Boys Life

began. “I wonder who made this one,” I said.
    “Yeah, I’d like to know, too. Whoever did it wasn’t in any hurry. Whoever did it wanted to have a good arrowhead, one that would fly true, even if he lost it. Arrowheads were more than just the tips of arrows to Indians; they were like money, and they showed how much care you put into things. They showed how good of a hunter you were, whether you needed a lot of cheap old arrowheads to do the job, or if you had the time to make a few you could count on. I sure would like to know who made it.”
    This seemed important to Johnny. “I’ll bet it was a chief,” I offered.
    “A chief? Really?” Ben’s eyes got wide.
    “He’s fixin’ to make up a story,” Davy Ray told him. “Can’t believe a thing he says from here on out.”
    “Sure it was a chief!” I said adamantly. “Yes, he was a chief and he was the youngest chief the tribe ever had! He was twenty years old and his father was a chief before him!”
    “Oh, brother!” Davy Ray pulled his knees up to his chest, a knowing smile on his face. “Cory, if there’s ever a biggest-liar-in-town contest, you’ll win first prize for sure!”
    Johnny smiled, too, but his eyes were keen with interest. “Go on, Cory. Let’s hear about him. What was his name?”
    “I don’t know. It was… Runnin’ Deer, I-”
    “That’s no good!” Ben said. “That’s a girl Indian’s name! Make his name… oh… a warrior’s name. Like Heap Big Thundercloud!”
    “Big Heap Do-Do!” Davy Ray cackled. “That’s you, Ben!”
    “His name was Chief Thunder,” Johnny said, looking directly at me and ignoring the squabbling duo. “No. Chief Five Thunders. Because he was tall and dark and-”
    “Cross-eyed,” Davy Ray said.
    “Had a clubfoot,” Johnny finished, and Davy Ray shut up his giggling.
    I paused, the arrowhead gleaming on my palm.
    “Go ahead, Cory,” Johnny urged in a quiet voice. “Tell us a story about him.”
    “Chief Five Thunders.” I was thinking, weaving the story together, as my fingers squeezed and relaxed around the warm flint. “He was a Cherokee.”
    “Creek,” Johnny corrected me.
    “Creek, like I said. He was a Creek Indian, and his father was a chief but his father got killed when he was out huntin’. He went out huntin’ for deer, and they found him where he’d fallen off a rock. He was dyin’, but he told his son he’d seen Snowdown. Yes, he had. He’d seen Snowdown up close, close enough to see that white skin and those antlers that were as big as trees. He said as long as Snowdown lived in the woods, the world would keep goin’. But if anybody ever killed Snowdown, the world would end. Then he died, and Five Thunders was the new chief.”
    “I thought a chief had to fight to get to be chief,” Davy Ray said.
    “Well, sure he did!” I answered. “Everybody knows that. He had to fight a whole bunch of braves who thought they ought to be chief. But he liked peace better than he liked fightin’. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight when he had to, it was just that he knew when to fight and when not to fight. But he had a temper, too. That’s why they didn’t call him just ‘One Thunder’ or ‘Two Thunders.’ He didn’t get mad very much, but when he did-look out! It was like five thunders boomin’ out all at the same time.”
    “The bell’s about to ring,” Johnny said. “What happened to him?”
    “He… uh… he was the chief for a long, long time. Until he got to be sixty years old. Then he passed bein’ chief to his son, Wise Fox.” I glanced toward the entrance; kids were starting to go into the school. “But Five Thunders was the chief they remembered best, because he kept peace between his tribe and the other tribes, and when he died they took his best arrowheads and scattered them around the woods for people to find a hundred years later. Then they carved his name in a rock and they buried his body in the secret Indian burial ground.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Davy Ray grinned. “Where’s that?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a secret.”
    They groaned. The bell rang, summoning the kids in. I returned the arrowhead of Five Thunders to Johnny, who wrapped it in cotton and returned it to the tackle box. We stood up and started walking across the playground, puffs of dust rising behind our heels. “Maybe there really was somebody like Chief Five Thunders,” Johnny said as we neared the door.
    “Sure there was!” Ben spoke up.