It was nearly night. The sun had already disappeared behind the
sharp-pointed gray peaks. In the fading light the far-stretching prairie
was turning dark. In a valley, sparsely timbered with quaking aspens and
cotton-woods, stood a large camp. For a long distance up and down the river
rose the smoke of many lodges. Seated on a little hill overlooking the
valley, was a single person. With his robe drawn tightly around him, he sat
there motionless, looking down on the prairie and valley below.
Slowly and silently something was crawling through the grass toward
him. But he heard nothing. Still he gazed eastward, seeking to discover any
enemy who might be approaching. Still the dark object crawled slowly
onward. Now it was so close to him that it could almost touch him. The
person thought he heard a sound, and started to turn round. Too late! Too
late! A strong arm grasped him about the neck and covered his mouth. A long
jagged knife was thrust into his breast again and again, and he died
without a cry. Strange that in all that great camp no one should have seen
him killed!
Still extended on the ground, the dark figure removed the scalp. Slowly he
crawled back down the hill, and was lost in the gathering darkness. It was
Mik-a'pi, and he had another Snake scalp tied to his belt. His heart was
glad, yet he was not satisfied. Some nights had passed since the bad signs
had warned him, yet he had succeeded. "One more," he said. "One more scalp
I must have, and then I will go back." So he went far up on the mountain,
and hid in some thick pines and slept. When daylight came, he could see
smoke rise as the women started their fires. He also saw many people rush
up on the hill, where the dead watcher lay. He was too far off to hear
their angry shouts and mournful cries, but he sung to himself a song of war
and was happy.
Once more the sun went to his lodge behind the mountains, and as darkness
came Mik-a'pi slowly descended the mountain and approached the camp. This
was the time of danger. Behind each bush, or hidden in a bunch of the tall
rye grass, some person might be watching to warn the camp of an approaching
enemy. Slowly and like a snake, he crawled around the outskirts of the
camp, listening and looking. He heard a cough and saw a movement of a
bush. There was a Snake. Could he kill him and yet escape? He was close
to him now. So he sat and waited, considering how to act. For a long time
he sat there waiting. The moon rose and travelled high in the sky. The
Seven Persons[1] slowly swung around, and pointed downward. It was the
middle of the night. Then the person in the bush stood up and stretched out
his arms and yawned, for he was tired of watching, and thought that no
danger was near; but as he stood thus, an arrow pierced his breast. He gave
a loud yell and tried to run, but another arrow struck him and he fell.
[Footnote 1: The constellation of the Great Bear.]
At the sound the warriors rushed forth from the lodges and the outskirts of
the camp; but as they came, Mik-a'pi tore the scalp from his fallen enemy,
and started to run toward the river. Close behind him followed the Snakes.
Arrows whizzed about him. One pierced his arm. He plucked it out. Another
struck his leg, and he fell. Then a great shout arose from the
Snakes. Their enemy was down. Now they would be revenged for two lately
taken lives. But where Mik-a'pi fell was the verge of a high rock wall;
below rushed the deep river, and even as they shouted, he rolled from the
wall, and disappeared in the dark water far below. In vain they searched
the shores and bars. They did not find him.
Mik-a'pi had sunk deep in the water. The current was swift, and when at
last he rose to the surface, he was far below his pursuers. The arrow in
his leg pained him, and with difficulty he crawled out on a
sand-bar. Luckily the arrow was lance-shaped instead of barbed, so he
managed to draw it out. Near by on the bar was a dry pine log, lodged there
by the high spring water. This he managed to roll into the stream; and,
partly resting on it, he again drifted down with the current. All night he
floated down the river, and when morning came he was far from the camp of
the Snakes. Benumbed with cold and stiff from the arrow wounds, he was glad
to crawl out on the bank, and lie down in the warm sunshine. Soon he slept.