.
Sequannah sat sweltering in the hot summer sun. Crouched in a swath of sweetgrass, he was completely surrounded in an impenetrable barrier of brush and thicket. His bow at the ready and his spear at his side, he slowly maneuvered himself to a standing position so that he could barely see over the tops of the surrounding brush. As he surveyed the area for danger and felt increasingly secure, he began to relax.
He absorbed the blend of grasses and brush, and the enchanting specters of cedar and juniper that stood sentinel over the graceful knolls, then thickened into forest in the lower reaches of the vales. The pinkish hue of clover tinted the grassy meadows in the distance. Sequannah heard a hawk screaming somewhere in the clouds and craned his neck to scan the hazy white skies in search of the winged hunter. He focused near a sun-brightened cloud and gazed at the slowly soaring bird for quite some time before he noticed another hawk circling to the east of the first, and still another further away. A sudden feeling of irritation or fear crept into him as he watched the distant birds; he couldn't tell which. A slight humming off to his right distracted him as it became increasingly louder and seemed to be moving in his direction. The humming gradually turned into the distinct sound of voices, steadily approaching.
Sequannah tensed and slowly crouched, cringing as each branch clung to him, then sprang back with a stifled swish. As the voices became clearer, he thought he heard a few words of Minnecou. Then he recognized the voices of Mahkawan and Tamahna, the two Wolf warriors. He heard them talking about the Paccus. Suddenly, a crash in the thickets behind him--Sequannah froze. But no further sounds came from that direction. He heard the voices of the two Minnecou gradually fade away, but he dared not move; something began to rustle in the brush far in back of him. Although he didn't see the two Minnecou, he sensed the location of their trail. But he didn't know whether he should run to them for protection and to warn them, or if he should just stay where he was and avoid being detected by whatever was in the brush behind him.
The Paccu warriors could be trailing them on a parallel course, trying to ambush or follow them to the Minnecou encampment. Sequannah crept through the thick grass and thickets, painfully aware that any movement of the dense brush could result in an attack against him or the Wolf brothers. His knees knotted in the sharp pain jagged stones pressing into his skin, but he knew he had to keep moving and catch up with the Wolf brothers. He discovered what appeared to be a freshly traveled path and followed in pursuit of the two Minnecou. Their trail led east for a short distance, then arced to the left. He crouched down lower as he realized he was steadily circling back towards his initial starting point. Soon, he detected the faint scent of the grizzly's carcass. He snaked his way through the brambles and thickets, moving elbow over elbow to get even closer. Broken twigs and ruffled grass told him that the two Minnecou had to have come this way. Peering through the bushes, he caught a glimpse of the bloody carcass. A fierce looking warrior with mud caked on his face squatted next to the meat, peering in his direction. Sequannah lowered his head slowly to avoid being detected.
He waited for quite some time before daring to lift his head again, only to find that the warrior had disappeared. He had heard nothing and knew his enemy was close by. The strange looking warrior must have seen him. He set tense and motionless as a hare.
Something crawled unto his foot. Sequannah dared not move--he knew he was being watched. The insect crawled up his leg and down to his foot again, then stopped. A steady piercing pricked into the soft part of his sole. The pressure increased until he realized that no insect could possess that kind of strength. He leapt forward and glanced back before breaking into a full sprint. Then he saw his father lying down with a stiff piece of straw hanging out of his mouth. Here lay the perpetrator of this cruel prank, smiling mischievously at his cunning.
"This is no time for tricks. There was a strange warrior near our meat," whispered Sequannah. "Tamahna and Mahkawan are not far away if we need help," he assessed the situation.
"We'd better go after the warrior," Petawahin became serious. "If we go after the Wolf brothers, he'll surely escape and probably steal our meat.
Petawahin grabbed his sapling pole and elbowed his way towards the fly-ridden carcass. Sequannah followed closely behind, keeping an eye out for what his father might miss. They crawled up to within a few lengths of the carcass but remained hidden in the dense underbrush. After a short time, Sequannah crawled up alongside his father.
