The young Shawnee boy moved through the froze forest like a bobcat chases the rabbit ducking limbs and bounding over logs and rocks. He slipped on the ice a couple of times but seemed to pop back up without any effort. He finally arrived at the little dome shaped wigwam where he lived with his mother, older sister and grandfather. Grandfather! Grandfather! He shouted as he approached the door. His Grandfather stood up from the fire where he was trying to sneak a bowl of warm hickory nut suop before dinner time. The old man cast a glance across his shoulder and raised his finger to his lips in a shushing way. But it was too late. The boys mother and sister were standing in the open doorway with a look of discontent for their patriarch and his impatient attempt to eat before it was time. Knowing he’d been caught once again the Grandfather yielded and emptied his wooden bowl back into the pot. The women couldn’t help but be amused by the turn of events and disappeared back into the wigwam. The Grandfather was frustrated but his love for his grandson knew no boundaries. He crouched down to the boy’s level and gently took him by the shoulders. What is it this time? He asked with a smile on his face. Since the death of his father the young boy had developed a habit of going of into the forest and coming back with wild fanciful tales. He even claimed to escape from a water panther( a cross between a panther and a dragon )once. Nearly out of breath the boy told his grandfather that there was a red haired giant that crawled out of a grave down by the creek and made a fish spear. The grandfather laughed. No red haired giants have been seen since the time of my grandfather’s grandfathers. But you are a wonderful story teller! The grandfather continued to smile and his eyes beamed with delight for his grandson’s talent. No grandfather! He’s down there now! Come and see! His grandson had never offered profe of his “adventures” before. So after telling the women where he was going he took his grandson by the hand and they began to walk towards the creek. It was when they were getting close to the Trapper’s camp that something caught the grandfather’s eye. A glint of silver shimmering in the sun. The grandfather stopped his grandson and instructed him to retrieve whatever was on the edge of the creek. The nimble boy easily walked out on the bent trunk of a tree and hung upside-down to reach the object. He returned with the Trapper’s medicine hat and the glint was from one of the silver trinkets that adorned it. The Shawnee had traded with the whites often and he knew that the trinkets on this hat was kept as trade for passing through native lands. It was a kind of symbolic toll for safe passage and good will. A mountaineer wouldn’t carelessly toss it away like that. He carefully folded the hat and it’s remaining trinkets into his belt and said nothing to his grandson about what it might mean. If whoever owned this hat had fallen to the arrow of an angry warrior then the soldiers would come to avenge him. He and grandson continued to walk quietly along the trail until he smelled smoke and fish cooking. This was a good sign because if the white man was cooking fish then he was alive. Not willing to risk his precious grandson the older Shawnee man told him to stay hidden in the bushes and walked into the camp. He looked around but saw nobody. Then he stepped over to the hole in the ground that was partially covered by the upside-down boat. There he found the trapper fast asleep. At first he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to startle the white man who was laying in his hole with his axe and rifle. So he just stood there silently waiting to be noticed. The trapper began to snore loudly and the caused the grandfather to chuckle a little. The Trapper’s eyes popped open and the two just stared at each other for a moment. The native man wore a blue trade jacket, red sash style belt and buckskin pants. Having traded with the native population for several years the trapper spoke Algonquin. Are you here to kill me? He asked the old man. No. The old man said. But I see that you’re sleeping in a grave. Are you here to die? Immediately the trapper recognized the native sense of humor and they both laughed for a moment. The trapper told him about how the boat capsized and how he’d survived the night. The grandfather listened with sympathy for the Trapper’s circumstances and invited him to stay in the wigwam until the weather broke and he could return home. The trapper accepted. The grandfather called to his grandson to come and help carry the Trapper’s belongings and together they walked back up the trail.
Proceed to The Trapper Part 5
Good night friends and be blessed throughout your days.
I am adding additional social media to my network. Eventually, I’ll be leaving Facebook behind for a multitude of reasons. Even though the Lloyd’s Lens Photography page is strictly non-political I have been restricted from interacting with followers with no explanation for why. But it’s not just that. For years now Facebook has throttled content providers in general. They encourage us to grow our audience and then want to sell us back the access to them. In addition, they collect and sell the data from our interaction. So Facebook has become an entanglement of thorns. In response I have created the Lloyd’s Lens Photography Discussion Group on MeWe. We can still interact directly on the blog but starting today I’ll be looking for more platforms that respect the privacy of my followers and don’t limit who gets to see the post.
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