{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_70077/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_70077","id":"gutenberg_70077","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/70077","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Category: Adventure","Category: American Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Grief -- Fiction","Indian mythology -- North America -- Fiction","Indians of North America -- Fiction","Race relations -- Fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: Front end paper--left portion]\n\n\n[Illustration: Front end paper--right portion]\n\n\n\n\n  BEYOND THE SUNSET\n\n\n  BY\n\n  ARTHUR D. HOWDEN SMITH\n\n  AUTHOR OF \"THE DOOM TRAIL\"\n\n\n  NEW YORK\n  BRENTANO'S\n  PUBLISHERS\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1923\n  BY BRENTANO'S\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1923\n  BY THE RIDGEWAY COMPANY\n\n  First Printing . . . January, 1923.\n  Second   \"     . . . February, 1923\n\n\n  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER\n\n  I  I Am Saved from Myself\n  II  The Wilderness Trail\n  III  The Shawnee Scalp-Hunters\n  IV  A Meeting in the Wilderness\n  V  The Father of Waters\n  VI  We Cross the Great River\n  VII  The Country of the Dakota\n  VIII  The Fight for the Herd\n  IX  The Horse Stealers\n  X  The Wolf-Brothers\n  XI  The Mountain That Was God\n  XII  The Altar of Tamanoas\n  XIII  We Turn Back\n  XIV  The Squat Bowmen\n  XV  Kachina\n  XVI  In Homolobi\n  XVII  The Web of Destiny\n  XVIII  Tawannears' Search Is Ended\n  XIX  Peter's Boulder\n  XX  The Spotted Stallion\n  XXI  The Stampede\n  XXII  Our Trade with the Tonkawas\n  XXIII  My Orenda Saves Us\n  XXIV  A Prophet in Spite of Himself\n  XXV  Homeward\n  XXVI  The End of the Trail\n\n\n\n\nBEYOND THE SUNSET\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nI AM SAVED FROM MYSELF\n\nThere is none like your wanderer to settle himself coseywise by a\nwarm hearth.  An outcast and adventurer from boyhood, exiled from\nEngland for adherence to the Pretender, my estates forfeited,\ndependent for bread upon the earnings of my sword in a foreign\nservice, Fate tossed me across the broad Atlantic to this New World\nof ours--and in one short year I had found Marjory and fortune!\n\nI became straightway as sedate as any Dutch burgher betwixt Port\nGeorge and the stockade of the Outward.  Camp-bred and\nforest-schooled, I yet discovered zest in the problems of merchantry\nand exulted in the petty tasks of the householder.  I was a model of\nhusbandry.  But Fate was not satisfied with its work.  Two years of\njoy I had; then came the fever that the Portuguese snow brought north\nfrom the Main to scourge New York.  In a week my joy was turned to\nashes.  She, who had braved the perils of the wilderness with me,\nwilted and died.\n\nBut there is justice in Fate.  Give it time, and 'twill rebuild what\nit has marred, provided always that we who are its toys keep heads up\nand courage undaunted--easier deeds to write of than to perform, God\nknows.  And truly, the day Fate stepped forward to redress the\nbalance found me with head bowed and spirit breaking, treading\nbitterly the narrow groove of duties I lacked the will to escape.\n\nI sat at my desk in the counting-room, fumbling through a file of\npapers.  There was a breath of Spring in the air, and outside in the\ntrees of Pearl Street the bluebirds and robins bickered together, and\nthe people who passed the door were no less irresponsibly gay.  In\nall New York, it seemed, none save I lacked cause for pleasure.  John\nAllen, the young Dorset bondman whose liberty I had purchased when I\nhired him for clerk, whistled between his teeth as he labored his\nquill across the ledgers--when he was not glancing askance at me.\nUpstairs I heard the crooning of Scots Elspeth, and the strident\nplaint of my son objecting to her ministrations.\n\nWhy should that baby voice be potent only to evoke for me the bitter\nmemories of my loss?  I frowned as I sanded the last sheet of a\nletter to my London correspondents.\n\n\"An early Spring after an easy Winter,\" remarked Allen tentatively.\n\"That should mean a rare flood of furs from the far savages, Master\nOrmerod.\"\n\nI growled an assent.  I knew the boy meant well.  He was ever trying\nto draw me out of myself.\n\nUpstairs a door opened, and a yelp of infant glee rang in my ears.  I\nleaped to my feet and ran into the hall.\n\n\"Elspeth!\" I roared.\n\nHer plump features and decent gray locks appeared at the upper\nlanding.\n\n\"Eh, sir!\" she answered.  \"I can hear ye fine.\"\n\n\"And I can hear naught but mouthing of silly rhymes and puling\nbabble,\" I snapped savagely.\n\n\"And gey prrroud ye micht well be of that same,\" she retorted.  \"It's\nwhat ma douce lamb that's gone wad be tellin' ye, if----\"\n\n'Twas hopeless to argue with her, and cursing, I crossed the lower\nhall to the room I devoted to my private affairs and slammed the door\nafter me.  But even as I sank into the chair beside the cold hearth,\nI knew that I might not find escape from that sweet ghost that\nhaunted me, so real, so vital--yet so remote.  Wherever I went in\nthat house she followed me.  It was as if she sat now in the opposite\nchair, a bit of embroidery in her lap, her brown eyes dwelling fondly\non my face.\n\nI rose and walked to the window, turning my back on the picture which\npersisted in shaping itself upon the hearth-rug.  Westward across the\nhouseroofs that stretched to Hudson's River the sun was slowly\nsinking in one of those magnificent displays of coloring that only\nthe New World can show.  It meant nothing to me.  I turned\nimpatiently, and retraced my steps.\n\nA myriad ghosts swarmed before my eyes, ghosts of London, of Paris,\nof the wilderness, of many other places, kings, queens, great lords,\npriests, soldiers, merchants, heroes and cowards, honest men and\nscoundrels, Indians in war paint, courtiers in five-pound\nruffles--but in front of them all stood the one ghost I could never\navoid, lips always parted as if for a kiss, brown eyes glowing with\nlove.\n\nI shuddered.\n\nThe door opened behind me.\n\n\"Master Ormerod!\"  'Twas Allen.  \"I knocked, but you did not hear.\nThere are gentry to see you, sir.\"\n\n\"I'm in no mood to see people,\" I answered fiercely.\n\n\"But these----\"\n\n\"Send them away.  I'll not be annoyed with them.\"\n\nThe door was thrown open again with a crash.\n\n\"How now, Ormerod,\" bellowed a choleric voice.  \"Is this the way to\ntreat my dignity, let alone my friendship?  Must you keep me cooling\nmy heels on your doorstep the while you consider the order of my\nadmittance?  Look to yourself, lad, or I'll have you shackled in the\ndungeons of Fort George.  Ay, and there's another hath reason for\ndistemper with you.  Whilst I have walked so far from the Bowling\nGreen, he is new-arrived from the Iroquois country, and mainly that\nhe may deliver you a belt, if what I hear be true.\"\n\nI jumped to my feet, shocked out of my evil mood, and chagrined by\nthe discourtesy I had put upon the greatest man in our province, ay,\nthe governor himself, Master Burnet, to whom we all owe more than we\nshall ever be able to repay for the diligent statecraft with which he\nnursed our community to increased wealth and prosperity.  I know\nthere are those who cry out against him, more especially since he was\ntransferred to Massachusetts to wrestle with the dour Puritan folk\nand fell foul of their sanctimonious ways and contentious habits; but\nI account such no more than fools.  He had a stern eye for the king's\nprerogatives, I grant you, and a jealous opinion of his own\nauthority.  But on questions of policy he was right ten times where\nhis antagonists were right once.\n\nHe was a stout personage, ruddy of countenance and with strongly\ncarved features, blunt, dogmatic, yet quaintly logical, a staunch\nfriend and a fearless foe.  He stood now in the doorway, feet planted\nwide, and drove home his words with thuds of his cane.\n\n\"Your Excellency!\" I gasped.  \"I was at fault.  I pray you----\"\n\n\"Tush!\"\n\nHe waved his hand in a gesture of derision, but a kindly gleam showed\nin his prominent eyes.\n\n\"Say no more, lad.  I know what is wrong with you.  'Tis that brings\nme here--and other friends, too.\"\n\nHe stepped aside, and I exclaimed with surprise as my eyes discerned\nthe two figures that slipped noiselessly out of the hall shadows.\n\n\"Tawannears!  Peter!\"\n\nThe first was an Indian, whose lithe body was naked above the tanned\ndeerskin thigh-leggins and gaka, or breechcloth.  On his chest was\npainted a wolf's head in yellow, white and black pigments.  Tomahawk\nand knife hung in sheaths against either thigh.  A single\neagle's-feather was thrust into his scalp-lock.  His bronzed face,\nwith its high-arched nose, broad forehead and square jaw, was lit by\na grim smile.\n\n\"Kwa, Otetiani,\"* he said, giving me the Indian name that the Keepers\nof the Faith had bestowed in placing me upon the roll of the Wolf\nClan of the Senecas.\n\n\n* \"Hail.  Always-ready.\"\n\n\nAnd he lifted his right hand arm-high in the splendid Iroquois\ngesture of salutation.  I answered as befitted one who was not only\nmy Clan brother and friend, but the war chief of the Great League,\nand as such, Warden of the Western Door of the Long House.\n\nAfter him entered a mountain of a man, whose vast bulk was absurdly\nover-emphasized by the loose shirt and trousers of buckskin he wore\nand the coonskin cap that crowned his lank yellow locks.  Others\nmight be deceived by the rolls of fat, the huge paunch, the stupid\nsimplicity of the broad, flat face, with insignificant features\ndabbed here and there, the little mild blue eyes that blinked behind\nramparts of loose flesh, but I knew Peter Corlaer for the strongest,\ncraftiest forest-runner of the frontier.  Beneath his layers of\nblubber were muscles of forged steel and capacities for endurance\nthat had never been plumbed.\n\n\"Zounds, man, but I'm glad to see you,\" I cried, trusting my fingers\nto his bear's grip.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he answered vacantly in a tiny squeaky voice that issued\nincongruously from his immense frame.\n\nI saw Allen staring at him in amazement, and I could not restrain a\nlaugh--I who had not smiled in six months.\n\n\"I shall be merry now, John,\" I said.  \"They are old friends I had\nnot expected to see so soon.\"\n\nThe governor clapped his hand on the clerk's shoulder.\n\n\"Ay, my lad, y'are safe to leave your master with us,\" he said in his\nkindly fashion.  \"Y'are a good youth.  We have room for your like in\nNew York.  Here what ye have been matters not.  'Tis what ye are that\ncounts.  But leave us now, for we have much to discuss.\"\n\nI turned again to Tawannears, as Allen closed the door behind him.\n\n\"What brings you, brother?  You are welcome--that I need not say.\nBut you two are the last I should have looked to see walk in here out\nof Pearl Street.  Tell me all!  How are my brethren of the Long\nHouse?  Have any challenged the Warders of the Door?  What news from\nbeyond the Lakes?  Are the French----?\"\n\n\"God-a-mercy!\" protested Master Burnet.  \"Accept reason, Ormerod.  A\nquestion at a time, and in due order, if it pleases you.  And may a\nguest sit in your house?\"\n\nI laughed again--as I doubt not he intended--and waved to all three\nof them.\n\n\"Prithee, content yourselves,\" I bade.  \"Y'are not such strangers as\nto require an invitation.\"\n\nThe governor let himself down into my armchair.  Tawannears, his\nwhite teeth exposed in a pleasant grin--for, like all Indians, he had\na keen sense of humor--sank upon the bearskin rug, and after a\nmoment's hesitation, Corlaer imitated him.\n\n\"My brother will not take it amiss if Corlaer and Tawannears slight\nhis chairs?\" inquired the Indian in his cadenced, musical English\nthat took on something of the sonorous rhythm of his own tongue.  \"We\nforest people are not used to setting our haunches at right angles to\nour feet.  I learned much from the missionaries when I went to school\nwith them as a boy, Gaengwarago,* but I never became accustomed to\nthe white man's chairs.  Hawenneyu, the Great Spirit, meant the earth\nto sit on, as well as to walk on.  It is the only chair I know.\"\n\n\n* \"Great Swift Arrow\"--Indian name for Governor of New York.\n\n\n\"But Corlaer, it seems, has been to school to your people to better\nadvantage than you were with us,\" retorted the governor.\n\n\"The white man learns more readily than the Indian,\" affirmed the\nSeneca.  \"That is the reason why he will some day push the Indian\nfrom his path.\"\n\n\"From his path?\" I repeated, interested as always in the thoughts of\nthis learned savage, who combined in his own mind to an amazing\ndegree the philosophy of the civilized white man and the mental\nreactions of his untutored people.\n\n\"Yes, brother,\" he answered.  \"The time will come when the white man\nwill push the Indian out of all this country.\"\n\n\"But where will your people go?\" I asked.\n\n\"Who knows?  Only Hawenneyu can tell.  Perhaps he will care for them\nin some new land, out there, beyond the sunset.\"\n\nAnd Tawannears waved his hand toward the kindling glory that overhung\nthe west.\n\nThe governor leaned forward in his chair.\n\n\"Ay, that was what I had in my mind,\" he declared.  \"What lies there\nbeyond the sunset?  You know something of it, Tawannears, but you do\nnot know all.  'Tis knowledge of that I crave.  In a manner of\nspeaking 'tis that brings us together here.\"\n\nHe was silent for a moment, and we all watched him, resting his chin\nupon the clasped hands that supported his cane, his eyes glued upon\nthe Western sky.\n\n\"Tell your story, Tawannears,\" he said abruptly.  \"That is the\nsimplest way to expound an involved situation.  And do you heed him,\nOrmerod.  There is more than a whim of mine in this.  It may be your\nown future well-being is at stake.\"\n\nI fixed my eyes upon the Indian's face.\n\n\"Yes, tell your story,\" I urged.\n\nHe bowed his head in assent.\n\n\"I will tell, brother.  Tawannears speaks also for Corlaer.  Is it\nnot so, Peter?\"\n\nThe big Dutchman's mouth opened to emit a shrill \"_Ja_.\"\n\n\"First, my brother, Ormerod, whom we of the Hodenosaunee* call\nOtetiani,\" the Indian resumed, \"I will strive to answer the questions\nthat you asked.  I bring you greetings from your foster-father, my\nuncle, the Royaneh** Donehogaweh.  He bids me say to you that his\nheart longs for his white son.  He keeps a place always prepared for\nyou in his lodge.  He took counsel with me before I left the Long\nHouse, and advised me to seek you out.  All is well with my people.\nThe Western Door is secure.  No enemies have challenged it.  But\nTawannears has been idle, and so his thoughts have turned to the\nhunger in his heart, that my brother will remember was there in other\ndays.\"\n\n\n* People of the Long House.\n\n** Hereditary chief, erroneously called sachem.\n\n\nHe rose to his feet, like all Indian orators, unable to find comfort\nin delivery whilst seated.  Arms folded across his naked chest, his\neagle's-feather well-nigh touching the ceiling, he towered above us,\nan incarnate spirit of the Wilderness.\n\n\"My brother has not forgotten that once Tawannears loved a maid of\nhis people, daughter of your foster-father, who was called Gahano,\nand was stolen from him by a French dog, and who died that Tawannears\nmight live.\n\n\"My brother knows that there is an old tale of my people that the\nLost Souls of the dead go to the Land of the Lost Souls which is\nruled by Ataentsic* and her grandson Jousekeha, which is beyond\nDayedadogowar, the Great Home Of The Winds, beyond Haniskaonogeh, the\nDwelling Place of The Evil-minded, ay, beyond the setting sun.\n\n\n* She Whose Body Is Ancient.\n\n\n\"My brother knows it is said that once a warrior of my people,\nplacing his trust in Hawenneyu and the Honochenokeh,* traveled\nwestward after the Setting Sun, and daring all things, came at last\nto the Land of the Lost Souls, where he found a maiden whom he had\nloved dancing with other Lost Souls before Ataentsic.  And Jouskeha,\ntaking pity on his love, gave him a hollowed pumpkin, and they placed\nthe Lost Soul of the maiden in the pumpkin, and the warrior carried\nit back to the Long House, and his people made a feast and they\nraised up the soul of the maiden from the pumpkin shell.\n\n\n* Subordinate Good Spirits.\n\n\n\"My brother remembers that two Winters since Tawannears and Corlaer\nleft the Long House to search for the Land of Lost Souls, but there\nwas trouble between the Hodenosaunee and the Shawnee, and whilst\nTawannears and Corlaer were in the country of the Dakota, across the\ngreat river Mississippi, they were called back by a message from the\nHoyarnagowar.*  Six young warriors of ten lost their lives that the\nmessage might be delivered.  Tawannears returned.  Since then he has\ndischarged the duties of his people.  Now he is free again.\"\n\n\n* The Council of the Royanehs, governing body of the Iroquois.\n\n\nHe took a step toward me, his face blazing with the keen intelligence\nthat was his outstanding characteristic.\n\n\"Oh, my brother, so much I have said of Tawannears.  I speak next of\nyou.  Word came to Deonundagaa* in the first moon of the Winter that\nthe flower that had twined around your heart had withered and died.\nOh, my brother, great was our grief; but in grief words are as\nnothing.  I thought.  I knew your loss because I, too, had suffered\nit.  It said to myself: 'Otetiani is a man.  He cannot weep.  He has\nwithstood the torture-stake.  But he will suffer greatly in his\nmind--even as I have suffered.  What will aid him?\"\n\n\n* Chief Village of the Senecas and site of the Western Door.\n\n\n\"And then, oh, my brother, I saw what should be done.  I summoned\nCorlaer, and I said to him: 'We will go to New York and find our\nbrother Ormerod and take him with us to hunt again for the Land of\nLost Souls.  A strange trail is best for the man whose mind is\nburdened with sad thoughts.  If we find the Land of Lost Souls,\nperhaps the souls of the white people will be there, and he may\nrecover her whom he has lost.  If we find nothing, still he will have\nthe journey, strange trails, new countries--and the pain in his heart\nwill be dulled.'\n\n\"So, my brother, Corlaer and Tawannears came to New York, and lest my\nthought should be a wrong one--for Tawannears, after all, is an\nIndian and cannot know always what is best for a white man--we went\nfirst to Gaengwarago, who is wise in the ways of all people, and\nspoke with him.  And now it is time for him to deliver his judgment.\n\n\"_Na-ho._\"*\n\n\n* \"I have finished.\"\n\n\n\"But, Tawannears,\" I cried, as he dropped gracefully to the floor,\n\"you forget that I am a Christian!  My religion tells me nothing of a\nland whence the dead may be recovered.  Think, brother, you were\nschooled in the natural sciences by the missionaries.  How can you\ncredit this--this myth.  'Tis true I have heard you tell it before,\nand I forebore to question because I would not add to your sorrow.\nBut now I may not pass it by in silence.  Forgive me, brother, if my\nwords hurt you.  I strive to speak with a straight tongue, as\nbrothers should.\"\n\nHe lifted tranquil eyes to mine from his seat on the bearskin.\n\n\"My brother does not hurt Tawannears,\" he said.  \"A straight tongue\ncannot hurt.  Brothers often disagree.  It is true that the\nmissionaries taught me as you say.  It is true that I have read the\nBible.  The missionaries are good men.  The Bible is a good Book.\nThere is wisdom in it.  But the men who wrote it did not even know\nthat the Indians existed.  They had never heard of this country.\nHow, then, brother, could they know what the Great Spirit devised for\nthe Indian?  No, Ormerod, I think that the Great Spirit who made the\nworld, who put the salt water in the ocean, which men use only for\ntravel, and fresh water in the rivers, where men go to drink, may\nwell have created a different after-world for the Indian than for the\nwhite man.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" I insisted, overwrought by this mingling of superstition and\nrare friendship coming on the heels of my mental anguish.  \"The soul\nthat leaves the body is bodiless.  It cannot be touched or seen.\nRemember, Tawannears, the Great Spirit sent His Son to dwell awhile\nwith the white men, to give His life for the saving of mankind.  Yet\nHe said naught of this belief of yours.\"\n\nTawannears smiled scornfully.\n\n\"That is why I reject your religion, brother.  It cannot be complete\nif it does not include the Indian, for the Indian has a soul as has\nthe white man.  But I say again: I promise nothing.  I shall seek.\nHawenneyu, and Tharon the Sky-holder, will decide if it is best for\nme to find--as for you, also.  Life, brother, is a search.  Religion\nis a struggle.  I seek for what I love.  I struggle for truth and\njustice.  And I believe that the Great Spirit thinks of the Indian as\noften as he does of the white man.\"\n\nMaster Burnet tapped his cane on the floor.\n\n\"You waste time, Ormerod,\" he said testily.  \"My father was a bishop,\nand I have had enough of religion in my life to know that Godly\ndebates are endless.  Let be, prithee!  For myself, I care not\nwhether Tawannears be right or wrong.  Yet the longer I live, the\nless sure I am of what is and is not.  This continent is so\nincredibly gigantic that it may contain wonders our work-a-day minds\nhave never dreamed on.  A Land of Lost Souls!  Well, why not?  There\nwere miracles in Judea.  Why not in this wonderland?  But hist!\nBishop Gilbert, my father, hath just turned in his grave.  I will ha'\ndone.  I am no casuist or Scots catechist, forever probing the\nchances of salvation.  Nay, nay!  I have heard many creeds in my\ntime, but I have yet to hear one that surpasses Tawannears'.\"\n\nI chuckled, despite myself.\n\n\"Already you succumb to the lure you deride,\" I pointed out.\n\nHe grinned back at me.\n\n\"True, I give thanks for the warning.  Let us forget it.\"\n\nHis manner grew serious.\n\n\"For you, Ormerod, the consideration is not what Tawannears believes.\nYou know him for a tried friend.  That should suffice.  His offer to\nyou is designed to lift you from this routine, in which, dear lad--to\nbe brutally explicit for the once--you are unable to subdue the\npricking memories of that fair Mistress Marjory whom we all loved.  I\nurge you, scorn it not.  I have watched over you of late with\nmisgivings.  Y'are unsound in your mind, lad, and that's the truth on\nit.\n\n\"Do not mistake me.  I am no fault-finder.  Your life has been a hard\none.  You have had over-much of trial.  Your loss is doubly bitter to\nyou therefor.  But that is the reason why you must drink some sharp\npurge of experience to cleanse your brain of the canker that gnaws\nnow at your sanity.  Tawannears points the way.\"\n\nI looked at him, bewildered.  From him to the Seneca, sitting\ncross-legged like a brazen statue, only his eyes burning with vivid\nemotion in his mask of a face.  And from Tawannears to Corlaer, no\nless impassive, his little eyes almost wholly concealed behind their\nramparts of flesh.\n\n\"But such a journey will require much time!\" I protested.\n\n\"A year,\" assented Tawannears.  \"Perhaps more.  Who can say?\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" endorsed Corlaer when I turned to him.\n\n\"'Tis impossible,\" I said.  \"There is my business.\"\n\nA shriek of laughter came from upstairs.  I guessed that Elspeth,\nknowing I was with guests, had relaxed all repression for the nonce.\n\n\"And the child,\" I added.\n\n\"Your reasons are not valid,\" replied the governor.  \"For your\nbusiness, John Allen can well conduct it, and I will give him such\nsupervision as he requires.  The child is better in Elspeth's hands\nthan any other's.  You will mean nothing to him this next year at\nleast.  And Mistress Bnrnet shall keep an eye upon him.\"\n\n\"But there is great danger upon such a journey,\" I declared\nshamelessly.\n\n\"Why, that is so,\" admitted Master Burnet.  \"We may not dodge it.\nBut you had better die, Ormerod, than linger on in the moods you have\nknown this six-month past.  You have enough fortune for the rearing\nof your son and his start in life.  Write your will and leave his\nguardianship to me.  You may make your mind easy on that score.\"\n\n\"You seem uncommonly anxious for me to go,\" I observed a trifle\ndisagreeably.\n\n\"I am,\" he answered promptly.  \"I will go so far as to urge you in my\nofficial capacity, lad.  I am not satisfied with affairs.  We\ncheckmate the French at one point, or in a certain direction, and\nthey start an intrigue elsewhere.  'Tis an adventurous people, with a\ngenius for military endeavor, that puts us to shame.  And to the\nsouthward the Spaniards are rearing a power that can be toppled over\nonly by their own fecklessness.  We English are hemmed in along the\nseaboard behind the Allegheny Mountains.  We are as cramped as fleas\nat the end of a dog's tail.\"\n\n\"We have not yet begun to colonize adequately this province alone,\" I\nexclaimed.\n\n\"True, but we are only the vanguard of the armies of home-makers of\nthe future.  Remember that.  The time will come when our people will\nbe striving to burst their bounds and move on onto the dim recesses\nof the Wilderness Country.  What is that country?  What is there\nbeyond it?  Beyond the Sunset, as Tawannears said.  That is what I\nneed to know, what England must know.\"\n\nHe poked at me with his cane.\n\n\"Look you, Ormerod, there are three questions to be answered.  First,\nto what extent are the French established on the Mississippi?  I know\nthey have built lately a post they call Vincennes on the River\nOuabache,* but I have not been able to learn if they have progressed\npermanently below that.\n\n\n* Wabash.\n\n\n\"Second, how far have the Spaniards extended their influence beyond\nthe Mississippi?  Concerning this we know practically nothing.\n\n\"Third, what is the power of the far Indian races beyond the Great\nRiver, and what is their disposition toward us?  Something in answer\nto this question Tawannears has told me, but I must know more.\"\n\n\"You have taken me by surprise,\" I temporized, turning in my mind\nrecollections of bygone venturings, the soft clutch of moccasins on\nthe feet, the pervading wood-smell of the forest, the feathered\nwhispering of arrow flights, the thrill of the war-whoop, exultation\nin a close shot.\n\nMaster Burnet pressed his advantage.\n\n\"Surely, I have taken you by surprise,\" he persisted.  \"But the fact\nis, dear lad, I have striven all Winter for a diversion to lift you\nout of yourself and this house which is overfull of memories for your\npresent good.  Tawannears fetched me what I was unable to conceive.\nBut I would have you consider that it offers more than an opportunity\nto escape discomfort and ill-health.  No Englishman hath traversed\nthe lands across the Mississippi.  French soldiers and Jesuits have\nseen somewhat of it, but never an Englishman.  The man who sees it\nfirst, and brings home a true account, will deserve well of his\npeople.  He will have rendered a service to generations yet unborn.\"\n\nI peered for the last time at the armchair that stood empty by the\nhearth.  As always, the slim wraith that sat there raised\nblack-coifed head in a mute gesture of affection.  It seemed to me\nthat she nodded in approval.  The brown eyes welled with sudden tears.\n\n\"I'll go,\" I said.\n\nTawannears regained his feet with the agility of a catamount.\n\n\"_Yo-hay!_\"* he boomed.\n\n\n* \"I have heard,\" _i.e.,_ approved.\n\n\n\"_Goodt_,\" pronounced Corlaer solemnly.\n\n\"'Tis well,\" endorsed the governor.  \"You'll not regret it, Ormerod.\nThere's much to do.  Let's to it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE WILDERNESS TRAIL\n\nThe sun was already well above the horizon, but the light that stole\nthrough door and smoke-hole struggled unsuccessfully with the gloom\nof the Council House.  From my seat of honor opposite the doorway I\ncould make out only a few of the silent figures of Royanehs and\nchieftains sitting in concentric circles around the pit in which\nburned the tribal Council Fire of the Senecas.  But as I watched, the\ndirect rays of the sun crept over the earthen threshold, and\nDonehogaweh, sitting at my left, extended his sinewy arm and dropped\na handful of tobacco leaves upon the smoldering coals in the\nfire-pit.  A single column of smoke, hazily blue, rose straight in\nthe air, and the acrid odor of the tobacco permeated the room.\n\n\"Oh, Hawenneyo,\" intoned the Guardian of the Western Door, \"and you,\nTharon, the Sky-holder, and Heno, Master of the Thunder, and Gaoh,\nLord of the Winds, you too, oh, Three Sisters of the Deohako, Our\nSupporters, and the Honochenokeh, Aids of the Great Spirit and\nMinisters of his Mercy, heed our prayer!  Open your ears to the words\nwe send you by the smoke which rises from our Council Fire!\"\n\nHe cast aside his skin robe of ceremony, and stood erect in his\nplace, naked except for breechclout and moccasins, his gaunt body as\nstraight as a youth's, his voice ringing with the virility that\ndefies age.  He folded his arms upon his chest.  His face was raised\nto the smoke-hole in the roof.\n\n\"We are sending forth upon a journey three of our young men.  They\nhave far to go.  It may be that they will trespass upon forbidden\nground.  We beseech that you will deal gently with them.  If they may\ngo no further, turn their steps aside, and lead them elsewhere.  They\nare not foolishly curious.  They seek to redress a wrong and to learn\nwhat is in store for their people.  That is all.\n\n\"We show them to you, now, before the people.\"\n\nHe signaled me to rise, and I swung food-bags in place and stood\nbeside him, leaning on my musket.\n\n\"This is Otetiani, my white son.  He is a brave warrior, Oh,\nHawenneyu.  His mind is clouded by a great sorrow.  Take it from him,\nand let him return to live out his life in comfort.\"\n\nCorlaer rose.\n\n\"This is Corlaer, my white brother.  He is a big man, oh, Hawenneyu,\nand he has a big belly.  But if his strength is great, he can subdue\nhis hunger.  He is a good friend and a terrible enemy.\"\n\nTawannears rose.\n\n\"This is Tawannears, born of the Clan of the Wolf, Warden of the\nDoor.  He is the son of my sister.  In him flows all that is left of\nmy blood.  He goes to fill an empty place in his heart.  If it be\nwise, oh, Hawenneyu, grant him what he seeks.\n\n\"_Na-ho!_\"\n\nAnd from the circles of indistinct figures came a muttered chorus--\n\n\"_Yo-hay!_\"\n\nDonehogaweh turned to us as we stood by the fire-pit whence the smoke\nhad ceased to rise.\n\n\"You are going upon a long journey,\" he said gravely.  \"Perhaps many\nenemies will assail you.  Perhaps you will know great danger.\nPerhaps you will be faced by death.  But I charge you, do not show\nfear.  If you return with the scalps of all who oppose you, we will\nbe proud of you.  We will dance for you the Wasaseh, the War Dance.\nIf you do not return at all, we will remember you, and the women\nshall teach the children to honor your memories.  But do not return\nto us unless you can boast of all that you have done, and be ashamed\nof nothing.\n\n\"_Na-ho!_\"\n\nHe caught up his skin-robe and draped it around his shoulders as he\nled us from the Council House, the assemblage of Royanehs and chiefs\ncrowding after us through the narrow door.  In the flat, hard-beaten\nDancing Place outside, the center of the wide-spreading Seneca\nvillage of Deonundagaa, stood hundreds of warriors, women, and\nleaping, scrambling children.  They stretched from the door to the\ngaondote, or war-post, its charred, splintered stump rising in the\ncenter of the open space, around which were ranked the ganasotes, or\nLong Houses, in which the people dwelt, and from which they took\ntheir name.\n\nMost of them were only idly curious, friendly, but with no personal\ninterest.  But many who knew us pressed forward for a last, informal\nword before we left.  Guanaea, wife of Donehogaweh--I dislike the\ndebased word squaw, which is inept for a people like the Iroquois,\nwho rate their women far higher than we do--snatched at my hand, her\nkindly, capable glance examining my equipment.  The deerskin garments\nI wore had been fashioned by her.  She had prepared the provender of\njerked meat and mixed charred corn and maple-sugar which filled my\nfood-bags.  She had contrived my barken box of coarse salt.  And she\nhad done as much for Tawannears and Corlaer, too.\n\n\"Good-by, Otetiani, my white son,\" she said, with tears in her eyes.\n\"May Hawenneyu have you in his keeping!  I have no son of my body to\ntell me brave tales of what he has done, and you know that you are\ndoubly dear to me.  You must do as Tawannears and Corlaer when the\nsnow flies and rub yourself with bear's grease.  It is good at all\ntimes, and you should learn to like it.  And do not bathe so often.\nHanegoategeh, the Evil Spirit, is always on the watch to send ills to\nthose who rub their skins.  But here!\"\n\nShe took a small pouch of deerskin from her breast and hung it around\nmy neck by a strip of rawhide.\n\n\"That will protect you against all evils!  Keep it always on you.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked, slipping it inside my leather shirt.\n\n\"A most powerful Orenda,\" she whispered mysteriously.  \"I had it made\nby Hineogetah, the Medicine Man.  It is proof against spirits and\nbullets.  It will turn a scalping-knife and resist a tomahawk.\"\n\n\"But what is it?\" I persisted.\n\nShe looked around to make sure that nobody was within hearing\ndistance.  Donehogaweh was holding a final discussion with\nTawannears, and the interest of the crowd was concentrated upon them.\n\n\"The fang of a bull rattlesnake,\" she said, ticking the items off on\nher fingers.  \"That is the spirit to resist evil.  The eye-tooth of a\nwolf that was slain by Sonosowa of the Turtle Clan, for, of course,\nno Wolf could slay a wolf, in act of making his kill.  That is the\nspirit to resist courage.  A coal from the Ever-burning Fire at\nOnondago.  That is the spirit to resist disease.  It is the most\npowerful Orenda that Hineogetah has ever made, and I pray that it\nwill keep you safe, for I think you will need it, Otetiani, a white\nman venturing into the Land of Lost Souls, where the wrath of Tharon\nmay fall at any moment.\"\n\n\"But what of Corlaer?\" I asked, amused as well as touched by this\nessentially feminine point of view.\n\n\"Oh, he is different!\" she said.\n\nI would have said more to her, but Tawannears turned from his uncle\nand slung his furled buckskin shirt across his naked shoulders.\n\n\"Come, brother,\" he called to me.  \"We must go.\"\n\nI stooped quickly and kissed Guanaea on her wrinkled cheek.  She drew\nback, startled, and raised her hand to the spot my lips had touched.\n\n\"What is that, Otetiani?\" she asked, bewildered.\n\n\"It is the way a white son salutes his mother,\" I answered.\n\n\"Do it again,\" she commanded.\n\nI did, to the stern amusement of Donehogaweh and his attendant\nRoyanehs.\n\n\"I like it,\" she said.  \"It is a good son who gives his mother such\npleasure.  Surely, Hawenneyu will send you back to me.\"\n\n\"If his Orenda is strong and his valor great, he will return,\"\ndeclared Donehogaweh.  \"But there has been enough of leavetaking.  A\nwarrior's strength should not be sapped by sorrow before he takes the\nwar-trail.  Good-by, Otetiani, my son.  Good-by, Corlaer, my brother.\nGood-by, Tawannears, son of my sister.  We await your return with\nhonor.\"\n\nHe raised his right arm in the gesture of farewell.  A thicket of\narms sprang up in the Dancing Place and we acknowledged the salute in\nkind.  Then, without a word, Tawannears turned his back and walked\nsouthward through the village.  I walked after him, and Corlaer came\nbehind me.  Not a voice was raised to shout after us.  Not a call\ncame from the surrounding houses.  I looked back once--as no Indian\nwould have done--and saw the assemblage standing immobile,\nDonehogaweh, with his robe wrapped around him, his eyes fastened upon\nus, his face emotionless.  Even Guanaea stood now like a statue.\nThen we came to the forest wall, and Deonundagaa became a thing of\nroof-tops, occasionally glimpsed through the thickening screen of\ngreenery.\n\nThe trail was the usual Indian footway, a stamped-out slot, a groove\njust wide enough for a man to pass, worn in the floor and hacked\nthrough the body of the wilderness.  We traversed it in silence,\neach, I suppose, immersed in his thoughts.  For the most part, I\nfixed my eyes upon the sliding muscles of Tawannears' back, rippling\nso smoothly under his oiled skin, his effortless stride carrying him\nahead at a steady dog-trot.  Behind me I could hear the grunting of\nCorlaer and the crackle of branches his broad shoulders pushed\nagainst--and by that I knew that we were in absolutely safe country,\nfor the big Dutchman could be as quiet and as agile with his\nmountainous bulk as Tawannears, himself.\n\nMy mind turned to the day, three weeks past, that these two had\nre\u00ebntered my life, after years of separation, and lifted me at once\nby the clean ardor of their personalities out of the miasma of\nsickening thoughts in which grief had immersed me.\n\nMuch had happened since then.  Hasty adjustments of my business;\nlast-minute conferences with the governor and several merchants,\nmembers of his Council, who had generously volunteered to take over\nthe conduct of my affairs; drilling of John Allen in various niceties\nof the situation; the voyage up Hudson's River by sloop to Albany,\nhuddled under the protection of Fort Orange below the mouth of the\nMohawk, our main outpost on the frontier; a fortnight on the Great\nTrail of the Long House; flitting meetings with old friends; the\naroma of the forest; longer and longer hours of sleep; Deonundagaa\nand--this.\n\nI tossed back my head and inhaled the scent of the wild grapevine\nthat twisted around a giant oak, and my eyes took joy from the\nmottling of the sunlight drifting through foliage a hundred feet\noverhead and the scuttling of a rabbit across the trail.  We passed a\nbeaver-pond, and I drew a lesson in steadfast courage from the\ntireless endurance of these small creatures, forever building and\nnever dismayed by the most arduous undertaking.\n\nThree weeks!  And already I saw myself in prospect of a whole man\nagain.  I straightened with the thought, and took pride in my instant\nability to adjust myself to the Indian's trail pace.  Tawannears gave\nme a quick smile over his shoulder.\n\n\"My brother's heart is glad,\" he said.  \"I can tell by the lightness\nof his step.\"\n\n\"Truly, I feel as I had never thought to feel again,\" I returned.\n\"Who would choose to live in a town if he might roam the forest at\nwill?  And the day is passing fair.\"\n\n\"_Oof!_\" grunted Corlaer behind me.  \"It grows hot.\"\n\nWe made thirty miles that day, and camped with some Seneca hunters\nwho shared their fresh venison with us.  In the morning we continued\non our way, still heading south for the headwaters of the Alleghany\nRiver.\n\n\"For the route we take,\" said Tawannears, in discussing the journey,\n\"the word of my brother Otetiani shall be law.  He has a mission to\nperform for Gaengwarago.  But if you will listen to me you will\nstrike south to the Alleghany, and follow that into the Ohio, which,\nin turn, flows into the Great River that my people call the Father of\nWaters.  This way, brother, we shall fetch a wide compass around the\nFrench post at Detroit, and come near enough Vincennes for you to\nlook at it if you wish.  But it will be better for you if the French\ndo not see you or hear of your mission.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" I admitted.  \"But for your plan we must have a canoe.\"\n\n\"I can find one,\" he answered readily.  \"I cached it on the Alleghany\nthe last time I returned from an embassy to the Creeks.\"\n\nWe settled our route according to Tawannears' advice.  Traveling by\nwater, as he also pointed out, meant on the whole a much better rate\nof progress than land travel, and likewise made it unnecessary for us\nto traverse so many tribal ranges.  Tawannears, as a war chief of the\nIroquois, was fairly certain of respectful treatment at the hands of\nany well-known tribe north of the Ohio and east of the Mississippi.\nBut many of these Indians had fallen under the influence of the\nFrench, and it was questionable what attitude they might adopt if\nthey discovered who I was.  It was safest for all concerned to pass\nas swiftly and quietly as possible through the country this side of\nthe Mississippi.  We have nothing to gain by lingering, and perhaps\neverything to lose.\n\nThe second day we had no beaten trail to aid us, and a cold rain\npelted from the east.  The country was seamed with shallow ravines\nand gulleys, and at intervals we came to dense belts of undergrowth,\nspurred with thorns and bound together by vines and creepers.\nSometimes we circled these patches.  Sometimes we hacked a path with\nour war-hatchets.  We were exhausted when night fell, and welcomed\nthe shelter offered us by a party of wandering Mohicans; but in the\nmorning we took up the trail, despite the recurring rain.  Slippery\nrocks and ankle-deep mud delayed us.  The coarse grass of the\noccasional swales was treacherous underfoot.  But we kept on.  And I\nwas amazed to discover that the weather had no effect upon my\nspirits.  I enjoyed the independence of it, the sopping foliage, the\npersistent drip-drip of the rain, the fatigue that strained every\nmuscle.  More than all I enjoyed our third camp beneath a bark\nlean-to hastily contrived.  The roof leaked; our fire lasted barely\nlong enough to cook the wild turkey our Mohican hosts had given us;\nand I was soaked to the skin.  Yet I slept through the night to\nawaken alert and refreshed in the bright dawning of a new day.\n\nIn the forenoon Tawannears made his landfall on a tiny creek that fed\nthe headwaters of the Alleghany.  We reached the main stream in\nmid-afternoon, and with one curt glance around, he walked straight to\na grass-covered indentation in the bank.\n\n\"Here is the canoe, brothers,\" he said casually.\n\n\"_Nein_,\" Corlaer, without moving from where he stood, his little\neyes fixed on the hiding-place.\n\nTawannears drew back from the edge of the inlet, a startled look on\nhis usually blank face.\n\n\"Here I left it, well-concealed,\" he insisted.\n\n\"Smoke, down-rifer,\" remarked the Dutchman.\n\nTawannears and I shifted our gaze.  The Seneca's eyes reflected a\nmomentary expression of chagrin that he should not have been the\nfirst to mark this sign.\n\n\"We will go to it,\" he announced briefly.  \"This land is tributary to\nthe Long House.  We shall see who is bold enough to take the canoe of\na chief of the Long House from the threshold of the Western Door.\"\n\nOf course, he was speaking figuratively, for we were a long three\ndays' tramping from Deonundagaa; but it was a striking manifestation\nof the proud arrogance of the Iroquois that Tawannears, an Indian to\nhis backbone, insisted upon walking directly into that encampment,\nwithout going to the preliminaries of scouting the strange community.\n\nA half-grown boy sighted us through the trees while we were still\nsome distance away, and his shrill cries gave the alarm.  As we\nstepped from the edge of the forest, a dozen men grouped in front of\nthe four bark shelters that stood just back from the bank.  In the\noffing I perceived half as many women and some children.  They were a\ndark, stumpy people, with low-browed, brutish faces.\n\nTawannears frowned and pointed to a canoe drawn up on the bank.\n\n\"Andastes,\" he spat contemptuously.  \"They are dogs and thieves who\nhave no right here.  The Hoyarnagowar has bidden them range in the\nSusquehanna Valley.\"\n\nMusket in the hollow of his arm, he marched into the center of the\ndour group, every member of which clutched a fusil, trade musket or\nstrung bow.\n\n\"Andastes,\" he said, \"you have taken my canoe.\"\n\n\"We have only our own canoe,\" answered a thick-limbed warrior, who\nwas out-thrust from the dingy throng.\n\n\"I say it is mine,\" returned Tawannears with haughty emphasis.\n\n\"You are welcome to camp here if you wish; we will give you food,\"\nsaid the Andaste evasively.\n\nTawannears' eyes sparked fire.\n\n\"Dog of an Andaste!\" he barked.  \"Who are you to speak as a master to\nthe Hodenosaunee?  You crawl when the word comes to you from\nOnondaga!  You eat dirt if a warrior of the Long House commands it!\nYou are the fathers of all lice!\"\n\nThe Andastes scowled and bunched closer together, with a tentative\npoising of weapons.  Tawannears drew his tomahawk and held it aloft.\n\n\"I am Tawannears, Warden of the Western Door,\" he said slowly.  \"I am\nfresh come from Deonundagaa.  Say which it is to be, Andastes, peace\nor war?\"\n\nThey shrank away from him.  All save two or three disappeared into\nthe lodges or the forest.  But they had no thought of violence.  The\nheart was taken out of them.  Tawannears was more than Tawannears.\nHe was the embodiment of that dread power which these inferior\nsavages knew could carry annihilation in any direction and almost to\nany distance north, south and west.  He stood there, ax upraised, the\nspirit of the Long House, which even the white men feared.\n\nThe Andaste chief lowered his eyes.\n\n\"We do not want war,\" he answered.  \"Take the canoe.  We found it.\nWe did not know----\"\n\n\"You know that you have no rights here,\" Tawannears cut him off.\n\"This is the hunting ground of the Long House.  Here, too, may come\nMohicans, Eries and the People of the Cat.*  But Andastes belong in\nthe Susquehanna valley.  Get back there.  If I find you here when I\npass this way again, I will carry fire and tomahawk against you and\nall your people.\"\n\n\n* Jegosasa, sometimes called Neuter Nation.\n\n\nHe turned on his heel, and with a gesture to us, stalked down to the\nshore and pushed the canoe into the water.\n\n\"Let us go on, brothers,\" he urged.  \"Here the air is unclean.\"\n\nHe took the bow paddle, and I crouched amidships.  Corlaer, gentle as\na girl for all his bulk, slipped gingerly into the stern.  Their\nblades bit into the shallow water, and under the impulse of those\nslow, easy strokes, the light craft fairly danced downstream, gaining\nspeed as it caught the drift of the current.  We rounded a curve, and\nthe Andaste encampment disappeared from view.\n\n\"Will they obey you?\" I asked Tawannears.\n\nHe laughed shortly.\n\n\"They will be gone before the sun rises again, brother Otetiani.\nThey know well that they have no right there, but the place is out of\nthe way and far from the Door, and they thought they would be safe.\nThey are a nation of women.  We do not even let them fight for us.\"\n\nPaddling was very different work from wood-ranging, and we made ten\nmiles before darkness compelled us to land on a miniature island and\npitch camp in the lee of a big rock.  We had a small fire so arranged\nthat its glow could not be seen from either shore, and beside it we\nslept under the stars.  With the dawn we were up and afloat once\nmore, munching the burnt corn and maple-sugar from our food-sacks.\n\nThis day I observed that Tawannears seemed to redouble his vigilance.\nFrom his position in the bow he studied the shore-line constantly,\nand in the afternoon he halted an hour before daylight failed, to\ntake advantage of an opportunity to camp upon another island.\n\n\"Why so careful?\" I grumbled.  \"Do you think these Andastes may be\ntracking us, after all!\"\n\nHe shook his head, smiling.\n\n\"No, brother, but we are entering a country where the Long House is\nfeared, but where its word is no longer law.  Anywhere here we may\nmeet bands of young warriors of a score of tribes who have taken\nadvantage of the Spring hunting to look for their first scalps.  They\nwould see in us only three victims for killing.\"\n\nBut despite--or it may be because of--our vigilance, we saw no trace\nof other men, save once when making a portage around some rapids.  As\nwe were in the act of relaunching our canoe three other craft, each\ncontaining three red warriors, rounded the next bend downstream.  We\nwaited for them, arms ready.  But they made the sign of peaceful\nintent as they approached, and we held our fire.  They were\nCherokees, fine, tall men, very much like the Iroquois, and they told\nus frankly that they were an embassy carrying belts to Detroit They\nsaid their people were having trouble with the colonists in the\nCarolinas and they desired to take steps to establish an alliance\nwith the French.\n\n\"The French are no different from the English, brothers,\" replied\nTawannears.  \"They are both Asseroni.*  They are both white.  We are\nred.  There are white men who understand the Indian.  Two are my\nbrothers here.  But they have few among their race who agree with\nthem.  You go upon a hopeless errand.  The French will make you\npromises.  They will give you arms, and use you when it suits their\nends, and when they have no use for you they will let you go to the\nstake.\"\n\n\n* Ax-makers.\n\n\nThe Cherokees, squatting in a half-circle on the shore facing us and\nthe beached canoes, exchanged uneasy glances.\n\n\"Then what does our brother of the Hodenosaunee advise?\" asked the\noldest chief.  \"What policy do his people pursue to uphold\nthemselves?  They are directly between French and English.  If there\nis no help from one or the other, what is the Indian to do?\"\n\n\"The Hodenosaunee maintain their place by strength,\" replied\nTawannears.  \"They have made their help worthwhile to the English.\nBut the time will come, brothers, when the English will no longer\nneed us, when the white man's firewater has debauched our young men,\nwhen so many white men have come over the Great Water that they will\noutnumber the Indian.  Then the Indian must go.\"\n\n\"Where?\" demanded the Cherokee.\n\nTawannears waved his arm down-stream.\n\n\"Brothers,\" he said, \"I journey to find what lies betwixt this and\nthe sunset--and beyond.  It may be that Hawenneyu has set aside a\ncountry for the red man that the white man cannot take.\"\n\n\"If the red man gives ground forever, then surely the white man will\ndrive him out,\" declared the Cherokee.\n\n\"True,\" agreed Tawannears.  \"And if the red men united together, the\nwhite man could never drive them out.  Your brothers, the Tuscaroras,\ncame north in my father's time, driven from their homes by the same\nwhite men who now harass you.  We of the Hodenosaunee took them into\nour League, and now they are safe.  The walls of the Long House\nprotect them.  Perhaps the Hoyarnagowar would decree a lengthening of\nthe walls if the Cherokees desired to enter the League.\"\n\n\"Yes, as younger brothers to sit outside the Fire Circle, without\ncasting votes in the Council of Royanehs,\" returned the Cherokee with\npassionate emphasis.  \"That is what happened to the Tuscaroras.  They\nare dependents of the Hodenosaunee.  We Cherokees are a great people.\nShall we lose ourselves in the fabric of the Long House?\"\n\nTawannears emptied the ashes from his pipe and rose.\n\n\"My brother has pointed the reason why the red man cannot stand\nagainst the white man,\" he said quietly.  \"Outside of the Long House\nthe powerful tribes will not hold together.  The Hodenosaunee can\nconquer people like the Eries or the Mohicans, but we see no interest\nin conquering the Cherokees--and if we did not conquer you, you would\nnot join with us.\"\n\n\"Because we might not join you as equals!\" the Cherokee retorted\nhotly.\n\n\"There is no question of equality or inequality,\" asserted\nTawannears.  \"But the Founders of the Great League created only so\nmany Royanehs, and we who follow in their footsteps may not correct\ntheir work.  Go to Onondaga with your belts, and Tododaho, the\ngreatest of our Royanehs, who warms his mind by the Everlasting Fire,\nwill make your hearts strong with wise talk.  Let him tell you,\nbetter than I can, how to unite for strength.\"\n\nThe Cherokee rose with a stern light of resentment in his face.\n\n\"We go to Detroit,\" he said.  \"Better be allies of the Frenchman, and\nplay one race of white man against the other, than be slaves of the\nHodenosaunee.\"\n\nTawannears did not answer him and was silent until we had paddled an\nhour or more.\n\n\"What did you think of our talk, brother Otetiani?\" he asked\nsuddenly, peering over his shoulder at me.\n\n\"I thought that you were right,\" I answered.\n\n\"I am so sure I am right that I can see the whole future of the red\nman,\" he cried.  \"He will perish because he cannot break down his\ntribal barriers.\"\n\n\"Der Frenchman, too,\" spoke up Corlaer behind me.\n\nI turned in mingled amusement and surprise.  It was seldom he used\nmore than monosyllables.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he continued, \"der Englishman, he takes in all, Dutch, Swede,\nCherman, Frenchman.  But der Frenchman, he is der Frenchman.  Der\nEnglishman he comes on top.  He-mixes.  _Ja_.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE SHAWNEE SCALP-HUNTER\n\nDay after day we descended the broadening river.  Once a floating\nsnag ripped our bottom out, and we swam to shore, pushing the sodden\ncraft ahead of us.  Tawannears cut bark strips, melted pitch I\ncollected from the pine trees, and salvaged the sinews of a deer he\nshot with the bow and arrow he carried for hunting game.  With these\nhe mended the hole and made it water-tight, and after two days' delay\nwe continued our journey, thankful to have escaped attack whilst we\ntarried in this situation, for our spare powder had been wetted.\n\nTreacherous channels and difficult portages hindered us further, but\neach day saw some advance to our credit, and at last we came to the\nplace which Tawannears called the Meeting of the Waters.  We were\nswept by a rapid current around the shoulder of a point just before\nsunset, and there opened before us two other watery prospects.  At\nour left another stream, the Monongahela, poured in from the south to\njoin its flow with the Allegheny, and the two united to form the\ngreat Ohio.\n\n'Twas a matchless situation.  North, south and west ran the three\nrivers, roads already laid to tap the resources of the wilderness.\nAt their confluence was the ideal site for the erection of a fortress\nto command their courses and dominate the wilderness for miles\naround.  Indeed, I remember long years afterward--I think it was in\nthe year '60--young Colonel Washington of Virginia, when he was in\nNew York in attendance on General Amherst, told me 'twas here the\ngreat French General Montcalm settled to build Fort Duquesne, which\nwas one of the causes of the last struggle for the wilderness land.\nI remember, too, he said in his grave, simple way, that it should yet\nbe the site of a prosperous town.\n\nWe camped that night on the point, the murmur of the waters in Spring\nfreshet loud in our ears, and in the morning we allowed our canoe to\nbe carried into the brawling current of the Ohio.  So swift flowed\nthis mighty stream that we had no necessity to use our paddles, save\nto guide the canoe from rocks and maintain it in the safest channel.\nWe traveled as far that day as we often had in two days on the\nAllegheny's more tortuous reaches.  But there came days when we must\nbe at pains to avoid hidden dangers; when the waters foamed with\nrocks and submerged bars, and immense trees were hurled along like\nbattering-rams to sink the over-confident.  Sometimes we were fain to\navoid over-dangerous bits, and stumbled along the shore-line in\nshallow water, the canoe on our shoulders.\n\nI marveled that we saw so little human life.  Occasionally a canoe\nwould dart into the bank at sight of our approach, its occupant\nseeking shelter in the undergrowth.  Twice an attempt was made by\nother canoes to overhaul us, but I was able now to lend my arms to\nassist Tawannears and Peter, and we left the pursuers far behind.\nAgain, where the Scioto falls into the Ohio from the north, we\nencountered a party of Miamis bound south on an impartial hunt for\nscalps and buffalo robes.  They knew Tawannears, and treated us with\nall respect.  But for the most part the river flowed undisturbed on\nits majestic way to mingle with the Father of Waters.\n\nFor days and days we saw no other men.  Not even a spiral of smoke\nrose from the dark forests that marched unbroken down to the shelving\nbanks or the bluffs and hills that elsewhere rimmed the channel.\n\nThen, without warning, came the attack.\n\nThe stream had narrowed between low banks, and a riffle of rocks on\nthe north side compelled us to follow the southern margin.\n\nA shot boomed from the southern bank, and I heard it whistle by my\nhead.  Other shots echoed it.  We all looked around.  Puffs of smoke\nwere blowing from the underbrush.  The shrill howl of the warwhoop\nsoared in quavering accents above the babble of the river.  Painted\nmen, feathers raking from their half-shaven heads, broke cover and\nran along after us, firing and yelling.  Two long canoes shoved off\nfrom the bank, and churned the water with four paddles apiece.  In\nthe bow of each knelt a savage whose one object was to shoot us down.\nBullets phutted through the frail bark sides of the canoe and\nsplashed the water all around us.\n\n\"Shawnees!\" exclaimed Tawannears.  \"For your lives, brothers!\"\n\nWe drove our paddles into the water, but our handicap was that we\ncould not veer more than just so far toward the northern bank until\nwe had passed the string of rocks that barred it.  We were still some\ndistance above the termination of the obstruction when a jagged slug\nof lead tore into the canoe between Tawannears and me, glanced from a\nhickory thwart, and sliced a long, curving slit in the side below the\nwater-line; I dropped my paddle, and clutched the lips of the cut\nwith both hands, one outside and one inside the canoe, striving to\nhold them together as best I could.  The water trickled in, of\ncourse, and as the canoe sank under its growing weight it became\nincreasingly difficult to control the leak; but at least we were able\nto make some progress.\n\n\"Good, brother!\" panted Tawannears, seeing what I was doing.  \"A few\nfeet more!\"\n\nThe Shawnees howled with satisfaction as they perceived our plight.\nTheir canoes shot after us at twice our speed, and some of the\nwarriors on the southern bank plunged into the river where it was\nnarrowest, and swam for the rock-ledge, whence they could wade to the\nnorthern bank.  But Tawannears and Corlaer kept us afloat until we\nwere almost past the rock-ledge.  'Twas I saw the wavelet that would\nswamp us, and I shouted a warning to the others.  We held\npowder-horns and rifles aloft and sprang for the nearest rocks.\n\nI went head under and barely saved my powder from a second wetting.\nTawannears and Peter found footing at once, and the huge Dutchman\nhelped me up beside them.  Then we stumbled through the water as fast\nas the hazardous rocks permitted, zigzagging and stooping low to\ndisconcert the enemies who fired on us from the opposite bank and the\ntwo canoes, which drove on downstream to seek a favorable\nlanding-place.  The Shawnees who had undertaken to swim the river\nwere already ashore several hundred yards upstream and running\ntowards us along the bank, and it was at them that we fired as soon\nas we had gained the first trees of the forest.\n\nWe were panting from our efforts, but Tawannears hit a man in the\nleg.  Corlaer drilled his target through the chest.  I missed.  But\nour firing had the effect of confusing the pursuit.  Instead of\ncharging in the open, they dived into the forest in an attempt to\nwork down on us from behind.  But we sensed their purpose, and\ntarried only long enough to reload.  With Tawannears in the lead, we\nset off northward, making no attempt to conceal our trail, for we had\nno time for niceties.  The whoops of the swimmers could be heard on\nour right rear, and answering calls came from the warriors who had\ndebarked from the canoes on our left.  Through the tree-trunks we\ncould see some ten or a dozen more taking to the water from the south\nbank.\n\nFortunately, the forest hereabouts was a wondrous primeval growth of\ntall-stemmed, widely-spaced trunks.  There was little underbrush, and\nthe ground was carpeted with a deep, springy layer of vegetable\nmould, the easiest footing for a runner.  The light was sifted high\noverhead by the interlacing boughs, and it was impossible to see\ndistinctly at any distance.  The odds seemed reasonably in our favor,\ndespite the continuous whooping at our heels, and I was amazed when\nTawannears came to an abrupt halt after we had run a scant half-hour.\n\n\"They will be scattered,\" he said in explanation to my look of\ninquiry.  \"We will teach them that they are not dealing with young\ndeer-hunters like themselves.  Do you run on a score of strides,\nOtetiani, and Corlaer as many more.  I will fire when I see a target,\nand flee.  Then you will each fire in turn, and run.  That way the\ntwo in the rear will have had time to reload.  Come, brothers, we\nwill scotch these young men who think our scalps as easy to take as a\ndeer's antlers.\"\n\nCorlaer grunted approval, and we two held to our course.  I halted\nbehind a great oak from which I could barely discern the figure of\nTawannears lurking behind an uprooted elm.  Five minutes passed.  The\nyelping of our enemies had died away.  Young hounds they might be,\nbut it was in their blood to save breath once they had their noses on\na green trail.  Suddenly, I saw a stab of flame in the gloom, and\nTawannears darted toward me, musket in hand.  The crash of his shot\nwas followed by a yelp of agony, and once more the silence of the\nforest re\u00ebchoed the eerie war-whoop.\n\n\"Watch carefully, brother,\" the Seneca muttered as he loped past.\n\nI lifted my musket and waited, eyes darting right and left, striving\nto pierce the depths of the shadow-world that was unflecked by a\nsingle ray of sunlight.  I stared so long that my eye muscles\nwearied, and the lids blinked.  I closed them for a moment's rest,\nand when I reopened them the first thing I was conscious of seeing\nwas a shadow darker than the shadows, that flitted between two\ntree-trunks on my left.  He was so close that I thought I must have\nbeen deceived, but whilst I watched he showed again, and I made out\nthe slanting feather above his crouching form.  I aimed a good foot\nbelow the feather, and pulled trigger.  The Shawnee leaped high in\nair, with a throttled cry, and pitched forward on his face.  I ran.\n\n\"Goodt,\" murmured Corlaer, huddled behind a boulder that showed\nmoss-covered amongst the timber.\n\nI sped on, and halted only when Tawannears' low voice reached my ears.\n\n\"Reload,\" he said briefly.  \"We must run again when Corlaer comes.\nThe dogs are swifter than I thought.  Hear them!\"\n\nHe inclined his ear to the left rear, and I heard distinctly the\ninterchange of signal-yells, once even a distant crashing of\nbranches.  The Shawnees were working around in an attempt to head us\noff.  I was relieved when Corlaer'a musket boomed, and the Dutchman's\nhuge body bounded into view.  He ran as lightly as he did everything\nelse.  The man was a swift runner who could keep up with him.\n\n\"Now, speed, brothers,\" said Tawannears.  \"The next effort tells.\"\n\nWe ran as I had seldom run before, not fast and slow, but faster and\never faster, with every ounce of strength and wind.  The yelps of the\nShawnees died away behind us again, and I think we had distanced them\nwhen we emerged from the forest gloom into a belt of sunshine several\nmiles wide.  One of those awful wind-storms, to which the New World\nis exposed, had come this way, and wreaked its curious spite by\nstriking down everything in its immediate front.  As clean as a\nknife-blade it had hewed its path, leaving miles of prostrate timber\nwhere formerly had been a lordly forest.  And across this natural\nabattis we must make our way in the open!\n\nThere was nothing else for it, and we plunged in, climbing in and out\nof the wreckage, seldom able to go faster than a walk.  We were a\nscant musket-shot from the forest edge when the Shawnees appeared and\nhowled their glee.  They could not gain on us, but they were\nuncomfortably close as we entered the standing timber on the far side\nof the dead-fall; and we knew that we could not run much farther.  My\neyes were starting from my head as we dipped into a shallow glade\nthat was threaded by a deep and narrow stream.  Boulders dotted its\ncourse.  Ten yards away an immense tulip-tree overhung it.\n\nI flung myself down for a quick drink, thinking to hurry on.  But on\nregaining my feet I saw Tawannears in close debate with Corlaer.  The\nDutchman nodded his head, and dropped into the water, which was up to\nhis middle.  I made to follow him, but Tawannears motioned me to hold\nmy position, peering the while at our back-trail, alert for a sign of\nour enemies.  I stared from him to Corlaer in growing amazement.  The\nDutchman clambered up the opposite bank and tramped heavily to a\nseries of stones and small boulders.  He planted his wet, muddy\nmoccasins on the first stones, then carefully walked backward in his\nown footsteps into the river and recrossed to our side.\n\n\"Come,\" said Tawannears, and he dropped into the river-bed besides\nCorlaer.\n\nPerforce, I followed suit, wondering what mad scheme they were up to.