Grey Calf opened his eyes to greet the warmth of the early spring day.
There was a great deal of excitement in his Crow village as he rolled
out from under his buffalo robe. At just that moment, his father entered
the tepee.
“Come, my son,” he said. “We must dress and eat right away. The village
is broken down, for we are going to move again. Your mother is waiting
to take down our tepee. Come, you must prepare to help load the
travois.”
Grey Calf learned as a very young Crow that whenever his tribe had to
move to follow the buffalo herds, the whole village was packed and
loaded upon travois drawn by the horse or horses of each family.
Everything the family owned was made to be carried easily in rawhide
containers that could be folded and put away when the family had settled
in a new place. Furniture was made so that it could be folded, too.
Many times, Grey Calf had watched his mother make the travois. She would
take two of the tepee poles and fasten them together with a rawhide
thong, just a short way from one end. Then she would pull the poles
apart at the opposite end and set them, at the point where they were
crossed and tied, upon the shoulders of their horse. The longer ends of
the crossed poles would stretch outward and rest on the ground behind
their horse on each side. Then she would run a long strip of rawhide
through the knot that joined the poles over the horse’s shoulders, and
tie it around the horse’s chest like a light harness. Finally, she would
stretch and tie strips of rawhide across the poles behind the horse, to
make a frame on which their family goods were loaded.
Grey Calf’s father had told him once that many years ago, before the
white man had brought horses to the Indians’ land, the travois had been
fastened to their strong dogs. But the dogs were not so strong as
horses, so the loads had to be much smaller and lighter. Even their
tepees were smaller in those days because larger ones would have weighed
too much for any one dog to pull on the travois.
These thoughts passed rapidly through Grey Calf’s mind as he listened to
his father. Then he yawned and asked, “Must we move so soon again,
father? It seems such a short while ago that our tribe set up its
village here.”
“My son, the buffalo are on the move,” his father answered patiently.
“You know that we would not have our tepees, our best food and clothing,
and little of anything else without the great buffalo. When they decide
to move, we must move with them. The scouts who have been watching the
herd tell us that it has started to leave for new feeding grounds.”
Without another word, Grey Calf got up quickly and began helping his
mother gather their belongings. He helped her take down the tepee. Then
she built the travois rapidly, and he helped her pack and load their
belongings onto it.
Soon, where once a proud village had stood, hardly anything was left
standing. The men set out ahead on their horses, followed by the women
and children on horses, the smaller children sometimes riding on the
travois, their mothers and the older children riding astride the horses’
backs. Grey Calf, like many other of the older boys, was riding his own
pony near his mother.
The scouts were far ahead of them, keeping close touch with the
wandering buffalo herd, and signaling the tribe to tell the braves which
way to lead their families. The scouts were also watching carefully for
roving bands of the Crows’ enemies, for they were near Cheyenne
territory, but they saw none.
Just as Grey Calf was ready to ask his mother if the buffalo herd would
never stop roaming, a scout raced his horse back to tell the braves that
the herd was circling around, ready to settle down near fresh water and
food. The Chief gave the signal, and all the families went to work
busily setting up their tepees. Before too long, smoke was rising lazily
from the fires which circled their new village. The trek had taken most
of the day, and the women were beginning to cook the evening meal.
The braves were watering their thirsty horses, and then would put them
out to graze. Grey Calf did all he could to help his mother get their
meal ready quickly because he was very hungry. When all the small chores
had been completed, the families gathered at their tepees, to eat the
food that smelled so good to all the children.
It wasn’t long after Grey Calf had eaten that he began to feel drowsy.
Saying goodnight to his father and mother, he went into the tepee,
rolled himself in his warm buffalo robe (because the prairie night would
be cool), and was soon sound asleep.
The next day dawned as one of great excitement, for word came to the
tepee of Grey Calf that today One Horn, the great buffalo hunter, was
going to take the young braves on their first buffalo hunt.
Like other Crow boys, Grey Calf had spent many days preparing patiently
for this great event. His father had taught him how to ride his pony and
to shoot the bow and arrow. He had learned how to ride into a herd and
to shoot from beneath his pony’s neck. And now that great day was here.
