IT will be no exaggeration to say that the life of the Indian hunter was
a life of fascination. From the moment that he lost sight of his rude
home in the midst of the forest, his untutored mind lost itself in the
myriad beauties and forces of nature. Yet he never forgot his personal
danger from some lurking foe or savage beast, however absorbing was his
passion for the chase.
The Indian youth was a born hunter. Every motion, every step expressed
an inborn dignity and, at the same time, a depth of native caution.
His moccasined foot fell like the velvet paw of a cat--noiselessly; his
glittering black eyes scanned every object that appeared within their
view. Not a bird, not even a chipmunk, escaped their piercing glance.
I was scarcely over three years old when I stood one morning just
outside our buffalo-skin teepee, with my little bow and arrows in my
hand, and gazed up among the trees. Suddenly the instinct to chase and
kill seized me powerfully. Just then a bird flew over my head and then
another caught my eye, as it balanced itself upon a swaying bough.
Everything else was forgotten and in that moment I had taken my first
step as a hunter.
There was almost as much difference between the Indian boys who were
brought up on the open prairies and those of the woods, as between city
and country boys. The hunting of the prairie boys was limited and their
knowledge of natural history imperfect. They were, as a rule, good
riders, but in all-round physical development much inferior to the red
men of the forest.
Our hunting varied with the season of the year, and the nature of the
country which was for the time our home. Our chief weapon was the bow
and arrows, and perhaps, if we were lucky, a knife was possessed by some
one in the crowd. In the olden times, knives and hatchets were made from
bone and sharp stones.
For fire we used a flint with a spongy piece of dry wood and a stone to
strike with. Another way of starting fire was for several of the boys
to sit down in a circle and rub two pieces of dry, spongy wood together,
one after another, until the wood took fire.
We hunted in company a great deal, though it was a common thing for a
boy to set out for the woods quite alone, and he usually enjoyed himself
fully as much. Our game consisted mainly of small birds, rabbits,
squirrels and grouse. Fishing, too, occupied much of our time. We hardly
ever passed a creek or a pond without searching for some signs of fish.
When fish were present, we always managed to get some. Fish-lines were
made of wild hemp, sinew or horse-hair. We either caught fish with
lines, snared or speared them, or shot them with bow and arrows. In the
fall we charmed them up to the surface by gently tickling them with a
stick and quickly threw them out. We have sometimes dammed the brooks
and driven the larger fish into a willow basket made for that purpose.
It was part of our hunting to find new and strange things in the woods.
We examined the slightest sign of life; and if a bird had scratched the
leaves off the ground, or a bear dragged up a root for his morning meal,
we stopped to speculate on the time it was done. If we saw a large old
tree with some scratches on its bark, we concluded that a bear or some
raccoons must be living there. In that case we did not go any nearer
than was necessary, but later reported the incident at home. An old
deer-track would at once bring on a warm discussion as to whether it was
the track of a buck or a doe. Generally, at noon, we met and compared
our game, noting at the same time the peculiar characteristics of
everything we had killed. It was not merely a hunt, for we combined with
it the study of animal life. We also kept strict account of our game,
and thus learned who were the best shots among the boys.
I am sorry to say that we were merciless toward the birds. We often took
their eggs and their young ones. My brother Chatanna and I once had a
disagreeable adventure while bird-hunting. We were accustomed to catch
in our hands young ducks and geese during the summer, and while doing
this we happened to find a crane’s nest. Of course, we were delighted
with our good luck. But, as it was already midsummer, the young
cranes--two in number--were rather large and they were a little way
from the nest; we also observed that the two old cranes were in a swampy
place near by; but, as it was moulting-time, we did not suppose that
they would venture on dry land. So we proceeded to chase the young
birds; but they were fleet runners and it took us some time to come up
with them.
Meanwhile, the parent birds had heard the cries of their little ones and
come to their rescue. They were chasing us, while we followed the birds.
It was really a perilous encounter! Our strong bows finally gained the
victory in a hand-to-hand struggle with the angry cranes; but after
that we hardly ever hunted a crane’s nest. Almost all birds make some
resistance when their eggs or young are taken, but they will seldom
attack man fearlessly.
