  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. |
|
