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NEH-TIG-A-Gand Norma Wanlass Manti, Utah First Place Short Story "Neh-tig-a-gand." Walt stood up in the wagon with his gun pointed in the direction of the sound. "What was that?" he mumbled tersely. "Whoa, boy." Fred spoke quietly to the lumbering oxen as he grabbed his gun and jumped to the ground. Cautiously he moved around the load of wild hay. "Neh-tig-a-gand," came the voice again. Walt relaxed as he recognized the word 'friend,' and climbed down off the wagon. As he peered into the bright- ness of the setting sun, his eyes finally focused on a Indian squaw standing in the cattail rushes along the San- picth River. Her arms were caked with blood and her face and hair streaked with mud and blood. Ang-arr-ah? "Who is it?" Walt called. Walkarrah. Nin-ne ar-kar-rie Walkarrah. "Me hide Walkarrah," she answered. Ar-na-ge? "Why?" asked Fred. Walkarrah Ur-nip-a-noonse. Say nin-ne nan-ap-poodze. Swat-um. Puck-ki. Nin-ne tawk. Ar-kar-rie pi-une ep-woo-igh. "Walkarrah crazy Indian. Say me old. Good for nothing. Kill. Me run. Hide three sleeps. Nin-ne Pe-adze. Wah-kar. Me Mother, Walker Chief," and she straightened up proudly. Walt hesitated. Then he said Pike-e. "Come," as he beckoned to her with his hand. "Pa, we can't help her," Fred said. "Walker will kill all of us!" "We can't leave her here to die," Walt said. "We wouldn't even treat a dog like that." "But that's the Indian way," Fred argued. "You're going against Nature. If Walker finds out, he'll come after us like a fork-tailed fiend." "That's the chance we'll have to take," Walt answered as he made a place for her in the hay. -12 - |
