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

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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.

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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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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.