Treasury of American Indian Tales

by Theodore Whitson Ressler

Soon word spread through the encampment that there were to be riding contests at the far west side of the meadow on the following day. These contests would be open to young braves who had made their first buffalo kill during the last year. This made Swift Hawk leap and shout for joy. Just last month he had brought down his first buffalo. This meant he could enter the riding contest. For many years now Swift Hawk had watched the contests from afar. Each year he promised himself that next year he would enter and win. Each year his father told him to be patient and that his time would come.

It was a very difficult contest to test the skills of the young warriors. Each boy was to start his ride from the top of a hill that sloped sharply down into the meadow. At every one-hundred-yard point along a twisting path down the steep slope, for a distance of five hundred yards, were four sets of poles, two poles to each set. Each set was driven in the ground a buffalo’s length apart until they stood between four and five feet above ground. Between these two poles a buffalo hide was stretched to look like a buffalo running directly toward the sloping path, his flank toward the young warriors as they rode down.

Each young brave was allowed a bow of his choice, four arrows, and a quiver. The brave, when given the signal to go, would race down the slope at full speed. Drawing an arrow from the quiver and bending his body down under the neck of his pony and holding on with his feet, he would aim his arrow under the neck of the pony and shoot the arrow into the buffalo hide. He would do this with each of the four arrows.

Such a contest would surely test the strength and courage of any young brave. But young Indians were brought up to fear little and to welcome a test like this. For this reason it was no surprise to the great chieftains when a rather large group of young braves gathered at the starting point the next morning. Each boy sat astride a fine looking pony, usually the gift of his father or some other leading member of the tribe. Each boy had his bow, his quiver, and four very special arrows which had been worked over and cared for like a pet or one of the family.

Final instructions were given to the young braves, and the riding contest was on! There was a great cheer from all who were watching as each rider left the starting point. This was a friendly match among boys from many tribes that often fought each other the rest of the year. Down the steep slope a lone warrior could be seen stationed at each buffalo hide. Here he could not only retrieve arrows but help to judge the young braves as they rode by and fired at the target.

Soon it was Swift Hawk’s turn. Remembering all that his father had taught him, he dug his heels into his pony’s sides and started his fast and dangerous ride. Carefully he drew an arrow from the quiver; then bending under the pony’s neck, he placed the arrow to the bow, and as the target came into view, Swift Hawk let his arrow fly! He heard the plunk as the arrow struck the hide. With his head still under the pony’s neck and riding so hard, he could hardly have seen where it had landed. But a loud cheer told him that he had made a good shot. Down the steep, winding course, Swift Hawk swiftly shot his arrows at the three other targets, and went back toward the starting point.

As he reached the hilltop he heard a great shout go up. Looking down the course he saw a young Crow brave just turning his pony to return to the starting point. The loud cheer meant that he had ridden well and made many good hits.

One by one each of the other young braves made his attempt but none could equal the riding and skill of the young Crow Indian. And so it was when the last contestant had made his ride and fired no better than the rest that the Crow brave was announced as the winner. Swift Hawk was one of the first to reach his side and congratulate him on his victory. Deep in his heart, Swift Hawk was sad. But he was also very happy for this young brave. Surely the young man had deserved to win; and, above all, Swift Hawk realized how happy the young brave and his family must be that he had won.

The contest over, Swift Hawk returned to his home and his father, disappointed but not unhappy now. There would be other contests, and this was a time of celebration and joy. His father found him sitting beside a tree stump.

“You did very well, my son,” Slow Tongue said, placing his hands upon Swift Hawk’s shoulders. “The Crow boy who won did just a little bit better, but all the Cree are proud of you. There will be other contests and many games. Soon your turn will come. But even if it should not, remember what I have told you. As long as you play fair with your fellow braves and obey the rules, there is nothing to be ashamed of when you lose to someone who plays fair and has great skill.”