Groundhog's Horse

THE RACE
Groundhog had just finished making the forelock of his small black mare a thing of beauty, plaiting it with a string of costly beads, red and white. "How do you like it?" he asked as he stopped before Grandfather to show it off.
Grandfather was sitting in the shade, leaning back against the earth-plastered wall of their house. At Groundhog's voice he raised his head and opened his eyes, blinking sleepily. "What did you say?" he grumbled.
Too late Groundhog realized his mistake. "Were you sleeping?" he asked.
Grandfather rubbed at the rheumatism in his back and glared at his grandson. "No," he said irritably. "I was dancing. I had my left foot tied to my right elbow and there was a turkey perched on my head."
Groundhog sighed. It was always like this between Grandfather and him.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he said.
"So am I," grumbled Grandfather. "I was having a very pleasant nap."
Groundhog gave a little tug at the rope tied about his horse's neck. She was searching the bare ground for a stray blade of grass. "Come on, Midnight," he said, and she raised her head at her name.
"What is that?" demanded Grandfather, pointing to her forelock.
"It is what I came to show you," said Groundhog.
"Beads on a horse?" snorted Grandfather. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have seen all day."
Groundhog sighed and dug with his big toe at a pebble half buried in the ground.
"When are you going to quit this childish thing with your horse?" said Grandfather. "You are eleven years old, almost a warrior. It is time to act like it."
Almost a warrior? Groundhog looked down at himself. He was growing, but he was not yet as tall as a man. And he was skinny, so skinny that keeping up the belt of his breechcloth required a constant effort.
"All the town laughs about you and your horse," Grandfather said. "And why shouldn't they? It is what you deserve for going around telling people how unusual she is. 'Is she a fast runner?' they ask. 'No,' you say. 'Just unusual.'"
Groundhog shifted uncomfortably. He had never been able to make anyone understand about Midnight.
"How unusual can a horse be?" said Grandfather. "You tell people she has courage and intelligence and astrong heart with all the best qualities. What kind of talk is that? Horses don't have courage and intelligence. They have flies and foamy sweat. They are four-legged animals. Burden bearers. It is your imagination that makes more of her. It is your own foolishness that makes you think she would like beads plaited into her forelock. People laugh at you."
Groundhog had worked the pebble loose with his big toe and now he flipped it out of its hole and watched with satisfaction as it bounced with a tiny clink off a piece of broken pottery.
Grandfather sighed. He rubbed at his rheumatism and leaned back against the wall to continue his nap. "A boy should listen to his grandfather," he said as he closed his eyes. "I am trying to tell you that horse of yours is just a horse. That is all she is."
Groundhog knew better than to say more. He glanced at Midnight and she met his eyes with a look that assured him she was not a product of his foolish imagination. He reached out and stroked her, feeling the lovely smoothness of her neck. But his spirits were low as he led her away.
Groundhog wandered among the bark-roofed houses of Frogtown. The houses--some standing in clusters, some alone--were scattered around a big open space used for dances and games and council meetings. Frogtown was not a large town, but it was full of life--full of people and dogs and horses; cats, chickens, and crying babies. Overhead a haze of wood smoke, light andmisty, moved softly with the summer breezes. It came from all the cookfires in the bare dirt yards and it gave a comfortable feeling to the air.
But Groundhog was not paying attention to cheery things. Grandfather had ruined his good mood. The beaded forelock was not such a ridiculous thing. Other people tied ribbons and feathers in their horses' manes. Beads might be more valuable, but he had made only a short string. And they did look nice against her shiny blackness.
Groundhog glanced around at his neighbors as he passed them in their yards. Most were busy pounding corn or feathering arrows or stirring food as it simmered in brass kettles on the open fires. A few looked up and waved at him. But not a single person pointed to the beaded forelock and fell over laughing, as Grandfather had predicted.
Groundhog's spirits began to rise. Grandfather was not going to ruin such a fine summer day. Not even the bothersome flies and mosquitoes could ruin all the pleasure to be found in this mountain valley, so green and alive with summer.
He stopped for a moment to watch the walls going up on the third log house to be built in Frogtown. The idea of log houses was new. It came from the white people in the British colonies along the seaboard, five days to the east. According to Grandfather, it was also the whites who first brought horses, cats, and chickens, brass kettles, guns, and lots of other things. Groundhogcould remember when there were no log houses, only the sturdy Cherokee houses with walls woven of sticks and plastered with clay, and roofs shingled with bark.
