Little Bear opened his eyes and looked around his wickiup home. As the
sleep left his eyes, he noticed that his father’s bed was empty and that
he was alone. Quickly he threw off his buffalo robe and ran to the door
of the wickiup. Pushing aside the deerskin he looked out into the small
Apache camp.
There was quite a bit of activity. Everyone was hurrying about. Although
it was still very early, the cooking fires were burning brightly, and
the women of the tribe were busy preparing a hot meal. Then he
remembered that today was the day of the big hunt.
Little Bear ran quickly through the village searching for his father,
Swift Eagle. Finally after asking several of his friends, he was told
that his father could probably be found at the corral. Soon he saw his
father looking over the horses. Swift Eagle was telling young braves
which horses to select for his use on the hunt.
“Father,” called Little Bear, “why did you not waken me when the dawn
came? There has been much excitement since the sun first broke through
the night, but you did not wake me.”
“My son, I wanted you to rest, for today is the day of the big hunt.
Soon the warriors will be gathering and we will be ready to leave for
the feeding grounds of the great buffalo. Now I must check the horses,
for we must take only the young and the strong. This will be a long and
hard Journey.”
Little Bear suddenly realized that this was to be a real test for him.
When a young Apache is considered a young brave, he is taken on his
first big buffalo hunt along with the older warriors of the tribe. He
must prove himself worthy of being called a hunter. Little Bear had
waited a long time for this great day. He felt his heart beating a
little faster than usual and he was filled with excitement and a little
fear. Little Bear’s fear left when his father placed his hand upon his
son’s shoulder and said, “Be not afraid, my son, for you were born an
Apache and Apaches fear nothing. You will make a great hunter, and a
true Apache.”
Together they walked back to their wickiup where Little Bear’s mother
had prepared a fine breakfast. When they had all eaten, they heard that
the hunting party was beginning to form. Soon all was in readiness, and
the great hunting party rode out from the village. The scouts had
reported that a rather large herd of buffalo had stopped to graze only
half a day’s ride from their camp. So it was for this herd that the
hunting party had made its plans.
As they rode along, Little Bear began to think of how he would make his
first kill of buffalo, the largest of the wild game hunted by the
Apaches. Little Bear had hunted before but only for rabbits and other
small game. This was to be his day of triumph, and he was excited. Soon
the caravan of hunters halted to rest and replenish their water supply
from a spring near by. The scouts were sent ahead once again to see if
the herd had shifted position.
As Swift Eagle and his son sat by the cool spring, Little Bear stared
toward the horizon hoping to be the first of the party to see the
returning scouts. His father had been watching him with a kindly eye,
and said, “Do not be too eager, my son. When excitement grows within the
body, the hand becomes unsteady. You must control our body and your
mind, or you will find that your aim will not be true. Your arrow,
instead of striking its mark, will do nothing but chew up the dust of
the prairie.”
Little Bear listened quietly to his father; as so many times before, he
realized the wisdom in his father’s words.
There was little conversation for a while, until the scouts returned to
report that the herd had not moved and that a short ride would bring the
party to within striking distance. The hunting party moved on until the
signal was passed that the herd was just over the next rise.
Instructions were given and the party quickly spread out into an
attacking formation, each brave hoping to have the best spot to ride
down the buffalo herd. As soon as everyone was in position, they waited
for the next signal of the leader.
Little Bear could feel the excitement mounting in his body and,
remembering the words of his father, fought off the tenseness that was
filling his arms and legs. The rise in front of him, which separated the
hunting party from the herd, seemed to be very far away. Just as Little
Bear felt he could not control his pony or himself any longer, the
signal was given. The braves, with shouts rising from their throats,
raced over the rise. Soon there was a mixture of running, frightened
buffalo, and riding, yelling warrior hunters, and clouds of dust that
rose from the hundreds of hoofs churning the prairie.
Little Bear drew an arrow from his quiver. Following the patient
teaching of his father, he calmly placed the arrow to the bow string.
Leaning forward on the neck of his pony, holding tight with his knees
pressed against his pony’s sides, he peered into the dust and quickly
spotted his quarry. A large bull buffalo was lumbering along a little
wide of the herd. Carefully taking aim, Little Bear let go his arrow.
The last thing he saw before the dust welled up again to block his sight
was his arrow protruding from the side of a stumbling buffalo.
Little Bear swerved his pony rapidly away from the herd. When the pony
was able to check his forward speed, pony and rider withdrew to the side
of the battleground to watch the rest of the hunt in safety. As the herd
disappeared across the prairie, the members of the hunting party turned
their horses and began the ride back to where the herd had been grazing.
When the dust had cleared, Little Bear saw scattered across the prairie
the bodies of many buffalo which had fallen before the accurate shooting
of the hunters. Each brave would be able to tell his kill, for each
arrow bore the mark of its owner.
Little Bear galloped toward the spot where he thought his buffalo had
fallen. While he rode, his heart beat very fast. He tried to show little
excitement as he drew near to a group of hunters who stood looking down
at an object upon the ground. As Little Bear drew close, he slowed his
pony. His father turned and smiled. Dismounting, Little Bear walked to
his father’s side. Lying on the ground at the feet of the older braves
was a bull buffalo of tremendous size. And there was the arrow of Little
Bear exactly where the arrow of a good hunter should be. He had hit the
buffalo in a vital spot.
Swift Eagle placed his arm across the shoulders of his son. Amid the
many grunts and exclamations of approval coming from the warrior
hunters, Little Bear heard the deep calm, proud voice of his father.
“You have done well, my son. This is a fine buffalo, one which we are
sure will prove to be the largest one killed this day. The many hours
spent in teaching you were not wasted. This you have proven today. You
will return to our village a hero and tell of your exploits at the
council tonight. No longer will you have to stay behind when the hunters
go in search of food. Today you have become a hunter and earned the
right to ride with the hunting party. Your father is proud.”
And so the procession, after attending the buffalo and stripping the
hides and packing the fresh meat for the return trek, headed for home.
At the front of the party rode Swift Eagle and Little Bear, a proud
father and an even prouder son. Today the young brave had succeeded in
his first hunt.