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Show TV Listings, March 14, 1985 Page 3 8 what must do. After explaining to Ike had to go hunting for a few why and days, asking him to wait around until I returned, I gathered up my bow, arrows - sharpened weapons my knife, and headed towards the foothills of the big mountain, later called Timpanogos. I I than the exchange of horses, but I couldnt Chapter 37 mony. Still, there had to be more put my finger on what was wrong. While walking across the meadow away from the tepees, I remembered a courting custom among the Utes that had always appeared kind of dumb to me, and more than a little unnecessary.. I recalled my first spring with the Utes, two years earlier, when fresh meat was scarce. remembered a young brave bringing a freshly-killeelk into camp. The two front quarters were on one horse, the two back quarters on another horse. He tied the horse, without unloading them, to a tree near the tepee of a young woman he had been flirting with. remember watching closely, wondering if he would give us some of the fresh meat We had eaten nothing but jerky for weeks. The whole camp was hungry for fresh meat. After tying the horses to the tree, the young brave entered his tepee. supposed at the time he had gone to get some members of his family to help skin and butcher the quarters. Perhaps he wanted to sharpen his knife on the family sharpening stone. I couldn't understand when he didnt come out of the tepee. I kept an eye on his tepee for several hours, and still he didnt come out. I was surprised that other members of the tribe didnt gather around the fresh meat, still loaded on the horses. The morning sun grew warmer and warmer, threatening to sour the fresh meat if it wasnt soon taken care of. It seemed I was the only one in the camp that was aware of the meat. The two horses were incessantly pawing the ground in their imaptience to be relieved of the heavy loads. I d Chapter 36 It was early on a frosty morning in late April, 1841, when Ike and I stampeded our newly acquired horse herd through the Ute village. A few minutes s later, I was standing in front of Neu-wafe- holding the lead ropes hadnt yet seen Red Leaf, but I didnt expect to see her until the dowry had been accepted. Neuwafe emerged from the tepee-- a stern, but pleased look on his face. A buffalo robe was wrapped around his shoulders. Without a word, he began a careful inspection of the horses, picking up feet, inspecting teeth, running his hand along their backs and necks and up and down their legs. When he was finished, he just looked at me a minute, still no words. Then he took the lead ropes out of my hand and led the horses away towards the pasture. That was all. Neuwafe had accepted my dowry. I had permission to take Red Leaf as my wife, but somehow it didnt seem natural, or complete. It was too matter-of-factoo much like buying a horse, or a piece of meat. I half expected Red Leaf to come out of the tepee. Surely she had been observing the transaction between me and Neuwafe. Still she didnt come. began walking towards the river, trying to sort this thing out in my mind. There was something missing, something in the Ute culture I didn't understand. knew that if pushed my way into the tepee and took Red Leaf as my woman, neither Neuwafe nor anyone else in the tribe would object. But that wasn't enough, she had to choose me, too. Instead, she stayed in the tepee. Maybe she didn't like the idea of being bought and sold with horses. Then it occurred to me that I hadnt purchased a woman, but merely the permission to marry from her guardian or brother. What was I supposed to do now? Any Ute would have known what to do in the culture they grew up with. But for me, a white man from a different world, it was hard to understand the things the Utes took for granted. wished the Utes had a marriage ceremony similar to that practiced by white men. That would have been easy - a preacher saying a bunch of words from the Bible, each partner saying "I do", and the exchange of rings. That could understand. The tepee, to 15 horses. I t, I I I I I Utes didn't have a marriage cere I I It must have been almost noon when the young woman who had been courted by the brave untied the horses and led them to the front of her tepee. Her mother and sister helepd her the quarters, skin them and cut up the meat. They shared some of the meat with us and other families. didnt see the young brave again until he joined his sweetheart and her family for supper that evening. He stayed the night, bringing his belongings the next day as he moved in with his new bride and her family. Now, two years later, he had accumulated a respectable pile of buffalo hides, nearly enough to make ajepee of his own to share with his wife and baby girl. On one occasion the previous fall, Brown Wolf had tied up a horse carrydoe near Red ing a freshly-killeLeafs tepee in the hope she would dress it out and cook him a delicious meal. Had she done so, I'm sure would have accepted Brown Wolf's dowry. Instead, Red Leaf refused to go near the deer. The next morning the deer was gone. No one knew for sure what happened to it, but it was rumored that Brown Wolf, in a frustrated rage, had thrown it in the river. All of a sudden it was clear to me un-lao- d I d Neu-waf- e eight-hors- e Hunting with bow and arrows is a lot different than with a rifle. When Beaver George and were heading to the Snake River country from Fort Benton, armed with our Hawken rifles, shooting an occasional deer or elk was a simple matter. Whatever we could