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Show Reflections, May 17, 1984, Page 5 weakened from long hours of walking with little nourishment, and by the time finished the second fish, swear could feel strength surging back into my weary muscles. And my hunger was becoming more intense with every bite. By the time had finished the third and last fish, longed for a dozen more, and felt strong enough to go chase them down in the little pond, but first wanted to make a bow and some long arrows which thought might make the fishing a lot easier. My buckskin leggings and shirt were still wet when put them back on. they thought might dry faster if was wearing them, and they would protect my skin from scratchy bushes when climbed the hill to cut a staff for my bow. There was plenty of green willow and cottonwood around the pond, but the best bows are made from service-berror chokecherry, woods preferred by Indians for their bows. There appeared to be a healthy clump of service berry bushes near the top of the hill, across the pond. picked my way along the beaver dam and started climbing the hill, enjoying the new strength derived from the fish. For the past three days, I had been constantly looking over my shoulder and searching the surroundings for Indian signs. Catching and cooking the fish had provided a welcome diversion, but with food in my stomach and the warm afternoon sun on my back, I neglected the usual cautionary measures essential for survival in the hostile wilderness. I was so busy inspecting bushes in my search for a bow staff that I didn't see the mounted warrior until I was nearly upon him. If his impatient horse hadnt attracted my attention by pawing the ground, I would probably have walked right into him. As it was, I couldnt have been more than 15 or 20 yards away when I saw him. He wasn't wearing any paint like the Blackfeet had been wearing, and unlike the Blackfeet, his hair was fashioned into two long black braids, one behind each ear. had heard that Ute wariors braided their hair, and concluded was face to face with a Ute. His only clothing was leggings and moccasins. He carried a short bow, and a quiver full of arrows hung loosely over his shoulder. He was riding bareback on a dapple grey horse, bigger than most Indian ponies. The warriors chest and shoulders were his chin firm. He had a comical look on his face as if he were quietly laughing at my lack of caution. I had heard other things about the Utes too, that they were the strongest tribe in this south country, and that they frequently captured slaves which they sold to the Navajos and Mexicans. They also liked to take scalps. ' I turned and raced back down the hill towards the pond, the mounted warrior close on my heels. I knew there was no way I could outrun a horse in the open country, but perhaps I could hide, or at lest better defend myself in the thick brush on the other side of the beaver pond. It was lucky for me that the slope of the hill was fairly steep, preventing the Indians horse from lengthening its stride to a full gallop. I ran with wild abandon, fast enough to maintain a 30 t to gap between me and the Indian, but not fast enough to widen the gap any further. My body was I I I I I LEE NELSON I split-tippe- d After carefully cutting a in the botbow string V I tom piece, looped the around the spindle which set firmly between the socket rock and the bottom piece, held firmly in place by my foot. First slowly, then faster and faster, I worked the bow back and forth, pushing the whirling spindle firmly down upon the point of the V in the bottom piece. Soon little puffs of smoke began drifting away from the bottom of the spindle and hot black particles began falling down through the V onto a pice of bark, forming a little conical pile, or the spark. As soon as the spark was about the size of a small pea, dropped the bow and spindle, careful not to jar the spark and have it fall apart. Carefully picked up the bark with the spark on it and dropped it into the nest of ruffled bark. Then, pushing the nest gently around the spark, began blowing ever so gently, coaxing it to life. Gradually puffed harder and harder as the amount of smoke increased. Soon I was blowing almost as hard as I could, and there was lots of smoke. Suddenly, the nest burst into flames. dropped it on the ground and began piling on dry twigs. For the first time in days, I smiled. My mouth was already watering in anticipation of eating those fish. After cleaning the fish, leaving the heads on, I cut a willow stick for each trout, sharpening both ends. I pushed the sticks into the soft ground next to the fire, the top ends leaning over the fire, then secured a fish to the end of each stick, heads down with the fleshy backs closest to the fire. I didnt realize how hungry I had become until the fragrance of roasting flesh entered my nostrils. The first fish was only half cooked when I began eating it. My hunger was so intense that even the cold, uncooked parts tasted absolutely delicious. I I I I . ' I -' I t, mm , wA mmmm mA m w HAS IT ALL!! Financing Now Available No Down Payment Choose From. . . Movie Channels 24 hr. NewsWeather 24 hr. Live Sports Childrens Channels Adult Channels with parental lock-oavailable ut I'lMrtMil l jltl I I I mmm m m mm mmmm y I reBefore coming out of the water, filled the gap in the dam with sticks and sod so the water would return to the original level, allowing more fish to enter the little pool, fish that would feed me O tL I I I 24 Hr. NewsWeather Live Network Feeds 24 Hr. Live Sports Playboy and other adult channels (parental lockout available) Much Much More m I I gray-whit- e Last week the journals of Dan Storm were finally found in the attic of the Sears and Chadwick building in Philadelphia. As chapter one begins, we are introduced to Dan Storm who met a Ute warrior when he was 16 years old in 1839. He was in the process of attempting to spear some fish in the icy waters of the Green River. the next day. After hanging my buckskin shirt and leggings over some bushes to dry in the mid day sun, began gathering materials for the fire. I had lost my flint with the rest of the supplies and would have to build a fire with a bow and drill. had seen this done many times, but had always had trouble doing it myself. If failed, I would have to eat the fish raw and shiver through the night in damp buckskins. Since escaping the Black-feeI had been traveling without the benefit of fire. First I fashioned a bow from a green willow and a buckskin lashing cut from the inside of my shirt. Then I found a flat rock with a natural indentation on one side, which I picked a little deeper with the point of my knife. I carved a spindle and bottom piece out of dry cottonwood, then fashioned a tinder nest out of ruffled cottonwood bark. There hadnt been any rain in recent days, so I felt confident the materials were dry enough to work. I expected at any moment to receive arrow in the middle of my back, but taking quick glance over my shoulder, could see that all of the arrows were still in the quiver. It seemed clear that his intention was to capture me alive. Then he would have a choice of either torturing me to death or selling me into slavery, so could spend the rest of my life in a Mexican silver mine. Maybe he thought a white boy would bring a good price. The hill dropped off sharply at the t water's edge, creating an eight or bank above the water. didnt even break stride as I reached the edge of the bank, but pushed off from the edge and flew out over the pond, instinctively aiming for an open place between two of the stumps. My leggs were churning wildly through the air as if I were still running when I hit the water at the intended place, the momentum of the fall forcing me to my knees in the shallow water. lunged forward, half swimming and crawling in my mad efforts to get out of the way before the Indian pony plunged over the bank and landed on top of me. Realizing the water was little more than a foot deep, scrambled to my feet, looking over my shoulder as soon as had my footing. Having just noticed the steep bank at the waters edge, the Indian was trying to pull his pony to a stop, but the momentum was too great. The pony sat back on his heels in an hoest effort to stop, but it was too late. At the edge of the bank, the Indian made a mistake in trying to turn the horse to one side by pulling his head around. If he hadnt done that, the horse would probably have maintained its balanced and lunged straight ahead into the pond. I an obsidian-tippe- d I I ten-foo- I beaver-sharpene- d I I I Continues Next Week SPRING MOTOR HOME SERVICE I I O 40-foo- J ' i f r Aa 1 , We repair all makes. More parking. linger hays to accomodute the largest motor homes Fleet service and discount Bobs GARAGE 278 N. Main Engines are our business " 882-031- 3 |