FICTION
Jn dian
scare
Pilot
Rock
HifJdnc Lenon
ten years old that fall
w h e n the Indian scare
teas at its worst. For s o m e
tim e w e h a d been hearing
tales of hostile Indians gather
ing to the ea st o f oar Pilot
R ock ranch, h e a d in g oar
way. Folks were mighty jum py even though our local
Umatilla tribe had always seemed friendly.
The day was bright and crisp with a bit of wind
moving through the yellow leaves of the box elder and
locust trees in the yard. I had just come in from the
usual morning chores of feeding chickens, pigs and
horses. 1 he kitchen was warm and fragrant with the
smell of new bread that Ma had just lifted out of the
wood stove oven and set on the side table.
My two littlest sisters chatted happily over rag dolls
on the front room floor. Ella, my eight-year-old sister,
was bustling about with Ma, washing up the baking
utensils.
“ Elmer, you'd best fill the box right now so there'll
be plent\ ot wood for cooking dinner,” Ma directed.
I had just headed obediently toward the door when
a shadow passed across the bright patch of kitchen
window
Suddenly, two tall Indians stood in the opened door
way, each holding a long hunting knife. Ma, with a
little intake of breath, pushed Ella behind her long
skirts and confronted the Indians squarely.
They were dressed in worn black trousers w ith buck
skin jackets and mocassins. ITieir long, black hair
hung in braids over their shoulders. I heir dark faces
were serious and unmoving.
Grunting and making circular motions with their
hands, they pointed first at me and then toward the
large grindstone standing by the woodshed just outside
(continued page 12)
NOVEMBER 1985
YOUNG AMERICAN
PAGE 11