It was a bright morning in the village of the Iroquois. Maseca, the
little Indian brave, awoke to the sound of the birds of the woodland.
Today Maseca and Chincho were going fishing and that was always a great
adventure, for they never knew exactly what would happen as they strode
through the forest or out along the wild streams.
Maseca gathered up his fishing gear and he carefully went over it all to
see that it was in good shape. Then he sat down to eat some food his
mother had prepared for him. But he was impatient to get under way. So
he arose and, stuffing some dry deer meat into his pouch, started off in
search of Chincho.
Because Chincho was a little older than the other children with whom he
and Maseca played, he would sometimes be the bully in the group. But
only on rare occasions did he bully Maseca. Such an occasion occurred
when he boasted to everyone that he could beat Maseca in a foot race.
Maseca had accepted the challenge and had beaten the older boy quite
badly. Since then, even though Chincho and Maseca had been close
friends, Chincho would let jealousy get the best of him and thought of
ways to teach Maseca a lesson for having beaten him in a foot race.
Sometimes Chincho even found himself wishing that Maseca would break his
leg or suffer some other injury which would make him a cripple. But
whenever these thoughts entered his mind, Chincho would drive them out,
and dream about the many wonderful times he and Maseca had had together,
wandering through the forests and fishing in the streams.
On this bright morning Chincho bolted the last of his breakfast as he
heard the hurrying footsteps of Maseca approaching his father’s wigwam.
Placing his deer meat in a leather pouch which his mother had made for
him and gathering up his fishing gear, Chincho quickly left the wigwam
to join Maseca and together they swiftly trotted off through the forest.
They wanted to be the first ones to the stream and get the best spots
for fishing. They did not speak as they trotted, for they knew that that
would only shorten their wind and their speed, and that the other boys
of the village might get there before them. Finally, they reached the
stream and settled down to catch the lazy fish that swam unaware of the
presence of the two boys.
Early in the afternoon, having caught several good-sized fish, they
decided to hang their catch in a tree and do a little exploring
upstream. So they started out in a direction they had never gone before,
remembering the warnings of the elders to walk softly and not too far
from familiar ground, because one could get lost very easily in the
green forest. This was especially true in the summer when the leaves
often hid landmarks that would be easy to remember.
As they traveled farther and farther upstream, gazing at all the
beauties of nature around them, Chincho suddenly stopped and threw
himself flat on the ground behind a big birch tree. Maseca, not knowing
the reason, but realizing that Chincho was not playing a game, did the
same thing. Maseca started to speak but Chincho motioned for him to
remain silent. Then Chincho pointed up ahead. About a hundred paces
ahead standing in a little clearing taking a drink from the stream was a
tremendous buck deer. Maseca had never seen so large a deer and he could
not help gasping in surprise. Chincho turned and frowned at him and
Maseca quickly stifled all other exclamations. Then Chincho crawled
close to Maseca.
“Maseca,” he whispered, “do you think we could get near enough to that
deer to kill him? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to bring that buck back to
the village?”
Maseca nodded that he thought it a wonderful idea and they agreed
quickly that they would try to take the big deer as a prize. After
making sure that the wind was blowing toward them, carrying their scent
away from the deer, they began to move quietly and slowly on their
stomachs toward the unsuspecting deer. Chincho rose to his knees and,
fitting a new arrow to his bow, stopped some thirty paces short of the
deer, drew back on the bowstring, and let the arrow fly. The boys heard
the arrow whistle as it flew and the thud as it struck its target. But
Chincho’s aim had not been accurate. The deer bounded away, the arrow
sticking in his side but not in a vital place.
Chincho knew that he must obey the law of his tribe regarding any animal
a brave has wounded. He must track the wounded deer until he either came
upon him dead or could get close enough to make the kill. Long ago the
tribe had ruled wisely that it was cruel to let a wounded animal wander
the forest in pain, possibly suffering so much that it would injure
other animals, and possibly dying from loss of blood or from a sickness
from the wound. Chincho was tempted not to follow the deer into the
unknown woods, when he felt Maseca’s gaze upon him.
“Chincho, you do not plan to leave without finding the wounded deer. It
is the law of our tribe.”
Chincho looked guilty and said, “It is not a bad wound. The arrow barely
scratched him. He will be all right. Come, let us return to the village
before it is dark.”
“No,” Maseca insisted, “we must follow the deer until we bring him down.
You must not leave a wounded animal to suffer. It is the law.”
Chincho knew that Maseca was right, and yet in his heart he was afraid.
So he tried to excuse his cowardice by saying, “But it is also the law
of our tribe that we shall not wander too far from the familiar parts of
our land. We could become lost here in the green forest. We should turn
back.” As he started to turn, Chincho saw a challenging look in Maseca’s
eyes and he waited as Maseca spoke.