We used to climb large trees for birds of all kinds; but we never
undertook to get young owls unless they were on the ground. The hooting
owl especially is a dangerous bird to attack under these circumstances.
I was once trying to catch a yellow-winged woodpecker in its nest when
my arm became twisted and lodged in the deep hole so that I could not
get it out without the aid of a knife; but we were a long way from home
and my only companion was a deaf mute cousin of mine. I was about fifty
feet up in the tree, in a very uncomfortable position, but I had to wait
there for more than an hour before he brought me the knife with which I
finally released myself.
Our devices for trapping small animals were rude, but they were often
successful. For instance, we used to gather up a peck or so of large,
sharp-pointed burrs and scatter them in the rabbit’s furrow-like path.
In the morning, we would find the little fellow sitting quietly in his
tracks, unable to move, for the burrs stuck to his feet.
Another way of snaring rabbits and grouse was the following: We made
nooses of twisted horsehair, which we tied very firmly to the top of a
limber young tree, then bent the latter down to the track and fastened
the whole with a slip-knot, after adjusting the noose. When the rabbit
runs his head through the noose, he pulls the slip-knot and is quickly
carried up by the spring of the young tree. This is a good plan, for the
rabbit is out of harm’s way as he swings high in the air.
Perhaps the most enjoyable of all was the chipmunk hunt. We killed these
animals at any time of year, but the special time to hunt them was in
March. After the first thaw, the chipmunks burrow a hole through the
snow crust and make their first appearance for the season. Sometimes
as many as fifty will come together and hold a social reunion. These
gatherings occur early in the morning, from daybreak to about nine
o’clock.
We boys learned this, among other secrets of nature, and got our
blunt-headed arrows together in good season for the chipmunk expedition.
We generally went in groups of six to a dozen or fifteen, to see which
would get the most. On the evening before, we selected several boys who
could imitate the chipmunk’s call with wild oatstraws and each of these
provided himself with a supply of straws.
The crust will hold the boys nicely at this time of the year. Bright and
early, they all come together at the appointed place, from which each
group starts out in a different direction, agreeing to meet somewhere at
a given position of the sun.
My first experience of this kind is still well remembered. It was a fine
crisp March morning, and the sun had not yet shown himself among
the distant tree-tops as we hurried along through the ghostly wood.
Presently we arrived at a place where there were many signs of the
animals. Then each of us selected a tree and took up his position behind
it. The chipmunk caller sat upon a log as motionless as he could, and
began to call.
Soon we heard the patter of little feet on the hard snow; then we saw
the chipmunks approaching from all directions. Some stopped and
ran experimentally up a tree or a log, as if uncertain of the exact
direction of the call; others chased one another about.
In a few minutes, the chipmunk-caller was besieged with them. Some ran
all over his person, others under him and still others ran up the tree
against which he was sitting. Each boy remained immovable until their
leader gave the signal; then a great shout arose, and the chipmunks in
their flight all ran up the different trees.
Now the shooting-match began. The little creatures seemed to realize
their hopeless position; they would try again and again to come down
the trees and flee away from the deadly aim of the youthful hunters.
But they were shot down very fast; and whenever several of them rushed
toward the ground, the little red-skin hugged the tree and yelled
frantically to scare them up again.
Each boy shoots always against the trunk of the tree, so that the arrow
may bound back to him every time; otherwise, when he had shot away all
of them, he would be helpless, and another, who had cleared his own
tree, would come and take away his game, so there was warm competition.
Sometimes a desperate chipmunk would jump from the top of the tree in
order to escape, which was considered a joke on the boy who lost it and
a triumph for the brave little animal. At last all were killed or gone,
and then we went on to another place, keeping up the sport until the sun
came out and the chipmunks refused to answer the call.
When we went out on the prairies we had a different and less lively kind
of sport. We used to snare with horse-hair and bow-strings all the small
ground animals, including the prairie-dog. We both snared and shot them.
