The walk had been long this day. The rain had started early and the wind had started to blow. Most of the walk had been made wrapped in the wet blanket. During the morning many of the old people had stopped walking. One by one, they just simply stopped waking. As they dropped out of the march they sat down on the cold, wet, ground next to the trail. By the time the sick wagon caught up to them, it was too late for many of them. The white soldiers in their black rubber coated canvas rain slickers were kept busy throughout the day. Many shallow holes were dug along the trail. Young Bear's friend, Fox Walker, had left his mother beside the trail this day. Now, Fox Walker traveled along the muddy trail with the people of his tribe. There was a great hurting in his chest. Although the tears streamed down his face they could not be seen as they mixed with the rain running out of his hair, mixing with the salt of his tears. The rain almost hid his true feelings. A closer look would show the pain deep within his red rimmed eyes. His mother, Gray Squirrel, had been coughing for six days. The cough had gotten worse as the days passed. Then she had trouble breathing. It seemed she could not get enough air. Last night she had been breathing very heavily. She was so exhausted she could not eat. This morning she looked ash gray and her skin was very hot to the touch. Only a short time after the march started she could walk no further. Fox Walker, his father, and his younger sister, had sat with her until the sick wagon had caught up with them. They had lifted her up to the wagon and the soldier doctor had covered her with a dry blanket and tried to warm her but it was to no avail. Within the hour she had been taken from the wagon. Fox Walker and his family had been forced to walk on as the soldiers dug yet another shallow, muddy, grave. Young Bear, for a time, had walked beside his friend. He, also, felt the hurt in his chest for the loss his friend had suffered. He, too, had lost his mother. Then, as if he had been told, he knew his friend wanted to be alone with his grief. He walked a little faster until he caught up with his grandfather, Old Beaver Tail. They had stopped at mid day as they usually did. Old Beaver Tail had tried to build a fire but it was not possible. All the wood and any other material that might burn was saturated with the rain that had been falling continuously since before dawn. There was nothing that would burn. Young bear was tired and cold. He had been wet since shortly after the day's march had started. He was shivering but would say nothing of his discomfort. There was nothing that could be done. He knew his grandfather was also cold and wet and Young Bear was worried about him. He was very old and Young bear knew he could not stand the continued cold. When they had a short stop in the march they sat on the wet ground, trying to hide from the cold wind and the rain that had started freezing onto their wet blanket. Young Bear tried to think of something he could do to help his grandfather. In his seven winters he had never had to think so hard. Suddenly he had an idea. He walked over to a small pine tree and started breaking off small limbs covered with pine needles. When his arms were loaded with the small branches he returned to his grandfather's side and sat down. His cold fingers started working with the branches, weaving and braiding them in much the same way he had seen his mother, Spring Doe, weave a basket. In a short time Young Bear had woven a shawl from the pine branches. He stood up and removed the now frozen blanket from Old Beaver Tail's shoulders. Young Bear then placed the pine branch shawl over his grandfather's shoulders. He replaced the thin frozen blanket over the pine shawl. The frozen blanket would break the wind and the pine shawl would keep Old Beaver Tail warm. When the march started again the boy felt much better about his grandfather. It would have to do until something better could be found. When they stopped for the night he would see if he could find another blanket. Although he did not think it would be possible he knew he would have to try. He had to find a way to help his grandfather, Old Beaver Tail.
The Saga of Young Bear