\n\nThe Seneca led us downstream into the shadow of the tulip-tree.  Here\nthe creek overran a flat stone, which came just to water-level.\nTawannears stepped onto it, handed his musket to me, caught hold of a\nlow tree-branch and in a trice had swung himself onto the limb.  I\nreached him our three guns, and whilst he worked back toward the\ntrunk, holding them under one arm, I scrambled up beside him.\nCorlaer came after me, his weight bearing the limb down almost to the\nwater's surface, so that for an instant I thought it must break.  But\nthe resilient wood upheld him, and we all three gained the crotch of\nthe fifteen-foot bole.  There was ample room, and the thick leafage\ngave us cover as we settled ourselves to see what the Shawnees would\nmake of the lure we had set for them.\n\nNothing happened for so long that I wondered whether they had seen\nthrough the ruse, and were plotting to catch us in our lair.  But\npresently a feathered head was advanced from the low-growing foliage\nof the bank and studied the footprints Corlaer had trampled on the\nfarther bank.  A fierce painted face was turned toward us\nmomentarily.  Then the lean body, clad only in breachclout and\nmoccasins, slipped into the water without a ripple and waded across.\nThe Shawnee crept up the bank until he came to the prints of the\nDutchman's wet feet on the stones.  At that he turned, with a quick\ngesture of command, and a string of savage figures dodged after him.\nWe counted thirty-one, most of them armed with muskets.  They\ndisappeared into the woods on the opposite bank at a fast dog-trot.\n\nTawannears dropped from the tulip-tree without a word.\n\n\"Where now?\" I asked.\n\nHe smiled.  Never let anyone tell you the Indian has no sense of\nhumor.\n\n\"Why, we need a new canoe, brother; and the Shawnees have left two\nwaiting for us on the river-shore.\"\n\nBehind us Corlaer gave vent to a squeak of laughter.\n\n\"_Ja_, we put der choke on dem deer-hunters!  Haw!\"\n\nWe retraced our steps as rapidly as we had come, and because we now\nknew the way, we were able to cross the area of fallen timber in half\nthe time we had taken formerly.  But we were still within musket-shot\nof the forest-edge when the war-whoop resounded behind us, and a\ndozen Shawnees broke from cover.\n\n\"They are good warriors,\" approved Tawannears.  \"When they failed to\npick up our trail again beyond the boulders they turned back.\"\n\n\"Shall we wait to welcome them?\" I suggested.\n\n\"No, brother.  We have nothing to gain by killing them.  We need a\ncanoe, not scalps.\"\n\nSo we ran on toward the river, although how Tawannears so unerringly\npicked his way I cannot say.  'Twas not so much that he knew the\ndirection of the river.  I could have done as much.  But rather that\nhe knew by instinct the shortest, most direct route to follow.  We\nburst from the forest's edge a half-musket shot from where the canoes\nof the Shawnees were beached.  Two men who had been left on guard\nover them, one the warrior Tawannears had shot in the leg in our\nfirst brush, rose to welcome us, at first, no doubt, thinking us to\nbe their friends.  But when they saw who we were they raised their\nbows and loosed a brace of arrows at us.  Corlaer shot the wounded\nman offhand, and Tawannears bounded in to close quarters and brained\nthe other with his tomahawk.\n\n\"_Ha-yah-yak-eeeee-eeee-eee-ee-e!_\"\n\nThe scalp-yell of the Iroquois rolled from shore to shore with the\ndreadful, shrill vehemence of the catamount's bawl.  A defiant answer\ncame from our Shawnee pursuers not so far behind us.  Tawannears\nstuffed his victim's scalp into his waist-belt, and flailed the\nbottom out of one of the canoes with his bloody tomahawk, then shoved\nthe ruined craft out into the stream to sink.\n\n\"Ready, brothers,\" he called, pushing the undamaged canoe afloat.\n\"We must be beyond musket-shot when the Shawnees reach here.  Ha,\ntheir hearts will be very sad.  There will be sorrow in their lodges.\nBut they have learned that a band of deer-hunters cannot overcome\nthree warriors who are wily in the chase.\"\n\nWe bent to the paddles, and drove the clumsy craft--'twas much\nheavier than the one we had lost--out into the current, where we\nmight have the benefit of the river's drift.  And, fortunately, we\nwere a long shot distant when the first Shawnees reached the bank.\nSeveral of their bullets splashed close to us, but they soon\nabandoned the waste of powder, and we could hear the ululating howls\nby which they sought to recall their absent warriors and announce our\nescape.\n\nNightfall found us many miles downstream, but Tawannears would not\nsuffer us to halt.  Wet to the bone with sweat and river-water, we\npaddled on with weary arms that ached, eyes straining into the\ndarkness to ward against rock or floating tree-branch.  Near midnight\nthe moon rose, and we could see the channel distinctly; but this was\nanother reason for haste, and we did not rest until the gray dawn\nlight revealed a sandy, brush-covered islet in midstream.  Here we\nbeached the canoe, hauled it out of sight, and lay down beside it to\nsleep like dead men under the warmth of the sun.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA MEETING IN THE WILDERNESS\n\nSummer blew up from the South and wrapped the Wilderness Country in a\nmisty languor.  Our arms lagged at the paddling.  We were prone to\nidling back against the thwarts and watching the vast flocks of birds\nthat flew northward, and especially the incalculable myriads of the\npigeons, flights of such monstrous proportions that they darkened the\nsky.  Ay, they shut out the light of the sun, for an hour at a time,\nthe whirring of their wings and their sharp cries like the faint\nechoes of fairy drums and fifes.\n\nThe forest trees hung heavy with foliage, vividly green, and the\noccasional meadows and savannahs were gemmed with wild-flowers, white\nand red and yellow and blue and pink and purple.  The scent of the\ngrowing things was borne to us by the gusty breeze that puffed and\ndied and puffed again, heavy as the humid air, uncertain,\nindeterminate.  At intervals storm-clouds tore down upon us, black,\ntowering galleons of wrath; there would be thunder in the heavens;\nlightning-bolts streaked earthward to devastate the forest monarchs;\nand the rain would spill upon us like the torrents of the Thunder\nWaters at Jagara.*\n\n\n* Niagara.\n\n\nFor two weeks we traversed this paradise without evidence of other\nmen.  Alone we surveyed the area of a kingdom.  All France, I say,\nmight have been rooted up and transplanted to this neglected\nwonderland to which her King laid inconsequential claim.  Here were\ntimber, ready for the axe; splendid grazing grounds where only the\ndeer wandered; endless fields of rich black loam, awaiting the\nhusbandman.  And the very savages seemed to have abandoned it.  If\nany watched us pass, they contrived to remain unseen.  From horizon\nto horizon there was not a curl of smoke to show a human habitation.\n\nBut there were others besides ourselves on the bosom of the Ohio, as\nwe soon discovered.  We had slipped by the mouth of the Ouabache in\nthe night, thinking thus to elude the observation of a possible\npicket thrown out from the French post of Vincennes, although, to say\ntruth, we saw no trace of such an outpost.  After a few hours' sleep\nwe were paddling on, encouraged by Tawannears' assertion that two or\nthree days more should bring us to the Mississippi, which we regard\nas the barrier of that ulterior Wilderness where our real search\nbegan, when we rounded one of the river's frequent bends to face at\nshort range a fleet of canoes that thronged the stream from shore to\nshore.\n\nHard luck could not have dealt us a shrewder stroke.  In my first\nglance I spied the trappings of the French Marine Infantry, the\nregular troops of the Canadian garrisons, the glitter of an officer's\ngorget, and worst of all, the flutter of the black robe of a priest.\nInterspersed with these were habitants in buckskin and painted\nOuabaches, Miamis and Potawatomis to man the paddles.  There were\nfifteen or twenty canoes, varying from slender craft smaller than\nours to larger ones that accommodated six or eight men.\n\nWe all three backed water instinctively as we appreciated the\nsituation, but Tawannears redipped his paddle and drove forward again\nalmost without a check.\n\n\"It is useless to flee, brothers,\" he murmured.  \"We must stand firm.\"\n\nThere were several shouts from the fleet ahead, and two of the\nsmaller craft sped out from their irregular formation.  Tawannears\nceased paddling for an instant and raised his right arm, palm out, in\nthe signal for peace.  A French officer, in laced coat and cocked\nhat, in one of the large canoes answered him in kind, and the Indians\nwho occupied the two small canoes sheered off as soon as they\ndescried the wolf's head on his chest.  No ordinary wood-ranging\nsavages cared to encounter a chief of the Long House in peace time,\neven with the backing of French troops.  They knew their betters, had\nlearned to know them through many a bloody foray.\n\nThe French flotilla drifted idly, awaiting us as we paddled slowly\nbetween the leading canoes toward the one in which was seated the\nofficer who had acknowledged Tawannears' greeting.\n\n\"Who is he?\" I asked, when we came close enough to identify his\ncorpulent form and massive face.\n\n\"Charles Le Moyne.\"\n\n\"The Chevalier de Longueuil?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes, brother.\"\n\nI stared at the man with increased interest.  He was one of the four\ngreatest men in Canada, the eldest son and heir of that Baron de\nLongueuil who was Lieutenant Governor.  He ranked next after the\nGovernor-General, himself, the Intendant and his father.  'Twas no\nslight mission had brought him so far from home.\n\nI was about to speak again when I noticed a certain tense rigidity in\nthe muscles that lay in beautiful coils and ridges along Tawannears'\nspine.  Simultaneously came a gasp from Corlaer, behind me in the\nstern of the canoe.\n\n\"'Black Robe!'\"\n\nI craned my neck to peer over the Seneca's head.  Ay, 'twas so.\nBehind Le Moyne, sitting as motionless as an image upon the hard,\nnarrow thwart, his death's-head of a face turned full upon us was the\nfamous Jesuit, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe.  His gnarled tortured fingers were\ntelling the beads of the rosary that lay across his bony knees.  His\nblack soutane fell in straight, severe lines to his sandaled feet.  I\nknew, though I could not see, the terrible scars that the\ntorture-stake had left upon his body for once in the past he had\nshown them to me.  I knew, too, the man's indomitable hatred of all\nthings English, his overweening ambition, fortified by iron will and\nintense religious conviction, to win the whole Continent for Louis of\nFrance and the Church of Rome.\n\nOf all those who labored with tireless devotion to substitute Latin\ncivilization for Anglo-Saxon in the New World, there was none whose\naims were more ardently or unselfishly served.  Up and down the\nWilderness Country he went, always toiling, reckless of hunger, of\nthirst, of cold, of physical peril.  And the savages, with their\ninstinct for the appropriate, had named him Black Robe.  By it he was\nknown to many thousands who had never seen him.\n\nA strange man!  A man whose mentality had been a little warped by\nsuffering and hardship and over-much concentration upon ecstatic\ndevotion.  Fasting and contemplation, loneliness and\nself-flagellation, abnegation of all things physical, fire torment\nand knife torment--these had left their mark upon him.  If he did\nharm, he also did good.  He was of those fearless ones who carried\nthe Christian faith to recesses of the Wilderness which will not be\nknown to others until our sons' sons push the frontier a thousand\nleagues nearer to the sunset.  He believed that he had no occasion to\nbother unduly for food, because God would feed him at need, and\ncertes 'tis true he never died of starvation.  A strange man!  One to\nbe judged without thought to creed or politics.\n\nHis face betrayed no emotion as our canoe drew alongside Le Moyne's,\nand a Marine corporal clutched the gunwale, but his eyes blazed with\nfanatical intelligence in the deep recesses of their bony sockets.\nHe leaned forward and tapped Le Moyne's shoulder.\n\n\"Anti-Christ is come among us,\" he announced in sepulchral tones.\n\"Here are sons of the English harlot.\"\n\nLe Moyne frowned slightly.  He was a plain soldier-statesman, and no\ndoubt he found it sometimes difficult to accept the priest's high\nways.  Yet it speaks for Black Robe's influence that he dared not\nshow resentment.\n\n\"What mean you, my father?\" he asked curtly.\n\nThe Jesuit pointed an accusing finger at us.\n\n\"Do you not know them, my son?\"\n\n\"Ay, Tawannears I know.  'Tis the Warden of the Western Door of the\nLong House.  And Corlaer, too, I know.  But not the other.\"\n\n\"'Tis Henry Ormerod, of the Council of the Governor of New York, one\nof the wiliest minions of the English.  He is a renegade from the\nservice of his rightful sovereign King James, and through him hath\nheld commission from the Regent Orleans.\"\n\nOf our party I was the only one who could understand this\nconversation, for Tawannears and Corlaer had no French.  It came\nglibly enough to my tongue, however, after five years service under\nthe Duke of Berwick on the frontiers of the Low Countries and Italy\nand in Spain.  I struck back, therefore, without waiting to consult\nmy comrades.\n\n\"'Tis true, Chevalier,\" I said, \"that my name is Ormerod and Governor\nBurnet hath honored me with membership of his Council.  True, too,\nthat in my youth I was mistaken enough to espouse the cause of the\nexiled Stuarts, and thus passed some time in France.  But that is a\npage long turned.  Whilst I served James I was faithful, and I left\nhim because I came to know that he would never be more than a puppet\nto serve the ends of a foreign court.  Since then I have striven to\nserve my country as you serve yours.  Is there dishonor and hostility\nin that?\"\n\nLe Moyne started to answer me, but Black Robe took the words from his\nmouth.\n\n\"Never heed the Englishman,\" exclaimed the priest.  \"He is a servant\nof evil, a foresworn heretic, an enemy of France.\"\n\n\"There is peace betwixt France and England,\" I answered boldly.\n\"What talk is this of enemies?\"\n\nThe priest tossed his arms aloft.\n\n\"They talk of peace, peace,\" he cried.  \"And there is no peace!  Can\nthere ever be peace betwixt anti-Christ and God?  Nay, my son.  But\nask the Englishman what he does, journeying secretly through the\nterritories of France hundreds of leagues from English soil.  Why\ndoes he travel with the Iroquois chief who is known as the principal\nfriend of the English?  Why do we see with him Corlaer, who is the\nemissary of the English in seducing the savages from trading at our\nposts?  What is his mission here?  Has he a passport from Quebec?\"\n\nLe Moyne nodded his head.\n\n\"There you are correct, father.  Monsieur Ormerod, these questions I\nmust have you answer.  Where is your passport?\"\n\n\"I have none,\" I returned.  \"Nor do I admit I should have one.  I\nhave not traveled territory under the control of France.  Since we\nleft Deonundagaa more than a month ago we have not seen a single\nFrenchman or a sign of French occupation.  More, it is not my purpose\nto enter French territory.  I am bound to the farther Wilderness\nCountry, beyond the Great River.\"\n\n\"That, too, is French territory,\" proclaimed Black Robe.  \"All this\nregion God hath set aside for the sons of France.  No Englishman hath\nput foot beyond the Great River.\"\n\n\"For that reason, I propose to,\" I said.  \"Surely, there is no harm\nin seeking to know what it is like.\"\n\nLe Moyne squared his jaw.\n\n\"I am not so certain of that, Monsieur Ormerod.  But 'tis useless to\ndebate the point here.  I fear I must ask you to accompany us to our\ncamping place.  There we will discuss your case more fully, and\nendeavor to arrive at a composition of our differences.  At the\nworst, I must send you back to New York under escort.  No harm shall\nbe done you.\"\n\nThere was nothing else for it.  Our plight was hopeless.  We were\nthree against near an hundred Frenchmen and Indians, and resistance\nwas as unthinkable as flight.\n\nSo much I reasoned for myself, and Tawannears and Corlaer agreed with\nme when I repeated the substance of the conversation as we fell into\nline behind the French commander's canoe, and wearily retraced our\ncourse.  We were too disheartened to say much, for we reckoned it\nprobable we should have to do over again what we had already\naccomplished, and that would mean losing the Summer--and very likely,\nhaving to wait over the next Winter.  Ahead, I could see Black Robe\nleaning forward now and then to speak to Le Moyne.  A bad omen!\n\nAt dusk the flotilla drew inshore to the northern bank a few miles\nbelow the mouth of the Ouabache, and we beached our canoe with the\nothers.  A file of the regular infantry busied themselves to help us\ncollect wood, and although they did not touch our arms they made us\nfeel that we were prisoners.  I tried to draw out the corporal, but\ngleaned little for my pains.  Yes, they had left Le Detroit whilst\nthe snow was still on the ground.  They had been to the mouth of the\nGreat River or very near it, to the French post at New Orleans, where\nthe Sieur de Bienville, the Chevalier de Longueuil's brother, was\nstationed.  Now, they were returning by way of Vincennes, Le Detroit,\nJagara and Fort Cadaraqui* to Montreal.\n\n\n* Afterward Fort Frontenac.\n\n\nIt had been a trip of inspection, I gathered typical of the nervous\nenergy of the French Government, not content, as were the rulers of\nthe English colonies, to rest satisfied with a strip of seacoast or\nthe valley of a tidal river, but forever reaching out for new lands\nto develop and acquire and hold in fee as a heritage for the\nfuture--a trip of thousands of leagues by river and forest, under all\nextremes of heat and cold.  And if the humble corporal knew nothing\nof such high policies, nonetheless I was sure that one of Le Moyne's\nobjects must have been the selection of suitable points for a chain\nof trading stations and military posts along the line of the Ohio and\nthe Mississippi to link up the New Orleans settlement with Canada,\nand so bar England once for all from the untapped resources of the\nFar West beyond the Great River.\n\nSomewhat of these reflections I communicated to my comrades as we ate\nour evening meal, and we were still discussing the significance of\nour chance encounter when an ensign came to summon us to Le Moyne.\nThe French Commander was sitting by a fire in a deep glade that ran\nback from the river's brink toward the forest.  Black Robe was\nstanding beside him when we arrived, hot eyes shining uncannily in\nthe glare of the leaping flames, distorted fingers twitching his\nrosary beads.\n\n\"Be seated,\" said Le Moyne briefly.  And then falteringly, in the\nSeneca dialect: \"Tawannears, and you, Corlaer, pardon me if I speak\nin French to your friend.  My tongue has not the knack of the\nIroquois speech.\"\n\nTawannears bowed with the gracious assent of a prince.  Corlaer\nsqueaked \"_Ja._\"\n\nLe Moyne turned to me, his manner hostile, his accent crisp.\n\n\"I have been hearing bad things about you, Monsieur Ormerod.  The\nreverend father tells me you are a secret envoy of the English, a\nspy, in other words, one they send abroad to sow trouble betwixt us\nand the savages.  He charges that you are the favorite emissary of\nMonsieur Burnet and that it is largely due to you the Six Nations\nhave latterly turned against us.\"\n\n\"But, Chevalier----\"\n\n\"I will have no buts, Monsieur Ormerod.  It is beyond reason that I\nshould permit such a person as you to travel undisturbed in French\nterritory.\"\n\n\"But is it French territory?\" I demanded.\n\n\"If the Peace of Utrecht means aught.\"\n\n\"I have heard it said that no two minds were alike on that point,\" I\ncommented dryly.\n\nHe laughed.\n\n\"There you are right,\" he agreed.  \"Yet it is beside the point.  You\nare a trouble-maker, Monsieur.  I must expel you.  Wherever I found\nyou I should expel you.\"\n\n\"Are the French at war with the English?\" I asked hotly.\n\n\"Not that I have heard.  You are later from civilization than I,\nMonsieur.\"\n\n\"Then why----\"\n\nHe brushed the objection aside.\n\n\"We deal with realities, Monsieur Ormerod.  'Tis not a question of\nwar but of peace--for France.  As I have said, you are a\ntrouble-maker.  If I let you wander free, the next time I came this\nway you might have all the tribes by the ears, united by alliances\nwith the English Crown.  Heed me now when I say that France came\nfirst into this country, and France shall stay first here.\"\n\n\"But I say I have no interest in this country.  I----\"\n\nBlack Robe bent forward sternly.\n\n\"Do not relent, my son,\" he said to Le Moyne.  \"The man is\ndangerous--his companions, too.\"\n\n\"You have heard my decision, father,\" answered the officer.\n\nI regarded the priest curiously.\n\n\"Why do you dislike me?\" I asked.  \"We are on opposite sides, 'tis\ntrue, but I have always fought you fair--and once I saved your life.\"\n\nThis was no less than truth, for on a certain occasion, which has\nnothing to do with this story, the Iroquois would cheerfully have\nburned P\u00e8re Hyacinthe but for my strenuous objection.  He was in no\nways grateful at the time, I am bound to admit, and he did not\nexhibit gratitude now, as he towered over the camp-fire.\n\n\"Poor worm that squirms itself into the path of destiny!\" he said\nharshly.  \"There is no question of fair fighting or foul fighting\nbetwixt us, nor of gratitude or ingratitude.  You serve Anti-Christ.\nI serve the Heavenly Father.  At no place do we touch.  We have no\ninterests in common.  If you did well, doubt not Holy Peter has\nrecorded the deed for you in his record book.  But who are you to\nprate of good deeds when your soul is steeped in the darkness of\nheresy, and your eyes are clouded by English lies?  Think, rather, on\nyour sins, and it may be you will see light before it is too late.\"\n\nHe turned to Le Moyne.\n\n\"My son, I am leaving you now.  There is a village of the Ouabaches\nsome miles hence where I have preached the Word.  I visit them and\nwill rejoin you at Vincennes.\"\n\nHe turned on his heel and strode off.\n\n\"Hold, father,\" called the officer.  \"Will you not rest and eat?  An\nescort, surely----\"\n\nThe answer came from the shadows.\n\n\"I do not need an escort when I go upon my Father's business.  I have\nrested all day and I have broken my fast.\"\n\n\"_Peste!_\" ejaculated Le Moyne.  \"'Tis an uncomfortably holy person,\nMonsieur Ormerod.\"\n\n\"Do I not know it!\" I retorted.  \"This is not the first time, either.\"\n\nThe Frenchman chuckled.\n\n\"So I gathered.  But come, now, tell me truthfully what is your\nobject; 'twill do you no good to deceive.  My hands are bound, as you\nmust know.  This wood-ranging is a tedious business, and I have heard\nnaught of politics since I left New Orleans.  What bee is buzzing in\nBurnet's hat?\"\n\nI gave him a desperate look.  He was a man of good countenance,\nkindly in reason, iron-willed, pugnacious, intelligent.  So I read\nhim.  He lounged by the fire obviously bored.  There were no others\nclose by save Tawannears and Corlaer, and they were smoking and\nexchanging small-talk on their own account.\n\n\"The truth?\" I said.  \"You shall have it--although 'tis not a story\nfor general telling.  You, Chevalier, I can see, are a gentleman.\"\n\nHe bowed courteously.\n\n\"And for that reason,\" I went on, \"I give you my confidence.  'Tis\ntrue, of course, that in my travels I am keeping my eyes open for\ninformation useful to my people.  If, for instance, you sent me back\nto New York I should have to tell at once of meeting this expedition\nand the deductions I had drawn from it.\"\n\n\"Hah!\" said Le Moyne.  \"I don't know that I shall!  I hadn't thought\nof that.\"\n\n\"Then I should not like to be in your dilemma,\" I replied.  \"After\nall, as P\u00e8re Hyacinthe told you, I am a member of the Provincial\nCouncil.  You can't very well incarcerate me without trial in time of\npeace.\"\n\n\"Get on with your story, Monsieur,\" he adjured impatiently.\n\n\"I am hoping,\" I pursued, \"to learn much of value.  No Englishman\nthat I know of hath traversed the Wilderness Country across the\nMississippi.  I would learn to what extent our people and the French\nare known to its tribes, and what is their disposition to the\nEnglish, as also, the value of the land and its geographic condition.\"\n\n\"My faith, Monsieur, but you are frank!\" protested the Frenchman.\n\n\"I am trying to be,\" I said.  \"But you may believe me or not,\nChevalier.  I should not be here for that reason alone, nor would my\ncomrades yonder.\"\n\nAnd I described to him as simply as possible the combination of\ncircumstances which had brought Tawannears, Corlaer and myself upon\nthis venture.  'Twas not a story easily to be compressed, and again\nand again he drove me off the main trail into byways, for bits of it\nhad come to him in the past--as, for instance, the matter of Gahano's\ndeath and the grief of Tawannears--so it was very late when I\nfinished.  My comrades were asleep, and over the brow of the shallow\nglen I could see the groups of sleepers around the dying fires.  By\nthe shore where the canoes were beached and at intervals along the\nedge of the encampment stood the sentinels.  Except ourselves, they\nwere the only souls awake.\n\nI looked at them because my eyes were wet.  In repeating my story I\nhad resurrected painful memories that the recent weeks had buried.\nThe old wound had reopened.  I did not like to think of the house in\nPearl Street.  At that moment I thought I never wanted to enter it\nagain.  I loathed the idea of returning to New York.  And I did not\nwant the Frenchman to see my grief.\n\nI was brought back to the present by a crash of sparks as he withdrew\na heavy log from the fire, and the flames flared lower.\n\n\"Monsieur Ormerod,\" he said abruptly, \"you were good enough to call\nme a gentleman.\"\n\nI met his eyes fully--and scarcely dared to believe what I read there.\n\n\"I am also,\" he continued, \"a soldier of France.  I trust I place my\ncountry's interests above my personal vanity, above friendship, above\nall.  But I should not be a Frenchman if I did not recognize courage\nand the love which spans the worlds.  I have learned a lesson from\nyou and your comrades to-night, Monsieur.  I thank you for it.  You\nhave made me a better Frenchman, a better soldier, a better\nChristian.\"\n\nHe made a wry face at this last word.\n\n\"Although I shall have trouble convincing P\u00e8re Hyacinthe on that\ncount,\" he admitted.\n\n\"You mean, Chevalier?\" I queried breathlessly.\n\n\"I mean, Monsieur Ormerod, that I am unable to see how an adventure\nsuch as yours can do anything save good.  It is an inspiration for\nbrave men of all races.  Has it not made me a better Frenchman to\nhear of it?  That sleeping savage there, he is a better Frenchman\nthan I, even so, he, who doubtless hates my race.\"\n\nHe rose.\n\n\"But I am not a sufficiently better Frenchman to dare to seem to\nflout P\u00e8re Hyacinthe.  Oh no!  Therefore, Monsieur Ormerod, I am\ngoing for a walk to inspect the sentries.  I shall draw their\nattention to something by the shore of the river over to the left.\nIn the meantime, the fire dies.  This glen leads into the forest.\nYour friends are here.  I see you have your arms with you.  Monsieur,\nI have the honor to tell you it has been a pleasure to meet you.\n_Adieu!_\"\n\nHe was gone whilst I was still mumbling my thanks, I heard his hearty\nvoice blustering at the nearest sentries, a running chain of comment\nalong the outskirts of the camp; and I was recalled to my senses.  A\nhand over the mouth of each, and my comrades awoke.  Another minute,\nand crouched double, we were stealing up the glen into the welcome\ndepths of the forest.  Five minutes later, and our feet were spurning\nthe leaf-mold as we ran between the trunks, left arms outstretched\nbefore our faces to ward off hanging boughs or vines.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE FATHER OF WATERS\n\nWe heard no whooping of aroused savages, as must have attended\ndiscovery of our escape; but we dared not trust unduly in Le Moyne's\ngenerosity, and we ran throughout the night, steering in a\nnorthwesterly direction by the stars, in order to avoid the Ouabache\nvillages and the French post at Vincennes.  We came to a halt only\nwhen the sunrise showed us to be approaching the verge of the forest\ncountry.  Beyond the thinning tree trunks a perspective of rolling\nsavannahs stretched to the horizon's rim.  Not a single tree broke\nthe monotonous outline, and the tall grass rippled under a gentle\nbreeze like the green billows of the ocean.\n\n\"We have gone far enough, brothers,\" said Tawannears.  \"Out there a\nman is visible for miles.  Let us rest now and make sure we are not\nfollowed.\"\n\nWe swung by a pendant grape-vine into the center of a thorny patch of\nwild berry-bushes, chopped out a space to recline in, arranged the\nbushes we had demolished in the fashion of a roof so as to preserve\nthe contour of the patch, and abandoned ourselves to sleep.  It was\nnoon when we awakened again.  Indeed, Tawannears swung himself out of\nour hidey-hole as I opened my eyes.  He was gone for half an hour and\nreturned to announce that he had been unable to find any trace of\npursuit along our trail.\n\n\"That means we are safe,\" I exclaimed jubilantly.  \"To-night we can\nsteal back to the river and take a canoe from one of the Ouabache\nvillages.\"\n\n\"My brother's wits are clouded,\" returned Tawannears.  \"Our enemies\nwill be watching for us to do that very thing.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" agreed Peter, yawning awake.  \"Andt if we got away they would\nfollow us.\"\n\n\"True talk,\" said the Seneca.  \"They would follow us and they would\ncatch us.  That way we should lose our scalps.\"\n\n\"Then what can we do?\" I demanded.\n\nHe pointed to the expanse of the savannahs--or prairies, as the\nFrench call them--which we could just see over the tree-tops.\n\n\"From here to the Father of Waters, brother, most of the country is\nlike that.  Corlaer and Tawannears know, because when we made this\njourney before, we came all the way by land from the Door of the Long\nHouse.  The open country begins even farther to the east as you go\nnorth toward the Lakes.  Over such country we can travel almost as\nrapidly as in the canoe, and also, brother, we can travel in a\nstraight line.  The Ohio twists like a snake and it bears away to the\nsouth, so that after it carried us to the Great River we should have\nto paddle north again against the current, for it is my purpose to\nmake for the country of the Dakota, above the other great river, the\nMissouri, which pours into the Father of Waters on its west side.\nCorlaer and Tawannears dwelt a while with the Dakota, before the\nmessage came summoning us to return to the Long House, and it is my\nthought that they might help us farther upon this journey, where\nother peoples would seek to plunder us or take our scalps.\"\n\n\"You are right, as always, brother,\" I said.  \"If Peter agrees, let\nus start.\"\n\nPeter heaved himself ponderously to his feet, seized his musket and\nstood ready for Tawannears to lead the way.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he squeaked placidly.  \"Now we get some buffalo-hump.\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked, as Tawannears started down the hillock.\n\n\"He means the wild cattle of the plains, brother,\" explained the\nSeneca.  \"You have seen their skins in the lodges of my people, and\nonce, the forefathers tell us through the Keeper of the Wampum, the\nbuffalo ranged up to the Doors of the Long House; but now they are\nseldom seen east of the Ouabache.  Their meat is sweet and tender at\nthis time of the year, especially the hump of a young cow.  It will\nbe a welcome change after jerked deerflesh.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" affirmed Corlaer, licking his lips.\n\nAnd I was amused to notice the display of vigilance with which he\nsurveyed the country around us as we left the protection of the\nforest for the open sweep of the savannahs.  To be sure, the fat\nDutchman was never as dull as he allowed himself to seem, and he had\ndeveloped the faculties of seeing, hearing, smelling and feeling to a\npitch as acute as the savages' which is the highest praise I can\noffer.  But he usually employed his ability without ostentation.\nNow, he was as palpably interested in his surroundings as I was, and\nhis growing disappointment, as the afternoon waned and we had no\nsight of a living creature, was comical.  Indeed, he was much put out\nwhen I rallied him upon it, and his silence when we halted at evening\nwas gloomily expressive.\n\nOur camp that night was beside a tiny rill of water that tickled\nalong a fold in the rolling waves of earth.  There was no underbrush\navailable, let alone trees, and the long prairie grass that grew\nwaist-high was too green to burn readily, so we had no fire.  But we\ndid not feel the want of it, for the heat was terrible on the\nunshaded savannahs.  All day the sun had been beating down upon the\nearth, and all day the earth had been drinking in the heat--to exude\nit through the night like a dry sweat.\n\nPeter and I came to envy Tawannears his nakedness, and in the morning\nwe stripped off our leathern shirts and rolled them in bundles to\nsling from the thongs of our food-pouches, suffering the Seneca to\ncoat us with bear's-grease which he carried in a horn-box, a\nprecaution which diminished notably the ardency of the sun's rays.\nWithout its aid my unweathered shoulders must have been broiled pink,\nwhereas under the layer of grease they baked gradually until in days\nto come they turned a warm brown not unlike the dusky bronze hue of\nTawannears himself.\n\nWe had not pushed far this morning when we came upon a broad swath of\ntrampled grass leading from south to north.  Hoof-marks showed in the\npulverized earth, and Peter's little eyes glistened.\n\n\"Buffalo!\" he shrilled, excited as a boy.  \"Oof, now we get some nice\nhump for supper.\"\n\nEyes fixed on the horizon, he set off northward at a jog-trot, and\nTawannears and I followed him, really as anxious as he to vary the\nmonotony of our diet.  Most of our burnt corn and maple-sugar was\ngone, and we had had scarcely anything but jerked deer-flesh for\nthree days.\n\n\"How does he know the buffalo went north?\" I questioned.  \"The trail\nleads in both directions.\"\n\n\"They always travel north at this season,\" rejoined Tawannears.  \"In\nthe fall of the year they will turn south again.  Yes, Peter is\nright.  This grass was trampled only yesterday.  They must be near\nus.\"\n\nA yelp came from the Dutchman at that moment, and his enormous body\ncrouched forward.\n\n\"See!\" he cried.\n\nWe joined him on the summit of a slight rise.  Several miles across\nthe grassy sea moved a desultory procession of brown objects,\nhundreds of them.\n\n\"A large herd,\" I commented.\n\nPeter gave me a scornful look, and Tawannears laughed.\n\n\"Beyond the Father of Waters, brother,\" said the Seneca, \"you will\nsee the buffalo in such myriads as the wild pigeons that flew over\nthe Ohio.  The thundering of their hoofs will shake the ground.  They\nwill cover the prairie for two days' fast marching.\"\n\nPeter plucked a blade of grass and tossed it in the air.  There was\nvery little wind but what there was wafted it over our heads.\n\n\"_Goodt!_\" he grunted.  \"Dey are upwindt.\"\n\n\"Will Corlaer stalk the buffalo without assistance?\" inquired\nTawannears with his customary courtesy.\n\n\"One shot is enough,\" returned Peter, and he lumbered away through\nthe grass, his body huddled over until he was wholly concealed.\n\nI started to sit down to watch the Dutchman's exploit, but\nTawannears, with a light of mischief in his eyes, prodded me off to\nthe right, and broke into a run as soon as we had placed one of the\ndeceptive swells of the prairie between us and our comrade.\n\n\"What ploy is this?\" I panted.\n\n\"We will surprise Peter,\" he answered, laughing.  \"He thinks to stalk\nthe buffalo, Otetiani, and instead we will make the buffalo stalk\nhim.\"\n\nWe fetched a wide semicircle northeastward, and came up on the flank\nof the herd.  But before we approached closely Tawannears halted, and\nwe picked bunches of grass which he arranged on our heads, so that at\neven a short distance we were indistinguishable from our grassy\nbackground.  Then we continued, working slowly around the flank of\nthe herd until we were in its rear.  Corlaer was nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"Now, brother!\" said Tawannears.\n\nHe cast off his head-dress, and advanced openly upon the animals.  I\nimitated him, and an old bull gave a bellow of warning.  A medley of\nnoises answered the alarm, mooing of cows and bleating of frightened\ncalves and over all the bellowing of other bulls.  The herd milled\naround and gave ground before us.  Tawannears waved his arms, and it\nbroke into a run.\n\n\"They will go over Peter!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"No,\" answered Tawannears.  \"If it were a large herd, perhaps.  But\nwe have only made it easier for Peter, who said he needed no help.\nHe will shoot into the herd when it approaches him, and the buffalo\nwill split right and left on either side of him.\"\n\nThe herd topped the first swell to the south, and a shot boomed\nsuddenly.\n\n\"Watch!\" said Tawannears.\n\nThe frenzied mass of huge, shaggy creatures divided as if a giant\nsword had sliced down from the blazing sky overhead.  I ran up the\nslope behind them and reached its brow in time to see the halves\nreunite a quarter of a mile farther on.  Directly beneath me lay the\nbody of a fat cow, and Peter already was at work upon it with his\nknife.  Tawannears raised the war-whoop, but Peter carved stolidly on.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he remarked when we joined him, \"you think you put der choke\non Peter, eh?  Well, you don't.  I look back once andt I don't see\nyou.  Andt den der herd begins to mofe, andt it stampedes.  'Ho,' I\nsaid to myself.  'Funny tricks!  _Ja_, funny tricks.'  But I shoot me\nder best cow in der lot, yust der same.  We hafe some nice hump for\nsupper.  _Ja_.\"\n\nFortunately for Peter's appetite, we were able to camp that night in\na grove of dwarf trees that bordered a small river, and the broiled\nbuffalo hump was all that he had anticipated.  We seized the\nopportunity afforded by a plentiful supply of firewood to jerk the\nbalance of the choice cuts, about four stone in weight, which\ndetained us in the grove all of the next day.  Of course, we could\nnot make a thorough job of it, but it sufficed to preserve the meat\nuntainted in that searing heat for three or four days longer, and at\nthe end of that time we had worked into a different kind of country\nwhere game was more plentiful.\n\nHere lush meadows alternated with dense patches of low timber and\nswamps and bottomlands, these latter backwaters of the river, which\nwere forest-covered, yet never completely drained.  The increasing\nnatural difficulties slowed our pace, and we were three days in\ntraversing this broken country; but Tawannears encouraged us with the\nassurance that it indicated our nearness to the Great River, which\nalways in the Spring inundated the lands along its course, sometimes\nfor many miles.\n\nThis country was neither pleasant nor healthful by contrast with the\ncool forests and open savannahs we had known, and we were pestered\nunmercifully by a plague of gnats.  But on the other hand we were\nnever at a loss for fresh meat.  We knocked over squirrels with\nsticks and dragged the wild turkeys from their roosts at night.\nThere was a kind of partridge, too, that plumped up under our feet, a\nstupid bird easily to be slain with the tomahawk.  And one time a\nblack bear barred our path and stood growling at us.  We let him go,\nfor we needed no meat and we must husband our powder.\n\nThe third day we waded knee-deep through a flooded forest-tract and\ncame without warning upon the margin of a wide, brown stream.  I\nhailed it for the Mississippi, at last; but Tawannears asserted it to\nbe the Illinois, a tributary, which flowed down from the vicinity of\nthe Lake of the Michigans and entered the Mississippi opposite to and\na short distance above the Missouri.  This knowledge was valuable,\ninasmuch as it told us approximately where we were, and we turned\nback to nominally dry ground and headed southwest, following the\ngeneral trend of the Illinois.  But our progress was slower than\never, for the luxuriance of the undergrowth in those moist lowlands\nbaffles description.  Briars tore our skin; creepers tripped us;\nbushes grew so thickly that we had to hack our way step by step,\ntaking turns at trail-breaking.\n\nThe next day we won to higher ground, a ridge from which we caught\noccasional glimpses of the Illinois; and in mid-afternoon we stumbled\nunawares upon a trail that led from the northeast and straddled the\nsaddle of the ridge.\n\n\"Back!\" hissed Tawannears, as we smashed carelessly through the\nbrushwood into the grooved slot.\n\nOstensibly, the trail was deserted.  A lightning glance revealed it a\nvacant, green-walled tunnel.  But appearances meant nothing in the\nWilderness, and we slid behind a fallen trunk, straining our ears for\nsounds of other men.  Bees buzzed over us in the soft yellow light.\nWe heard water running somewhere.  Birds sang in the tree-tops.  That\nwas all.  Minute by minute, we waited for the purr of an arrow, the\ncrash of a shot, the yell of the war-whoop.  But nothing happened,\nand at last Tawannears motioned for us to crawl after him to a\nposition offering ready access to the choked lands on the river side\nof the ridge.  There he left us, to scout the neighborhood alone.  An\nhour passed, as Peter and I knelt back to back in the underbrush, our\neyes roaming the woods on every side.  Another hour, and I became\nrestless.  Evening was darkening when the hoot of an owl announced\nTawannears' approach.  He crawled into our lair, and dropped a worn\nmoccasin in Peter's lap.\n\n\"Chippewa,\" he murmured.\n\nPeter nodded confirmation, slowly turning the footgear in his pudgy\nhands.\n\n\"A war-party,\" continued Tawannears.  \"They were going across the\nFather of Waters.  Their footprints all point toward the river.\"\n\n\"Der trail is fresh?\" queried Corlaer.\n\n\"I found the ashes of a fire two days old,\" returned the Seneca.  \"It\nis my counsel that we lie here until morning.  I think the Chippewas\nare planning to cross the Great River to hunt for Dakota scalps and\nbuffalo robes.  The Dakota are my brothers.  They are brave warriors,\nbut they have no muskets.  The Chippewas are allies of the French.\nThey have muskets, and it is easier for them to steal furs from the\nDakota than to hunt the wild creatures themselves.  Let us give them\ntime to cross the river.  Afterward we will follow them and carry a\nwarning to the Dakota.\"\n\nMorning brought rain, and we were afoot with the light, avoiding the\ntrail itself, slinking by preference through the woods parallel with\nit.  It was a weary day of physical discomfort and cautious progress,\nbut we had our reward.  In the late afternoon we splashed out of a\nbackwater to emerge upon a shelving bluff, grassy and well-timbered.\nFrom its western edge we stared at a vast yellow sea, its farther\nshore dim under driving sheets of rain.\n\n\"The Father of Waters,\" said Tawannears.\n\nI gasped.  Miles wide the yellow waters rolled as far as the eye\ncould see.  Sullen, threatening, overpowering in its surge and\nbreadth, the river pulsed along with a majestic rhythm almost like a\nliving thing.\n\n\"But how shall we cross it?\" I stammered.\n\nTawannears waved a hand toward the saplings that crowded the bluff.\n\n\"We have our hatchets.  We must build a raft.\"\n\nWe chose for our camp the site the Chippewas had occupied, a recess\nunder the bluff that had been dug by the Spring freshets when the\nwater was higher even than now, and the d\u00e9bris of their raft-building\ntold my comrades that they had not numbered more than twenty or\nthirty, an ordinary raiding party of young warriors.  It was too late\nto begin work then on the raft, but in the morning, with sunshine to\nhearten us, we fell to with our hatchets and chopped down a score or\ntwo of sturdy young trees, dragged them to a point just above\nwater-level, and left them there, whilst we invaded the backwaters to\ncollect grape-vines and other creepers, which we carried back to the\nbluff by the armload.\n\nThese were Tawannears' materials, and under his direction we formed\nthem into a remarkably buoyant raft.  His theory was to take a number\nof saplings and bind them one to another.  On these transversely he\nplaced a second layer, which were first bound together and then\nstaunchly fastened to the bottom layer.  Two additional layers were\nsuperimposed upon these, with the result that he had a high-riding,\npractically water-tight conveyance, ample to float the three of us.\nThe one difficulty we foresaw was in forcing our way across the\ncurrent, and we met this as well as we could by whittling crude\npaddles and poles for pushing in shallow water.  We were vastly proud\nof our achievement when we wiped the sweat from our eyes after two\ndays of labor and admired the raft as it rode to a withe cable\nhitched to a convenient stump.\n\n\"She floats as grandly as a frigate,\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"And no snag can sink Her,\" added Tawannears.  \"The Father of Waters\nis conscious of his might.  He is jealous of those who would travel\nhim.  He has knives hidden in his bosom to wreck the unwary, but\nwe----\"\n\n\"Hark!\" interrupted Corlaer, hand upraised.\n\nFrom inland came the crashing noise made by a heavy body moving\ncarelessly through the undergrowth, the mutter of a voice\nunrestrained.  We snatched up our rifles and ran to cover.  It was\nuseless to think of flight on the raft.  An enemy could riddle us as\nwe strove to force its unwieldy bulk out into the stream.  No, our\nonly chance was to stand to it, conscious that we had our backs to\nthe river and therefore could not be surrounded.  Perhaps night would\nfurnish an opportunity for us to escape by dropping down with the\ncurrent--if we were not overwhelmed by numbers before that.  Only a\nstrong force, unafraid, would crash towards us in that reckless way.\nIt was like white men, not Indians.  The thought sent a shiver down\nmy spine.  I rolled over beside Tawannears.\n\n\"Is it the French, brother?\" I asked.\n\n\"We shall soon see,\" he answered grimly.  \"Someone is walking there\nbetween the trees--to your right.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nWE CROSS THE GREAT RIVER\n\nA dark object showed in the sun-flecked greenery of the woods.\nTawannears thrust forward his musket, and sighted along the barrel.\n\n\"He is alone,\" murmured Peter.\n\n\"Then there will be none to tell his story,\" remarked Tawannears\ngrimly.  \"But Corlaer must not be too sure.  He may be the bait to a\ntrap.\"\n\nThe strange figure strode into an opening bathed in the warm\nsunlight, and I had a brief vision of a fluttering black habit and a\nwhite blob of a face.\n\n\"It is Black Robe!\" I cried softly.\n\nTawannears cuddled his gun to his cheek.\n\n\"Hawenneyu has delivered him into our hands,\" he commented.  \"If I\nmiss, Corlaer must shoot before he can run.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" grunted Peter.\n\n\"No, no,\" I exclaimed, \"There must be no shooting.\"\n\n\"He is an enemy,\" answered Tawannears, unmoved.  \"He hates us.  Why\nshould my brother care whether he lives or dies?\"\n\n\"But he has done nothing to us that advantaged him,\" I argued.  \"He\ndoes not even know that we are here.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he does,\" said Tawannears.  \"Perhaps he has followed us,\nwhen Le Moyne refused to do so.  Perhaps his Ouabaches and Miamis\nlurk behind him.\"\n\n\"He is alone,\" repeated Peter.  \"But just der same we better shoot\nhim.  He is no goodt.\"\n\n\"It would be murder,\" I insisted.  \"We shall serve no object by\nkilling him.  What harm can he do us?  In a few hours we shall have\npassed the river where his Indians cannot reach us.\"\n\nThe Jesuit was in full view, advancing almost directly toward us, his\neyes on the blue horizon.  He was chanting to himself in a deep,\nsonorous voice, and as he drew nearer I identified the words of the\nVesper Hymn:\n\n  \"mens gravata crimine,\n  Vitae sit exul munere,\n  Dum nil perenne cogitat,\n  Seseque culpis illigat.\"\n\n\n\"I am going to speak to him,\" I said.  \"It can do no harm.  He does\nnot know we are here.  Why, Tawannears, the man is fearless.  He\nwould walk straight into your musket, and defy you to shoot.\nMoreover, he has withstood the torture more than once, and I do not\nthink he is right in his head.  Would you be proud of killing one\nwhose mind the Great Spirit had wrapped in a cloud?\"\n\nTawannears was all Indian, despite his perfect English and the\nerudition he had absorbed from his missionary teachers.  Corlaer,\nafter a life among the red men, had imbibed many of their prejudices.\nMy last remark turned the scale.  A man whose mentality had been\ntouched was sacred to any tribe.\n\nThe Seneca smiled unwillingly.\n\n\"Otetiani is a strong pleader.  Very well.  Let Black Robe live.  But\nif he meditates treachery we must kill him, even though Hawenneyu has\nset him aside among men.\"\n\n\"He is alone,\" declared Peter for the third time.  \"Always he trafels\nalone.  I know it.  But he is no friend to us.  We watch him, eh?\"\n\n\"Surely,\" I agreed.  \"He is a Frenchman and our enemy.  That I do not\ndeny.  But he cannot harm us.  Come, we will ask him his business\nhere.  Afterwards, if necessary, we will keep watch on him.\"\n\nBlack Robe had halted some thirty yards south of our hiding place,\nand stood now on the edge of the bluff, surveying the wonderful\nprospect of the unbridled river, its yellow waters glistening in the\nsunlight, the opposite bank a low green wall two miles or more away.\nHis lips moved in words I could not hear, and he dropped to his knees\nin the attitude of prayer, head bowed, and remained so many minutes,\nhis body rigid with the ecstasy of devotion.\n\nI waited until he had risen again, then stepped from our hiding-place\nand walked toward him.  Tawannears and Corlaer followed me.  He saw\nus almost at once, but he made no sign of surprise.  He simply stood,\nfacing us, his terribly maimed hands locked in front of him, his\nspare frame vibrant with the suppressed energy of the indomitable\nspirit within him.\n\n\"So you came this way,\" he said harshly.  \"I thought as much, but\nthey would not listen to me.\"\n\n\"And you, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe?\" I asked.  \"Where do you go?\"\n\n\"I go upon my Father's business,\" he answered in the phrase I had\nheard him use more than once before.\n\n\"Alone?\"\n\nHis pallid, riven face cracked in what I suppose he intended for a\nsmile of sarcasm.\n\n\"Shall I take with me such guards as attend the Holy Father when he\nrides in state?  No, but I am guarded, Englishman.  Cohorts of angels\nattend me.  The cherubim chant me on my way.  It suffices.\"\n\n\"I do not seek to probe your affairs,\" I replied as politely as I\ncould, \"but you are our enemy.  We do not wish to harm you, yet we\nmust protect ourselves.\"\n\n\"You cannot harm me,\" he said without irritation.  \"Enemy?  No, my\nerring son, I am not your enemy--or, rather say I am enemy only to\nthe evil that hath possession of you.  But content yourself.  I have\ncome many miles this day and I saw no living thing, save the beasts\nof the forest.\"\n\nI was satisfied, for I knew it was not in the priest to lie.\n\n\"Have you food?\" I asked.\n\n\"Food?\" he repeated doubtfully, almost as if he had not understood\nme.  \"No, but I shall eat.\"\n\n\"If a heretic's food----\" I began.\n\n\"Heaven's grace is vouchsafed in divers ways,\" he cut me off curtly.\n\"It may be this opportunity has been given you to find an escape from\nsin.  I will eat your food, Englishman.\"\n\nTawannears and Peter listened sullenly to my invitation, and their\nfaces expressed neither welcome nor toleration as the Jesuit walked\nback with us to the recess under the bluff.\n\nHis hollow eyes lighted with unusual interest when he spied our raft.\n\n\"You are crossing the Great River, Monsieur Ormerod?\"\n\nHe seemed tricked out of his dour mannerisms for the moment.  His\nvoice took on the casual courtesy of one gentleman to another.  But\nit was a fleeting manifestation, no doubt an echo from some\nlong-buried past.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"as I told the Chevalier----\"\n\n\"Strange,\" he interrupted me abruptly, his old manner returning,\n\"that you of all men should be appointed to aid in the fulfilling of\nmy mission.  How inscrutable are God's ways!  Yet there must be a\nmeaning in this.  Blessed Virgin aid me!\"\n\nMy comrades would have nothing to do with him.  They took their food\nand removed out of ear-shot, leaving me to do the honors, which was\nonly fair, inasmuch as I had foisted him upon them.  But it insured\nan ill evening for me, for Black Robe utilized the opportunity to\nexamine me at length upon my religious convictions--sketchy, at best,\nI fear, after a lifetime of wandering--and read me a lecture upon the\nerrors of my creed.  I marvel much as I look back upon that incident.\nIn many ways I hold he was wrong, but of all men I have known as well\nI must account him the most holy.  He knew not the meaning of the\nword self-interest.  Life for him was service of the Word of God, as\nhe understood it.  He wasted no time in the search of Truth, for he\nheld that it was ready to hand, ay, inscribed in letters of fire\nacross the skies for all men to see.\n\nHe talked to me for hours after the others slept, and I listened with\nundiminished interest to the end.  The man's stern conviction was an\ninspiration, whether you agreed with him or not.  And if some hold me\nreligiously a weakling because I grant him the merit of believing\nwhat he preached, my answer is that such as he was, he--and many\nothers like him--was one of the most potent forces in carrying the\nrule of the white man into the Wilderness Country.  If he and his\nfellows did not convert the savages, at least they taught them the\nstrength of the white man's will, and by their pioneering endeavor\nthey taught their own people the worth of the unknown lands that\nalways lie beyond the horizon's rim.\n\nIn the night the weather shifted, and the morning was overcast and\nblustery, with a changeable wind.  We debated whether we should trust\nourselves to the raft under such conditions, and Tawannears and Peter\nadvised against it until Black Robe derided their fears.\n\n\"What?\" he cried in the Seneca dialect, which came readily to him, he\nhaving been long a missionary to the People of the Long House.  \"Is\nthe Warden of the Western Door afraid to go upon the waters?  Is\nCorlaer, whose fat belly is dreaded by every squaw from Jagara to the\nmouth of the Mohawk, fearful lest he wet his moccasins?  You have\ndared all manner of perils over hundreds of leagues, and now you\nwince at a few leagues of water!  Pluck up your courage!  I am the\nwreck of what was a man, yet I am not afraid.  Will you let me daunt\nyou?\"\n\n\"Black Robe does not know what he says,\" replied Tawannears stiffly.\n\"A silly little bird has whistled idle thoughts in his ear.  He knows\nwell that Tawannears does not fear even the Master of Evil,\nHanegoategeh, whom Black Robe serves.\"\n\nPeter said nothing, after his fashion, but his little eyes squinted\nthoughtfully, and presently he drew us aside.\n\n\"If Black Robe is touched in der head we might be safe,\" he proposed.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" I retorted impatiently, \"what has that to do with whether\nthe wind blows or the waters rise?  It is dangerous out there on the\nraft or it is not.  Black Robe has nothing to do with it.\"\n\n\"My brother Otetiani may be right,\" said Tawannears, \"yet he has said\nthat the Great Spirit has taken Black Robe under his protection.  If\nthat is true, will Hawenneyu allow him to drown?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" I admitted, \"but we might drown whilst he escaped.\"\n\n\"Otetiani speaks with a straight tongue,\" affirmed the Seneca.\n\"Nevertheless I say that we cannot let Black Robe put a slight upon\nus.  There is danger on the bosom of the Father of Waters.  But if we\ndo not venture forth Black Robe will laugh at us, and perhaps some\nday he will tell the story to his people.  Let us go.\"\n\nI shrugged my shoulders.  I did not like the look of the river.  It\nwas roughening every minute.  But neither could I resist the quaint\nlogic of Tawannears, and of course, no man enjoys being told he is\nafraid.\n\n\"Have it your own way,\" I said at last.\n\nTawannears walked up to the priest.\n\n\"We go,\" he said quietly.  \"If we die, remember that you urged us\nforth.\"\n\nOne of those rare reflections of a personality long submerged shone\nin the Jesuit's face.  He dropped his hand upon the Seneca's bare\nshoulder.\n\n\"There is naught to fear,\" he said gently.  \"God watches over us on\nthe water as on the land.  If He has ordained for you to die, you\nwill die.  The good warrior thinks not upon death, but upon his\nmission.\"\n\nHis manner changed.  His hand dropped by his side.  His voice became\nharsh.\n\n\"Heathen, would you blame me for your wickedness?  As well do so as\ncharge me with your death!  You and I have no power over life!  Look\nup!  Look up, I say!  There is the Power that decides all.  Ha, you\nfear--you fear what you know not!\"\n\nHis face a study in masked fury, Tawannears strode to the side of the\nraft, drew his knife and laid the keen edge against the mooring withe.\n\n\"Tawannears waits,\" he said.\n\nBlack Robe stepped aboard without a word.  Peter and I climbed after\nhim, and the Seneca severed the withe with a single slash.  We piled\nour muskets, powder-horns and pouches upon a raised framework in the\ncenter of the unwieldy craft, where they would be out of the reach of\nthe water, and took to the pushing poles, the Jesuit lending a hand,\nand shoved out into the current.\n\nThe raft rode high, as we had expected, but its heavy weight made it\ndrag fearfully in the slack water under the bank.  We bent all our\nstrength on the poles, yet the headway we achieved was trifling.\nSagging, lurching, its component trees rustling and squelching, it\ncrawled forward a foot or two at a time.  A sandbar held us up for an\nhour, and after an unsuccessful effort to push across, we finally\ncontrived to float around it.  Then we resumed the battle, and\nhalf-naked as we were, the sweat poured from us and our muscles\nached.  How Black Robe endured it I do not know.  Of us all he alone\ndid not sweat, but he worked unflinchingly until the moment, when,\nwithout warning, a monstrous force seemed to seize upon the raft.\n\nThere was a swirl, a peculiar sucking noise--and the shore began to\nrecede.  The raft wavered crazily, twirled about, started across the\ncurrent and as abruptly was spun back downstream.  We stood stupidly,\nleaning on our poles, scarcely realizing what had happened.\n\n\"The river does our work for us, it seems,\" I remarked.\n\nTawannears shook his head, a worried expression in his eyes.\n\n\"No, brother, the worst is ahead of us.  The river is like a wild\nbeast to-day.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" squeaked Corlaer, striking his pole down in a futile effort\nto find bottom.\n\nBlack Robe remained by himself on the forepart of the raft, his gaze\non the mirky distance where he appeared to be able to see landscapes\nthat were denied to our earth-bound spirits.\n\n\"We can work across the current,\" I suggested.  \"It may take time,\nbut----\"\n\nA yellow-brown wave, its crest tipped with scum, slapped against the\nside of the raft and spattered our feet.  Another rolled in from the\nopposite quarter and lapped over the side.  The structure of the raft\ngroaned and shifted.\n\n\"It will take many hours,\" answered Tawannears.  \"Our work has just\nbegun.\"\n\nWe got out the rough paddles we had carved and undertook to steer\ndiagonally with the current, but experience proved that a consistent\ncourse was impossible of attainment.  We made distance in the desired\ndirection--and were promptly picked up by an eddy and tossed back\nagain, or else the vagrant wind set in to toy with us.  The waves\nrolled higher constantly, and we were wet to the waist.  But we\nfought on, and the longer we fought the more intelligent our efforts\nbecame.\n\nThere was a trick to this work, a trick entirely different from\nnavigating a light, amenable, birchen canoe.  Our raft had a will of\nits own, and a certain sense of decency.  Handled as it desired to\nbe, it would even accomplish a measure of our desires, and gradually\nwe came to learn its ways.  This aided us in winning ground--or, I\nshould say, water; but nothing could aid us in conflicting the\ncapricious moods of wind and current.  Sometimes we had both behind\nus, and then we were driven rapidly downstream.  Again, the wind\nwould come from the quarter and mitigate somewhat the effect of the\ncurrent.  Mid-afternoon found us with nothing gained beyond a\nhazardous mid-stream course that was varied by occasional wild\nlurches in the direction of one shore or the other.\n\nWhen the current discharged us towards the eastern bank we battled\ndesperately against it.  When, in one of its incomprehensible moments\nof beneficence, it started us in the desired direction we labored\nwith gritting teeth to assist it.  And every time this happened it\nended by spinning us around and starting us back the way we had come.\nNight shut down upon us miles from our starting place, but less than\nhalf-way across.\n\nSleep, of course, was unthinkable.  We were wet.  We had little\nedible food.  But tired as we were, we were still unwilling to\nsuspend for a minute our struggle against the river.  Moreover, we\nnow required all our vigilance, for the waters were laden with other\nfloating objects, sinister, half-sunken projectiles that had been\ntrees and were now the instruments of the river's wrath.  One of\nthese, a giant hulk of wood, careened against us in the faint\nstar-light and partially demolished the structure upon which we had\nplaced our arms and superfluous clothing.  We narrowly escaped losing\nall our store of powder in this misadventure, and the shock had\nnoticeable effect in loosening the fabric of the raft.  It developed\nan increasing sluggishness, a more frequent tendency to lurch\nuncertainly, and our attempts to direct its progress became\nridiculously inept.\n\nBut we did not desist.  The night was cool, but we sweated as we had\non the broiling savannahs, and tapped unknown reservoirs of strength\nto maintain our fight.  We seldom spoke to one another.  There was\nlittle occasion for words, except once in a while to shout a warning.\nAnd Black Robe paddled and poled beside us, hour by hour.  I do not\nremember that he ever spoke that night.  We were afraid, frankly,\nopenly afraid, admitting it tacitly one to another.  But I am sure\nthat he was as serenely indifferent to fate as he had been in\nprodding us to start.  He was the only one who did not croak hoarse\nexultation when the river played its last trick upon us.\n\nThis came just after sunrise.  We had felt for the past hour an\nerratic swirl in the eddying current.  Now we sighted a mile or so\nahead of us to the right the mouth of another river, little narrower\nthan the Mississippi.\n\n\"That is the Missouri, brothers!\" exclaimed Tawannears.  \"We are far\ndownstream.  If we are carried beyond this we shall land in the\ncountry of the Mandans, who are enemies of the Dakota and eaters of\nhuman flesh.  Hawenneyu has veiled his face from us!\"\n\nBut at that instant Hawenneyu withdrew the veil and smiled upon us.\nWhat happened, I think, was that the incoming stream of the Missouri,\nmeeting the torrent of the Mississippi, combined with the Great River\nto form a whirlpool of eddies, with a backshoot toward the western\nbank.  At any rate, we were suddenly spun about like a chip in a\nkennel, so rapidly that it was dizzying.  Nothing that we could do\nhad any influence upon the course of the raft.  We tried to work\nagainst the eddies for several moments, and finally gave it up in\ndisgust, determined to meet whatever doom was in store for us without\nflinching.\n\nOur reward was to be impelled at most amazing speed toward the west\nbank.  Twice on our way we were caught and torn at by opposing\neddies, but each time the raft worked free of its own volition, and\nthe rising sun saw us floating, water-logged and bedraggled, in a\nbackwater under the western bank, perhaps half a mile above the mouth\nof the Missouri.\n\nWe were still a long way from shore, of course, and it required two\nhours of steady poling to work us through the sandbars to within\nwading distance of the river's edge; but we made it.  