Chickadee by Louise Erdrich

squalling it became a screeching, and grew louder. From a bawling screech it became a roaring screech. From a roaring screech it became a deafening shrillness. Just when Chickadee’s fright at the sound became panic, he saw an oxcart, the first in a long row.
    The ox, the animal that drew the cart, was small, powerful, dark, and tough. It was shaggy and brown with a white spot on its brow. The cart had enormous wheels and it moved shakily but steadily along, lurching and swaying. This cart was the first of two hundred oxcarts in a long line, all piled high with furs and pemmican, dried meat, even quilled pouches and baskets. Some carts were drawn by ponies. The wheels made the screeching sound. A man in a blue shirt, the cart driver, sat in the cart, his feet hanging down right behind the ox. His whip flicked out occasionally, and smoke drifted up out of his pipe. As the cart came closer, Chickadee saw that it was loaded behind with pressed bundles. He knew that these bundles were made up of furs.
    The oxcart train was bound from the northern fur country, down through the plains and woods, to St. Paul, Minnesota. In that city, the furs would be bought by fur buyers and sent to New York City. There, they would be sold again to fur buyers from France, England, Germany. There were tons of furs on the Red River oxcart train. Each fur was from an animal trapped or hunted down by an Anishinabe man or woman. Each animal skin was stretched out and preserved, usually by Anishinabe mothers and grandmothers.
    Chickadee had never seen so many furs all at once. He had never seen so many carts! One or two at a time, maybe. Never so many in a row!
    The carts made this unbearable noise because they were made entirely of wood. Although bear and buffalo tallow was used on the wheels to make them turn more smoothly, the grease did nothing to keep down the noise. Some of the drivers put plugs of wax in their ears. Others had already gone half deaf.
    From his hiding place, Chickadee watched the oxcarts pass. He watched with his fingers stuck firmly in his ears, and his jaw hanging wide. There was a strange and beautiful assortment of people in the carts. One man wore a blue coat with a beautiful ribbon-trimmed hood. There were checkered, calico, plaid, flannel, and wool shirts—all brightly colored. Fancy fringe, beaded shoulder bags, finger-woven red sashes, and every sort of scarf and hat. Some carts were driven by women, who had open parasols tied to shelter against the sun. A few older children ran beside the carts and little children peeped out of the furs. Pots, long-handled frying pans, tipi poles, extra skins, and guns were tied to the sides of some carts and added their clanking to the general din.
    Chickadee watched each cart, mesmerized. He wanted to jump out and show himself, to beg for a handout. But he was afraid he would be sent back to the Mother, Sisters, and Father. Or to Babiche and Batiste. He didn’t know which was worse. That day, he happened to be particularly hungry. He was so hungry that he’d contemplated eating the tadpoles he saw swimming back in some sloughs he passed. He’d never eaten tadpoles before, and wondered how bad they might taste. Now he decided it would be better to eat tadpoles than hail down an oxcart and be returned to captivity.
    But there! All of a sudden! Chickadee took his fingers out of his ears and yelled:
    â€œUncle!”
    Uncle Quill had beeswax plugs in his ears, but he would not have heard Chickadee yell anyway. The oxcarts’ din was so tremendous it shook the air. Chickadee had to jump out of his hiding place and run to the cart, and even then, he had to tap his uncle on the toe of his moccasin before he looked down.
    Quill was so surprised he nearly fell over in the cart. But Quill was also the sort of man who is not surprised about being surprised. With one neat motion, still holding onto the ox’s reins and whip with one hand, he reached down with the other