"Do you think he's still around?" Sequannah whispered.
"Umm," answered the boy's father, "Still here."
"I don't see or hear anything," Sequannah countered after a long silence. "How do you know he's still here?"
"Would you recognize him if you saw him?" Petawahin asked.
Sequannah shivered at the thought that this man could be within their midst, and yet he still didn't have a clue as to where he was. "I think so," murmured Sequannah.
"Then why did you follow him all the way over here on your elbows just to look at a dead bear?" mused Petawahin, suddenly bursting into laughter.
"Why did you do that?" asked Sequannah, angry, yet in awe of his father's skills.
"To demonstrate what is possible for you to do with a little practice. A young warrior knows little, and it was easy for me to guess what you would do," Petawahin grinned. "Should we go find Mahkawan and Tamahna to help with the load?" Petawahin joked.
Sequannah, suddenly realizing that his father had imitated the wolf brothers, looked up and grinned, shaking his head in disbelief.
"But what made the big noise behind me when you were imitating the Wolf brothers?"
"Sequannah," Petawahin questioned, "How many carrying poles do I have with me?"
"One," answered the boy.
"And how many did I say I was getting?" Petawahin continued.
"Two?" Sequannah asked, though he knew he was correct.
Petawahin fell into a fit of laughter once again, so proud was he of outwitting his son in this manner. He knew Sequannah would learn these tricks simply because the boy was now aware that they were possible and very effective.
Petawahin removed the strip of hide from his side and replaced the tuft of grass with a mat of coarse and stringy willow bark to ease the pain and stanch the wound. Luckily, the grizzly didn't have enough time to tear the flesh away before Sequannah and the Paccu had attacked and confused him again. Petawahin had Sequannah rub some of the moist stringy bark into the deep scrapes across his back. Only one of the scrapes was serious, but the others were just as painful with his sweat soaking into them. He now regretted not swimming in the stream to cleanse them.
Petawahin found some tough vines to lash the meat to the two poles. Sequannah tied them together in a manner that would not allow them to separate by more than the width of his shoulders. Many of the hunters would return to the camp with their loads tied in this manner so they could allow their arms to remain free.
"I see others tie their poles like this," Sequannah announced proudly.
"How many had grizzly meat tied to theirs?" his father smiled.
Petawahin stood up and signaled to move. Sequannah picked up his spear and his father placed the heavy load on the boy's bony shoulders. Sequannah dropped the spear and grasped the two poles as his shoulders began to droop.
"It's not easy killing a bear, is it Sequannah? Their ways are simpler. They just eat what they want and bury the rest for later. But we don't eat that much, so we have to take it with us, just like the ants do, to feed everyone or the meat will be wasted." Petawahin picked up the back end of the load and pressed on in a different direction then they had been traveling. "Big ants," he laughed.
"We'll change direction so no one can follow. You can't hide your trail using that thing," Petawahin said contemptuously.
Although the load wasn't very heavy for Petawahin, the boy appeared uncomfortably awkward with it. Sequannah's shoulders were numb and his arms throbbed from holding them up to keep a grip. Finally, he let go and was astonished to find that the load was no longer such a burden once his arms were rested. His shoulders no longer shrank from the pain.
They carried the meat down to the stream where his father had gotten the poles, and cast off their heavy load. Petawahin jumped into the icy water, finally relieving his stinging back. He washed off the traces of mud still clinging to the long black hair pushed back behind his ears, and floated on his back in the cool brook. Sequannah hadn't even noticed that his father's hair was unbraided. Petawahin always wore his hair in two braids when he was on the trail; he only let his hair down within the encampment. Sequannah dropped into a pool, drifting with the slow current, and Petawahin thought to himself that the boy was probably in as much pain as he was, carrying such a heavy load on his small bony shoulders. Petawahin had calluses there from years of hunting.
