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

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I lie Naming of Broken Bow (As told to a member of this staff by Mr. E. R. Purcell) By 1880 the people who had settled in this neighborhood desired a post office. In that year Wilson Hewitt, a homesteader near where the city is now located, sent to the Post Office Department the application, and a name which he thought was appropriate. The application was approved, but the name was rejected because a similar one had been granted on another petition. One day Mr. Hewitt's sons, Ed and Fred, while wandering in a canyon, found a broken bow. They took it home, and it immediately suggested the name Broken Bow to Mr. Hewitt; he submitted it, and in time received notice that it had been accepted. At one time Mr. Hewitt's daughter burned part of the bow for kindling. Mrs. Pellam, a very good friend who lived just across the road, asked for the remaining piece, which was about eight inches long. Later, when she moved away, she felt that this piece should be kept by some citizen of Broken Bow and sent it to Mr. E. R. Purcell, in whose possession it is now. He keeps it in a safety deposit box at a bank, and very often takes it out for curious people to see.

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 BROKEN BOW HIGH SCHOOL

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Brok cn Bow (A romance by Mrs. M. A. B. Martin, an early settler) Slow the moon rose o'er the valley, The valley of the Big Sioux river, Shining down upon the wigwams; They, the red men of the Sioux tribe, They had camped to hold a council With the chief of the Dakotas, Known among them as War Eagle, For the scalp hung from his girdle; He had slain among the canyons, To the southward, to the westward, He had fought and butchered many; But his brother, Navasota, Had been slain among the canyons; He fell fighting the Paduchas For the far lands of Nebraska. Each tribe claimed the elk and bison, Claimed the deer among the cedars That roamed among the tall cedars, Fed upon the grass that grew there. The Paduchas gained the battle, Drove the Sioux from off the valley, Far beyond the Niobrara, To the valley of the Big Sioux Where dwelt the tribe of the Dakotas, Dwelt the Indian maid, Winneta, The daughter of brave Navasota. In the council Eagle Feather Sat and smoked beside his father, Sat and smoked the pipe among them, Listened to the great War Eagle, As he planned the coming marriage Of the Indian maid, Winneta, To his son, the Eagle Feather. Was not her mother of the Sioux tribe Rich in wealth of lands and ponies When the father of Winneta Claimed her for his Indian bride? And the union of the two tribes Made them richer, made them stronger. Now the union of Winneta To my son, the Eagle Feather, Will more united make the friendship Of the Sioux and the Dakotas. Then they called the Indian maiden, Told her bid the Eagle Feather To do some daring deed of prowess To prove his great love for Winneta. He shall do Winneta's bidding. With her eyes downcast and thoughtful, With her voice so clear and mournful, Spoke she then to Eagle Feather: Go to the land of the Nebraskas, Far beyond the Niobrara, Where the Sioux and the Dakotas Hunted, fished and roamed the prairies, The deep canyons far beyond them. To the eastward flows the North Loup, To the southward flows the South Loup, Where the foes of my dead father Dwell and hunt among the canyons, Kill the buffalo by the hundreds. Kill the dark friends of Winneta, Killed the brave chief, Navasota, Will you go and bring a token From the spot where sleeps my father? Bring his bow and bring his quiver, Bring his quiver full of arrows, That the Paduchas may not use them To slay more friends of poor Winneta; Ere another moon grows darkened You may return and wed Winneta. Seized his tomahawk and scalp-knife. Fastened then his bow and quiver, A new quiver full of arrows. Strode he out into the moonlight, 'Mid the war whoop of the red men. Walked away adown the valley, Walked he on until the sunrise Found him hurrying southward, westward, To the Niobrara valley. Stopped at night beneath the cedars, Made a fire of withered branches, Slept beside the campfire soundly, Slept until the wild birds called him, Called him to pursue his journey By their sweet songs in the morning, Welcoming the pleasant sunrise. Southward, westward, Eagle Feather Hurried on to do the bidding Of the dark-eyed Indian maiden. For five days the Eagle Feather Journeyed on toward the South Loup, Slept at night beside the streamlet, Tired, weary, on the last night Made his fire beside the Muddy; Laid him down to rest and slumber, Heeding not the howling coyote Warning him of coming danger.