back all that long way alone?”
At True Son’s answer, he broke off two branches of hemlock. Holding one in each hand above his head, he began to dance around his cousin chanting foolish Lenape words of triumph.
“
Sehe!
Not so loud,” True Son cautioned. “They will hear you down in the valley.”
“They are too deaf,” Half Arrow boasted. Hestopped, as if with contempt for the whites, to make his water far over a log. “They can hear only the war whoop and money rattle.” He finished with alacrity and a flourish of drops. “Maybe we better go just the same,” he said and started to scoop up his carrying share of the belongings.
Down the north side of the mountain, they avoided white hunters’ paths. Their moccasins sought to disturb no leaves or sticks, stepping from stone to stone. Now and then both boys stopped to listen. At the first run they clapped palms of meal from the sack to their mouths, washing it down with water in Indian fashion.
Half Arrow smacked his lips.
“Now I can go till evening,” he promised.
Under cover of trees and brush they crept among the next valley’s clearings. They climbed the second mountain, fording the second creek when they came down on the other side. Always they avoided the river trail. The third mountain they did not have to climb. As the old basketmaker said, it stood drawn back from its companions like a noble chief aloof from his fellows. True Son pointed out to Half Arrow the pile of rocks at the top where Bejance said the old Lenni Lenape lived. But they had no time to look for him now.
Cutting northwest, they crossed the trail, forded the third stream at a cliff red with rock flowers and pressed on toward the point of the fourth mountain where the great river broke through. Here True Son’s strength gave out, and the rest of the day they lay in the woods. Twice they heard parties of white men crossing the valley, some on horseback, calling to each other and talking noisily. Once the sound of a rifle echoed from mountain to mountain.
For a while Half Arrow was gone to spy. He said on his return he had seen half the world from a tree on the mountain. A large creek flowed into the other side of the river, and a ford of rocks led to it. Before daylight both boys were at the river’s edge, wet by the heavy mist, trying to peer across. At the first streaks of daylight they set their feet in the water. They found the rocks wet and slippery, tilting up sharply from the foundations of the mountain that once must have stood here. It was a hard crossing. Where the rocks failed, the boys had to wade. When the friendly screen of mist dissolved, most of the wide river lay behind.
True Son shivered with wet and cold. Since day before yesterday he had tasted no food save raw meal and water. And yet now as he climbed out onthe western Saosquahanaunk shore, he felt around him a golden and purple brightness as if the sun had risen over the mountains behind him. He had escaped from his Peshtank prison at last. The very trees of the forest looked different over here. The unknown creek from the west flowed brown and primitive as a naked Lenni Lenape.
His only shaft of regret was leaving Gordie. He could see him in his mind now, lying alone on their wide bed, a chattering squirrel by day, a bed-warming stone by night, only a little minny of a fellow waiting for his Indian brother who would never return. For a long count while Half Arrow watched silently, True Son stood on the point of land between the two streams, gazing down the broad watery road through the mountain gaps that opened like majestic gates toward his white father’s house.
“You sorry! You don’t want to go?” Half Arrow asked.
“Cousin. Nothing holds me now,” True Son told him. “Cousin. I leave a small white brother. Out along the Tuscarawas I have only sisters. Cousin. From today on, you must be my brother.”
For a long time they traveled blind, for there were high cliffs, thick woods, and no
At True Son’s answer, he broke off two branches of hemlock. Holding one in each hand above his head, he began to dance around his cousin chanting foolish Lenape words of triumph.
“
Sehe!
Not so loud,” True Son cautioned. “They will hear you down in the valley.”
“They are too deaf,” Half Arrow boasted. Hestopped, as if with contempt for the whites, to make his water far over a log. “They can hear only the war whoop and money rattle.” He finished with alacrity and a flourish of drops. “Maybe we better go just the same,” he said and started to scoop up his carrying share of the belongings.
Down the north side of the mountain, they avoided white hunters’ paths. Their moccasins sought to disturb no leaves or sticks, stepping from stone to stone. Now and then both boys stopped to listen. At the first run they clapped palms of meal from the sack to their mouths, washing it down with water in Indian fashion.
Half Arrow smacked his lips.
“Now I can go till evening,” he promised.
Under cover of trees and brush they crept among the next valley’s clearings. They climbed the second mountain, fording the second creek when they came down on the other side. Always they avoided the river trail. The third mountain they did not have to climb. As the old basketmaker said, it stood drawn back from its companions like a noble chief aloof from his fellows. True Son pointed out to Half Arrow the pile of rocks at the top where Bejance said the old Lenni Lenape lived. But they had no time to look for him now.
Cutting northwest, they crossed the trail, forded the third stream at a cliff red with rock flowers and pressed on toward the point of the fourth mountain where the great river broke through. Here True Son’s strength gave out, and the rest of the day they lay in the woods. Twice they heard parties of white men crossing the valley, some on horseback, calling to each other and talking noisily. Once the sound of a rifle echoed from mountain to mountain.
For a while Half Arrow was gone to spy. He said on his return he had seen half the world from a tree on the mountain. A large creek flowed into the other side of the river, and a ford of rocks led to it. Before daylight both boys were at the river’s edge, wet by the heavy mist, trying to peer across. At the first streaks of daylight they set their feet in the water. They found the rocks wet and slippery, tilting up sharply from the foundations of the mountain that once must have stood here. It was a hard crossing. Where the rocks failed, the boys had to wade. When the friendly screen of mist dissolved, most of the wide river lay behind.
True Son shivered with wet and cold. Since day before yesterday he had tasted no food save raw meal and water. And yet now as he climbed out onthe western Saosquahanaunk shore, he felt around him a golden and purple brightness as if the sun had risen over the mountains behind him. He had escaped from his Peshtank prison at last. The very trees of the forest looked different over here. The unknown creek from the west flowed brown and primitive as a naked Lenni Lenape.
His only shaft of regret was leaving Gordie. He could see him in his mind now, lying alone on their wide bed, a chattering squirrel by day, a bed-warming stone by night, only a little minny of a fellow waiting for his Indian brother who would never return. For a long count while Half Arrow watched silently, True Son stood on the point of land between the two streams, gazing down the broad watery road through the mountain gaps that opened like majestic gates toward his white father’s house.
“You sorry! You don’t want to go?” Half Arrow asked.
“Cousin. Nothing holds me now,” True Son told him. “Cousin. I leave a small white brother. Out along the Tuscarawas I have only sisters. Cousin. From today on, you must be my brother.”
For a long time they traveled blind, for there were high cliffs, thick woods, and no
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