Little Thunder was always the first one awake in his woodland Wyandot
village, running about doing many chores before his parents were even
awake. He would build up the breakfast fire and make sure there was
enough wood to keep it going during the day. He would take the water
bags to the cool spring and refill them with fresh water for that day
and do many other little chores.
Finally when the rest of the village began to stir, Little Thunder would
rush about gathering up his many small treasures and lay them all out in
front of him on the ground to choose the ones he would carry with him
that day. He had pieces of flint, a deer’s horn, colored stones from the
brooks, birch bark on which he had burned pictures, and many other
things important to an Indian boy. Then his mother would call him in to
eat. When breakfast was over, his father and mother would explain the
family’s plans for the day. Then each would set about doing his share of
the work.
One morning just before Little Thunder’s father was to go off on a hunt
with the other warriors of the village, he called Little Thunder to him.
“You must take care of your mother while I am away,” Big Thunder told
the boy. “You must be the man of the house now. You must protect your
mother and your home and see that all of the work is done.” He smiled
and pressed his son’s shoulders. “You will soon be a man and then we can
go on the big hunt together. But you are man enough now to watch over
your mother while I am away.”
Little Thunder felt very proud of the way his father had spoken to him.
When all was in readiness and the hunters had left the village, Little
Thunder turned to his mother and stood very straight as he looked at
her.
“Do not be afraid, for I will watch over you, mother,” he promised. “To
show that I can get all the food we need, I will go into the woods and
bring us a fine fat rabbit for supper.”
Now Little Thunder had a good hunting bow which his grandfather had made
for him many moons ago. It was of stout hickory and had an even curve to
it when the sinew string was pulled tight. Little Thunder had worked
carefully to make straight, strong arrow shafts. He had chosen the best
willow shoots from which be peeled the bark. Then he seasoned and
straightened them over the fire, and rubbed them smooth with sandstone.
His arrowpoints were made of flint which he had chipped with a piece of
deer’s antler after much practice under the eyes of his father. These
were his best arrows and he was saving them for the time he would go
with his father on the hunt.
Little Thunder laid these big-game arrows aside and picked up the set he
had made for use now as a young Indian boy. They had bone points which
he had ground sharp and bound into the split end of the shaft with wet
sinew that tightened as it dried. On the other end he had glued and tied
carefully trimmed goose and turkey feathers to help the arrow fly
straight to its mark. He selected several arrows and tested his bow.
Little Thunder knew he would find plenty of game because the Indians
never killed without needing the food or skin of an animal. Having
finished all preparations for the hunt, he said good-bye to his mother
and started off to find the fat juicy rabbit he had promised her.
Little Thunder trotted along the forest trails at a fast jog, looking in
all directions for signs of game. He moved softly on his toes and the
balls of his feet, as his father had taught him, so that he would not
frighten the creatures of the forest.
Soon he came out of the forest into a large clearing that he believed
would yield the game he was after. He had walked watchfully only a short
while when, not seven paces from him, he saw a rather large clump of
tall grass move. He dropped to the ground, pressed his body flat against
the earth and waited. The grass did not move again. He tested the slight
breeze by wetting a finger in his mouth and holding his finger in the
air. The side of his finger away from him felt cool and he knew that the
breeze was blowing toward him. Whatever was in the grass ahead of him
would not be able to catch his scent. He crept forward softly. When he
was about three paces from the clump of grass, he stood up with bow and
arrow ready to shoot.
But before he let the arrow fly, he stopped short. There, nestled in the
grass, was a young fawn which appeared to have been born only a short
while ago. The fawn, frightened by Little Thunder, lay perfectly still,
his coat blending in almost perfectly with the grasses and shrubs around
him.
Little Thunder put the arrow back in his quiver. He moved toward the
animal slowly. The fawn struggled to his spindly little legs and wobbled
slightly. Then his legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Little
Thunder could not help laughing at the awkward little animal. This
scared the fawn even more and he rose to his feet again and tried to run
but again tumbled to the ground. Little Thunder ran forward to where the
fawn lay, fearful that the fawn might have hurt himself. When he reached
the side of the fawn he knelt down and placed his hands along the soft
silky neck. The fawn trembled but he made no attempt to move. Gently,
Little Thunder stroked his neck and head and back and soon the little
fawn quieted down. It was not too long before a rough little tongue
reached up and swiped at Little Thunder’s face. Little Thunder laughed
again and the fawn trembled. Speaking softly, Little Thunder told the
fawn that everything was all right and that no one would harm him.