“You may return to the village claiming that the law says one should not
wander too far, but I will follow the deer and make sure of his death. I
will mark my trail plainly so that by night or by day I can follow it
back to my starting place. Go, Chincho. Return to your father’s home and
see if you can sleep peacefully when you think of the deer you have
wounded.”
Even while he was speaking, Maseca realized that his friend’s fear was
very great, and that it would be a mistake to force Chincho to follow
the buck. Maseca would have to worry as much about calming Chincho’s
fear as he would have to worry about finding the way back for both of
them.
Chincho thought that Maseca would laugh at him and insisted now on going
with Maseca to trail the deer. So they started to follow the drops of
blood they found on the plants as they went through the forest. Maseca
broke branches and cut slices of bark from the sides of trees to mark
the path they were taking.
For awhile the big buck had run straight ahead as fast as he could in
spite of the wound. Then the crushed grass showed where he had lain down
to rest for a moment. But the grass was rising up straight again, which
told the boys that the deer had not rested long, sensing the danger
close by. Soon they saw fewer blood spots, and they knew that the blood
was starting to clot. Now, Maseca knew the deer could live for some time
yet.
“It grows late,” he warned Chincho. “We must hurry if we are to catch up
with the deer and claim our kill. We have only a short while left before
the sun will sink.”
Just at that moment Chincho saw something off to the side of the trail,
lying half-hidden in the brush. It was brown. As Chincho looked more
closely, he saw it moving rhythmically as an animal does in breathing.
He touched Maseca lightly on the shoulder and pointed toward the brush.
They both realized that this must be the wounded buck. Just as they were
trying to decide what to do, the deer made up their minds for them. With
a bellow, he leaped from his hiding place and headed straight for
Chincho. Chincho stood rooted to the spot with fright. His eyes bulged
as he saw the huge beast, his antlers held low in attack, bearing down
upon him. Maseca raised his bow, and with all the courage and calmness
he could muster, drew back and let go the string. As his arrow whished
straight toward the onrushing buck, Maseca knew that his aim had been
straight. As the arrow struck, the deer leaped into the air toward
Chincho. The buck’s action was so quick that Chincho failed to move in
time. As it fell, one of its antlers cut deeply into Chincho’s leg. The
boy gasped in pain and slumped to the ground, next to the dead buck.
Maseca ran quickly to his side and held his head in his arms. Then he
looked down at the nasty wound in Chincho’s leg and saw the blood
pouring out. Hurriedly, he gathered some large leaves, wet them in a
nearby stream, and placed them against the wound. Then he pulled a
leather thong from his leggings and used it to bind the leaves in place.
When he saw that the wound had nearly stopped bleeding, he spoke quietly
to Chincho.
“I must go for help, Chincho. You must lie still and quiet until I
return.” With that Maseca pulled up all the strength that was left in
his tired body and started running at top speed along the trail he had
marked.
As the sun sank behind the hills of the quiet valley, Chincho prayed
that Maseca would hurry. The pain was getting worse and, though the
blood had stopped flowing from the wound, Chincho was beginning to lose
strength. Suddenly, from down the trail, the boy heard the voices of
many braves. Then he heard his father shouting his name.
“Over here! Over here!” Chincho called weakly. His father ran to him and
knelt at his son’s side. Soon Chincho was surrounded by many of the
older braves who looked first at him and then at the dead buck. He
searched among the faces for that of his friend.
“Where is Maseca?” he asked his father.
“Back in the village resting, my son,” his father said softly. “You see,
Maseca ran so fast through the forest to seek help for you that he
caught his foot in a root and twisted his leg badly. He wouldn’t stop
even though he was barely able to hobble into camp. He had just enough
strength left to tell us where you were before he fainted.”
Chincho began to feel very guilty about the many times he had hoped that
Maseca would be injured some day just because Maseca had beaten him in
the foot race.
“He will be well again soon, won’t he, father? He will be able to run as
fast as before?” His father smiled down at Chincho.
“Is that what you want, my son?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, father. He must be well again. Because he won the foot race
fairly, I have often wished that he would be hurt. Now that it has
really happened, I am sorry. I will never wish harm for any friend
again. Only then will I be a true son to my father and a true Iroquois
brave.”
While Chincho and his father were talking, the other braves cut two
saplings and tied branches across them to make a stretcher to carry the
boy. Chincho’s father held his son’s hand as the other braves lifted the
boy onto the stretcher.
“You have spoken wisely, my son. Do not worry. Maseca will soon be well
enough to race and hunt and fish again with you.”
Chincho smiled up at his father and turned his head to look proudly at
the large buck that two braves were carrying, hung by its feet from a
sapling stretched across their shoulders.
The next night there was a special council fire. Two young braves were
lying on stretchers, side by side, at the place of honor. At their
sides, stood their fathers. Then the Chief told the tribe about the
bravery and hunting skill and strength of these two boys. “They will be
great braves, worthy of the Iroquois nation,” he said solemnly.
Chincho’s and Maseca’s fathers glanced proudly down at their sons.