The Silver Quiver

The storm was gathering in the west. Great black clouds were hanging low over the hills. The atmosphere was leaden, scarcely a leaf was shaking and suddenly blinding flashes of lightening closely followed by the roar and crash of thunder as the storm broke and the rain came down in torrents. Trees that a moment before had stood motionless were now uprooted and hurled with a crash down the mountainside. One great oak fell with a mighty crash, tearing up the earth for several feet around where it had stood for nearly a century. Virginia Howe found it very difficult to keep her footing coming down the steep mountain trail. In dodging the limb of a tree she wrenched her ankle and fell moaning – helpless to the ground.

She had left the camp that morning and had set off up the mountain to spend the day with old Grandma Berkley who lived all alone in a little hut on the top of the mountain. Virginia’s brother Randall and Eugene and Ellen Smith, her cousins had preferred to go fishing that morning so Virginia had gone to Grandma Berkley’s along. The four cousins were spending the summer in the mountains. They were from New York but once out in the mountains they forgot all about the dusty city and gave their thoughts freely to the free wholesome life of the outdoors.

After one fruitless attempt to rise, Virginia sank back upon the rocks.

“Oh I can’t stay here. What will I do? It is farther to the camp than it is back to Grandma Berkley’s but I can never climb the mountain, my ankle hurts so badly.”

She gazed around her – all but shivering with horror at the damage done to the majestic old trees. Suddenly her eye caught the sight of something bright lying close to the roots of the old oak. She gave a gasp of surprise when she saw an Indian quiver made from pure silver. It was hand engraved and the initials “N.S.” were carved on one side. On the other side, in quaint scrolls was the figure of a deer. It looked perfectly new – there were not a foreign scratch on it. Evidently it had lain at the foot of the old oak for years – protected but unseen.

Virginia had almost forgotten her ankle, when suddenly she heard a shout from below, followed by mingled voices.

“Why in the world didn’t you come back sooner? We –“ he stopped short when he saw the quiver in Virginia’s hand.

“I fell and wrenched my ankle and I can’t walk” answered Virginia. Then – “Look what I found. It was under the roots of this old oak.”

The others came up and examined the relic with many exclamations of surprise and curiosity.

“Oh Ranny” cried Virginia, “How will I ever get back to camp?”

“Huh! There is not much of a camp left. The dam above broke. We managed to save our trunks and one box of provisions – the rest is feeding the fishes by now. I thought maybe we could “tough it out” but since you have hurt your ankle, I guess Gene and I had better go to town for help. You girls can stay with Grandma Berkley.” Then glancing at the quiver in her hand, “I’ll bet if this piece of Indian workmanship could talk, we would hear a strange tale. Never-the-less we had better hurry, it is almost sun-down and we are camp- less.”

Grandma Berkley was alarmed when she saw Randolph come into her gate carrying Virginia but when they assured her that the only damage was a slightly sprained ankle, she led the way into the house saying,

“I was afraid after you had bone that you would get hurt – the storm came up so quick,”

After the boys had gone and and Virginia was made comfortable she showed Grandma the quiver. With a cry of surprise the old lady asked “Where did you get the Silver Quiver?”

“I found it at the foot of an old oak tree. “answered Virginia. “Do you know who it belongs to?”

“Certainly I do.” Answered the old lady. “It is an interesting story that has to do with it. It belonged to my father, Nathan Sudan. He got it from an old Indian Chief, Ironwill who lived over on Little Creek. There was another Indian working for my father at the time. His name was Bear Tooth. He was of the same tribe as the old Chief. He almost worshipped the quiver; he tells the story that once it saved his life when he was crossing Little Creek. The creek was swollen with the fall rains and he says that he would have drowned had it not been for the Indian relic in his hand. The truth of this story we do not know, but Bear Tooth would bow to the ground when he would come into the room where my father kept it.

“One day when I was yet a little girl, my father sent old Bear Tooth to the village for something. Shortly after the Indian had gone my father noticed that the quiver was not hanging in its accustomed place on the wall. Bear Tooth never came back but we heard from the old Chief that Bear Tooth had been there and had told that he had taken the quiver but becoming frightened lest the quiver would bring him ill luck instead of good, he had hid it under a sapling on the mountain side. After telling Ironwill this Bear Tooth left the country and has never been heard of since.”

“Well”, exclaimed Virginia when Grandma was through, “I was sure there was a story connected with it and I am glad it is restored to its owner at last.”

Written by Ida May Schaffer