We shouldered\nour muskets and staggered ashore to collapse upon the bank just above\nthe water-level--all except Black Robe.  Without a glance at us or\nthe sodden remnants of the raft that had carried him here, without\neven a casual inspection of the country before him, he climbed the\nbank and strode westward.  He had not slept through the night; he had\neaten a bare handful of food since morning; he had labored as hard as\nwe had.\n\nI called after him, but he dismissed me with an impatient wave of the\nhand.  The last I saw of him his black figure was outlined sparsely\nagainst a low wood.  There was an uncompromising air to his back I\ndid not like, but I could not have pursued him to save myself.\nTawannears and Peter were stretched inert upon the bank beside me,\ntheir eyes closed in sleep.  I hesitated--and sank beside them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE COUNTRY OP THE DAKOTA\n\n\"Wake, brother, wake!\"\n\nThe words rang faintly in my ears.  Mingled with them was a peculiar\nunderlying sound.  \"Pop!  Pop!  Pop!\" it went, and rippled off into\nthe noise a wood fire makes when it is burning merrily.\n\nI was conscious of being shaken, resented it, tried to pull away--and\nreluctantly awoke.  Tawannears was bending over me, clutching my\nshoulder.  His face showed relief as I sat erect.\n\n\"Otetiani slept as though he were already in the Halls of the\nHonochenokeh,\" he said.  \"Hark!\"\n\nStupefied as I was, I realized that the peculiar sound which had\nhelped to rouse me from the slumber of exhaustion was the steady\ncrackle of musketry.\n\n\"Black Robe!\" I exclaimed.\n\nTawannears shook his head.\n\n\"It may be so, but the firing is not at us, brother.  Come, let us\njoin Corlaer.\"\n\nI stood up, musket in hand, and for the first time was aware of the\nsoreness of muscle, joint and sinew.  Every inch of my body seemed to\ncherish its special ache or twinge.\n\n\"We are in no condition for fighting,\" I remarked glumly.\n\n\"The warrior fights when he must,\" returned Tawannears sententiously.\n\"Hasten, brother.  Corlaer waits us.\"\n\nI climbed after him toward the top of the bank where I could barely\nsee the Dutchman's big form huddled in the grass that grew as high as\nour waists.  The sun was declining in the western sky.  The wind was\nnegligible.  The Mississippi, behind us, was as calm as a ditch-pond,\nand in the clear, warm sunlight the opposite shore looked absurdly\nnear.  It was difficult to believe that our battle to cross it had\nended only that morning.\n\nFrom the crest of the bank an entirely different prospect appeared.\nCrawling into the grass beside Peter, Tawannears and I peered\ncautiously over its rustling tips to the wall of the low wood in\nwhich Black Kobe had vanished.  This wood was half a mile distant.\nBetween it and the river-bank stretched an open meadow.  Another\nhalf-mile to our left a few scattered clumps of bushes denoted the\nbank of the Missouri.  We were ensconced upon one side of a triangle\nof land at the intersection of the two rivers, and it was obvious\nthat the fighting going on under cover of the wood was working down\ninto this open triangle.  Apparently one body of men were seeking to\ndrive a second body into the _cul de sac_ of the triangle.\n\nEven as my mind formulated this theory there was a flash of color on\nthe edge of the wood and a figure darted into the open.  It was an\nIndian, a tall man, wearing a headdress of feathers such as I had\nnever seen before, a bonnet that encircled the head and reached down\nbetween his shoulders, giving him an exaggerated effect of height.\nHe leaped back behind a tree as we watched, fitted an arrow to his\nbow and loosed it into the recesses of the wood.  Then he turned and\nran.  He had not covered a dozen yards when a shot was fired, and he\nbounded high in air and fell upon his face.\n\nOther men, similarly dressed, leaped into view, pausing momentarily\nto take advantage of the last cover of the wood to loose their arrows\nagainst whoever was pursuing them.  There must have been a score of\nthem, I suppose, all fine, tall warriors, naked but for breechclout,\nmoccasins and headdress; and they ran like antelope across our range\nof vision.  From the wood came occasional reports and a second man\nplunged to the ground.  We heard a shrill yelping.\n\n\"Dakota,\" granted Tawannears.\n\n\"What does it mean?\" I asked.\n\nHe pushed his musket into position.\n\n\"Be patient, brother.  Let us see what happens next.\"\n\nOther figures broke from the wood, whooping and firing after the\nfleeing Dakota, who, their bows hopelessly out-ranged, made no\nattempt at resistance, but raced for the protection of the Missouri\nbank.\n\n\"Chippewa!\" squeaked Corlaer.\n\nTawannears nodded, frowning.\n\n\"They are the war-party who crossed the Great River ahead of us,\" he\nagreed.  \"What shall we do, brothers?  The Chippewa are allies of the\nFrench.  Corlaer and Tawannears have spent many months in the teepees\nof the Dakotas.  But the odds are heavy against our Dakota brothers.\nIf we cast our lot with them we may lose our own scalps.\"\n\n\"We are in sore danger, no matter which way we turn,\" I retorted.\n\"The Chippewa would show us no mercy at any time.  I am for aiding\nthe Dakota.  If we can save them they will be all the more eager to\nhelp us on our venture, as you suggested before.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" assented Corlaer.  \"Andt we gife dose Chippewa a surprise,\neh?\"\n\n\"We must give them Death,\" answered Tawannears grimly.\n\nHe made good his words as he spoke; and I brought down a second man.\nCorlaer waited until I had almost finished reloading, and secured two\nmen in a row for target, hitting one in the shoulder and drilling the\nother through the body.  Firing at ease, with our guns in rest, we\ncould not miss; and the Chippewa, with howls of rage, promptly went\nto cover in the long grass.\n\nThis marked the initiation of a second phase of the engagement.  The\nChippewa were excellent marksmen, and when Corlaer took his second\nshot they deluged him with bullets that dug up the sods around him\nand sent him rolling down the bank, spitting dirt out of his mouth.\nTawannears and I slid after him, deeming discretion preferable to\nvalor.\n\nIf our fusillade had astonished the Chippewa it had been equally\ndisconcerting to the Dakota.  They did not know what to make of it.\nAt first they seemed to fear a trap, but when they marked the furious\ndischarge of their enemies that drove us over the bank they evidently\ndecided we must be friends, and struck off from their line of flight\nat right angles so as to accommodate a union of forces with us.\n\nWe, on our part, were concerned to effect this union and at the same\ntime compel the Chippewa to hold off long enough to permit us an\nopportunity to concert a plan of strategy with the Dakota band.  So\nafter trotting a rod down-river we reclimbed the bank and poured a\nsecond volley into the line of Chippewa, whose crouching figures were\nonly half-concealed by the waving grass-tips.  Before they could\nshift their aim from the position we had formerly occupied we had\nslid down the bank and were making for a new vantage-point.\n\nBy means of such tactics we were able to force the Chippewa to an\nadvance as slow as it was cautious, for they dared not expose\nthemselves unduly after the punishment we had inflicted in the\nbeginning, and we secured time to work down river to where the\nremnants of the Dakota band hugged the protection of the bank, arrows\nnotched, and curious glances mirroring the suspicion they still\nentertained of such unexpected rescuers.  But their suspicion faded\nas we came close enough for them to identify Tawannears and the\nimmense body of the Dutchman.\n\nTheir chief, a sinewy giant of forty, with a high-beaked nose and\nkeen, direct gaze, his headdress of golden eagle's feathers, stepped\nforward to greet us, a light of welcome on his face; and both my\nfriends exclaimed at sight of him.\n\n\"Do you know him?\" I panted eagerly.\n\n\"He is Chatanskah*, Chief of the Wahpeton Council Fire,\" answered\nTawannears briefly.  \"Many a buffalo he has stalked with Corlaer and\nTawannears.\"\n\n\n* White Hawk.\n\n\nChatanskah exchanged a few curt sentences with Tawannears, who nodded\nagreement with what he said, and then led his warriors at a dead run\ntoward the junction of the two rivers--the apex of the triangle over\nwhich this fighting ranged.  The Seneca motioned for us to follow\nthem.\n\n\"Haste, brothers!\" he urged.  \"We must trick the Chippewa.  It is\nChatanskah's plan to seek the protection of the wood where it\napproaches the Missouri bank, nearly opposite here.\"\n\nBut this was not so easy of accomplishment as it sounded.  The\nChippewa soon appreciated our intent, and we had not doubled the apex\nof the blunt promontory, with its glacis of mudflats, when they\ntumbled over the Mississippi bluff and pelted us with lead.  Others\nheaded across the meadow which constituted the heart of the triangle,\nthinking to cut us off as we bounded its outer edge, but Tawannears,\nCorlaer and I crawled to the top of the Missouri bluff and drove them\nto cover again.  And at last, by dint of this and similar desperate\nploys, we were enabled to scramble up the Missouri bank in the rear\nof our allies and dash across a narrow belt of grass land into the\ngreen shelter of the wood, a shower of balls slicing the boughs about\nour shoulders.\n\n\nThere we were reasonably safe, and Tawannears explained the situation\nto us whilst the Dakota produced meat from their pouches, and we\nsnatched a hasty meal as the evening shadows lengthened.\n\n\"This wood runs west and north for a mile,\" he said.  \"Beyond it the\ncountry is all open, buffalo grazing-ground where the Dakota were\nhunting when the Chippewa surprised them this afternoon.  It is\nChatanskah's counsel that we hold the wood until it is dark when he\ncan afford to risk taking to the prairie.  The Dakota villages are a\nlong day's----\"\n\nHe was interrupted by the resumption of the Chippewa's attack.  They\nhad massed their men behind the Missouri bank in front of us, and\nfired into the wood as rapidly as they could load and reload.\nBullets \"_phutted!_\" into the trees, swished through the branches and\nwhistled in the air.  I was long to remember the sinister song they\nsang, for years were to pass before I was again obliged to stand up\nto the battering of musketry.  The racket was awesome, yet it\nachieved remarkably little harm.  One of the Dakota abandoned shelter\nto loose an arrow and sagged to the ground with a bullet in his\nlungs.  Otherwise we were scathless so far.\n\nThe firing increased in volume.  It became a hell of fury, and we\ncould hear the Chippewa yelling encouragement to one another.  Smoke\nclouds billowed out from the bank in thick, cottony puffs, and\nsuddenly Chatanskah screeched a warning.  The smoke clouds seemed to\nvomit forth low-running figures, musket in one hand, tomahawk in the\nother.  But this was a chance for which Tawannears, Peter and I had\nbeen waiting, and we made our shots count.  Our allies, too, were not\ndismayed.  In the smoky dusk, at such short distances, the bow was on\nmore than equal terms with the musket.\n\nThe Chippewa did not dare to stop to reload.  They were obliged to\nrely upon the covering fire of the half-dozen comrades who had\nremained behind the bank, and these found it impossible to aim\nbecause of the heavy smoke that the dying wind could not disperse.\nThe Dakota bows boomed with savage joy.  All around us I heard the\ntense, twanging hum of the strings, the prolonged \"_his-ss-s-tsst!_\"\nof the arrows.  Out in the open men tossed their arms aloft and\ndropped with arrows in their bowels, or fell kicking and coughing,\npierced in the throat, or went straight over backward with a bunch of\nfeathers standing up just over their hearts.\n\nThe attack faltered and gave ground, and the Dakota warriors burst\nfrom the wood.  Two of them collapsed before a ragged volley from the\nriver-bank, but there was no stopping them.  They swept over the\nfield with tomahawk and scalping-knife, and their arrows drove the\nsurviving Chippewa out upon the mudflats, where they would have\nfollowed if Chatanskah had not called them in, fearful of an\nambuscade in the gathering darkness.\n\nThat was a proud night for the Dakota band.  The youngest warrior\ncounted coup, for the Chippewa had lost two-thirds of their number.\nBut what pleased our new friends the most was not their tale of\nscalps, but the eighteen French firelocks that were theirs for\nlifting from the ground.  It was the biggest haul of war-booty their\ntribe had ever taken, of incalculable military value, as the future\nwas soon to show.  Moreover, that battle in the triangle between the\ntwo rivers, obscure though it was, became famous in the annals of the\nplains tribes, as proving that under favorable circumstances they\ncould stand up to the forest tribes from the east side of the\nMississippi, despite the better arms of the forest warriors.  And\nmany chiefs, who up to that time had concentrated their efforts upon\nstealing horses, branched out into elaborate schemes for procuring\nmusketry.\n\nWeary as his men were--and we no less than they--Chatanskah would not\nallowed them to camp on the scene of their victory.  Loaded with the\nspoil, which was considerable, including, besides the muskets, their\nenemies' equipment of powder-horns and shot-pouches, knives,\ntomahawks and other weapons, the band trotted through the wood and\nout upon the open prairie beyond.  With the rising moon to light them\nthey headed inland from the Missouri, bearing northwest by the stars,\nand doggedly maintained the pace until I guessed it to be midnight.\nThen Chatanskah consented to make camp, without fires, and set guards\nfor the balance of the night.  Tawannears offered to have us take our\nshare of this duty, but the Dakota chief would not hear of it.\n\n\"What?\" he exclaimed.  \"Shall a guest be asked to wait upon himself?\nChatanskah and his warriors were as good as dead men when Tawannears\nand his white brothers came to their rescue.  We owe you our lives.\nAnd now you shall sit in the center of my teepee.  My squaws shall\nwait upon you.  My young men shall hunt you game.  Our old men shall\ntell you stories of the long-ago.  If you will stay with us we will\nfind you maidens to suit your eyes and we will make strong medicine\nto turn the white brothers red, and you shall become chiefs of the\nDakota.  Then the tribe will prosper and grow mighty in war.\"\n\nHis eyes gleamed as he conjured up that picture of prowess.\n\n\"That is a plan worth considering, my brother of the Hodenosaunee,\"\nhe went on.  \"We will raid the Chippewa, the Miami, the Potawotomi,\nthe Illinois, the Shawnee for guns.  We will steal horses from the\nSpaniards and the tribes below the Missouri.  We will grow great,\nbrother.\"\n\n\"My brother forgets,\" Tawannears answered gently.  \"When I was among\nthe Dakota before I told of a search I had undertaken.\"\n\n\"True,\" the Dakota assented, crestfallen.  \"And does Tawannears still\npursue that search?\"\n\n\"Yes, brother.  My white brothers go with me.  We seek the Land of\nLost Souls, which the old tales of my people say is beyond the\nsunset.\"\n\nThe Dakota shrugged his powerful shoulders.\n\n\"It may be.  My people know nothing of it.\"\n\nTawannears hesitated, and I who knew him so well, recognized that he\ndreaded to press the question.  But his will triumphed over his\nspiritual fear.\n\n\"Has Chatanskah asked any warriors from afar if they know of the Land\nof Lost Souls?\"\n\n\"Chatanskah never forgets a promise to a friend,\" returned the\nDakota.  \"Many times I have spoken with the brothers of the Dakota\nCouncil-fires that stretch toward the Sky Mountains.  What is beyond\nthose mountains they do not know.  This land you speak of may be\nthere.  But they do not know.  No warrior has ever gone far across\nthe mountains and returned.  A large band dies of hunger and thirst.\nA few warriors are killed by the people of the rocky places.\"\n\n\"Yet Tawannears and his white brothers will go there,\" the Seneca\ndeclared.\n\n\"If you go, you will die,\" replied Chatanskah.  \"It will be much\nbetter to stay with Chatanskah and become a great chief.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless Tawannears must go on,\" insisted Tawannears.  \"My\nbrother of the Dakota has said that he owes us his life.  Will he pay\nthe debt he owes by aiding us on our way?\"\n\nThe Dakota bowed his head.\n\n\"Chatanskah may not deny what Tawannears and his white brothers ask.\nYou shall come with us to our villages, and rest awhile.  Our squaws\nwill repair your moccasins.  You shall grow fat and strong, for it is\neasy to see that you have traveled hard and gone hungry.  Afterward,\nif you still ask it, Chatanskah and his young men will take you west\nto our brothers of the Teton Council Fire, and they shall guide you\nto the foot of the Sky Mountains.\n\n\"And now let Tawannears sleep in peace.  Chatanskah will watch.\"\n\nBut hours later I was aroused by a cold wind that blew from the\nnorth, and I sat up to find Tawannears sitting with his chin on his\nknees, his arms wrapped around his ankles, his eyes on the\nstar-flecked western sky.  On his face was that terrible expression\nof exaltation which I had seen there many times before, a look of\nbrooding anticipation, of fearful expectancy, as of one who hopes to\nsee, but dreads the test.\n\nIt was an eery moment betwixt the night and the dawn.  The wind\nclashed overhead and the stars seemed to stoop earthward.  There was\na feeling of unheard voices chanting behind the sky.  I remembered\nthe agony I had known, that I was now fleeing from.  And without\ncause or reason I felt my heart leap in my breast, and the wells of\nsorrow seemed to empty and dry up.  But a voice whispered out of\nnowhere:\n\n\"_Alone!  Alone!  Alone!_\"\n\nYet I was not dismayed.  I was alone, yes.  But memories flocked\nforward to draw the sting from the word.\n\nMemory!  That was the key to it, I saw.  Out of memory a man might\nwhittle a new life, a club to shatter loneliness.\n\nI probed the dark corners of my mind to test the theory, dragged\nforward thoughts and recollections which once must have set all my\nnerves ajangling.  And now they fell into orderly sequence, suffered\nthemselves to be arrayed and rearrayed, tabulated and put back whence\nthey had come.  From some of them I had pleasure.  From some a stab\nof pain.  But I was always their master.  My grief was cured.  My\nmind was again my own.\n\nI spoke softly to Tawannears.\n\n\"My brother has not slept?\"\n\nHe turned sad eyes upon me.\n\n\"No, Tawannears thinks of the past--and the hopelessness of the\nfuture.  But what is this?\"  He bent toward me.  \"Otetiani's eyes are\nclear.  The Evil Spirit no longer clouds his face.\"\n\n\"I have found peace, brother,\" I said simply.\n\nA sudden flame of inner light burned the dejection from his face.\n\n\"Otetiani has saved Tawannears from himself.  Hawenneyu has spoken.\nHanegoategoh has lost his grip.  The future is hope, brother.\"\n\nHe lay down where he was and was instantly asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE FIGHT FOR THE HERD\n\nChatanskah's village was a group of buffalo-hide teepees on the bank\nof a creek flowing into the Missouri, constituting with several\nsimilar communities the Wahpeton Council Fire.  This was one of the\nseven divisions, or sub-tribes, of the Dakota, who held the north\nbank of the Missouri as far as the foothills of the Sky Mountains,\nand whose political organization, in some ways, reminded me of the\ngreat Iroquois Confederacy, an opinion which Tawannears also\nentertained.\n\nThere was about these sons of the open savannahs the same sturdy\nself-reliance and classic dignity which marked the People of the Long\nHouse, dwelling beneath the shadow of the primeval forest which\ncovered most of the Wilderness country east of the Mississippi.  They\nwere all big men, lithely-muscled, handsome, with clean-cut,\nintelligent features, fearless warriors, clever hunters, splendid\norators.  Like the Iroquois, too, they had conceived the advantages\nof union, and were consequently feared by all the neighboring tribes.\n\nWe had dwelt with them upwards of a week, resting from the fatigue of\nour recent adventures, when a party of young men came in with news of\nthe approach of a gigantic herd of buffalo from the north.  The end\nof Summer was at hand, and the herds ranging north were beginning to\nturn back for the southward migration to the Spanish countries, an\nevent of the utmost importance for the Dakota, for whom the buffalo\nfurnished the staples of existence.\n\nThey fed largely upon its flesh.  They clad themselves in its fur.\nThey wove rope from its hair.  Its dung they used for fuel in a\ncountry nearly destitute of wood.  From its sinews they devised\nbow-strings.  Its horns were employed for weapons or to strengthen\ntheir bows or for containers.\n\nFor them the buffalo represented the difference between hunger and\nrepletion, between cold and warmth, between nakedness and\nprotection--as it did for all the surrounding tribes, for hundreds of\nthousands of wild, free-roving people, inhabiting a country equal to\nthe area of western Europe.  And the buffalo was most valuable in the\nlate Summer or Fall, after it had fattened for months upon the juicy\ngrasses of the boundless savannahs, and its fur was grown long and\nsilky in preparation for the Winter.\n\nThere was a flurry of preparation amongst the teepees, and as every\nman counted, we volunteered to accompany the hunting party, which\nChatanskah mustered within the hour.  The second day we came upon\nisolated bunches of buffalo, but the chief would not permit his\nwarriors to attack them, claiming, with reason, that if the animals\ncontinued in their present direction they would pass close by the\nvillage, and might be attended to by the home-stayers.  The third day\nwe saw several large herds of many thousands each, but the young men\nwho had brought the news of the migration claimed that the main herd\nwas yet ahead of us.\n\nWe proved this true the next morning when the prairies showed black\nunder the migratory hordes.  North and west they filled the\nlandscape.  Eastward they stretched for a bare half-mile, and\nChatanskah hastened to lead his hunters across the front of the\nserried columns, so as to be able to attack the herd in flank and\nmaintain a constant forward pressure.  No man would have cared to\nattempt to stop in front of that animal mass.  Their hoofs shook the\nground, and a slight haze of dust rose over them.\n\nTo gain our flanking position we were compelled to dip into the bed\nof a small creek shaded by dwarf trees, and we followed this for\nperhaps a quarter of a mile.  Coming out into the open again, an\nentirely different spectacle presented itself.  Bearing down upon the\nherd from the northeast appeared a second party of warriors fully as\nnumerous as our own.  Exclamations broke from the Dakota ranks, and\nalthough at that distance the strangers looked to me no different\nfrom our allies, none of Chatanskah's men were in doubt as to their\nidentity, and Tawannears answered my question without hesitation.\n\n\"Cheyenne, brother.  They are the Striped-arrow People, so-called\nfrom their custom of using turkey feathers on their arrow-shafts.\"\n\n\"Are they friends or enemies?\"\n\nHe smiled.\n\n\"When two tribes have one herd of buffalo, Otetiani, they cannot be\nanything else but enemies.\"\n\n\"Yet surely there are buffalo enough here for all the Indians in the\nWilderness!\"\n\n\"My brother forgets that once the buffalo are attacked they will\nbegin to run, and no man can tell which way they will go.\"\n\n\"Then we must fight the Cheyenne?\"\n\n\"So it seems, brother,\" he replied with truly savage indifference.\n\nChatanskah and his people were equally convinced that there was but\none way out of the difficulty, and they advanced upon the opposing\nparty at a run.  The Cheyenne, of course, had seen us as soon as we\nsaw them, and they made it their business to meet us half-way.  But\nboth bands halted as though by command a long bow-shot apart, and\nstood, with weapons ready, eyeing each other provocatively.\n\nA curious scene!  Less than a mile away the buffalo poured south like\na living river of flesh.  There was some tendency on the part of the\nouter files to edge away from us, but the bulk of the vast herd paid\nus no attention whatsoever.  They were terrifying in their numbers\nand inexorable progress.  There must have been millions of them.  And\nhere were we, so relatively few, preparing to dispute with an equally\ninsignificant body the right to slaughter some few units of their\nmultitudes.\n\nThe chief of the Cheyenne stood forward, a giant of a man, his arms\nand chest gashed by the ordeals of the Sun Dance.\n\n\"Why do the Dakota interfere with the hunting of the Cheyenne?\" he\ndemanded.  \"Have they painted for war?\"\n\n\"The Cheyenne know best whether there is war,\" retorted Chatanskah.\n\"It is they who interfere with the Dakota's hunting.\"\n\n\"There is war only if the Dakota make it,\" asserted the Cheyenne.\n\"The Cheyenne have pursued these buffalo for a day.  Let the Dakota\nretire to their own country, and await there the coming of the\nbuffalo.\"\n\n\"Since when have the Cheyenne said what the Dakota shall do?\" flashed\nChatanskah.  \"My young men have an answer ready for you.\"\n\nThe Cheyenne surveyed our array before replying.\n\n\"Nakuiman* sees that the Dakota have with them two of the\nMazzonka,\"** he remarked.  \"One of them is a large man, but very fat.\nSend him out here and let him show the warriors if he has strength in\nthat big belly.  Tell him to lay aside his weapons, all save his\nknife, and Nakuiman will do the same.  If he comes, Nakuiman will\ntear out the Mazzonka's heart with his fingers and eat it before the\nDakota.  But the Mazzonka will not come.  He is afraid.\"\n\n\n* The Bear.\n\n** Iron-makers, Indian name for white men.\n\n\nChatanskah somewhat dubiously translated this speech to Corlaer.\n\n\"The Bear is a strong warrior,\" he added.  \"He has counted more coups\nthan any man of his tribe.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" said Corlaer, and putting down musket, tomahawk, powder-horn\nand shot-pouch, he pulled his leather shirt over his head.\n\nStill Chatanskah hesitated.  As it happened, the Dakota had never\nseen the big Dutchman at hand's-grips with an enemy, and whilst they\nhad respect for his marksmanship and quiet sagacity they were\ninclined to make fun of him behind his back because of his excessive\ncorpulence.\n\n\"Chatanskah need not be concerned,\" spoke up Tawannears, smiling.\n\"Our brother Corlaer is the strongest warrior of his people.  The\nCheyenne will choose a new chief tomorrow--those who escape from the\narrows of the Dakota.  Tell Nakuiman to lay aside his weapons.\"\n\nChatanskah complied none too happily, and a young Cheyenne warrior\nadvanced from the ranks of his band and relieved his chief of bow and\narrows and tomahawk.\n\n\"Nakuiman waits,\" proclaimed the Cheyenne chief.  \"The Mazzonka is\nnot in a hurry to die.\"\n\nBut Corlaer shambled forward as soon as his opponent had given up his\nweapons.  The Dutchman's legs wobbled comically.  His huge paunch\nwaggled before him as he walked.  Fat lay in rolls and ridges all\nover his hairy brown torso, and lapped in creases on his flanks.\nOnly those who had seen him in action knew that beneath his layers of\nblubber were concealed muscles of unhuman strength, and that his\nplacid exterior was a mask for a will that had never yielded to\nadversity.\n\nThe Cheyenne warriors greeted him with guttural laughter, and the\nDakota pulled long faces.  Nor could I blame them, after contrasting\nthe outward appearance of the two champions.  The Cheyenne was the\nbiggest Indian I have ever seen, well over two yards in his\nmoccasins, with the shoulders of an ox, clean-thewed, narrow-flanked,\nhis legs like bronze pillars.  He crouched as Corlaer approached and\ndrew his knife, circling on the balls of his feet, the keen blade\npoised across his stomach in position to strike or ward, as need\narose.\n\nCorlaer, on the other hand, had not even drawn his knife, and his\nhands hung straight beside him.  He slouched along with no attempt at\na fighting posture, his whole body exposed to the Cheyenne's knife.\nThe Cheyenne warriors passed from laughter to gibes and humorous\nremarks--which, of course, Corlaer could not understand--and Nakuiman\nevidently decided that they were right in their judgment, for he\ncommenced a kind of dancing progress around Corlaer, never coming to\nclose quarters, hut maintaining a constant menace with his knife.\n\nPeter, affecting his customary manner of stolid indifference, turned\nclumsily on his flat feet as the Cheyenne circled him, making no\neffort to stay the quick rushes by which his opponent gradually drew\nnearer and nearer.  This went on for so long that the Dakota around\nme commenced to fume with rage and humiliation, whilst the Cheyenne\nwere convulsed with mirth.  Then Nakuiman evidently decided to end\nthe farce.  He bounded at the Dutchman like a ball flung at a wall,\nand confident as I had been, I experienced a moment of foreboding as\nthat rush came.  Compact with concentrated energy, the Cheyenne drove\nhome his thrust so fast that we bystanders could not follow it.\n\nBut Peter could.  The Dutchman came awake as though by magic.  His\nlolling stupidity vanished.  His great body became instinct with the\nvitality that flowed inexhaustibly from springs that had never been\nplumbed.  The Cheyenne struck.  There was a flash of steel.  Peter's\narms whipped out.  Steel flashed again in a wide arc, and the knife\nsoared high in air and fell, point-down in the sod, twenty feet away.\nRemained, then, two heaving bodies.  Peter held his man by one wrist\nand a forearm.  The Cheyenne was struggling with every ounce of\nstrength to break one of these grips so that he might seize his foe\nby the throat.  Whilst I watched he stooped his head and fastened his\nteeth in Peter's shoulder.\n\nThe blood spurted from the wound and a quiver convulsed Peter's\nmighty frame.  But he refused to be diverted from his purpose.\nSlowly, inexorably, he applied his pressure.  And slowly, but\ninevitably, the Cheyenne's straining sinews yielded to him.\nNakuiman's left arm was forced back--and back.  Suddenly there was a\nloud crack.  The Indian yelped like an animal in pain.  The arm fell\nlimp--and with the swift ferocity of a cat Peter pounced on the man's\nthroat.\n\nThe jaws still fastened in the Dutchman's throbbing shoulder yielded\nto that awful pressure.  A single gasping cry reached us.  The\nCheyenne's head sank back, and by a marvelous coordination of effort,\nPeter heaved the man's body at arm's-length over his head.  A moment\nhe held it there, his eyes on the ranks of Cheyenne warriors who had\nlaughed at him.  Then he flung it at them as though it had been a\nsack of corn.\n\nIt twisted through the air, struck the ground and rolled over and\nover into a huddle of inanimate limbs.\n\nPeter shook himself, turned on his heel and walked slowly back to us.\n\n\"_Oof_,\" he remarked mildly.  \"Dot made me sweat.\"\n\nThat matter-of-fact action, brought the Cheyenne to realization of\nwhat had happened.  Carried away by the spectacle of their chief's\nend, they abandoned all thought of moderation and charged us,\nbow-strings twanging.  But the Dakotas were not unprepared.\nChatanskah had fetched along a dozen of the French firelocks, in the\nuse of which we had instructed his warriors, and we were able to meet\nthe enemy with a devastating discharge which brought them up short.\nLeaderless and doubly dismayed, they had no fight left in them, and\nfled across the prairie pursued by the fleetest young men of the band.\n\nWe were left with the pleasant task of reaping a full toll of\nbuffalo-meat, and the remaining Dakota, after scalping the dead\nCheyenne and congratulating Corlaer, formed in a long line and\ntrotted down toward the flank of the moving herd.  The firing of the\nmuskets had disconcerted the outer files of its mass, but these so\nfar seemed to have made no impression upon the inner columns, and the\nnet result of their perturbation was to slow up the herd's pace and\nstart a confusion which was accentuated to a horrible degree as soon\nas the Dakota came within bow-shot.\n\nChatanskah afterward assured us that this herd must have wandered far\nwithout encountering men because it showed so little evidence of fear\nat our approach.  He was also of the opinion that any herd of such\nenormous dimensions was more difficult to stampede than a herd of\ncomparatively small size.  At any rate, it was several moments after\nthe booming twang of the bow-strings began that the herd showed a\ntendency to mill and change its direction.  And during those few\nmoments the Dakota slew enough meat to last their village through the\nWinter.  Aiming between the ribs of the shaggy beasts they drove\ntheir flat-headed hunting-arrows into the fat carcasses up to the\nfeathers, and it was seldom that two shots were required for one\nbuffalo.  Some staggered on a ways, but any buffalo that had a Dakota\nhunting-arrow in its vitals was sure to drop.\n\nThey dropped so fast and so easily that I was overcome with a pang of\nhorror.  It seemed ghastly, this wholesale slaughter.  Bulls, cows,\nhalf-grown calves--but especially cows--fell by the score.  It was a\nbattue.  And yet it made no impression at all upon the myriads of the\nherd.  As far as we could see from horizon to horizon all was\nbuffalo.  They surged up over one skyline and dwindled behind\nanother.  And the only noises they made were the low rumbling of\ntheir countless hoofs and an indescribably plaintive note, part\nbellow, part moo--before the fright took them.\n\nOur hunters had slain until their arms ached from pulling the taut\nbows, and whilst the thousands of buffalo adjacent to us had threshed\naway and striven to gallop either backward or forward or into the\nheart of the mass, the mass, itself, had given no indication of\nrealizing that it was being attacked.  I remember thinking that if\nthe brutes possessed any reasoning power they would turn upon us in\ntheir numbers and trample us in the dust.\n\nInstead, they fled from us.  By some obscure process of animal\ninstinct the warning was conveyed at last from the minor hordes we\nhad harried so mercilessly to their farther-most brethren on the\nunseen western edge of the swarming myriads.  One moment they were\ntrending from north to south like some unsoluble phenomenon of\nnature, an endless, dusty procession of shaggy brown hides.  The next\nthey had showed us their sterns, turned westward, and were galloping\naway with a deafening roar of hoofs.  It was as if the whole world\nwas in motion.  The dust clouds became so dense as to hide all\nmovement.  We stood now on the verge of the prairie.  From our feet a\nbrown desert stretched in the wake of the fugitive herd, a desert of\npulverized earth in which there was not a single growing thing.\n\nThe roar of hoofs became faint in the distance.  The dust-clouds\nslowly settled.  A short while afterward I came and looked in the\ndirection the buffalo had taken, and they were gone.  The brown\ndesert filled the skyline.  And all about our Indians were busy with\nskinning-knives, wrapping the choice cuts of meat in the bloody\nhides; and Chatanskah was dispatching runners to bring out the full\nstrength of the tribe; for we had made such a killing as seldom fell\nto the lot of an Indian community, and it behooved them to lose\nnothing of the riches nature had thrown in their way.  Whatever might\nbe the lot of their brothers in the neighboring villages, the Dakota\nof the Wahpeton Council Fire knew that for this Winter at least they\nwere certain to abide snug and well-fed in their teepees.\n\nChatanskah talked of our deeds as the band clustered about the\ncamp-fire that night, with sentries thrown out around the area strewn\nwith dead buffalo to guard the spoil against wolf and wild dog and\nthe eagles that swooped from the air.\n\n\"There will be much spoken of this in the Winter Count,\" he announced\nproudly.  \"The old men will say we have done well.  The other Council\nFires will be envious.  But remember, brothers, that it was our white\nbrother who slew Nakuiman with his bare hands and turned the hearts\nof Cheyenne to water.  _Hai_, that was the greatest fight I ever saw!\nThe Cheyenne will go home and creep under their squaws' robes.\n\n\"And what shall we say of our white brother who broke Nakuiman in\npieces?  The Cheyenne was called The Bear.  Is not a warrior who\nslays a bear more than a bear?  _Hai_, my warriors, I hear you say\nyes!  So let us give the slayer of The Bear a new name.  We will call\nhim Mahtotopah*--for he is a bear, himself; he is Two Bears.\"\n\n\n* Two Bears.\n\n\n\"_Hai, hai_,\" applauded the circles of warriors who sat around the\nfire, first the old men, outside those the youngsters, who had names\nto win.\n\n\"But Chatanskah will not forget that he has promised to guide\nTawannears and his white brothers to the country of the Teton\nDakota?\" reminded Tawannears.\n\nChatanskah shook his head sorrowfully.\n\n\"Chatanskah has not forgotten,\" he said, \"but he hoped that a bird\nmight come and whisper in the ears of his new brothers and tell them\nto stay with the Dakota.  In the Sky Mountains you will find no sweet\nbuffalo meat.  There are no teepees to shield you from the wind.\nMahtotopah will waste his strength on the rocks.  But you are brave\nmen, and I know you will go on until the Great Spirit calls you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE HORSE STEALERS\n\nChatanskah made good his promise as soon as the tribe had secured the\nspoils of the hunt.  He collected a little band of picked warriors,\npresented us with powder and lead captured from the Chippewa to\nreplenish the reserve stock Corlaer carried in a great ox-horn and\nleather pouch, and we said good-by to the huddle of teepees, now\nsurrounded by high-built racks of jerking meat and pegged-out hides\nin process of tanning.  The last breath of Summer had left the air,\nand we were glad of the buffalo-skin robes the Wahpeton gave us.  But\nthere was advantage, too, in the keen zest of the lower temperature,\nfor it inspired us to greater exertions, and we traveled at a rate we\ncould not have attained during the hot months.\n\nOur course lay up the valley of the Missouri in a north-westerly\ndirection, more truly north than west, as I discovered.  We journeyed\nso for many days, encountering frequently bands of the other Dakota\nCouncil Fires, Mdewakanton, Wahpekute, Sisseton, Yankton and\nYanktonai.  Once a raiding band of Arikara, savage warriors, with\nbuffalo horns woven into their long hair instead of feathers, and\nwolf-skin breechclouts, swooped down upon us from the north.  But\nthey were looking for an undefended village to yield them the\nbuffalo-meat they had been denied by some perverse trick of fate, and\nthey sheered off at the discharge of our muskets, carrying their dead\nwith them.\n\nEach night we expected to awake to find the ground covered with snow,\nfor the Winter usually develops earlier in these western lands than\non the seacoast; but Providence aided us, and at the end of two weeks\nwe met a wandering band of Yanktonai, who told us the Teton bands had\ncrossed the Missouri and followed westward another river bordered by\nsandhills,* which entered the Missouri a day's march ahead of us.\nThese Yanktonai were the first horse Indians we saw.  They were of\nleaner build than the eastern Dakota, with keen, predatory faces and\na harsher speech, matchless riders.  Their mounts, which they stole\nfrom the Southern tribes--who in turn stole from the Spaniards--or\nbred from stolen stock, were small, clean-limbed beasts, bespeaking\nthe Arab strain the Spaniards favor.  Their arms were the lance in\nplace of the tomahawk, and bow and arrow, and they carried also a\nsmall, round shield of the thick, rugged neck-hide of the buffalo.\n\n\n*I think Ormerod refers to the Platte.  From here on, his account of\nhis wanderings increases in vagueness, owing to lack of established\nplace names.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nChatanskah was much concerned at the news that the Teton had moved\nfarther west, for he knew that his return journey to his own villages\nwould probably be delayed by snow; but when we offered to relieve him\nof his pledge he scouted the idea and insisted upon accompanying us\nas he had promised.  And to say truth, as we penetrated deeper into\nthis land of incredible distances and unknown peoples, we appreciated\nas we had not before the advantage of his knowledge and protection.\nThe horse Indians, as we were to learn at first-hand, were natural\nthieves, who stole for the love of thieving and whose hands were\ninstinctively raised against all men.  To them, likewise, the name of\nthe Long House, which had reached even the Wahpeton, was all but\nmeaningless.  I am sure the Yanktonai band would have murdered us\ncheerfully, if it had not been for Chatanskah's escort.\n\nWe easily identified the river they had described to us by its size\nand the white shimmer of the sandhills along the bank.  Luckily for\nus the Missouri was low, and it was a task of no difficulty to ford\nand swim its bed at a point just above the other river's mouth.  But\nthe water was bitter cold, and we were glad to build two roaring\nfires and broil ourselves between walls of flame.\n\nThe next day, and for another two weeks, we continued up the valley\nof this river, having, to our no small discomfort, to pass over many\ntributaries large and small.  But the weather continued clear,\nwithout a trace of moisture or snow.  The country, it seemed to me,\nsloped upward slowly, as though climbing toward the huge mountains,\nwhich the Indians said were the final bar to the world they knew.  We\nsaw no people, but we passed a number of deserted village-sites,\nwhich Chatanskah asserted to represent the course taken by the Teton\nin their westward journey, probably in search of better grazing\nconditions for their horse herds.\n\nIndeed, this proved to be the case.  Our first glimpse of a man after\nwe parted from the Yanktonai came as we surmounted a hill that\nshouldered abruptly above the level of the savannahs.  As noiseless\nas a figure in a dream, a boy of adolescent age rode over its summit\nand peered down at us with startled eyes.  A yelp rose from his lips,\nand he heeled his mount up and down in confused fashion as if not\nknowing which way to turn, then, shaking his fist defiantly in our\ndirection, galloped off down the opposite slope.\n\n\"The Teton keep good watch,\" I commented.  \"But why did the boy wait\nto run?\"\n\n\"He was signaling,\" explained Tawannears.  \"When we reach the\nhill-top you will see what he has accomplished.\"\n\nFrom the brow of the hill we looked down upon a broad stretch of\nlevel grass-land.  Midway of it hundreds of teepees clustered in\nconcentric circles, with an opening to the east.  Smoke curled up\nbetween the lodge-poles, and men, women and children swarmed the\nstreets, all staring up at us.  A body of warriors were running from\nthe village toward the river, where several thousand horses were\nbeing rounded up by the boy herd-guards, whose shrill cries came\nfaintly to our ears; and whilst we were still a considerable distance\naway the herd was in motion toward the village, and an imposing troop\nof warriors galloped to meet us, the sunlight glinting on feather\nhead-dresses and lance-points and the bright beadwork of sheaths and\nquivers.\n\n\"_Hai!_\" exclaimed Chatanskah.  \"The Teton have their eyes open.\nThey do well to watch from the hill-top, but if I were choosing a\nplace to pitch my people's teepees I would not put them under a hill\nwhich I could not see through in the night.  However, I suppose they\nmust have protection for their _sunka wakan_* from the cold north\nwinds.  And here beneath the hill they have fine grazing grounds and\nwater for the taking.\"\n\n\n* Mysterious dogs--Indian name for horses.\n\n\nAt his advice we halted at the foot of the hill to await the coming\nof the horsemen, who stormed up as though they would ride us down.\nBut a little, shriveled-up old man who rode in advance, flung out one\nhand with a single word of command, and they yanked their horses to\nan abrupt halt, scattering the sods right and left and flowing around\nus in a circle that barred all chance of retreat.\n\n\"Hao,\" said Chatanskah calmly.  \"Have the Teton left the Council of\nthe Seven Fires?  Does Nadoweiswe** forget the face of Chatanskah?\"\n\n\n** The Adder.\n\n\nThe little, shriveled-up chief eyed us grimly from the back of the\nbig horse he bestrode.  He had much of the look of an adder, beady,\nbright eyes, and a trick of thrusting out his tongue when he talked\nto lick around his lips.  He spoke with a hissing sing-song accent\nbecause of the loss of several front teeth.  And he was sudden in his\nactions, and his warriors plainly feared him, although any one of\nthem could have tucked him under one arm.\n\n\"_Hao_,\" he answered.  \"Why did not Chatanskah send one in advance to\ntell Nadoweiswe he was coming?\"\n\n\"Chatanskah knew not where the Teton were camped,\" retorted the\nWahpeton chief.  \"This is a strange country for my warriors.  Are the\nWahpeton welcome or must they go back and tell their brothers the\nTeton no longer honor the Seven Fires?\"\n\nNadoweiswe made an impatient gesture with his hand.\n\n\"Chatanskah talks like a child.  He comes suddenly, without warning,\nand is surprised because we do not expect him.  The Wahpeton and the\nTeton are brothers.  But the Teton are not brothers to the Mazzonka I\nsee with you.\"\n\n\"What enmity has Nadoweiswe for the Mazzonka?\" asked Chatanskah in\nsurprise.  \"There are none in his country.\"\n\n\"There was one a few sleeps ago,\" replied the Teton with savage\nemphasis.  \"He turned the hearts of my young men to water, so that\nthey allowed the Siksika* to run off twenty hands** of horses the\nnext night.\"\n\n\n* Blackfeet.\n\n** One hundred.\n\n\nHe turned in his saddle, and scowled at his warriors, and the fear\nthat showed in every eye was amusing.\n\n\"Cowardly squaws!\" he snorted.  \"They were afraid to leave their\nteepees.  The white man had watered their hearts with his medicine.\"\n\nAnd now he transferred his scowl to Corlaer and me.\n\n\"That is why we will have nothing to do with any white men,\" he\nconcluded.  \"They may be friends of the one who bewitched my young\nmen.\"\n\nTawannears spoke up, his ringing, musical voice in strange contrast\nto the rasping tones of the old chief.\n\n\"I am Tawannears, War Chief of the People of the Long House,\" he\nbegan.\n\nNadoweiswe looked at him with some astonishment.\n\n\"_Hai_,\" he said, \"you are a long way from your lodge, young warrior.\"\n\n\"Many more moons' journey than my people have ever traveled,\"\nadmitted Tawannears.  \"It is my post to guard the Western Door of the\nLong House.  Tawannears has honor in his own country.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" returned The Adder ungraciously.  \"Here you are\nunknown.\"\n\n\"And Tawannears is also known in his country as the friend of the\nwhite men,\" continued Tawannears.  \"He is the friend of these white\nmen here.  They came with him to aid him in a search.  They are his\nbrothers.\"\n\n\"If they are friends of the Mazzonka who bewitched my young men they\nshall go away from here,\" snapped Nadoweiswe, \"or I will take their\nscalps for my new medicine lance.\"\n\n\"What was this white man like?\" inquired Tawannears.\n\n\"He was tall, and he wore a long black robe that reached his\nmoccasins.  My young men found him on the prairie, and they galloped\nup to take him captive.  But he drew a weapon from his belt and shook\nit at them, and a great fear possessed them.  There was strong\nmedicine in that weapon.  It did not make a loud noise like that.\"\nHe pointed to my pun.  \"Nor did he strike with it.  He did no more\nthan hold it toward them, calling something the while in a loud\nvoice, and their hearts turned to water, and they fled.\"\n\n\"What was the appearance of the weapon?\" pressed Tawannears.\n\nThe Adder crossed two fingers, and Tawannears laughed, repeating the\nconversation to us.\n\n\"It was Black Robe!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" assented Corlaer.\n\nTawannears turned back to the Teton chief, whose eyes had never left\nour faces during this interval.\n\n\"Yes, Nadoweiswe,\" he said, \"Tawannears and his white friends know\nthe white man you speak of.  He is our enemy.\"\n\n\"_Hai_,\" cried The Adder, \"is it him you seek!\"\n\n\"No,\" denied Tawannears, \"we cannot lift finger against him, for the\nGreat Spirit has set his seal upon him.\"\n\nA look of comprehension dawned in The Adder's face.  He nodded his\nhead wisely.\n\n\"That was it,\" he said.  \"The Great Spirit punished my young men for\nthreatening one He had set aside.  I have known it to happen.  _Hai_,\nit was unfortunate!  But perhaps we can make it up.  Chatanskah, you\nand your friends are welcome.  There are seats in my teepee awaiting\nyou.  Come, and tell us of your wanderings; for soon it will be\nWinter, and we shall have nothing to do save sit around the fire and\ntalk of what has been.\"\n\nAnd I am bound to say the old rascal entertained us with savage\ncourtesy during our progress to the village.  We asked him for\nadditional details about Black Robe, but all he could tell us was\nthat the Jesuit had been seen south of the river the one time.\nWhence he came or where he was going, the Teton could not say.\n\nA quarter-mile short of the teepees we were held up by the retrograde\nmovement of the horse-herd, which was being shifted back to the\ngrazing grounds along the river.  The young lads who handled it\nworked with consummate skill, yet with the peculiarly cruel tactics\nwhich the Indians seem always to practice.  They had driven the\nhorses out of the village circle, and were turning them south when a\ndiversion was created by a splendid stallion with a mottled brown and\nwhite coat, that had eluded all attempts to maneuver him into the\nranks of the herd.  Finally one of the youngsters raced up beside him\nand quirted him heavily over the flanks with a rawhide whip.\n\nThe stallion screamed with rage, swung around on his hind-legs and\nlashed out with fore-hoofs and snapping teeth.  He missed the boy,\nbut laid open the ribs of the other horse, that naturally took\nfright, unseated its rider and made off.  For a moment the mottled\nstallion stood motionless, panting, nostrils expanded, eyes wide.\nThen he danced after the fleeing boy, heels flirting, teeth bared.\n\nNadoweiswe and his warriors paused to see what would happen next.\nNone of them seemed anxious to interfere, and the love of horses that\nhas been in my blood ever since the boyhood I spent in the Dorset\ncountryside gripped hold of me.  I handed my musket to Tawannears and\nstarted toward the stallion.\n\nThere was a thrill of interest in the group of Teton, and Nadoweiswe\ncalled after me.\n\n\"The Teton says to stay here,\" translated Tawannears.  \"He says\n_Sunka-wakan-Kedeshka_* has never been backed.\"\n\n\n* Spotted Horse.\n\n\nBut that was just the push I needed to send me on.  The instant my\neyes had lighted upon that herd of glorious, half-tamed beasts my\nthighs had itched to clasp horse-flesh again, and the idea that the\nstallion was unbroken was the definite lure.  One gift I confess to\npride in is my knack with horses.  It comes naturally to me, and at\nhome in England and afterward in France, I had frequent occasion to\nlearn the fine points of the m\u00e9nage.  Moreover, I was fairly sure\nfrom what little I had seen of the horse Indians up to this time that\ntheir only theory of horse-taming was horse-breaking.  They knew\nnothing of the arts of conciliation by which the most high-strung\nanimals can be mastered--arts which I had learned from many a Gypsy\nfarrier to supplement the natural ability that was born in me.  I\nsuspected that in the case of this stallion they had found it\nimpossible to do anything with him short of killing him.\n\nI kept on, emitting a shrill whistle, which, as I anticipated,\nswitched the stallion's attention from the Indian boy to myself.  He\nhesitated, looked from one to the other of us--and gave the boy time\nto catch his own badly-scared mount.  That was enough for the\nstallion.  He was after some human on two legs, and he cantered up to\nme, eyes wickedly distended, lips drawn back.  I simply folded my\narms, and waited until he was within ear-shot before I spoke to him\nin a gentle, soothing tone, taking care to reveal no trace of fear or\nuneasiness.  I suppose he had never heard a kind word from a man.  It\nwould have been contrary to the practice of his masters.  So he was\nbewildered, and he slowed up involuntarily, and sidled around me.\n\nI made no attempt to catch him, and his curiosity increasing, he\ncircled me and peered into my face, careful to keep beyond reach, for\nhe was now more afraid of me than vicious.  I was a new experience.\nAn Indian was something that he knew would lash him or kick him or\nstick a lance into him.  He didn't know what I would do.  So I talked\nto him some more, using the few Dakota words I had picked up, but\naiming more to influence him by the tone of my voice and my eyes.\nAnd gradually I succeeded.  He came closer.  He pushed his velvet\nmuzzle into my face, whinnying as ingratiatingly as though I were a\nyoung mare.  But I affected not to notice him, and talked on.\n\nWhen I threw one arm around his lowered neck, his eyes widened, but\nhe did not bare his teeth or draw back.  When I twisted one hand in\nhis mane he shivered slightly, but stood still.  I talked to him a\nwhile longer, and he quieted down.  Then I patted his broad back, and\nvaulted upon it, leaned forward quickly and whispered again in his\nhigh-cocked ear.  He hesitated, I pressed his flanks with my knees,\njerked his mane, and he headed toward the herd.\n\nFifty feet from the nearest of his kind I slid from his back, and\nslapped him smartly on the rump.  He turned his head, gave me a\nreproachful glance and cantered quietly up to a group of mares,\ntaking his place as if by right among them.  But as I walked away he\nflung up his head once and sent after me a prolonged whinny of\nfarewell, surely as close to a human good-by as a beast could manage.\n\nNadoweiswe, with Chatanskah and Tawannears, rode out from the array\nof warriors to meet me.\n\n\"The Adder says,\" Tawannears hailed me, \"that he would like to have\nyou sit at his right-hand in his teepee.  He does not know how good a\nwarrior you are--\" the Seneca's teeth showed in a smile--\"but he is\nsure you would make a great horse-stealer.\"\n\nI laughed.\n\n\"What did you tell The Adder?\" I asked.\n\n\"I told him this was a feat I had never seen you perform before, and\nI did not think that you would consent.\"\n\nNadoweiswe leaned down from his horse, and spoke rapidly again.\n\n\"He says,\" Tawannears translated, \"that he wishes to recover his\nhorses the Blackfeet stole, but that with you to aid him he would\nlikewise go south and raid the pastures of the Apache and the\nComanche.\"\n\n\"Tell him,\" I answered, \"to have his warriors remember that a horse\ndoes not have to be beaten to be mastered.  As for the Blackfeet,\ntell him in my country they teach their warriors to stampede an\nenemy's horses by firing the grass behind them.\"\n\nNadoweiswe listened to this advice with a look of intense admiration.\n\n\"He says,\" Tawannears gave me his reply, \"that you must be much wiser\nthan you look.  He is amazed at you.  He will do what you say.\"\n\nAnd it is a fact that during our short stay with the Teton they\nhonored me as their principal guest, not because I was a warrior, or\nbecause I had displayed skill in diplomacy such as many tribes\nadmire, or because I was an orator.  No, the quality which they\nconsidered admirable was my God-given talent for horse-stealing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE WOLF-BROTHERS\n\nThere were several minutes of silence in the crowded teepee after\nTawannears had finished his story.\n\n\"Tawannears has made strong the heart of Nadoweiswe,\" said the old\nTeton chief at last.  \"Nadoweiswe will tell the tale of Tawannears'\nsearch to all his young men so that their hearts may be made strong,\ntoo.  If Nadoweiswe were a young warrior he would offer to go on with\nTawannears and his white brothers and look for this strange Land of\nLost Souls.  But Nadoweiswe is an old man, and he is used to riding\non horses; and horses could not climb the Sky Mountains which shut in\nthe sun's hiding-place.\"\n\nHe lifted his pipe of ceremony from the ground at his feet and\nlighted it with a coal plucked from the fire.\n\n\"Can Nadoweiswe tell us about the land across the Sky Mountains?\"\nasked Tawannears.\n\nThe little chief dropped his wrinkled, dried-apple visage on his\nchest.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, after another interval of reflection.  \"The\nstories of our wise men say nothing about this Land you seek.  But my\nfather was a medicine man, a _wakan witshasha_.*  He was very wise.\nHe had traveled farther than any of our people--although not so far\nas Tawannears.  And he told us the tribes beyond the Sky Mountains\nsaid that the Great Spirit lived not far away.  He sits in a certain\nplace on the earth, very white and still, with his head in the\nclouds.  And sometimes when he is angry he hurls forth storms, and\nsmoke and flame and loud noises fill the air.  But these people never\nspoke of a Land of Lost Souls.\"\n\n\n* Literally, mystery man.\n\n\n\"Yet if the Great Spirit sits there, the Land of Lost Souls cannot be\nfar away,\" exclaimed Tawannears, with more animation than he had yet\nshown.  \"Nadoweiswe has put new courage in our hearts.  Now, we can\ngo forward, without fear.\"\n\nNadoweiswe shook his head.\n\n\"Do not go,\" he urged.  \"See, the fire roars here in the midst of us,\nbut without robes we should be cold.  Any day, perhaps today, the\nsnow will fall.  The land will all be white.  Death will be in the\nwind.\"\n\n\"Nadoweiswe has given us the reason why we must leave his tepee,\"\nreplied Tawannears.  \"We have far to go.  Already we have lost time.\nIf we stayed by the Teton fires the Winter would pass away and we\nshould have achieved nothing.\"\n\n\"We might steal many horses,\" argued Nadoweiswe, with a shrewd glance\nat me.  \"We will march south and raid the Spanish tribes.  There is\nmuch to be done in winter.\"\n\nTawannears smiled.\n\n\"If we can steal horses in Winter, surely we can travel west,\" he\nsaid.  \"It will be as cold going south as going toward the Sky\nMountains.\"\n\n\"But Tawannears does not understand that the Sky Mountains contain\nmore dangers than cold,\" returned the Teton chief.  \"The spirit\nbeasts of the Underworld roam their defiles.  They are the\ndwelling-place of the Powers of Evil.\"\n\n\"Tawannears doubts it not,\" agreed our comrade.  \"But we expected\nsuch perils before we left the Long House.  Tawannears and his white\nbrothers will journey through the country of Hanegoategeh, if need\nbe.\"\n\nNadoweiswe tried again.\n\n\"Stay, and you shall have half the horses we steal,\" he offered, \"and\nin the Spring I will go west with you, I and my young men.\"\n\n\"It cannot be,\" said Tawannears.  \"Our hearts will be sore at parting\nwith Nadoweiswe and Chatanskah and all their people.  But we must go.\"\n\nThe Teton gave it up.\n\n\"Tawannears and his white brothers walk to their deaths,\" he said\nsententiously.  \"The spirit beasts will devour them.  _Hai_, it is a\npity!  But we will tell your story in the Winter Count.  You shall be\nremembered.\"\n\nAnd 'tis a fact that the old chief parted from us in the morning with\nas sincere evidence of regret as an Indian could show.  He pressed\nupon us all the dried meat we could carry, together with three pairs\nof snowshoes and a new and more powerful bow and quiver of arrows for\nTawannears to use in hunting game, thus making it possible for us to\nsave our precious store of ammunition for self-defense; and he and\nall his warriors escorted us to the edge of the village.  Nor must I\nleave out Chatanskah and our Wahpeton friends, whose demonstrations\nof affection were equally touching--if for no other reason than\nbecause of their stoical suppression of all signs of emotion.\n\nBut our last farewell we received after we had left the village and\nwere skirting the horse-herds grazing west along!  the river-bank.  I\nheard a whinny of delight, and Sunkawakan-kedeshka, the mottled\nstallion, came trotting toward us with his attendant band of mares.\nHe stopped some distance off, with a neigh of inquiry, as if to\ndemand why I would not stop and play with him.  I thought for an\ninstant he would follow us, and so pretended to ignore him; but when\nwe had gone on for perhaps a mile and reached the crest of a slight\nridge he evidently lost interest and trotted back to the herd.  The\nincident amused me, although I saw in it no significance and it\nslipped my mind completely as Tawannears pointed to the cold, gray\naspect of the northern sky.\n\n\"Somewhere there is snow,\" he commented.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" assented Corlaer.  \"Andt der wind comes this way.\"\n\nThe flakes commenced to fall during the afternoon, but we were on the\nedge of the storm and they were never thick enough to obscure our\nvision.  At night we contrived a shelter of brushwood, and lay fairly\nwarm beneath our buffalo robes.  Yet we knew that in a severe storm\nwe should require more protection, and in the morning were relieved\nto discover the snow was no more than three inches deep with the sky\nabove us a clear blue.\n\nTwo days afterward the belated Winter broke in earnest.  A wind like\na giant's sickle howled out of the northwest, and the snow reared a\ndense, white, fluttering wall a hand's-breadth from our eyes.  It was\nall a man could do to lean against the blast and keep his footing.  A\nyard apart we were lost from each other.  Our voices might not carry\nthrough the soft, bewildering thickness of it and the shrieking of\nthe wind overhead.\n\nIll-fortune had caught us in a bare valley between two hills, and the\nnearest shelter we marked down before the snow blinded us was a clump\nof timber a mile south.  For this we made as best we could, stumbling\nand falling, never sure of the way, the breath torn from our lungs by\nthe tug of the gale, the snow freezing on us as it fell, our faces\nsmarting from the bite of the sheer cold.\n\nI think 'twas Corlaer's giant strength carried us to safety.  He\nstrode betwixt Tawannears and me, and when one of us faltered, his\narm was swift to lend support.  In his quiet, bull-headed way, too,\nhe found the right direction, despite the dazing isolation, the\nstupefying impact of the storm.  He saw to it that we quartered the\nwind, and steered us straight to the very wood we had aimed for as\nthe snow blotted out our surroundings.\n\nHere in the wood it was just as cold and dark as in the open, and the\nsnow sifted through the branches like the moulting feathers of bird\nflocks incredibly vaster than those that had passed over the Ohio;\nbut the trees at least served to break somewhat the force of the\nwind, and we had the added comfort of work to do, for we knew that we\ncould ward off the death foretold by Nadoweiswe only if we hastened\nto improvise a weather-tight habitation--no easy task in the white\ndarkness and the chill that seemed to strike into the brain.\n\nIn the heart of the wood we came upon an immense bowlder, and with\nour hatchets we felled a number of trees so that they toppled across\nit.  They were firs, heavy with foliage, a dense, impervious roof.\nWe also felled saplings to heap up for end-walls, and fetched in many\narm-loads of pine-boughs for bedding and fire-wood.  As we worked our\nblood flowed faster, and we conquered the numbing force of the storm.\nAnd the snow, steadily floating down, improved our handiwork, heaping\nan extra roof and more substantial walls to shut out the cold.  When\nwe had crawled inside, and by skillful use of a few pinches of\ngunpowder induced the beginnings of a small blaze out of damp wood we\nfelt cheerful again.  A meal of jerked meat and a night's rest under\npine-boughs and buffalo-robes, and we were ready to discount the\ncontinued fury of the storm upon awaking.\n\nThree days it snowed.  The first two days there was no diminution in\nthe storm's vigor, but the third day the wind became less violent,\nalthough the snow fell uninterruptedly.  It was on the third day that\nwe heard a far-off, mournful howling.\n\n\"_Wolfs_,\" commented Corlaer.\n\n\"What are they doing?\" I asked.  \"Surely, in this distemper of\nnature----\"\n\n\"They are hunting,\" said Tawannears.  \"The deer and the buffalo\ncannot run away in such weather.\"\n\nThe howling came nearer, died in the distance.\n\nThe morning of the fourth day we wakened to a world that was all a\nclean, dazzling white, snow to the depth of a man's chest on the\nlevel, ay, and higher, and heaped into drifts the size of young\nmountains in the hollows.  