Sequannah basked in the emerald reflections shimmering over the pool. Water shield hovered on the surface of the lazy current and arrowhead dotted the edges of the bank with pointed leaves and pure white flowers. The bank was covered with ferns, some still unfurling from their fetal beginnings. And, though further away, the boy could smell the pungent, wild amaranth as it misted its aroma through the sparkling pool. As he drifted downstream with the current, he spotted some small reddish-purple juneberries, but none had ripened to a bright blue quite yet; there was little sunlight penetrating the thick canopy overhead.
Petawahin watched the young warrior from a pool upstream and let him rest a while longer. These types of experiences would give the boy something to work for and defend, rather than to let the boy think he should toil and battle just for the sake of honor.
Later, Petawahin was still reluctant to push the boy back on the trail, but there was no time to waste. Sequannah, though, felt prepared to face the prospect of hauling the meat until long after sunset. When Petawahin placed the poles back on his shoulders, however, he was disappointed to find that the pain was just as bad as it was the first time, but he knew that eventually his body would adjust.
Petawahin was truly proud of his son. After they had put the first half of the journey behind them, he marveled at Sequannah and the children of the clan. What would seem nearly impossible for them to accomplish, they would undertake without so much as a whimper. If only he could get them to treat the minor irritations in life with the same attitude. But, then they would be better than the adults.
"Will we make it back to the camp today?" Sequannah asked weakly.
"I'm amazed we made it this far so soon," Petawahin said proudly. "But we are still only half way back and there is not much daylight left. If you can still go on, it will be that much less we will have to travel tomorrow, but it may be better to rest now."
"I want to go on," said Sequannah. "We can bring this meat when everyone is dancing around the fire and they will make a celebration for us right then."
Many hunters would go on so that they could walk in on the twilight songs and dances and bring honor to the clan. They would gladly suffer overwhelming difficulties in order to walk into such a reception. Petawahin had done this many times himself and could not bring himself to deny the same satisfaction to his son. They grunted and sweated and stumbled their way through the dense brush and forest, Sequannah forging ahead with amazing determination and Petawahin keenly alert to the dangers on the trail.
As the sun drew closer to the western horizon, though, Sequannah began to stumble more frequently. He tried desperately to move ahead, but his body was stooped and he was losing his footing; his strength was giving out. Every rise seemed to steal his breath and sap more of his strength. He thought that maybe with a little rest, he would recover his strength and be able to finally make it back into camp that night.
"Father," Sequannah sighed exhaustedly, "I have to stop for a little while to catch my breath. Then I think I can go the rest of the way."
"You had to stop a long time ago. You will be lucky if you ever catch your breath again," Petawahin said with a hint of admiration. "It is your choice. Whatever you choose to put yourself through, I will follow."
Sequannah felt proud to think that his father had to work to keep up with him, though he wasn't sure that this was actually true. He removed the heavy load from his shoulders and lay down in a soft bed of sweetgrass.
Petawahin went to relieve himself and slowly took in his surroundings. The sun was down but the sky still cast enough light for travel. Mosquitoes hummed around them as crickets chirped gleefully through the thick, matted grass. Petawahin checked his wound and saw that he was still bleeding on his side. Each tooth mark left a dark purple hole of clotted blood, and the skin was beginning to discolor like a bruise. But the itching and burning he felt was only from his sweat. It was not infected yet. The long scrapes on his back had scabbed over.
He went to rouse Sequannah so they could still make headway in the warm and purplish twilight. When he got to the boy, he found him flat on his back, snoring loudly. He woke the boy and reminded to sleep on his stomach to avoid snoring while they were out on the trail. Then he lay down himself. His thoughts drifted to visions of the young warrior stumbling and struggling with the heavy load of meat. Slowly he turned over onto his stomach and fell into a deep sleep to the mournful song of a whippoorwill in the distant brush.