One Horn, the greatest of buffalo hunters in the tribe, would give the
young braves their last lesson before taking them out onto the prairie
for the actual hunt.
When the young braves had gathered, One Horn stepped to the center of
the circle and gave his final instructions, warning them not to be too
eager but to take their time and make sure of their shot. And above all,
he warned them, as soon as they had made their shot they must swerve
away from the herd. In this way they would be out of danger if the herd
should spread out to avoid trampling its fallen members.
When One Horn finished, he asked if there were any questions. The young
braves had none. So One Horn told them that the time of the hunt would
be midafternoon. The boys were told to return to their tepees and get
everything ready.
Grey Calf sped back to his tepee to tell his family breathlessly all
that had happened. For the rest of the morning he worked carefully over
each of his arrows and his strong bow. In fact, he was so busy that his
mother had to call him three times before he came to lunch.
The sun seemed to move very slowly for all the Crow boys. But soon a
young brave on a frisky pony rode swiftly through the village to tell
them to gather for the hunt.
Grey Calf leaped upon his pony’s back and sped to the edge of the
village where the other young braves were gathering. When all had
gathered and were seated on the ground, One Horn spoke.
“A small group of buffalo has wandered away from the main herd,” he
said. “It is from this small group that we shall choose our targets. I
will inspect each young brave’s weapons in turn. When all are
satisfactory, we shall move out in the direction of the small herd. Do
not ride hard but move your pony slowly. Buffalo will not go far in this
heat. We shall have plenty of time to come near them, take our positions
quietly, and then attack together without warning.”
When One Horn had finished examining each young brave’s weapons, the
small band moved out in single file. Soon they sighted the buffalo. One
Horn gave hand signals to the young braves to spread out and take their
positions silently, but above all to wait for the signal from One Horn
to attack.
As slowly and quietly as possible, each young brave moved into position.
All eyes were on One Horn, and suddenly he gave the signal. The air was
torn apart as wild yelps leaped from the throats of the eager young
hunters. The buffalo were startled and began running about wildly. The
boys dug their heels into their ponies’ sides and headed into the group
of buffalo. Soon the dust clouds were so heavy that one could not tell
the hunters from the hunted, but the young braves rode swiftly, each
hunter picking out his buffalo carefully and with an eye to size. This
was to be the first of many buffalo kills, and each young brave hoped
that his would be the largest of the beasts brought down.
Buffalo after buffalo began to stumble and fall before the accurate
shooting of the young hunters. The ponies were magnificent in their
performance, for each had been carefully trained for this day.
As quickly as the hunt had started it was over. One by one the young
braves returned to One Horn who had seen their great success. Soon they
were once again at their starting point. They knew that the remaining
buffalo would tire and, knowing they were no longer being chased, would
begin to mill and settle down once again.
One Horn gazed proudly upon the field of battle. Twelve plump shaggy
beasts lay dead upon the prairie. Every brave had made his kill. There
would be much rejoicing in the village that evening. One Horn told the
young braves how to prepare their kills for the return to the village,
and they went to work immediately. Their adventure this afternoon would
mean much food for the tribe and new clothing for the coming winter and
horns and tails to decorate their costumes and tepees.
As One Horn rode from dead buffalo to dead buffalo, watching the young
braves at work, he was quick to praise each lad for his part in the hunt
that day. Soon all had completed their tasks and a triumphant band
returned to the village.
That evening each young brave in turn told how he had made his kill and
there was a great deal of celebrating. The honor of the biggest kill
went to Grey Calf. As the last of the families were going into their
tepees for the evening, Grey Calf’s father came to sit by his side.
“My son, your father is proud. Not only has my son killed his first
buffalo but it was by far the largest of the beasts killed today. Today
you had success and triumph, but life will not always be that simple.
The trail ahead is hard. There will be many difficult times, but if you
learn your lessons well you shall one day be a great and respected
warrior of the tribe.”
When Grey Calf’s father had finished speaking, he looked down upon his
son and smiled. The tired young brave had fallen asleep.