We in our hut were obliged to tunnel to\nthe surface, for the bowlder and our artificial structure had formed\na windbreak against which the snow was piled to twice my height.  We\ncut our way out gradually, taking care not to permit the treacherous\nstuff to cave in upon us, fetched up our weapons and packs, donned\nsnowshoes and resumed our journey.\n\nSnowshoeing is slow work in hilly country, but we made better going\nof it than the unfortunate wild things we saw on every hand,\nprofiting by a thaw which gradually scummed the level drifts.  In a\ngulley a herd of buffalo were buried chest-deep, some of the outer\nones frozen solid, the others subsisting by their combined animal\nheat.  A herd of great deer--the bucks as tall at the shoulder as a\ntall man--that Tawannears called Wapiti*--were plunging clumsily\nthrough the crusted surface of the snow, falling forward on their\nhorns.  In a tiny valley which had been unusually sheltered an\nimmense concourse of antelope threshed about, butting each other for\nthe scanty food available.\n\n\n* Of course, Ormerod refers to the elk.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nWe saw numerous bears, which Tawannears deemed strange, saying that\nthese beasts must have been surprised by the sudden advent of the\nstorm, after delaying to den-up, as is their custom, because of the\nprotracted fall.  A cougar, a striped, cat-faced demon, passed us on\na hillside, belly to the snow, on the track of some quarry.  And\nduring the afternoon we heard at frequent intervals the wailing cry\nof the wolves.  Toward dusk they came steadily nearer, and I grew\nuneasy; but neither of my companions said anything, and I did not\nlike to seem more nervous than they.  I held my peace until we were\ntraversing a level stretch of plain just short of sunset, and a\ntorrent of low-running gray shapes erupted over the skyline.\n\nThat indescribable, heart-shaking howl of the hungry wolf echoed\nacross the snow.\n\n\"Those beasts are tracking us,\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"They are wolves, brother,\" said Tawannears briefly.\n\n\"And they appear to know that we are eatable,\" I retorted.\n\n\"They will do us no hurt,\" he answered with a trace of impatience.\n\"There is abundant game for them to pull down on every side.\"\n\n\"Then why follow us?\" I insisted.\n\n\"They come our way, brother.  Why not!  Who knows what end of the\nGreat Spirit they serve?\"\n\n\"But--\"  I did not know what to say; occasionally Tawannears became\nso Indian that I lost touch with him--\"they are wolves.  They have\nnothing to do with the Great Spirit.  They are hungry.\"\n\nHe looked at me somberly.\n\n\"I have that here they will respect--\" he tapped his chest, where I\nknew he carried the wolf's-head sign manual of his clan--\"they are my\nbrothers.\"\n\n\"Brothers!\" I gasped.\n\nI was myself by adoption a member of the Wolf Clan, yet I had never\nthought of wolves as brothers.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" corroborated Corlaer, joining the conversation for the first\ntime.  \"Der wolfs are broders.  Why not?\"  He used Tawannears' own\nwords.  \"Do not worry, my friendt.  They run our way.  Dot is all.\"\n\nBut I did worry as the shadows lengthened.  The piercing howls seemed\nfairly to tremble with menace.  I thought they were nearer at dusk\nthan they had been in the full glare of the sunset.  Then the early\nmoon rose, and I saw the gray pursuers once more, low, sinister\nshapes, galloping over the snow, their broad pads seldom breaking\nthrough the crust--and I knew they were nearer.\n\n\"_Aaaah-yaaah-oooo-oouuu-wh!_\"\n\nLong-drawn-out, it quavered upward, was sustained and dropped off on\nan eerie pitch of unspeakable import.\n\n\"I don't like this,\" I declared, unable to restrain myself.\n\n\"What would Otetiani do?\" inquired Tawannears mildly.\n\n\"Shoot them.  There seems to be no cover available.\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"Whatever else happens, brother, do not shoot.\"\n\n\"Are we to be dragged down out in the open, then, without raising a\nhand in defense?\" I asked sarcastically.\n\n\"No, brother.  I have said that they will do no harm.  We have far to\ngo yet.  We cannot camp here in the open without wood or shelter.\nLet us hurry.\"\n\nI looked at Corlaer for support, but his attention was centered on\nthe pathless trail ahead of us, and I felt myself outvoted.  There\nwas nothing for it but to keep on.  Both these men I had known for\nyears.  With them I had tracked the Eastern Wilderness.  But never\nhad I known them so perverse as this night.  What folly to nourish a\nbelief in an absurd totemic tradition!  It was amazing.  Corlaer was\na white man like myself.  Tawannears might be red, but he was as well\neducated as I, according to the white man's theory, better far than\nCorlaer.\n\n\"_Oooow-woouuow-aarrrgh!_\"\n\nLouder and louder rose that cry of dreadful menace.  The gray shapes\nwere now so many rustling bulks in the moonlit darkness.  Looking\nback I could see eyes that gleamed red or green as the silver light\ncaught them, fluffy brushes flicking high, the drive of powerful\nshoulders and haunches.  They were big brutes!\n\nI stopped abruptly, and swung musket to shoulder.  Before I could\npull trigger I heard the sucking fall of snowshoes behind me, and\nTawannears laid his hand on my arm.\n\n\"Of what avail, brother?\" he asked gently.  \"If you shoot one, the\nothers will be driven mad by the smell of blood.  They will overwhelm\nyou.\"\n\n\"Why don't you mention yourself?\" I snarled.\n\n\"Heed me, and they will do us no hurt,\" he said, ignoring my thrust.\n\"They do not know.  When they learn who we are, it will be different.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me you will risk our lives on your ridiculous\nheathen theory?\" I demanded.\n\n\"I am trying to save all our lives, which, I fear, may be lost if you\npersist, brother.\"\n\nI flung the gun over my shoulder.\n\n\"Have it your way,\" I said sullenly.  \"It is on your head.\"\n\n\"On my head,\" he agreed.\n\n\"Rocks,\" grunted Corlaer in front of us.\n\nI looked up eagerly.  A few hundred yards away a cube of rock\nprojected from the snow dominating the country for miles, the one\nbreak in the level of the high plateau.\n\n\"Good,\" said Tawannears.  \"We will talk to the brothers there.\nPerhaps we can make a camp.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" assented Corlaer.  \"Andt trees.\"\n\nHis keen eyes had identified a scraggly patch of timber that\nclustered around a cleft in the side of the rock-mass.  The moon\nshone on the snow-flecked, dark-green boughs of evergreens, but for\nthe most part it was little better than dried-up bushes and dwarf\ngrowths.  Yet such as it was it meant shelter and warmth again--if we\ncould shake off that stealthy procession of ghostly figures behind\nus.  They had quickened their pace as they sensed our approach to the\nrock.  The howls became frankly savage and lustful.  Close at hand I\nheard the snapping of frantic jaws.\n\n\"Don't run,\" urged Tawannears' voice in my ear.  \"The man on\nsnowshoes is at a disadvantage, brother.  We have time.\"\n\nTime, but no more.  In that cold that was so severe as to make it\nagony to touch fingers to steel I gained the mouth of the rock-cleft\nwith the sweat dribbling down my back.  And it was not the sweat of\nhaste, but of fear.  All around us the pattering of feet sounded like\nthe swishing of women's skirts in the lightly packed snow.  A\nhalf-circle of gray figures formed, red tongues lolling over flashing\nwhite teeth, steam rising from five-score panting chests.  Eyes\nglinted like pricks of flame.  They were silent--snapping at each\nother, yawning, _grr-rr-rrhing!_ softly, but no more baying their\nmournful challenge to the sky.\n\nThey waited.  And we waited.\n\n\"If we build a fire----\" I suggested in a whisper.\n\n\"Wait, brother,\" Tawannears replied.  \"They fear a fire.\"\n\nI cursed impartially.\n\n\"Are you for saving _their_ lives?\"\n\nHe stood in front of me, very erect, as Indian as old Nadoweiswe.\n\n\"Otetiani forgets that we are of the totem of the Wolf.  Their--\" he\ngestured toward the gray half-circle--\"emblem is on my chest.  It is\nforbidden to slay the totem-beast of your Clan.\"\n\n\"That may mean something to you, but certes, it little interests me,\"\nI said disagreeably.\n\n\"It means much to Otetiani.\"  His voice was stern.  \"Did not Otetiani\nbecome a member of the Wolf Clan?  Will not what he does affect not\nonly himself, but his Clan brothers?  Be wise.  Stay your hand.\nThese gray brothers are curious and hungry, but they do not know us.\nWe will tell them, and they will go away.\"\n\nI laughed shortly.\n\n\"Try!\" I invited him.  \"My gun is loaded, and I propose to climb a\ntree.  It won't be comfortable, but I'll last as long as I can.\"\n\n\"Foolishness,\" remarked Corlaer dispassionately.  \"You watch\nTawannears.  He knows.\"\n\n\"What?\" I jeered.\n\n\"Der wolfs.\"\n\nAs if in acknowledgment of this remark, Tawannears handed his musket\nto the Dutchman and opened his leather shirt across his chest.  Then\nhe stepped forward three paces, and faced the half-circle of gray,\nslavering shapes, with his arms flung wide.\n\n\"Brothers!\" he began.\n\nAnd I swear a whine as of interest rose from the half-circle.\n\n\"You are hungry.  You have followed a scent that was different.  You\nhave turned aside from the buffalo and the deer, the antelope and the\n_wapiti_, to follow this different scent.  For a long time you have\ntracked us.  You could have had meat for the taking, but you must\nsavor this new meat that smelled different.\"\n\nNot a sound from the half-circle, except the rhythmic panting of\npowerful lungs.  The scores of eyes, so luminous, so impersonally\ncruel, were riveted upon the orator.\n\nTawannears advanced another step.  He might have been addressing the\nHoyarnagowar.\n\n\"You have been wrong, brothers.  You knew not what you did.  See!\"\n\nHe stooped before them, stripping his chest to show the wolf's head\npainted upon it.\n\n\"Tawannears is of the totem of the Wolf.  These others with me are of\nthe totem of the Wolf.  We are sworn to brotherhood with you.  We may\nnot slay you nor eat your meat nor wear your fur.  We are your\nbrothers.\"\n\nA big, deep-chested beast threw back his head and sent out a mournful\nhowl.  Others answered him.\n\n\"Go back, brothers,\" continued Tawannears.  \"If you touch us\nHawenneyu will punish you, just as he would punish us if we harmed\nyou.  When there is free meat on the trail it is not for brothers to\nhunt each other.  You have done wrong, already; but you did not know.\nGo back.\"\n\nAnd he walked directly into their ranks, and set his open palm\nagainst the chest of the wolf that had raised the first howl.  And\nthe wolf bent his head and licked the hand that rested on his chest!\n\n\"Go, brothers,\" repeated Tawannears.\n\nThey were gone!  I rubbed my eyes, and stared into the darkness.\nYes, there flitted a dull, gray shape.  Snow crunched under their\npads.  A click of teeth as one snapped at another.  Then the\nhunting-call of the leader, quavering toward the stars.\n_Yap-yap-yap!_ in answer.  Howl and counter-howl, yelps of discovery,\nthe quick, rasping bay announcing a fresh scent.  Fainter--and\nfainter----\n\nI sunk my fingers in Corlaer's bulbous arm.\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\nI felt him shrug his shoulders.\n\n\"Wolfs.\"\n\n\"Real?  Did I imagine that?\"\n\n\"It may be they were spirit wolves, such as Nadoweiswe warned us of,\"\nsaid Tawannears at my other side, taking his musket from the\nDutchman's charge.\n\nI could not see his face, but his voice was serious.\n\n\"You mock me,\" I answered.\n\n\"Why, brother?  Who knows?  We have passed beyond the world of men, I\nthink.\"\n\n\"You touched one, did you not?\" I insisted.\n\nHe considered.\n\n\"True.\"  He raised the hand to his nostrils, sniffed.  \"And it left\non me the rank wolf smell.  Yes, they were no spirit beasts, brother,\nbut it does not matter.  Spirit beasts or flesh and blood, they would\nnever have touched me.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Why did the wild horse walk up and suffer Otetiani to mount him?\"\n\n\"Because I did not fear him or have thought to harm him.\"\n\n\"Otetiani speaks always with a straight tongue,\" said the Seneca\ngravely.  \"There was no fear in my heart of the wolf brothers, nor\ndid I think of harming them.\"\n\n\"But a wolf is not a horse!\" I protested.\n\n\"True.  But he is our brother.  Did not Otetiani see me show them the\nClan insignia on my chest?\"\n\n\"My God!\" I exclaimed.  \"One of us is mad!\"\n\n\"_Oof_,\" remarked Corlaer, with his rare fluency.  \"Nobody is madt.\nBut der white man does not know eferything.  Dot is all.  Andt now we\nmake a goodt hut andt a fire--eh?  It is coldt.  _Ja_, I take this\ntree.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN THAT WAS GOD\n\nSo far on our journey the obstacles thrown in our path by hostile men\nhad outweighed those opposed by nature.  From now on the reverse was\ntrue.  The men we met were feeble savages, ignorant, superstitious,\neasily put to flight.  But nature loomed as a foe of overawing\nstrength.  Each day brought its tests of endurance, daring, brawn or\nskill.  Time meant nothing in face of the difficulties we must\nconquer.  A month passed after our escape from the wolf pack before\nwe even sighted the gigantic barrier of the Sky Mountains, and the\npassage of their snowy summits required additional months of effort.\n\nBut this is to gallop in advance of my story.  Yet I scarce know how\nto set down in sober language the magnitude of the forces we\nencountered, the supreme majesty of that unknown country, the Godlike\nsplendor of the Winter scenery, the awful, silent loneliness.  And of\nall the wonders that lent emphasis to our own puny might I think the\none that affected us most was the absence of man from the plains and\nforests that intervened betwixt the Teton villages and the mountains.\nFor months we were companied only by the myriads of beasts that had\nfled the intense cold of the heights for the milder temperature below\nthe timber-line.\n\nThe great deer which Tawannears called Wapiti, red deer, antelope,\nbuffalo, wild goats and wild sheep we saw in millions.  We killed\nfresh meat with our hatchets, and had it always at need.  They moved\nabout the low-lands--which, of themselves, were sufficiently high,\ninasmuch as the country shelved upward, mile after mile--in search of\nsuch food as could be afforded by tree-bark and the herbage left\nbeneath the snow; and in their sore want and innocence of man they\ndid no more than step aside from our path and stare after us.  Of\nwolves we saw many and heard some, but they never again came near\nus--explain it as you choose.  For myself, I have no more to say,\nbeing convinced by marvels I was yet to behold that Corlaer was right\npast disputation when he said, \"der white man does not know\neferything.\"\n\nThat was a Winter of unprecedented cold.  Late in coming, it\ndeveloped protracted periods of severe frost, linked by tumultuous\nstorms, after which the forest would be scattered with wild things\nfrozen in their tracks.  Taught by experience, we became apt at\nseeking shelter with the first hint that the Wind Spirits were\nplucking the wild geese in the North, careful not to move across open\ncountry unless the weather signs were favorable; and whilst this\ndelayed us, 'tis beyond question it preserved our lives.  With a\nroof, four walls and fire, men may defy nature's worst attacks, no\nmatter how make-shift the covering.\n\nI said it was a month before we sighted the Sky Mountains--but they\nwere still many miles away.  We had followed a fork of the river\nwhich flowed through the Teton country.  It carried us northwest, and\nafter several weeks brought us within view of a range of ragged\npeaks, which, at first, we took to be our immediate goal.  But the\nriver banded the broken country at their base, and we came presently\ninto a wide upland somewhat like the savannahs that lined the\nMissouri.*  The ragged peaks dwindled behind us; the horizon was\nempty ahead--until a day of unusually brilliant sunshine with a\ncloudless sky revealed a serrated glory in the west, cones and\nsaddlebacks and hulking ridges, square and round and oblong and\neccentrically-shaped rock-masses, all draped in snow.\n\n\n* It seems probable that Ormerod refers here to the Medicine Bow\nrange and the Laramie Plains.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nA storm delayed us another week, but we picked up the trail with\nlight hearts, and each sunset was an inspiration to faster progress.\nIt was as if a giant's paint-pots had been upset and splashed\nharmoniously over the mountain-wall--soft reds, purples, yellow, and\nthe half-tones that run between.  Or the Painter's mood would be\ndifferent, and they would be slung on in harsh, contrasting belts of\ncolor that jarred your eyes.  Amazing!  And it continued after we\nwere at the very foot of the towering wall, poking this way and that\nto find a gateway to the mystery land beyond.  The heights close by\nmight lose their potent spells, but in the hazy distance, North or\nSouth, the Painter worked his will at random.\n\nIn my youth I marched with the Duke of Berwick into the Pyrenees.\nThat was child's play compared to the undertaking we confronted.  For\nwe had no knowledge whatsoever of the secret of this jumbled\nprospect.  Forests cloaked the mountains' lower flanks, and under the\ntrees the snow was heaped so deep we must have been swallowed to\nsuffocation but for our snowshoes.  Above the timberline began the\ndominion of the rocks, and here all was snow and ice, either smoothly\nslippery or treacherously loose.  Upon our first attempt to gain a\nheight we precipitated a slide which carried us into the tree-tops of\na forest.  We were cripples for days.\n\nAgain and again we probed ravines and valleys in hopes they would\nlead up to a practicable pass, but we passed no more than time.  We\nwasted weeks on protracted journeys which led to the brinks of\nprecipices or dead-walls--dangerous work as well as tiresome, for the\nsnow-slides were frequent and impossible to forecast.  Enough sun on\na certain spot to start a thaw, and a whole hillside might go.\n\nIn the beginning we worked north along the base of the range, in\naccordance with a theory advanced by Tawannears that possibly the\nfork of the river we had followed might break through the Sky\nMountains, and when we demonstrated this was not so he suggested that\nthe other, or southern fork, might do so.  Neither Corlaer nor I had\na better plan to offer, and we retraced our steps to the south, and\npresently struck into a likely valley that ended in a ramp of\nprecipices.  So we tried again, and a third time, always without\nsuccess.\n\nIt was after this third try that we were snowed up in a hut we threw\ntogether in a rock-hollow.  There was nothing to do, except eat,\nsleep and keep the fire going.  None of us was talkative.  We were\ntoo disappointed, too tired.  But some time in the afternoon of the\nsecond day Corlaer woke up Tawannears and me.\n\n\"I hafe foundt der way,\" he announced.\n\n\"What way?\" I yawned.\n\n\"Ofer der mountains.\"\n\nTawannears looked interested, but I was resentful at being disturbed.\n\n\"Oh, it starts here in the hut?\" I jeered.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he answered, unmoved.\n\n\"What is in Corlaer's mind?\" asked the Seneca eagerly.\n\nPeter made up the fire before replying.  Talking was an effort for\nhim, and he usually required time to sort out his words.\n\n\"We follow der animals,\" he said at length.\n\n\"What?\" I exclaimed.\n\nBut Tawannears nodded.\n\n\"True.  Corlaer is right, Otetiani.  If there is a pass, the wild\nthings must know of it.  We have only to watch them.\"\n\n\"But it is quite probable that in this weather no pass will be\npracticable, especially for animals,\" I objected.\n\n\"Spbring is coming soon,\" replied the Dutchman.\n\n\"We have only to wait and watch,\" added Tawannears.\n\nI had to admit that they were right.  And when the storm blew itself\nout two days later, having doubled the mountains' snow blanket, we\nabandoned our frontal attack upon the barrier in favor of a\nreconnaissance of its approaches.  For a week we pushed on south\nthrough the foothills, and were finally forced to a halt by a\nspur-range, which ran eastward.  Manifestly, 'twas a waste of time to\nenvelop this, and we retraced our steps again, by no means so\nconfident that Corlaer's suggestion had been as canny as we first\nsupposed, for we had seen not a single indication that the animals\nwere entering or leaving the higher altitudes.\n\nBut at the end of this week a thaw set in which continued from day to\nday.  The hillsides were soon running with tiny rivulets.  The snow\nunderfoot was soggy, and packed hard.  The avalanches were worse than\never.  Every hour or two there would be a rip and a roar and a swish\nof breaking trees, and bowlders and pebbles would rain down upon us.\nIt was one of these slides which was instrumental in showing us a way\nacross the barrier.  We had abandoned our set path, and hugged the\nprotecting face of a high cliff, knowing any slide that topped it\nwould over-shoot us, when a mountain sheep came bounding out of a\nlittle gulley we had passed without paying it any special notice.\n\nCorlaer raised his arm, and pointed.\n\n\"'Tis the first animal we've seen as high as this,\" I admitted.\n\n\"If we go in there we shall need more meat,\" said Tawannears.\n\nAnd he quickly strung his bow, notched an arrow and loosed.  The\nanimal dropped a scant fifty yards away, and I ran to pick it up.\nBut Corlaer was close on my heels, and he hoisted the carcass on his\nbroad shoulders.\n\n\"_Oof_,\" he squeaked.  \"Der is still light.  We don't wait to cut up\nder sheep.  We go on, eh?  _Ja_, we go on.\"\n\nI nodded, and Tawannears was equally willing.  We made no attempt to\npersuade the Dutchman to let us carry the dead sheep, for neither of\nus could have handled it and our equipment at the same time,\nespecially on the tricky footing of the snow-covered rocks, with\nsnowshoes to manage.  But it was no effort at all to Peter.  He\nstrode along after us as easily as though he had been carrying a\nrabbit.\n\nThe entrance of the gulley was perhaps twenty feet wide.  It threaded\nback into the hills, widening gradually, until it turned an elbow of\nrock and became a respectable defile.  The bed was strewn with\nbowlders of all sizes, and with the melting snow and a trickle of\nwater that in time would become a fair-sized stream it was anything\nbut a pleasant place for walking.  The one satisfaction we had was\nthat the side-walls were so steep as to assure us some protection\nfrom the eternal avalanches, our most dangerous foes.\n\nThe ascent was easy, and toward evening we rounded another elbow and\nfound ourselves in the throat of a lovely rock-bound valley, locked\naway in the heart of the hills.  Above it lifted peaks that pierced\nthe clouds, their lower flanks garbed in jade-green pine forests.\nIts floor was similarly tree-covered, but at intervals the forest\nyielded to open parks, where herds of mountain goat and sheep and\nantelope rooted for food beneath the snow.  In the center was a\nlittle lake, its frozen surface glinting like a scarlet eye under the\nsunset glow.\n\nNot a sound marred the magic stillness.  It was like a picture\npainted on a screen, a highland solitude, which, so far as we could\ndetermine, had never before been visited by men.  Certes, the wild\ncreatures were tamer than the stags and hinds I remember to have\nchased as a new-breeched younker in the deer-park of Foxcroft in\nDorset, where first I saw the light.  The blows of our axes felling\ntrees for a hut and the crackling of the campfire were bait to lure\nthem closer.\n\nThe valley was miles in length, and we reached the opposite exit too\nlate to pass through the next day; but the second morning we dived\ninto a replica of the defile by which we had passed the eastern\nbarrier range.  And that night we shivered around a scanty fire in a\nsmall area we cleared of snow amongst the rocks, fearful lest the\nconstricted crevice become an impasse like those that had baffled us\nfor months.  But fortune stood our friend, and we emerged at high\nnoon of the fourth day of our wanderings upon a land of rambling\nfoothills.  Behind us reared the snowy peaks of the Sky Mountains,\nseemingly more impassable than ever.\n\nWe had done what no man I have ever met could fairly claim to have\ndone.  I know there are those who pretend to have traversed the\nWestern Wilderness, and would prate of marvels done and seen; but\nshow me the man who can make good his boast.  There are Jesuit\nmissioners and _couriers du bois_ who have beheld the Sky Mountains\nafar, but I have the word of Charles Le Moyne, himself, that none\nhath come to him or his people with such a tale as we can tell.\n\nBut again I wander from my story.  Patience, prithee!\n\nThe inanimate ferocity of nature lacks the dramatic quality of men's\nindividual hates and struggles, but no achievement of my comrades and\nI can compare with the battles we fought against mountain, forest and\nstream.  Mark you, a living opponent, man or animal, you can touch,\nhurt, visibly overcome.  But what satisfaction can you wring from\nnature after beating her?  None, I say, unless it be the right to\nlive.  You do not even know for sure that the victory is yours until\nthe zest of combat is long forgotten.\n\nA day's journey from the Western base of the Sky Mountains we saw men\nagain for the first time in near five months.  They were a stunted,\nlong-haired people, dressed in stinking skins, who beset us with\narrows as we lay in a valley, but fled in panic at the first\ndischarge of our muskets, leaving one of their number with a wounded\nleg.  Him we caught, but no sign of intelligence showed on his brutal\nface as Tawannears put question after question in the Dakota tongue,\nexcept when he was asked where lay the seat of Wakanda, the Great\nSpirit.  Whether he caught the meaning of the word or was cunning\nenough to perceive that we were seeking a certain place, I cannot\nsay, but he lifted his arm and pointed to the Northwest, with a\nchatter of gibberish that meant nothing to us.  So we left him with\nhis wound bound up and enough meat for a day, and departed in the\ndirection he had indicated.\n\nI should pursue no useful purpose if I recounted in detail our\nensuing wanderings.  This country beyond the Sky Mountains was more\nsavage and desolate than the Great Plains which stretched westward\nfrom the Mississippi, and more varied in character.  We found many\nminor mountain ranges, some of them not lightly to be surmounted.  We\nnear died of thirst on deserts of parched grass.  We hungered amongst\na weird world of jumbled sun-baked rocks.  But always we advanced in\na direction north of west.\n\nUsually game was easy to find.  The Indians were more scattered than\non the plains, and for the most part they were a debased race,\nleading a hand-to-mouth existence, Occasionally we were attacked, but\nthey always ran at the reports of our guns, and those we captured\nrefused even to show intelligence at the word Wakanda, so that after\na while we became discouraged, and decided that our first prisoner\nhad pretended recognition of it simply as a device to be rid of us.\n\nBut we had no better course to follow, and continued toward the\nnorthwest until we came to a considerable river that flowed due\nnorth, with a line of hills showing dimly in the blue distance a long\nway to the west.*  We decided to make use of the river to save time\nand ease our weary bodies, and repeated our expedient for crossing\nthe Mississippi, constructing a raft of tree-trunks bound together\nwith withes; but this came to pieces in the first rough water it\ntraversed--rough enough in all conscience--and we went on afoot as\nfar as a village of fishing Indians, who possessed canoes hollowed\nwith fire and stone hatchets out of logs.  At my suggestion, we\ntraded an extra knife with these people for a small craft barely\nlarge enough to hold us all, evaded by bare luck an attempt they made\nto trap us in our sleep, and again took to the river.\n\n\n* Probably the Snake River, the border line between Idaho and\nOregon.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nAs we expected, this stream, after flowing north for several hundred\nmiles, turned the flank of the distant mountains we had seen and\nheaded west.  A week later it joined a larger stream flowing from the\nnorth, which, holding south for a day's paddling, likewise was\ndiverted to the westward.*  But what interested us most was the sight\nof another snowy barrier, incomparably higher than the Sky Mountains,\nwhich gleamed in early morning or late afternoon across the western\nhorizon north of the river.\n\n\n* Undoubtedly, the Columbia.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nAnother two days' paddling down-stream, and we came abreast of an\nIndian village which drew an exclamation of excitement from\nTawannears.  The houses were long, oblong structures of wood, with\nthe smokes of many fires rising above their roofs, buildings almost\nidentical with those long houses which furnished the Iroquois their\ndistinctive name; and a fleet of canoes put off from shore to\nintercept us.  With the odds so heavy against us it seemed foolish to\nfight unless we were compelled, and we put by our paddles and waited\nwith muskets ready to abide the issue.  But our fears were\nimmediately set at rest.  These Indians were the handsomest, most\nstraightforward race we had seen since leaving the Dakota.  They were\neager in their signs of peaceful intent, and as eagerly beckoned us\nashore.\n\n\"Shall we go?\" I asked doubtfully.\n\n\"Why not?\" returned Tawannears, shrugging his shoulders.  \"We have\ncome far with little success.  If these people are kind perhaps they\nwill set our feet on the true path.\"\n\n\"If they are kind,\" I repeated.\n\nPeter, in the stern, swept his paddle in a curve that steered us\ntoward the bank.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he grunted.  \"Andt berhaps we get something different to eat.\"\n\nWe had no cause to regret the decision.  These people, who called\nthemselves Tsutpeli,* were both kind and considerate, and much\nimpressed by the white skins that Corlaer and I still possessed,\ndespite thick coats of grease and sunburn.  They were likewise very\nintelligent.  After we had been escorted to the house of a chief, in\nwhich dwelt the families of all his sons, and had eaten of several\ndifferent foods, in particular a large fish which I suspect to have\nbeen a kind of salmon, besides berries and a stew of roots, leaves\nand twigs--much to Peter's enjoyment--our hosts began a humorous\nattempt to strike a common ground of intercourse with us.\n\n\n*Nez Perc\u00e9s--although it is difficult to understand how they got so\nfar West.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nThey would point to various objects, and give their names for them,\nthen question us for ours; and we, or rather, Tawannears, who was\nspokesman for us, would reply with the Seneca terms.  In this way, in\nthe course of the weeks we spent in this village, we came to acquire\na working vocabulary, and were able, with the help of signs and\nguess-work, to engage in simple conversations.\n\nThey told us that they had not always held the river to the point\nthey now occupied, but had recently conquered it from a tribe they\ncalled the Chinook, who were notably fine sailors and who still\ncontrolled the lower reaches where were the best fisheries.  With\nsome difficulty, Tawannears made them understand the general purpose\nof his quest, but all the principal men disowned any knowledge of a\nLand of Lost Souls.  Very different, however, was their reception of\nthe legend Nadoweiswe had recounted of the abiding-place of the Great\nSpirit.  Their faces lighted at once, and Apaiopa, the leading chief,\nsigned to us to follow him from the lodge.\n\nIt was sunset, and the mountain wall we had discerned to the north of\nthe river appeared as a string of isolated peaks, three or four of\nthem towering in lordly majesty above the indefinite blue outline of\nthe lesser ridges.  The farthest one we could see was the mightiest.\nIt bulked across the horizon with the effect of a monstrous\npersonality, dazzling white, its crest ripping the clouds apart.  At\nthat distance it had the look of sitting in the heavens, detached,\nnot earthbound.\n\n\"Tamanoas,\"* said Apaiopa, pointing.  \"The Great Spirit!  The Chinook\ntold us about Him when we came here.  Sometimes He is angry--Bang!\nLike this.\"  He touched my musket.  \"Sometimes He goes away into the\nsky.  He is the Great Spirit!\"\n\n\n* Obviously, Mt. Rainier.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nTawannears expelled his breath with a sigh of contentment, and I\nrushed into hurried speech to restrain the certain disappointment I\nfelt he was laying up for himself.\n\n\"Nonsense, 'tis only a mountain, bigger than others,\" I said.\n\"Think, brother!  You will--\"\n\n\"It may be a mountain,\" returned Tawannears quietly.  \"But is that a\nreason why it may not be the Great Spirit Himself?\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" affirmed Corlaer, \"if der Greadt Spbirit come to earth, I\nguess he come as a mountain, eh?  _Ja_, dot's it.\"\n\nI remembered the wolf brothers, and desisted in an attempt which I\nknew could not succeed.  And for the remainder of the evening\nTawannears was occupied in securing information on the route to the\nbase of Tamanoas.  In the morning, our hosts loaded us with food and\nsaw us on our way.  They made no endeavor to restrain us.  Indeed,\nthey seemed to think we could accomplish anything.  A Great Spirit,\nwhich was white, they reasoned, ought to be glad to see two white\nmen.  Tawannears, they considered, would be accepted on our\nguarantee.  We bade them farewell with sorrow.  They were the noblest\nIndians we found beyond the Sky Mountains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE ALTAR OF TAMANOAS\n\nWe made our last camp in a glade strewn with wild-flowers that was\nrimmed by one of the dingy glaciers, hanging like out-thrust arms\nalong the mountain's flanks.  High overhead, several miles in the\nstill sky, soared the blunted cone of the summit, silver-white at the\npeak, shading to a deeper tone where black hulks of rock cropped up\nthrough the snow-mantle, and steel-gray farther down where the\nice-rivers of the glaciers crawled beneath loads of rock-dust and\npebble-bowlders, wrenched from earth's fabric by their resistless\nflow.\n\nBelow the glaciers came the zone of wild-flowers, miles and miles of\nthem, casting their pollen into the air in the midst of icy\ndesolation, banding the heights with a cincture of fragrant beauty.\nThen, a mile nearer earth's level, stood the timber-line; first,\nstraggling dwarf growths, bent and gnarled and twisted by the winds;\nbehind these the massive bulwark of the primeval forest, stout cedars\nand cumbrous firs, the least of them fit for main-mast to a King's\nship, a green frame for the many-colored miracle of the flower-fields\nand the white splendor above.\n\n\"Do you think to climb higher, brother?\" I questioned Tawannears,\nstanding with arms folded, his eyes fixed upon the summit that seemed\nso near in that radiant atmosphere.\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"'Tis no more than a mountain,\" I continued gently.  \"Do you not see?\"\n\nHe turned somber eyes upon me.\n\n\"It looks like no other mountain Tawannears has ever seen, Otetiani.\"\n\nI waved my hand from South to North, where gleamed a dozen peaks\nscarce inferior to the giant upon whose thighs we couched.\n\n\"They are not the same,\" he flamed with sudden passion.  \"Have not\nall the people we met told us that this was the Great Spirit?\nTamanoas!\"  He repeated the name with a kind of ecstasy.  \"Did\nOtetiani ever see anything more like what the Great Spirit must be?\nIs He, then, a man like us--with feet and hands and a belly?  No, He\nis Power and Strength and Beauty and Stillness!\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" agreed Corlaer shrilly.  \"Andt if we go up high we see all\nder country aroundt.  Dot safes trouble.  _Ja!_\"\n\nI unsheathed my tomahawk.\n\n\"Very well,\" I said.  \"'Tis settled.  We try for the top.  Therefore,\nheed what I say.  A mountain is a jealous foe, strong, as you have\nsaid, eke treacherous.  In France there is a mountain like to this,\nwhich is called the White Mountain.  Men climb it for love of danger,\nbut they go in parties roped together, so that if one falls, his\nmates may save him.  We must cut up our buffalo-robes and braid the\nstrips for rope, and besides, we shall need sticks to help us on the\nice.  Also, we must make shift to climb by daylight.  In the darkness\nwe should slip to our deaths--if, indeed, we do not die, in any case,\nwhich I think is most likely.\"\n\nConcern showed in the Seneca's face.\n\n\"Tawannears is selfish,\" he said quickly.  \"He thinks only of\nhimself.  There is no need for Otetiani and Peter to go with me.  Let\nthem wait here whilst I go up and make prayer to Tamanoas.\"\n\nI laughed, and Corlaer's flat visage creased in a ridiculous simper,\nwhich was the Dutchman's idea of derisive mirth.\n\n\"These many thousand leagues we have traveled,\" I answered, \"without\none venturing alone.  Shall we begin now?  I say no.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" said Corlaer.  \"But we go in der morning, eh?  Tonight we\neat.\"\n\nIn the morning we cached our muskets and spare equipment in a hollow\ntree, and started up, with no more encumbrances than our\nfood-pouches, tomahawks, some fifty feet of resilient hide-rope and\nthe staves we had whittled from cedar saplings.  Our path was obvious\nenough.  We crossed the zone of the wild-flowers, skirted the glacier\nwhich terminated in their midst in a spouting, ice-cold stream of\nbrown water, and found firm footing for half a mile upon a tongue of\nrock.  Beyond this was a snow-field, solid and frozen almost to the\nconsistency of ice, in which we were obliged to cut our steps foot by\nfoot.  The glare was dazzling as the bright sunlight was reflected\nfrom the smooth, sloping surface, but we won to our objective,\nanother rock-mass, only to discover it too precipitous for climbing,\nand were forced to entrust ourselves to the glacier, which encircled\nit.\n\nHere was work to try our souls.  The dull, dirt-hued ice-river was\nriven by cracks and crevices, some a few inches wide, others\nimpassable, from whose dark-green depths came faint tinklings, and\nblasts of that utter cold that numbs life instantly.  But it was not\ncold on the glacier's top.  The warm sun made us sweat as we toiled\nupward, testing the ice in front of us with our sticks at every step,\nstudying ways to evade the widest crevices, aiding each other to leap\nthose where there was substantial footing on either side.\n\nBut the hour came when a great, spreading crack that struck\ndiagonally across it compelled us to abandon the glacier as a\nhighway.  We clambered laboriously over the side walls of bowlders it\nhad built in the ages of its descent, and assailed another\nsnow-field, aiming for a series of rock-ledges which lifted, one\nabove the other, toward the summit.  The air was like wine, heady,\nyet strangely thin, and we began to pant out of all proportion to our\nefforts.  Tawannears and Peter, both of them stronger than I, seemed\nto feel it more; and I was startled to see the big Dutchman sink to\nhis knees.\n\n\"I bleed,\" he gasped.  \"Who strikes us, eh!\"\n\nTawannears, too, dashed a flux of blood from his nose and collapsed\non the snow.\n\n\"Tamanoas is displeased,\" he muttered as I stooped beside him.\n\"Otetiani was right!  We die.\"\n\nHis bronze face was ghastly pale, and for a moment I feared he would\nfaint; but he rallied when I shook him by the arm.  I was worried\nmore for him than for Peter, in which respect I erred.\n\n\"'Tis not Tamanoas,\" I urged.  \"At least, brother, 'tis no more than\nordinary mountain sickness I have often heard men tell of.  Up here,\nabove the world, the air is lighter than we are wont to breathe.  We\nhave gone too fast.  Let us rest, and grow used to it.\"\n\nHe accepted the explanation with the illogical combination of\ncivilization and barbarism which was the key to his extraordinary\ncharacter.\n\n\"Peter,\" he grunted, pointing weakly.\n\nI looked around to find the Dutchman in a dead faint, the blood\ntrickling from mouth and nose, to all appearances dying.  But after I\nhad bathed his temples with snow for a short while he struggled to a\nsitting position.\n\n\"Who shoots us?\" he quavered.\n\nI explained the phenomenon to him as simply as I could--he was\nactually more ignorant of physics than the Seneca--and once he had\ncomprehended its significance he was for continuing the ascent\nimmediately; but upon my insistence agreed to allow his body an\nopportunity to readjust itself to the new strains upon it.  We\noccupied the enforced rest by examining the country disclosed to us\nat this height, a panorama of dense forests and snowy peaks, and\nwestward, in the distance, a winding body of water, too broad for a\nriver, too irregular for a lake.*  But nowhere a sign of habitation,\nof beings, human or otherwise, who might have enjoyed this land of\nnatural happiness and plenty.  Indeed, 'twas avoided by the\nsurrounding savages as the abode of that divinity they visualized in\nthe snowy majesty of the mountain, Tamanoas.\n\n\n* Apparently, Puget Sound.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nTawannears rose first, a look of grim determination in his eyes.\n\n\"The sun is high, brothers,\" he said.  \"If Corlaer's pain is gone----\"\n\n\"_Oof!_\" interrupted the Dutchman, with the distaste of any man of\nabnormal physique for admitting weakness.  \"We go to der top now.  If\nder air is thin I hafe fat, eh?  Dot's enough.  _Ja_.\"\n\nTo us, then, it seemed as though the summit was at most an hour's\nclimb away, but actually our stiffest effort was ahead of us.  All of\nthat weary afternoon we climbed, risking precipice and crevice,\npausing at frequent intervals for the rest that was essential, if we\nwere not to become light headed and dizzy.  Once we slipped and slid\na half-mile toward death, bringing up by driving our staves through\nthe ice and checking gradually the impetus of our descent.  That\nmeant an hour's work to do over again.  We gritted our teeth and did\nit.  Our moccasins were shredded on knife-edged rocks and ice-chunks.\nOur faces were blistered by the sun-glare.  Our hands were cut and\nsore from constant contact with the ice.  We had spells of nausea.\nBut we went up--and up.\n\nI was leading, head bowed, my eyes on the rocks and ice ahead in\nsearch of the safest foot-holds, when Tawannears touched my shoulder.\n\n\"See, brother,\" he exclaimed.  \"Tamanoas breathes.\"\n\nI looked up, startled.  The rim was several hundred yards away, and\nabove it floated what I took to be a cloud low in the sky.  But there\nwere no clouds, and I soon saw that the mist in the air above the rim\nwas constantly disintegrating, constantly being replenished.  It was\nlike the steam that exudes from the spout of a boiling kettle.\n\n\"We shall soon learn what it means,\" I said.  \"There is an opening\nhere.  Keep to the snow--the rocks are shifty.\"\n\nWe crossed a ramp of snow, sloping easily, and entered a huge gap in\nthe crest.  What a spectacle!  No, I speak not of the view spread out\naround the mountain's base.  We did not look at that.  Our eyes were\non the vast bowl, a mile in breadth, that was carved in the\nmountain's top.  Snow filled it deep in many places, poured over the\nrim through gaps such as that we stood in to form the sources of the\nglaciers that twisted downward into the flower-zone like gigantic\nserpents with silver tails and dingy-gray, scale-covered coils.  But\nhere and there over the snowy floor were scattered groups of\npeculiar, black rocks out of which jetted the steamy clouds that\nTawannears had noticed.\n\n\"Whose fires?\" squeaked Corlaer.\n\nThe Seneca looked eagerly in all directions, hungry for----  Who can\nsay what vague form his thoughts were molded in?\n\n\"The Great Spirit built them,\" I answered.  \"Ay, and tends them this\nmoment.\"\n\nTawannears bent doubting glance upon my face.\n\n\"'Tis so,\" I affirmed.  \"Do you remember in the missionary's school,\ntalk of mountains called volcanoes?\"\n\n\"But those were found only in hot countries--or so they taught us,\"\nanswered the Seneca.\n\n\"Then they taught you wrong.  I, myself, have seen such a mountain in\nItaly, which is in Europe.  And here we stand on a mountain that\nis--or has been--a volcano.\"\n\nCorlaer jumped perceptibly.\n\n\"Volcanoes hafe fires?\" he protested.\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed.  \"Did not our Indian friends tell us that sometimes\nTamanoas exploded--made a loud noise?  That is what they meant.  Deep\ndown, under all this ice and snow, in the bowels of the rocks, burns\nthe undying fire of the world.  And I suppose 'tis not far wrong to\nsay the Great Spirit tends that.  From it flows all life, and is not\nHe the Giver of Life?\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" said the Dutchman thoughtfully.  \"Andt now we go down pretty\n---- quick, eh?\"\n\nBut I pointed to the sun dropping in the West behind a welter of\nclouds, and then to the miles of icy rocks betwixt us and the\ntimber-line.\n\n\"What chance of coming down whole of limb in darkness?\" I asked.\n\nTawannears spoke up before he could answer me.\n\n\"Tamanoas is--Tamanoas,\" he proclaimed in his resonant voice.  \"As\nOtetiani has said, under us burns the fire of the Life-giver of the\nworld.  Brothers, Tawannears goes to make his prayer to the Great\nSpirit.  Surely, here in His own abode, He will listen!\"\n\nAnd he strode to the nearest rock-pile whence issued the steam of the\nearth-fires, and flung up his arms in the Indians' dignified gesture\nof prayer--for I think it incomparably more dignified for man to\napproach the Great Spirit, in whatever form, not as a suppliant upon\nbended knee, but as one who craves favor from an honorable master.\nAnd his voice rang sonorously again in the rhythmic oratory of the\nHodenosaunee, as he stated his case, pleaded his hungry heart, cited\nhis bitter need.\n\nWe could not hear his words.  They were not for us; and we welcomed\nthe little wind that blew into the crater, twining his stately figure\nin the mist of the fumeroles and carrying the echoing phrases over\nthe opposite snow-banks.  But we watched him enthralled, the while\nthe shadows blackened on the mountain's lower flanks and a pink glow\nflooded the peak around us, shooting a miniature rainbow through the\nsteam-clouds.  Tawannears tossed out his arms in one final appeal,\nproudly, as though he had a right to ask, then turned, with a light\nof exultation in his eyes, and walked back to us.\n\n\"I think Hawenneyu opened His ears to me,\" he said simply.  \"My heart\nthat was sad commenced to sing bravely.  It grows strong.  All fear\nhas left me.\"\n\nWith the approach of night the little wind became a gale that moaned\namongst the rocks.  The air, deprived of the sun's heat, was deadly\ncold.  We were in the grip of a Winter frost.  And true it is we\nshould have died there before morning had it not been for a\nsteam-chamber I found in one of the clumps of black rocks.  'Twas\nunpleasantly damp, but the warmth gave us opportunity for sleep.  We\nawoke in a different world.  The peak was wrapped in a thick, moist\nblanket of fog.  The air that had been briskly cold was now clammy.\nWater congealed on our foreheads.  Our hide garments were stiffened\nby it.  We shivered like people with marsh fever.  Our teeth rattled\nas we ate our breakfast--the last food we had, for in our ignorance\nwe had thought to complete the ascent and return in a single day.\nEven Tawannears, uplifted by his conviction that he had secured for\nhis quest the aid and endorsement of an unearthly power, was\ndepressed by this outlook.\n\nHaving finished our scanty meal, we fumbled our way to the gap in the\ncrater wall by which we had entered the previous evening, and\nhesitated there, peering into the fog.\n\n\"We have two choices,\" I said at length, shattering the uncomfortable\nsilence.  \"We can stay here without food in the dampness until the\nclouds are dispersed--or we perish.  Or we can commit ourselves to\nthe hazards of chance in this pit-mirk and essay to go down where\nyesterday we came up--with every chance, comrades, that a misstep\nwill hurl us all to destruction.\"\n\nAt that instant the fog was rent for as long as the eye can remain\nopen without blinking, and we caught a fair glimpse of the\nflower-fields and the lordly stands of timber those few short miles\naway.\n\n\"Let us go down, brothers,\" said Tawannears.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" squeaked Corlaer.  \"Here I hafe shifers in my back.\"\n\nI had been leader on the ascent, but when we came to rope ourselves\ntogether Tawannears insisted upon going first.\n\n\"Tawannears brought you into this peril, brothers,\" he declared.  \"It\nis for Tawannears to lead you out.\"\n\nSo 'twas he who headed us as we scrambled down the outer side of the\ncrater rim.  I came next, and Corlaer, puffing lustily, was third.\nAt the beginning our task was simple.  We had only to follow the\nfoot-holes we had chopped in the snow-ramp under the crest, and we\nmade this initial stage at a rapid rate.  Below the snow-ramp was a\nrock-ledge, and we negotiated this with equally swift success; but\nTawannears was confused by the swirling gray fog and missed the chain\nof foot-prints that started from the lower edge of the rocks across\nthe next snow-bank.\n\nWe blundered around for a time trying to find them, and finally, in\ndesperation, launched out upon the dim white expanse of the\nsnow-field, here so level that we did not need to chop foot-holds.\nWhen we started we had been able to see perhaps a dozen feet ahead.\nTawannears, in advance, was a ghostly figure in my eyes, no more than\na voice in the mist to Corlaer.  But in the middle of this level\nsnow-field the fog suddenly thickened to a soupy consistency, and we\nall three disappeared, one from another.  I could not see the hand I\nheld in front of my face.  The clouds were so dense as to seem\nstifling.\n\n\"What shall we do, brothers?\" called Tawannears in a voice that was\nmuffled and bodiless.\n\n\"_Oof!_\" grunted Corlaer behind me.  \"We choke to death here, eh?\"\n\n\"Bide, and give the mirk time to weaken,\" I advised.\n\nWe sat and waited until our garments were so saturated with moisture\nas to weigh heavy upon us, and our clicking teeth warned us of the\ndanger of inaction.  The Seneca rose abruptly.\n\n\"Tawannears did wrong to say we should descend, brothers,\" he said.\n\"But we will die of the cold and wet if we stay here.  To try to\nclimb back to the top is as dangerous as to climb down.  We have no\nchoice save to continue.  If Hawenneyu has his eyes upon us we shall\nlive.\"\n\nTen steps farther on I bumped into his crouching figure.\n\n\"Back!\" he cried fiercely.  \"Here is death!\"\n\nI looked down past his feet at a blue-green gulf that showed in an\neddy of the mist and was promptly swallowed up again.  We had\nwandered out upon a glacier, of which the snow-bank was the source,\nand this was one of those fathomless abysses that descended into the\nicy vestments of the mountain.\n\nFoot by foot, on hands and knees, we traced the course of the crevice\nto a snow-bridge that spanned it, an arch of icy masonry.  This\nTawannears beat upon with his staff to test its resistance.  It did\nnot quiver, and he ventured but upon it, whilst Corlaer and I dug our\nheels into the snow and leaned back to catch him up should it bear\nhim down.  Presently the fog swallowed him--and his voice hailed us\nannouncing he had crossed.  I followed him with celerity, and gave\nthe word to Corlaer.  The Dutchman's figure, distorted out of its\ntrue proportions by the shifting mists, swam into our view, stepping\ncautiously across the arch, when, without warning there was a crackle\nof splitting ice, and Peter bounded into the air and dug his heels\ninto the very margin of the precipice's brink as the snow-arch sank\nbeneath his weight.\n\nTawannears and I gasped in horror and braced ourselves for the shock\nof his fall; but he teetered back and forth for two breaths, there on\nthe verge of eternity, then balanced erect and stepped toward us.\n\n\"_Oof_,\" he remarked with shrill glumness.  \"Dot time Peter heardt\nder angels sing.  _Ja!_\"\n\nWe worked off the top of the glacier onto a second rock-ledge, none\ntoo sure of the direction we were taking, but thinking mainly of\nescaping the treacherous network of crevices.  But we could not have\navoided the tangle of glaciers on the mountain's sides with the sun\nshining to light our way, and in the fog it was a certainty we should\nstumble onto them so soon as we had reached the lower margin of the\nrock-island--for that was what it really was--we had gained.  We were\nencouraged, however, by an apparent tendency of the mist to\ndissipate, which enabled us to achieve almost satisfactory progress\nacross the yawning surface of this second stretch of\nglacier--probably a lower coil of the one which had nearly trapped us\nabove.  But just as we were congratulating ourselves upon our success\nand hoping that we should soon pass out of the cloud-bank, the wind\nveered and the thick, gray blanket walled us in again.\n\nWe kept on doggedly, now immune to fear--or rather, fearing more the\nsuffering of inertia.  Tawannears walked like a blind man, tapping\nthe ground in front of him with his staff, and shouting to us from\ntime to time the nature of the ground ahead.  The descent was\nregular, and for a quarter-mile or so the ice had given excellent\nfooting.  I suppose it made him over-confident.  The mist was\nthinning once more, too, and I could discern his figure, a shadow\ngliding in advance of me a dozen feet away.\n\n\"The ice is broken, brothers--beware a bowlder on the right--no----\"\n\nHe vanished!  There was a violent wrench upon the rope hitched around\nmy waist, and I was jerked from my feet, clawing with all my limbs\nfor a hold to stay me.  Small stones and ice chunks rattled down as I\nslid forward.  I felt one leg pass over a declivity, sensed that my\nright arm was beating space.  Then some new force was exerted behind\nme.  My descent was arrested.  I sprawled half over the precipice,\nbut I did not fall further, as I normally should have done.\n\n\"Who is there?\" gasped Corlaer out of the fog.\n\n\"'Tis I!  Ormerod!\" I answered.  \"Tawannears is over the brink.\"\n\n\"Is he dead?\"\n\nI mustered courage to peer into a blue-green caldron of writhing mist.\n\n\"Tawannears!\" I shouted in an oddly cracked voice.\n\n\"Yes, brother,\" he answered calmly, surprisingly near.  \"I am here.\"\n\n\"Are you hurt?\"\n\n\"No.  I am holding to the rope.  I have one foot on an ice-shelf.\"\n\n\"I hear,\" came Corlaer's voice behind me.  \"Now, you do what I say.\nI pull--like----!  First comes Ormerod.  He lets oudt der rope as he\ncomes.  When he is safe, we pull togedder for Tawannears.  Readty?\nOop!\"\n\nThe Dutchman's breath came in great, gagging pants.  It seemed as\nthough a dozen yoke of oxen were tugging at that rope.  An\nexclamation from Tawannears warned me that the haulage might pull him\nfrom his foot-hold on the ice-shelf, with a resulting increase in the\nstrain upon Corlaer, and I managed to wriggle sideways as Peter\ndragged me up, so as to release a spare coil of the hide-rope.  The\ninstant I had all four limbs on hard ice, I shouted to Peter to let\nbe, lifted myself shakily to my knees and crawled to where he sat,\nwith his feet propped on the bowlder Tawannears had warned us\nagainst, taking in the slack of the line, hand over hand.\n\n\"Now, we pull Tawannears oudt,\" he puffed.\n\nI seized the line beside him, but my efforts were not what counted.\nHis immense shoulders bent forward.  His back and arm-muscles bulged\nthrough his hide shirt.  His legs braced like steel pillars against\nthe bowlder, luckily frozen fast to its icy bed.  And slowly, very\nslowly, I was able to collect a few inches of slack.  The heavy rope\nchafed against the dull, rounded edge of the precipice, but it held\nis no hempen cable could have done.\n\nTawannears' arms appeared above the brink, clutching for something to\nhold to.  Presently, the Seneca's face rose to view--and Peter's\nbreath came in the same regular, explosive puffs.  Then Tawannears\ngot one hand on a level space, found leverage for the other.\n\n\"Corlaer has done enough,\" he panted.  \"Hold fast!  Tawannears can\nbring himself up the rest of the way.\"\n\nWe held the line taut, the Seneca gave a heave, swung one leg over\nthe edge--and crawled out of danger, carefully, inch by inch, lest\nthe broken ice betray him a second time.\n\nCorlaer straightened to his feet, and released the breath from his\nlungs in one mighty blast.\n\n\"_Oof!_\" he grunted.  \"Dot was no choke.\"\n\n\"No joke!\" I protested.  \"You saved our lives!\"\n\n\"Corlaer has added more to the debt which Tawannears can never\nrepay,\" said the Seneca.  \"He is stronger than the buffalo bull.  He\nis like the Great Tree which upholds the sky.  Tawannears will not\nforget.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" mumbled the Dutchman.  \"Andt now we go down, eh?  It is not\ngoodt here.  I hafe shifers in my back.\"\n\nWe brushed the moisture from our eyelashes and started forth anew\nwith redoubled caution.  The mist was not so thick, but the\nwind-currents were brisker, and the clouds eddied in a way that was\nmost perplexing.  We succeeded in getting off the glacier onto a\nrock-edge, and this fetched us to a snow-field, so steep that we must\nresort again to our hatchets to cut steps for our descent--and here,\nI think, the blinding mist was an advantage, for it prevented us from\nbeing confused by the giddy depths below.\n\nI had just taken the lead from Tawannears to rest him from the taxing\nlabor of chopping out the foot-holds, when the whole surface of the\nfield commenced to slip.  Corlaer lost his footing first, and was\nflung head over heels across the snow, dragging Tawannears and me\nafter him.  The mass of snow gathered headway as it sped on, but a\nshort distance below the starting-point it was arrested by a terrace\nin the mountain-side, and only a miniature torrent of ice-chunks\nattended us on our continued descent.  For we, probably because of\nour individual weight, were bounced off the terrace, and rolled down\na farther slope, sometimes flung into each other's arms, occasionally\nseparated by the length of our connecting lines, anon ramming one\nanother in head or stomach.\n\nHow far we slid I cannot say, but it must have been several thousand\nfeet.  Of a sudden, the clouds around us seemed to thin away, and we\nrolled out of darkness into the comparative brilliance of an overcast\nday.  I had a fleeting perception of the lowering wrack overhead,\nglanced down as I turned an involuntary somersault and perceived the\nwild-flower zone almost at hand, and the next moment we were cascaded\nover a bluff and dropped into a snow-drift within a quarter mile of\nthe glade from which we had started the ascent.\n\nBruised and sore, our clothing slashed to ribbons, we were yet sound\nin limb, and we picked ourselves up from the snow with feeble grins\nof amusement at the figures of dilapidation we presented.  Then,\nlimping through the flowers to our hut, we made a fire, broiled a\nhaunch of green venison and crawled into a bed of sweet-smelling\ncedar boughs for a sleep that lasted until after sun-up the next\nmorning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWE TURN BACK\n\nThe sun was burning away the fog that had overlain the country since\nwe left the base of the Ice Mountain, and the West breeze carried to\nour ears the odd muffled booming noise that we had heard once before\nthat day.  As the fog lifted, the noise increased.  It was like the\npounding of great waters over a cataract, but there was no brume in\nthe air such as marked that of Jagara, and we were wholly at a loss\nuntil at sunset we fought our way through the briary walls of the\nforest upon the surface of an open bluff.\n\nThe booming noise was the beating of surf upon a rocky shore.\nWestward and north and south the waters rolled, blue-green off-shore,\ninland a smother of foam.  The combers came lunging in, one after the\nother, in an endless succession of charges, smashing themselves into\nfine spray and spume against the cliffs.  The bluff on which we stood\nwas spattered by them; the breeze carried a fine mist to drench the\nnear-by forest foliage.\n\n\"Here is a sea as vast as the Cadaraqui Lake, brothers,\" commented\nTawannears, as our eyes drank in the picture.\n\nI laughed, for a drop of the spray had reached my mouth.\n\n\"Cadaraqui, and all this wonderful land we have traversed, could be\ndropped into the bosom of this sea, and still fail to span it,\" I\nanswered.  \"'Tis the South Sea, the Pacific Ocean, which, the\ngeographers tell us, stretches from this western verge of our\ncontinent to the shores of the farther Indies.\"\n\n\"How can Otetiani know that?\" exclaimed Tawannears.\n\n\"Taste it.  'Tis salt, the water of the open sea.\"\n\nBoth he and Peter stooped and scooped handfuls of it from pools in\nthe rocks--and quickly spat it out again.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" agreed Corlaer.  \"Sea water.  We hafe gone to der endt of der\nlandt.\"\n\nTawannears nodded dispiritedly.\n\n\"We have traveled as far as men may go,\" he admitted.  \"And we have\nfailed.  Hawenneyu has veiled his face from us, after all.\"\n\n\"We have not seen all the land,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" spoke up the Dutchman.  \"We go sout' along der shore, eh?\"\n\nBut Tawannears made no reply.  He dragged behind us, dejected and\ndismayed, as we skirted the irregular shoreline, looking for a\nconvenient camp site.  When we found what we sought he aided in the\nroutine duties of the evening, ate his share of the meager meal which\nwas all we could afford, and then took his stand upon a lonely rock\nthat jutted out into the angry waters.  An hour later he strode back\ninto the circle of firelight.\n\n\"Tawannears forgot that he was a grown warrior,\" he announced with\nproud humility.  \"His heart turned to water.  He was very sad.  He\nwas afraid.  But now he has driven the fear out of his heart.\nWhatever is worth while the Great Spirit makes difficult to find.  We\nhave come a long trail, my brothers, but it may be we have even\nfarther yet to go.  Tawannears will not cry again if the thorns cut\nhis feet.  Shall we continue?\"\n\n\"Until you are satisfied, brother,\" I said.\n\nPeter simply wagged his big head affirmatively.\n\n\"It is good,\" said the Seneca.  \"In the morning we will start south.\nTawannears will take the first watch.  A spirit bird is singing in\nhis ear tales of the past.\"\n\nThat was all.  When my eyes closed he was sitting outside the range\nof the firelight, his back against a tree-trunk, his musket across\nhis knees, his eyes fixed on the shadows.  His disappointment must\nhave been almost unfathomable.  To have come so far, beyond the\nwildest imaginings of his race, to have risked the legendary as well\nas the absolute, to have withstood so many risks--and then to find\nthat it was practically all to do over a second time!  'Twas no\nordinary shock.  And he, who had so lately achieved audience--as he\nsupposed--with the very spirit of Tamanoas, who had inhaled the\nbreath of the Life-giver, was all the more disheartened.  Yet he\nrallied to the shock; he refused to yield to the disappointment.\nFrom his reserves of courage he mustered the strength to embark\nafresh upon the quest he had been confident was approaching a\nconclusion.\n\nTwo days' journey southward we were halted by the estuary of a mighty\nriver, and we turned inland, following its northern bank in search of\nmeans to cross.  We passed several deserted villages, and on the\nthird day were attacked from ambush by a tribe of tall, lean savages,\nwith heads that sloped back from the eyebrows to a peak.  They fled\nfrom our musketry, and we pursued them into their village of long,\nwell-built log houses, and helped ourselves to a dug-out canoe in\nrepayment for the ammunition we had expended upon them.  They stood\nat a distance the while, silent and plainly fearful lest we should\nburn the village, but 'twas never a point with us to do more harm or\nforay goods other than need required.\n\nAcross the river and equipped with good store of smoked fish and\ndried meat from the savages' huts, we skirted for several weeks a\nwondrously healthy wooded country betwixt the sea and mountains\nscarcely inferior in height to those snow giants we had beheld\nsurrounding the Ice Mountain.  We saw or encountered Indians many\ntimes, but they were poor creatures of less spirit than the fisher\nfolk by the river, and seldom offered us any hostility.  A shot was\nalways sufficient to scatter them.  Indeed, 'twas observed by all of\nus that since we passed the Sky Mountains we had seldom met savages\nas fiercely valorous as the warrior tribes of the vast central plains.