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Authors: Janette Oke
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chopping down a pine that might be too close to the flaming structure and could spread the fire to the rest of the village.
In a short time it was all over. The school tent had not been saved—but all the rest of the village had been spared. After some discussion of how the fire had started—no doubt a stray spark from a campfire—weary, smoke-blackened bodies returned to their beds to attempt further sleep.
Running Fawn was fighting her own continuing silent battle. She felt sorry for Man With The Book who had fought valiantly until the last spark was extinguished, yet she could not but feel a sense of relief. There would be no more school. No more tempting of the Sun God. She could relax now. The old way was secured. They would not learn any more ways and words of the white man.
She was turning away from the scene when she spotted a solitary figure who still stood silently in the light of the moon. Silver Fox, head bowed, shoulders slumped, stared fixedly at the smoldering heap that symbolized his hope for learning. Running Fawn had never seen such disappointment on a face. Perhaps … perhaps she had been selfish in her personal desires.
Chapter Seven
To the Plains
The spring sun reached down fingers of warmth, melting the banks of snow and freeing the frozen stream to sing again. Returning geese honked joyously overhead, and the loon called from the lake waters released from winter’s icy prison. It was Running Fawn’s favorite time of the year. She found it hard not to skip in her eagerness as she picked up the water bucket and headed down the path that led to the spring.
On the way she saw small boys noisily trying to outdo one another as they skipped stones in the creek waters. She merely smiled and passed on by. Life was good. They had made it through another chilling winter. Had returned once again to the warmth of the sun. There had been wild meat for the cooking pots and wood for the fires. Her mother had gradually gained strength. No serious illnesses had visited the camp. All was right with the world.
Her eyes quickly scanned the spring site to see if others might be there ahead of her. When she was assured that she was alone, she let her pail slide from her fingers and pushed herself up against the rock. There was a coldness to the granite, for the tall pines shaded it from the sun’s new warmth. But she liked the feel of it, cool and strong against her shoulder. She pushed a little closer to it and let her eyes wander out over the valley before her. In the sky a lone hawk circled, crying in the stillness of the morning air as he made his graceful arcs on silent currents.
Near at hand she heard the chattering squirrels as they quarreled over a food supply. Then a rabbit, half brown fur, half white, darted from among a tangled web of upturned tree roots and hurried off down the path, uplifted tail forever white making a waving flag behind him.
It was difficult to pull away from her reverie, but at length she sighed, dipped the pail in the shallow pool of new spring water, and headed back toward the camp.
Spring , she mused inwardly. Other years we would be preparing to break camp. This year? This year we will be able to stay throughout the entire summer. There will be no striking down of tents, no bundling heavy burdens. No need to move out. The buffalo are gone. Gone.
And although the thought was troubling because of what it meant to the tribes, it also brought a measure of consolation. If the buffalo herds still roamed the plains, they would follow them. Now she would be able to enjoy her favorite spot all year round.
June 3, 1881
Dear Brethren,
We are still at the winter camp, but I do not know how long we shall remain here. I have not tried to resume classes since the burning of our tent school that I previously reported on to you. It did not seem feasible to do so with my scant supply of teaching materials lost to the flames. However, Silver Fox, the chief’s son, still studies with me.
In a short time it was all over. The school tent had not been saved—but all the rest of the village had been spared. After some discussion of how the fire had started—no doubt a stray spark from a campfire—weary, smoke-blackened bodies returned to their beds to attempt further sleep.
Running Fawn was fighting her own continuing silent battle. She felt sorry for Man With The Book who had fought valiantly until the last spark was extinguished, yet she could not but feel a sense of relief. There would be no more school. No more tempting of the Sun God. She could relax now. The old way was secured. They would not learn any more ways and words of the white man.
She was turning away from the scene when she spotted a solitary figure who still stood silently in the light of the moon. Silver Fox, head bowed, shoulders slumped, stared fixedly at the smoldering heap that symbolized his hope for learning. Running Fawn had never seen such disappointment on a face. Perhaps … perhaps she had been selfish in her personal desires.
Chapter Seven
To the Plains
The spring sun reached down fingers of warmth, melting the banks of snow and freeing the frozen stream to sing again. Returning geese honked joyously overhead, and the loon called from the lake waters released from winter’s icy prison. It was Running Fawn’s favorite time of the year. She found it hard not to skip in her eagerness as she picked up the water bucket and headed down the path that led to the spring.
On the way she saw small boys noisily trying to outdo one another as they skipped stones in the creek waters. She merely smiled and passed on by. Life was good. They had made it through another chilling winter. Had returned once again to the warmth of the sun. There had been wild meat for the cooking pots and wood for the fires. Her mother had gradually gained strength. No serious illnesses had visited the camp. All was right with the world.
Her eyes quickly scanned the spring site to see if others might be there ahead of her. When she was assured that she was alone, she let her pail slide from her fingers and pushed herself up against the rock. There was a coldness to the granite, for the tall pines shaded it from the sun’s new warmth. But she liked the feel of it, cool and strong against her shoulder. She pushed a little closer to it and let her eyes wander out over the valley before her. In the sky a lone hawk circled, crying in the stillness of the morning air as he made his graceful arcs on silent currents.
Near at hand she heard the chattering squirrels as they quarreled over a food supply. Then a rabbit, half brown fur, half white, darted from among a tangled web of upturned tree roots and hurried off down the path, uplifted tail forever white making a waving flag behind him.
It was difficult to pull away from her reverie, but at length she sighed, dipped the pail in the shallow pool of new spring water, and headed back toward the camp.
Spring , she mused inwardly. Other years we would be preparing to break camp. This year? This year we will be able to stay throughout the entire summer. There will be no striking down of tents, no bundling heavy burdens. No need to move out. The buffalo are gone. Gone.
And although the thought was troubling because of what it meant to the tribes, it also brought a measure of consolation. If the buffalo herds still roamed the plains, they would follow them. Now she would be able to enjoy her favorite spot all year round.
June 3, 1881
Dear Brethren,
We are still at the winter camp, but I do not know how long we shall remain here. I have not tried to resume classes since the burning of our tent school that I previously reported on to you. It did not seem feasible to do so with my scant supply of teaching materials lost to the flames. However, Silver Fox, the chief’s son, still studies with me.
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