LITTLE WHITE WATER

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 154, 1 July 1936, Page 21

LITTLE WHITE WATER

LITTLE White Water gazed down into the subtle shadows of the river below liini. " The edge of his blanket fluttered miserably between hi shoulders, and the red dust curled in columns between his feet.

His soul was drunk with bitterness, and as he raised his eyes to the horizon, to where the hot wind was driving the last cloud, in the lines of his face fell the shadows of sorrow.

He was an Indian, son of a Shoshone tribal chief who was at that moment dying in a crude hide shelter —dying of some terrible disease which the white man had brought, and which all the frantic incantations of the tribal shaman could not abate.

The old man's body was racked with pain and his brain crazed with fever. His son would sit motionless before him for hours, not one flicker in his faco betraying the slightest emotion, until memory would recall what the chief had been before the disease attacked him. Then the young man would go from the tent.

He begged the help of the white doctor in the straggling town that clung to the yellow grass and dust of the prairie. The man was a notorious bully and a drunkard.

Little White Water had been thrown into the street, and his rude clay pottery, brought as payment, smashed on the sidewalk.

He straggled out of the town with a host of " freckled children shrieking derisively at his heels, until he turned 011 them" with such fury that they scattered in terror.

He went to the town marshal, who, annoyed at being disturbed from his afternoon sleep on the verandah of the gaol, turned loose his dog, and roared with laughter as the Indian rolled on the ground beneath it. * * * *

The Indian saw the end of his race. They had been driven from their homes, farther and still farther west, until their tepees mingled with the sky. Or they had been shut in reservations like so many cattle.

A racc of nomadic hunters, tlicy could not till the land so contemptuously given tliem. They succumbed like children to poisonous, brain-crazing liquor. Originally it had led them to mad deeds? as when the prairie felt the tremor of an Indian rising. But they dropped like flics before the Government rifles. They were beaten, and more land was taken from tliem. Now they sat in idle sloth in then hovels until death overtook them. They made clay utensil* and performed their sacred dances for a crowd of sceptical Eastern tourists. They accepted their life with inherent fatalism and understood it not. Their numbers dwindled, and the spirals of dirty smoke from their fires were as meagre as they were rare.

Below Little White Water the shadows were murmuring to themselves. The chasm had a strange name; it lingered on the tongue and sounded as ;f the parting thunder was whispering in the air still wet with rain. When tli® white man came, his prosaic phlegm had called it Buffalo Canyon. The 'buffalo had gone long since, and an enterprising Government official had once suggested that it should be called Grand Junction Pass for the benefit ot the railroad brochures. But nothing came of it. Through the black gap sped a twisting river. There was something akin to tenderness in the red man's eyes as he watched its dark waters. As a boy he had swum it in pursuit of a buffalo calf. The river had been in flood and white with the foam that had o-iven him his name. But the river, was °no longer the Indian's. His was just a share of .the air and a few yellow ■blades of grass. . i Littb White Water's heart went out to the river. Where it went he knew ®not, but he believed that at the end of its course waited the great MesseManitO'U in the setting sun. Some day he would call the young Shoshone. Up the trail laboured three white men. sweating and swearing. The Indian could see them moving like flies on the hot rocks, their horses slipping and stumbling amidst the stones. They had not the good sense to dismount. but sat astride tty?ir beasts, with their long legs stuck grotesquely from either side. One rode a little waj ahead of his companions, and with a quickening sensation at his heart Little White Water recognised him. It was the White Doctor. The Indian* sat on the rocks and watched the man come nearer and nearer .until his sweating horse stunible^l on to the platform of rocks. Ihe of the oeast were matted with blooJ and sweat where the doctors kicking feet had struck them. The white, mail drew rein and, tug-o-jng a handkerchief from the skirt* Sf his Prince Albert, wiped his sti earning forehead. His roving eye lit upon the Indian sitting calmly beside hio ragged pony. , He sucked in his lower lip and wa\ ed his arm as he shouted incoherently in a voice that was thick with hea . e called, swore, rolled in the saddle until the skirt of his coat caught in his spur= and nearly unseated him. *'» * * Not a movement did the Indian make. The doctor dismounted with difficulty. His face was red and his moist hps hung open. Riding crop in hand, he staggerc I across to the red man, peering clruiikenly into his face.

(SHORT STORY.)

(By JOHN PREBBLE.)

"Waal!" he exclaimed, "if it isn't the vermint who wanted me to dose his poppa. Hey! Wake up, what're you doin' out of your reservation?"

