The snow was falling fast; the early snow of Northern America. The
woods had not yet parted with all the splendour of their autumnal
foliage; and the rivers still sang along their beds, confined, indeed,
and narrowed in their channel by a ledge of thin ice along their
banks, but still gay and sparkling. The air, however, was raw and
cold; the ground hard beneath the tread; the sky dark and lowering;
and the flakes rested unmelted on the earth, covering rapidly the
green grass and the brown leaves.
Otaitsa stole forth from the shelter of the great lodge, passed
amongst the huts around, and out into the fields through the opening
in the palisade. She was going where she wished not her steps to be
traced, and she knew that the fast-falling snow would speedily fill up
every foot-print. Quietly and gracefully she glided on till she
reached the edge of the deep wood, and then along a little-frequented
trail, till, at the distance of about half a mile, her eyes, keenly
bent forward, perceived something brown crouching still and motionless
under cover of a young hemlock, the branches of which nearly swept the
ground.
As the Blossom approached, a head, covered with glossy black hair,
rolled up behind, was raised above a little bush which partly hid the
woman's figure; and, coming nearer, Otaitsa asked, in a low voice,--
"Did he pass?"
"No," answered the young maiden to whom she spoke; "it was Apukwa, the
medicine-man."
Otaitsa waved her head sadly to and fro, saying, "I understand." Then,
speaking to the girl again, she said, "Now back to the castle, through
the brush there to the other trail, and then home."
Her own walk was to be longer; and on she went, with the same gliding
step, till, about half a mile further, she turned a little out of the
path to the right; and there, concealed amongst the bushes, she found
an old woman of her tribe, to whom she put the same question, and
received nearly the same answer.
"Thou art cold, my mother," said Otaitsa, unfastening her mantle, and
throwing it over the old woman; "get thee back with the step of a mole
through the most covered ways thou canst find. How far on is the
other?"
"More than a mile," replied the old woman; "close at the foot of the
rocks."
Otaitsa made no reply, but hastened forward to a spot where some
abrupt, but not very elevated, crags rose up out of the midst of the
wood. For a moment there seemed no one there; and the trail at that
spot divided into two, one running to the right, and the other to the
left, at the very base of the rocks.
Otaitsa gazed cautiously about. She did not dare to utter a sound; but
at length her eye fixed upon a large mass of stone tumbled from the
bank above, crested and feathered with some sapling chestnuts. It
seemed a place fit for concealment; and, advancing over some broken
fragments, she was approaching carefully, when again a head was
raised, and a hand stretched out beckoning to her.
Still she trod her way cautiously, taking care not to set her foot on
prominent points where the trace might remain, and contriving, as far
as possible, to make each bush and scattered tree a screen. At length
she reached her companion's place of concealment, and crouched down
behind the rock, by the side of a young woman a few years older than
herself.
"Has he passed?" asked Otaitsa. "Which way did he take?"
"To the east," replied the other; "to the rising sun; but it was not
the brother of the Snake. It was Apukwa, the Bull-rush; and he had a
wallet with him, but no tomahawk."
"How long is it since he passed?" asked the Blossom, in the same low
tone which they had hitherto used.
"While the crow would fly a mile," answered the young woman. "Has my
husband yet come back?"
"Not so," replied Otaitsa; "but let us both go, for thou art weary for
thy home, my sister, and I am now satisfied. Their secret is mine."
"How so?" inquired the other; "canst thou see through the rock with
thy bright eyes, Blossom?"
"The cunning medicine-man goes not to pray to his Maneto," answered
Otaitsa, "nor to converse with his Hawenergo. Neither does he wander
forth to fulfil his fasts in the solitude to the east. Yet he will
find no dry deer's-flesh there, my sister; nor any of the fire-water
he loves so well. But away there, where I have gathered many a
strawberry when I was young, there is a deep rift in the rock, where
you may walk a hundred paces on flat ground with the high crags all
around you. The wild cat cannot spring up, and the deer winks as he
looks down. It has but a narrow entrance, for the jaws of the rock are
but half open; and I know now where they have hid my brother. That is
enough, for this night, to Otaitsa."
"And what wilt thou do next?" asked her companion.
"Nay, I know not," answered the Blossom. "The sky grows darker--the
night is coming on, and we must follow the setting sun if we would not
have Apukwa see us. We have yet time, for the gloomy place he goes to
is two thousand paces further. Come. Be assured, dear sister, I will
call for thy aid when it is needful; and thou wilt as soon refuse it
as the flower refuses honey to the bee. Step carefully in the low
places, that they see not the tracks of thy feet."
