File:The talking leaves - an Indian story (1882) (14782851852).jpg

Identifier: talkingleavesind00stod (find matches)
Title: The talking leaves : an Indian story
Year: 1882 (1880s)
Authors: Stoddard, William Osborn, 1835-1925
Subjects: Indians of North America Children Conduct of life Friendship Hunting Outdoor life Fathers and daughters Reading Apache Indians
Publisher: New York : Harper & Brothers
Contributing Library: Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor: The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

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ingready to move. Come, Eita, lets you and I ride on ahead. No you wont, not either of you. Youll stay near menow. If the great chief wants you again, I must have youwhere I can find you. The girls looked at one another, but there was no wisdom in a rebellion. They had offended quite enough forone day. Ni-ha-be, said Eita, we can keep close together.They wont go fast, and we can look at the leaves all theway. On an ordinary march a good many of the squaws wouldhave had to go on foot and carry their pappooses, and per-haps heavy loads besides; but the orders of Many Bearsprevented that this time. The poorest brave in camp had apony provided for his wife and children, and as many moreas were needed for all his baggage, for the chief was in ahurry, and there was to be no straggling. His orders wereto push on as fast as possible until the squad of braveswho had ridden ahead should find a safe spot to camp in—one that could be more easily defended than the exposedlevel they were leaving.
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The Talking Leaves. 155 The idea of coming danger, too, was going around amongthe squaws themselves, and they were in as great a hurry asMany Bears. They did not know exactly what to be afraidof, but they did not feel any better on that account, withsuch a swarm of little copper-colored children to take care of. Some ponies had more to carry and some had less, butthere was one poor little, long-eared, patient-looking mulewho had more than his share. There was no saddle onhim, but where a saddle might have been sat a very fat anddreadfully homely squaw, with a pappoose on her back, hisround head popping out, as if all he wanted was to look atthe country as they went along. The squaw rode her mule after the fashion of her people,and that was just as if she had been a brave instead of asquaw. But no brave in all the band would have allowed atwelve-year-old boy to climb up in front of him, as she did,or let his younger brother and sister cling on behind her;so that the little mule was tur

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