Petawahin awoke early the next morning. A faint light illuminated the eastern skies where the sun would eventually rise. Finches and meadowlarks announced the impending dawn, while small rodents rustled through the dry leaves near the grizzly's butchered carcass. He looked over to Sequannah and saw that the boy was still asleep, then went in search of water. This was the time of year when drinking water became scarce. Stagnant backwaters often tainted many of the streams. Petawahin found a ravine with a small spring-fed brook bubbling its way over a bed of sand and pebbles. He stooped to drink at one of the bubbling springs and spotted a spearhead in the soft sandy bottom. The blade was as long as his hand. Never had anyone crafted such a work of art from the clan, and the shiny black stock used to create it was rare in this part of the land. There were clever notches for fastening to the shaft of a long spear, but there was no shaft to be found. A short distance upstream, he spotted what appeared to be stumps protruding through the eroding sandbank. On closer examination, these stumps appeared to have been made of a soft, chalk-like substance rather than wood, though the color was more gray then white. Petawahin could not recall any wood that had this texture, although he had frequently seen the grayish color on driftwood. He wrapped the artifact in leaves and twined the bundle with long strands of bur-reed. Dropping the bundle into his moccasin legging, he headed back to the boy so they could finish their trek early in the day.
Petawahin noticed that the boy's shoulders had become raw from the chafing of the carrying poles, and it was obvious that the youngster was totally exhausted. He shook the boy into wakefulness, but even that took some doing as Sequannah would strain to keep his eyes open, but then drift back into unconsciousness.
The lake near the encampment would be visible over the next rise and Petawahin began to walk in that direction. As the water came into view, he could make out the tiny forms in and around the shore on the opposite side of the lake. A trace of smoke sifted through the bluish-green spruce. These spruce seemed to be peculiar to this lake only; probably one time passengers, drifting from distant and foreign lands, then finally deposited with the melt off in this glacial moraine. On the north side of the lake dark, smoothed bedrock protruded through the earthy surrounding. Through the thin mist, he could make out where the glacially carved hillock suddenly dropped off as a jagged cliff, effectively containing the entire north shore of the lake. The east and west sides of the lake were woodland and meadows, thick with grass and brush, while the southern end was strewn with boulders of every type and description; leftovers in the same glacial moraine that had created the deep, spring fed lake.
Petawahin approached the encampment by the southern end of the lake, where an easily maneuverable, though cleverly concealed path, served as a means of escape and a way to disperse unwitting enemy shadows. Once off the barely discernible path, wanderers exposed themselves to tricky crags and boulders, interspersed with swampy, wetland areas and quicksand. A screen of blueberry, laurel, and mulberry bushes, and thickets made it impossible to see far enough ahead to plan a course through the marshy area as it wound its way south through a long and shallow valley. The Minnecou had found their way across through trial and error, and recognizing the value of this area as a natural defense, never let the path get run down to the point where it would be visible.
As Petawahin labored his way through the arduous pathway, he came across a well placed log that would cleverly divert those approaching into an uninviting mire. Mokotak must have seen someone approaching and placed it there as a precaution. Mokotak was most often alone and appeared that way even in the midst of a crowd. His loyalty, however, was nearly obsessive as he guarded the encampment constantly, diverting approaching strangers and attacking with the fervor of an enraged grizzly, if necessary. He watched over everyone and kept himself aware of every possible danger lurking near the people.
Mokotak came from a family that lived in one of the permanent villages to the south. His father was of the clan, but after he died, his mother stayed in the village. Since he was a young boy, Mokotak always begged to return to the clan, and when he was old enough, his mother allowed chief Ketanka to adopt him back into the westernmost clan of the nomadic Minnecou.
When he wasn't watching over the encampment, he spent most of his time hunting and fishing, almost always alone. He usually conveyed few words in his brief messages and rarely took part in any of the games or festivities involving the clan. Some of the children would be afraid of him because of his constant scowl, but as they grew older, they learned to accept and respect the formidable warrior.