Once a little boy set a snare for one, and lay flat on the ground a
little way from the hole, holding the end of the string. Presently he
felt something move and pulled in a huge rattlesnake; and to this day,
his name is “Caught-the-Rattlesnake.” Very often a boy got a new name
in some such manner. At another time, we were playing in the woods and
found a fawn’s track. We followed and caught it while asleep; but in
the struggle to get away, it kicked one boy, who is still called
“Kicked-by-the-Fawn.”
It became a necessary part of our education to learn to prepare a meal
while out hunting. It is a fact that most Indians will eat the liver and
some other portions of large animals raw, but they do not eat fish or
birds uncooked. Neither will they eat a frog, or an eel. On our boyish
hunts, we often went on until we found ourselves a long way from our
camp, when we would kindle a fire and roast a part of our game.
Generally we broiled our meat over the coals on a stick. We roasted some
of it over the open fire. But the best way to cook fish and birds is in
the ashes, under a big fire. We take the fish fresh from the creek or
lake, have a good fire on the sand, dig in the sandy ashes and bury it
deep. The same thing is done in case of a bird, only we wet the feathers
first. When it is done, the scales or feathers and skin are stripped
off whole, and the delicious meat retains all its juices and flavor. We
pulled it off as we ate, leaving the bones undisturbed.
Our people had also a method of boiling without pots or kettles. A large
piece of tripe was thoroughly washed and the ends tied, then suspended
between four stakes driven into the ground and filled with cold water.
The meat was then placed in this novel receptacle and boiled by means of
the addition of red-hot stones.
Chatanna was a good hunter. He called the doe and fawn beautifully by
using a thin leaf of birchbark between two flattened sticks. One morning
we found the tracks of a doe and fawn who had passed within the hour,
for the light dew was brushed from the grass.
“What shall we do?” I asked. “Shall we go back to the teepee and tell
uncle to bring his gun?”
“No, no!” exclaimed Chatanna. “Did not our people kill deer and buffalo
long ago without guns? We will entice her into this open space, and,
while she stands bewildered, I can throw my lasso line over her head.”
He had called only a few seconds when the fawn emerged from the thick
woods and stood before us, prettier than a picture. Then I uttered the
call, and she threw her tobacco-leaf-like ears toward me, while Chatanna
threw his lasso. She gave one scream and launched forth into the air,
almost throwing the boy hunter to the ground. Again and again she flung
herself desperately into the air, but at last we led her to the nearest
tree and tied her securely.
“Now,” said he, “go and get our pets and see what they will do.”
At that time he had a good-sized black bear partly tamed, while I had
a young red fox and my faithful Ohitika or Brave. I untied Chagoo, the
bear, and Wanahon, the fox, while Ohitika got up and welcomed me by
wagging his tail in a dignified way.
“Come,” I said, “all three of you. I think we have something you would
all like to see.”
They seemed to understand me, for Chagoo began to pull his rope with
both paws, while Wanahon undertook the task of digging up by the roots
the sapling to which I had tied him.
Before we got to the open spot, we already heard Ohitika’s joyous bark,
and the two wild pets began to run, and pulled me along through the
underbrush. Chagoo soon assumed the utmost precaution and walked as if
he had splinters in his soles, while Wanahon kept his nose down low and
sneaked through the trees.
Out into the open glade we came, and there, before the three rogues,
stood the little innocent fawn. She visibly trembled at the sight of the
motley group. The two human rogues looked to her, I presume, just as bad
as the other three. Chagoo regarded her with a mixture of curiosity
and defiance, while Wanahon stood as if rooted to the ground, evidently
planning how to get at her. But Ohitika (Brave), generous Ohitika,
his occasional barking was only in jest. He did not care to touch the
helpless thing.
Suddenly the fawn sprang high into the air and then dropped her pretty
head on the ground.
“Ohiyesa, the fawn is dead,” cried Chatanna. “I wanted to keep her.”
“It is a shame;” I chimed in.
We five guilty ones came and stood around her helpless form. We all
looked very sorry; even Chagoo’s eyes showed repentance and regret.
As for Ohitika, he gave two great sighs and then betook himself to a
respectful distance. Chatanna had two big tears gradually swamping his
long, black eye-lashes; and I thought it was time to hide my face, for I
did not want him to look at me.