The Indian's gaze never faltered; his lips did not move. The white man felt suddenly afraid, and with a curee raised his crop. Only once did he strike the Indian. Down the trail, his companion? were startled from their climb by a terrible cry that sent their eyes travelling quickly upward. The cry re-echoed among the rocks. The sight that met their eyes took the breath from their mouths. Outlined against the sky was their companion, struggling fiercely in the arms of Little White Water. With another strange cry, the red man flung him out into the open. He seemed to hang there for a moment, while the angry flush 011 his face paled horribly. Then he plunged down into the canyon. The white men heard the sickening repetition of thuds as his body struck and rebounded on the rocks below. When they reached the top,. Little White Water had gone. The Shoshone was a fugitive, and his heart was heavy. He rode slowly on liis pony and cared not where its ramblincs led him. His head was bowed with grief and his body aching for rest. Two days ago his father had died horribly, and now he, Little White Water, was chief of the River Shoshones. ,*, » » * But lie was also an outlaw, with every white man 011 the prairie longing for the reward on his head. His savage mind could not grasp the enormity of his crime. To him he had taken a just revenge. He was glad that ho had killed the man, and the glory of his deed flowed through his veins like fire. His heart began to sing within him. He could go before the Great Spirit with a smile. His soul left the body jogging so'wearily on a fly-blown pony and sped into the sky.

"The red man flung him into the open."

He lifted his head, flung back the shining plaits of his hair, and smiled into the sun. There, amidst its glow, was his father, his face no longer disfigured by disease, but serene and happy —the face of a young warrior. He would see that his son was truly his son, and Little White Water's smile was calm and beautiful.

A crowd of shouting range-men came up the trail towards the Indian. They were shouting like schoolboys released by the school bell. The leader ceased his song and reined in his horse when lie caught sight of the Indian. "Hyer boys!" he cried,, "there's the Injun as killed Doc. Stevens!" There were murmurs of rage, a desultory clatter of pistol shots, and the white men were after ( Little White Water like dogs after a jack-rabbit. The Indian had seen them, and was away across the dry grass. After him came the range-men, still whistling and shouting like 'delighted children. The weariness left Little White Water's body. He knew the prairie as if it were his own blanket. He had explored every hollow and shrub as a boy. He almost knew every prairie dog's burrow. As lie rode lie began to sing softly and within his heart. The drumming of his pony's hoofs rose and fell like thunder. Behind him the white men were treating the ride as a jest, and were singing too, but their song was crude. Little White Water sang of his father and of his race. The sun began to drop in the heaven,-.. To the Indian it seemed as if the Great Spirit were calling, and he pressed his moceasined feet into the ribs of his pony as he rode into the sunset. His heart sang still higher and the smile deepened on his face. His pursuers had dwindled to four, strangely hushed and determined. Their mouths were filled with dust and their bodies were saddle weary. Two had lost their hats, and the sun shone upon their heads and twisted their eyes into slits. A bank of evening clouds was massing in the eastern sky. Or it may have been night. Still the Shoshone rode on, upright on his blanket, gazing straight into the sun. His black hair streamed out behind him. The sunset deepened. In its crimson glow the very prairie grass seemed afire. It added strange beauty to the shrubs that straggled into th? hollows. In the dusk, the prairie dogs came out and sat in front of their homes like county judges. And now the Shoshone sang softly and aloud. The red cliffs in the distance took on a ghastly hue. The Indian's pony flagsed. Its bloodshot eyes turned appealingly to its rider. * The men behind raised a shout when they saw where the red man was going. "Buffalo Cliff, boys! We've got him Hi-yi!" Little White Water was smiling. He rode to the edge of the cliff and gazed down. The river rolled serenely along amid the red rocks. It seethed and sang, and the Shoshone sang with it. From out its rolling course rode the spirits of his ancestors, brilliant in their great war-bonnets and feathered coupsticks. Little White Water looked at the sun and eaw his father, clad in a fine scarlet robe, smiling to him.

Behind tlie old chief was brave upon brave, like nodding feathers in the wings of a great war eagle." The range men were calling out for the youth to surrender, and the boom-, ing of their guns re-echoed among the rocks like spring thunder. "We've got you, red! We've got you! Hi-yip!" For a moment the Indian stood silhouetted against the blood-red sun, a magnificent figure. Then horse and rider went over the cliff together and the river opened its arms to Little White Water.