That night Running Fox sufficiently recovered his strength to tell his
dream to Sky Dog, the medicine-man. The latter listened with much
interest as the excited lad described his conference with the strange
medicine-creatures. When he had finished his story, Sky Dog assured him
that the dream was a good omen. He declared that if Running Fox would do
as the medicine-creatures had advised he would pass safely through all
perils, and live to accomplish his purpose.
Running Fox hurried to his father’s lodge with a joyful heart. Having
been taught to believe all the simple superstitions of his people, he
had implicit faith in the assurances of the medicine-man. Still he
realized that his task was a difficult one. He knew that if the Mohawks
discovered his trail they would hunt him down as relentlessly as a pack
of wolves, and he felt sure that if he fell into their hands death at
the torture stake would be his only alternative. The thought sobered
him. However, it soon fled from his mind, for he believed that the
mysterious powers which he had received from the medicine-creatures, and
his own courage and resourcefulness, would enable him to outwit his
foes.
Black Panther was much impressed by the story of the dream. He, too,
declared that it was a good omen. He immediately sent criers through the
village inviting the people to a feast to celebrate his son’s departure
upon the war-trail.
When his plans became known Running Fox was besieged by a host of
youthful volunteers who begged to accompany him. He refused them,
however, as he was unwilling to assume the responsibility of a
war-leader before he had tested his own courage and ability. Still there
was one whom he found it difficult to deny. It was his friend, Spotted
Deer, a lad of his own age, and his constant companion through all the
happy years of boyhood. They had invariably shared every adventure, and
the thought of being barred from the first real war-journey drove
Spotted Deer into a frenzy of despair. He argued, he coaxed, he
reproached, but Running Fox refused to yield.
“No, my brother, I will not listen to your words,” declared Running Fox.
“A warrior must know how to fight before he leads his friends into
danger. I have never faced an enemy. I do not know what will happen to
me. Perhaps I shall do something foolish, and be killed. Spotted Deer, I
must go alone. No, I will not change it in my heart.”
“Running Fox, now I know that you will do this thing without me,”
replied Spotted Deer. “Well, I will not say anything more against it. I
feel like a very old man.”
The night before Running Fox planned to set out upon his journey his
friends came to his father’s lodge to talk with him. The last to leave
was Spotted Deer. The two friends sat together a long time. Running Fox
attempted to be light-hearted and gay, but Spotted Deer was moody and
depressed. However, when Running Fox brought forth the new war-equipment
which he had received from his father, Spotted Deer’s eyes lighted with
enthusiasm, and he became lively and interested. Then, having inspected
the various articles, he immediately relapsed into gloomy silence.
“My brother, when the next sun comes you are going away,” Spotted Deer
said, solemnly, as he finally rose to leave. “Perhaps I shall never see
you again. It is bad. I will not talk about it.”
They clasped hands, and looked earnestly into each other’s eyes. Then
Spotted Deer hurried away. When he had gone Running Fox seated himself
at the back of the lodge, and sat a long time staring moodily into the
darkness.
That night Running Fox found it impossible to sleep. His mind was
tortured by the thought of parting from his friend. Spotted Deer’s words
kept ringing in his ears: “Perhaps I shall never see you again.” As the
night dragged slowly along Running Fox was tempted to steal away while
the inmates slept, to tell Spotted Deer that he might accompany him. He
was dissuaded, however, by the fear of causing his friend’s death. Thus
the miserable lad fought his battle until the first gray light of dawn
stole into the lodge, and then he finally determined to venture into the
treacherous northern wilderness alone.
When Running Fox appeared in the village equipped for the war-trail, he
received a stirring ovation from his tribesmen. As he left his father’s
lodge he was immediately surrounded by a company of enthusiastic
friends, who paraded him about the camp to the accompaniment of shouts
and war-songs. Spotted Deer, however, took no part in the celebration.
