The Drums of Change Read Online Free PDF

Little Brook, with a sharp tug at the shawl.
    Little Brook’s eyes were shining with excitement, reflected by the bright full moon overhead.
    “The chiefs have spoken,” she said hoarsely.
    “What? What have they spoken?”
    “They are going to the White Fort. They are in agreement. They wish to stop the many white men from coming to our land.”
    Running Fawn let the breath ease from her body. Some of the tension began to seep away from her. Her small shoulders drooped in relieved acceptance. There was nothing wrong. The chiefs were taking care of the people. They were restoring their world to what it had always been. From now on she would not need to feel terror at the change any longer.

Chapter Four
    1876–1877
    Running Fawn was feeling impatient. It seemed long past time for the large camp to break up and for the bands to go their separate ways. But the people appeared reluctant to leave the massive campsite. Night after night the drums beat out their song of unity, yet with its underlying note of discord. Daily the talk around the campfire centered on the interests of the people. The delegation had been dispatched to speak with the Great White Fathers, who gave them audience and expressed some appreciation for their concerns. But no real solution was evident.
    “The Great White Mother, the Queen of England, cares for her people,” the delegation was assured. The words were brought back to the camp to be deliberated and measured and debated. Some found comfort, others doubted.
    Around the campfires and in the Sweat Lodges, the word “treaty” was often heard. Running Fawn had no idea what the word meant. She did know that it brought various responses. Her father spoke against the idea. After all, the brothers across the border had signed a treaty in 1855. The white man had not honored the treaty but had broken it over and over again. What good would a treaty do the people?
    Their own band’s chief, Calls Through The Night, was also against the idea of signing a treaty. It would only bring more white settlers to the area and more renegade Indians who would infringe upon their hunting grounds, further deplete the buffalo, and make raids on their herds of horses.
    But the great chief of the whole Blackfoot tribe, Chief Crowfoot, was not ready to condemn the idea of signing. He had visited the great fort on the open plains and had seen firsthand the large contingent of white soldiers, all carrying weapons of war. He knew that his people would never be able to stand against them. Wisdom of years and experience told him that it would be better to sign than to condemn his people to certain death.
    Running Fawn felt confused and unsettled by the talk. The uncertainty. She longed to return to the safety of their own hills.
    Eventually small bands began to separate themselves from the main body and ride off to make their own camps where the hunting grounds would not need to be shared with such a large body of people.
    But when the time came that Calls Through The Night decided his little band would leave the gathering, they did not head for the familiar hills closer to the mountains. He had decided to stay in a sheltered valley along the Bow River not many miles upstream from the large camp. Running Fawn was disappointed and frightened by this decision. Why did he wish to remain on the open plain? Why had they not moved back toward the western hills and her favorite place in the whole world? Surely there was some mistake.
    But her small voice would not be heard against the loud voices of the elders, she knew that. So she buried her thoughts and fears and stayed as close to her mother’s campfire as she was able.

    They had not been at the new camp for long when they had a visitor. The man was a member of the Blood tribe, a part of the Blackfoot Nation. Running Fawn watched him arrive and be properly received by Chief Calls Through The Night. The two disappeared into the chief’s tent, and soon other elders were