For a little while he watched the men work on the new house. Then he decided to look for Jumper and perhaps get a war game going. But first he would have to do something with Midnight. Horses were no good for playing war. They could not walk quietly or cover their trail or climb a tree to hide. So he headed for the outlying pasture where the town herd was grazing. He would leave her there and come back to town to find Jumper.
Groundhog had led Midnight as far as the edge of town when he was stopped by the call of a redbird--Jumper's signal. He looked around and spotted his friend near the cornfield. Little Hawk and Pinecone were with him and all had their horses. Groundhog went over, leading Midnight.
"Fancy horse," said Jumper, nodding at Midnight's forelock.
There was teasing in his tone and Groundhog eyed him suspiciously. All three of his friends looked too cheerful, as if they were up to something.
"Looks like she's dressed up for racing," said Pinecone.
So that was it. They all knew how much he didn't like to race, even though he would never admit it. Midnight, though unusual in many ways, was not out-standing on the raceground. When Groundhog told people Midnight was unusual, they thought he was saying that she was a fast runner. To them there was nothing else about a horse that could be unusual. So when she lost a race, it really tickled them. "What an unusual horse!" they would mock.
He had given up trying to explain his horse to his friends. It would be easier to explain them to Midnight. She had a better understanding of things in her right ear than his friends would have if they pooled theirs all together.
"We can't go to the raceground," he said, trying to work his way out. "Not while we're at war with the Creeks. It's too far to go. There could be a Creek raiding party out there. One minute we would be racing and the next minute dead. Or captured."
"That's not going to happen," said Jumper.
"Sure it's not," said Groundhog. "That's just what Red Turtle thought. He was playing around down there in Creek country without fear of anything when our warriors caught him and brought him back here. One day he was a Creek and the next day an adopted Cherokee. Is that what you want? To be carried down to Creek country and never see your people again?"
"I could escape," said Little Hawk.
Groundhog shook his head. "Has Red Turtle ever escaped? His Cherokee family watches every move he makes. If he even gets a funny look in his eye like he might be thinking of slipping away, they see it. Thenthey make him sleep close between two people at night. They know every move he makes, every breath he takes."
"This is the dumbest conversation I ever heard," said Jumper. "All we're suggesting is a little race. Everybody that's not a coward, come on."
Groundhog sighed, giving in.
The raceground was downriver, beyond the cornfield, through some woods, and out of sight of the town. It was not safe to go there unless there were warriors along for protection. It was not safe, and it was not allowed.
"Someone will catch us leaving," said Groundhog as they pulled themselves up onto their horses and started out.
"The trick is to act normal," said Jumper. "As long as we don't look guilty, no one will think we're doing anything wrong. They'll think we've been sent on an errand or something."
Jumper led the way down to the Frogtown River. At the water's edge they turned up the path that led past the cornfield and through the woods to the raceground. Groundhog was miserable. With each step they were closer to a race Midnight was sure to lose. And on top of that, he was afraid of the Creeks. They were terrible enemies. He hoped some adult would notice them leaving and call them back. But the woods soon closed in around them.
After a time they arrived at the raceground, a longstretch of flat open land. On one side was the river. On the other side, dark woods.
Midnight stepped nervously and blew out a fluttery snort. She looked toward the woods, her ears pricked. Groundhog looked where she was looking, half expecting to see a Creek raiding party standing in the forest shadows. But he saw nothing. Perhaps she was only uneasy about the race.
He lined up with the others at the end of the raceground. His mind now was on the race. He stroked Midnight's neck, wishing he had not let himself get trapped into doing this. She was an unusual horse, but only once had she ever won a race.
Jumper gave the signal. The horses leaped forward, the boys whooping and yelling as they flew down the course. Groundhog leaned close against Midnight's neck, pleading with her to win, urging her frantically, "Let's go, let's go, let's go, let's go!"
Then it happened. Mounted warriors, painted and terrible, burst out of the woods before them, galloping into their path. Groundhog yelled in terror as he reined Midnight in. She reared and plunged. Everything whirled. Then she steadied and Groundhog looked wildly about, searching for an escape.
But as his eyes swept the warriors, his mouth flew open in surprise.
There was Kingfisher, his own older brother. And the others--they were all Cherokees. These warriors with bold tattoos upon their chests and eagle feathersdangling from their hair were all their own older brothers. And in their hands were long, limber switches.
Groundhog braced himself as the warriors began to scold. Suddenly the air was singing with the whir of their switches.
"Are you boys crazy?" fussed the older brothers. "What do you mean coming out here alone? Do you want to get captured by Creeks and make your mothers cry?"