Running Fox was greatly disturbed at his absence. When he finally asked
about him he learned that an old woman had seen Spotted Deer hurrying
away with his robe and weapons at dawn. She said that he had gone toward
the south. The news filled Running Fox with gloom. He feared that grief
might have driven Spotted Deer to some foolhardy resolve. However,
Running Fox had little chance to think of him at the moment, for he soon
found himself the center of a great throng of people who had gathered to
do him honor.
The lad appeared to splendid advantage as he stood beside his father in
the center of the camp. He was tall and graceful, with a fearless face
and flashing black eyes. Unlike his father and the warriors, who wore
their hair cropped close to the scalp, Running Fox had hair that reached
to his shoulders. His dress was like that of the older men. He was naked
above the waist, and wore a short buckskin skirt or tunic which extended
to his knees. Fringed buckskin leggings covered his limbs. His moccasins
were of elk-hide gayly decorated with dyed sweet grass. His equipment
included an elk-skin robe, a hickory bow, a buckskin case filled with
arrows, a flint knife, a stone war-club, a set of fire drills and a
small bag filled with parched corn.
“My friends, here stands a young man dressed for the war-trail,” Black
Panther told the Delawares. “Look closely at him for you may never see
him again. He is going upon a dangerous journey, Yes, he is going into
the country of our enemies, the boastful Mohawks, to find out how
Standing Wolf gets his power. It is a great thing to do. If he lives
through it I will give away many good presents. I have finished.”
The Delawares greeted the announcement with words of approval. Several
prominent warriors made speeches praising the lad for his courage, and
urging him to kill many Mohawks. Then old Sky Dog sang a number of
sacred medicine-songs, and fastened a small buckskin bag containing
sacred herbs about the neck of Running Fox to protect him from harm.
At the conclusion of the ceremony Running Fox set out upon his journey.
He followed a well-worn Delaware hunting trail that led northward along
the river. It was Kitschinipen, the summer planting season, and a great
primeval wilderness was at its best. The day was glorious. The sky was
cloudless, the air was soft and balmy and the earth was flooded with
sunshine. Wild flowers dotted the trail, and birds sang from the trees
and thickets. Running Fox found much to interest him. He stopped to
watch Tiskemanis, the noisy blue fisher bird, plunge into the water
after his prey. He called cheerily to Mehokuiman, the red bird. He
frightened ugly Gundaschees, the water-snake, from his sunny log at the
edge of the river. Then he heard the stealthy approach of Achtu, the
deer. As he had been advised to kill one of the old bucks by the
medicine-deer, Running Fox hastily prepared his arrow and concealed
himself behind a tree. In a few moments the deer approached the river to
drink. It was a doe, however, and the young Delaware withheld his arrow.
He knew that she had a fawn concealed in some nearby thicket, and he had
been taught to spare the mother and young of all creatures that there
might always be plenty of game for the hunters. He waited until the doe
had finished drinking, and then he showed himself. For a moment the
surprised creature stared at him with big frightened eyes, and then
hounded gracefully into the woods.
“Go in peace, my sister, I will not harm you,” cried Running Fox.
Soon afterward Running Fox had an experience that filled him with gloomy
forebodings. He was seated upon a boulder at the edge of the water when
he heard the harsh cries of Woapalanne, the great white-headed
war-eagle. Looking into the sky he discovered the bird soaring in great
circles directly above him. He feared that it was a bad omen, for old
Sky Dog had told him that the sudden appearance of Woapalanne invariably
meant war. Running Fox wondered if he was about to meet his enemies.
Until that moment the possibility had never entered his mind, as he had
considered himself quite safe as long as he remained within the Delaware
boundaries. Now, as the war-eagle continued to hover over him, he became
suspicious.
“Hi, Woapalanne, I see you flying around up there,” he cried, as he
shook his bow at the eagle. “I hear you making a great noise up there.
