Between the swift running Snake River and the rumbling Grande Ronde in
the beautiful Valley of Winding Waters, there lived a band of Indians
called the Wallows, a branch of the Nez Percé tribe.
Little White Wolf was one of the young boys who was trying to earn his
first feathers which would show that he had become a full-fledged brave.
Often he would wander from the camp into the forests that covered the
slopes of the valley. There he would try to think of things he could do
to get his feather—an act of bravery or great hunting skill. Two summers
had passed since he first tried to win his feather. His little friends,
Swift Owl and Gray Frog, had earned their feathers and now strutted
proudly through the village to call attention to their feathers. They
both took special care to spend most of their time playing near Little
White Wolf, no doubt to make him jealous of their awards.
One day, when Little White Wolf was watching his mother mold a small
bowl from clay, he caught sight of his father, Big White Wolf, striding
into the village with a large brown animal slung over his shoulders.
Little White Wolf knew that his father had made a kill. The boy raced
forward excitedly to greet his father. As his father came nearer, the
boy saw the large claws of a mountain lion. He was thrilled and proud
and asked impatiently for his father to tell him the story of the kill.
But his father only shook his head and put his hand on Little White
Wolf’s shoulder to quiet him.
“My son,” he told him, “you will have to wait until the big fire tonight
when I tell the tale for all to hear.”
That night as the braves gathered around the evening fire, Little White
Wolf settled as close as he could to the spot where his father would
stand to tell his tale of adventure. After the other braves had told
their stories, Little White Wolf’s father walked with long, firm steps
to the center of the circle and began to speak. While Little White Wolf
listened, he thought that his father looked unusually strong and tall.
Big White Wolf told how he had been tracking a deer in a small glen at
the southern end of the valley when he heard a snarl. Turning quickly,
he saw a large female puma poised to spring at him from a tree. Just as
the cat leaped, Big White Wolf shot his arrow. The cat fell dead at his
feet. He could not explain why the big cat had been roused unless he had
been close to a lair of kittens which this mother cat had been guarding.
Little White Wolf leaned forward listening intently. Suddenly a thought
flashed through his mind. He could not sleep soundly that night because
he kept thinking of his secret plan. As dawn broke, Little White Wolf
arose silently and gathered his bow and arrow and a small pouch of food.
Then he started off for the southern end of the valley. He came soon to
the place where his father had killed the big cat. The boy began to
search every nook and cranny for the little kittens that must be here.
He felt sure his father had been right in guessing why the cat had
sprung at him.
Finally, after many hours of searching, Little White Wolf was about to
give up when he heard a faint cry coming from his right. He moved behind
a small tree and parted the branches to see what had made the sound.
Just a few paces away in the hollow of a rock lay a small ball of brown
fur. Now Little White Wolf must carry out his plan to bring the puma
kitten back to camp alive. He moved slowly and quietly so that he would
not frighten the kitten. The little puma was looking away from Little
White Wolf.
When the boy was only two paces away, the kitten heard him. The animal
jumped up quickly and started to run. But the Indian was too fast. He
leaped and caught the kitten by the scruff of the neck. Then he lifted
the little puma gently and began to scratch its head and pet it. In a
few moments, the animal was curled up in Little White Wolf’s arms,
leaning contentedly against the boy’s chest. The boy started back to
camp with his prize.
No one had known why he had left or where he had gone, so Little White
Wolf was greeted excitedly by the other boys as he marched into the
camp. Even Swift Owl and Gray Frog praised him for having rescued the
little puma and for having braved a possible attack from some grown
puma.
That night Little White Wolf told his story. With great dignity, the
Chief awarded the boy his feather. He was a very proud young brave. Now
he could strut with Gray Frog and Swift Owl throughout the camp.
Little White Wolf never realized how thankful his father was that his
son had returned safely. Big White Wolf knew that the father cat might
have returned while the boy was taking the kitten. If that had happened,
there might have been no feather award council fire that night.