\n\nFor these first weeks we wandered aimlessly.  We had gone as far\nWestward as we could, and we had not yet determined on another\ndefinite course.  But a series of damp winds and clinging sea-fogs\nsuch as this country seemed disposed to, set us to figuring upon\nplans for weathering the approaching Winter.  We were clad now in the\nrags of garments, insufficient to withstand the cold.  Tawannears and\nI were gaunt from hardship, hunger and abnormal physical effort, and\nif the huge cask of blubber that covered Corlaer's bones was not\ndiminished appreciably, fatigue had grooved deep lines and hollows in\nhis flabby face.\n\nGone from us was the _\u00e9lan_ that had enabled us to dash ourselves\nwithout thought upon the barrier of the Sky Mountains.  We wanted\nrest, food in plenty, time to manufacture new clothing.  For close on\na year and a half we had wandered thousands of miles from one side of\nthe continent to the other, conducting journeys such as no men had\never attempted before--as Master Cadwallader Golden, the Surveyor\nGeneral of our Province of New York, has assured me to be the fact,\nhe having studied to much advantage the available data on the\ngeography of America.\n\nSo there came a night when we huddled close to a scanty fire under a\nbrush shelter and debated our future.\n\n\"When the snow comes we shall want more than this,\" I said, fingering\nthe holes in my moccasins.  \"I would we had the buffalo robes we\nsacrificed on the Ice Mountain yonder.\"\n\n\"Otetiani speaks wisely,\" agreed Tawannears.  \"We do not know what\nthe Winter in this country will be, but it is not a warm land.  There\nis always snow on the mountain-tops.  In Winter, then, the cold must\nbe felt in the low lands.\"\n\nCorlaer, gnawing infinitesimal shreds of meat from a bone, shrilly\ngrowled approval.\n\n\"We must have shelter,\" I continued.  \"We must have food in plenty.\nWe must take a sufficiency of meat and peltry.\"\n\n\"What of the fisher-tribes?\" suggested Tawannears.  \"It may be they\nwould give us hospitality.\"\n\n\"Ay, and stab us separately some night whilst we slept,\" I retorted.\n\"I like not these people.  They have shifty eyes.  They will not\nstand up in a fight.  Moreover, we cannot speak to them, nor they to\nus.\"\n\nCorlaer cast aside his bone with a gesture of disgust.\n\n\"Go to der mountains,\" he squeaked.  \"In der valleys is cofer--andt\nwood--andt game for der killing--andt no odder mans.\"\n\nIt was true what he said.  We had proved it in our wanderings.  The\nvalleys at the foot of the high ranges were the favorite haunts of\nall the animals.  They were well-wooded and watered.  And the savages\nof these parts seemed to shun the mountains for the tidal rivers.  In\nthe right valley we might expect to find as perfect living conditions\nas nature afforded.  We adopted Peter's counsel, and in the morning\nstruck off southeast into the foothills.\n\nThe first valley we came to we rejected for lack of wood.  The second\nwas forested, but showed no sign of attracting over-much game.  The\nthird was too inaccessible.  But after a fortnight of zigzag\nwanderings we entered by accident a valley which promised all the\nattractions we desired.  It reminded us of the vale in the Sky\nMountains through which we had crossed to their Western side.  Like\nthat it offered a contrast of forest and savannah.  A small river\nwound down its center.  Snow-capped peaks rose all around it.  The\ntameness of its wild inhabitants proved they had never been hunted by\nman.\n\nWe made our camp in the neck of the miniature pass by which the\nvalley communicated with the outside world, happy in the confidence\nthat at last we were assured a resting-place where we might forget\nfor a season the feverish impulses that had hurled us so far from\nwhat we each called home.  And that night, as we shivered in the wind\nthat blew off the glaciers we had consolation in planning the snug\ncabin we would contrive in some elbow of the hillside, with a\nfireplace of mud and bowlders fetched from the river's bed.\n\nWe cast lots the next morning, using grass-blades, long and short, to\ndivide the first day's work.  And it so fell out that Tawannears must\ndo the hunting, which was necessary to insure us ample food and to\nstart the collection of hides we should need--and we were all three\nglad of this because he was our best bowman, and we could not afford\nto use our fast-dwindling stock of powder and lead to fill our\nbellies.  Peter and I were to explore the valley's length, especially\nwith a view to determining a site for the cabin.\n\nIt was a glorious day, the sun shining warmly and the wind crisp and\ninvigorating.  Footsore and tired as we were, we started upon our\nerrands at a swinging lope, and I shouted a cheery good-by to\nTawannears as he disappeared into the standing timber below the\nlittle pass, and Peter and I undertook to climb to a narrow shelf of\nlevel land that formed a platform midway of the valley's\ngently-sloping Southern wall.  From here we could secure a sweeping\nview of that side of our domain and likewise gain some idea of the\nopposite wall which we intended to examine on our way home.\nTawannears replied to me with the hunting-whoop, and Peter joined my\nanswering yelp.  Then we were alone, only the crackling branches\nunderfoot and the crashing of deer, antelope and wild sheep in the\nthickets to interrupt our silent progress.\n\nThe valley was a broad ellipse in shape, and the encircling hills\nwere terraced by such shelves as the one we trod.  We did not keep to\nit of course, but climbed down or up as the case might be, to examine\nfeatures of the landscape.  But for the most part we held to the\nhillside, for in the valley-bottom the forest trees obscured the\ncountry twenty feet away--except in the occasional savannahs or parks\nthat bordered the river's banks.  I think we had traveled all of two\nFrench leagues when we came to a place where the shelf on the\nhillside became a rocky ledge, strewn with pebbles, and a raw\nout-crop of rock overshadowed it.  Peter, in the lead, hesitated, his\nrifle at the trail, and sniffed the air.\n\n\"Make haste,\" I exclaimed impatiently.  \"It grows toward noon, and we\nhave to compass the valley before dark.\"\n\n\"I smell something,\" he returned.\n\n\"Smell something!\" I laughed.  \"Sure, man, I can smell a dozen forest\nodors.\"\n\n\"I smell beast,\" said Peter gravely.\n\nThis made me laugh the more, and I thrust myself in front of the\nDutchman and took up the blind trail at a dogtrot.\n\n\"_Waidt!_\" he called after me, as I came to a shoulder of rock that\nprojected across the ledge.\n\nI waved my hand in answer, and trotted blithely on around the\nshoulder.  A snarl that sounded like the ripping of a thousand sheets\nof sail-cloth greeted me.  Straight in front, not twenty feet away,\nstood the biggest bear I had ever seen.  We had come from downwind,\nso it had not smelled us; but its little beady eyes blinked\nferociously at me as it hovered over the half-devoured body of a\nmountain sheep.\n\nIn my first burst of astonishment I lost my head.  Forgetful of the\nground, I jumped backward and lifted my musket, intending to shoot\nthe beast before it could move.  But my foot slipped on the pebbly\ncliff-side, my ankle twisted under me with a stab of pain, and my\nmusket hurtled out of reach down-hill, leaving me crippled and\nfearful lest the slightest movement should send me after it.\n\nThe flash of the steel barrel was enough for the bear.  It sensed\nthat I had meant it harm; it saw me prostrate, my fingers tugging\nfrantically at the tomahawk sheathed at my side.  And with a snarl\nthat became a bellow of rage it reared on hind-legs and waddled\ntoward me, a fearsome figure, taller than a tall man, thick brown fur\nbristling, saliva dripping from gaping jaws, great fore-paws poised\nlike a boxer's arms, long, steel-tipped claws quivering out of the\nimmense pads.\n\nI decided that my time had come--and then Peter trotted around the\nrock-shoulder, a worried look on his fat face.  For a bare instant\nthe Dutchman hung paralyzed, one foot off the ground.  The next\nmoment his heavy musket had leaped to his shoulder, and the flame\ndarted from the muzzle.  But the bear was no less quick.  It lurched\nforward and to one side, ignoring me with the changeable ferocity of\nits kind, and all intent upon this latest intruder.  By doing so it\ntook Peter's shot in the shoulder instead of in the brain, and this\nserved only to infuriate it the more.  The creature's snarls were\ndemoniacal as it reared to its hind-feet again, and advanced at a\nwaddling run, heedless of the blood that streamed from the\nbullet-hole in its furry hide.\n\n\"My gun, Peter!\" I cried.  \"Down-hill!  Never mind me.\"\n\nPeter's answer was to draw knife and tomahawk, jump over my body that\nwas sprawled out before him and meet the bear half-way with a\nwhirling wheel of steel.  That was a battle for you!  Peter, big as\nhe was, looked small beside the bear.  The great beast's mask\noverhung the Dutchman's head, and for a moment I thought it would\nsnap off Peter's neck.  The cavernous mouth was distended; the little\neyes gleamed red; the jaws came together with a click.  But Peter was\nnot there.  With the amazing agility that was always so out-of-place\nin connection with his awkward figure he had stooped, evaded the\nbeast's embracing paws and ripped it down the ribs with knife and\ntomahawk.\n\nThe bear howled in mingled pain and anger, slumped to its four feet\nand circled its enemy--and now Peter was at a disadvantage, for he\nwould not leave me uncovered, and this circumscribed the area he\ncould maneuver over.  The bear seemed to comprehend this.  It made a\nquick dash at me, and when Peter stepped lightly betwixt us reared up\non hind-legs for the third time, and rushed at Peter, forepaws cast\nwide to hug him in.  And Peter met the rush without budging.\n\nI expected to see the Dutchman toppled over, but he held his ground.\nThe bear caught him, its furry paws, so absurdly like a man's arms,\nenfolded him, their claws ripping convulsively at his shirt and\nbreeches.  But Peter was busy too.  Hugged close to the big beast's\nbody, he was butchering for all he was worth with both his tools.\nHis knife worked in and out--in and out.  His hatchet in his left\nhand pecked remorselessly at groin and hams.\n\nThe bear's insane growls, low, tense, rasping drones of utter rage,\nbecame instinct with pain.  The creature yelped.  Its grip slackened,\nand Peter tore himself away.  But I lay aghast at sight of the\nDutchman's reeking figure.  He had dodged the snapping jaws\nsuccessfully, but no celerity of movement had availed against those\ntwo fore-paws working with spasmodic energy.  His back, flanks and\nthighs were one mess of blood.  His tattered clothing was in ribbons.\nBut he crouched unperturbed, his gaze fixed on the bear.\n\n\"Give over, Peter!\" I cried again.  \"Run whilst you can.  I will roll\ndown the hill.\"\n\n\"Stay!\" he croaked at me, without shifting his eyes from his\nantagonist.  \"I finish him dis time.\"\n\nThe bear felt the same way, and prowled forward on all-fours, its\nroars echoing between the hillsides.  Peter, anticipating its rush,\nsprang in so swiftly that his tomahawk clattered on the lowered skull\nand chopped out one of the little, red eyes.  Then the bear went mad.\nSo far it had fought with the cautious circumspection of a great,\nstupid man-beast, aware that it was at a disadvantage as regards\nwits.  Now it simply threw itself upon Peter.  They met in a\ndesperate clinch, as the bear heaved itself erect, and it hacked at\nhim with all four sets of claws, rolling over and over on the ground,\nuntil Peter slipped free and staggered off, wiping the blood from his\neyes.\n\nHe had no time to rest, however.  The beast was on him once more,\nbellowing wildly, its hide gashed and torn.  They came chest to chest\nin full career, Peter chopping and stabbing, the bear champing its\nteeth and slashing with its claws; and I found myself crawling toward\nthem, dragging my injured ankle, fighting over a yard of pebbly slope\nto gain a foot of distance.  But before I could reach them the end\ncame.\n\nThe bear seemed to throw its weight forward with desperate energy and\nPeter reeled back, exposing his throat so that the bear bent its head\nand snapped for the throat.  But Peter twisted violently and the\nsavage teeth met on his collar-bone.  In its preoccupation with this\nnew hold the beast must have relaxed its grip upon him, for in that\nvery moment he slipped his knife home through a gash in its ribs and\nreached its heart.\n\nIt tottered there, its eyes glazing slowly, whilst Peter frantically\nwhittled at its vitals and the blood pumped from the hole in its side\nand its claws dug at him with dying energy.  Then it slumped over on\nits back, dragging Peter with it.  When I reached the two bodies they\nlay in one heap, the bear's teeth still gripped in the flesh of the\nDutchman's shoulder, his knife embedded in the beast's flank.  I\npried loose the bear's teeth with my knife-blade before the final\nrigor set in, and pulled Peter away as gently as I could.  I was sure\nhis life was oozing with every gush of the red tide.  But he opened\nhis eyes and grinned up at me.\n\n\"I make me a fine robe of dot pelt--_Ja_,\" he squeaked faintly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE SQUAT BOWMEN\n\nI did what I might to staunch Peter's terrible wounds, but that was\nvery little.  We had no medicines and no cloths, save a handful or\ntwo of tow-wadding for the cleaning of our pieces.  I used this stuff\nto pack the worst gashes, and bound the lips of other wounds with\nstrips of hide cut from my shirt that I wound about his body.  Then I\nscrambled over to his musket and loaded and fired it twice, in case\nTawannears had not heard the first report.  This much accomplished, I\naccumulated a stack of twigs and damp leaves and set them alight with\nmy flint and steel.  I knew the plume of smoke would attract the\nSeneca's eye, if his attention had been drawn by the musket-shots,\nand moreover, 'twould serve to guide him to us all the quicker.\n\nAfterwards I made Peter comfortable as best I could, stacking a\npillow of leaves beneath his head and searching his inert form for\nconcealed wounds that I had missed in my first hasty examination.  He\nwas scratched from instep to scalp, scarce an inch of skin left\nwhole.  Yet he breathed, as I convinced myself by holding my\nknife-blade to his lips, and his pulse still fluttered feebly.  His\nheart I could not hear.  His eyes were closed.  He had not uttered a\nsound after that last expiring flicker of vitality when he promised\nhimself \"a fine robe of dot pelt\"; and I was certain he was dying.\nMy one idea was to ease him out with as little suffering as possible.\n\nBut Tawannears refused to accept my theory when he climbed the\nhillside an hour later.\n\n\"Corlaer will not die today,\" he declared looking up from the\nDutchman's scarred body.  \"Otetiani stopped the bleeding in time.\"\n\n\"'Tis impossible,\" I protested.  \"You have not seen how dreadfully he\nis hurt.  And the bleeding is not stopped.\"\n\nTawannears removed the pack I had inserted in one of the ghastliest\nof the wounds in Peter's belly.\n\n\"See!\" he said, holding back the flaps of flesh.  \"It is a clean\nwound--or it will be when I have drawn the poison from it.  No\nordinary man could have lived through this, but Corlaer is not\nordinary.  His fat has saved him.  None of these hurts goes deep\nenough to kill.\"\n\nI joined the Seneca and probed the gashes with a knife-blade seared\nin the flame.  Tawannears was correct.  In no case had the bear's\nclaws sliced through the overlying blubber into the vital parts.\nSuch wounds would have meant the slashing of our intestines for\nTawannears or me, but they had done no more than drain Peter of some\nof the blood that always poured in a torrent through his giant frame.\nHis shoulder was badly torn where the beast had nipped him with its\nteeth, and we could not be certain whether the bone was broken; but\naside from loss of blood and the chance of poisoning, here again\n'twas a mere flesh wound, more ill to look upon than to cure, as\nTawannears asserted.\n\n\"There is the chance that Peter will die,\" he admitted.  \"Not today,\nbut tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.  If we are to save him\nwe must have him under cover.  We must secure herbs to dress his\nwounds.  We must have warmth to fan his life-spark alight.\n\n\"Otetiani must first skin the bear here.  We shall have need of the\nhide and the meat, and the fat will make grease for a healing salve.\nIn the meantime, Tawannears will seek shelter.  We must hurry,\nbrother.  Before night we must have him settled quietly.  He should\nbe moved before his mind escapes from the cloud that is over it.\"\n\nWhen Tawannears returned he brought two young saplings, which he had\nlaced together with vines to form a litter, and we rolled Peter--my\nswollen ankle would not permit me to exert my full strength--upon it.\nHe had also cut a stick for me so that I could hobble beside him and\nbe of some aid in handling the litter.\n\n\"We owe much to the bear,\" remarked Tawannears grimly.  \"He had a\ncomfortable den at the foot of this slope.  We will lower Peter to\nit, and then you shall clean it whilst Tawannears hunts herbs to\nmingle with the bear's grease.  If Hawenneyu's face is smiling,\nCorlaer will be a whole man before the Winter's snow is gone.\"\n\nIt was a back-breaking task to work down-hill with that inert weight,\nand most of the effort fell upon Tawannears.  But we made it, and\ndragged the litter slowly into the mouth of a shallow cave under the\nshadow of a jutting pinnacle of rock.  The bear had left visible\ntraces of his occupation in the shape of a litter of bones and filth,\nand I made shift to sweep out the rock chamber with a broom of\npine-boughs, and later burned over the floor and walls with torches\nof light-wood.  A fire in a convenient corner by the entrance drove\nout the dampness and the lingering beast odor, and long before\nTawannears was back I had carried water from a near-by brook that fed\nour little river.\n\nAll this time Peter had not moved a muscle.  He lay like a lump of\ntallow, white and wan, exactly as if he were a corpse.  The shaking\nhe had received in being moved down from the ledge to this level had\nreopened several of his wounds, but I contrived to staunch the blood\nwith bunches of leaves that Tawannears indicated to me as possessing\nstyptical properties, and even washed the gore from his head and arms\nand torso.  I met Tawannears as I was limping up from the brook with\na second potful of water, and he took it from my hand and directed me\nto cut pine-boughs for bedding for the three of us.\n\nNeither of us slept much that night, however, he because there was\ntoo much to be done, I in part because of the need to help him, and\nlikewise because of the throbbing of my ankle.  From the slabs of fat\nthat I had hacked from the bear's belly Tawannears brewed a heavy\ngrease, and when this had boiled to a paste he mixed with it\nquantities of leaves and roots, and bits of bark shredded fine,\nstirring the mess so that it might not catch fire.  It had a fine,\nsavory smell.  When it was of such a consistency that the stick he\nused in stirring would stand upright he withdrew it from the fire,\nand between us we laid bare Peter's mangled body.\n\nTawannears' first thought was to wash those parts which I had not\nattended to, and after that he overspread the wounds with his salve,\none by one.  Next we boiled out the meager handfuls of tow I had used\nto pack the wounds and re\u00ebmployed them for dressings, cutting up\nportions of our own garments for bandages.  We cast aside the\nremnants of Peter's shirt and breeches and reclad him in Tawannears'\nand mine, I offering the upper and Tawannears the nether garment,\nslitting them to make room for his cumbrous form.  And lest he take\ncold in the night we covered him with aromatic pine-boughs and built\nup the fire to a roaring blaze.\n\nThen, Peter being attended to, Tawannears turned his attention to my\nankle, prepared a plaster of leaves immersed in boiling water and\nwrapped the whole in mud, bidding me sleep; and when I demanded to\nstand my watch, promised to awake me in due time.  But the bare truth\nis that I collapsed from sheer weariness and suffering in that hour\nwhich precedes the dawn when life is at its lowest ebb, and I did not\nawaken until Tawannears touched my shoulder as the noon sun beat into\nthe cavern entrance.  He put aside my protests with a smile, and\nhanded me a barken bowl of bear's broth.\n\n\"Drink,\" came Peter's voice weakly.  \"Dot bear makes goodt soup.\n_Ja!_\"\n\nThere across the cave the big Dutchman lay with his eyes open again\nand a grin on his marred face.\n\n\"Is he--alive?\" I asked in amazement.\n\nTawannears nodded, still smiling, and Peter's grin broadened.\n\n\"Dis time Peter hafe der choke on you, eh?\"  He shook a feeble fist\nat me.\n\n\"You t'ink I die, eh?  Nein, we need bear's grease for der Winter,\ndot's all.\"\n\nBut it was many a long week before Peter was able to be up and out\nwith us at our daily chores in the valley.  Most of his wounds healed\nrapidly, thanks to the magic salve that Tawannears had concocted, and\nthe healing balsam pitch of the fir-trees; but his mangled shoulder\nwas stubborn, and we made him give it time.  After the first month\nthere were plenty of small undertakings for him about the cave, and\nin his own placid fashion he was able to keep sufficiently amused;\nbut no other man I ever knew would have suffered the torments Corlaer\ndid in regaining his health, let alone the physical strain of his\nstruggle with the bear, and come through alive and untouched in\nsanity.\n\nWe never built the cabin we had planned, for we could not have moved\nPeter with safety a second time.  Instead, Tawannears and I sealed up\nthe entrance to the cave with bowlders and mud from the river,\nleaving a recess for fireplace and smoke-hole.  'Twas a tight,\nweather-proof habitation, the most comfortable we enjoyed upon our\ntravels.  But Tawannears and I were seldom within doors except for\nmeals and sleeping, for there was more work to be done than we could\nwell attend to, especially in the opening months of Winter.\n\nNaked as we had been before Peter's fight with the bear, we were less\ncovered there afterward; and we had pressing urgency for furs to\nshield us from the cold.  But for the hardihood we had acquired we\nmust have died from exposure during the first week, whilst we were\ntanning skins of deer and sheep and drying sinews for use as thread.\nIf I stick to the truth, I shall admit that we made no very careful\njob of that first tanning emprise.  Our wants were too pronounced.\nBut later Tawannears took the pride of his people in curing and\ndressing to the softness of woven goods the store of pelts we\ncaptured.\n\nFor lack of the required materials he could not use the Iroquois\nmethod, which I hold to be unmatchable; but, assisted by the devices\nof the Plains tribes, he turned out robes and garments that no white\nman could have matched.  In place of cornmeal for the dressing\nprocess he cooked a paste of brains and liver.  His final stage,\nafter soaking, scraping and dressing, was to rub the skin over the\nrounded top of a tree-stump.  Squaw's work, he called it, laughing;\nbut it made a pelt as pliable as a woolen shirt, and of course, 'twas\nvastly warmer.\n\nWe did not want for anything all Winter long.  We killed only what we\nrequired, and the animals that swarmed in the valley were not\nfrightened away.  We had firewood in abundance within twenty steps of\nour door.  We had a warm, dry house.  And we found delight in\nmanufacturing for ourselves all manner of little utensils that we had\ndispensed with on our wanderings, vessels crudely molded in\nclay--Peter would have toyed with these by the hour; barken bowls and\ncontainers; cups and knives and spoons carved from horn.\n\nWe furnished our abode with the loving care of housewives.  We\nlabored tirelessly over tricksy devices which were unnecessary,\nmerely to surprise one another.  But in the long run we wearied of\nit.  The call of the unknown country beyond the Eastern vent of the\nvalley cast its spell upon us.  The hunger for the untrodden trail\nwelled up again in our hearts.\n\nOne evening as we listened through the open doorway to the drip of\nthe melting snow on the lower hillsides I broke a prolonged silence,\na silence compounded of three men's unspoken thoughts.\n\n\"Peter,\" I said, \"how many miles did you do today!\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Aroundt der valley--how many miles I don't know.\"\n\n\"Does your shoulder pain you?\"\n\nHe flexed his arm and shoulder muscles for answer.\n\nI bent my eyes upon Tawannears.\n\n\"We have had a long rest, brother.  'Tis time we resumed our quest.\"\n\nHis face lighted with the glad zest it had owned when we first\nstarted from the Long House.\n\n\"Tawannears is ready,\" he said.\n\nCorlaer yawned sleepily.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he muttered.  \"We better go.  If we stay der moss grows on\nus.  We better go.\"\n\nWe slung on our equipment and tramped out of the valley in the\nmorning, bound we knew not whither.  But after beating\nindiscriminately through the mountains for a week we decided to\nstrike due east, at least, until we discovered a reason for altering\nour course.  And God knows there was no reason for heading otherwise\nin this devil's country we were soon swallowed up in.\n\nBeyond the range of snow mountains surrounding our happy valley we\ntraversed first a high plateau, well-watered; but a few days' journey\neastward conditions changed.\n\nAt intervals were low ranges of mountains or hills.  Betwixt the\nranges were barren plateaus or basins.  Sometimes they were covered\nwith coarse grass.  Along the infrequent streams were patches of\ndwarf timber.  But often we tramped over bare, blistered rock or dry\nsand deserts, where the wind, when it blew, scorched us like the\nbreath of an oven.\n\nMany times we should have died had it not been for the forethought of\nTawannears, who, during the Winter, had sewn up two sheepskins into\nwater-bags.  'Twas these saw us safe across the deserts.\n\nIn the beginning the heat was not bad, but as we continued, and\nSpring turned to Summer it became severe.  The dust of these high\ndeserts had some chemical reaction upon the skin, and our faces were\ncracked and creased with crusted blood.  Food was hard to come at,\nand when we killed an antelope or deer we must take pains to jerk\nevery shred of meat.\n\nTwice we thought of turning back, but we had a feeling that this\ncountry would have to be passed before we could gain more favorable\nlands, and we did not like to spoil our record of overcoming every\ndifficulty that offered.  So we kept on, and always, as we advanced,\nour privations became more extreme, so much so, that whatever had\nbeen our former reasons for continuing, we were now governed rather\nby dread of what we had seen than by fear of the unknown ahead.\n\nThree months after leaving our happy valley we had our first gleam of\nhope.  We were crossing a barren country of rocks when Tawannears'\nkeen eyes perceived the glitter of sunlight on water.  We pressed on\neagerly, thinking of drinking without stint, of being able to bathe\nour hot bodies; and as we drew nearer, our excitement grew, for the\nwater stretched away into the far distance, with no visible banks or\nboundaries.  We concluded it must be a lake of considerable size.\n\nBut when we rushed down to the shore and buried our faces in the\nnearest pool, its water choked and burned our throats.  'Twas bitter\nsalt.\n\n\"Der sea again!\" exclaimed Peter, puzzled.\n\n\"We have gone in a circle,\" said Tawannears, glumly.\n\n\"We have walked for three months with our backs to the westering\nsun,\" I cried.  \"We could not have circled.\"\n\n\"It is another sea,\" said Tawannears.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" agreed Corlaer, \"der Spanish Sea, eh?\"\n\nBut I was sure it could not be.  I had studied the southern section\nof the continent fairly drawn upon Master Golden's maps, and I was\nconvinced we could not possibly have reached the coast of the Mexican\nGulf of the Main.  We were thousands of miles North and West of it.\nThere was also the thought that we had seen no signs of Spanish\ninfluence, had not even seen savages for months.  And finally, the\nwater was salter than the spray of the Western Ocean.\n\nI suggested, then, that we follow the salt water southward, and this\nproved me right, for three days' journey disclosed it to be no more\nthan a great lake.  We struck off to the southeast where mountains\nloomed across the sky, and were overjoyed at last to find a\nsufficiency of water.  But we saw smoke-signals on the horizon, and\ndeemed it wisest to continue into the mountains in case the Indians\nwere watching us.  Our ammunition was very low, and we could not\nafford to fight unless we must.\n\nIt is strange by what trivial incidents men's lives are influenced.\nInstead of turning south along the shores of the Salt Lake we might\nequally as well have turned north.  And but for the smoke-signals I\nhave referred to we should certainly have plunged on eastward.  In\neither event the issue of this story would have been different.\nStrange, indeed!  But if we speak of strangeness in our own petty\naffairs, how much more strange that that Salt Lake should be isolated\na thousand miles from the salt sea which doubtless mothered it.\nAfter all, what is strange?\n\nIn these mountains we discovered the easiest progress was gained by\nfollowing the channels of the streams that flowed through them, and\nthey carried us south of east into a country more terrifying than the\nnightmare ranges of mountains and deserts we had recently traversed.\nIt was a country of monstrous plateaus intersected by abysmal\nravines, ay, sometimes many thousands of feet in depth, so buried in\nthe bowels of the earth that we, in pursuing the course of a river,\ncould scarce see the daylight overhead.  And the rocks were most\nastonishingly colored, almost as though it had been done by painters'\nbrushes, in lurid streaks, chromatic, dazzling.  And there was never\na tree or blade of true grass, only occasionally a few stunted\nbushes, rooted in a sediment of pulverized rock.\n\nDid I say the other was a nightmare country?  This was far worse!  So\nempty, so appallingly desolate!\n\nWe were picking our way amidst the bowlders in the bottom of one of\nthese ravines when an arrow shattered against a rock under\nTawannears' arm.  In the same breath Peter leveled his gun and fired,\nand a squat savage came twirling down through the air and landed\nalmost at our feet.  Such of him as was left showed him to have been\nnaked, with long, lank hair and primitive weapons; and whilst we\nviewed him his comrades assailed us with a continued patter of\narrows.  We hurried on, thinking to placate them by retreat.  But we\nwere mistaken.\n\nThey harried us all that day, and we remained awake most of the night\nin fear of a surprise-attack.  In the morning they were at our heels\nagain.  Day succeeded day, and they clung to us.  After their first\nexperience they never tried to rush us, but they were numerous and\npersistent and uncannily skillful in utilizing the cover of the\nrocks; and we were obliged to fire at them every so often, in order\nto hold them off.  And this meant a steady drain upon our ammunition,\nwhich compelled us to cut bullets in half and reduce the\npowder-charge.\n\nA week of this, and we lost our sense of direction, for we had\ndifficulty in estimating the sun's course.  We did not know where we\nwere or how we were heading.  Two or three times we had emerged\ntemporarily from the gloomy light of ravines into wide, rocky\nvalleys, scattered with square, table-like rock-masses, rising\nabruptly from the valley-floor.  But invariably the squat bow-men, no\nmatter how deadly our fire, would swarm over the valley behind us and\non both flanks and herd us into another ravine.\n\nTwo things we were thankful for.  We had enough water, and they never\nattacked at night.  So confident did we become on this last score\nthat we abandoned attempts to watch, and slept, all three of us, from\ndusk to daylight, for we were always dog-tired.\n\nBut now we reached a ravine which was waterless.  One of our\nwater-skins was punctured by an arrow and useless.  The other was\nrapidly diminishing in contents.  Our jerked meat was running out.\nThirst and hunger confronted us.  We were in desperate plight, and\nour relentless pursuers knew it.  They crept closer and closer.  We\nmust move as carefully as they if we were to escape an arrow in the\nchest.\n\nA charge, attended by a waste of powder and lead, drove them back\ntemporarily, but they had caught up with us again when we sighted an\nelbow turn in the ravine ahead of us.  They seemed to be oddly\nexcited.  We could hear their guttural calls from cliff to cliff,\ncould see them running between the bowlders and along the\ncliff-ledges.  They came after us with increasing confidence, and we\ndodged under their arrows and raced around the elbow of the cliff.\n\nTawannears was leading us, and he froze stiff at the first glimpse of\nthe valley below.  But it was not at the valley he was looking.  I\nsaw that at once.  His eyes were glued on the figure of the shepherd\nmaid, who stood lithely in front of her feathered flock, bow raised\nand arrow on string, challenging our approach.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nKACHINA\n\nShe was a lissom creature, with a ruddy skin and blue-black hair as\nfine-spun as silk--not coarse as is most Indians'--bound with a\nfillet of serpent's-skin.  Her dress was a robe of white cotton,\nedged with vivid crimson, that was looped over her right shoulder,\npassed under her left arm and belted about her waist with another\nband of serpent's-skin.  It stopped short of her bare knees.  On her\nfeet were sandals, cleverly made of some vegetable fiber.  And all\naround her strutted and cackled and gobbled hundreds of turkeys,\ntheir brazen plumage a splendid foil for her bronze beauty.\n\nHer arrow was aimed full at Tawannears' chest, and she called to him\nwith a kind of high disdain in a throaty dialect which none of us\nunderstood.  But in the middle of her question she caught sight of\nCorlaer and me, and her lustrous brown eyes widened in an excess of\nsurprise.\n\n\"Espanya!\" she exclaimed.\n\nNow, in my youth, amongst many other experiences of great and little\nvalue, I campaigned in Spain with the Duke of Berwick--a good lord\nand a man of honor, albeit a bastard--and I have some lingering knack\nwith the Spanish tongue.  So I called back to her.\n\n\"Not Spaniards, but Englishmen!\"\n\nHer arrow wavered from one to the other of us.\n\n\"Espanya,\" she repeated uncertainly.\n\nI took a step forward, but instantly the arrow steadied, and for the\nblink of an eye I thought she would loose.\n\n\"We are friends,\" I said.\n\n\"Stand,\" she ordered in broken Spanish, with a strange accent such as\nI had never heard.  \"What are English?  You are Spanish!  Go away!\"\n\nAt that there came a yelp from the squat bowmen on our trail, and a\nsquad of them rained arrows on us from the cliffs overhead.  She\nlooked up more startled than ever.\n\n\"We are friends,\" I insisted.  \"The bowmen pursued us here.\"\n\n\"Awataba,\" she murmured, almost to herself.\n\nAnd quick as a flash she snatched a turkey-bone whistle from the\nbreast of her robe and blew a keen treble note, that seemed to slip\nlike a knife-blade through that clear, dry air.  She half-turned as\nshe did so, and I seized the opportunity to examine the valley behind\nher.  'Twas a bowl in the riven plateau-country, perhaps a league\nwide and twice as long.  Through it flowed a respectable stream that\nissued from a ravine to the right of where we stood, and its floor\nwas carpeted with green fields, interspersed with the stunted trees\nthat were all this desert land afforded.\n\nThe whistle-blast called up dozens of men from the nearer bank of the\nriver, and looking closer, I saw that they had been working in\ncultivated fields.  Indeed, the whole surface of the valley appeared\nto be given over to cultivation.  Beyond the river, against the\nright-hand wall of the valley, loomed a rounded protuberance of rock\nthat hung from the towering cliffs like a woman's breast.  Its top\nwas surmounted by a mass of walls and towers, and as the shrilling\nwhistles carried back the warning of the turkey shepherdess a host of\ntiny figures popped out upon the roofs and battlements.\n\n\"What place is that?\" I asked curiously.\n\nThe turkey-girl replied mechanically--\n\n\"Homolobi.\"\n\nIt meant nothing to me at the time, but afterwards I was struck by\nits aptness--The Place of The Breast.*\n\n\n* This word, as well as most of the other bits of phraseology which\nOrmerod mentions, indicates a relation between this cliff-dwelling\ntribe and the present Hopi.  There is similar evidence in the\nreligious customs cited.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nI started to walk forward for a better view, and the turkey-girl\npromptly renotched her arrow.\n\n\"You must wait for Wiki,\" she announced.\n\n\"But we are friends,\" I declared.  \"If we stay here----\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" she interrupted with more interest than she had yet\nshown, gesturing with her arrow toward Tawannears, who had not moved\nsince first he saw her, his eyes devouring her face in a manner most\nextraordinary in one so self-contained and regardless of women as the\nSeneca.\n\n\"He is an Indian warrior, who has journeyed with us from the country\nby the Eastern Ocean, where we English dwell.  He is of the People of\nthe Long House.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"You talk nonsense.  What are English?  People of the Long House!  Do\nnot we of Homolobi dwell in long houses?  Wiki says that all our\npeople do so, except the Awataba, who have been cursed by Massi* to\ngo naked amongst the rocks.  And what is an ocean?\"\n\n\n* Ruler of the Dead.\n\n\nHow I should have answered these very difficult questions I don't\nknow, but fortunately--or unfortunately--at that moment the bowmen,\nthe Awataba, as the turkey-girl called them, were emboldened by our\nquiescence to attempt a final charge.  They preceded it with a\ntempest of arrows aimed to follow a high arc and fall on our side of\nthe bowlders that partially sheltered us.  One of these shafts killed\na turkey, and the herd-girl was immediately almost in tears.  Another\nstuck in the sleeve of Peter's shirt, and he squeaked indignantly.\n\n\"Come!  We gife der naked men a lesson, eh?  Afterward we take der\ngirl's friendts.\"\n\nWe had no choice.  Our tormenters were dodging in and out of the\nrocks at the mouth of the ravine, and if we ran from them we should\npresent excellent marks on the open ground of the valley floor.\n\nPeter tumbled over one of the nearest to us, and I knocked a poor\nwretch from his cliff-perch.  Tawannears, rousing from the bewildered\nstupor which had overcome him, was equally successful.  A bow-string\ntwanged at my elbow, and the turkey-girl pointed proudly to a savage\nwho was making off with her shaft in his arm.  But the Awataba\nrefused to lose courage as they had in every previous attack upon us;\nand in ten minutes of rapid firing we exhausted our ammunition.\n\nI looked behind me as I fired my last shot, and was relieved to see\nthat several hundred men were running up from the valley; for the\nnaked bowmen were now at close range, their hideous, bestial faces\nbobbing betwixt the rocks, dropping from ledge to ledge in efforts to\ncome at us in flank.  They reached Peter first, and he surprised them\nby reversing his piece and using the butt for a flail.  I imitated\nhim, but Tawannears preferred to trust to knife and tomahawk, after\nthe manner of his race.  And at intervals, when I cleared myself of\nan opponent, I saw the turkey-girl, still standing undaunted in front\nof her excited flock, loosing her arrows with cold precision.\n\nThen a flood of stinking bodies submerged me.  I went down, and\nstruggled to my feet again.  Gap-toothed mouths yapped at my throat.\nSquat fiends struck at me with stone-mauls and flint knives.  But I\nsmashed right and left with my musket-butt, and kept my footing until\nCorlaer came to my rescue, swinging his clubbed musket in one hand,\nhis knife in the other, ready for the few who passed its orbit.\n\n\"Tawannears!\" he grunted, his little pig-eyes gleaming joyously.\n\nSide by side we chopped our way through the smelly mob to where the\nSeneca stood with his back to a bowlder, the herd-girl crouched\nbeside him.  Her turkeys had taken flight at last, and she was\nwielding a rock-maul one of the savages had dropped, laughing with\nglee as she pecked at men who tried to attack Tawannears from the\nrear.\n\nShe even shook her weapon at us, as though to ask us why we intruded.\nBut the fight was over, for her own people were surging into the\ndefile, arrows slatting on the rocks, and the squat savages fled\nincontinently.\n\nThe turkey-girl tossed away the stone-maul she had used so valiantly.\n\n\"Whoever you are,\" she remarked, \"you are good fighters--better than\nKokyan,* I think.\"\n\n\n* The Spider.\n\n\n\"Who is Kokyan?\" I asked.\n\nBut she ignored me, as she had once before.\n\n\"What is his name!\" she demanded, pointing at Tawannears.\n\nI told her, and Tawannears, at sound of his name, suspended cleaning\nhis knife-blade and gave her a long look.\n\n\"Ask the maiden who she is, brother,\" he said.\n\nI did so, and she answered without hesitation--\n\n\"I am Kachina.* Is Tawannears a priest, too, or only a warrior?\"\n\n\n* The Sacred Dancer.\n\n\n\"He is a great chief, a war-captain,\" I answered.  \"He guards the\nWestern Door of the Long House in which his people dwell.\"\n\nShe pursed her lips contemptuously.\n\n\"Anybody can be a warrior,\" she commented.  \"The warriors must have\npriests to pray for them and secure them victory.\"\n\nI smiled at this na\u00efve view.\n\n\"In my red brother's country the warrior is honored above the\npriest,\" I said.\n\n\"They must be very ignorant people,\" she declared.  \"Like the\nAwataba.  Are you a priest?\"\n\n\"I am a trader.  I buy and sell.\"\n\nHer contempt for me was even more pronounced than for Tawannears.\n\n\"And the fat one?\"\n\n\"He is a warrior, too.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she said royally.  \"I thought you might be great ones,\npriests of some far people come to sit at Wiki's feet and hear Kokyan\ncast spells for Yoki*--or perhaps to see me dance.\"\n\n\n* The Rain.\n\n\n\"Are you a priestess?\" I inquired respectfully.\n\n\"I am Kachina,\" she said, and her words were a rebuke.\n\nI would have asked more, but an angry-eyed young man in a kilt of\nserpent's-skins thrust himself between us and addressed her volubly,\nwith denunciatory gestures at us.  She replied to him as coolly as\nshe had to me, and finally turned away and beckoned to an older man\nwho was leading back the men from the fields who had pursued the\nsquat bowmen.  The older man issued a brief order to his followers\nand walked over to our group.  Like the voluble young man, he wore a\nkilt of serpent's-skins, and both of them had their lank black hair\nbound with fillets of the same material.\n\nThe two were much alike, their skins a muddy reddish hue, their\nfigures spare and lean and rather under-sized.  In fact, they and all\nthe other people of Homolobi resembled in general appearance the\nsquat savages who had driven us into their hands, except that they\nwere less muscular and had much more intelligent faces.  They were\nmarkedly inferior in stature to the Plains tribes, and equally\nsuperior in mental development as regards their domestic life.\n\nKachina, the turkey-shepherdess, was entirely different from the\nHomolobi people.  Her bronze skin had a tawny note in it.  Her shape\nwas exquisitely molded; her hands and feet were small; and her\nfeatures were of a clear-cut, aquiline cast very dissimilar from the\nflat physiognomy of all the others we saw.  I may as well say here,\nthat from these circumstances and others which we discovered I became\nconvinced she had a considerable proportion of Spanish blood in her;\nbut we never were able to secure any definite account of her origin\nfrom Wiki, who alone knew the truth.\n\nThe older man, after a glance of appraisal at us, engaged in a\nprolonged conversation with the girl, interrupted frequently by his\nyounger associate; and gradually a circle of curious townsmen formed\naround us.  They were all dressed in cotton kilts of varying colors,\nand the vegetable-fiber sandals, and carried bows and arrows, spears,\nhatchets and knives.  Their manner toward us was non-committal rather\nthan hostile.  The conversation terminated abruptly when the younger\nman, with a savage glance at Tawannears, snapped a hot retort to\nsomething Kachina had said and strode out of the circle, followed by\nnearly half of its members.\n\nThe older man and the girl turned to us as though nothing had\nhappened.\n\n\"This is Wiki,\" said the girl.  \"He is the High Priest of Massi.\"\n\nI bowed.\n\n\"Tell him,\" I began, but Wiki himself interrupted me, speaking in\nSpanish more fragmentary than Kachina's, yet understandable.\n\n\"You are not Spanish?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Say after me: 'Go with God, most excellent se\u00f1or,'\" he prescribed.\n\nI obeyed, and took no special pains with my accent--albeit I doubt if\nI had need to be more slovenly than ordinary.  However, Wiki seemed\nsatisfied.\n\n\"You are French?\"\n\nI was surprised.  This man, then, knew something of the outside world.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"English?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe nodded thoughtfully.\n\n\"Why do you come here?\" he demanded\n\n\"We were pursued by the squat bowmen the maiden calls Awataba.\"\n\n\"Were you seeking Homolobi?\"\n\nHe eyed me sharply as he spoke.\n\n\"We had never heard of it.\"\n\n\"Then what are Englishmen doing here so many months' journey from\ntheir own land?  Why do you bring this red man with you?\"\n\n\"We have been traveling, partly to forget sorrows laid upon us by the\nGreat Spirit, partly to see new countries.\"\n\n\"Have you traveled far?\"\n\n\"To the coast of the Western ocean.\"\n\nHe nodded again.\n\n\"What the Spaniards call the Pacifico?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And this red man?\"\n\n\"He is a chief of the Hodenosaunee, a great nation of the Eastern\nIndians, who are allied with the English.  He is my brother.\"\n\nWiki nodded a third time.  He was obviously a man of unusual\nintellectual ability.  His face was thoughtful.  His forehead was\nhigh, and his deep-set eyes were inscrutable.  There was about him\nnothing of the trickster, the charlatan, the types of most Indian\npriests or medicine-men.  And plainly, he was well-informed.  He had\nan air of concealing more knowledge than he admitted.\n\n\"All we ask,\" I continued, \"is permission to rest in your valley\nbefore we continue our journey.\"\n\nAn enigmatic smile flickered across Wiki's face.  He waved an arm\ntoward the smoke-puffs that were beginning to spurt up from the rocks\nbordering the defile.\n\n\"The Awataba would not let you go as easy as that,\" he replied.  And\nafter a moment: \"If you went, you might lead Spaniards to Homolobi.\"\n\n\"We have nothing to do with the Spaniards,\" I denied.\n\n\"You speak their language,\" he observed.\n\n\"So do you.  I learned it when I was in the army of the French in\nSpain.\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"You seem to be all things,\" he remarked.  \"You are an Englishman,\nyet you have been a French soldier and in Spain.\"\n\nI laughed.\n\n\"Why, that is true,\" I admitted, \"but you need have no fear of our\nreturning here.  We have suffered too much.  Our one desire is to\nreturn safely to our own country--and there seems little chance of\nthat, for our powder and lead are gone.\"\n\nHe tipped my powder-horn to prove my words.\n\n\"Huh!\" he grunted.  \"We talk too much.  Come with me to Homolobi.\"\n\n\"And the Awataba?\" I questioned.  \"Will they make trouble for you if\nwe go?\"\n\n\"I think not,\" he answered calmly.  \"They are children.  They cannot\nharm us, and if they ravage our gardens they know that I will make a\ncurse against them, and they will die of hunger when the Winter\ncomes.\"\n\n\"But if we go with you will you guarantee us against treachery?\" I\nasked.\n\nHis eyes swept from me to Kachina, intent on our conversation, and on\nto Corlaer, phlegmatically surveying the prospect of the valley, and\nTawannears, whose gaze was still riveted on the girl's face.\n\n\"All things are as Massi wills,\" he returned.\n\n\"That may be,\" I rasped, with all the ferocity I could muster.  \"But\nif we are to die, we will die here in the open, taking with us as\nmany of you as we can slay.\"\n\nThe girl broke in impetuously.\n\n\"What talk is this of treachery and slaying?  Wiki said only 'all\nthings are as Massi wills.'  Is it likely Massi wills your deaths\nwhen you fought in defense of the sacred turkeys?\"\n\nWiki smiled his shadowy, enigmatical smile.\n\n\"Stay here and risk the Awataba, if you choose,\" he offered.\n\nI don't know what I should have answered, but Tawannears plucked my\nsleeve and diverted my attention.\n\n\"Ask the chief whence came the maiden, brother,\" he urged.\n\nI balked, inclined to doubt the wisdom of such personal questions.\n\n\"Ask!\" he insisted.  \"Tawannears has a reason.\"\n\nWiki, himself, was attracted by the Seneca's earnest mien, and\ninquired the subject of his remark.  I answered reluctantly, but Wiki\nevinced no displeasure.\n\n\"Say to your red brother,\" he answered courteously, \"that the maiden\nis Kachina, the Sacred Dancer, who herds the sacred turkeys of\nMassi's shrine.  She came to me once with a message from Massi, when\nI fasted in the desert seeking for knowledge of what was to come.\"\n\nI repeated this to Tawannears, and he sighed, by an effort wrenching\nhis eyes from the maiden's face.\n\n\"Tawannears thought----  But Hanegoategeh bewitches me!\"\n\n\"Have a care he does not bewitch us all to death,\" I muttered\nfiercely.  \"Must you, of all men, endanger our lives for idle\ncuriosity in a woman of a strange tribe?\"\n\n\"What is death, brother?\" returned the Seneca mournfully.  \"There\nwere times when we both prayed for it.  Shall we fear it now?\"\n\nPeter bent close to me, his lips against my ear.\n\n\"She has der look of Gahano,\" he murmured.  \"Say no more.  Idt is a\npassing fancy.  He will forget.\"\n\n'Twas true.  In no way identical, yet there was about this girl\nKachina a mystic semblance of that dead priestess of a renegade\nIroquois rite, for whom Tawannears had mourned so many years, whose\nmemory was the mainspring of our fantastic search, whose Lost Soul he\ninsisted was awaiting him in some dim land betwixt the worlds,\npresided over by Ataentsic and Jouskeha, demi-gods of his heathen\npantheon.\n\n\"Pardon, brother,\" I said gently.  \"I spoke unkindly.  My nerves are\non edge.  But what shall I say to these people?  They bid us come\nwith them or stay here and be finished by the naked savages who\nhounded us hither.  And if we go with them----\"\n\n\"Go with them!\" exclaimed Tawannears eagerly.  \"Ay, let us go!\"\n\n\"Peter?\"\n\nThe Dutchman yawned.\n\n\"_Ja_, we better go.  I hafe a hole in my belly.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nIN HOMOLOBI\n\nWiki made no comment when I announced our acceptance of his offer of\nhospitality--if that was what it was.  He merely turned on his heel\nand strode off, and I was forced to extend myself to catch up with\nhim.  Kachina elected to accompany Tawannears and Peter.  The\nremaining white-kilted men straggled back to resume the occupations\nthey had abandoned when the girl's whistle blew.  Nobody paid any\nmore attention to the Awataba, whose smokes were rising all along the\nnorthern cliffs.  A party of young girls were rounding up the\nscattered flock of sacred turkeys, and the river-bank was dotted with\nwomen washing clothes.  The agricultural work in the fields was going\non as if there had been no interruption.\n\nBoth banks of the river for a league or more were lined with open\ngardens, and immediately beneath the Breast on which Homolobi was\nbuilt were a series of fenced gardens and stone storehouses, easily\ndefensible.  The nearer we approached the village, the more\nremarkable it became.  Access to it was had by means of ladders and a\ntrail which one man could hold against an army.  Its houses, solidly\nconstructed of stone blocks laid in mortar, were three and four\nstories in height, joined together and surrounded by a wall that was\nstrengthened with round and square towers.  It crowded the top of the\nBreast and was protected from assault from above by a bulging\nprotuberance in the cliff overhead.\n\n\"Have your people lived here long?\" I asked Wiki.\n\n\"Since the beginning of time,\" he returned sententiously.\n\n\"Have you many other villages?\"\n\nHe eyed me askance a moment, then answered:\n\n\"The Spaniards and others before them have destroyed all save ours.\nSome of our brethren live under the tutelage of Christian priests in\nthe South, but they build their homes upon open rocks.  We are the\nlast of the Dwellers in the Cliffs.\"*\n\n\n* This amazing statement has been corroborated by scientists of the\nSmithsonian Institution, who agree it is probable some of the\ncliff-dwellings were inhabited in recent historic times.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\n\"That is why you hate the Spaniards,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, Englishman.  Wherever they have gone they have slain our\npeople.  But for what you said to Kachina and the fight you made to\nprotect her and the sacred turkeys we should have slain you\ninstantly.  Even the Awataba had the hardihood to pursue you, in\nspite of the death you dealt them, because they supposed you were\nSpaniards, and they knew that if Spaniards escaped from their\ncountry, they would come back, bringing others with them, and in the\nend slay or enslave all not of their color.\"\n\n\"The Spaniards have always been enemies of the English,\" I replied,\nanxious to propitiate him.  \"It was the English who first denied the\nright of the Spaniards to exploit your country for themselves.\"\n\nHave I said that Wiki had green eyes that sometimes sparkled and\nagain seemed to flame?  They stabbed at me like two daggers as he\nremarked--\n\n\"The English are white; we are red.\"\n\nI said no more on that score.  The man was as intelligent as I had\nfirst imagined, and cunning, too, possessed of information you would\nscarce expect to find in this isolated community in the heart of the\ngreat rock desert.\n\n\"We are friends,\" I protested, recurring to my original argument.\n\"We have come amongst you practically without arms.\"\n\n\"You should not have come otherwise,\" he retorted.\n\nWe crossed an irrigation-ditch at this point, and I commented upon\nits excellent workmanship.  He nodded his head without replying, but\nhis manner declared as if he had shouted it: \"Fool of a white man!\nDo you think your people are the only ones who can work in stone?\"\n\nI essayed once again to draw him out.\n\n\"How is it that you have no fear of the Awataba?\" I asked.\n\n\"They are children,\" he answered in his earlier phrase.\n\n\"But they are many times your number.\"\n\n\"They fear us.\"\n\nWe had entered the walled enclosures at the base of the Breast, and\nhe waved his hand to the bursting storehouses.\n\n\"When they starve they ask us for food, and if we have it to spare,\nwe give them some.  They know that if they fight us, we would never\nlift a hand to aid them, and they are too ignorant to help\nthemselves.\"\n\nI had no opportunity for further conversation, for we had come to the\nfirst of a series of ladders, each wide enough for two people to\nclimb it at once, propped in ledges of the cliff-side.  Wiki went up\nthem, hand over hand, with the agility of a sailor.  As I put my foot\nupon the lowest rung to follow him, I heard a giggle behind me, and\nKachina pushed in front, dragging Tawannears by the hand.  She had\ndiscovered a new game, it seemed, which consisted in her pointing to\na given object and pronouncing its name in her tongue, and then\nhaving Tawannears christen it in the Seneca dialect.  She was going\ninto all the details of the ladder and the trail with him--his face a\nstudy in rapture and sheepishness--when Wiki called down a sharp\ncommand to her.  She sobered instantly, and raced up the ladders\nafter the priest, who continued beside her.\n\nThe people of Homolobi watched our ascent with grins of amusement.\nThe feat looked simple enough from the ground, but 'twas as\ndifficult, in its way, as our climbing of the Ice Mountain of\nTamanoas.  The ladders were the easiest part of it.  After them came\nseveral sections of rock-trail over the swell of the Breast as far as\na projection which answered to the nipple, where another ladder led\nto the topmost section of the trail, which ran at an angle up to the\nentrance of the village walls, a door that Peter must turn sideways\nto enter.\n\nInside we were in total darkness, and I experienced a chilling fear\nof treachery.  But the worst that happened to us was to crack heads\nand shins on unseen stairs, angles and doorposts as we were drawn\nthrough a dingy warren of passages.  Wiki guided me, and strangers\nconducted Tawannears and Peter.  Kachina must have skipped ahead of\nus, for she was the first person we identified when we stepped\nsuddenly out of a gloomy vestibule into the bright, sun-smitten plaza\nor central space of the village.\n\nThis space was sufficiently large to accommodate all the population\nof the village, which must have numbered upwards of fifteen hundred\nsouls.  It was surrounded by the communal houses, in which these\npeople lived, houses which made the Long Houses of the Iroquois\nappear as primitive as the skin teepees of the Dakota.  They rose\nhigh above us, each story receding the depth of a room from the area\nof the one below it, so as to provide a succession of unroofed\nporches or verandas.  These roof-tops were crowded with people, and\nseveral hundred men lounged in the central plaza.\n\nDirectly opposite us and situated in a notch or recess in the\ncliff-side was a building of somewhat different proportions.  It had\nthe same peculiar recession of the upper stories, but instead of\nhaving four floors it had only three, the first story being twice as\nhigh as in the adjoining houses.  There was a great doorway midway of\nits windowless facade, with monstrous stone figures, creatures with\nthe bodies of men and the heads of fabulous beasts, entwined with\nsnakes, on either side.\n\nIn front of this doorway stood three people, of whom Kachina was the\nleast remarkable.  The one in the middle of the group was a very fat\nold woman, gray-haired, with dull, snaky eyes.  She was dressed like\nKachina in a white robe, bordered with crude red, and she held\nherself with a certain conscious dignity that was imposing, whatever\nyou might think about her character and personal cleanliness.\n\nOn her left was the voluble young man, who had evinced so strongly\nhis disapproval of us after the fight; and not content with his kilt\nof serpent's-skins he now had a rattlesnake coiled around his neck,\nits head poised next his left ear.  He took a step forward as we\nappeared in the plaza, and began declaiming in a harsh voice, the\nsnake at his ear hissing an accompaniment.  Occasionally he would\nsuspend his oration, and pretend to stop and listen to what the snake\nwas telling him.  The people heard him with awe; but I thought I\nsurprised a look of mild cynicism upon Wiki's face.  As for Kachina,\nshe made no attempt to conceal her feelings.\n\nAfter the voluble young man and the snake had talked until you could\nhave heard the rustling of a grass-blade she interrupted them as\nruthlessly as she had me.  And she was not content with merely saying\nwhat she thought.  She danced it, too.  That is literally what I\nmean.  She would say something, lift her eyes skyward, raise her arms\nin a beseeching gesture, and then dance a slow, stately measure, or\nperhaps a swift, heady one.  Betwixt dances she was making demands of\nsomething inside the temple or arguing with the fat old woman or with\nWiki.\n\nWhen she ceased the voluble young man tried to continue his oration,\nbut Wiki stepped to the front and cut him off.  Then there was a\nfour-sided debate, in which the fat old woman joined, and presently,\nshe raised her arms in a gesture of invocation, blinked her eyes\nshut, waited--whilst everyone, including ourselves, became tense--and\nejaculated a single sentence.  After which she reopened her eyes, and\nwaddled into the dark recesses of the temple, attended by the young\nman, no longer voluble, but very sullen, and hauling the snake from\nits embrace.\n\nWiki expressed no sentiment in his face or actions, but Kachina\nshowed delight as plainly as she had disapprobation of the young\nman's suggestions, and she danced away by herself in the direction of\na narrow door in one corner of the temple-block.\n\nWiki crooked his finger.\n\n\"Come,\" he said, and led us through another door to a stair which\nfetched us to the terrace on the roof of the fore part of the temple\nproper.  We crossed this roof, eyed suspiciously by several men who\nwore the serpent's-skin kilt, to a doorway opening into a room\nprobably twelve feet square.  It had no windows, and its walls and\nfloor were bare of furnishings.\n\n\"You may sleep here,\" Wiki announced briefly.  \"Food will be brought\nlater.\"\n\n\"Are we at liberty to go out if we please?\" I asked is he was leaving.\n\n\"Why not?\" he returned indifferently.  \"But you must be careful.\nYour faces are strange to our people.\"\n\nWe pondered this statement until our doubts were presently set at\nrest by a visit from a party of the temple priests--the wearers of\nthe serpent's skin kilts--headed by the voluble young man.  They\nstalked in whilst I was dressing an arrow-cut in Tawannears'\nshoulder, their faces bleakly scowling, gathered up our guns,\npowder-horns and shot-pouches and walked out again.  Peter started to\nrise, but sank to his haunches at a word from me.\n\n\"We better break dot feller's headt,\" he grumbled.\n\n\"That was what they wanted,\" I said.\n\n\"Otetiani is right,\" agreed Tawannears.  \"The guns are useless.  If\nwe had resisted they would have made it an excuse to kill us.\"\n\n\"_Ja_, dot's maype true,\" admitted Peter thoughtfully.  \"Andt what do\nwe do now, eh?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" I answered.  \"'Tis sound strategy to hold our hands.  This\nsituation is still shaping.  I know not what other powers there may\nbe, but of the four leaders we have seen, I think Wiki has to make up\nhis mind about us.  The serpent priest hates us for reasons of his\nown.  The old woman has given no sign.  The girl Kachina has s fancy\nfor Tawannears, but there is as much danger as advantage in that.\nYour feet are set upon a crooked path, brother.\"\n\nTawannears smiled, as I had not seen him smile in years, with a kind\nof glad expectancy.\n\n\"There is an echo calling in my heart, brother,\" he said.  \"I do not\nyet know what it is saying, but it calls louder and louder.\nPerhaps----\"\n\nKachina glided through the doorway.\n\n\"Do not heed what Kokyan does or says to you,\" she ordered me curtly.\n\"He is jealous, poor, crawling ant!  And he thinks he can spoil my\nplans.\"\n\n\"Who is Kokyan?\" I queried.\n\nShe stared at me, childishly puzzled that anyone should be no\ncontinually ignorant.\n\n\"He who has just left.\"\n\n\"Oh, the young man with the snake?\"\n\n\"Yes, stupid buffalo,\" she derided me.\n\n\"And why is he jealous!\"\n\nShe dimpled like any other girl, and dug her sandal-toe in the dust\nof the floor.\n\n\"Because of me, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I echoed.  \"But he is not jealous of me, for instance?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she answered frankly.  \"He is jealous of Tawannears.\"\n\nShe pronounced the Seneca's name with a delicious lisp.\n\n\"Is he your lover?\"\n\n\"He wants to be.\"  She became confidential.  \"He has been this way\nsince he succeeded his father as Priest of Yoki and Voice of Chua.*\nHe has brought rain two years running now, and everybody says how\nmighty a priest and spell-master he is.  But Wiki says I must serve\nhim first of all as Sacred Dancer, for Massi sent me direct to him\nand not to Kokyan.  Besides, I don't like Kokyan.  He is a good\nwarrior and a clever priest--but I don't like him.\"\n\n\n* The Snake.\n\n\n\"Is Kokyan Chief Priest?\"\n\n\"How ignorant you are, Englishman!  Of course not!  Wiki is chief\npriest--and Angwusi is priestess of Tawa, the Sun, the Giver-of-Life.\nKokyan is only priest of Yoki.  But when a priest of Yoki is as\nsuccessful as he is, he becomes really as important as the chief\npriest and the priestess.  And then Kokyan has been telling the young\nmen how much better things would go if he was chief priest or had\nmore influence in the Council.\"\n\n\"But what does your chief say to all this?\" I questioned.