Thus saying, Otaitsa led the way from their place of concealment with
a freer air (for she knew that Apukwa had far to go), but with as
cautious a tread as ever, lest, returning before the night had fully
fallen, he should see the foot-prints in the snow.
They had been gone about ten minutes, when, creeping silently down
along the trail from the east, the medicine-man appeared at the
furthest corner of the rock within sight; but he was not alone. The
Indian, whom they called the brother of the Snake, was with him. The
latter, however, remained at the point where he could see both ways,
while Apukwa came swiftly forward. At the spot where the trail
separated, he paused, and looked earnestly down upon the ground,
bending his head almost to his knees. Then he seemed to track
something along the trail towards the Indian Castle; and then, turning
back, walked slowly up to the rock, following exactly the path by
which the two women had returned.
At length he seemed satisfied; and, quickening his pace, he rejoined
his companion.
"Thou art right, brother," he said. "There were two. What dimmed thine
eyes that thou canst not tell who they were?"
"I was far," answered the other; "and there is shadow upon shadow."
"Was not one Otaitsa?" asked the medicine-man, slowly. "Could the
brother of the Snake fail to know the Blossom he loves to look at?"
"If my eyes were not hidden, it was not she," replied his companion.
"Never did I see the great Sachem's daughter go out, even when the sun
has most fire, without her mantle round her. This woman had none."
"Which woman?" asked Apukwa; "thou saidst there were two."
"One came, two went," replied the other Oneida; "but the second
could not be the Blossom, for she was tall. The other might have been,
but she had no mantle, and she seemed less than Black Eagle's
daughter--more like Koya, the daughter of the Bear. What were the
print of the moccassins?"
"The snow falls fast; and covers up men's steps, as time covers the
traditions of our fathers," replied the medicine-man; "they were not
clear, brother. One was bigger than the other, but that was all I
could see. Yet I scent the Blossom in this thing, my brother. The
worshipper of the God of the pale-faces would save the life of the
pale-face, had he made milk of the blood of her brother. She may love
the boy too well, as her father loved the white woman. She has been
often there, at the lodge of Prevost, with the pale-face priest or her
father--very often; and she has stayed long. That trail she likes to
follow better than any other; and the Black Eagle may think that his
Blossom is a flower fit to grow by the lodge of the Yengees, and too
beautiful for the red man. Has not my brother dreamed such dreams? has
not his Maneto whispered to him such things?"
"He has," answered the brother of the Snake, in a tone of stern
meaning; "and my tomahawk is sharp. But we must take counsel on this
with our brethren, to make sure that there be no double tongues
amongst us. How else should these women see our tracks, when we have
covered them with leaves?"
It is probable that this last expression was used figuratively: not
actually to imply that a precaution, very common amongst Indians, had
been taken in this case; but that every care had been used to prevent
a discovery, by the women of the nation, of any part of the
proceedings in regard to poor Walter Prevost.
"My tongue is single," said the brother of the Snake; "and if
I had a double tongue, would I use it when my enemy is under my
scalping-knife? Besides, am I not more than my brother?"
And, baring his arm, he pointed with his finger to that small blue
stripe which Woodchuck had exhibited on his own arm to Lord H---- in
Albany.
"My brother listens with the ears of the hare," said Apukwa. "The
Honontkoh never betray each other. But there are young men with us who
are not of our order. Some are husbands, some are lovers; and with
women they are women. Yet we must be watchful not to scatter our own
herd. There must be no word of anger; but our guard must be made more
sure. Go thou home to thine own lodge; and to-morrow, while the East
is still white, let us hold council in the wigwam further down the
lake. The home wind is blowing strong, and there will be more snow to
cover our trail."
Thus saying, they parted for the night.
But the next morning early, from one of the small fortified villages
of the Indians some miles from their great Castle, no less than six
young men set out at different times, and took their way separately
through the woods. One said to his wife, as he left her,--
"I go to hunt the moose." And one to his sister, "I go to kill the
deer." And another told his squaw the same story; but she laughed, and
answered,--
"Thou art careful of thy goods, my husband. Truth is too precious a
thing to be used on all occasions. Thou keepest it for the time of
need."
The man smiled, and patted her cheek, saying,--
"Keep thine own counsel, wife; and when I lie to thee, seem not to
know it."