Sky Dog says it is a sign of war. Well, Woapalanne, you do not frighten
me. I will not turn around. I have set out to do something, and I am
going ahead with it. Woapalanne, Sky Dog says that you are a good
friend. That is why I have told you what I am going to do. But you must
not tell the Mohawks about me. That would be bad. Come, if you are a
good friend you must help me. Now I am going up on top of that high
mountain to look around.”
However, as Running Fox turned to enter the forest the eagle suddenly
changed its tactics, and flew away toward the south. This unexpected
maneuver greatly upset the young Delaware. His thoughts instantly turned
to his friend, Spotted Deer. Having learned that the latter had departed
upon some mysterious mission to the southward, Running Fox read a
warning in the final action of the war-eagle. He believed that Spotted
Deer was in peril. The thought refused to leave his mind.
When Running Fox reached the top of the ridge from which he planned to
reconnoiter the surrounding country, his sharp eyes quickly discovered
something which instantly aroused his interest, A thin wavering column
of smoke was rising against the sky some distance to the southward. The
sight of it filled him with emotion, for he knew that it came from the
Delaware camp. The day was almost ended, and in the distant smoke cloud
Running Fox saw a vision of the peaceful evening scene in the Delaware
village. In fancy he saw the happy groups about the fires, and heard the
songs and laughter. He wondered if he had been missed from the merry
little company before his father’s lodge. Twilight was gathering, and
the smoke column was slowly fading into the shadows. Running Fox looked
upon it with longing eyes, for he knew that it would soon be gone. The
thought saddened him. That frail spiral of smoke seemed like the last
tie that bound him to his people, and he dreaded to see it broken. When
it finally faded out in the dusk Running Fox felt a great loneliness
surge into his heart.
After he had carefully examined the country through which he intended to
pass on the following day, the young Delaware began to look for a safe
place in which to spend the night. He believed that it might be
dangerous to remain near the river, as he knew that hostile scouts often
followed the waterways under cover of darkness. Besides, he was still
upset by the actions of the war-eagle, and he determined to take every
precaution. He finally decided to camp beside a little spring, high up
on the mountainside.
Having killed a grouse earlier in the day, Running Fox broiled it over
the embers of a tiny fire, which he was careful to conceal between two
large rocks. Then, after he had eaten, he drew his robe about him, and
sat with his back against a pine, listening to the night sounds of the
wilderness. He heard Quekolis, the whippoorwill, raising his doleful
lament down near the river. Running Fox had heard the old men tell weird
tales about that mournful bird, and as he listened to its monotonous
serenade he wondered if it really did possess all the mysterious powers
with which the superstitions story tellers credited it. Then he heard
shrill piping sounds from the grass, and he knew that the Zelozelous,
the little black cricket people, were singing their medicine-songs. Some
time later Running Fox was startled by a piercing scream that sounded
from a distant ridge. He listened anxiously until it was repeated, and
then he recognized it as the hunting cry of soft-footed Nianque, the
lynx. Then the brooding, mysterious night-hush fell upon the forest.
Running Fox rose and raised his hands toward the heavens. After a few
moments of reverent silence he began to pray to Getanittowit. He asked
for courage and strength to perform his task. Then, after he had sung
one of the sacred medicine-songs to drive away any evil spirits that
might have discovered his fire, he prepared a couch of sweet-fern and
lay down to sleep.
