Little Thunder had gone hunting that day and found himself on the trail of a young buck. He followed the buck all morning and just as he was about to give up the trail and return home, he saw the clearing where he had found the fawn. Approaching quietly he looked out across the clearing. At first he could see nothing. Then as he gazed along the side of the clearing near the forest, his eyes stopped at the small thicket. Something moved. Could it be the fawn, he wondered hopefully.
Slowly he stood up and moved toward the thicket. Then something stirred again. A beautiful young buck stood up in the thicket. The buck turned to run. Little Thunder whistled and called out softly. The buck stopped, turned and looked at the boy. Then, without fear, the buck ran forward to where Little Thunder stood with his hand outstretched. The animal’s tongue licked the Indian’s hand, and Little Thunder reached up and scratched the young buck’s head. The boy knew that his friend had come back at last. He would have much to talk about to the buck—and even more to tell his father.
HOW NOT TO CATCH A FISH
The Bella Coola were a tribe that lived along the Northwest coast. Like most of the Indians in this part of the land, they were fishermen and woodcarvers. Some of the most beautiful carvings in the world have come from these tribes. Their chief source of food was fish. Each year at the time the salmon were running, the Indians would go out to the great rivers with spears and fish nets to make large catches. Each salmon was then split and dried and stored.
As soon as the Bella Coola boys were old and strong enough, they were taken out to the rivers and taught how to throw the fish spear with its long line attached. They were also taught the use of the large fish nets. Both the spear and the net were hard to handle and sometimes dangerous.
One day Little Twig (who had that name because of his size and the thinness of his body when he was born) begged his father to take him on the salmon hunt. All the men of the tribe were getting ready to head for the river steps where the salmon would be leaping. But Little Twig’s father stooped beside his son and spoke slowly to him.
“My son, I would like to take you along, but this is man’s work and you are still a young boy with much to learn. Stay here in the village and play with the other children. Your day of hunting and spearing the great salmon will come before you know it. But this time the answer must be No.”
Little Twig watched his father leave the village. When all the other fishermen had left, Little Twig went in search of his friend, Running Turtle. He found him carving a new handle for his knife.
“Running Turtle, let us go and watch our fathers fish for the great salmon,” he said. “We can go far above them on the river and watch from the ledge. We will stay only for a short while and will be back in the village before we are missed. I have never seen them fish for the great salmon because my father says that it is too dangerous for Indian boys. Will you go?”
“My father will not let me go to fish with the men of the village either. But he never said that I could not watch the men as they fish. Come, Little Twig, let us hurry. The men are probably already there.”