Petawahin was always leery of approaching this particular encampment from this direction, knowing that Mokotak was lurking somewhere off the path, waiting to hack up any enemy that had found their way through his diversions. Mokotak might not recognize him in time during one of his lightning-like attacks. As he approached a huge boulder, he sensed that Mokotak was crouched in waiting behind it.
"Mokotak," Petawahin called softly. "Are you here, Mokotak?"
Mokotak stepped out from behind the boulder with the huge hatchet he usually carried hanging limply from the fist of his large, meaty arm. A scowl of disappointment hung over his sharply featured face. He looked up at Petawahin with one of his rare smiles and motioned for him to pass. Petawahin walked towards the menacing and sometimes mischievous warrior, tripped over a vine that had been hidden in the leaves, and fell face down in a pool of mud. Petawahin looked up and noticed that his head would have been right in line with the edge of the boulder, face down in the mud, and ready for a pummeling from this massive warrior.
He expected to find Mokotak smiling or maybe even hear him laugh, but he was just standing there with that same look of disappointment on his face. Petawahin got up to his feet, embarrassed for having been tricked, and found no solace in the fact that Mokotak remained solemn. He felt a deep anger rising up within him and was about to explode at Mokotak, when the silent warrior smiled broadly and handed him a bunch of leaves to wipe the mud off his face.
"Mokotak," Petawahin said, "Sequannah and I and a young Paccu warrior killed a grizzly yesterday. I carried our half of the meat with Sequannah until we reached that far ridge last night," he said, pointing to the west. "This morning, Sequannah would not move, and his eyes would not stay open. His shoulders are almost bleeding. He won't be able to carry that load with me again today. Help me carry the meat back and maybe Sequannah will be able to walk. I came by this way so that no one would see me, and Sequannah could still surprise the clan."
Mokotak understood and followed Petawahin over the next ridge and through a series of vales to where Petawahin had left Sequannah. Mokotak could smell the carcass as they approached their destination. Petawahin spotted Sequannah peering at them through the brush. "At least the boy's awake if not alert," Petawahin thought to himself.
Flies had discovered the carcass again and buzzed over the butchered meat. Sequannah tried to fan them away as the two men approached.
"Mokotak will carry," Petawahin spoke without looking at the boy.
Sequannah was relieved, but as he walked into the camp, the people would not realize all the work he had done. They moved infinitely quicker with Mokotak on the other end of the load, following the southern route as always when returning from a hunt or journey. From any other direction, the approach to the clan would be visible for too great a distance. Not only would this allow enemies to locate their camp, but it would take the element of surprise away from successful hunters.
When they came to a small clearing, just out of view of the encampment, Mokotak stopped and maneuvered the heavy load unto Sequannah's shoulders, then disappeared ahead of them, strolling casually among the clan.
Though wavering under the strain of the heavy load, Sequannah was determined to walk straight and tall. The trembling in his knees and his unsteady gait, though, increased his self-consciousness. But, he was resolved to appear as a strong young warrior as he shouldered the meat to the main firepit.
Shamira stared in wonder as her little brother strutted through the camp. For the first time, she noticed that his skinny legs had begun to take on muscle. People gathered from every direction as the two solemn hunters strode through the pathways with their enviable haul. Two, or maybe three times a year, a hunting party return with bear meat, but very rarely would it turn out to be grizzly. To see such a young warrior return with a heavy load of grizzly meat was unimaginable.
Sequannah tried his best to remain humble, but this was not what was expected of him. Usually, it was the one who boasted of his exploits who received the most respect, as long as it wasn't done too often.
Petawahin smiled proudly at Sequannah, shifting recognition to his son. But most of the clan was inclined to believe that their success was due to the older warrior; Sequannah couldn't possibly have taken the grizzly on alone. The youngsters in the crowd gathered around in awe of Sequannah. One or two winters ago, he was just another playmate, but now he was a warrior.
