  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. |
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