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Cosmic Tales, v. 2, issue 1, Summer 1939
Page 28
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28 COSMIC TALES PART V by John A. Bristol Day after day, the canoes floated downstream, and three fans picked up enuf of the Amerind speech to learn that the were going to build a new village somewhere, or rather have their slaves build them. (Oh, yes, the Indians kept slaves--didn't you know that all the Five Civilized Tribes fought the Yankees in the War for Southern Independence?) "Then what do with slaves?" inquired one of the braves in the bow of the canoe, and, "Ugh! Dunno. Kill those not any good any more," replied the other. "Boys," said McPhail, "we gotta make ourselves valuable." Wilson had some matches that he suggested they might work up an effect with when they got the chance. "Better wait awhile," advised McPhail. Speer was day-dreaming and heard none of this, but suddenly woke up to remark, "If that was the Arkansas we passed the other day, then this one coming in from the west now must be Red river." Up in the flag-canoe, a heated argument was going on between Wa-hakatee and his lieutenants, the latter wanting to make their home at the junction of the two streams, while the chief wanted to go out to the river from the west, to the place where hunters were few and far between, and buffalo roamed by the millions, and all game was plentiful---the poor dope. In the end, the word that there were fighting Indians out there worthy of their steel won the argument, and they set out up this new tributary, the captives being quickly taught the gentle art of paddling a canoe. In their craft, Speer and McPhail took turns at keeping watch for familiar landmarks. They were pretty sure when they passed the mouth of the Washita, but beyond that, it was a mere quess where the creek at Comanche flowed in. As the sandbars multiplied, sentiment again rose among the red men to find a site somewhere, and at last the scientifictionists decided to risk a shot in the dark. "O Koo-lah," said McPhail, "if your chief will direct our way up the next stream that flows into this river, he will find a land of wondrous things." In the parleying that followed the whites refused to demonstrate their sample of one of the wonders until they had audience with old Wa-hakatee himself, and there they almost pushed their "effect" to far, trying the chiefs patience, but in the end Wilson, with hands that trembled so he could hardly hold the match, struck it against a dry stone he had picked up, and the resulting sputter and flame astounded the Indians, who insisted on proving it's reality by setting fire, with the match, to a piece of tinder. "Not great wonder, but we might as well go up the next stream as any other," said the old man conservatively. And so it was done, and the two Comancheites kept close watch for the place where Cow Creek should cut off from Beaver, on the hundred-to-one chance that this was indeed Beaver Creek, and directed the course of the canoes accordingly. At long last, after the creek had made certain twists and turns, Speer tempted fate by standing up in the canoe to look beyond the banks to westward, and exclaimed: "By all the Furies! There's Clay Cliff or I'm a dog. It's not a cliff yet, but I know it anyway. And there are the hills where the 'Indians' Cave' is,or will be. Two twists more, and we'll reach the junction with Salt Creek---We're almost home!" Witch Doctor McPhail sat before his wickiup and held his head-band in his hand, admiring the hawk's feather and two crow feathers which indicated him to be inferior only to the old chief, who was due to die of old age any day now. Speer and Wilson had only the single hawk's feather which
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28 COSMIC TALES PART V by John A. Bristol Day after day, the canoes floated downstream, and three fans picked up enuf of the Amerind speech to learn that the were going to build a new village somewhere, or rather have their slaves build them. (Oh, yes, the Indians kept slaves--didn't you know that all the Five Civilized Tribes fought the Yankees in the War for Southern Independence?) "Then what do with slaves?" inquired one of the braves in the bow of the canoe, and, "Ugh! Dunno. Kill those not any good any more," replied the other. "Boys," said McPhail, "we gotta make ourselves valuable." Wilson had some matches that he suggested they might work up an effect with when they got the chance. "Better wait awhile," advised McPhail. Speer was day-dreaming and heard none of this, but suddenly woke up to remark, "If that was the Arkansas we passed the other day, then this one coming in from the west now must be Red river." Up in the flag-canoe, a heated argument was going on between Wa-hakatee and his lieutenants, the latter wanting to make their home at the junction of the two streams, while the chief wanted to go out to the river from the west, to the place where hunters were few and far between, and buffalo roamed by the millions, and all game was plentiful---the poor dope. In the end, the word that there were fighting Indians out there worthy of their steel won the argument, and they set out up this new tributary, the captives being quickly taught the gentle art of paddling a canoe. In their craft, Speer and McPhail took turns at keeping watch for familiar landmarks. They were pretty sure when they passed the mouth of the Washita, but beyond that, it was a mere quess where the creek at Comanche flowed in. As the sandbars multiplied, sentiment again rose among the red men to find a site somewhere, and at last the scientifictionists decided to risk a shot in the dark. "O Koo-lah," said McPhail, "if your chief will direct our way up the next stream that flows into this river, he will find a land of wondrous things." In the parleying that followed the whites refused to demonstrate their sample of one of the wonders until they had audience with old Wa-hakatee himself, and there they almost pushed their "effect" to far, trying the chiefs patience, but in the end Wilson, with hands that trembled so he could hardly hold the match, struck it against a dry stone he had picked up, and the resulting sputter and flame astounded the Indians, who insisted on proving it's reality by setting fire, with the match, to a piece of tinder. "Not great wonder, but we might as well go up the next stream as any other," said the old man conservatively. And so it was done, and the two Comancheites kept close watch for the place where Cow Creek should cut off from Beaver, on the hundred-to-one chance that this was indeed Beaver Creek, and directed the course of the canoes accordingly. At long last, after the creek had made certain twists and turns, Speer tempted fate by standing up in the canoe to look beyond the banks to westward, and exclaimed: "By all the Furies! There's Clay Cliff or I'm a dog. It's not a cliff yet, but I know it anyway. And there are the hills where the 'Indians' Cave' is,or will be. Two twists more, and we'll reach the junction with Salt Creek---We're almost home!" Witch Doctor McPhail sat before his wickiup and held his head-band in his hand, admiring the hawk's feather and two crow feathers which indicated him to be inferior only to the old chief, who was due to die of old age any day now. Speer and Wilson had only the single hawk's feather which
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