Broken Bow High School - Warrior Yearbook (Broken Bow, NE)

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FOREWORD Realizing that the history of Custer County is rich in interesting material, and believing that many of the students and residents here are not familiar with this history, we have chosen the pioneer theme in the hope that it will be of interest to our readers. During the years 1874 to 1880, there was a general movement of people to Nebraska. These people drifted west slowly —by covered wagons and other crude means of transportation, and many of them settled in Custer County. Some of them, discouraged by the hard winters, blizzards, drouths, floods, and the continual struggle for existence, left the vicinity to make their homes elsewhere. But others braved the hostile conditions and stayed on—to make their homes in this country and to bring up their children here. A number of their descendants are living near here at this time. Peter Pioneer is a purely mythical character, who, in our imaginations, has returned to the scene of his former days and is visiting the school which he finds here. We are attempting to give the impressions that he might receive. Section I of the book is his description of the school as he found it on his visit in the early fall. He is telling his wile about it. Section II is a letter to his daughter, describing his visit during the football season. Section III is a page from the daughter's diary in which she tells of a visit to the school with her father later in the winter. Section TV is a page from a scrapbook, consisting of newspaper clippings associated with the school.

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Brolc en Bow Warning him his foes were near him; Slept and dreamed of home and kindred, Dreamed he saw the dark-eyed maiden Coming down the path to meet him, Coming down to greet her lover To receive the bow and quiver; Dreamed he on till almost sunrise, When the war whoop echoed wildly Through the canyons on the prairies, Echoed up and down the Muddy. Waked he then among their yelling, For his foes had found him sleeping. Then they scalped the Eagle Feather, For they numbered near a hundred; Forced him to tell his errand. Then they took his bow and quiver, Took his bow and broke it rudely, Threw it down to warn the Sioux tribe That they'd slain their Eagle Feather. Then they took their suffering prisoner With them far beyond the South Loup, Let him die and soon forgot him. Many moons grew bright and darkened. Yet the Eagle Feather came not, Never came to claim his promise, Never more returned to meet her. He must be dead, she murmured lowly, Or he would come to poor Winneta, Farewell, Eagle Feather, farewell, Your Winneta's heart is breaking, Breaking for her Indian lover. I will go away in sadness To the wigwam of my mother, Lay me down and sleep the death sleep. In the spirit land I'll meet him, Meet him and my brave old father; In the hunting grounds of the red men, Happy land of the Great Spirits, Will commune with Eagle Feather In the land beyond the sunset. Years have passed and left the traces Of the Sioux and the Dakotas. Westward they have journeyed farther, And their tribes are growing smaller. Their hunting grounds are now rich corn fields For the white man's plow and reaper; And their cabins dot the prairie, And they cut away the cedars, Frighten all the elk and bison From Nebraska's fair prairies. Years swept by; the pale-faced settlers On the prairies of Nebraska, On the swiftly flowing South Loup, Built their cabins on the North Loup, Hunted on the Niobrara, Built their cabins on the Muddy, Near the place where Eagle Feather, The young chief of the Dakotas, Met his fate by the Paduchas. Came the pale face, walking slowly, Thinking of the growing city They were building on the Muddy, For many men had come together, Brought their wives and children with them, To populate fair Custer county. And the people of the Muddy Now must name this fair young city. For a new name searched they often, Oft rejected, half discouraged. While out walking on the Muddy. Came he where the bow lay broken; Pondered he of how it came there All alone beside the Muddy. Pondered he, this pale-faced Hewitt, As he homeward walked more quickly. I have found a bow that's broken, Said he to his fair wife waiting. An Indian bow that has been broken And left beside the Muddy river. Let us name our city for it, Name our city Broken Bow. Sent the name, it was accepted; Never was a name just like it, Never one half so romantic. Full of wonder came each stranger, Such a strange name for a city, Said each stranger when he heard it. Broken Bow, in Custer county. Built beside the Muddy river, Near beside those wondrous canyons Where the Indian tribes had waged war, Where the coyote warned the red chief, While he dreamed of dark Winneta; Where he suffered death by torture, DIED AND LEFT HIS BROKEN BOW-LEFT TO US HIS BROKEN BOW.

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Section One Peter Pioneer’s description of the school as he found it on his visit in the early fall.