Two-thirds of the night had passed when Running Fox suddenly found
himself sitting up, with his bow in his hands, staring anxiously into
the dark. He did not know what had awakened him, and for a long time he
neither heard or saw anything to give him a clue. He began to fear that
he had been dreaming. Then a twig snapped, and he became suspicious. He
knew that Mohawk scouts often ventured far into the Delaware hunting
grounds, and he feared that one of those sharp-eyed foes had discovered
his fire. The thought alarmed him. The possibility of an unseen enemy
stealing upon him under cover of the night set his heart throbbing
wildly. Still he had no idea of running away. Lying close to the ground,
he fitted an arrow to his bow, and strained his eyes in an effort to
find the mysterious prowler. For some time the silence was unbroken, and
he began to think that he had been needlessly alarmed by some passing
beast of the wilderness. Then he heard sounds which led him to believe
that some one was cautiously approaching his hiding place. Convinced
that he was about to experience his first encounter with an enemy,
Running Fox waited with the calm reliance of a veteran. The noise had
suddenly ceased, however, and the young Delaware believed that his foe
had stopped to listen. A few moments later the soft querulous call of
Gokhotit, the little red owl, sounded through the night. It seemed
barely a bow-shot away, and Running Fox redoubled his vigilance. When he
heard it again he became greatly excited. Then it was repeated a third
time, and Running Fox breathed easier, for he recognized it as a signal
from his friend, Spotted Deer.
Running Fox was undecided as to just what to do. His first impulse was
to reply to the familiar signal, but he overcame it and remained silent.
As he saw no reason to alter the decision he had made in the Delaware
camp, he planned to steal away and elude his friend under the protection
of the darkness. However, it soon became evident that sharp-witted
Spotted Deer had guessed his intention.
“Hi, my brother, have you closed your ears to the greeting of a friend?”
Spotted Deer inquired reproachfully. “I know that you are somewhere
close by. Yes, I believe you are hiding away in the night. I have
followed you here, and I will not turn back. No. If I do not find you,
then as soon as it grows light I will follow your trail. Running Fox, I
am going into the country of the boastful Mohawks with you. It is
useless for you to say anything more against it. I have set out to do
this thing, and now I am going through with it. Come, my brother, let us
meet, and talk together. Now I am going to listen for something.”
Running Fox still remained silent. However, the loyalty and devotion of
his friend had greatly affected him, and his heart was filled with
conflicting emotions. He found it harder than ever to ignore the
stirring appeal, and yet it seemed foolish to renew the discussion with
Spotted Deer. At last, however, his great love for his friend forced him
to answer.
“My brother, I have listened to your words. You have done a foolish
thing to come here. I was going to run away, but now I am going to stay
here and talk with you. I believe it is the best thing to do.”
A few moments afterward they clasped hands, while their eyes flashed the
welcome that neither could utter. Although he was still determined to
continue the journey alone, nevertheless Running Fox was delighted to
see his friend. He knew now that his fears concerning him had come to
nought, and it filled him with joy. It was evident that Spotted Deer had
turned toward the south to fool the Delawares, and then had circled
around to intercept his friend. Running Fox admired his stratagem.
“Running Fox, I believe your heart is bad toward me,” declared Spotted
Deer. “You say that I have done a foolish thing. Perhaps it is true, but
I will not turn back. If you do not listen to my words, then I will go
away and let the Mohawks kill me. Now you know what I am thinking about.
Yes, I am going through with it no matter how it comes out. I have
finished.”
“Spotted Deer, you are a good friend,” Running Fox replied, warmly. “My
heart is not bad toward you, but I must tell you that you have done a
foolish thing. You must turn back. I am going ahead alone. I have told
you about it many times. Now I must go through with it.”
They argued the question throughout the night. Then, as dawn crept
slowly out of the east, Running Fox finally yielded to the persuasion of
Spotted Deer.
“Spotted Deer, I see that you intend to do as you say,” declared Running
Fox. “You say that if you do not go with me you will let the Mohawks
kill you. That is very bad. Well, that makes me feel different about it.
You are my friend, and I will not let you throw away your life. If you
feel like going with me I cannot say anything more against it. Perhaps
you will be killed, but I cannot help it. You have asked me to do
something, and now I have done it.”
“Running Fox, you have done a good thing,” Spotted Deer cried, joyfully.
“Now I will sing again. I am going with you to find out about the great
chief Standing Wolf. Perhaps we will have many fights with the Mohawks.
You say that we may be killed. Well, my brother, we will die together.
It is enough.”