see, within several hundred yards, we could shoot. When you saw the game, the hunt was I practically over. Bow hunting is totally different. When you see the game, thats when the real hunting begins. A rifle is a better weapon for a man in a hurry. The bow, in order to be successful, requires a supreme patience, appreciated fully only by those who have done it. I was in a hurry to get game, and would have preferred a rifle, but since I didnt have one, I was forced to do it the Indian way. I had to forget about being a hurry. I had enough jerky in my possibles bag to last a week, and was determined to keep hunting until I was successful. I rode to a wooded area at the foot of the big mountain. Red Leaf and I had ridden our horses through the area the previous fall and had seen plentiful deer and elk signs. There was still a lot of snow higher on the mountain, so I figured most of the animals would still be at the lower elevations. There were several grassy side hills in the area where the grass was just beginning to green up. I was sure there would be plenty of deer and elk around. It was almost dark when I arrived at the desired hunting area. In addition to to the horse I was riding, I brought along a pack horse. After staking the horses out to graze, Indian style (the lead rope tied to the front foot), I built a small fire to keep me warm during the night. I was grateful for a nearby spring with clear, cold water. Most oil the streams at this time of year were murky with the spring runoff. I chewed slowly on my scant ration of jerky in an effort to make it last as long as possible. I looked into the flickering flames, thinking about Red Leaf. Things would have been a lot simpler had she come out of the tepee that morning to talk with me, to give me the assurance that she still loved me, that she would be my wife. That would have been a lot easier than playing this game with the meat. The Utes had some strange customs. in south-slopin- g I wondered about our future to- gether. Sometimes the carefree, nomadic life of the Utes seemed best. Moving from valley to valley in the beautiful Rocky Mountain country. Chasing the plentiful buffalo herds. Other times I thought about the life I had left behind. Warm log cabins, bread, vegetables, beef and the comforts of civilized living. Maybe the white society wouldnt accept Red Leaf or our children. Perhaps it would to be best stay with the Utes, visiting Ike and his Gosiute tribe from time to time. At dawn I began to hunt, leaving the horses tied to trees near the cold half-India- n The key to successful bow hunting is seeing the game before it sees you. With a rifle, this doesnt really matter. A good marksman can drop an animal on the run. The best way to see an animal before it sees you is to move slowly, Indian style - one step, two looks, one step, two looks. Without practice, an impossible task for a man used to being in a hurry. One has to forget time and blend in the nature, noticing the different varieties of mushrooms and fungi, especially the broken pieces which have been nibbled on by the deer or elk. Examining tracks, sniffing the wind, straining to hear every sound. Never in a hurry. It was late in the morning when I heard an unnatural sound the thrashA ing of some branches. It stopped. someminute later it started again, where ahead of me in a thick grove of young aspen trees. If it were the late summer or fall, I would have guessed a deer or elk was rubbing his horns against a tree. But in the spring, the deer and elk didn't have horns. Had been in the lower, marshy areas, I would have suspected the noise could be coming from a beaver, dragging a I young sapling to his pond. As far as or streams knew, there were no ponds in the area. Slowly, I moved ahead, pausing between each step to look and listen. The brush was thick and I couldnt see more than 30 or 40 feet ahead of me. The morning breeze was steady from the right; no danger of the animal smelling me. I As I came over a little rise, I suddenly saw the top of a tree thrashing against its neighbors. I couldnt see the bottom of the tree, or the source of the thrashi- ng. It occurred to me that I might be stalking a bear, one that was sharpening his long claws in the bark of the thrashing tree. I would have to get close to see the animal. Surprised bears sometimes became angry, more inclined to attack than to run away. I would have to take that chance. I moved closer and closer. At about 30 feet I began to get an occasional glimpse of brown hide through the thick leaves. I couldnt see enough to tell what kind of animal it was. Sometimes the noise would stop, but after a few moments of silence, the thrashing of the treetop would begin again. The woods were so dense now that it appeared impossible to move any further ahead without making the kind of noise that would alarm the animal. The ground was covered with the leaves of the previous fall. The once damp and quiet leaves were becoming dry and noisy in the spring sun. I was standing next to the butt of a fallen log. It was clean and free of limbs, having been there a long time. I waited until the tree was shaking again, when the animal would be less likely to notice my movement or noise, then stepped quietly up on the butt of the fallen log. To my relief, the animal was not a bear. It was a young bull elk, rubbing away his shaggy winter coat on the underside of a horizontal branch extend- ing from the thrashing tree. Even though I was close enough to shoot, there was too much brush between me and him. Surely the arrow would be |