Volume 1


Fourth Edition Printed by the Clio Press Iowa City, Iowa 1920
Copyright 1917 by Clarence Ray Aurner

Transcribed by Sharon Elijah, submitted April, 2013


Among so many people who came from other lands to the new homes in Iowa it would have been very strange not to find a few who were not honest. The story of �Flying Arrow� who lost his venison in some mysterious way shows that there must have been a thief in his neighborhood.

Having returned from a hunt, �Flying Arrow� hung his deer meat in his wigwam. He set out then to find leaves and sticks, to make his evening fire by which he could cook his venison. He soon returned with his arms loaded, for there was an abundance of fallen branches and dry leaves all about his wigwam. His fire soon burned brightly and he was ready to prepare his meat. But lo! when he went for his joint of venison it was gone, and there were no signs by which any white man could have followed the robber.

The eyes of �Flying Arrow� however, were very keen and he saw many things which told him at once something about the person who had stolen his food. At once he caught up his war club and sprang through the forest in pursuit. Only an instant, it seems, did he need to see the tracks of the thief. As he swiftly followed the trail while keeping his eyes fixed on the ground ahead of him, a white neighbor happened to cross his path. �What do you seek?� asked his white friend. �I seek�, said �Flying Arrow�, �a little old man carrying a short gun. He is followed by a little dog with a stumpy, bushy tail. This man is a thief; he has entered my wigwam and stolen my venison. I will crush both him and his dog.�

�Why, brother�, replied his white neighbor, �I met such a man not far from here, and truly he carried venison on his shoulder; but how could you know all these things seeing you were away in the forest?�

Although �Flying Arrow� was in a great hurry to catch up with the little old man and his busy-tailed dog, he stopped to tell his friend how he knew. �I found�, he said, �a pile of stone under the hook where I hung my venison; had the thief not been a short man he would not have used these to stand upon. I knew he must be old, because his footsteps are close together; and he must be a white man because his toes turned out, which as you know, an Indian�s never do. Had his gun been long, the muzzle would have left no mark when leaned against a tree, as his gun has when placed against a tree trunk. So you see, my white brother, it was easy, to one who used his eyes, to describe the thief.�

�But what about the dog?� inquired the friend. �You say that it was a little dog with a short stumpy tail.� �Flying Arrow� was not disturbed when he said, �Did not the tracks of the dog show that his feet were close together? And did not the short bushy tail measure itself in the sand as it wagged back and forth while the dog watched his master unhook the venison? But goodby, my brother, I must hasten or I shall not catch the thief and get back my venison for my supper!�

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