Treasury of American Indian Tales

by Theodore Whitson Ressler

Grey Squirrel rose then, and faced his father. “Father,” he said, “your words are of little comfort. But I will follow your advice, for it has been wise and good through the years of my youth.” With that, Grey Squirrel turned and left his father’s wigwam.

He returned to his own home and was greeted warmly by his good wife, Morning Star, who had prepared a fine meal for him. All through his dinner, Grey Squirrel thought carefully about his father’s words. But when he went to bed that evening, he decided that he should drive these troubled thoughts from his mind. The weeks that followed were very pleasant for Grey Squirrel. The hunting and fishing were good. Everything was going well. The people of the village saw the sudden change in Grey Squirrel and the fact that he no longer appeared worried. Grey Squirrel felt better, greeting each new day happily.

One day Grey Squirrel shouldered his bow and chose his best arrows. Bidding his family good-bye, he started toward the forest to hunt for fresh meat for his family. He trotted easily along the forest trail, stopping now and then to study the ground and look for signs of moving game.

He had been on the trail for a while when he came to a narrow stream. Stooping to drink of the fresh, cool water, he stopped with his hand halfway to his mouth. He blinked his eyes and looked again into the stream, not moving a muscle. There, in a quiet pool next to his reflection was that of the head and antlers of a beautiful deer. Slowly the brave lifted his head until he was looking straight into the eyes of a magnificent buck standing directly across the stream, almost within reach. As Grey Squirrel straightened up slowly, the buck shied a little and backed off. Many thoughts passed through Grey Squirrel’s head, but the one which puzzled him most was why the buck shied only a little and then stood and watched him without any sign of fear after that.

Grey Squirrel lowered a hand slowly to reach for his bow which he had placed upon the ground as he was kneeling to drink. Grasping the bow firmly, he fitted an arrow onto the bow string and took careful aim. The great buck’s eyes stayed his hand from releasing the arrow and made him lower the bow. His mind told Grey Squirrel that this buck would provide good food, but his heart told him to stop. Then he noticed that the deer was favoring his right hoof and realized that the buck had an injury. The leg just above the hoof was swollen to almost twice its normal size. Grey Squirrel dropped his bow and arrow to the ground, and with careful and even steps, waded across the stream toward the buck.

The animal suddenly turned as if to spring into the forest, but his leg collapsed under him and he fell to the ground. Grey Squirrel guessed that the deer must have already used up his strength in escaping from whatever had caused the injury, had come to the stream to bathe the injured leg, and could go no further. Now the buck was struggling to rise and Grey Squirrel jumped quickly to his side. Firmly but gently, the Indian placed one knee against the buck’s side, one hand on the animal’s chest, the other on the buck’s neck to hold him steady. The animal was frightened and trembled. Grey Squirrel spoke softly to the buck and began to stroke its side, each time managing to bring his hand a little closer to the injured hoof. Finally the buck seemed to sigh and relaxed as though he understood that this man wanted to help him.

Grey Squirrel leaned over to look at the injured leg more closely. The buck apparently had run into some heavy brambles and a large thorn had lodged in the soft part of the leg just above the hoof, which had become infected and had begun to fester. Grey Squirrel took his knife from his belt and pressed the point of the blade into the flesh beside the thorn. The buck’s leg quivered slightly. Then the thorn and a misty fluid spurted from the wound. Grey Squirrel took wet leaves and mud from the bed of the stream and laid them over the wound. All through this operation the buck lay still, allowing Grey Squirrel to do as he pleased. The animal continued to lie there quietly as though waiting for any more help the Indian might gave him.

Grey Squirrel went back to the stream and, cupping his hands, brought some cool water for the animal. The buck drank it eagerly. A long time passed while Grey Squirrel kept vigil over the resting buck. Occasionally as he moved to another position, the buck would follow him with his eyes; when Grey Squirrel settled down again, the buck would put his head back on the earth and he too would rest again. Finally, dusk drew near and it began to darken in the forest. As if by signal, the buck arose, tested his injured leg, glanced at Grey Squirrel, and started for the protection of the dense trees. Grey Squirrel called and the buck stopped at the edge of the woods and turned to look back. He cocked his head to one side as if to say “thank you,” and then moved into the thick woods and out of sight.

Grey Squirrel suddenly became angry with himself and shouted aloud, “What a fool you are, Grey Squirrel! There, before you, was food for your family for a whole week. But you let the buck make you feel sorry for him. You cared for his injury, and now he has left you empty-handed after a whole day of hunting, with only the story of a deer who let you pet him—as if anyone would believe you! You are a fool, Grey Squirrel!”

Then there was a loud rustling near by. All of a sudden, Grey Squirrel heard a voice, calling his name.