The two Pomos were well on their way to the sea for salt when Kai-Tai saw the deer. He raised his hand for silence and lifted his bow to fire. From habit of long use, he reached into the beaver skin quiver at his side for an arrow. Fitting the shaft on the string, he waited. When his target, a deer, was in the place he wished, Kai-Tai released the missile. The obsidian tipped arrow flew with unerring precision, and the animal fell without sound or struggle.
“Well shot, Kai-Tai,” Koo-Noo exclaimed. “Your arrow struck to the heart.” Quickly they raced forward to cut the animal’s throat to drain the blood from its
“The meat will be good. Tonight, we shall build a fire, and we shall eat well,” Koo-Noo said with satisfaction.
“You are always hungry,” His friend retorted. He was pleased with himself. It was a good shot. “That is why you are so fat, Koo-Noo.” Koo-Noo took the friendly jibe in good grace. “My extra fat keeps me warm when it is cold at night.” Kai-Tai, more of a thinker than his friend, looked to the future. “When we return we must find wives. We shall be honored for our journey and the new land with
From his quiver, Kai-Tai took a piece of Cedar about eighteen inches in length. The piece was an inch thick and two inches wide at the center; boat-shaped and tapering to a point on both ends. From a passing Buckeye tree branch, they had passed earlier, he produced a dried branch that was about the length of an arrow. The branch was larger at one end than the other. With a piece of the obsidian stone he carried, in the center of the cedar, Kai-Tai made a circular hole a quarter of an inch deep. From the
“Now we shall have
They reached the coast the next day. Once at the ocean, Koo-Noo brought abalone from the reefs where they lodged. The water off the coast was no more than ten or twenty feet deep inside the reefs, and Koo-Noo waded carefully upon the abalone as they rested on flat rocks or crevices below the wash of the waves. Before the animal could hunker down and fasten its body to the rock, he had learned the art of reaching the space quickly beneath the abalone to flip the creature from its watery perch before its suction on the rock made such an attempt useless.
They gathered their salt from the crevices in the rock and headed home, satisfied they had collected enough for the tribe.
Next Week: The Mountains Dance. Lake County History. $32. (includes. Tax & Shipping) Pal Publishing, PO Box 6, Upper Lake, Ca 95485