Little Thunder realized that the mother deer must not be too far off,
because only rarely would a mother deer leave her young—and then only to
get a drink of water or find a new place to hide her fawn. Little
Thunder rose from the ground and decided to look around for the fawn’s
mother. Walking to the opposite edge of the clearing, he looked down
through the forest and saw a lake. Winding his way through the trees and
brush, he was soon standing upon the shore of the lake. There he found
fresh tracks of a full-grown deer. Then he saw some blood on the shore
near more deer tracks, but he could find no further trace of the deer.
Then he spotted the prints of a pair of moccasins. He realized that a
warrior from a neighboring tribe in search of food had probably come
upon the doe while she was drinking, shot her, and carried her away. He
knew his guess was right when he saw a deer’s stubby tail tied to the
branch of a low-hanging tree—a sign always left by an Indian near the
place where he had killed an animal for food or clothing.
Little Thunder ran back quickly to the little fawn, still nestled in the
tall grass. Even though he trembled as Little Thunder came near, he soon
became calm as the young Indian petted him gently.
“Your mother has been killed, little one,” Little Thunder murmured to
the fawn. “That leaves you with no one to look out for you. Do not
worry. I, Little Thunder, will be your friend. But first we must get you
to a safer place, for there are many animals that would make life
dangerous for you here in the open.”
Little Thunder lifted the young fawn in his arms and carried him into
the woods where he found a small thicket. Hiding the fawn in the
thicket, he returned to the lake and brought some water to the fawn.
Then picking up his bow and arrows, he trotted swiftly toward home to
tell his mother of his adventure. On the way, a plump rabbit ran across
his path. Little Thunder’s shot was easy and accurate. So he brought his
mother the big rabbit he had promised—and a big but true story, too.
For many days after that, Little Thunder went back with food to his
newly found friend. The young fawn soon became strong and was able to
frisk about. Soon Little Thunder and the fawn were playing games
together in the clearing. He even taught the fawn to come when he
whistled.
At last, his father returned from the long hunting trip and Little
Thunder told him all about his adventure with the young fawn.
“This I will have to see for myself,” Big Thunder told the boy.
“Tomorrow we shall go together to the thicket in the forest.”
So the next morning Little Thunder took his father to the forest, but
when they reached the thicket, it was empty. Big Thunder smiled at his
son as if to say that the boy had dreamed the whole adventure.
“He is probably out frisking in the clearing,” Little Thunder said
hastily, “or he’s down at the lake having a drink. He will be back soon.
Come, father, we will sit over here and wait.”
Though they waited patiently long into the afternoon, the deer did not
return. For several days after that, Little Thunder came back to the
forest and clearing and lake, but there was no sign of his animal
friend. Little Thunder lost all hope of finding the fawn and soon forgot
all about him, until one day about twelve moons later.
Little Thunder had gone hunting that day and found himself on the trail
of a young buck. He followed the buck all morning and just as he was
about to give up the trail and return home, he saw the clearing where he
had found the fawn. Approaching quietly he looked out across the
clearing. At first he could see nothing. Then as he gazed along the side
of the clearing near the forest, his eyes stopped at the small thicket.
Something moved. Could it be the fawn, he wondered hopefully.
Slowly he stood up and moved toward the thicket. Then something stirred
again. A beautiful young buck stood up in the thicket. The buck turned
to run. Little Thunder whistled and called out softly. The buck stopped,
turned and looked at the boy. Then, without fear, the buck ran forward
to where Little Thunder stood with his hand outstretched. The animal’s
tongue licked the Indian’s hand, and Little Thunder reached up and
scratched the young buck’s head. The boy knew that his friend had come
back at last. He would have much to talk about to the buck—and even more
to tell his father.