Treasury of American Indian Tales

by Theodore Whitson Ressler

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.