The Mohawk

The buck ran like winter winds through the forest trees, ducking and weaving through the
thick undergrowth. He tossed his head high, showing off his large rack of antlers. He
breahing was easy and his pace quick when the Mohawk first found him but he was being
whittled down slowly. He had been grazing with group of does when he heard the faintest
rustle in the bushes. Then, the arrow whizzed by and stuck in the tree beside him. From then on he
ran like the forest burned down behind him. He was getting tired. He saw an open glen ahead through
the trees that had near impassable thorn bushes on the other side; but he knew his way through them.
He loped with sweat in his sleek coat. He was nearly to safety! He made one last leap over the group
of thorn bushes. Back some four hundred yards away at the edge of the clearing stood a lone
red-skinned figure wearing leather shoes and clothes, a quiver and pack across his back, and long
dark hair that went to his shoulders. In his left hand he held a bow with shaft pulled taut on the
string. "Forgive me, Brother", he whispered in his native language and let the arrow fly across the
air into the back of the buck's neck. The deer gave a last deep-throated cry, then fell dead on
the other side of the bushes.

The red man walked with the carcass slung across his shoulders and his bow on his back. He sung a
song of forgiveness to the deer and to the Great Spirit. He strode with a great pace for a good
while in the large, dark forest untill the red sun set behind the great snow capped peaks later to
be called the Adarondack? Mountains. The moon now shown through the tree cover and the red man still
walked with the deer on his back unwavering. In the distance he could hear cannon fire and muskets
and the faint sound of orders being shouted in French and English. There was battle taking place at
fort Edward in the valley to the east from the man's ruined home. He walked for five miles of trees
and grass until he came to the smoking remains of his village. Three days ago it was attacked by a
Huron and Iropuois warparty that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He had come back from hunting
with three other men in time to see the village burn and his wife and children and many others
massacred by the heartless warriors. Some of the villagers escaped into the surrounding woods but
most were either killed there or in the fighting. The red man and his companions had killed many
with bow and tomahawk when they'd arrived. He had fought them with tears of rage and sadness in his
blue eyes. But most of the occupants lay dead when the Huron and Iroquois left as quickly as they
came. Now he was all that was left in the village. The survivors had all gone but him; he could not
pry himself from old memories of his children playing and his wife cooking in his wigwam. He kept
telling him self one day he'd leave and he told himself that every day, but he just couldn't. He
could live here forever, living off berries and animal meat and the occasional forest spring. But he
knew sooner or later an enemy might find him and there would be trouble then. The gunshots and yells
were getting more intense down in the valley. The man walked to his burned-out hut without care and
made a fire to cook his venison. He promised himself he'd set out in the morning to the closest town
to sell the deer meat he didn't eat. It was time to let go. Suddenly he heard orders being barked
and the of marching from somewhere very close in the woods.

He put his ear to the ground and reconized the vibration of horses' hooves. They must be using one
of our old paths, he thought, It will lead them here. Quickly he doused his fire by throwing across
it a wet blanket that he'd just washed in the spring that night. He put his long knife in its sheath
and his tomohawk in his belt and his bow on his back. The red man watched intently through the ruins
of his wigwam. He could make out the red coats of British soldiers through the firs. The column of
red-coats and their mounted officers made its way to the center of the village then piercing yells
and gun-shots broke out of the woods! Huron!