Treasury of American Indian Tales

by Theodore Whitson Ressler

One morning just before Little Thunder’s father was to go off on a hunt with the other warriors of the village, he called Little Thunder to him.

“You must take care of your mother while I am away,” Big Thunder told the boy. “You must be the man of the house now. You must protect your mother and your home and see that all of the work is done.” He smiled and pressed his son’s shoulders. “You will soon be a man and then we can go on the big hunt together. But you are man enough now to watch over your mother while I am away.”

Little Thunder felt very proud of the way his father had spoken to him. When all was in readiness and the hunters had left the village, Little Thunder turned to his mother and stood very straight as he looked at her.

“Do not be afraid, for I will watch over you, mother,” he promised. “To show that I can get all the food we need, I will go into the woods and bring us a fine fat rabbit for supper.”

Now Little Thunder had a good hunting bow which his grandfather had made for him many moons ago. It was of stout hickory and had an even curve to it when the sinew string was pulled tight. Little Thunder had worked carefully to make straight, strong arrow shafts. He had chosen the best willow shoots from which be peeled the bark. Then he seasoned and straightened them over the fire, and rubbed them smooth with sandstone. His arrowpoints were made of flint which he had chipped with a piece of deer’s antler after much practice under the eyes of his father. These were his best arrows and he was saving them for the time he would go with his father on the hunt.

Little Thunder laid these big-game arrows aside and picked up the set he had made for use now as a young Indian boy. They had bone points which he had ground sharp and bound into the split end of the shaft with wet sinew that tightened as it dried. On the other end he had glued and tied carefully trimmed goose and turkey feathers to help the arrow fly straight to its mark. He selected several arrows and tested his bow. Little Thunder knew he would find plenty of game because the Indians never killed without needing the food or skin of an animal. Having finished all preparations for the hunt, he said good-bye to his mother and started off to find the fat juicy rabbit he had promised her.

Little Thunder trotted along the forest trails at a fast jog, looking in all directions for signs of game. He moved softly on his toes and the balls of his feet, as his father had taught him, so that he would not frighten the creatures of the forest.

Soon he came out of the forest into a large clearing that he believed would yield the game he was after. He had walked watchfully only a short while when, not seven paces from him, he saw a rather large clump of tall grass move. He dropped to the ground, pressed his body flat against the earth and waited. The grass did not move again. He tested the slight breeze by wetting a finger in his mouth and holding his finger in the air. The side of his finger away from him felt cool and he knew that the breeze was blowing toward him. Whatever was in the grass ahead of him would not be able to catch his scent. He crept forward softly. When he was about three paces from the clump of grass, he stood up with bow and arrow ready to shoot.

But before he let the arrow fly, he stopped short. There, nestled in the grass, was a young fawn which appeared to have been born only a short while ago. The fawn, frightened by Little Thunder, lay perfectly still, his coat blending in almost perfectly with the grasses and shrubs around him.

Little Thunder put the arrow back in his quiver. He moved toward the animal slowly. The fawn struggled to his spindly little legs and wobbled slightly. Then his legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Little Thunder could not help laughing at the awkward little animal. This scared the fawn even more and he rose to his feet again and tried to run but again tumbled to the ground. Little Thunder ran forward to where the fawn lay, fearful that the fawn might have hurt himself. When he reached the side of the fawn he knelt down and placed his hands along the soft silky neck. The fawn trembled but he made no attempt to move. Gently, Little Thunder stroked his neck and head and back and soon the little fawn quieted down. It was not too long before a rough little tongue reached up and swiped at Little Thunder’s face. Little Thunder laughed again and the fawn trembled. Speaking softly, Little Thunder told the fawn that everything was all right and that no one would harm him.