\n\n\"Chief?  What chief?\"\n\n\"The chief of the village!  And the war-chiefs.\"\n\nShe gurgled with laughter.\n\n\"You are own brother to the Awataba, Englishman!  We do not have such\nchiefs.  We look down on warriors.  When we must fight, we all do;\nbut we make no practice of war.  The priests and the council govern\nthe village.\"\n\n\"Who are the council?\" I pressed.\n\n\"Oh, the priests--and the elders--the priests select them.  But I am\ntired of talking with you, Englishman.  I came here to learn\nTawannears' speech.  I told Wiki I should.  He told me I must not,\nand I said if I could not I should marry Kokyan to-night.  Wiki does\nnot want me to marry Kokyan.\"\n\nShe sank down betwixt the Seneca and me, pointing a finger at Peter.\n\n\"What is that houaw's* name?\"\n\n\n* Bear's.\n\n\n\"Wait, wait!\" I pleaded.  \"Tell me why you left us on the ladder and\nwent ahead into the village.\"\n\n\"No, I am tired of all that,\" she declared mutinously.  \"I shall talk\nwith Tawannears now.\"\n\n\"But 'tis he wishes to know,\" I lied.  \"And he must learn through me.\"\n\nHer face brightened.\n\n\"Oh!  Indeed, you are stupid, Englishman!  Why did you not say so\nbefore?\"\n\n\"Because I had no chance,\" I laughed.\n\n\"You are an Awataba,\" she insisted.  \"You must have killed a\nSpaniard, and taken his clothes.  But you asked why Wiki called me.\nIt was because I talked with Tawannears--and I am going to talk to\nhim whenever I please.  So I just told fat old Angwusi!  Wiki said\nthat Kokyan would make trouble, and that I must go ahead and tell\nAngwusi he was bringing you up to the village because you had saved\nme and the sacred turkeys and were not Spaniards.\"\n\n\"And then?\" I prompted her.\n\n\"Why, then, I went to the kiva,* and Kokyan was talking to Angwusi\nagainst Wiki, and I told him I would dance against him if he\ncontinued to be foolish.  And he said that Chua the Snake had\ncounseled him that you three were to be the doom of Homolobi and you\nmust all be slain for a sacrifice to Chua.\"\n\n\n* Ceremonial Place or Temple.\n\n\n\"So that was what he was talking about when Wiki brought us in?\"\n\n\"Yes, he told the people what Chua had said, and that you would\nprobably bring heavy rain to spoil the harvest or a drought next\nSummer.  And Chua prophesied to him again whilst he talked, and said\nyou came here plotting evil, especially the red one called Tawannears.\n\n\"Then I danced for Massi, and cried to all the Gods, and as I danced\nthey told me that Chua's voice had been mistaken, that men who saved\nthe Sacred Dancer and the sacred turkeys of Massi's shrine could not\nbe Massi's enemies.  Kokyan said it was not true, that you were\nChua's enemies.  But I cried into the temple, and Massi answered back\nthat such things were best left unsaid, that they made it seem that\nChua was divided from Massi.\n\n\"Kokyan did not know what to say to that.\"  She giggled\nreminiscently.  \"So Wiki talked to Angwusi, and she made a prayer to\nTawa for light.\"\n\n\"What did Tawa say!\" I demanded, for she had turned again to\nTawannears.\n\n\"That it was too early to decide.\"\n\nThat, mark you, was the width of the margin betwixt my comrades and I\nand death--what an old Indian woman chose to say that the sun had\ntold her to say!\n\n\"Is it left so?\" I asked uneasily.\n\n\"How else!\" she snapped pettishly.  \"I did not come here to talk to\nyou.\"\n\n\"But for how long is it left so?\"\n\n\"Until the festival at the end of this moon--the moon which precedes\nthe harvest.  But if you say any more, Englishman, I will go to\nAngwusi and ask her to have Tawa say that the others may be saved,\nbut you must be cast from the cliff.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE WEB OF DESTINY\n\nFor all practical purposes we were prisoners during the weeks we\nspent in Homolobi, but I cannot say that we were fettered or chained.\nThe whole village, with its rabbit-warrens of passages, its ponderous\nmasses of masonry, its soaring walls and towers, its rare\nrock-gardens--odd patches of dirt in angles of the cliffs around the\nBreast--its plazas and hidden reservoirs, we were free to roam in.\n\nEscorted by Kachina, we even ventured into the dim recesses of the\ntemple and stared at the wooden image of Massi, a sinister object of\npartly human aspect presiding over a stone tank crammed with writhing\nrattlesnakes, which, our guide assured us, had not had their fangs\ndrawn.  Yet she and all the evil priests of this forbidding place\nhandled the reptiles without fear, and so far as we could see were\nnever bitten.  Explain it how you will.\n\n'Twas after this visit that a knife fell from the air at Tawannears'\nfeet, missing the opening betwixt collar-bone and shoulder-blade by\ninches.  If it dropped by accident none came to reclaim it, nor did\nwe have sight of its owner; and we had no choice but to suppose it\nhad been aimed at the Seneca's life.  But we deemed it best to hold\nour tongues concerning the incident--with all save Kachina; she had\nbecome our staunch friend and ally, more through a whimsical interest\nin new faces--and especially Tawannears--as I believe, than for aught\nelse, unless it was the opportunity to plague Kokyan and annoy Wiki\nthe grave.  Later--but I gallop in advance of my story.\n\nKachina approved our silence.\n\n\"'Twas that ant Kokyan, beyond a doubt,\" she glowered.  \"He shall\nsuffer for it!  I will dance his heart out of him, and laugh at his\nmisery.  But it will serve no purpose to denounce him.  He would\nlaugh at you, and turn people against you, saying you had come\namongst us only to create discord.  And that would be bad because it\nhas not rained since you came, and already people are saying that you\nhave brought us good luck and a fair harvest.  But you must be\ncareful how you walk--and keep out of dark passages.\"\n\nAt her suggestion we took to walking daily on the floor of the valley\nwhere no knives could fall upon us--although once, as Tawannears came\nthrough a copse by the river to where she was explaining to us their\nirrigation system, an arrow thrummed into a tree-trunk beside him.\nHe looked unsuccessfully for the hidden archer, then ran on and\njoined us; and after that we avoided copses and groves, as well as\ndark corners and places commanded by overhanging walls.  But I think\nthe best reason why Tawannears was not assassinated was that she\nstuck so close to him.\n\n\"What chance has a warrior when he has a priest for enemy?\" she said,\nlaughing.  \"'Tis well he has me to care for him.  Do Kokyan and his\ntools think I would let them slay Tawannears before I have learned\nthis fine, booming speech of his?\"\n\nNo hindrance was placed in the way of our excursions, but there were\nalways men close by and--when we were in the open--a few of the\npriests in serpent's-skin kilts lurked within eye-shot.  Moreover,\nthe smokes of the Awataba now encircled the valley.  North, south,\neast and west they rose languorously in the windless air, for the\ndays were still, equably warm, without great heat and wondrously dry.\n\nTwice I asked Wiki, mainly to see what he would say, if we might\nleave the valley.  Each time he smiled cryptically, raised his arm\nand swept the compass of the cliffs.\n\n\"If you go, you go to death,\" he said the first time.\n\nAnd a week later:\n\n\"Shall we send you to your deaths, Englishman?  That would not be\nkind.\"\n\n\"But I think sometimes we linger here only to await death,\" I\ncountered.\n\nHis face was solemn, but his green eyes mocked me.\n\n\"Can you see the future?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, I am no miracle-worker.\"\n\n\"Then how can you know what Massi has in store for you?\"\n\n\"Why do the naked bowmen lurk here so long?\" I demanded, changing the\nsubject.\n\nHis brow wrinkled in what might have been perplexity.\n\n\"Who can say?\" he answered, with a shrug.  \"They are children.\nPerhaps they have killed enough meat to feed them a while.\"\n\nAt times he would be more communicative, and we discussed the beliefs\nof his people and their social and religious organization.  They were\nin many ways the most civilized Indians I have seen, and they seemed\nall the more so, meeting them, as we did, after prolonged contact\nwith the depraved tribes we had encountered west of the Sky Mountains\nand along the coast of the Western Ocean.\n\nPerhaps because of the inaccessible character of their situation,\nthey were essentially unwarlike, wrapped up in the pursuit of\nagriculture and the raising of turkeys.  Certain of these birds they\nbred especially for the sacred flock attending on the shrine of Massi\nfor the purpose of supplying feathers, with which women wove\nremarkably beautiful screens and robes.  Their crops were as good as\nthose obtained by European husbandmen, and much better than those\nordinarily reaped by our own farmers in America, notwithstanding that\ntheir only tools for cultivation were pointed sticks and the most\nprimitive kinds of rakes and hoes.\n\nWiki said, in one of his conversational moods, that their traditions\ntaught them that long ago this barren land of rocks was much richer\nthan it now was, and at that distant time their people were very\nnumerous in this locality.  But in the course of ages the climate\nchanged, and with it the nature of the country.  The rivers dried up;\nthe deposits of soil were blown away; vegetation died; the sun's heat\nbecame so fierce as to wither growing things, except in a few favored\nspots.\n\nAbout the same time there was a succession of eruptions of hordes of\nsavages from the north, low-browed, ferocious people, akin, perhaps\nto the Awataba--and on the same count to the people of Homolobi\nthemselves.  These were the Shunwi, or \"Flesh Creatures,\" as they\ncalled themselves--who overran many villages, driven mad by\nstarvation probably and aided by an enormous numerical superiority.\nAnd the populations of other villages, disheartened by these\nexperiences, moved away into the South, where conditions were more\nfavorable, and gradually lost touch with those who had remained in\nthe home-land of the race.\n\nThe coming of the Spaniards sealed the doom of all of them.  To Wiki,\nwho evidently had visited the Spanish colonies, possibly had indulged\nin the occasional Indian plots to regain independence and restore the\ndominance of the red race under a new Montezuma, the tragedy of his\npeople was very apparent.  He had seen village after village on the\noutskirts of the rock desert conquered and Christianized.  His life\nwas dedicated to an effort to protect Homolobi from the universal\nfate.  This was the reason for his equivocal reception of our party.\nIt was the reason, too, I suspect, for his uncertain attitude toward\nus after he had saved our lives.  He was not sure how best to make\nuse of us, whether it would more aptly serve his purpose to let us go\nor to sacrifice us to the superstitious wrath and priestly politics\nof Kokyan's faction.\n\nThe hub of the situation, indeed, was the factional politics that\nrent the village.  As Kachina had told us, the priestly organization\nwas likewise the political superstructure of the social life of the\ncommunity.  The council of wise men was really a council of the\npriests, with a handful of others selected by and under the control\nof the priests.  They not only regulated the religious life of the\nvillage, but exerted a general supervision over its agricultural and\nindustrial undertakings, adjusted inter-family or clan disputes, made\nand administered laws, interpreted traditions, and in event of war\nfurnished the military leadership that was required.\n\nThe one-sided intellectuality which resulted was probably the cause\nof the decline of the race.  This was the judgment of Tawannears, who\nwas best qualified to estimate their tribal characteristics,\ncombining in his mind, as he did, the training and outlook of red man\nand white.  He took a keen interest in the problem, despite his\nabsorption in his own tangled thoughts and his strange infatuation\nwith Kachina, which was to lead to the crisis of our affairs.  And it\nwas largely through him and the attraction which he possessed for the\ngirl, with all her weird power and influence, that we were enabled to\ngain a really intimate view of the drama which was centering around\nour three alien lives.\n\nBriefly, it was the old, old story of all communities.  Wiki\nrepresented the wisdom of age.  Fifteen years before, I gathered, he\nhad acquired preponderating power when he went out into the desert,\nas he said, \"to fast and ask a message forecasting the future,\" and\nreturned with the woman-child who grew to be Kachina, and who, he\ntold the village, had been sent to him by Massi to serve the temple\nand dance in honor of the Ruler of the Dead.  His own shrewd\nintellect combined with the Latin grace of the girl and her original\npersonality had strengthened his position so that he ruled\npractically supreme, being able to ignore, if he chose, the rival\nauthority of old Angwusi, who represented the women in the hierarchy.\n\nIt was, by the way, typical of the social organization of Homolobi\nthat the women had important representation in the priesthood.  The\nwomen were in all ways equal to the men.  They held their share of\nproperty, and they had the right to be consulted on all matters of\npublic import.  They upheld and maintained the sanctity of monogamous\nmarriage.  They had the right to secure punishment for any man who\nneglected, abused or maltreated his wife.  And while they were barred\nfrom the service of Chua and from membership in the priestly clan or\nparticipation in the religious dances, they had in Angwusi a\nrepresentative who ranked next to the chief priest in authority, who\nmight, in some cases, compel even his acquiescence on questions of\npolicy.\n\nAngwusi was as clever as a priestess-stateswoman as Wiki, but she\nlacked his breadth and experience.  She had been instrumental in\nbuilding up the prestige of Kokyan, the young priest of Yoki and\nsuitor for Kachina's hand; but as soon as he was strong enough to\nmake himself felt in opposition to the chief priest, she had hastened\nto redress the balance, hoping, in the conflicting ambitions of the\ntwo men, to find the means for gaining her own ends, whatever they\nwere.\n\nBut the situation was complicated again by the interposition of\nKachina.  She had not, until recently, been regarded as more than an\nassistant and subordinate of Wiki.  Kokyan's courtship and rivalry of\nthe chief priest and the politics precipitated by his rise, however,\nhad lifted her to an importance equal with that enjoyed by the other\nthree; and she was not slow to take advantage of it.  How loyal she\nwas to Wiki, of course, I cannot say; but from my knowledge of her\nafterward I should say that she would have stood by him, after\nsecuring such concessions as she wanted for herself, had it not been\nfor the arrival of Tawannears.\n\nLove and hate, the lure of beauty, hunger for power, these were the\nfactors here as elsewhere.  Suppose we had gone north, instead of\nsouth, to pass the Salt Lake, suppose we had not ventured into these\nmountains!  What would have happened then to the fortunes of Wiki, of\nKachina, of Kokyan and Angwusi and the people of Homolobi--ay, and of\nTawannears, Peter and myself.  Fifteen hundred lives would have ended\ndifferently--I say nothing of the Awataba, who perished for causes\nbeyond their comprehension.\n\nSo slender is the thread of destiny which weaves our lives!\n\nBut my speculation, after all, is purposeless.  We were fated to do\nwhat we did.  It was written in the Book that we should go to\nHomolobi, just as it was written that Tawannears' fantastic search\nshould be carried to its logical conclusion.  How else can you\nexplain the instant attraction he had for the girl, the light that\nshone in his eyes when he first fronted her threatening arrow, the\nvery ease with which they two brushed aside from their path the needs\nand wants and desires and wishes of fifteen hundred others?  It was\nwritten that it should be so.  Why, even Peter's giant strength had\nits r\u00f4le to play in this, as in other acts, of the drama we lived.\nAnd I--am I not the narrator?\n\nSo I say there was no accident in what transpired.  Accident must\nhave slain us heedlessly a score of times before Destiny was ready\nfor us to work the deeds it had prepared for us.\n\nIf Wiki, priest of Massi, from whatever abode he occupies, looks over\nmy shoulder as I write I know that he will smile assent.  There are\nsome forces beyond human control.  We were caught fast in the grip of\nsuch a force when the people of Homolobi gathered before the kiva of\nMassi for the pre-harvest festival at the end of that moon in which\nwe had come into their valley--I cannot make the date more specific,\nfor we had lost all track of time in more than two years of wandering.\n\nIt was a clear, cloudless day, still not too hot, with almost no\nbreeze stirring, exactly like all the other days since our arrival;\nand I remember the people squatting around the open space in front of\nthe temple made room for us readily in the front row, some of them\nactually smiling, so popular had we become on account of the good\nweather we had brought the village.\n\nWeather was everything to these people.  In fear of a failed harvest\nthey always kept a year's store of dried crops ahead; but there had\nbeen times when the crops had failed two years running, and they\nregulated their whole lives to the one end of securing enough food.\nReligion, with them, was weather.  Hence the popularity of Kokyan,\nPriest of Yoki, who had twice secured them abundant early Summer\nrain.  Hence, too,--and most paradoxically--our own popularity,\nbecause we had staved off the unseasonably heavy storms which\nsometimes destroyed or diminished a good planting.\n\nObserve the irony.  We had made headway against Kokyan's enmity by\nvirtue of the very talent he arrogated to himself.  Hence the frowns\nhe bent on us as he danced from the temple, leading his snake\npriests, every man a center of twisting coils of slimy reptiles.\n\nThis was the opening phase of the ceremonies.  Wiki and Angwusi sat\nin front of the temple entrance upon solid blocks of wood, behind\nthem leering the horrid features of Massi, carried forward from his\ndarksome shrine into the glare of daylight for this occasion.\nKachina had not yet appeared, but grouped in a semicircle in back of\nidol, priest and priestess were the masked dancers of the different\nclans, arrayed in the semblance of bird, beast, reptile, vegetable or\ninsect.\n\nOverhead towered the bulging brow of the cliff.  Across the housetops\nreared the distant wall of the valley, crowned by the slim smokes of\nthe Awataba, those persistent savages who belied their\ninconsequential natures by the fixity of the purpose with which they\nhemmed us in.  And all around the plaza, and on the nearby\nhouse-roofs, too, were crowded the village people, the men in their\nwhite kilts--the red border being reserved for the highest members of\nthe priesthood and the Wise Men of the Council; the women in plain\nwhite robes that folded over the right shoulder and slid under the\nleft breast, curving graciously to the figure and banded tight around\nthe waist.\n\nDrums thudded inside the temple to herald the approach of Kokyan and\nhis loathsome attendants.  They pranced slowly into the light, snakes\ntwining about their middles, their arms and their necks, forked\ntongues darting and hissing--and never a man bitten!\n\nThe snake priests sounded a low chant, as they advanced with a\njerking, undulating step, apparently designed to reproduce the\ntraveling motion of a snake.  Whining in a minor key, the chant\nprogressed in volume, the rumble of the unseen drums rising in tune\nwith it.\n\nBound the open space danced the ugly procession, the people\ninstinctively drawing back as the snake-ridden men came near.\nKokyan, the scowl of a fiend on his face, passed us and went on.  The\nwhole line passed, and I breathed freely again, for I did not like\nthose scores of unrestrained reptiles, any one of which in threshing\nfree of its bearer might carry death into the throng.\n\nThe drums thudded louder and louder as the priests circled the plaza\nthe second time; and the snakes were more excited than ever by the\nnoise, the unaccustomed sunlight and the white-garbed rows of\nonlookers.  They writhed up above the heads of the priests, struck at\neach other and hissed into the empty air.  'Twas a nightmare\nspectacle--such a picture as the Italian Dante dreamed of the\ntorments of Hell.  But again Kokyan passed, and again I felt the\nbreath whistle from my lungs.  Then it came--what I had been\nexpecting!\n\nThe drumming became hurried, confused, and the priests jostled\ntogether, as if surprised.  There was a _plop!_ on the sandy ground,\nand a rattlesnake as long as Peter contorted into its fighting coils\nwithin arm's-reach of Tawannears.  But the Seneca remained perfectly\nquiet, not moving a muscle of face or body.  A gasp went up from the\npeople around us.  Women cried out, and children whimpered.  Wiki\nrose from his stool with a single curt order, and one of the priests\nstepped out of the line and retrieved the snake, calming it by a\nstroking motion down its belly as he grasped it just under the\nvenomous head.\n\nIt all happened so quickly that few saw the incident, but Peter's big\nhand gripped my arm until I thought he would tear it off.\n\n\"If he mofed he was deadt!\" he gasped in my ear.  \"_Ja_, if he mofed,\nTawannears was deadt!\"\n\n\"Did he drop it?\" I whispered fiercely to Tawannears.  \"Did you see\nthe priest drop it?\"\n\n\"Yes, brother,\" he answered coolly, \"but who could swear he was\nresponsible?\"\n\n\"And you stayed quiet!\" I marveled.  \"How could you know the snake\nwould not strike?\"\n\n\"It was nothing,\" he returned.  \"That snake never strikes unless it\nthinks you are frightened of it.  The man bungled.  He should have\ndropped it on Tawannears.  Then it would have struck instinctively.\nBut Hawenneyu did not will it so.  Tawannears' medicine is too strong\nfor the snake-priest, Kokyan.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTAWANNEARS' SEARCH IS ENDED\n\nThe last of the snake priests disappeared through the temple\nentrance, and old Angwusi left her stool and advanced in front of\nMassi's image, prostrated her bulky figure with much difficulty and\nthen made invocation to the sun, riding high toward mid-afternoon.\nHer words had the form of a prayer, but at intervals responses were\nintoned by the masked clan dancers behind her, and at the end all the\npeople shouted an answer, turning their faces up to the sky.\n\nShe returned to her seat amidst a rapt silence that was broken only\nwhen Wiki made a signal with his \"paho,\" or prayer-stick, a painted\nand befeathered baton, which was the symbol of his office.  As he\nraised it the drums in the temple rumbled again, and the masked\ndancers began to sing, swaying their bodies to the haunting rhythm of\nthe music.  After each stanza Wiki would chant an invocation of his\nown, prostrating himself on the sand before Massi.  And this song\nterminated, as had Angwusi's prayer, in a chorus of all the people,\nthe thudding of the drums running in and out of the roar of voices\nthat echoed against the overhanging cliff.\n\nThe singing died away.  Silence once more.  Wiki, standing now beside\nthe image of the Ruler of the Dead, lifted his paho in a second\ngesture of command.  Tap-tap-tap! very slow, went the drums.  The\nmasked clan dancers sorted themselves into two files facing inward on\neither side of the temple doorway.  The people around us, whose\ninterest in the ceremonies had been perfunctory since the snake\ndance, bunched forward in attitudes of pleasurable expectancy.  A\nmurmur of voices bandied back and forth the one word--\"Kachina!\"\n\nI saw the muscles twisting on Tawannears' jaw.  His face, that was\nusually so masklike, was openly expressive.  But a look of puzzled\ninquiry in his eyes changed to bewilderment, when, instead of the\nSacred Dancer, appeared the snake priests, marshaled by Kokyan and\nstaggering under the weight of a hurdle upon which reposed a mighty\npumpkin.  It was twice as thick as Peter in girth and half as tall\nfrom the litter of stalks and vine-leaves upon which it was set.\n\nThe drums throbbed slowly, and to the cadence of their beat the\nmasked dancers struck up a new song, a wailing, minor melody,\nbeseeching, imploring of Massi the continued toleration of their\nwants.  The snake priests and their burden passed between the two\nlines from the temple doorway to the image of the Ruler of the Dead,\nhalted a moment facing it, turned, and then, with Wiki and Angwusi\npreceding Kokyan, and the column of masked dancers following the\nhurdle-bearers, solemnly paraded the circuit of the plaza; whilst all\nthe people sitting or crouching on the ground bent their heads and\nmuttered, \"Kachina!\" or \"The Sacred Dancer comes!\" or else addressed\nimpromptu personal prayers to Massi, Yoki, Chua and other lesser\ndivinities.\n\nTawannears' excitement had grown to an extraordinary degree.  The\nbreath whistled in his nostrils.  His chest rose and fell as though\nhe were running.  His features were drawn and haggard.  His eyes\nnever swerved from the enormous pumpkin.\n\n\"How could they have nourished it to such a size!\" I whispered.\n\nHe did not hear me, but Peter, on my other side, made shrill reply--\n\n\"Idt is not real.\"\n\n\"Not real?\"\n\n\"_Ja_, you vatch.\"\n\nI peered at it the more closely, myself.  Certes, it had all the\noutward seeming of a pumpkin magnified a score of times.  There were\nthe corrugations of the surface, the mottled yellow color with a hint\nof pale green, the blunt-ended stalk.  But whilst I watched, the\nsnake priests completed the plaza's circuit, gently deposited the\nhurdle in front of Massi, and took their position behind the idol in\na single rank, with Kokyan a step in advance, arms folded on their\nbreasts.  The masked dancers formed a ring around the image, the\ngiant pumpkin and the group of priests; and Wiki and Angwusi, on\neither side of the hurdle, commenced the next phase of the elaborate\nritual.\n\nWiki seemed to be delivering an oration to the god.  He included by\nhis gestures the people in the plaza, the village, the priests, the\nvalley below the cliff, and finally the pumpkin.  Afterward we\nlearned that he had been summing up the tribe's case for divine\nassistance, speaking from the viewpoint of the men.  Angwusi, who\nfollowed him, described for the benefit of the deity the efforts put\nforward by the women and the especial reasons they thought they had\nfor meriting aid.  And to cap it, both of them united in an address\ndrawing to Massi's notice the magnificent pumpkin which they would\nsacrifice to him.\n\nThis brought from the ring of dancers a prolonged shout of applause,\nthe drums in the temple pulsed into a jerky, varying beat, and the\nmasked figures pranced crazily around the idol and the pumpkin, the\npriests singing another of their weird, hesitating songs.  Faster and\nfaster thumped the drums.  Swifter and swifter whirled the dancers.\nWilder and wilder waxed the song.  The end came in a crescendo of\nnoise, color and movement.  It snapped off almost with a physical\njar.  Priests and dancers flung themselves upon their faces in the\nsend.  The drums were stilled.  The quiet was so intense that all\nabout me I could hear people's breathing, the gusty pants of\nTawannears as loud as musketry by contrast.\n\nFor a dozen breaths this quiet reigned.  Then Wiki rose, bowed low to\nthat monstrous idol and stepped to the vast yellow pumpkin, sitting\nserenely upon its hurdle.  He extended his paho before Massi's\nunseeing eyes, recited briefly a prayer--and rapped the pumpkin once.\nA sigh of anticipation burst from the audience.  The pumpkin fell\napart, dividing cleanly in quarters, and from its hollow shell\nstepped Kachina, a lithe bronze statue came to life, clad from breast\nto thighs in a sheath of turkey-feathers that puffed out under her\narms in a mockery of wings.  Her blue-black hair floated free beneath\nthe confining band of serpent's-skin around her brow.\n\nFor an instant she poised in the fallen shell of the pumpkin, arms\nspread as though for flight.  Then she leaped--almost, it seemed, she\nflew--from the hurdle to the sand, swooped this way and that, always\nwith the gliding, wavy motion of a bird on the wing, hovered before\nWiki, before Angwusi, sank in a pretty pose of piety before Massi's\nwarped face, and so sped into the measures of a dance that was all\ngrace and fire and vivid emotion, a dance no Indian could have done,\nand which charmed her beholders by its very exotic spell, its fierce\nbursts of passion, demonstrative, seductive.\n\nKokyan made no secret of its effect upon him.  The gloomy face of the\nyoung priest was lit by the unholy fires that burned within him.  He\ncame from his place at the head of the snake priests and stood with\nWiki and Angwusi by the wooden idol, his eyes drinking in the sinuous\nloveliness of the dancer, her slender, naked feet scarcely touching\nthe sand as she leaped and postured from mood to mood, her own eyes\nflaring through the tossing net of her hair, her lips pouting,\nsmiling, luring, challenging, repulsing.\n\nBut I had little chance to observe her influence upon the Priest of\nYoki.  Beside me Tawannears was risen to his knees and in his face\nwas the look of the damned man who sees heaven's gates opening for\nhim, doubting, trusting, unbelieving, paralyzed by joy, scorched by\nfear.  He started to clamber to his feet and the people in back of us\nvolleyed low protests.  I seized his arm.\n\n\"Sit,\" I adjured him.  \"What ails you, man?\"\n\nI think he did not even hear me.\n\n\"Use your wits,\" I exclaimed irritably.  \"You will have us all slain.\nYou can see the maid anon.\"\n\n'Twas Peter gave me the key to his state.\n\n\"He t'inks she is Gahano,\" he muttered.  \"_Ja_, dot's idt.\"\n\nI exerted all my strength, and dragged the Seneca back to his\nhaunches.\n\n\"Will you ruin us, brother?\" I rasped.  \"This is sacred in the eyes\nof these people.  We are----\"\n\nFor the first time he seemed to comprehend what I was trying to do.\n\n\"Otetiani does not know,\" he said mildly.  \"She is my Lost Soul.\"\n\n\"A mist has clouded Tawannears' eyes,\" I answered, realizing that in\nthis humor I must abide by the imagery of his people.\n\n\"No, brother,\" he returned, still without feeling.  \"You have not\nseen.  You have forgotten.  But Tawannears knew--before this happened\nthere was a song in his heart that told him this would be.\"\n\n\"Of what?\" I begged, conscious of the hostile looks that were\nacknowledging this interruption of the scene.  \"What said this song?\nWas it of one maid who looked like another?\"\n\n\"She does not look like another,\" he said with dignity.  \"She is\nanother.  She is my Lost Soul.\"\n\n\"You are mad, brother,\" I groaned.\n\nHe smiled pityingly at me.\n\n\"No, my eyes are opened.  But Otetiani cannot see.  What said the\nancient tale of my people?  That the warrior who traveled beyond the\nsunset would find the land of Lost Souls----\"\n\n\"Is this land beyond the sunset?\" I inquired sarcastically.\n\n\"It must be!\"  His voice rang with conviction.  \"Did we not see the\nsun set behind the Sky Mountains?  And we crossed the Sky\nMountains--and this land must be still beyond the Sky Mountains.\"\n\n\"Ay, but Tawannears, you know that this is but a tale----\"\n\n\"Yes, a tale of my people,\" he agreed steadily.  \"If one warrior did\nit, why could not Tawannears?  So I believed always.  Now I know it\nto be so.  I have done it.  Here we sit in the valley of Lost Souls.\nThere is Ataentsic, brother.\"\n\nHe pointed to fat old Angwusi, who was eying us as balefully as\nKokyan and the snake priests, at last oblivious to the untiring grace\nwith which Kachina still danced before Massi's wooden grimace.\n\n\"And there is Jouskeha, her grandson.\"  He singled out Wiki.  \"As the\ntale told, when the warrior came to the valley his Lost Soul was\ndancing with other souls before those two, and Jouskeha, in pity for\nhim, took his Lost Soul and placed her in a pumpkin, and he carried\nthe pumpkin back to his own country.\n\n\"See it is all here.  There is the pumpkin.  There are the Lost\nSouls, who also danced.  Ataentsic, I think, is loath to give up my\nLost Soul, but Jouskeha's face is only sad.  It is all as the tale\nsaid it would be.  All that remains, brother, is to replace the Lost\nSoul in the pumpkin, and carry her back to my village.\"\n\nArgument with him was impossible.  He believed implicitly in this\nchain of inexplicable coincidences.  He, who was in so many ways as\ncultured as an English gentleman, was the complete savage in this\nmatter, resting his confidence in the vague mythology of his people,\naccepting for truth a familiar likeness and a sequence of parallel\nincidents.\n\nI turned to Peter with a gesture of despair.\n\n\"What can we do?\" I asked.\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied the Dutchman phlegmatically.\n\nWhilst my back was toward him for this fleeting exchange of words,\nthe Seneca wrenched loose from my grasp and strode out into the\ncenter of the plaza toward the group of priests and masked dancers\nsurrounding Kachina's whirling form.  The ceremony was suspended,\nstopped, as if the atrocious image of Massi had issued a direct vocal\nfiat.  A growl of resentment came from the watchers on our side of\nthe plaza.  The faces of the snake priests were murderous.  The\nleaping hate of the masked dancers was reflected in pose and\ndenunciations.  Angwusi frowned; Kokyan grinned with diabolical\nsatisfaction.  Kachina showed surprise and a certain distaste.  Wiki\nalone concealed his feelings.\n\nFor us there was left no other course save audacity.  We were\ncommitted.  The conduct of Tawannears was such as to stir the anger\nof any barbarous people.  Excuses were impossible.  Our one chance\nwas to carry it off boldly.  And that meant we must make the first\nattack.  'Twas for us to take and keep the offensive.\n\n\"Come,\" I said to Peter.\n\nHe reared himself erect and lumbered beside me.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" he squeaked through his nose, \"we hafe a ---- of a time.\"\n\nI caught up with Tawannears, and resumed my grip on his arm.\n\n\"Keep quiet.  'Tis for me to do the talking.\"\n\nHe made no answer, offered no opposition.  I do not believe he had\nhad any plan in rising when he did.  He simply obeyed the urge in his\nheart to possess himself at once of this girl, whom he supposed to be\nthe incarnation of his lost love, which had torn him free of all\nrestraints, impelled him forward calmly to claim what he considered\nnobody would dare to deny him.  But he had no means of speaking\nintelligibly to anyone within the priests' circle, unless it was to\nKachina herself.  And whether he had thought of this or not, he\nobeyed me now as docilely as a child.\n\n\"Do as I do,\" I muttered to my comrades, as we passed the circle of\nthe masked dancers.\n\nAnd opposite Massi's image I paused and offered a low bow.\nTawannears and Peter imitated me faithfully; and that served to stall\noff the first wave of indignation.  The priests were nonplussed.  We\nhad accepted their deity, rendered him adequate honor.  I drove home\nthe advantage whilst I held it.\n\n\"We are strangers in your midst,\" I said to Wiki, speaking in\nSpanish.  \"It may be we have offended against your customs, but let\nour excuse be that my red brother thinks he has just seen a mighty\npiece of magic performed.\"\n\nThis whetted their appetites and equally placated their wrath.  Wiki\nwas naturally pleased with the idea of having an outsider testify to\nthe closeness of his relations with his deity.  He and Kachina, who\nhad danced to his side, translated rapidly the gist of what I had\nsaid.  Kokyan and his serpent priests scowled blackly.  Old Angwusi\nlooked interested.  The others were baffled.  But whatever they\nsecretly felt they were induced to lay aside their hostility long\nenough to listen to my story, and that was everything, because it\nprovided the opportunity for driving in tighter than ever the\npolitical wedges which disrupted the priesthood.\n\nThe effect of my narrative upon Kachina was comic.  She swelled with\npride, repeating with gusto Tawannears' claim that he had known her\nin a previous existence, and thus arrogating to herself an undeniably\nsuperior position.  Wiki was equally strengthened by the tale, as\nbearing out his original announcement of Kachina's divine origin, but\nperplexed by the possible contingencies in Tawannears' appearance.\n\nAngwusi was flatly disdainful of the whole affair.  It helped her in\nnowise, except that she was identified with a goddess of a strange\ntribe.  And against this she arrayed the probable enhancement of\nKachina's position, and the certainty of increased prestige for Wiki.\n\nBut the one who foamed at the mouth at my amazing tale was Kokyan.\nThe Priest of Yoki literally stamped and chewed his lips with rage.\nHis hot eyes flickered.  The sweat beaded his forehead as he fought\nfor self-control.  Again and again he ripped out savage objections or\nmocking comments.  He saw in acceptance of our story double defeat\nfor himself; Wiki's leadership impregnably fortified and another bar\nthrown betwixt himself and Kachina.\n\n\"The red stranger lies,\" he stormed--Wiki translating his criticisms\nwith gleeful assistance from Kachina, who delighted in being at the\ncenter of the debate.  \"If Kachina was of his people, why can she not\ntalk to him in his tongue?\"\n\n\"The Great Spirit took the knowledge from her--for reasons of his\nown,\" answered Tawannears, and I translated.\n\n\"I can talk in Tawannears' tongue,\" snapped Kachina.  \"It comes to me\neasily.\"  She cast a sly glance at the Seneca.  \"I am sure I must\nhave known it once.\"\n\n\"It is a lie,\" howled Kokyan.  \"Has he not said that this Lost Soul\nof his was a maid full-grown when she died?  And do we not know that\nKachina was a child with new teeth when Wiki brought her to Homolobi?\"\n\n\"The Great Spirit's ways are not our ways,\" returned Tawannears\nsteadily.  \"He may change the maid's years, but he cannot change her\nface or the Soul that was lost.  What are years to Him?\"\n\n\"Bah!\" snarled Kokyan.  \"Will wise men believe such tales?  Is it\nlikely the Ruler of Death or any other god would allow such wanderers\nas these to have knowledge of the Heaven-sent?\"\n\nWiki, who had said little after his habit, contenting himself with\ntranslating the arguments back and forth, and now and then checking\nKachina when she developed a tendency to embroil still further the\nirate Kokyan, now pursed his lips and sought for safe middle-ground.\n\n\"Here is no question to be judged with heat,\" he declared.  \"There is\nmuch that is strange in what these strangers say.  Yet how can\npriests, who live their lives with what is unreal, be unwilling to\nbelieve a tale because it denies what seems truth?  It does seem\nstrange to me that Massi, whose servant I am, has never been disposed\nto acquaint me with what the strangers have said, although often, as\nyou know, he has come to me and made clear the future--to the great\ngood of the village.\"\n\nAt this there were cries of:\n\n\"Great is Wiki!\"\n\n\"Favored above other priests is Wiki!\"\n\n\"The Chief Priest speaks wisdom!\"\n\n\"But who am I,\" continued Wiki, \"to expect that Massi will tell me\nall?  No, if he did so, then would I be as great as he, and a god.\nPerhaps Massi sent these strangers here to tell me this message,\ninstead of summoning me into the desert to fast until wisdom came to\nme.  I do not know.  But I do know that the strangers have told us a\nmarvelous tale.  If it is true, then, indeed, are we favored of\nMassi, and Kachina, the Sacred Dancer, is twice holy.  If it is\nnot----\"\n\n\"How can it be true!\" insisted Kokyan boldly.  \"Chua the Snake, as\nall know, has taken Homolobi under his protection.  Have not I had\nhis confidence for two years past?  Has he not told me things which\nMassi, busy ruling the villages of the dead, has forgotten?  Is it\nlikely that Chua would forbear to tell me of so wondrous an\noccurrence?\"\n\n\"Chua has told you some things that did not come to pass,\" flashed\nKachina.  \"You told us he said these strangers would bring bad-luck,\nand they brought good-luck.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is in their favor,\" interposed Wiki.\n\n\"There has been bickering about them since they set foot in the\nvalley,\" Angwusi thrust in spitefully.\n\n\"There was bickering before,\" said Wiki sternly.  \"Enough has been\nsaid.  We will examine the matter with care.  I am Massi's priest,\nand I serve him in this.  Let all----\"\n\nHe was interrupted by shouts of alarm on the outskirts of the throng\nof village people who had clustered thickly about the group of\npriests, edging closer and closer as the discussion became more\nanimated.  We all turned in the direction of the disturbance.  A lane\nwas being formed through the crowd.  Villagers with bows and arrows\nwere forcing back the bystanders to make room for a little knot of\nsquat, naked, brown-skinned men, who walked between the jostling\nwalls with wary glances and startled leaps to avoid contact with\nthose not of their kind.\n\nA murmur rose--\n\n\"The Awataba!\"\n\nPeople gave ground more readily when they saw that the newcomers were\nthe bowmen of the rock desert, men a degree or two above the level of\nthe beasts, their bodies crusted with filth, their hair matted, their\nweapons crudely formed, their bellies protuberant from eating dirt\nwhen other food failed, their eyes dully stupid, but alive with\nanimal dread of the unknown.  These came forward until they reached\nthe open circle in front of Massi's image, and at first sight of that\ndread countenance they cast themselves flat upon the ground and\nwriggled on until their leader was able to put his hand upon Wiki's\nfoot.\n\nThe villagers who had attended them made brief report, and Kachina\nstarted, bending forward betwixt Tawannears and me, her lips close to\nmy ear.\n\n\"This is bad,\" she whispered.  \"The field guards say the Awataba have\nleft the cliffs and descended into the valley.  They are come to ask\nWiki to give you up to them.  They----\"\n\nBut now the Awataba were talking for themselves in awkward guttural\nclicks and clucking noises, peeping at us from under beetling brows\nand hanging mats of muddy hair, prostrating themselves anew at a\nwrinkle showing in Wiki's face; but withal, demonstrating a dumb\npersistency, a blunt determination, that reminded me of the smoke\nthat swirled daily above the valley cliffs.\n\nKachina gasped.\n\n\"They are asking for you,\" she interpreted.  \"They say they have\ndreamed that if they sacrifice you three their wanderings will come\nto an end and they will always have food.\"\n\nWiki checked her with an order which sent the snake priests to close\naround us.  They herded us out of the crowd and up to the temple\nroof, making signs that we were to enter the room assigned to us.  In\nthere we could neither see nor hear anything of what went on, and\nleaving one man to watch us from the terrace, they hastened back to\ntake their share in the decision of our fate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nPETER'S BOULDER\n\nThere was no twilight in Homolobi.  Buried beneath the jutting\noverhang of the Western cliff, the village was plunged in darkness\nthe moment the sun had sunk behind it.  One minute I looked through\nthe narrow doorway of our room and saw the gaunt figure of the\nserpent priest, our sentinel, limned against the gray house-walls\nacross the temple plaza.  Then the enveloping gloom had swallowed\nhim.  Only upon the distant Eastern cliffs of the valley a few\ncrimson beams clashed harshly upon the painted rock strata, flickered\ncourageously--and vanished, too.\n\nBut immediately other lights flared up.  The plaza, whence rose--had\nrisen this hour--a continuous hum and buzz of comment, of a sudden\nglared with torches.  More torches shone on the opposite house-roofs,\nand from the unseen depths of the valley at the foot of the Breast\nblossomed a great flower of light that grew and grew, accompanied by\na muted roar of savage voices, dissonant, unrestrained.\n\nThe voices of Homolobi were stilled--as though Wild had suppressed\nall with one wave of his feathered paho.  The village became wrapped\nin the silence of death.  And now our ears could hear distinctly that\ngritting insanity of frenzied noise, rising and falling with the\nleaping of the flames that streaked hundreds of feet into the air to\nillumine the darkness beyond the village walls.  They were faint, far\naway, but the savage insistency of their chorus was unescapable, even\nwhen the hum of the village began knew.\n\n\"The Awataba,\" I muttered, more to myself than to the others.\n\n\"_Ja_,\" assented Corlaer.  \"Der bowmen are madt.  Dey go crazy, eh?\"\n\nTawannears said nothing.  He had not spoken in the hour which had\nelapsed since the serpent priests had driven us from the plaza.\nUntil the light failed I had been able to see him sitting motionless,\nwith his back to the wall, his eyes staring into vacancy.  Now, I\nsuppose, he occupied the same position.  At any rate, I could not see\nhim.\n\n\"If we had but a pound of powder and ball between us,\" I groaned.\n\n\"What use?\" replied Corlaer.  \"If you kill all der people in Homolobi\nwe hafe still der Awataba.\"\n\n\"No use,\" I admitted.  \"Yet I like not the thought of dying in a\ntrap.\"\n\n\"We will not be deadt alone,\" the Dutchman grunted.  \"_Ha!_\"\n\nHis exclamation was caused by the soft tread of a foot in the\ndoorway.  I jumped to one side, drawing the knife and tomahawk from\nmy belt.\n\n\"Into the open!\" I whispered.\n\nBut Kachina's voice answered me, the sibilant Spanish just loud\nenough to reach my ear.\n\n\"Quiet!  'Tis I.\"\n\nI extended my arm and clutched her feather garment.\n\n\"Alone?\" I whispered.\n\n\"Yes.  Let me in.  I--  Where is Tawannears?\"\n\nThe Seneca's voice came from the darkness at my elbow.\n\n\"Tawannears is here, Gahano.\"\n\nThe throb of gladness in it sent my heart leaping into my throat.\nThere were tears in my eyes.\n\nShe understood him.\n\n\"Tell him,\" she ordered me, with a tinkle of musical laughter, \"my\nname is Kachina.\"\n\n\"She is Gahano to me,\" was Tawannears' answer.\n\nI felt her press by me, and a moment later her voice reached me\nagain, strangely muffled.\n\n\"What I am called matters little,\" she said.  \"I think Wiki lies when\nhe says I came from Massi.  I seem to remember a time many years ago\nwhen I often saw people who were white like you.  But that does not\nmatter.  Tawannears is a man!  And I am tired of priests and their\nways.  Ay, a man who would travel as far as Tawannears for a woman is\na man!\"\n\n\"We shall all of us go soon upon a longer journey,\" I returned\nsignificantly.  \"And you, too, if you stay here.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she agreed, her voice still muffled.\n\nI thrust out my hand and found her body in Tawannears' arms.\n\n\"What!\" I gasped in astonishment.\n\nTawannears laughed softly--and at that note, contented, caressing,\nPeter, also, indulged in a peal of low laughter.\n\n\"Dot's funny,\" he squeaked.  \"We come all dis way, andt Tawannears\ngets her, andt we die quick.\"\n\n\"What did the fat one say?\" inquired Kachina, wrenching herself from\nthe Seneca's embrace.\n\nI told her.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said a second time.  \"Death is coming.  That is why I am\nhere.  The Awataba told the council they must have you to sacrifice.\nThey said they dreamed that your lives would appease their gods, but\nI think that ant Kokyan planted the idea in their heads.  I would\nhave said so, but Wiki would not let me, and so I ran away.\"\n\n\"What will the council do?\" I asked helplessly.\n\nThe hum of the village and the blurred voices of the bowmen at the\nfoot of the Breast rasped through the night.\n\n\"They will give you up.  Kokyan said there should be no argument.  It\nwas sufficient sign of your harmfulness that the Awataba were so\nemboldened.  And when Wiki argued against it, the Bowmen said they\nwould lay waste the valley, even though they all perished for it.\nThen Angwusi joined with Kokyan, and I spoke as I said.\"\n\n\"Hark!\" said Peter.\n\nFrom the plaza came a bellow of voices.\n\n\"The council is ended,\" exclaimed Kachina.  \"They are coming.\"\n\n\"A few of them will die,\" I answered grimly.  \"You had best go.\"\n\n\"Old fool!\" she retorted contemptuously.  \"You have no wits.  They\nwill block up the doorway, and break in upon you from above.  You\nhave no chance here.\"\n\n\"Then we will go out into the open.\"\n\n\"No, you shall come with me.  I know a way.  It is dangerous in\ndaylight, and perhaps we shall all perish; but if we gain the\ncliff-top we can hold our own.  Come!  I will lead Tawannears, and do\nyou others follow him.\"\n\nWe moved softly out the door, and she guided us along the wall of the\ntemple's upper story.  Here was black night, unmitigated, for the\noverhang of the cliff shut out even the star-shine.  We had passed\ntwo other doorways, as I could tell by feeling with my hands, the\nuproar in the plaza becoming deafening in the meantime when there was\na patter of feet and torches blazed across the terrace.  Men streamed\nby us, indistinct running figures, and we flattened against the wall,\ntrusting to the shifting shadows to conceal us; but a group of a\ndozen or more with torches made the night brilliant as day.\n\nA yell announced our discovery.  There was a rush that we stemmed\nwith ready steel, and Kachina cried:\n\n\"Run!  Do not stay to fight!\"\n\nWe won a brief respite by our efforts; and she dived into a nearby\ndoorway, and we found ourselves tumbling down a steep stair that\ntwisted on itself and debouched into a vast chamber which we\nrecognized as the temple.  Already men were pouring in from the\nplaza, Kokyan at their head, a torch waving in one hand, a knife in\nthe other.  And behind us the restricted stair echoed the shouts of\nour immediate pursuers.\n\nKachina ignored Kokyan, and guided us past the tank before the empty\naltar of Massi, in which writhed the reptile guardians of the shrine;\nbut Kokyan sped around the other, and shorter, side of the temple.\nThe foam was dripping from his jaws; his eyeballs were staring from\ntheir sockets.  And as he saw Kachina turn toward a doorway that\nshowed dimly behind the altar he shrieked with fury and hurled his\ntorch at her.  It would have struck her had not Tawannears reached\nout and caught it as expertly as he was used to catching the\ntomahawks thrown at him in practice by his warriors.\n\nAn instant Tawannears held the flaming club of resinous pine-wood.\nThen he sounded the war-whoop of the Iroquois that is dreaded by\nwhite man and red from the Great Lakes to the Ohio, and sprang\nforward to meet the Priest of Yoki.  They came together beside the\ntank of snakes, but Tawannears refused to close, backing away in such\nfashion that the priest was poised on the very verge of the tank,\nfrom which arose an evil tumult of hissing as the snakes responded to\nthe confusion above them.\n\nPursuit and flight were stayed for the instant by the spectacle of\nthis struggle.  Moreover, Peter and I guarded the space betwixt the\nopposite side of the tank and the temple wall, and no man, not even\nthe snake priests themselves, cared to try to leap that gap.\nKachina, smiling unconcernedly, her feather raiment rising and\nfalling steadily with her even breathing, stood, with hands on her\nhips, in the doorway behind the tank, watching the contest of the two\nmen for her.  If she had any feeling of concern she covered it\neffectually.\n\nKokyan howled a curse at the Seneca.  Tawannears replied with a smile\nas unconcerned as the girl's and the priest stabbed at him\ndesperately, with all the strength of his body behind the blow.\nNever moving his feet, Tawannears swayed his shoulders to avoid the\nknife, and struck sideways with the torch he held in his left hand.\nIt smote the priest on the thigh as he was off-balance, and Kokyan\ntottered and fell--into the squirming midst of the tank of snakes.\nTawannears, without a word, tossed the torch after him, and a bedlam\nof angry hisses responded.  Looking over my shoulder, I shuddered at\nwhat I saw.\n\nThe Priest of Yoki was submerged beneath a tempest of coiling\nmonsters tortured by the flames of the torch and excited by the\nunusual light and noise.  I had a vision of triangular heads that\ndarted back and forth, of fangs that dribbled venom, of slimy,\ntwisting lengths that coiled and uncoiled and coiled again--and under\nthem all a shape that quivered and jerked and called feebly and was\nstill.\n\nI turned and ran, Peter at my heels.  The Dutchman's flat, impassive\nface was a study in horror.  Myself, I experienced a nausea that left\nme weak as I staggered behind Tawannears into the doorway before\nwhich ordinarily stood the idol of Massi.  Kachina's figure flitted\nahead of us, unseen, but notified to our senses by the echo of her\nfeet and low-voiced directions as we came to turns or steps up and\ndown in the course of the passage.  And close after us sounded the\nhue and cry of the pursuit, a confused clamoring of people driven mad\nwith hate.\n\nIndeed, 'twas the stimulus of their hatred flogged me back to\nself-control.  At a corner in the passage, with a glimmer of light\nbeyond advertising its emergence upon some opening, I gripped Peter\nand bade him stop.\n\n\"We must fight them back,\" I panted.  \"They do not expect--we shall\ngain time.\"\n\nHe crouched next me, our bodies blocking the way, and the leaders of\nthe pursuers, rounding the turn at a run, crashed full upon our\nknives.  We flung the two corpses into the mob that pelted after\nthem, slashing and hacking with knives and hatchets in the half-light\nof the torches, until we had reared a barricade that gave us an\nopportunity to resume our flight with a trifling lead--for men\nhesitated to cross the battered heap we had left behind us.  Yet we\nwere no more than a dozen paces in the lead when we broke from the\npassage into a courtyard deep in the cleft of the cliff.  In front\nand overhead towered the peculiar bulging rock formation which\nprotected Homolobi from assault from above.  The cliff-top mushroomed\nout so that it overhung the Breast, and leaning against its base was\na double ladder from which Kachina and Tawannears waved us on.\n\nI could not see what use it was to climb to some rock-lodge where we\nwould be picked off in daylight by archers on the temple roof, but\nthere was no time for argument with that yelping horde on our track.\nPeter and I raced across the court, and rattled up the hidebound\nrungs as fast as we could go.  There were men on the lower rungs\nalready when we stepped upon a narrow shelf where the girl and\nTawannears awaited us.\n\n\"Come,\" she said nervously in Spanish, and plucked the Seneca by the\nhand.\n\n\"Waidt,\" shrilled Peter solemnly, and he seized the ladder-ends in\nhis huge paws, swayed them tentatively and gave a shove.\n\nThe ladder teetered erect on end, poised as if to drop back against\nthe cliff--and went over backward, spilling its load of priests to an\naccompaniment of fearful screams.\n\n\"Now we got a better chance, eh?\" commented the Dutchman.\n\nKachina chuckled with amusement.  She had adopted our side\nunreservedly.  The death of these people who had lately almost\nworshiped her distressed her no more than the slaying of the Awataba\nin the pass.\n\n\"That was a good blow for the fat one,\" she remarked.  \"They will set\nup the ladder again, but we shall have more time, and that means\neverything.\"\n\n\"How?\" I questioned, as I strove to discern a way of escape from the\nscanty foothold of the rock-ledge.\n\n\"I will show you,\" she answered.  \"This is a secret path of the\npriests.  Wiki used it when he went into the desert to commune with\nMassi.  But it is very dangerous, and you who are not accustomed to\nclimbing the rocks will have to go slowly.  That is why I say the fat\none did well to overthrow the ladder.  Before they dare to set it up\nagain we shall be able to climb beyond their reach.\"\n\nShe took Tawannears by the hand.  He led me, and Peter brought up the\nrear, and we edged cautiously along the shelf, blessed by our\nblindness in that we could not see how perilously near eternity we\nwalked.  Some twenty feet from where the ladder had rested the ledge\nterminated in a series of foot- and hand-holds ascending a slope, and\nthese we climbed by touch.  In that pitch darkness 'twas impossible\nfor one to see the others ahead of him.  But we hurried, for behind\nus we heard the ladder creaking back into place.\n\nThe third stage of the path was another ledge, which carried us into\na remarkable crevice in the face of the cliff, a kind of natural\nchimney, evidently a fault in the rock structure caused by some\nbygone disturbance of the earth's surface.  In the crevice it was\ndarker than it had been outside, if that was possible; but the\nfooting was more secure, and we were spurred on by the sounds of our\npursuers, better accustomed to such work than we and consequently\nmaking twice as rapid progress.\n\nThe path was made easier by occasional foot-rests chopped by the\npriests and by ladder-rungs braced in holes.  It trended at first\ndirectly into the heart of the cliff, then turned at right angles and\nascended diagonally, following a layer of soft rock which I could\nreadily identify with my hands.  In two places it was so steep as to\ndemand progress by means of straddling.  Atop of the first of these\nfunnels it widened to become a chamber littered with rock fragments,\nand a beam of moonlight filtered into the somber place revealed a\njagged crack along the side toward the valley.\n\nPeter, following me up the second funnel, muttered he could see one\nof the priests climbing the slant of the path to its beginning, and\nin my energy to make way for him I deluged him with pebbles and fine\ngravel.  This upper end of the crevice was very brittle, perhaps\nbecause it had been long baked in the heat of the sun, and we slipped\nand slid continually, losing a foot for every yard we scaled.  But at\nlast Kachina achieved the top, and helped Tawannears up, and betwixt\nthem, they hauled up Peter and me.\n\nTo our surprise, we discovered ourselves to be on the summit of the\ncliff.  Homolobi, of course, was hidden beneath the protuberance of\nrock that ran eastward many feet from where we stood.  Beyond it,\nthough, we could see the full sweep of the valley, dotted with the\nfires of the Awataba, the silver glitter of the moonlight on the\nriver and the opposite wall of cliffs.  The night was very bright and\nclear, the sky gemmed with a myriad stars, the moon shining full\nbetween draperies of purple velvet.\n\n\"What now!\" I asked.\n\nKachina shook her head.\n\n\"We must keep back the priests from following us,\" she said.  \"If we\nleft the path they would soon be close to us again.\"\n\n\"And if we wait,\" I returned, \"they will send back messengers to\nguide the Awataba here by some other trail.  Perhaps they have\nalready done so.\"\n\n\"True,\" she agreed coolly.  \"Well, so far I have planned for you.  It\nis time you took thought to save yourselves.\"\n\nI translated this to the others, and Peter strode instantly to an\nenormous boulder, lying on its side in a bed of shale.\n\n\"We put a cork in der bottle,\" he announced.\n\nHe leaned his shoulder against the boulder, heaved and it rolled over\ntoward the head of the funnel.  Another heave and another, and it\nrested on the funnel's lip.  Peter shoved it with his right arm,\nthere was a shower of gravel, a startled yelp from the bowels of the\nrocks, and he turned to us, with a broad grin.\n\n\"_Ja_, dot's a goodt----\"\n\nI thought the end of the world had come.  Deep underneath there was a\nheavy jar, then a sullen, sky-piercing roar that resounded and\nre\u00ebchoed, pounding our ears, dazing our senses, louder, ever louder,\nswelling and bursting into prodigious thunder-peals.  A dense cloud\nof dust rose like a curtain around us.  The rock on which we stood\njumped as though it had been struck with the hammer of a god.  The\nroar slid off into a declining repetition of earth-shocks.  The dust\nsettled slowly.  And we looked from a sheer precipice at our feet\nupon what had been Homolobi.\n\nPeter's boulder, bounding down the funnel in the cliff, must have\nencountered a fault in the rock, possibly the jagged crack I had\nnoted above the first funnel, and with the momentum it had gathered\nand its accompanying wave of small stones and gravel, had started\nforces which had torn from the face of the cliff the overhanging\nprojection which had shielded Homolobi from attack for centuries.\nThis mass, in falling, had planed off the top of the Breast, and was\nnow a sloping hill of rock fragments which stretched far into the\nvalley.\n\nUnder it lay the people and the houses of Homolobi, their storehouses\nand choicest gardens and most of the Awataba, who had gathered close\nto the foot of the Breast to await the issue of their demands.  It\nwas the most utter, tragic ruin I have ever seen.  The dust clouds\nseethed above the wreckage like the smoke of successful fires, but no\nfires could have been so successful.  There were not left even ruins\nor ashes.  Homolobi was abolished.  It was gone without a trace to\nshow where it had been.\n\nKachina cast herself at Tawannears' feet.\n\n\"How mighty are your gods!\" she moaned.  \"I am yours.  Save me from\nthem.\"\n\nTawannears lifted her in his arms.\n\n\"Gahano need have no fear,\" he said proudly.  \"Tawannears' medicine\nis strong.  All who oppose him shall perish.  But Gahano is safe.\nSurely, Hawenneyu has us in His keeping that he should visit such\ndestruction upon our enemies!  He will send the Honochenokeh to guard\nus.  Tharon the Sky-holder will let the clouds fall upon those who\nstand in our way.  Gaoh will blow the winds against them.\nTawannears' orenda will triumph over all!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE SPOTTED STALLION\n\nWe were free, but new problems arose to confront us.  Our only\nweapons were the knives and tomahawks in our belts.  We were stranded\nall but defenseless in a desolate, unknown country.  Without the\nprotection afforded by our muskets 'twas exceedingly doubtful whether\nwe could travel far in face of strong hostile opposition.  The\nAwataba, any tribe of archers, easily could overwhelm us.  Moreover,\nWinter was coming on.  Autumn was actually at hand.  There were the\ntwin questions of food and shelter to be answered.  And finally, we\nhad a fourth comrade to feed, protect and clothe.\n\nBut on this final score we had no occasion for worry, as events soon\nshowed.  Kachina might acclaim the superior accessibility which\nTawannears enjoyed with the high gods, but her native self-reliance,\ncourage and intelligence refused to acknowledge the handicap of her\nsex.  At the very beginning of her association with us she claimed\nand fulfilled the r\u00f4le of an equal--proving in this, as in countless\nother ways, that she was of Spanish blood, no ordinary Indian maiden\nto accept meekly the drab duties of a squaw.  Tawannears, somewhat to\nmy amusement, accepted her at her own valuation.\n\nThe Seneca possessed a streak of innate chivalry entirely different\nfrom the normal attitude of courteous toleration which the People of\nthe Long House entertain for their women.  No nation anywhere that I\nhave read of in history give their wives and mothers greater honor\nthan these barbarians of the forest.  'Tis the women who select the\ncandidates for the high rank of Royaneh, the noble group of leaders\nwho form the Hoyarnagowar, the ruling body of the Great League.  They\narrange marriages, and largely control clan politics.  A warrior of\nthe Hodenosaunee says that he is the son of his mother, not of his\nfather, when you ask his name.  Beyond all other Indians, ay, and\nbeyond all white men they yield power and place to women.\n\nBut as a race they treat women as a sex apart.  The lives the men\nlive are denied to the women.  Of love, in the sense that we\nentertain it, an affection transcending the arbitrary bounds of\nphysical affinity, they are ignorant.  Tawannears, alone, joined to\nthe sex courtesy of the Hodenosaunee the white man's capacity for a\nflaming spiritual devotion.  He loved with all his being, he\nworshiped, he felt a joyous sense of service based on an equality of\npartnership.  So much, at least, of what they sought to achieve the\nmissionaries had wrought into his character.  Let it be said for them\nthat they supplied him with the mainspring of his life.\n\nSo it was that, having asserted the protection of his gods, the\nsuperiority of his orenda over all powers which might be brought\nagainst it, he proceeded, with the na\u00efvet\u00e9 that was a cardinal point\nof his character, to admit the validity of the aid she was able to\ngive us, aid without which, I believe, we must have perished.  Nor\ndid he then or ever treat her as a squaw, a woman to be honored in\nthe lodge and debarred from warriors' councils.  And this, I must say\nclearly, has seemed most odd to me.  For the real Gahano or any other\nIndian maid must naturally have adopted the habits, the ways of\nthought, bred into her.  