Women gathered wood for the huge firepit that was integral to the spirit of the tribe. Although the central firepit was generally reserved for twilight gatherings, there was no dissension about starting the festivities at midday--there was a new warrior to be honored, and grizzly meat was rare in a band of this size.
Mahkawan and Tamahna erected a spit for the choice pieces of meat and a larger spit for the remainder of the two quarters. The Wolf brothers always amused the clan with their antics, directing them towards the children and bringing smiles to the faces of the adults as well.
"Do you think we still have enough room to fit Quetatsu on the spit?" Mahkawan teased. "With a few berries and hazelnuts, I think we could get him to taste almost as good as the bear meat."
Quetatsu, however, returned the taunts of the men. At four winters, he already knew what was expected of him, or rather, he knew what the Minnecou would enjoy.
"You couldn't catch me," he taunted.
The Wolf brothers kept building the spits, pretending that the child had not even spoken. Quetatsu repeated his taunt, moving steadily closer, smiling and laughing.
"You couldn't catch me!" he repeated.
Suddenly, Tamahna jumped up and dashed at the youngster. Quetatsu turned and ran on his short skinny legs. He ran around and around the firepit while the whole clan cheered at the spectacle. Tamahna pretended that he was running as fast as he could, and that he was almost out of breath. He stumbled and appeared near to collapse.
Quetatsu raced in front of the warrior, laughing and teasing. Tamahna appeared as though he couldn't go another step and fumbled his way around the circle. He fell to the ground, pretending to catch his breath. Shamira encouraged Quetatsu.
"He's not playing. He can't run anymore. You tired him out, Quetatsu."
The youngster loomed closer and closer with his taunts. He tapped Tamahna on the shoulder twice and quickly darted away. But on the third try, Tamahna reached out and grabbed the boy by the ankle. He hoisted him up over his shoulder and sauntered towards the spit, the toddler screaming and laughing simultaneously as he dangled upside down in Tamahna's powerful grip.
"Sharpen the end of that spit, Mahkawan. We've got some more fresh meat here," Tamahna goaded the child.
"I'm not afraid," laughed Quetatsu.
"Light the fire, Mahkawan," Tamahna demanded.
The boy jeered and laughed at the Wolf brothers in such a flaunting manner, they grinned and put him down. Everyone laughed as the two Wolf brothers were left smiling sheepishly in defeat. Petawahin was amused that the child had enough trust in the Wolf brothers to realize that no matter what they did, they would never hurt him. But, had this been perpetrated by someone like Mokotak, he was not so sure the outcome would have been the same.
Chief Ketanka strolled in with his heavy body and deliberate step. A strong man, though not as quick as he had been in his youth, he could run as fast as anyone for short distances, but he couldn't endure the long run. His experience, however, more than compensated for his lack of endurance; he wasted no energy and his every move was effective.
While he appeared to be intolerant, he was actually a patient and pensive leader. He was devoted to the traditions of the tribe. His deeply rooted belief in the ancestral and traditional lore handed down through the generations, bonded each one to an unshakable faith in the whole.
Chief Ketanka was considered among the wisest of chiefs and was often sought out for council or support. His decisions were usually final because he was extremely persuasive and seemed to be divinely guided in his instinctive wisdom. And though there was a natural fear of him, his presence also lent great comfort to the people. He loomed in front of Sequannah.
"I see you and your father give us cause for great celebration today," the chief croaked in his deep voice.
Ketanka placed a pudgy paw on Sequannah's shoulder, feeling for muscle and noting the boy's raw skin. He looked at the surrounding faces with an admirable smile, then directed his honor to Sequannah. He never felt so proud and never before realized how much the chief meant to him. Ketanka held an arm out to Petawahin, and the two men slowly walked away from the crowd in quiet discussion, as they usually did when Petawahin would return.