The switches whirred through the air, snapping against bare skin.
The stinging blows fell on Groundhog's shoulders, on his chest, his arms, his back. "That's enough!" he cried, trying to bat the switches away.
The warriors laughed and laid on a few more blows before throwing down the switches.
"Now you boys look pretty," said Jumper's older brother grinning at them.
Groundhog looked down at the red stripes on his chest and arms. This was the worst part of being switched: not the little bit of pain, but the striped welts that showed to all the world that a boy had been caught doing wrong. The people back in Frogtown would laugh to see the stripes. Laughter was the worst punishment of all.
As they started back toward home, Groundhog moved over to ride beside Kingfisher. "Couldn't we wait until dark to go home?" Groundhog quietly asked his brother. "Then not so many people would see us."
Kingfisher seemed to feel a little sorry for him, but he shook his head. "If you wanted not to be shamed," he said, "you should have stayed near the town."
"Lucky for you we weren't that Creek war party," said Jumper's older brother.
"What Creek war party?" Groundhog asked in alarm.
"The one Yellow Dog spotted up the river a little while ago," said Kingfisher.
"When they heard, all the mothers started counting children," said Jumper's older brother. "You four were missing, so they sent us out to look for you. They were afraid you had been captured."
"How did you find us?" asked Jumper.
The warriors laughed.
"You boys were as easy to follow as snakes through the sand," said Kingfisher.
The warriors laughed harder, slapping their thighs.
Groundhog was not amused.
Things got even worse when they neared the town. A shout went up when they were spotted, and everyone quit what they were doing and came to stand at the edge of town, waiting for them.
"Go home, people," Groundhog muttered under his breath. "Don't you have better things to do?"
"Maybe they do," said Jumper. "Let's take a long time at putting our horses in the pasture. Maybe everyone will get tired of waiting for us and go back to their work."
Jumper's older brother overheard. "Here, boys,we'll take your horses for you so you can greet your friends," he said, teasing them.
"Thanks," Groundhog said sourly.
The four boys climbed down from their horses, and the warriors rode away and left them standing alone, facing the dreadful throng of friends and relatives.
Groundhog looked down at the welts on his skin, feeling embarrassed.
"I'm sorry I got us into this," said Jumper.
"I'm sorry you did, too," said Pinecone.
"It was my fault," said Jumper. "I'll go first. I'll take the brunt of it." He set out ahead of the others.
But Groundhog could not let his friend go alone, not with all those people laughing and hooting at him. No matter whose fault it was, they were comrades and they should all go together. He ran to catch up and Little Hawk and Pinecone followed. Together the four of them walked into town, looking straight ahead, pretending that nothing unusual had happened.
People kept serious faces as they approached. But as soon as they passed by, the laughter started. Groundhog flinched as someone commented loudly on their pretty new shirts with the nice red stripes. Then someone said something about red stripes of war paint. Someone else shouted a mock war whoop. Soon everyone was laughing.
Groundhog hurried to his house and sulked about inside for the rest of the day. His mother and grandfather left him alone. But Pokeberry, his older sister,felt sorry for him and gave him a bowl of cornmush and blackberries to make him feel better.
It was not until the sun was going down that Groundhog suddenly remembered the Creek war party. Maybe they had come to steal horses in the night. "Midnight!" he said, jumping to his feet and hurrying out of the house.
"That horse again," grumbled Grandfather. "What is he going to do now?"
Groundhog went out behind the town to the place where the horses were grazing. A guard was already posted there, and Kingfisher was to take the post later and guard the horses until dawn. But for Groundhog that was not enough. He found Midnight and led her back into the town and tied her outside his house.
"There," he told her. "Now you'll be safe. The Creeks might steal every horse out there, but they won't get you."
Midnight nudged her head against him.
"And listen, girl," he said softly. "I know that you were losing that race. But don't worry about it. Races don't prove anything. Very ordinary horses win races."
He stroked her nose and looked at her. "But it would help if you could run a little faster," he said. "It's embarrassing for me when you lose. You won a race once, do you remember? Maybe you should think about that and try to remember how you did it."
Midnight blinked sleepily, and Groundhog turned and went into the house.
"Are you going to leave that horse there?" grumbled Grandfather. "Right by the door?"
Groundhog almost snapped back at him. "Yes, I am," he said. "Right by the door. I don't want her stolen tonight."
Groundhog's mother shot him a disapproving look for talking so sharply. He sighed and went over and flopped down on his bed. He had had an awful day.
Text copyright © 1978 by Joyce Rockwood Hudson