Yet never did Tawannears doubt the truth of\nthe miraculous exploit he credited to himself.\n\nSo sure was he that he never mentioned it thereafterward.  It had\nbeen a gift from Hawenneyu, a recognition of human endurance and\nloyalty.  Very well, then, he took what Hawenneyu gave, offered\nthanks and went his way.  Why talk of the obvious?  Anyone, so\nTawannears reasoned in his blend of Christian philosophy and pagan\nfaith, who strove hard enough could do what he had done.  It had been\ndone before, he believed.  He did not even question the failure of\nJouskeha--or Wiki--to seal his Lost Soul in the pumpkin-shell in\nwhich she had first appeared, and deliver her to him so.  The gods,\nno more than men, must do a thing in the same way each time they\nundertook it.  They had acted toward him as they saw fit.  He refused\nto quibble over details.  He was satisfied.\n\nI have said that without Kachina we should have perished.  Mayhap I\nexaggerate, but nevertheless 'tis true that she was the means of\nguiding us from the cliff-top above the grave of Homolobi down to the\nvalley-floor, which we had need to pass to gain the Eastern vents.\n'Twas she who skirted the ragged mound the rock-slide had formed, and\nsolved the first of our difficulties by retrieving two bows and a\nquiver of arrows which certain of the Awataba had cast aside in\nflight.  As weapons these were not much, crudely made, lightly\nstrung, with flint-tipped arrows none too straight or dependable in\nflight; but they were better than nothing.\n\nKachina, too, collected corn and vegetables from the standing fields\nand gardens on the far side of the river, which had been undamaged by\nthe catastrophe, and with these she cooked us tasty stews that helped\nus to fight down the pangs of hunger we experienced as meat-eaters.\nAnd 'twas she who knocked over a turkey of one of the village flocks\nand afforded us thus a more substantial meal the next evening.  And\nshe knew the best passes and ravines leading from the valley, and\nsaved us weeks of wandering, and very likely, death from starvation\nor at the hand of some hostile tribe, when we resumed our journey to\nthe East.\n\nShe was a maid as quick in wit and devotion as in temper, scornful of\nPeter's bulk whilst she respected his strength, affecting for me an\namused toleration as of one incomparably aged, an incumbrance to be\nadmitted for sake of Tawannears.  I think at first she was attracted\nby the Seneca because of the novelty of his case, the strange part it\ngave her to play, the whimsical sensation of being one reborn again,\nan accepted intimate and favorite of the gods.  But there can be no\nquestion she grew to love him with devotion akin to his own.  He was\na man amongst millions, ay, in the very words she used, a _Man_!\n\nBoth Peter and I, whom she plagued and teased like the child she was,\ncame to love her as a sister and a true comrade, and because of her\nmingling of Indian unconsciousness and stoicism and white woman's coy\nmannerisms.  'Twas Peter, for instance, insisted upon taking from her\nthe ridiculous costume of turkey feathers, which was all she had to\nwear.  For herself, she gave it not a second's thought.  I daresay it\nwas fairly warm if unsubstantial, and she had as little false modesty\nas might be expected in one who was convinced of her semi-divinity.\nPeter fashioned for her instead a neat costume of moccasins, breeches\nand coat, which he contrived from his own raiment, going afterward\nalmost as naked as the Awataba until good fortune threw in our way\nthe chance to replenish ourselves.  But I am again galloping in\nadvance of my story, an ill trick, and to be attributed to the\ngarrulity of old memories stirred afresh.\n\nWith weapons and food for the time being, our next concern was as to\nshelter for the Winter, and on this point we were all agreed: we\ndesired to get as far as possible from this valley of death before\nthe cold weather and the terrible snows prevented traveling, and\ninasmuch as Tawannears' search was ended there was no question but\nthat we should go east.  Had we been by ourselves we three would have\nelected to follow the stream which flowed through the plantations of\nwhat had been Homolobi--and we should have been led hundreds of miles\nto the southward.  It was by Kachina's advice that we chose a ravine\nwhich carried us due east into a more favorable country, where game\nwas abundant.\n\nWe had feared the attentions of the remnants of the Awataba, but if\nany were left they gave us a wide berth, nor did we see signs of\nother savages, until we came to a considerable river some four days'\njourney from the edge of the rock desert, where we were attacked by a\nsmall band of stalwart warriors, whom Kachina called Navahu.  They\ncame at us boldly, seeing how few we were, and we pretended to flee\nbehind a thicket; but as they approached us there we charged upon\nthem with heavy clubs of wood that Peter had cut, and at the sight of\nour white, bearded faces they lost all their ardor and tried to\nescape, crying that we were Naakai, by which, it seems, they meant\nSpaniards.  We overtook and plundered several of them, besides\nraiding their camp on the river-bank, and so became possessed of some\nhandsomely woven robes or blankets, which Kachina assured us were\nhighly prized by all the tribes in these regions.\n\nHitherto Peter and I had been obliged to content ourselves with clubs\nto supplement our knives and tomahawks, it being manifestly the\nwisest policy to award our two bows to Tawannears and Kachina, who\nwere more expert archers than we.  Now we acquired two more bows and\nnearly two quivers full of arrows, and plucking up our courage,\ndeemed ourselves equipped to encounter any resistance short of\nmusketry.  We swam the river without difficulty, and continued east,\nbeing halted presently by a barrier of foothills beyond a smaller\nstream.  Long since we had passed the confines of Kachina's narrow\ngeographical knowledge, and after discussing the situation we decided\nto follow this stream north.\n\nWhen it turned abruptly west three days afterward we were\ncrestfallen, but we agreed to keep to its banks for one day more; and\nour perseverance was rewarded, for we discovered that it flowed into\na larger river, apparently the one we had first crossed, which seemed\nto come down from the northeast.  'Twas in this direction we felt\nvaguely that we should aim, and we made the best progress the broken\nground afforded.  Several days' rough traveling brought us to a third\nstream, which joined our river from the east.  Ahead loomed range\nafter range of rocky peaks; southeast the prospect* was also\nforbidding.  We made the only decision possible, and headed east up\nthe course of this new river.  Of course, it might have carried us\nanywhere, as in this land the streams seemed to be coming from and\nflowing toward all directions; but it was our good fortune that its\nhead waters were high on the western slopes of the Sky Mountains, and\nwe were able to Winter in a glorious valley such as had been our home\nthe year previous.\n\n\n* Ormerod's course grows increasingly difficult to trace, but I\nhazard a guess he came out of some point in the Wasatch Mountains of\nUtah, crossed the Grand and followed that river to the\nGunnison.--A.D.H S.\n\n\nWe built a comfortable cabin of two rooms, and had all the food we\nneeded.  Indeed, we grew fat and sleek, and Peter, with his clever\nhands, made us new garments of deerskin.  The blankets we had\ncaptured from the Navahu kept us warm.  And we whiled away the hours\nwhen we were not hunting or working on pelts by cutting and\nstraightening arrow shafts, chipping and fastening stone-heads and\nadjusting the feathering.  We were better armed than ever, and Peter\nand I improved in our shooting, although we could never hope to rival\narchers like Tawannears and Kachina, who had drawn bows since\nchildhood--just as they were incomparably less expert than the\nmarvelous bowmen of the Plains tribes, who spend their whole lives in\nattaining proficiency in this weapon, thanks to their being entirely\ndependent upon it and unable to secure firearms.\n\nSpring set us afoot again.  We delayed our departure from the cabin\nuntil we were certain the last snow storm had blanketed the\nmountains, but once we started we moved rapidly, as Tawannears had\nshaped snow-shoes for all of us, and the soggy crust packed firm.\nTwo weeks' journey fetched us across a divide of land, a\nmountain-ridge running due north and south; and we descended by a\nseries of valleys which carried us out of the mountains through a\ngateway betwixt two gigantic peaks that reared skyward many miles\napart.*\n\n\n* This tends to confirm the theory that Ormerod followed the Gunnison\neast, crossed the Continental Divide near Gannon City, and came down\ninto the valley of the Arkansas, with Pike's Peak on his left and\nSpanish Peak visible in the distance.--A.D.H.S.\n\n\nWe encountered a river flowing east, which already was gathering size\nand force from the melting snows of countless minor streams.  For\nwant of more accurate guidance we followed its Southern bank,\nabandoning it twice, when it seemed to deviate to the north, and\nstriking eastward in a bee line, although in each of these instances\nwe picked up the river again.\n\nOn this comparatively low tableland the snow had disappeared, and the\nlong grass and foliage were greening out.  There was no lack of\nantelope and deer, and we saw frequent herds of buffalo, the\nadvance-guards of the vast migrations which were shifting from the\nSouthern feeding-grounds.  We were now in the country of the horse\nIndians, those wide-ranging tribes whose bands ride hundreds of miles\nfor a handful of booty or a scalp, lovers of fighting by preference,\nand we were at pains to avoid all contact with them.  Twice we hid in\nthe grass to let gorgeously feathered parties ride past.  Once we lay\nin a patch of timber by the river-bank, unable to move, and watched a\nband make camp.\n\nBut we could not hope to be successful always, especially as the\ncountry became flatter and less adaptable for concealment as we\ntraveled east.  There arrived a day when the river looped north, and\nwe abandoned it for the third time, squaring our backs to the\nwestering sun and entrusting ourselves to the open plains.  The grass\nhere was still short of its midsummer luxuriance.  Cover was\nnegligible, and the land rolled evenly in gigantic swells.  We were\nclimbing one of these, weary and anxious to reach a water-supply, as\na war-party rode over the crest, fifty painted warriors in\nbreech-clouts and moccasins, long hair stuck with feathers, white\nshields and lance-points glistening, quivers bristling with arrows.\n\nThey howled their amazement, and swept down upon us, two of their\nnumber racing up the swell behind us to make sure we were not the\nbait of a larger band, lying in ambush.  We bunched together, and\nmade the peace sign, arms upthrust, palms out.  But the newcomers\nrode wearily around us in a contracting circle, their lances slung,\narrows notched, ready to overwhelm us with a rain of shafts.  They\ncarried hornbound bows that could shoot twice as far as ours.  When\nthe scouts scurried back with yells of reassurance, they reduced the\ncircle they had strung until we were fairly within bow-shot from all\nsides.  Then a chief, resplendent in eagle's feathers, hailed us in a\nsonorous dialect marked by rolling r's.  Tawannears started at the\nwords.\n\n\"They are the Nemene, or Comanche,\" he exclaimed.  \"We are in grave\ndanger, brothers.  These men are the mightiest raiders on the plains.\"\n\n\"Shall we fight them?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" approved Kachina, notching an arrow.  \"Let us fight them.\"\n\n\"What does der chief say?\" asked Peter.  \"Can you understand?\"\n\n\"A part.  I have heard the Comanches talk when they came North to\ntrade with the Dakota.  I will try them in Dakota.\"\n\nTawannears shouted his answer, and the Comanche chief summoned a\nwarrior to interpret.\n\n\"He asks who we are,\" Tawannears explained swiftly after a brief\ninterchange of words.  \"I have told him.  He says that we must come\nwith him to his camp.\"\n\nThere was another interchange of remarks.\n\n\"I have told him we are hurrying to our own land, that we mean no\nharm to his people, but he will not agree to let us go.  He says we\nare on his people's land, and we should have asked permission to come\nhere.  I will say that we were looking for him, but----\"\n\nTawannears shrugged his shoulders.\n\nOnce more the shouted questions and answers, accompanied by signs and\ngestures, and the ring of warriors commenced to weave around us\nagain.  The chief rode leisurely to one side, and regarded us\nindifferently.  His interpreter shouted two words.\n\n\"It is no use, brothers,\" said Tawannears.  \"We are to throw down our\nweapons or they shoot.\"\n\n\"Is it a question of dying now or later?\" I asked resentfully.\n\n\"It looks so.\"\n\n\"Let us die here in the open,\" proposed Kachina fearlessly.\n\n\"Nein,\" spoke up Peter.  \"If we fight here, we die, Dot's sure.  If\nwe go with dem, we die--maype.  Berhaps not.  Not sure, eh?  We\npetter go, andt wait andt see.  _Ja!_\"\n\nThe Dutchman was right.  We dropped our weapons, and the ring of\nComanches swirled in upon itself.  We were suddenly in the midst of a\nsweating mob of men and horses, scowling faces bent over us, rough\nhands snatching at our possessions; rawhide thongs were lashed about\nour waists, and the cavalcade dashed away between the swells, each of\nus running fast to keep up with the horseman who had us in tow,\nplenty of careless hoofs ready to beat our brains out if we stumbled.\nBut after the first mile they lessened the pace, and toward evening\nwe rode into a circle of teepees pitched on the bank of a tiny river.\n\nOn one side was a grove of trees, reaching to the high-water mark.\nOpposite, the pony herd grazed in a natural meadow.  We were bound\nhand and foot and suffered to lie on the grass betwixt the\neasternmost of the teepees and the horse herd, the adolescents of the\nherd-guard being summoned to watch us.  The chief and his warriors,\nafter exhibiting us to a group of several hundred people, including\nwomen and children, shooed them all away and left us, evidently to\ndecide how to treat us--which, apparently, meant how to end us.\n\nThe shadows lengthened steadily, but nobody brought us food.  Now and\nthen a man lounged over to test our bindings or look at us.  Women\nand children who sought to stare at us further were importantly\nwarned off by the adolescents of the herd-guard.  The light was\nfailing, too--so much so that I was surprised at feeling a cold\nmuzzle thrust against my cheek.  A delighted whinny greeted me.\n\nI twisted my head around, and looked up into the quivering nostrils\nof a mottled stallion.  He nuzzled me again, whinnying with every\nappearance of recognition, his white mane ruffling in pleasure.  I\nspoke to him softly, and he buried his muzzle in my neck, pawing with\nhis forehoof as though inviting me to rise and mount him.  Yes, there\nwas no doubt of it.  He was Sunkawakan-kedeshka, the spotted horse,\nthat I had tamed at Nadoweiswe's Teton village in the North before we\nfirst crossed the Sky Mountains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nTHE STAMPEDE\n\n\"What is this, brother?\" whispered Tawannears beside me.\n\nI explained, and Kachina and Peter rolled closer to listen.\n\n\"Wah!\" gasped the girl, when I had finished.  \"This god Hawenneyu is\na great god!  He has sent the horse to aid us to escape.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" I answered her peevishly.  \"We lie here bound and\nhelpless.  If the whole herd came and waited next the stallion we\ncould not use them.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, it is good medicine,\" insisted Tawannears.  \"My heart\ngrows strong again.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" agreed Peter with more interest than he usually exhibited.\n\"We hafe der middle of an egscape.  If we get der first part----\"\n\nSunkawakan-kedeshka's silken ears shot forward across my face.  I\nheard the padding of moccasined feet.\n\n\"The herd-guard!\" I exclaimed.  \"Remember, I am crying out in fear.\nThe stallion is biting me.\"\n\nAnd straightway I gave vent to a series of fearsome shrieks, at which\nthe spotted stallion drew back in amazement, unable to understand the\nantics of the man he considered his friend.  The youthful herdsman\nbroke into a run, and Tawannears hailed him in a mixture of Dakota\nand Comanche phrases:\n\n\"Come quickly!  Is this the way to treat captives?  The horse is\nbiting my white brother!\"\n\nThe Comanche laughed, peering through the starlit darkness, and I\nnoted with interest that as soon as he identified the horse he\napproached with marked caution.\n\n\"The spotted horse will give him an easier death than our warriors at\nthe torture-stake,\" he exulted.  \"What are teeth and hoofs to the\nknife and fire?  If I leave the horse he will soon make an end of the\nTaivo.*  But to-morrow will tell another story.  The Taivo will\nlinger for hours, begging for the hatchet.\"\n\n\n* White man.\n\n\n\"They say your father would dress you in women's garb and beat you\nwith switches if any harm came to the Taivo before the Council\ndecided his fate,\" said Tawannears sternly.  \"Mount the horse and\nride him away.\"\n\n\"Mount the spotted horse!\" returned the boy with derision.  \"Never!\nNot one of our warriors has been able to back him since we raided him\nfrom the Teton.\"\n\n\"No, for they are Comanches,\" sneered Tawannears.\n\nThe boy dealt him a lusty kick in the ribs, and drove off the\nstallion with thrusts of the light lance he carried.  Hoofs sawing\nand teeth flashing, Sunkawakan-kedeshka gave me one look of regret,\nemitted a whinny of hurt inquiry and faded into the darkness.\n\n\"What do you mean, Peter, by the middle of an escape?\" I whispered\ncuriously as soon as the herd-guard was out of hearing.\n\n\"Der first part,\" answered the Dutchman, \"is getting off der thongs.\nDot we hafe to do.  Der middle part is finding a way to leafe der\nvillage.  Dot we hafe in der horse----\"\n\n\"How?\" demanded Tawannears.\n\n\"He is a king of horses,\" returned Peter placidly.  \"Hafe you forgot\nder lidtle band of mares he ledt at Nadoweiswe's village?  What he\ndoes, der herd will do.\"\n\n\"'Tis true,\" I assented eagerly.  \"With him to aid us we could\nstampede the herd.\"\n\n\"But why talk of such things when we are helpless?\" was Tawannears'\ngloomy comment.\n\n\"We are not helpless,\" interrupted Kachina.\n\nShe rolled herself over and over until she lay on her stomach close\nto Tawannears.\n\n\"The warrior who bound my wrists did not tie them so tight as yours,\"\nshe explained.  \"I smiled at him, and I think he means to ask the\nComanche chief to let him take me into his teepee--the ant!  If he\ndid I would kill him with his own knife.  If your teeth are sharp as\nmine you can gnaw the knots loose.  Then I will free the rest of you.\"\n\nAnd as Tawannears hesitated in bewilderment at her suggestion, she\ncontinued:\n\n\"Hurry!  The eagles are singing of victory in the sky.  They say we\nshall defy the Comanche.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" I pleaded.  \"Make haste, brother.  The herd-guards may\ncome again.\"\n\nSo Tawannears rolled himself into a position where he could bring his\nstrong teeth--the teeth of a barbarian, exempt from white man's\nills--to bear upon the girl's knotted wrists, triced in the small of\nher back just above the hips.  And whilst he labored at the tough\nhide thongs, Peter and I kept watch for the return of the adolescent.\nHad he come we planned to give warning, and Kachina and Tawannears\nwould have resumed their customary attitudes but we saw no more of\nhim.  I think he and his friends were taking turns sneaking into the\nvillage to listen outside the Council teepee to the debate of the\nwarriors on our fate, and this meant more work for those watching the\ngrazing horses.  For twice I heard the distant whinny of\nSunkawakan-kedeshka, evidently challenging my attention, and I\nsuspect it required one boy's vigilance to restrict his wanderings,\nalone.\n\nTime dragged slowly, and the Seneca's lips became slippery with blood\nfrom his torn gums.  I took his place, and when I was worn out,\nPeter's heavy jaws assumed the burden.  'Twas he wrenched the last\nknot loose; but several moments passed before Kachina was able to\nrestore the circulation in her hands.  Then she unbound her ankles,\nand without waiting to rub her feet back to life, fell to upon our\nlashings.  In ten minutes we were all four free, crawling--we could\nnot have walked had we tried--toward the herd.\n\nOur plan was simple.  It had to be.  We advanced until we could\ndescry the figures of two of the herd-guards against the faint\nstarlight, unkempt, naked striplings, lances wandlike in their right\nhands.  On this, the village side, the task was easier, and so most\nof the guards were on the flanks and opposite to our position.\nBeyond the two guards was the restless mass of horses, some hundreds\nof them, grazing, fighting, rolling, sleeping.\n\nTawannears and I stripped off our shirts and breeches, and so assumed\nthe general aspect of Comanche warriors, crawled back a short\ndistance and then ran forward openly, as though we were carrying a\nmessage from the village.  The two guards heard the patter of our\nmoccasins and rode in to meet us, quite guileless, probably taking us\nfor certain of their comrades.  When they called to us, we answered\nwith grunts, puffing mightily.  They never suspected us.  I was\nbeside my man, had one hand on his thigh, before he guessed aught was\nwrong, and as he opened his mouth to cry a warning I had him by the\nthroat and throttled the life out of him.  His cry was no more than a\ngurgle in the night.  Tawannears was even more expeditious.\n\nTo our left we heard another pair of guards talking together.  They\nmay have detected the choked cry of the one I killed.  At any rate,\nwe could not afford to pause to establish a plan for meeting them.\nTawannears softly called up Kachina and Peter, and I rode into the\nherd, whistling for Sunkawakan-kedeshka.  He answered me at once.  A\nlong-drawn-out whinny of delight, and he battered his way to my side\nwith flying hoofs.  I swung from the herd-guard's horse to his back,\nand trotted over to my friends.\n\n\"Quick, brother!\" hissed Tawannears.\n\nHe pointed at two mounted figures that loomed perilously close.  One\nof them hailed at that moment, mistaking me for a brother guard.  I\ngrowled something indistinct in my throat, and heaved Kachina up in\nfront of me, holding her in my arms and twisting my fingers in the\nstallion's mane in place of reins.  He did not tremble under the\nextra weight, only tossed his head and wickered--much to my\ngratitude, for I was by no means sure how he would regard a double\nload, and I could not leave the girl by herself, considering she had\nnever ridden before, nor to one of the others who were scarcely less\nignorant of horsemanship.\n\nTawannears and Peter climbed gingerly on the horses of the slain\nguards, and we plunged into the center of the herd.\n\n\"_Ha-yah-yah-yaaaa-aaa-aa-ah-hhh-yeeee-eee-ee!_\"\n\nThe war-whoop of the Long House split the silence of the night.  I\nexcited Sunkawakan-kedeshka to a frenzy.  Tawannears and Peter thrust\nright and left with their captured lances.  Half-tamed at best, these\nhorses were restless of all restraint, and they reacted immediately\nto the turmoil.  A shrill scream from the spotted stallion produced a\nchorus of responses.  Mares fought to reach his side.  Other\nstallions fought to keep them away.  The herd went wild.  Kicking,\nbiting, neighing, screaming, it smashed aside the efforts of the herd\nguards to stop it and pelted southeast into the open prairie.\n\nAnd in the midst of it my comrades swayed in their seats, in danger\nat any instant of being knocked to the ground.  And Kachina and I\nclung desperately to the bare back of the stallion, his great muscles\nlifting him along at a stride which soon placed him in the fore of\nthe stampede.\n\nI saw one boy go down in the path of the mad rush, he and his mount\ntrampled to a pulp.  Others rode wide, shouting the alarm.  The\nvillage behind us rocked to the thunder of hoofs; a cry of dismay\nrose to the stars that blinked in the dim vault overhead.  Then\nteepees, herd-guards, warriors, trees and river were gone in the\ndarkness.  We were alone with our plunder on the prairie, all around\nus tossing heads and manes, flirting hoofs, lean barrels stretched\nclose to the ground, tails flicking the grass-tips.\n\nMile after mile, the cavalcade pounded on, and I knew the discomforts\nmy comrades must be suffering.  But I could not stop.  Nobody could\nhave stopped that wild flight.  I doubt if I could have stopped the\nspotted stallion in the first hour.  All I could do was to grip him\ntight with my knees, cling to Kachina and pray he and his fellows\nwould pick fair ground in the darkness.\n\nIt was near dawn when I judged there was a chance of success to stay\nthe herd.  I began with the stallion, calming him, soothing his\nnerves, and gradually, my influence extended to the horses\nsurrounding him, mostly his attendant mares, as well as a few colts.\nNo foals could have kept up with our rush.  In fact, we had been\ndropping horses by the way for three hours or more.  Those that were\nleft were the hardiest, and their eyes were bloodshot, their flanks\nwet with foam, their lungs bursting.  I slowed the troop to a canter,\nto a trot, Tawannears and Peters seconding me as well as they could.\nFinally, we pulled them to a walk, and induced them to graze.\n\nI felt safe enough.  We had traveled at a terrible pace, and the\nComanche had no means of keeping up with us.  Also, we were all\nexhausted, and I had designs for making use of our plunder which made\nme unwilling to founder the herd.  So we sought shelter in a grove of\ntrees, driving in there the stallion's immediate following, and\npermitting the other horses to graze at will, whilst we four slept\nthrough the forenoon.\n\nUpon awaking, we killed a colt for food, taking pains to dispatch him\nin a part of the wood down-wind from his kind, and after eating I put\ninto effect the plan I had designed to cover our future trail.\nTawannears, Peter and I cut out of the ruck of the herd a score of\nthe choicest ponies, which we drove into the wood to join\nSunkawakan-kedeshka's cohort, guarded for the time being by Kachina.\nAnd this being done, we chased the remainder south, frightening them\nwith bunches of burning grass.  If the Comanches or others picked up\nour trail now they would be much more likely to follow the larger\nbody, as was evidenced by the area of hoof-prints, and we might\ncontinue undisturbed upon our eastward journey, with a quantity of\nsuperfluous horseflesh to trade for weapons or food, besides a\nprovision of mounts for ourselves to expedite our progress.\n\nWe left the grove at sunset and rode at a leisurely pace until the\nstars told us it was midnight, camping in the open close to a rivulet\nwhere there was ample grass and water for the horses.  The next day\nwe traveled as far as a second grove of trees on the banks of a\nconsiderable stream, which we concluded was the river we had followed\neastward from the base of the Sky Mountains, and we made a halt of\ntwo days here to rest the herd and determine in our minds what our\nnext step should be.  I was all for continuing as we were, but\nTawannears and Peter held that our wisest course was to cross the\nriver and head north to the Dakota country, where we should be among\nfriends and might be able to rely upon an escort to the Mississippi.\nBut, as usual, fate intervened, and relieved us of the burden of the\ndecision.\n\nWe were arguing back and forth on the afternoon of the second day,\nthe horses grazing in the confines of the grove under the supervision\nof Kachina, who, with a little practice, had become as skilled a\nherd-guard as a shepherdess of turkeys, when we were disturbed by a\ncall from her.  She beckoned us to the bluff above the river.\n\n\"Strange people over there,\" she said, pointing.\n\nThe stream here was not more than a hundred or two hundred yards wide\nand in the clear air we could see the newcomers distinctly.  They\nwere plainly a returning war-party, travel-stained, badly cut-up, the\nworse for their adventures.  Of sixty or more warriors within view\nten or a dozen bore evidence of wounds.  Their lances were broken.\nTheir buffalo-hide shields were cut and hacked.  But their horses\nwere in the saddest plight of all.  One lay down and died as we\nlooked.  Others could never move from where they stood.\n\nTawannears' eyes gleamed.\n\n\"Here is fresh favor from Hawenneyu,\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"How so!\" I demanded.\n\n\"These people need horses.  We need arms.  We will make a trade with\nthem.\"\n\n\"They look like very bad people,\" objected Kachina.\n\nAnd in all truth, they were an evil group of swart, thick-set,\ncruel-visaged savages.\n\n\"No matter,\" asserted the Seneca.  \"They are on the far side of the\nstream from us.  We will see that they stay there until we have\nfinished our business with them.  Otetiani and Tawannears will ride\nacross and talk to their chief, and Gahano and Peter must move\nbriskly about the wood to appear a numerous band.  Lead the horses\naround where they can be seen.  Call to one another.  Walk about\nwhere they can see a part of you.  We shall fool them.  Their need is\nbitter.\"\n\nNone of us was disposed to argue with him, for if the need of the\nstrange savages was bitter, ours was no less so.  We had two lances\nwherewith to hunt and to defend ourselves, not even a knife amongst\nthe four of us.  Weapons we must have to dare traverse this\ntremendous sweep of open country, roamed by the most predacious\nIndians on the continent.\n\nI whistled up the spotted stallion and one of his mares, and\nTawannears and I mounted and rose forth from the trees, making a\ngreat play as we came into the open on the river bank of handing over\nour lances and other dummy weapons to Peter, who straightway marched\nback into the wood.  We also pretended to shout orders to different\npoints along the bank, and the Dutchman and Kachina whooped the\nanswers to us or responded with whistle-signals.  The band on the\nopposite bank had dragged themselves to their feet, and stared\nsullenly at us as we splashed into the shallows, and with upraised\narms signaling peace.\n\n\"They look much stouter than any tribe we have seen,\" I remarked.\n\"Why, they wear body-armor, cuirasses of buffalo-hide.  There is one\nwho has an arrow still sticking under his arm.\"\n\nTawannears frowned.\n\n\"Kachina was right,\" he said.  \"These are bad people.  I remember\nnow.  They are the Tonkawa.\"*\n\n\n* Literal meaning--\"They-all-stay-together.\"\n\n\n\"Who are they!\" I asked.\n\nWe were not yet within earshot of them as they clustered on the bank.\n\n\"Chatanskah often told Tawannears of them when I first dwelt with\nCorlaer in his teepee years ago.  They are the scourge of the plains.\nThey have no home, but go wherever they please, hunting and killing.\nTheir hands are raised against all other people's.  They have no\nallies, no brothers.  They make no treaties.  They never receive\nambassadors.  They are ravaging one year in the Spanish countries in\nthe South, or matching lances with the Apache; and the year after\nthey strike the Dakota or the Cheyenne.  They are like the wolf-pack.\nThey never abandon their prey, and you must kill all before they\nabandon an attack.  Their favorite food is human flesh.\"\n\nI shuddered, eying askance the bestial visages lowering on the bank,\nfaces as depraved, if more intelligent, than those of the Awataba.\n\n\"And we are to bargain with these!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"We must, brother.  They are great warriors.  If we yield to them\nthey will think we fear them, and they will pursue us.  Our horses\nwould be bait enough.  No, we have come so far, and we cannot draw\nback.  We must carry it with a high hand.  Be bold.  Scowl at them.\nShow contempt.  We have them at our mercy, but it is not convenient\nfor us to attack.  That is our position.\"\n\nWe kicked our horses up the slope of the bank, and drew rein in the\nmidst of the half-circle of Tonkawa warriors.  Not a weapon was\ndisplayed, for that would have been a gross violation of Indian\netiquette, and even these freebooters respected the fundamental\nprecepts of the race to some extent.  But we were subtly made to feel\nthat every man there itched to twist his knife in our hearts.\n\nI found myself drawing back my lips from my teeth in an animalistic\nsnarl of reciprocal hatred as Tawannears thrust out his two hands\nwith the forefingers crossed at right angles, the figure in the\nuniversal sign-language for the desire to trade.  When a young\nwarrior tried to crowd his horse closer I touched Sunkawakan-kedeshka\nwith my heel, and the spotted stallion shoved the offender off the\nbank.  The youngster scrambled up again, a murderous look on his\nface, but the Tonkawa chief, a broad-shouldered giant of a man,\nwearing the hide cuirass and a feathered helmet, spat out a guttural\norder which curbed the tide of hatred.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he demanded roughly in the broken jargon of\nComanche, which passed for the trade language of the plains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nOUR TRADE WITH THE TONKAWAS\n\n\"We hold this ford,\" replied Tawannears in the same dialect, speaking\nwith arrogant emphasis.  The two conducted their conversation after\nthe remarkable fashion of the Plains tribes, the basis of their\nspeech being such Comanche phrases as they had in common, pieced out\nwith Dakota, Pawnee, Arickara, Cheyenne and Siksika, and when they\nwere at a loss for a common vocal ground of understanding reverting\nto the flexible sign-language, by which they never failed to convey\nthe most complicated meanings.\n\nOccasionally one of the leading Tonkawa warriors would intervene with\na suggestion or a word if his chief seemed at a loss, but the debate\nwas mainly a two-man affair.\n\n\"Who are you?\" returned the Tonkawa haughtily, yet impressed by our\nswaggering manner.\n\n\"We are of no tribe,\" said Tawannears.  \"We are outlaws and\nfugitives.  We ravage all whom we meet.\"\n\n\"Not the Tonkawa,\" commented the chief, with what on a civilized face\nI would have termed a grin of mild amusement.\n\n\"Yes, the Tonkawa, if they attempt to cross us,\" rejoined Tawannears.\n\n\"How many of the Taivo have you in your band?\" inquired the Tonkawa,\nchanging the subject.\n\n\"We have many,\" Tawannears lied easily.  \"This one you see with me is\nan In-glees.  He is an exile from his people, a murderer.  We have\nFranquis and Espanyas, Dakota and Shawnee, men of every tribe,\nincluding some from beyond the Sky Mountains.  We have just raided a\nComanche village and run off their herd.\"\n\nThis statement created the sensation Tawannears intended it\nshould--for two reasons: the Comanches were enemies no tribe\ndespised, and the suggestion of unusual wealth in horseflesh appealed\nto the special needs of the Tonkawa.\n\n\"That is well,\" answered the chief, with an evil smirk.  \"We need\nhorses.  We will come over, and take yours.\"\n\nTawannears laughed.\n\n\"Come, Tonkawas,\" he invited.  \"My young men are waiting for you\nbehind the trees.  They will shoot you down in the water, and those\nwho reach the land will be fresh meat for the axes of our women.\"\n\n\"You lie,\" said the Tonkawa.  \"You are not so many as we.\"\n\n\"There are thirty warriors behind those trees,\" asserted Tawannears.\n\"How many of you would die before you had their scalps--or before\nthey fled?\"\n\n\"We need horses,\" reiterated the chief.  \"We are not afraid to die.\nWe are warriors.  We are Tonkawa.\"\n\nA murmur of savage approval, like the growl of a wolf-pack, answered\nhim from his men.\n\n\"That is good hearing,\" said Tawannears lightly.  \"But the Tonkawa do\nnot think straight.  There is a cloud over their eyes.  They say\ntheir medicine is weak.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"The Comanche are pursuing my people.  They will be here soon,\nfollowing the tracks of our horses.  If we are here they will fight\nus.  If you drive us away and capture the Comanches' horses, none the\nless will they attack you.  How many of the Tonkawa would be left,\nafter fighting us, to meet the Comanches?\"\n\nThe Tonkawa pondered.\n\n\"We need horses,\" he said for the third time.  \"Give us what we\nrequire, and we will go away without harming you.\"\n\nTawannears roared with laughter.\n\n\"They say the Tonkawa are men of blood,\" he answered, wiping the\ntears from his eyes.  \"But they are really men who play with mirth.\"\n\nA growl of muffled rage came from the Tonkawa band.\n\n\"Why should two wolf-packs attack each other when the deer are thick\non every side?\" Tawannears continued.  \"It is as I say, the eyes of\nthe Tonkawa are filled with the blood from their wounds.  They cannot\nsee straight.  They do not understand that my people do not fear\nthem.  Do you think we should have ridden to meet you, giving warning\nof our presence, if we had been in fear of you?  I tell you,\nTonkawas, you stand in more peril than we!\"\n\nThis time there was no answering growl, and the Tonkawa chief\nmuttered briefly in council with several of his older warriors.\n\n\"Why do you come here, then?\" he asked bluffly.\n\n\"To trade,\" was Tawannears' prompt response.\n\n\"What?  We are not traders.  You can see we carry only weapons.  We\nhave been on a mission of vengeance.\"  His voice swelled boastfully.\n\"The Kansas slew a small hunting-party of our people many moons ago.\nThree sleeps back we burned their village, and filled our bellies\nwith their blood.  Their scalps hang on our lances.\"\n\nIt was true.  The Tonkawa lances were broidered from midway of their\nshafts to the head with wisps of human hair of all lengths.\n\nTawannears nodded tranquilly.\n\n\"That is well,\" he said.  \"It is the fashion of my band to slay all\nwho cross our trail.  If we had not something else in view we should\nslay you.\"\n\nThe Tonkawa leaned forward in his pad-saddle, jaw menacing.\n\n\"Be careful or we test your boast!\" he cried.\n\n\"You dare not,\" returned Tawannears casually.\n\nAnd by the very gentleness with which he said it he carried\nconviction.  The Tonkawa looked from him to the waving branches of\nthe wood on the other side of the stream.  It might conceal anything.\nThere were horses grazing here and there, and at frequent intervals a\nfigure showed between the trunks, never for long enough to supply\nopportunity for identification.\n\n\"You say you come to trade,\" objected the Tonkawa.  \"I have told you\nwe have nothing to trade--except scalps.\"\n\nHe grinned the insinuation that we were the kind of warriors who were\ncareless how we added to our tale of trophies.  Tawannears ignored\nthe gibe.\n\n\"Yet you have that which we require,\" replied the Seneca.\n\nHe pointed to the full quivers that hung at every warrior's back.\n\n\"Ho!\" laughed the Tonkawa.  \"So you are weaponless!\"\n\n\"It is true,\" answered Tawannears as gently as he had spoken before,\n\"that we have shot away most of our arrows, but we have sufficient to\naccount for you.  Will you try us?\"\n\n\"Why should we believe you?\" derided the chief.  \"Do the Tonkawa\ntrade like the Comanches?\"\n\n\"What we seek is means to trade better with the Comanches,\" retorted\nTawannears, a shaft which drew grim chuckles from his hearers.\n\nThe Tonkawa, for all their debased habits and uncouth manners,\npossessed the marked sense of humor which all Indians enjoy.\n\n\"How many horses will you trade?\" asked the chief.\n\n\"How many do you need?\" countered Tawannears.\n\nThe chief surveyed the depleted ranks of his band, and held up his\nten fingers and thumbs twice--twenty.\n\nTawannears shook his head.\n\n\"That is too many.  We do not require enough arrows to pay for them.\nYou would have to empty every quiver.\"\n\n\"You can trade us so many or we will come and take them,\" threatened\nthe chief.\n\nTawannears started to knee his horse around to return across the\nriver.\n\n\"Wait!\" called the Tonkawa.  \"We will give other weapons.\"\n\nThis was more than Tawannears really had expected--as he later\nadmitted--to maneuver the other side into enlarging the scope of the\ntrade.  He went through the form of a consultation with me, and then\nasked:\n\n\"The Tonkawa make fine weapons.  That is said everywhere.  What will\nyou give for twenty horses?\"\n\n\"Six quivers of arrows, two bows and a leather cuirass for yourself.\"\n\n\"It is not enough.\"  Tawannears rejected the offer decidedly.  \"With\nsix quivers you must give six bows--and we will take four cuirasses\nand ten knives and hatchets.\"\n\nThe Tonkawa scowled furiously.\n\n\"Would you leave us weaponless, too?\" he howled.  \"We will first come\nand take what we require!\"\n\nI thought he was in earnest now, but when Tawannears repeated his\nplay of breaking off negotiations, it had the same effect as the\nfirst time; and the upshot of it all was that we agreed to accept six\nquivers, four bows, two cuirasses, and ten knives and eight hatchets.\nThis was more than we needed, of course, but we had to ask for so\nmuch to carry out the pretense of our numbers.\n\nAfter the terms of the trading had been arranged we came to the\nquestion of the means of putting the deal into effect.  The Tonkawa\nchief wanted us to drive the horses over to his side of the\nriver--having first suggested that his band come across and receive\ntheir new mounts at the edge of the wood, in order to save us\ntrouble!--and receive the weapons there.  But Tawannears finally\nengaged him to the stipulation that the trade was to be completed in\nmidstream, betwixt four persons on a side, the others of both sides,\nas he put it, to retire out of arrow-shot from the banks.\n\nThis much accomplished we returned to our friends, rounded up twenty\nhead and brought them to the margin of the bank, Kachina and Peter\nhelping us to handle the herd.  The Tonkawa had observed the terms of\nthe agreement, in so far as the retirement of the main body a long\nbow-shot from the bank; but the four waiting at the water's edge,\nwith the complement of arms, all carried their own weapons, and there\nwas some delay whilst Tawannears rode forward and demanded that they\nthrow down everything, except the goods intended for us.\n\nThis created a delay, and Kachina drew my attention to the sudden\ndarkening of the western sky.  The day had been murkily close, with a\nsweating heat.  Now the sun was obscured by a haze, and in the west a\nrampart of leaden-black clouds was heaping above the horizon, lapping\nover like a series of gigantic waves that tumbled and struggled\namongst themselves, lashing out convulsively in long, inky streamers.\nThe air was soggy.  Not a breath was stirring.\n\n\"A storm is coming,\" she said.  \"We must be quick.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed, \"but we cannot take chances with these people.  They\nare treacherous.\"\n\n\"The storm will be worse than the Tonkawa,\" she affirmed, shrugging\nher shoulders.\n\nI did not believe her, nor did I give a second thought to what she\nhad said.  My attention was confined to the four warriors with whom\nTawannears was arguing, and I attached far more importance to what\nthey did than to the approaching storm.  As a matter of fact, I was\ncorrect in my suspicions, for subsequent events proved that they were\nmeditating a surprise assault upon us, planning to stampede the\nhorses to their side of the stream, and relying upon flight to save\nthem from the friends they still supposed us to have concealed in the\nwood.\n\nTawannears spoke forcibly to the Tonkawa chief, who was one of the\nfour representatives of his side, and as Peter and I began to drive\nthe horses back toward the wood, he yielded.  The four, accompanied\nby Tawannears, rode into the current, the trade-weapons wrapped in\nthree bundles, one carried by each of the chief's assistants.  We\nturned the horses with some difficulty and met them half-way.  The\nchief, I think, smelt a rat as soon as he realized Kachina to be a\nwoman.\n\n\"_Wah!_\" he grunted.  \"Cannot you send warriors to meet warriors?\"\n\n\"The women who go with our band fight with our band,\" returned\nTawannears coolly.  \"They sit with the warriors.\"\n\nThe Tonkawa eyed the wood behind us, and it must have occurred to him\nthat no other figures were in view.  But if he considered taking the\noffensive at that juncture, he abandoned the idea when Peter rode up\nbeside him and clamped huge paws on two of the bundles of weapons.  I\ntook the third bundle and passed it to Kachina, intending to keep my\nhands free for whatever might happen.  But the Tonkawa evidently\ndecided to run no unnecessary risks.  He and his men skilfully packed\nthe twenty horses together and herded them toward the northern bank.\nWe, on our part, headed south.\n\nWe had not reached the shore, when we heard the racket of hoofs and\nlooked back to see the remainder of the Tonkawa streaming down to the\nbank, the weariest of their mounts flogged to the gallop, lances\nbrandished overhead.  Their chief, weaponless as he was, never\nstopped to retrieve his arms from the northern bank, but put himself\nat the head of his warriors as they stormed into the water.\nSplashing, yelling, whooping, they shoved our herd before them, those\nwith failing ponies dropping off in the shallows to mount bare-backed\nthe first fresh horse they could catch.\n\n\"Run, brothers!\" said Tawannears curtly.\n\nWith a blind thought for some such emergency, I had picked for our\nmounts Sunkawakan-kedeshka and three of his mares.  The stallion\nloved to run; his favorites, I knew, would exert every energy to keep\nup with him.  The four fairly flew up the bank and out upon the\nprairie.  We were a long mile in the lead when the first of the\nTonkawas straggled into sight.  They would capture the rest of the\nherd in the wood, but we could not help that.  Our one purpose was to\nplace as much distance as possible betwixt us and that demon throng.\n\nIt grew darker and darker.  The afternoon was well advanced, but\nsunset came late these Summer days.  The gloom was unnatural.\nObjects showed distinctly in the gray light, and behind us was formed\na strangely vivid picture--a belt of open grass; then the low-lying\nfigures of our pursuers, their ponies stretching to the furious pace;\nthen the green bulwark of the trees; and over all the dense,\nsmoky-black canopy of the storm-clouds, arching nearer and nearer.\nThe sun was blanketed completely.  The last patch of blue sky\ndwindled away in the east.  A low moaning sound made me wonder if the\nshouts of the Tonkawa could carry so far.  Kachina turned in her\nsaddle and pointed.\n\n\"Look!\" she cried.\n\nWe obeyed her.  The Tonkawa had stayed their pursuit.  They were\nyanking their horses to a halt.  Some of them already were heading\nback toward the wood.  The moaning sound grew louder.  The\ncloud-curtain in the West stretched now from the prairie's floor to\nthe sky's zenith, sootily impenetrable.\n\n\"They fear the storm!\" cried Kachina.\n\n\"It will be very wet,\" assented Tawannears.  \"We must wrap up our new\nbows.\"\n\n\"I tell you there is no need to think of bows,\" she exclaimed with\npassionate eagerness.  \"You have never seen one of these storms or\nyou would know how grave is our peril.  The wind blows the grass out\nof the ground.  If it catches us in the open we shall be blown\nover--horses and all.  I have seen them in the valley at Homolobi,\nand out here it will be worse, much worse!\"\n\n\"What are we to do?\" I asked.\n\n\"We must have shelter.\"\n\nTawannears and I both laughed.\n\n\"The only shelter is in the wood we left,\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"We are fortunate to be out of it,\" she declared.  \"Trees blow over.\nNo, we must find a hole, a depression in the ground, anything----\"\n\n\"Dis way,\" interrupted Peter calmly.\n\nHe turned his horse clumsily to the left and led us down the steep\nbank of a miniature rivulet, a tributary of the river beside which we\nhad been camping.  Under the bank we were out of sight of people on\nthe prairie, and at least partially protected from the storm.  At\nTawannears' suggestion, we wrapped our new weapons in our\nclothing--what the Comanches had left us--and stowed them in a hole\nin the bank.  Then, having done all that we could, we sat close\ntogether on the ground, holding the horses' rawhide bridles.\n\nThe moaning had increased to a dull, vibrating roar, muffled and\nvague.  Jagged splashes of lightning streaked the sky.  The air had\nbecome chilly cold, and we shivered for want of the clothes we had\nput aside.  There was a peculiar tension in the atmosphere.  The\nhorses sensed it.  They stamped nervously, jerked around at\nunexpected noises.  The stallion whinnied at me, asking reassurance,\nand I stroked his muzzle.\n\n\"It is long coming,\" said Tawannears.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Kachina, \"and when it is here we shall be fortunate\nif we can breathe.\"\n\nSuddenly, the moaning roar became a deafening scream; the blackness\nmantled the earth like a garment, and we, huddled close to the\nground, felt the shock of a great arm sweeping just above our heads.\nIt was the wind.  There was no rain, but a shower of objects began to\nfall against the opposite wall of the gulch.  Shapes, indistinct in\nthe mirk, crashed formless into the bed of the rivulet.  The horses\nwere frantic.  The stallion snatched back as something sailed past\nhim, and pulled me to my feet.  I felt as though a giant's hand had\nclutched my neck.  I began to lift into the air, and knew I was being\nsucked up.  The stallion broke free from me, but I still continued to\nrise.  Then I was violently clutched by the ankles and hauled down to\nearth.\n\nPeter dragged me against the bank beside him.\n\n\"Stay down!\" he bellowed in my ear.  \"Der windt plows you away.\"\n\n\"But the stallion!\"\n\n\"All der horses are gone.  Idt cannot be helped.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nMY ORENDA SAVES US\n\nA lightning-bolt exploded with a crash, and a cold, purple radiance\nbriefly illuminated our surroundings.  The air was filled with trees,\nwisps of grass, clods of earth.  The distorted bodies of a man and a\nhorse lay against the opposite bank of the depression--'twas they,\ndoubtless, had stampeded our mounts.  Apparently they had been hurled\nthere by some caprice of the wind.  I had a vision, too, of the\nstrained faces of my comrades--Peter's little eyes very wide,\nKachina's hair all tumbled about her face, Tawannears grimly\nwatchful.  Then darkness again, and the steady, monotonous roar of\nthe wind, no thing of puffs or gusts, but a stupendous, overpowering\nblast of sheer strength that no living being could stand up to.\n\nIt was tricky and sly, ruthless and resourceful.  It dropped pebbles\nand earth-clods on us.  It eddied in the depression and created\nwhirlpools which snatched at us lustfully.  And once there was a thud\noverhead and a crumbling of the bank--and a large tree rolled down\nupon us, the butt of the trunk missing Kachina by a hand's-breadth.\nBut this last attack was really a blessing in disguise, for presently\nthe rain came, and when the wind let up we were able to prop the tree\nagainst the bank, and it furnished some slight shelter, stripped\nthough it was of leaves.\n\nThe rain was almost more terrible than the wind.  For a while,\nindeed, the wind continued undiminished, lashing us with slanting\ncolumns of water that struck like liquid lances, the drops spurting\nup half a man's stature from the ground after the impact.  Then, as\nthe wind dropped, the rain came down perpendicularly, whipping our\nnaked bodies with icy rods.  A chill permeated the air.  We were so\ncold that our teeth chattered.  And the cold and the rain and the\ndarkness continued, hour after hour.\n\nHow long it lasted I do not know, but I remember noting the lessening\nof the downpour, its swishing away in the East and the frosty\ntwinkling of the stars.  We were all too exhausted to think of\nanything except rest and we cowered beneath the tree-trunk, huddling\nclose for warmth, and somehow slept.  When we awoke the sun was\nrising, and the air was fresh and clear.  The sky was cloudless and a\nsoft blue.  But all around us was strewn the wreckage of the storm.\n\nThe bodies of the man and horse the lightning-flash had revealed in\nthe night still lay in two heaps of broken bones and pounded flesh.\nThree other horses, battered beyond recognition, were scattered along\nthe bank of the shallow ravine or river-bed.  Peering over the top of\nthe bank we discovered that broad patches of the prairie had been\ndenuded of grass, the underlying earth gouged up as though with a\nplough.  The grove in which we had hidden was hacked and torn, an\nopen swath cut through it, many trees down, all more or less\nmutilated.\n\nOf the Tonkawas there was not a trace.  Whatever casualties they had\nendured, plainly they had fled from so unlucky a spot; and that they\nhad suffered by the storm we were convinced by ascertaining that the\ndead man the wind had blown into our hiding-place wore the hide\ncuirass which distinguished these raiders.  Probably they had\ncontinued upon their way south as soon as the rain abated\nsufficiently.\n\nOur horses had vanished with equal completeness.  The rain had washed\nout hoof-prints, and we had no means of tracking them.  And I have\noften reflected upon the oddity of circumstance in twice throwing the\nspotted stallion in my path, only to separate us without warning\nafter he had fulfilled his mission.  I hope that Sunkawakan-kedeshka\nand his mares escaped the storm, and that he lived out his life, free\nand untamed, leading his herd upon the prairies.  But I do not know.\nDestiny had its use for him.  He served his dumb turn--and passed on.\n\nYet I like to think--and it may be I have imbibed somewhat of the red\nman's pagan philosophy from over-much dwelling in his society--that\nin this shadowy after-world of spirits, in which both red man and\nwhite profess belief, man shall find awaiting him the brave beasts\nthat loved him on earth.  There I may ride through the fields of\nasphodels, gripping between my knees the spirit-form of that which\nwas Sunkawakan-kedeshka, feeling again the throb and strain of\nwilling muscles, curbing the patient, tireless energy as I used to,\nwatching the velvet ear that ever switched back for a kind word or\ndrooped at a rebuke.  But I dream--as old men must.\n\nConsider now our plight.  We who had been lately so harried by fate\nwere once more exposed to its whimsies.  But recently prisoners, next\nfree but weaponless, we were today at liberty and armed, but the\nhorses upon which we had relied to expedite our passage of the plains\nwere gone.  Also, we required food for we had not eaten since noon of\nthe day previous.  Our nakedness I do not emphasize because\nTawannears was an Indian and accustomed to it, and Peter and I had\nbeen habituated to it by years of exposure.  For Kachina we had saved\nenough clothing to cover her, although she resented the distinction,\nand was as ready to bear her share of hardship as any of us.\n\nOur food problem was solved temporarily by Peter, who insisted, and\nproved to our satisfaction that the flesh of the horses killed by the\nstorm was still perfectly good.  We ate it without avidity, tough,\nstringy meat, and sodden with moisture, but it sustained us for new\nefforts.\n\nHaving unburied our cache of weapons, we examined them carefully and\nwere able to equip ourselves anew, Peter carrying the two extra\nquivers of arrows at his own insistence.  The two hide cuirasses,\ncumbrous garments of the thick neck-hide of the buffalo slowly dried\nby fire, we discarded as being too hot and confining and stinking of\ntheir former wearers.  We likewise threw into the bed of the rivulet\nthose knives and tomahawks for which we had no use, retaining four of\neach, of very fine Spanish steel, which the Tonkawas must have traded\nor ravaged from the Apache or other Southern tribes.\n\nWe were none of us disposed to continue eating horse-meat and we were\nall anxious to get as far as possible from a country which had been\nso singularly prolific in misfortune for us.  So as soon as we had\ntested our bows and drunk deep of the brown stream that foamed along\nthe gulch, we set out northeastward, aiming to work back to the river\nwe had been following ever since we quit the Eastern skirts of the\nSky Mountains.  We were governed in adopting this course by the same\nreasons which had influenced us before: we were afraid to venture\naway from water, we were more likely to find game near a river, and\nfinally, it served as a guide to us in threading this pathless\nterritory.  To be sure, as we had proved already, there was more\ndanger of meeting savages adjacent to a considerable river; but that\nwas a risk we had to take.  We were resolved to be doubly vigilant\nafter our experiences with the Comanches and Tonkawas.\n\nFor three days we paralleled the river, pitching our course several\nmiles to the south of it and approaching its banks only when we were\ndriven to do so by need of water.  During this time we fed on hares\nand a small animal which lived in multitudes in burrows under the\nprairies, besides a few fish which Tawannears caught in the river,\nemploying a bone-hook he fashioned himself and a string of rawhide\nfrom Kachina's shirt.  We saw no other men or large animals, and the\ncountry gave every indication of having been swept bare by the storm.\n\nOn the fourth day we began to sight buffalo, and supped to\nsatisfaction on the luscious hump of a young cow Tawannears shot,\noverjoyed at this welcome change in our diet.  But the buffalo were\nthe cause of our undoing.  The small scattered herds that we first\nmet were the usual advance-guards of an enormous army, grazing its\nway northward, and in order not to be delayed by its slow progress we\ncrossed the river to the North bank and hurried east, intending to\nloop the front of the main herd.  This we succeeded in doing, and\nthen decided to remain on that side of the river, inasmuch as we knew\nwe must be far south of the point at which we sought to strike the\nMississippi, and ought really to be heading rather north of east.\n\n'Twas this move which brought fresh trouble upon us, albeit conducing\nin the long run to our salvation.  Had we remained on the south bank,\nwe might have run the gauntlet of enemies by other means, but this\nstory must have been shaped differently--additional evidence of the\nimmutable determination of Destiny to govern the issue of our lives.\nAnd had we not been blinded by our desire for haste and the isolation\nwe had found in the track of the storm we should have realized that\nthe approach of so large a herd would be a bait for the first tribe\nwhose scouts marked it down.  But we were blinded--by accident or\nDestiny, as you please.\n\nAs I have said, we pushed on north of the river, adhering to our\nformer plan of keeping out of sight of its channel, and scouting\ncarefully the ground ahead.  We never gave a thought to what was\nbehind us, and were paralyzed when Kachina, idly surveying the\ncountry from the summit of one of the long, easy swells which broke\nthe monotony of the level plains, caught Tawannears by the arm and\npointed westward, too surprised for words, fear and amazement\nstruggling in her face.\n\nIt was the middle of the forenoon, a warm, bright Summer day, yet not\nwarm enough to bring up the dancing heat-haze which played strange\ntricks with vision in these vast open spaces.  The next swell behind\nus was some two or three miles distant, and over its crest were\ngalloping a string of tiny figures--horsemen with waving lances and\nglaring white shields.  We were as distinct to them as they were to\nus, and the fact that they gave no special sign of exultation at\nseeing us was proof sufficient that they had been following us for\nsome time.  They were trailing us, scores of them, ay, hundreds, as\nthey poured over the crest of the swell in a colorful, barbaric\nstream of martial vigor--and they could travel three feet to our one.\nOf course, they had picked up our trail in riding down to the river\nto meet the buffalo herd, and had followed it with the insatiable\ncuriosity and rapacious instinct of their race.\n\nSo much we reasoned in the first second of discovery.  We wasted no\ntime in conversation, but dodged below the crest of the swell and ran\nat top-speed for the river as offering the nearest available cover\nunder its banks.  But the wily savages behind us divined our plan,\nand when, after we had traveled a mile, Tawannears reconnoitered\ntheir positions, it was to learn that they had detached a troop to\nride diagonally up the slope of the swell and so cut us off from our\ngoal.  Two hundred of them were abreast of us at that moment less\nthan a mile away.\n\nTawannears halted.\n\n\"'Tis useless,\" he said brusquely.  \"We shall wind ourselves to no\npurpose.  All that is left for us is to sell our lives dearly.\"\n\nHe turned his face skyward and appealed to his gods as a warrior and\nan equal.\n\n\"Oh, Hawenneyu,\" he exclaimed, \"and you, too, of the Honochenokeh,\nhave you permitted Tawannears to escape all these perils, to obtain\nhis Lost Soul, and abandoned him at the end to Hanegoategeh?  See,\nTawannears calls upon you for aid.  And upon you of the Deohako,\nThree Sisters of Sustenance, Our Supporters!  Tawannears calls upon\nyou by right.\n\n\"Will you desert him when he has toiled and suffered so?  Will you\ndesert his white brothers who have been loyal through dangers no men\never dared before?  Will you desert the Lost Soul who has been true\nto him in death, who returns with him from the land beyond the\nsunset, she who has traversed the Halls of Haniskaonogeh, the\nDwelling-place of Evil, she who has passed with us through the lodge\nof Gaoh, lord of the winds, she who has defied Hanegoategeh?\n\n\"Oh, Tharon the Sky-holder, Tawannears calls upon you to uphold him!\nBut if death must come, then, oh, Hawenneyu, let Tawannears and his\nLost Soul die together!  Let the white brothers go with us to the\nHalls of the Honochenokeh!  Let us take with us the spirits of many\nwarriors!  Grant us a good death, oh, Hawenneyu!\"\n\nI am a Christian, but I thrilled to that prayer, and I called\nout--\"_Yo-hay!_\" after the manner of the People of the Long House.\n\nKachina notched an arrow, and loosed it into the air.\n\n\"Whatever the gods say, we fight!\" she said.  \"We fight where the\narrow falls.\"\n\nIt quivered into the sod a hundred yards in front of us just under\nthe crest of the swell.\n\n\"_Ja_, dot's as goodt a place as any,\" Peter agreed equably.  \"Andt\nnow we fight, eh?\"\n\nWe trotted up to the arrow and clustered around it as the flanking\nparty of the attackers galloped over the crest between us and the\nriver.  They whooped their delight upon seeing they had headed us,\nand a warrior commenced to ride his pony in furious circles to signal\nthe main body they had us at bay, whilst the rest raced back to\nengage us.  In five minutes they had strung a ring and were drawing\nin closer and closer toward bowshot distance.\n\nOf all the tribes we had seen these men were the handsomest and most\nimposing.  Tall, broad-shouldered, their bronze bodies shining with\ngrease, they sat their pad-saddles, stirrupless, as though they were\npart of the horses under them.  Their heads were shaven, except for a\nnarrow ridge from forehead to scalplock, which was stiffened with\npaint and grease until it stood erect in semblance of a horn.  Their\nfaces were fierce, but intelligent.  They proved their reckless valor\nby the way they overwhelmed us.\n\nAs bowmen they had no rivals.  We opened upon them as soon as we\nthought we had a faint chance of driving a shaft or two home; but\nthey, clinging to their horses, shooting sometimes from the opposite\nsides or even from under their bellies, encumbered, too, with lance\nand shield, were able to send in shaft for shaft, which we avoided\nonly by rapidly shifting our ground.  We saw at once that in an\narrow-duel we stood no chance, and as they did not seem anxious to\nforce conclusions immediately, at Tawannears' suggestion we suspended\nour fire.  They promptly desisted from their attack, their restless\ncircle hovering round and round us, ready to smother any attempt at\nescape.\n\n\"Why do they wait?\" cried Kachina.  \"They surely do not fear us!\"\n\n\"Not they!\" retorted Tawannears.  \"These people are great warriors.\"\n\n\"Who are they?\" I asked.\n\n\"Tawannears never saw them before, brother.\"\n\n\"Here comes der chief,\" spoke up Peter.\n\nWith hundreds of deep voices chanting rhythmically, a mighty\ncavalcade came slowly over the summit of the swell, rank on rank of\nhorsemen, the sunlight glinting on the white or painted surfaces of\ntheir shields, a forest of feathered lances standing above the\nhorn-like headdresses.  Leading them all was a warrior taller than\nthe tallest, his chest arched like a demi-cask, the muscles playing\non his huge shoulders as he controlled his mettlesome white horse.