Silver Moon

An eagle soared effortlessly on gentle wind currents rising above the mountainside. The tips of its outstretched wings caressed the wind like a painter’s brush stroking a canvas. Tall, green, pine trees that seemed to reach upward into the eagle’s domain, surrounded the valley below. Hide covered tepees dotted the valley floor, surrounded by lush meadow grass. A mountain stream wound its way down the valley like a snake, carrying its cold blue water into the plains beyond. A young man dressed in dark tan buckskins and wearing a hat made from a skunk pelt, watched the eagle soaring high above. He wished he could see the world from the eagle’s eyes and travel with the wind where ever he wanted to go. He watched as the eagle rode the wind farther and farther away, until it was only a small spot above the mountaintops. “Jack,” a stern voice said. “Jack!” it yelled again, getting more upset. Quickly Jack turned from watching the disappearing eagle and quit daydreaming. Jack looked quickly at the man sitting at his side before he got any angrier. “Yes,” Reverend Gipson. “What is it?” he asked. Rev. Gipson was a tall man dressed in a soft buckskin hunting shirt and fringed jacket stained dark by the smoke of many campfires. He wore homespun pants tucked into tall leather moccasins. A hat made from a wolf pelt was pressed firmly down on his head, its heavy leather bill shielding his green eyes from the sun. Long black hair hung down over his shoulders, partially covered by the wolf skin. His face was covered in a full beard that hung down his chest. His eyes were hidden back in his face by his beard and long beak like nose. “Get the rest of the trade goods from the packhorse!” he told Jack in a gruff voice. Immediately Jack got up and walked carefully back to the packhorse, surrounded by Indian women and children. Removing a heavy leather bag from the packsaddle, he sat it on the ground and opened it. It was filled with glass beads and trinkets of every size and shape. Reaching his hand into the bag, he searched for something he had seen earlier. It was a silver wolf emblem on a silver chain and was much too nice a gift to be given away to these Indians, he thought as he found it. Quickly he put it into a leather possibles bag hanging on his belt. Closing the bag full of trinkets, he took it to the reverend. Opening the bag, the reverend poured most of the contents out on a buffalo robe. The women and children’s eyes all grew large as they looked down upon the treasures spread out before them. Sitting cross-legged across from Reverend Gibson was the chief of the village. Standing behind him and around the sides of the gathering, were some of his warriors. He was an old man with gray braids hanging down his chest wrapped tightly in soft leather and fur. Three large eagle feathers were tied to the hair on the back of his head and stood straight up like an outstretched hand. His face was wrinkled and old but his black eyes were fiery and watched everything. “I bring these gifts to Standing Bear and his people,” the reverend said pointing at the treasures scattered on the robe.