American Indian stories eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 97 pages of information about American Indian stories.

With a strange warmth in my heart and swiftness in my feet, I climbed over the first hill, and soon the second one.  The moonlight upon the white country showed me a clear path to the white man’s cattle.  With my hand upon the knife in my belt, I leaned heavily against the fence while counting the herd.

Twenty in all I numbered.  From among them I chose the best-fattened creature.  Leaping over the fence, I plunged my knife into it.

My long knife was sharp, and my hands, no more fearful and slow, slashed off choice chunks of warm flesh.  Bending under the meat I had taken for my starving father, I hurried across the prairie.

Toward home I fairly ran with the life-giving food I carried upon my back.  Hardly had I climbed the second hill when I heard sounds coming after me.  Faster and faster I ran with my load for my father, but the sounds were gaining upon me.  I heard the clicking of snowshoes and the squeaking of the leather straps at my heels; yet I did not turn to see what pursued me, for I was intent upon reaching my father.  Suddenly like thunder an angry voice shouted curses and threats into my ear!  A rough hand wrenched my shoulder and took the meat from me!  I stopped struggling to run.  A deafening whir filled my head.  The moon and stars began to move.  Now the white prairie was sky, and the stars lay under my feet.  Now again they were turning.  At last the starry blue rose up into place.  The noise in my ears was still.  A great quiet filled the air.  In my hand I found my long knife dripping with blood.  At my feet a man’s figure lay prone in blood-red snow.  The horrible scene about me seemed a trick of my senses, for I could not understand it was real.  Looking long upon the blood-stained snow, the load of meat for my starving father reached my recognition at last.  Quickly I tossed it over my shoulder and started again homeward.

Tired and haunted I reached the door of the wigwam.  Carrying the food before me, I entered with it into the tepee.

“Father, here is food!” I cried, as I dropped the meat near my mother.  No answer came.  Turning about, I beheld my gray-haired father dead!  I saw by the unsteady firelight an old gray-haired skeleton lying rigid and stiff.

Out into the open I started, but the snow at my feet became bloody.

V.

On the day after my father’s death, having led my mother to the camp of the medicineman, I gave myself up to those who were searching for the murderer of the paleface.

They bound me hand and foot.  Here in this cell I was placed four days ago.

The shrieking winter winds have followed me hither.  Rattling the bars, they howl unceasingly:  “Your soft heart! your soft heart will see me die before you bring me food!” Hark! something is clanking the chain on the door.  It is being opened.  From the dark night without a black figure crosses the threshold. * * * It is the guard.  He comes to warn me of my fate.  He tells me that tomorrow I must die.  In his stern face I laugh aloud.  I do not fear death.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
American Indian stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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