\nHis face was as gravely handsome as Tawannears'; with a high forehead\nand a jutting, beaked nose; but his eyes were the fierce, watchful\neyes of a savage, and his mouth was a cruel, thin line.\n\n\"A t'ousandt men!\" gasped Peter.\n\nThe warriors in the circle around us reined in their horses, tossed\ntheir lances aloft and joined their voices in the booming chant of\ntheir brethren.  Two of them quirted out of the line and raced up to\nthe chief on the white horse to report.  We could see their animated\ngestures, the frequency with which they pointed at us.  The chief\nraised his hand, the chant was stilled, and he rode through the\ncircle, attended by the two messengers, or sub-chiefs, and halted\nwithin hail of us.\n\nTawannears strode forward to meet him, and I marveled at the\nassurance the Seneca conveyed in his attitude.  It was as if he were\nbacked by the whole force of the keepers of the Western Door.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he demanded in the tone of one who holds power,\nspeaking in the same mingled dialect of Comanche and Dakota he had\nused with the Tonkawas.\n\nThe chief on the white horse was manifestly amazed at Tawannears'\nassurance, but he replied quietly in the same tongue:\n\n\"They say I am Awa, war-chief of the Chahiksichahiks.* Who are you\nwho walk on the ground with white men?\"\n\n\n* Men-of-men, the real name of the Pawnee, the latter name, meaning\nHorn-wearers, being their designation by other tribes.\n\n\n\"They call me Tawannears, warden of the Western Door of the Long\nHouse, war-chief of the Hodenosaunee,\" Tawannears shot back.\n\n\"Tawannears is many moons' journey from his teepee,\" rejoined Awa.\n\"He did not come to our village and ask permission to cross our\ncountry.\"\n\n\"Why should a chief of the Long House ask permission to go on the\nGreat Spirit's business?\" returned Tawannears.  \"We have done your\npeople no harm.\"\n\n\"If that is so,\" said the chief on the white horse, \"render up to my\npeople the maiden who is with you, and you may go free.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Tawannears, bewildered.\n\n\"Every Summer Tirawa, the Old One in the Sky, sends my people a maid\nfor a sacrifice.  They say the maid with you comes to die on the\nscaffold under the morning star.\"\n\n\"They say lies,\" answered Tawannears with passion.  \"You shall not\nhave her alive.  She is holy.\"\n\nAwa's reply was a gesture with his hand and a shouted order in his\nown language.  A hundred warriors slipped from their horses in the\nfirst rank of the array outside the circle, dropped lances, shields\nand bows and ran toward us.\n\nTawannears, his face a mask of fury, ripped an arrow from his quiver\nand drove it at Awa's chest; but the chief on the white horse calmly\ninterposed his shield and stopped it neatly, and the charge of\nwarriors on foot compelled the Seneca to run back to us.  We, who had\nunderstood practically nothing of the dialogue which had passed, were\nuncertain what the situation meant.  Tawannears, himself, was at a\nloss.\n\n\"Fight,\" he shouted hoarsely.  \"We must not be captured.\"\n\nWe loosed arrows as rapidly as we could draw from quivers and notch\nthem.  'Twas impossible to miss at that point-blank range, and we\nkilled a dozen men before they came to hand-grips.  Then we used\nknife and hatchet, Kachina as remorselessly as the rest of us, our\nassailants, evidently under Awa's orders, scrupulously refraining\nfrom drawing a weapon, lest they harm the girl who was destined for\nthe sacrifice.\n\nBack to back, striving to protect Kachina, we fought like wolves in\nfamine-time, our arms aching from slaughter, but the Pawnee would not\ngive in.  They dived betwixt the legs of their comrades who were\ngrappling barehanded against our knives, and so pulled us down.\nPeter was last to go, a dozen men clinging to his limbs.  Kachina,\nbiting at her captors, was led struggling from the heap of bodies.\nWe others were jerked to our feet, arms pinioned and dragged after\nher.\n\nThe Pawnee horsemen crowded around us and the men we had killed.  The\nchief on the white horse stared with satisfaction at Kachina's lithe\nbody, hardly covered by the rags of her garments, and grinned\namusement when she spat at him, trying to plant her teeth in the arm\nof one of the men who restrained her.  He turned from her to the\npanting, bleeding warriors who held us, and to the pile of dead\naround the arrow Kachina had shot into the air.  It stood there yet,\nhub of an ill-omened wheel of corpses, its feathers ruffling in the\nbreeze.  It seemed to fascinate him.  His grin became a frown.\n\n\"You have made me pay a price for the girl,\" he said to Tawannears.\n\"That is well.  The Pawnee are not afraid to pay what Tirawa asks.\nBut you shall pay now a price to me.\"\n\nHe drew his own bow from its case, and selected a shaft from the\nquiver at his side, notched it and aimed it at my chest.\n\n\"Awa will shoot you, one by one,\" he announced.  \"Afterward your\nhearts shall be cut out, and we will make strong medicine with them.\nThis white man shall die first.\"\n\nI had no more than time to smile at Tawannears and Peter when he\npulled the bow-string taut and loosed.  I had braced myself for the\nshock, knowing the shaft at that range must go clean through me.  And\ncertes, the blow was all that I had expected.  I staggered before it.\nHad it not been for the warriors who held my arms I must have fallen\nbackward.\n\nInvoluntarily I had shut my eyes.  I opened them again, expecting to\nbe in another world, marveling that the pain of an arrow in my vitals\nwas no worse than a smart rap upon the chest.  Around me I heard a\ngusty sigh, the sound made by many people expelling their breath.  I\nlooked down, wondering if I could still see myself, if the blood\nwould be spurting or trickling.\n\nBut I could find no wound.  There was no arrow, no mark, no blood.  I\nfelt the savage holding my left arm sag strangely and turned to him.\nHis face was gray, his eyes glazing.  The arrow which had struck me\nwas projecting from his side, buried half-way to the head.  He\ncollapsed as I looked at him.\n\nThere was an audible gasp from the ranks of horsemen.  I found Awa's\nface in the throng, and noted that it was almost as ashen as that of\nthe dying man beside me.  The chief held the bow stiffly in his left\nband, right arm crooked as when he had loosed.\n\nTawannears laughed harshly.\n\n\"Strong medicine Awa has made!\" he mocked.  \"He shot at my white\nbrother an arm's-length away, and my brother turned the arrow against\nthe great chief's warrior.  Will Awa try again?  Shall we make more\nmedicine for him?\"\n\nAwa's arm was trembling as he returned the bow to its case.\n\n\"Your white brother has strong medicine,\" he admitted.  \"We will\ncarry you all to our village, and our medicine-men shall try their\nmagic upon you.  Awa is a war-chief, not a maker of magic.\"\n\n\"We are both warriors and medicine-men!\" Tawannears derided him\nmercilessly.  \"Shall we make trial of our medicine again?\"\n\nAwa abruptly reined his horse about, shouted an order and clattered\noff at the head of his cavalcade.  Our guards first bound our arms\nloosely behind us, then tied strips of rawhide betwixt us and\nthemselves, one on either side, and mounted us upon ponies.  Thus\neach of us was tied to a pair of the Pawnee.\n\nI called to Tawannears as he was led by me.\n\n\"What happened?  My eyes were shut.  I----\"\n\n\"Your Orenda is powerful, brother,\" he replied seriously.  \"It has\nspread its hand over our heads.  Hawenneyu has used it to answer the\nprayer of Tawannears.\"\n\nI was no less puzzled by this, but Peter cackled shrilly.\n\n\"Look adt your chest,\" he squeaked.\n\nI bent my head.  My chest was bare, unscarred.  All it showed was the\nlittle deerskin pouch Guanaea had hung around my neck by a thong the\nday we left Deonundagaa, which had stayed by me through all our\nadventures.  No Indian would have dreamed of taking it from me, for\nit contained my medicine, and the possibilities for evil inherent in\ninterference with another man's medicine were boundless.\n\nI regarded the pouch idly, my mind occupied with the thought that it\nwas practically the only possession with which I had started upon our\njourney that was still with me--and I was startled to see a slit in\nits front.  I looked at it more closely.  Yes, there was a slit, such\na slit as an arrow-head might make.\n\nWhat had Tawannears said?\n\n\"Your Orenda is powerful, brother.\"\n\nAnd what had Guanaea said in hanging it there?\n\n\"That will protect you against all evils!  A most powerful Orenda!  I\nhad it made by Hineogetah, the Medicine Man.\"\n\nBut that was ridiculous, I told myself!  I had worn it to please\nGuanaea, and because her forethought had touched me.  But was that a\nreason for subscribing to gross superstition?  This fetched me around\nto my starting-point.  The fact remained that the bag had stopped an\narrow.  How?  My mind cast back for further aid, and memory came to\nmy rescue.\n\nWhat had it contained?\n\n\"The fangs of a bull rattlesnake.  That is the spirit to resist evil.\nThe eye-tooth of a wolf.  That is the spirit to resist courage.\"\n\nThe eye-tooth of a wolf!  That had done it.  I wiggled my\nchest-muscles and felt the protuberance under the draw-string--and\nbeneath it a certain soreness.  The arrow had driven head-on into the\ntooth and been diverted sideways into the warrior on my left.  So\nmysterious as this are the wonders of Providence--or Destiny--or an\nIroquois medicine man?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nA PROPHET IN SPITE OF HIMSELF\n\nDuring the afternoon of the fifth day of hard riding our guards\nfetched us from the midst of the column to a position next to Awa.\nThe chief had recovered somewhat from his bedazed wonder--no doubt he\nhad half-expected me to continue working miracles--and regarded us\nwith saturnine satisfaction.\n\n\"Soon we shall enter the villages of our people,\" he announced,\nswinging his arm toward the prairie in front of us.  \"The\nmedicine-men of the Chahiksichahiks then will make trial of the white\nman's medicine--and we will build a scaffold for the red maiden to\nlie upon when she weds the morning star.\"\n\n\"That is to be seen,\" returned Tawannears with undisturbed arrogance.\n\"A voice has whispered in my ear that the Great Spirit has other\nplans.  It says there will be misfortune for the Horn-wearers if the\nred maiden is sacrificed.\"\n\nAwa scowled.\n\n\"We shall see,\" he agreed.\n\nFeathered lances bobbing overhead, our great escort of savage\nhorsemen cantered out of a shallow gulley onto the bank of a sizeable\nriver.  A mile or so east and well back from high-water mark began a\nseries of low, hump-backed mounds, which I took to be natural\nfeatures of the terrain.  But as we came nearer people popped out of\nthem, and we perceived that they were houses, partly dug out of the\nground and roofed and walled with sods, commodious dwellings, larger\nthan the largest of teepees and invariably round in shape.\n\nThe people who met us were old men and women, with an occasional\nyoung child of toddling age or under.  Awa barked a question to the\nfirst group, and one of the old men quavered an answer, gesturing\ndown-river, where the sod-covered earth-houses reached as far as we\ncould see.  With a nod of acknowledgment, the chief heeled his horse\nto a gallop, and we rode on at speed along a rough trail that led\nbetwixt houses and river-bank.  Beyond the houses were simple\ngardens, and in rear of these horses grazed.  Dogs ran out of many\nhouses and barked at us.  But nowhere did we see a man or woman in\nthe prime of life or a half-grown child.\n\nThe mystery of the deserted village--or, rather, succession of\nvillages--was settled after we had ridden another three miles, when\nan enormous crowd of savages appeared in an open space in the center\nof the largest collection of earth-houses.  There must have been ten\nor twelve thousand people clustered together, men, women and\nchildren, all deeply interested in some proceeding which we could not\nsee at first.  But the thudding of the hoofs of Awa's band attracted\ntheir attention, and they opened their ranks for us, so that our\ncolumn passed through the outskirts of the throng and came to a halt\non the verge of a circle of hard-trodden clay, perhaps a hundred feet\nacross.\n\nIn the center of this space stood a fire-charred stump of wood, and\nlashed to it with strips of green hide was the black-garbed figure of\na man whose dead-white face brought a gasp of astonishment from my\nlips.  'Twas Black Robe, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe, the Jesuit, whom we had last\nseen the day he insisted upon leaving us on the western bank of the\nMississippi, striding alone into the unknown wastes ahead!\n\nHis ankles were hobbled loosely and bound to the base of the stump.\nHis hands, knotted behind his back, were likewise fastened to it.  He\ncould move a foot or so in either direction, and six feet away from\nhim a party of warriors were building a pile of light-wood, which had\nreached the height of his knees when our arrival distracted them from\ntheir labors.\n\nHis soutane was the same rusty, torn garment he had worn three years\nbefore.  His sandals were patched and worn.  His gaunt figure\ntestified, as always, to the ceaseless toil and deprivation to which\nhe subjected himself.  His emaciated features shone with the\nradiation of some inward light, and his face, with eyes closed, was\nupturned in prayer.  Certes, no man could have been in worse case,\nyet his racked body contrived to express an ecstasy of joy beyond all\nwords.  Indeed, his utter lack of fear, the otherworldliness of his\ndevotion, had already sapped the savage energy of his would-be\ntormentors.  They were not used to seeing a man face the prospect of\ntorture without boasting or exultation, with no more than the calm\ndisdain of a courage higher than any emotion they knew.\n\nI was not alone in my surprise.  Tawannears clicked his tongue.\nPeter muttered--\n\n\"Der Jesuit!\"\n\nKachina remarked with interest--\n\n\"Another white man!\"\n\nAnd Awa was as dumfounded as ourselves.  He shouted a question, and a\nknot of gorgeously-decorated chiefs and medicine-men detached\nthemselves from the front rank of the onlookers and clustered about\nhis horse, pointing at us, their eyes fairly popping from their\nheads.  Evidently, they, too, were surprised--and that was not\nstrange, for 'twas seldom these wild horsemen of the plains saw three\nwhite men at once, or so I reasoned.\n\n\"The Great Spirit's ways are difficult to follow,\" commented\nTawannears.  \"He has carried us again along Black Robe's trail.\"\n\n\"Awa will see in his capture an excuse for daring to disregard my\nOrenda,\" I said pessimistically.\n\n\"_Nein, nein,_\" squeaked Corlaer.  \"All is not well wit' der Pawnee.\nSee how dey boggle andt chaw togedder.\"\n\n'Twas so.  Awa's face was a mingling of baffled rage, hysterical\nsuperstition and credulous awe.  His gaze shifted rapidly from us to\nthe figure of Black Robe, eyes still closed, lips murmuring in silent\nprayer.  The medicine-men and chiefs who had swarmed up to the\nwar-chief were staring at us with expressions akin to fear.  Awa\nsuddenly spat out an ejaculation, and pushed his horse beside us.  We\nfour were now the focal object of the crowd's attention.\n\n\"Whence did you say you have come?\" he demanded of Tawannears in the\npolyglot trade dialect.\n\n\"From beyond the setting sun,\" Tawannears replied gravely.  \"I have\nbeen to the Land of Lost Souls, and there I found this maiden who\nloved me once before on earth and is come back with me to re\u00ebnter my\nlodge.\"\n\n\"But this Taivo, this white man?\"  Awa leveled his finger at me.\n\n\"He, too, has come with me from the land beyond the sunset.\"\n\nAwa spoke rapidly in the Pawnee tongue, and one of the medicine-men,\na brightly painted, elderly man with wrinkled face, took up the\nconversation in Comanche.\n\n\"It was foretold by the white man at the stake that you would come,\"\nhe began.\n\n\"That is likely,\" admitted Tawannears, unperturbed.\n\n\"He told us,\" continued the medicine-man, with a fearful look over\nhis shoulder at that black figure bound to the tree-stump, \"that he\nserved a God who would come to us from the sky, and when we asked him\nif he meant Tirawa, the Old One in the Skies, he said no.  But when\nwe asked if this new God would come from the sunset he said it might\nbe, that He would come in a great blaze of glory, with power to bend\nall to His will.  Is this Taivo at your side the God of whom the\nfirst white stranger spoke?\"\n\nTawannears turned and translated swiftly the gist of this to me.\n\n\"Say that we come to herald the coming of that God,\" I directed him.\n\"Even as the white man at the stake came to tell the Chahiksichahiks\nthat we should come to them from the setting sun.\"\n\nThe medicine-man and his fellows, even the fierce Awa, heard this\nannouncement with growing awe.\n\n\"For a sign,\" added Tawannears, \"the Taivo, who permits me to call\nhim brother, and who is attended by the great white warrior who has\nthe strength of many buffalo showed Awa, the war-chief, how he could\nturn aside arrows and direct them against his enemies.  Let Awa speak\nfor me!\"\n\nThe war-chief admitted the fact, no longer surly, but agitated by a\nsense of the prestige attaching to him as a principal participant in\na miracle transcending any like event his people had ever known.\n\n\"But what of the maiden?\" he urged practically.  \"Surely, Tirawa\ndirected you to bring her here for the sacrifice?\"\n\n\"The maiden is holy,\" replied Tawannears.  \"She has paid the price of\nlife here on earth.  She comes, as has been said, from the Land of\nLost Souls.  Would Tirawa ask for the sacrifice of one who had\ndescended from his own lodge?\"\n\nThe medicine-man interjected fierce dissent, and Awa's arguments were\nstilled.\n\n\"Make them release Black Robe,\" I suggested as Tawannears repeated to\nme what had been said.\n\nA hush, as complete as the quietness of universal death, had\ndescended upon these thousands of savages, whose glances turned from\nus, bound and helpless as we were, to the equally straitened figure\nof the Jesuit against the torture-stake.\n\n\"No,\" retorted the Seneca with a hint of humor, \"but first, brother,\nwe must make them release us.\"\n\nHe fastened his eyes upon Awa.\n\n\"For many sleeps we have endured the treatment Awa's ignorance led\nhim to impose upon us,\" he declared.  \"We have been loath to slay any\nmore of his people.  We came hither to serve the Chahiksichahiks, to\nassure them of Tirawa's favor.  But the time is arrived when we must\nknow if we are to receive the respect due to Tirawa's messengers.\nShall we burst our bonds--and in doing so slay this multitude--or\nwill you do us honor?\"\n\nThe medicine-man leaped forward, and slashed off our bonds.  There\nwere beads of perspiration on his brow.  Awa, magnificent savage that\nhe was, looked away from us, but I saw that his sinewy hands were\nshaking as they clutched his horse's bridle.\n\n\"It is well,\" said Tawannears.  \"Give my white brother, the\nMessenger, the knife, and he will free the Fore-goer, who has stood\nquietly at the torture-stake, holding back the wrath of Tirawa by the\npleas that came from his lips.\"\n\nThe medicine-man offered me the knife.\n\n\"But must a messenger of Tirawa have a knife to cut hide thongs?\" he\ninquired, curious as a child.\n\n\"No,\" answered Tawannears, \"but if the power of Tirawa is used, the\npower of the thunder and the lightning which shakes the world, who\nshall say what harm may come?  The Chahiksichahiks have been fools.\nLet them be satisfied with what has happened.  If they are wise they\nwill possess the favor of Tirawa.  If they continue to be foolish\nTirawa will wipe them out here on this spot!\"\n\nHe raised his arm in a menacing gesture, and chiefs and medicine-men\ncowered before him.\n\n\"No, no,\" pleaded the medicine-man.  \"We have seen enough.  Release\nthe Black One with the thin face.  We did not understand him.  He\nspoke to us after the manner of the Comanche and the Dakota, telling\nus, as we thought, that our gods were not, that we must worship this\none he spoke of.  We did not understand him, that waft all.  We were\nignorant, but we meant no harm.\"\n\nTawannears shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"That is to be decided,\" he said.  \"The Taivo will consult with Black\nRobe, and afterwards will speak through me.  It is for him to decide.\"\n\nI strode into the empty circle of people and walked slowly, so as not\nto seem undignified, up to the stake, stepping across the material\nfor the fire which would now be roasting the priest but for our\nunexpected arrival, and the conjunction of circumstances it had set\nin train.  The fire-makers had gone.  There was nobody inside the\ncircle except Black Robe and myself, and he stood yet, with his eyes\nshut, a trickle of Latin pattering from his lips.\n\nFor a moment I was shocked by the traces of suffering in that haggard\nface, the skin tight-drawn over the prominent bones, the cavernous\neye-holes so shadowed, the deep lines graven in the pallid cheeks.  I\nseemed to see in retrospect the labors he must have achieved in the\nyears since we had parted.  Who could imagine how far he had\nwandered, the hardships and suffering he had borne without the\nassistance of a single comforter of his own color?  And this thought\nenabled me to envision as never before the ardent flame that was the\ndriving force of his life, the ardent devotion to a creed which\nignored every other consideration save that of the service to which\nhe had dedicated himself.  I warmed to him in that moment, forgetting\nancient animus, brushing aside the barrier of hostile race and\nreligion.\n\n\"P\u00e8re Hyacinthe!\" I said softly in French.\n\nHe did not open his eyes, but his lips ceased the Latin exhortations.\n\n\"I dream!\" he exclaimed to himself, in that humble tone I had\nobserved on a previous occasion when he forgot himself and his stern\nr\u00f4le and lapsed into some gentler habitude of the past.\n\n\"Was that Gaston's voice?  So, I remember, he crept upon me as I read\nin the garden at Morbouil!  Dear olden days!  Their memory comes so\nseldom.  So little time left for the work to be done.  Ah, Jesus, the\ntask is heavy--heavy----\"\n\nHe opened his eyes, peered into mine.\n\n\"You!\" he gasped.\n\n\"Yes, 'tis I, Father--Henry Ormerod!\"\n\n\"My enemy!  France's enemy!\"\n\n\"Not your enemy!  And never France's unless she wills it.  I am come\nhere to save you.\"\n\n\"How may that be?\" he asked dumbly.  \"Are you alone amongst these\nsavages?\"\n\n\"Alone with my friends whom you know--and one woman.\"\n\n\"Then you cannot help me,\" he answered decisively.  \"You had best\nleave me, if you can.  These people are the most independent of all\nthe tribes.  They fear naught save their own superstitions.  And\nheretic though you be, I cannot wish you the death they plan for me.\"\n\n\"Yet you have not been moved by pity for me in the same case in\nformer years,\" I said curiously.\n\nHe sighed.\n\n\"The truth is hard to see.  I do not know.  I have thought----  But I\ndo not know.\"\n\nI cut the lashings of his arms, stooped and freed his legs.  Not a\nsoul spoke.  Amazement dawned in his face that was somehow more\nplacid than I remembered having seen it.\n\n\"You see!\" I said.  \"They gave me the knife to cut you free.\"\n\n\"Marvelous!\" he murmured.\n\nAnd he employed his first instant of freedom to reach down stiffly\nwith his cramped arm and lift to his lips the crucifix which hung at\nhis belt.\n\n\"How have you curbed them?\" he asked--and he was yet governed by that\nmood of gentle humility, which was seldom of long continuance.\n\n\"I think, Father, it has been through God's mercy,\" I answered.  \"But\njudge for yourself.\"\n\nAnd I repeated to him, briefly, what had transpired since Awa proudly\nled his warriors into the circle around the torture-stake.  A frown\nclouded the Jesuit's eyes, mouth formed a grim, hard line.\n\n\"What blasphemy is this?\" he interrupted.  \"Man, would you mock the\nauthority of heaven?  You are no more messengers of the divine will\nthan these savages themselves!\"\n\n\"How can you be sure!\" I asked.\n\n\"How can I----\"\n\nHe paused abruptly, frowning in thought.\n\n\"Is it coincidence,\" I continued quickly, \"that when you climbed the\nMississippi bluff I would not let my companions kill you, as they\ndesired--and for the matter of that, is it coincidence that once\nbefore the time of which I speak, I saved you from them, ay, and from\nthe wrath of the Long House?  Is it coincidence that we were the\nmeans of your passing the Mississippi, and that now we and you, alike\nin danger of death, are saved by the interlinking facts of our\nseparate captivities!\n\n\"Ponder it, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe!  Where does coincidence begin and\nProvidence end?  Are you so wise that you can say what Heaven\nintends?  Can you afford to throw away the life that has been\nreturned to you?  Have you the right to sacrifice four other people's\nlives?  How do you know that what has happened today was not for the\npurpose of giving you another opportunity to preach your creed?\"\n\nHe hesitated, head bowed.\n\n\"Go!\" I said, honestly stirred.  \"Say what you please!  I could stop\nyou, but I will not take the responsibility of interfering with\nanother man's sense of honor.  I will leave with you the lives of my\ncomrades.\"\n\nHe looked at me, puzzled, uncertain.\n\n\"I do not know,\" he repeated, \"It seems different.  You are a\nheretic, yet--I do not know.  God's wonders strange--I do not know---\"\n\n\"Who does?\" I asked,\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"I used to be sure,\" he said, more to himself than to me.  \"But--I do\nnot know.  I was reconciled to death.  I had no fear of the torment.\nI hoped to move these people at the end.  And now you say that they\nrespect me, that I am free, I may do as I will.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is too much for me to decide, Monsieur Ormerod.  Perhaps I grow\nweak.  Well, we shall see.  But I think it is as you say!  I have\nbeen given a second opportunity to woo them for Christ.  God's\nwonders--how strange!  How impossible to comprehend!  And you a\nheretic, the companion of a savage!  It baffles me.\"\n\nHe paused suddenly.\n\n\"You spoke to me first?\" he questioned.  \"There was--no other?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Strange!\" he muttered to himself again.  \"Gaston--I thought I\nheard--the garden at Morbouil!  Ah, Maman, Maman!  So many, many\nyears!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nHOMEWARD\n\nTo my surprise, Black Robe expressed a desire to accompany us on our\ncontinued journey East.\n\n\"I have said all that I have to say concerning what you have told\nthese people about me,\" he said simply.  \"But I am sure I should lose\nfavor in God's sight were I to continue my mission on the strength of\nthe heathen superstitions you have aroused.\"\n\nI pointed out to him that he would probably be exposed to additional\ndangers in our company after we had crossed the Mississippi.\n\n\"Say, instead, that you will not be exposed to so many dangers if I\nam with you, Monsieur Ormerod,\" he answered.  \"'Tis necessary for my\nsoul's good, as I now realize, that I should return and seek the\ndiscipline of my superiors.  I have wandered too long alone.  My\npride hath been unduly stirred.  In my heart I have flouted the rules\nof my order.  It is best that I should go to Quebec, and submit to\nthe punishment my sins require.\"\n\n\"Sins?  What sins?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"There are sins of the spirit as wicked as sins of the flesh,\" he\nreturned enigmatically.  \"Whoso thinks himself worthy of martyrdom\ntherein nourishes his own pride.  But enough hath been said on this\nscore.  I will go with you.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.  \"'Tis not your wont to profess friendship for my\npeople, P\u00e8re Hyacinthe?\"\n\nHis grim face creased in the rare smile that told of some hidden\nspring of kindliness, forgotten these many years.\n\n\"You are pertinacious--like all heretics.  Go to!  Is it forbidden\nthat I should return good for good, as well as for evil?\"\n\nAnd no more could I extract from him.  At intervals in the months\nthat followed he would lapse into moods of dour fanaticism, but no\nmatter how long they lasted the day would come when he would smile\nwith childlike humility, and, silent always, contrive to invest\nhimself with gentle friendliness.  I do not pretend to understand the\ntransformation of his character; but the fact remains that he was\nbecome a different man from the bigot who had accused us on the Ohio.\nHe spoke to us only when occasion required; Kachina he ignored\ncompletely, much to her disgust.  But he did his full share of the\nwork, and his prestige sufficed to speed us on our way once the\nMississippi was behind us.\n\nWe had many weary miles to go before we reached the Great River,\nhowever.  Awa and his medicine-man and brother chiefs would have had\nus stay on in the Pawnee villages, and opposed our departure with as\nmuch ugliness as they dared exhibit to beings of semi-divine origin.\nBut Tawannears placated them by explaining that the strong medicine I\nwas going to present to the tribe could only wax to its full robust\nproportions after I had gone.\n\nThis medicine was prepared with many attendant ceremonies and\nconsiderable pomp under the Seneca's directions.  Kachina sewed a bag\nof deerskin, and then, in the presence of all the Pawnee notables, I\nsolemnly removed from my neck the bag which Guanaea had hung\nthere--the arrow-slit having been repaired by Peter--and introduced\nits open mouth into the throat of the bag Kachina had made.\n\nA suitable interval having elapsed, I removed my bag, rehung it about\nmy neck, fastened the neck of the new bag and entrusted it--quite\nempty--to the chief medicine-man, with strict injunctions never to\nopen it lest the medicine escape.  The Pawnee were satisfied.  They\nfelt capable of whipping any confederacy of near-by tribes, and were\nconvinced that they would never lack for buffalo-meat, horses or\nwarriors.  There was nothing they would not do for us.  When we\nfinally departed for the East Awa and five hundred warriors rode with\nus and compelled an Osage village to supply us with a canoe for use\non the Mississippi.\n\nWe were many days paddling below the mouth of the Ohio, with the\ncurrent against us, both on the Father of Waters and after we had\nturned east into the first stream; and Indian Summer had begun when\nwe reached the mouth of the Ouabache.  Here we expected to part with\nBlack Robe, but he surprised me again.\n\n\"You are yet many weeks' journey from your own country, Monsieur\nOrmerod,\" he said.  \"And if you continue by water you must paddle\nagainst the current all the way.  Why do you not strike overland\ndirect?\"\n\n\"Because your people and the tribes they control would certainly not\napprove of it,\" I answered with a laugh.\n\n\"Come with me to Vincennes,\" he offered.  \"I will secure you\nsafe-conduct to Jagara.\"\n\n\"Are you sure----\" I began hesitantly.\n\n\"That I can do what I say!\" he interrupted.  \"I have some authority\nin New France.  You may rest confidence in my pledge.  I, myself,\nwill attend you so far as Jagara.  'Tis on my way to Montreal and\nQuebec.\"\n\nI consulted with the others, anticipating Tawannears and Corlaer\nwould be unwilling to trust him; but both assented promptly.\n\n\"Black Robe is no longer a hater of those who do not believe in his\ngod,\" responded the Seneca to my query as to his changed attitude.\n\"He has learned that we are honest in what we think.  He has learned,\ntoo, that love is the servant of truth.\"\n\n\"_Ja_,\" said Peter.  \"Andt he remembers der time he was a man before\nhe was a bpriest.\"\n\n\"He is a nasty old ant,\" declared Kachina.  \"He flaps like a raven.\n_Ugh_!  I hate him!\"\n\nWe paddled up the Ouabache to Vincennes, undisturbed by the savages\nalong the river.  The French garrison at the trading-post eyed us\nwith suspicion, but made no objection to our presence.  On the trip\noverland to Le Detroit, the French post on the straits betwixt the\nHuron Lake and the Lake of the Eries, the priest guided us past the\nscowling scrutiny of tribe after tribe, to whom Tawannears' presence\nwas a menacing reminder of their dreaded enemies, the People of the\nLong House.  Savages, traders, habitants, trappers, soldiers of the\nLilies, all bowed and stood aside at sight of that gaunt figure, the\ncrippled hand upraised in blessing.  Under the skirts of his\nthreadbare robe he carried us through the heart of the new empire\nFrance was creating below the Lakes, saving us I know not how many\nmonths of dangerous, roundabout traveling.  And from Le Detroit he\nescorted us to the fortress at Jagara, which the great French\nsoldier-statesman of the wilderness, Joncaire, had built to form a\nbulwark against the Iroquois.\n\n'Twas here we said good-by, in the woods on the edge of the glacis,\nsloping up to the stone walls of the fort.  In the distance we heard\nthe subdued roar of the mighty falls.  On the walls of the fort stood\nthe white-coated sentinels of France.  At our feet commenced a\ntenuous trail, the Northern approach to the Western Door of the Long\nHouse.\n\nBlack Robe gave Tawannears the Iroquois salute of parting.  He\npressed Peter's hand.  On Kachina he bestowed his blessing.\n\n\"There is a place on Christ's bosom for you, my daughter,\" he said in\nthe Seneca dialect, which she had mastered.\n\nShe scowled back at him in a way that must have compelled a man with\na sense of humor to laugh.\n\n\"We are not Christians,\" Tawannears stated proudly.  \"The gods of our\npeople are good enough for us.  Have they not reunited us in the face\nof death--and beyond!\"\n\nThe priest sighed and drew me to one side.\n\n\"Do you ever pray, Monsieur Ormerod?\" he asked.\n\n\"I have done so.\"\n\n\"Forget not one Louis Joseph Marie de Kerguezac.  He is dead,\nMonsieur, although he lives.  I pray you, forget him not.  He needs\nyour prayers, ay, heretic or not, he needs them!  So, too, I fear\ndoth one Hyacinthe, of the Order of Jesus, a hard man, who hath\nwreaked harm under cover of saintliness.  Ah, God, how little do we\nknow what we do!\"\n\n\"Hard you have been in times past, Father,\" I replied, \"but I bear\ntestimony you have redeemed yourself in my eyes--albeit I hold I, nor\nany other man, may judge you after what you have suffered for your\nfaith.\"\n\nHe considered this, crucifix in hand.\n\n\"Who can say!\" he said at length.  \"I have lived over-much\nself-centered.  Never trust yourself too far, Monsieur Ormerod.  Man\nis--man!  You, too, have suffered.  Therefore you will know that\nsuffering is worth while--so long as you do not seek satisfaction in\nit.  You, Monsieur, went forth to forget a woman--near four years\nago, was it not?  Have you--forgotten?\"\n\n'Twas my turn to think.\n\n\"Not forgotten,\" I decided, stirred, but not resentful.  \"Yet the\npain is dead.  Say, rather, reconciled to loss.\"\n\nHis face was contorted with agony.\n\n\"Four years, and reconciled!  Monsieur Ormerod, I have striven to\nforget for twenty years, and the pain still burns my soul!  I chose\nthe wrong way, the wrong way!\"\n\nHe turned and stumbled from the forest, hands outthrust before him,\nas he walked blindly toward the fort.\n\n\"The wrong way!  The wrong way!\"\n\nThey were the last words I heard him speak.  Months later, in New\nYork, the news came from Quebec that the famous P\u00e8re Hyacinthe,\ncalled far and wide the Apostle to the Savages, was serving a\ndisciplinary sentence as scullery servant in the headquarters of the\nOrder of Jesus.\n\nOn the afternoon of the second day after leaving Jagara we were\nchallenged by an out-flung party of Seneca Wolves, Watchers of the\nDoor, who made the forest aisles ring with their whoops of joy when\nthey recognized Tawannears, clamoring for the story of our\nwanderings.  But at his first question joy was turned to sadness, for\nthey gave us the sorry tidings that Donehogaweh, the Guardian of the\nDoor, lay at the point of death from a gangrened wound that had\nfestered about the barbed head of a Miami arrow, shot into his\nshoulder during his last punitive raid.\n\nWe forgot all else in our haste to reach Deonundagaa in time to see\nthe Royaneh before his end; and there remained a lingering splash of\ncolor in the Western sky as we trotted out of the forest, crossed the\ngardens and entered the village streets lined by the long ganasotes\nand thronged with mourning people.  They exclaimed with amazement at\nsight of Corlaer's vast bulk and Tawannears' familiar figure.  An\nirregular column formed at our heels, warriors who strove for a word\nwith members of our escort, gossiping women and children who babbled\nand shrieked amongst themselves.\n\nSo we came to the open space by the council lodge.  Beside its\nentrance Donehogaweh lay on a pallet of skins, in compliance with his\nrequest to pass in the outer air.  A group of Royanehs and chiefs sat\nabout him, sternly watching, their sympathy unspoken, their faces\nemotionless.  Guanaea hovered over him, equally silent, but unable to\nrestrain the sorrow that was revealed in her eyes and trembling lips.\n'Twas her cry of astonishment gave him the first intimation of our\ncoming.  He turned his great head, with its gray-streaked scalp-lock,\nand his fever-bright eyes dwelt upon us almost unbelievingly.\n\n\"Is it indeed you, oh, my sister's son?\" he asked weakly.  \"Do I see\nwith you Otetiani, the white son of my old age, and Corlaer of the\nfat belly?  Or do evil dreams taunt me again?\"\n\n\"We are here, oh, my uncle,\" answered Tawannears kneeling by the\npallet and drawing Kachina down beside him.\n\n\"And who is the maiden with you?\"\n\n\"She is your daughter.\"\n\n\"My daughter?  Not----\"\n\nGuanaea emitted a little shriek and ran closer.\n\n\"Gahano?\" questioned the dying Royaneh.\n\nThe group of chiefs bent forward, startled out of their stoical\nself-control.  Guanaea knelt beside Tawannears and Kachina, her eyes\nboring into the girl's face.\n\n\"Yes, she is Gahano,\" said Tawannears.  \"Tawannears and his white\nbrothers have been to the Land of Lost Souls, which is beyond the\nsunset.  They have passed the barriers of Haniskaonogeh.  They have\nventured upon the altar of Hawenneyu.  They have crossed the\nmountains at the end of the world, where all is ice and snow.  They\nhave traversed Dayedadogowar, the Great Home of the Winds.  And in\nthe Land of Lost Souls they had speech with Ataentsic and Jouskeha,\nas is told in the traditions of our people, and the Lost Soul of\nGahano came from a pumpkin shell and danced, and we took her and fled\nto our own country.\"\n\n\"She is different from the Gahano I bore,\" protested Guanaea,\nbreaking the dead silence that ensued, whilst the blazing eyes of the\nold Royaneh probed the faces of the pair beside him.\n\nKachina peered sideways at her a thought mutinously, but held her\npeace, failing any sign from Tawannears.\n\nDonehogaweh feebly nodded his head.\n\n\"She would look different,\" he announced.  \"Who would not look\ndifferent after death?  Shall I look the same an hour hence?  Yes,\nshe is different--and yet like the Gahano who was.  And in truth did\nyou find the Land of Lost Souls, Tawannears?\"\n\n'Twas Corlaer who answered, speaking with a resonant ease that so\noddly became him when using an Indian dialect instead of English.\n\n\"It was all exactly as foretold in the legends,\" he said.  \"This\nmaiden had come there direct from the custody of the Great Spirit.\nShe was delivered in charge of him who was Jouskeha.  Ataentsic was\nnot willing to give her up, but Jouskeha aided us and we took her by\nforce, the Great Spirit aiding us.\"\n\nThat was a long speech for the Dutchman.  I felt myself called upon\nto support him.\n\n\"If that was not the Land of Lost Souls,\" I declared, \"then the\nlegends of the Hodenosaunee are a mockery.\"\n\n\"Yo-hay!\" cried Donehogaweh, and he heaved himself to his haunches.\n\"Welcome back to my lodge, Gahano, although you go from it to----\"\n\nHe choked and fell dead.\n\n\"Woe!  Woe!\" wept Guanaea.  \"The pine-tree is fallen!  The light is\nclouded.  In my lodge now all is darkness and despair!\"\n\nTawannears caught her hand.\n\n\"But see, you who are almost my mother,\" he said.  \"I have brought\nback to you the daughter who was lost to you.  We will be son and\ndaughter to you in your loneliness.\"\n\nGuanaea would not be comforted.\n\n\"Who am I to scorn the generosity of Hawenneyu?\" she cried.  \"Who am\nI to doubt the deeds of great warriors?  I am only a woman, only a\nmother whose offspring left her, only a widow whose man went ahead of\nher into the land of shadows.  Yet I cannot take this new Gahano to\nmy breast.  She is not to me as the child I suckled or the maiden\nwhose waywardness I curbed.  Nay, I can only mourn.  I am an old\nwoman.  I have outlived my time!  I will cover my face and sit by the\nashes of the fire and weep!\"\n\nShe threw her robe around her head and tottered away to the lodge she\nhad shared with Donehogaweh, attended by the old women of her clan.\n\nGaneodiyo, senior Royaneh of the Senecas, stooped over and closed the\neyes of his dead colleague, then rose.\n\n\"Tawannears has spent many moons upon a twisting trail,\" he said.\n\"He and his white brothers have made us proud of them.  They have\ndone what no other warriors have done.  There was a stain upon the\nwomen of their tribe, but they have wiped it off.  It is well!  Our\neyes are dazzled by the splendor of their achievement.  Our ears do\nnot hear distinctly, for the cries of the enemies they vanquished.\nThe face of the maiden they have recovered seems strange to us, but\nwe shall grow accustomed to her again.  Her feet will seek out the\nways she knew of old.  All will be as it was before.  She will seem\nas though she had never departed.\n\n\"_Na-ho!_\"\n\n\n\"Peter,\" I said, when we were alone together in the guest-chamber of\nthe ganasote of the bachelors of the Wolf Clan, \"have we done well to\nlie?\"\n\nHe regarded me with twinkling eyes.\n\n\"Lie?\"\n\n\"Yes, lie,\" I insisted.  \"Have we not lent our countenance to an\nessential falsehood?\"\n\nHe meditated.\n\n\"_Ja_, we liedt--maype,\" he admitted finally.  \"Dot is, we saidt dot\nwhat Tawannears saidt was so--andt dot's no lie.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"You pelief dot Tawannears peliefs what he says?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He wouldt die if he fought idt was not true.\"  Corlaer spoke with\nextraordinary vehemence for him.  \"You nefer knew a man who worshiped\nder trut' more than Tawannears.  What he says he saw andt didt is\ntrue--isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Andt what you don't pelief is true is dot 'Lost Souls' pusiness, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But Tawannears peliefs idt is true--don't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Peter.  I've already said so.\"\n\n\"What is a lie, then, eh?  You t'ink der Lost Souls\nis--funny-pusiness.  Tawannears t'inks idt is gospel.  Now, who is\nlying--you or Tawannears?\"\n\n\"But----\"\n\n\"Nein, nein!  Not so quick.  Tawannears knew what he was looking for,\neh?  Andt you didt not.  Why shouldt you say dot Tawannears is lying\nany more than you?  You saw what Tawannears saidt dot you wouldt see.\nHe was right in dot, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, but----\"\n\n\"So idt is,\" continued Peter inexorably.  \"Tawannears peliefs what he\nsaidt.  You do not.  If anybody lies, you lie.  Idt is your lie, not\nTawannears'.  But how can you be sure Tawannears is wrong?\"\n\n\"The girl Kachina--Guanaea----\"\n\n\"Kachina looks like Gahano.  Andt it is like Donehogaweh saidt--if\nshe has peen deadt, how can she look der same?  Nein!\"\n\n\"But Guanaea!\" I insisted.\n\n\"She is a woman, andt women are funny beoble.  She nefer liked Gahano\npefore.\"\n\n\"And what do you think, yourself, Peter?\"\n\n\"I pelief what Tawannears says.  Idt is goodt for him to pelief idt.\nIdt hurts nopody, eh?  So I pelief.  _Ja_, dot's goodt!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE END OF THE TRAIL\n\nThe forest trees and the brown grass stubble of the meadow beneath\ntheir skeleton boughs were powdered lightly with snow, except where a\ntiny fire burned, its smoke floating upward into the overhanging\ntree-tops.  On the far side of the field, backed by the roofs of the\nvillage, was massed the population of Deonundagaa, men, women and\nchildren.  Besides the fire the robes of the seven surviving Royanehs\nof the Senecas, headed by Ganeodiyo, each with his assistant behind\nhim, made a splash of vivid color.\n\nDimly through the bare foliage I glimpsed the long file of the\nRoyanehs of the other four nations--the Mohawks, Dagoeoga, the Shield\nPeople; the Onondagas, Hodesannogeta, the Name-Bearers; the Oneidas,\nNeardeondargowar, Great Tree People; the Cayugas, Sonushogwatowar,\nGreat Pipe People.  The Tuscaroras, sixth nation in the great league,\nhad no representation in the Hoyarnagowar, because the founders had\ncreated only so many names, or seats, and no Iroquois would have\nthought of altering the framework they built; but a group of\nTuscarora chieftains followed in the train of the Royanehs, mute\nwitnesses by right to what should transpire.\n\nI have seen many ceremonies in my day.  I have watched the Pope\ncelebrate mass in St. Peter's.  I have attended at the mummery of the\nFrench Court, with the splendor of Versailles and the Louvre for\nbackground.  But I have never seen aught more imposing than the rites\nof the condoling council of the Iroquois, the ceremonies by which at\none and the same time they express their appreciation of a great man\nwho has died and install his successor, beginning with the ceremony\nDeyughnyonkwarakta, \"At the Wood's Edge.\"\n\nSlowly, at a sign from Hoyowenato, the Keeper of the Wampum, the long\nfile of the Royanehs paced out from the forest and formed in a\nhalf-circle opposite the little group of Seneca Royanehs, with the\nfire betwixt them.  Then Ganeodiyo, spokesman for the Senecas,\nstepped forward with arms outflung in welcome to the visitors.  His\ntrained orator's voice rolled in the measured cadences of the stately\nritual, opening with the sentence--\n\n\"_Onenh weghniserade wakatyerenkowa desawennawenrate ne\nkenteyurhoton!_\"\n\n\"Now, today, I have been greatly startled by your voices coming\nthrough the forest to this opening.\"\n\nAnd proceeding in the set phrases of the greeting:\n\n\"You have come with troubled minds through all obstacles.  You kept\nseeing the places where they met on whom we depended, my offspring.\nHow then can your mind be at ease?  You kept seeing the footmarks of\nour forefathers; and all but perceptible is the smoke where they used\nto smoke the pipe together.  Can, then, your mind be at ease when you\nare weeping on your way?\n\n\"Great thanks, therefore, that you have safely arrived.  Now let us\nsmoke the pipe together.  Because all around are hostile agencies,\nwhich are each thinking--'I will frustrate their purpose.'  Here\nthorny ways, and here falling trees, and here wild beasts lying in\nambush.  Either by these you might have perished, my offspring, or\nhere by floods you might have been destroyed, my offspring, or by the\nuplifted hatchet in the dark outside the house.  Every day these are\nwasting us; or deadly invisible disease might have destroyed you, my\noffspring.\"\n\nThe echoing voice went on, flexing the emotions of the words like a\ngreat organ.  The orator recited the rules the forefathers had laid\ndown.  He repeated the traditional list of the villages of the three\noriginal clans, the Wolf, the Tortoise and the Bear.  Then the fire\nwas put out, and one by one the Royanehs marched from the meadow to\nthe council house of the village, where a new fire was kindled by\nGaneodiyo, and they sat in a wide circle on robes placed for them by\ntheir assistants.\n\nHoyowennato produced the pipe of ceremony from its case; the\nmystically-carven soapstone bowl was filled with tobacco and he\nhanded it to Ganeodiyo, who lighted it with a coal from the council\nfire, blew the required puffs to the four quarters and to the earth\nand the sky and passed it on to Tododaho, senior of all the Royanehs,\nhe who sits beside the ancient undying council fire of the League,\nwhich has burned for ages of ages at Onondaga.  The pipe went the\nrounds of the circle and was returned to Hoyowennato, who replaced it\nin its case.\n\nTododaho rose.\n\n\"My offspring, now this day we are met together,\" he intoned.  \"The\nGreat Spirit has appointed this day.  We are met together on account\nof the solemn event which has befallen you.  Now into the earth he\nhas been conveyed to whom we have been wont to look.  Therefore in\ntears we have smoked together.\n\n\"Now, then, we say, we wipe away the tears, so that in peace you may\nlook about you.\n\n\"And further, we suppose there is an obstruction in your ears.  Now,\nthen, we remove the obstruction carefully from your hearing, so that\nwe trust you will easily hear the words spoken.\n\n\"And also we imagine there is an obstruction in your throat.  Now,\ntherefore, we say, we remove the obstruction, so that you may speak\nfreely in our mutual greetings.\n\n\"Now again another thing, my offspring.  I have spoken of the solemn\nevent which has befallen you.  Every day you are losing your great\nmen.  They are being borne into the earth; so that in the midst of\nblood you are sitting.\n\n\"Now, therefore, we say, we wash off the blood-marks from your seat,\nso that it may be for a time that happily the place will be clean\nwhere you are seated.\n\n\"And now, that our hearts may be prepared for the instructions of our\nforefathers and the memory of their greatness, we sing the hymn\n'Yondonghs Aihaigh.'\"\n\nAlmost a hundred voices boomed out the rhythmic lines:\n\n  \"I come again to greet and thank the League;\n  I come again to greet and thank the kindred;\n  I come again to greet and thank the warriors;\n  I come again to greet and thank the women.\n  My forefathers--what they established--\n  My forefathers--hearken to them!\"\n\n\nAnd after the song was ended, Tododaho walked up and down the council\nhouse, crying out:\n\n\"Hail, my grandsires!  Now hearken while your grandchildren cry\nmournfully to you--because the Great League which you established has\ngrown old.\n\n\"Even now, oh, my grandsires, that has become old which you\nestablished--the Great League!  You have it as a pillow under your\nheads in the ground where you are lying--this Great League which you\nestablished; although you said that far away in the future the Great\nLeague would endure.\"\n\nA second time they sang the hymn, and then Tododaho called the roll\nof the founders, commencing with Tehkarihhoken and ending with\nTyuhninhohkawenh, and after each name the Royanehs thundered the\nresponses:\n\n  \"This was the roll of you,\n  You who were joined in the work,\n  You who completed the work,\n  The Great League!\"\n\n\nTododaho reseated himself, and a Royaneh of the Cayugas rose to speak\nfor the so-called Younger Nations--the Cayugas, Oneidas and\nTuscaroras.\n\n\"Now our uncle has passed away,\" he recited, \"he who used to work for\nall, that they might see the brighter days to come--for the whole\nbody of warriors and also for the whole body of women, and also for\nthe children that were running around, and also for the little ones\ncreeping on the ground, and also for those that are tied to the\ncradle-boards; for all these he used to work that they might see the\nbright days to come.  This we say, we Three Brothers.\n\n\"Now another thing we will say, we Younger Brothers.  You are\nmourning in the deep darkness.  I will make the sky clear for you, so\nthat you will not see a cloud.  And also I will give the sun to shine\nupon you, so that you can look upon it peacefully when it goes down.\n\n\"Now, then, another thing we say, we three Younger Brothers.  If any\none should fall--it may be a principal chief will fall, a Royaneh,\nand descend into the grave--as soon as possible another shall be put\nin his place.  This we say, we three Younger Brothers.\n\n\"Now I have finished.  Now show me the man!\"\n\nA hush mantled the council house.  All eyes turned toward the door\nwhere Tawannears stood with Peter and me.  Ganeodiyo and another\nSeneca Royaneh rose from their places and crossed the room to us.  At\na sign Tawannears went to meet them.  They took position, one on each\nside, with their hands under his elbows, and so guided him into the\ncenter of the circle around the council fire.  Three times they\nwalked him around the circuit of Royanehs.  Then Ganeodiyo spoke.\n\n\"Denehogaweh is dead, oh, Royanehs!  Our eyes have been blinded with\ntears.  Our hearts have been heavy.  Loudly we have cried our grief.\nBut the forefathers laid down rules for us to follow and we have\nfollowed them.  A vacant place must be filled.  Work laid aside must\nbe completed.  The places left by the founders must be carried on\nthat our children may continue to have peace.\n\n\"Behold, oh, Royanehs, after the tradition of our people, as required\nby the founders, the wise women of the Wolf Clan gathered in Council.\nThey considered deeply.  Donehogaweh was dead.  Another of his line\nmust succeed him.  Donehogaweh was the Guardian of the Western Door.\nNo foes entered the Long House after he kept watch.  Who should\nendeavor to take his place?\n\n\"The wise women pondered, oh, Royanehs.  They continued to ponder.\nThey remembered that Donehogaweh had a nephew, Tawannears, Warden of\nthe Door.  He was his uncle's prop, his right hand, a tried warrior,\nfeared by the enemies of the Great League, respected by the subject\nnations, the friend of our friends.\n\n\"Oh, Royanehs, we present him to you!  He is no longer Tawannears.\nHe is Donehogaweh!  He is the Guardian of the Western Door.  Give him\nyour favor!\"\n\n\"_Aigh!  Aighhaigh!  Kwa, Kwa!_\" applauded the Royanehs.\n\nPeter and I slipped out of the door as they formed in procession and\ntook our station with Kachina--for I cannot bring myself to give her\nthe name Gahano by which Tawannears always addressed her--to watch\nthe formal presentation to the assemblage of Senecas gathered in the\nopen around the gaondote, or war-post.  A shout of approval came from\nthe people when Tawannears, now Donehogaweh, was led forth by\nTododaho and Ganeodiyo.\n\n\"The Guardian of the Door!\" they cried.  \"He is favored by Hawenneyu!\n_Kwa!  Kwa!_\"\n\nKachina clapped her hands with glee--one of many tricks that proved\nto me her Caucasian origin.\n\n\"He has his uncle's place!\" she exclaimed.  \"I was afraid that fat\nold she-ant, Guanaea, would make trouble for him.  I will put a snake\nin her bed some night.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" I rebuked her.  \"She is your mother.  Her eyes are\nclouded by grief.  Be kind, and she will learn to love you.\"\n\n\"Love me!  _Hai_, I care not whether she loves me.  I have\nTawannears' love, and that is enough.\"\n\nPeter plucked me by the sleeve.\n\n\"Come!\" he whispered.\n\nI followed him behind the nearest ganasote, and he pointed to a\nnarrow opening in the wall of the forest opposite, the throat of the\ngreat trail of the Long House.\n\n\"Here is no blace for us,\" he said.  \"We hafe saidt goodt-by to\nTawannears--who is no longer Tawannears.  He has a new life to lif.\nHe must be an Indian of Indians.  He has a wife andt a\nmother-in-law----\"\n\n\"Who is not his mother-in-law,\" I gibed.\n\n\"_Ja_, berhaps.  But dot doesn't matter now.  We are white men.  He\nis an Indian.  We don't do him no goodt for a time.  We petter go,\nandt leafe him to himself.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed slowly.  \"You are right, Peter.  'Tis strange how\ntactful you can be--and how talkative.  But where shall we go?\"\n\nHe gave me a curious look.\n\n\"It's petter you go home, eh?\"\n\n\"Home?\"\n\n\"_Ja_!  New York--der gofernor--andt----\"\n\nHe left the sentence unfinished, for which I was duly grateful.  I\nwas conscious of no impelling urge to return to civilization.  The\nzest which had attended our homeward journey was gone from me.  But I\ncould not argue against Peter's suggestion.  The governor expected a\nreport from me.  For the rest, I shrugged my shoulders.  But I did\nnot hunger for the house in Pearl Street.  I did not even attempt to\npicture what awaited me there.\n\nA snowstorm overtook us near the headwaters of the Mohawk, and after\nsecuring snowshoes from an Oneida village we decided we might as well\nsave time by pushing straight southeast through the forest country on\nthe west bank of Hudson's River, avoiding Fort Orange* and the\ncontiguous settlement, and crossing the river at the first point we\ncame to where the ice would hold.  Corlaer knew every inch of this\nwild land, and was never at a loss to steer a bee-line in any\ndirection he fancied.\n\n\n* Albany.\n\n\nBut as a result of this we saw no other white men until we reached\nthe outlying villages above New York, and their residents could give\nus no tidings of the town's affairs, for they had been cut off by the\ngreat drifts since Christmas--a feast to which we had given no\nthought.  We had completely lost track of days and were not even sure\nof the month.  For years we had regulated ourselves by the seasons.\nIt was hot or cold, Winter or Summer, with us.  We let it go at that.\n\nThe burghers of the Out-ward eyed us askance for the wastrels we\nseemed in our deerskin shirts and leggings, bearskin robes belted\nabout us, hair and beard sweeping our shoulders.  And as it chanced,\nwe saw none we knew until we reached the Broadway just above the\nGreen Lane, when honest John Allen, my clerk, turned the corner in\nface of us and would have passed on, with an uneasy glance for our\nruffian pair.\n\n\"How, now!\" I cried.  \"Is it so you greet your master, John?\"\n\nHe dropped his bundle of papers in the snow and his chin sagged to\nhis chest.\n\n\"'Tis never you, Master Ormerod!  Why, we had given you up two years\ngone--all, that is, save Master Burnet.  But for him the magistrates\nwould have settled your estate.\"\n\nNow, why it was I know not, but at this I was smitten with an insane\ndesire to laugh, and I rocked my sides so that people across the way\ndeemed me witless and hastened by us.\n\n\"I am glad there is one man of intelligence left,\" I said when I had\nfound my breath again.  \"But I never doubted the governor, John.\"\n\n\"He is governor no longer, sir.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nEven Peter fetched out a shrill Dutch curse.\n\n\"Ay, sir.  But last month the Lords of Trade gave him notice\ntransferring him to Massachusetts.  He sailed ten days since.\"\n\n\"He is gone hence?\"\n\n\"'Tis so, sir.\"\n\n\"But who has his place!\"\n\n\"Master Montgomery, sir.  And oh, Master Ormerod, things are very\ndifferent from what they were.  The malcontents in the town have the\nnew governor's ear.  There is much ado about municipal reforms, and\nsmall thought to the fur-trade and the alliances with the savages\nthat Master Burnet gave thought to.\"\n\nI clapped an arm on Peter's fat shoulder.\n\n\"Then here are two shall give Master Montgomery somewhat to think\non,\" I proclaimed.  \"We'll tell him of the Wilderness Country, eh,\nPeter?  We'll acquaint him with the doings of the French!  We'll make\nplain to him the empires and kingdoms that lie waiting the\nEnglishman, if he have but the courage of his ancestors!\"\n\n\"Nein,\" said Peter.  \"You go.\"\n\n\"But you?\"\n\n\"I go wit' John here.\"\n\n\"Have it your own way,\" I returned cavalierly.  \"Shall I find the\ngovernor in the fort, John?\"\n\n\"Ay, sir.\"  He hesitated.  \"But sure, Master Ormerod, you'll stop in\nPearl Street.  Elspeth and----\"\n\n\"Anon, anon,\" I said airily.  \"I am not much of a home-body, John.\"\n\nAnd I swaggered on my way, poor fool, secretly fearful of the\nmemories that Pearl Street might evoke.\n\nAt the fort I was recognized by an officer, and he passed me into the\ngovernor's house with a celerity that made me fume all the more\nduring the hour I must cool my heels in his anteroom.  But all things\nend in time, even the whims of jacks-in-office.  A liveried servant\nopened the inner door, and I was ushered in my motley forest-garb\ninto a room which expressed in every detail the finicking niceties of\nits occupant.\n\nA small man, with a pompous carriage, insignificant features\nexpressing vanity and pride, Master Montgomery made no effort to\ndisguise his displeasure that a citizen should have ventured to\nappear before him so roughly dressed.\n\n\"Master Ormerod?\" he said.  \"Ah, yes, I am aware who you are, sir.\nThe late--ah--governor was pleased to give me some account of you,\nand of the--ah--ridiculous mission upon which he was pleased to\ndispatch you.  Close to four years gone, was it not?  You have been\noverlong, sir.  I----\"\n\n\"One moment,\" I interrupted.  \"You call my mission ridiculous.  Are\nyou aware, sir, that I have traveled where no Englishman has been\nbefore?  Do you understand the value of the information I bring?\nDoes it mean nothing that I have news of the French dispositions in\nthe Wilderness Country?\"\n\nHe waved me to silence.\n\n\"You attach unnecessary importance to your wanderings, Master\nOrmerod,\" he reproved me.  \"Here, sir, we have work sufficient to\noccupy us for many generations.  The--ah--failures of my predecessor,\nI venture to assert, may be ascribed to his unfortunate predilection\nto extravagant views and policies.  The day for such delusions, I\nassure you, is past.  Here in New York we are now occupied with the\nimportant task of improving the lot of our loyal, law-abiding\ncitizens, and the abatement of hindrances to trade and commerce.\"\n\nHe selected a paper from several on the table before him.\n\n\"I have here a draft of a new charter I am issuing to the citizens!\nToo little attention has been paid to such matters, and it shall be\nmy care to----\"\n\n\"Do I understand you have no ear for my report, your Excellency?\" I\nbroke in.\n\n\"Some other time, Master Ormerod.  At the present, I am occupied with\naffairs of serious moment.\"\n\n\"But the French----\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, sir,\" he remonstrated severely.  \"Here is overmuch stress\nupon the French.  Another fault of my--ah--distinguished predecessor\nwas to exaggerate the animosity of the French.  Treat the French\nfairly, live and let live, so you may construe my policy.  I have no\nfault to find with French expansion.  There is land enough for all on\nthis continent.  As for the near-by savages, we have humored them\nmore than is good for them.  In future----\"\n\nHow I got from that room I do not remember, but in some way I dammed\nthe flow of pompous rhetoric and futile reasoning, brushed by all who\nwould have questioned me in the fort, and found my way by oft-trodden\npaths into Pearl Street.  I was still seething with indignation as\nthe red-brick house came in view.  When I tapped at the door none\nanswered me, so I pushed it open and entered the wide hallway.  I\ncalled, but no answer was returned.  And then I heard a bubbling\nchuckle of mirth in the rear garden, capped by Corlaer's squeaking\nlaughter.\n\nIt was as if a secret hammer tapped at my heart.  I caught my breath,\nand stepped softly through the corridor to the door which gave on the\ngarden.  On the steps below me sat stout Scots Elspeth, heedless of\nthe snow, and John Allen, both of them helpless with laughter; and in\nthe garden's center a small, lusty urchin in breeches, a wooden\nscalping knife clutched in one mitten-covered fist, circled\ncautiously the ponderous figure of Corlaer, who contrived a most\nrealistic mimicry of panic-fear.\n\n\"And now I shall scalp you!\" the urchin shrieked gleefully.\n\nBut Peter gestured him towards me, and the boy turned with a glad\ncry.  The knife dropped from his hand.  There was a scurry of feet,\nand two arms were stretched up to me, two brown eyes--eyes that it\nseemed I had looked into so many times before--shone into mine.\n\n\"You have come back!\" shouted the treble voice.  \"John said you\nwould!  And so did Master Burnet!  Do you always wear a beard!  Will\nyou buy me clothes like those you and Peter wear?  Will you teach me\nto cast the tomahawk and shoot with the bow and arrow?  Will you take\nme to live with the Indians?  Did you kill very many this time?  What\ndid you find beyond the sunset?\"\n\nI swept him in my arms, gray eyes beaming steadily through the mist\nthat veiled my sight.\n\n\"I found contentment--and love,\" I said.\n\nElspeth burst into tears.\n\n\"_Hecht_, but them's the bonny worrds,\" she blubbered.  \"The master's\nhame and richt in his mind again!\"\n\nMy son's bubbling laughter stirred me afresh, and I peered over his\nshoulder to perceive Corlaer waltzing like a clumsy bear, with John\nAllen's sedate person clasped against his enormous belly.  And I sat\ndown beside the boy and laughed, too, laughed as I had laughed in\nbygone years, with the joyous vigor of a happy heart.\n\n\n\nTHE END","title":"Beyond the sunset","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":90074}