Girl in a Buckskin

truth.
     
    The powwow began near sunset. Twenty or thirty more families had arrived by midafternoon and soon the village was seething with activity. A fire was built in front of the council house and a feast prepared in its ashes: baked dried pumpkins, corn bread, venison, wild turkey and blackberries. Before they began to eat the old chief with the coup-stick stood up and delivered a long speech.
    “Who is he?” whispered Becky.
    “His name is Black Eagle,” Eseck said. “He is very old but because of his skill and bravery in war he is considered their head chief. He is a man of peace now or they would not listen to him. Actually each tribe has a number of chiefs and they decide together what’s to be done about us.”
    “Like—like Thursday Lecture at home?” Becky whispered.
    Eseck smiled. “A little.”
    When Black Eagle had finished Eseck stood up. In sign language he thanked his hosts for receiving them so courteously. He assured them that they came in peace and that no other white men would follow. He told them that he and his paleface companion wanted only to be friends. When he had finished he brought out his gifts: a few ounces of tobacco, a piece of vermilion and a cloth of red calico. These were modest gifts, he told them, but he and his companion were poor in wampum. Their hearts, however, were rich in friendliness.
    Although she could not understand it, Becky saw that his speech was well received. The men nodded and the women watched with brightening eyes. Realizing that for today she was a boy Becky hoped no one would take amiss her interest in the women of the tribe. They at least were painted only with red ochre and not so terrifying to her as the men. Some of them were even beautiful—although very heathen looking, she added piously, and only half dressed. One girl in particular had caught her eye from the first, partly because she was so lovely and partly because she laughed so often and Becky had never thought of Indians as laughing. After she had watched her a while she realized she was not alone in her interest: Blue Feather, too, kept turning to her.
    “Her name is Dawn,” Eseck told her, seeing whom she watched. “Or so Blue Feather tells me. Roughly translated her name would mean Dawn-of-the-sky.”
    “I think he loves her,” Becky whispered.
    “I think you are quite right,” Eseck assured her, nodding gravely.
    Becky had never thought of Indians as falling in love. She had pictured them as painted devils slipping through the forest with tomahawks and notched arrows and scalps hanging from their belts. Yet here she saw no scalps and turning to Eseck told him so.
    For a moment Eseck looked startled and then he smiled faintly. With the turkey leg he was eating he pointed at Black Eagle. “You like his deerskin robe?”
    “Very much,” Becky admitted. “I’ve never seen such beautiful beadwork and fringe.”
    Eseck grinned. “Take a closer look at the fringe and you will see your scalp.”
    Becky drew back in horror. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped.
    “It’s the scalp of an Iroquois, I imagine. These people are poor in warriors and wampum and haven’t fought in years.”
    Becky put down her handful of corn bread and folded her hands in her lap. But instead of feeling virtuous she only felt hungry and after a few minutes she sighed and picked up the corn bread again. No matter what she ought to think, in truth she was fiendishly hungry and not even the sight of her first scalp could remove the edge of her appetite. She was here among the heathen and there was nothing to be done about it; here she was and here she had to be. She would eat.
    When the feast was finished Eseck made haste to explain to their hosts why he and Becky had eaten only a turkey between them, three slices of corn bread, half a pumpkin and three cups of blackberries. This was only polite and his apologies were accepted with pleasure. The fire was rekindled, drums and rattles brought to the circle and songs and chants were begun. Not war chants, Eseck told Becky, but merely songs about brave deeds of the tribe. In the meantime, in the council house, the medicine chief was asking the Great Spirit what should be done about their two whitefaced guests.
    Blue Feather slipped next to Eseck and smiled at him shyly. “The chiefs are in council,” he said, making sign talk.
    Eseck nodded gravely.
    Blue Feather hesitated. Glancing quickly around him he said, “We hear much talk from the north. We