Harvest tools for Pine Nuts. Photo from the Wheat  Collection 

Chapter 1

Winnemucca

            Winnemucca took his new role seriously.  In the three years since The Giver had left, the number of whites traveling through the area had increased.  Some of the Numa crops were being hurt by the white's presence. The wai; rice grass, was overgrazed by the stock that moved down the river and the pinyon; pinenut trees were being cut for firewood.

            Worse, runners brought stories that were frightening to imagine.  Was it true that the whites had eaten human flesh in the mountains the winter before?  He felt his people should avoid contact with the white as much as possible.

            By keeping away from the whites, Winnemucca and his band retained a normal life.  They continued to make their large yearly circle from camp to camp leaving the western lake after the kuyui had been harvested. 

            In the spring they moved to the sink where the river went into the ground.  Water grasses gave shelter to thousands of birds, eggs were harvested and birds were netted.  Fresh spears of cattails were eaten raw and tule was harvested for weaving. 

            Spring blooms erupted across the landscape and with them came the Flower Festival, an excuse for all the family bands to gather and dance and feast.  Winnemucca was grateful to the land for supporting the Numa for another year and grateful, too, that so many of his people were healthy.

            A new baby was born to him and Tuboitonie.  His older children ran and played with their cousins and the two youngest stayed close to their mother.  He had much to be thankful for and  a lot to care for.

            Summer, when the seeds were ripening, the seeds of fear started to grow in Winnemucca and his people.  Word had reached them that the white were killing all the Numa that they met.  The band moved carefully.  Dust rising in the distance sent fear into their hearts and they moved further and further into the hills. 

            The canyons provided shelter and food supplies.  Smaller mountain trout were taken from the streams.  Buckberry offered a cool summer treat, and the willows supplied their branches for cradleboards, cook ware, jugs and baskets.

            In the fall the band decided to move west for the pine-nut harvest even though it would bring them closer to the whites, but the nuts were needed for the winter store of food.

            The Numa searched for pinyons whose branches bent down beneath their load of cones.  The harvest was good.  The little karnee like cairns dotted the hillside guarding the winter store of food and it was as happy as past years. 

Picture of Chief Winnemucca about 1880.  Even though this is Truckee’s Son, It shows the example of wearing soldier’s clothing.

Albumen cabinet card, Noe and Lee StudioPhoto Courtesy of Nevada Historical Society

           The Giver came home.  He was now known by the name the whites had given him, Truckee.  He and the eleven travelers returned from across the mountains.  He had stories to tell of the magnificent things that the white had.  They brought guns and the cast off clothing of the soldiers who they had traveled with and fought beside in California.

            During his travels Truckee had learned the army men's language and he had a rag which he said spoke to the White Brothers. Fremont had given him the skin like parchment as an introduction to other white travelers.  Markings which stood for words were drawn across it and a small smooth blob of red wax dotted one corner. 

            Truckee couldn't believe the stories Winnemucca told him about the Numa slaughter or the cannibalism of the whites.  To prove the good intentions of the Whites, Truckee took his `rag friend' and went down to the river and showed it to some travelers.  At first wary, the whites welcomed him into their camp and sent him back with a sack of flour.  Many of the band believed that the whites were indeed peaceful, and Truckee convinced them to return, once again, with him to California.

            Winnemucca remained.  He was not convinced.  Runners arrived often with stories of the slaughters that occurred farther up the trail.  It was time to be wary.  One morning news arrived that a group of warring whites drew near.

            "They slaughtered the young and old, burnt the karnees and threw babies in amongst the flames,"  a runner reported.

            Fear struck the band.  Women gathered their belongings and quickly tied their babies into cradleboards. 

            Winnemucca was concerned for the welfare of the whole band but feared for his children the most.  He had a second wife now, and she and Tuboitonie stayed behind to ready the babies while the other children fled with  Winnemucca and the band into the hills

            It was an impossibly long time while the women got the babies.  Winnemucca watched the dust trail grow closer.  Maybe the toddlers slowed his wives.  Finally two figures appeared, running up the trail.  He saw his two wives carrying the cradleboards but the five-year-olds were not with them.

            "Where is Shell Flower and her cousin?"  he questioned Tuboitonie.  She was older and in charge.

            "The little ones couldn't keep up, so we hid them."  Tears ran in streaks down Tuboitonie's face.

            "Where?" He felt the sharpness in his own voice.

            "In the sand,"  Tuboitonie explained.  "We dug shallow pits and placed Shell Flower in one and her cousin-sister in the other.  They cried but we told them to be quiet."

            His heart felt like a rock.  What if the whites found the children?

            The day crept on into night.  The smell of smoke floated up the canyon.  The band could see small fires burning on the hillside.

            "They’re burning our food,"  Tuboitonie whispered to Winnemucca.

            "I know, at least they haven't gone near the children."  A tear slid down his hardened face as he thought of the terror the two young girls must be experiencing.

            At last it was dark and the whites had traveled on. The band worked its way silently down into the valley.

            "Tuboitonie, show me where the girls are."

            She led the way and pointed to a pile of sagebrush.  He ran towards it, his feet silent on the sand.  A whimper came from the brush and a loud cry as Winnemucca bent down and picked up Shell Flower's cousin.  He kissed her and handed the child to his second wife.

            "Where is my daughter?"  He looked and saw Tuboitonie brushing sand away from a shivering form.  The child had not moved all day.  Winnemucca bent down over his daughter. "Oh, little Shell Flower, I cried all day for you."  Gently he brushed the last of the sand away from her and picked her up.

            She burst into tears and buried her face in her father's rabbit skin robe.  "I was quiet,"  she whimpered.

            Grief overtook Winnemucca.  The winter stores of food were gone, burnt by the whites.  The children and his people were in fear and he was the one that they looked to for guidance.  He handed the young child to Tuboitonie and gathered a group of men.  Perhaps they could salvage some of the food.  His heart was heavy as they stepped into the darkness.