Fiery Man and the large party of hunters came in sight of their home
on the evening of the same day. They had brought a large number of
buffalo, and were glad to reach the vicinity of their village, where
their wives and other women came forward to relieve them of their
burden. Merry work it was to them on this occasion, until they learned
some of the hunters were missing.
Fiery Man looked to see his wife and child among them, and was
disappointed and irritated at not seeing them; but he remembered White
Moon was always backward in joining these noisy parties, and thus he
accounted for her absence.
His tall figure was slightly clad, for the weather was warm--in his
right hand he held a spear, and on its top was a scalp recently taken.
He strode on without waiting to explain the occasion of this, only
thinking of his wife and son. He did not miss his sister, though he
might well have done so, for she was always ready with her strong arm
to assist the hunters, and her loud voice to give directions to the
women.
There was a great deal of confusion as they entered the village, for
the absence of the three hunters had been accounted for, though not by
Fiery Man, who had passed forward towards his lodge.
The hunters, enthusiastic with their success, (for the number of
buffalo they had killed was unusually great,) were surprised by a party
of Iroquois, and in the sudden terror three of the Sioux, who had laid
down their arms, intending to sleep, were killed and scalped. These
Iroquois had come from a great distance; their villages were in the
western part of New York. They were then in the height of their power,
and constantly performed exploits that astonished other Indian nations.
But that a small party should have travelled four hundred leagues,
living by chance, surrounded by their enemies; that they should venture
among so powerful a people with such an object, is indeed remarkable;
that they should have been successful, is still more so.
They lost one of their party. Fiery Man pursued them, with some others,
as they endeavoured to make their escape, and killed one, whose scalp
adorned his spear.
The lamentations of the families whose relatives had been killed, their
affectionate but melancholy reception of their dead bodies--for they
had been wrapped in skins and brought home--the loud talking of those
engaged in caring for the immense quantities of buffalo-meat and the
valuable skins,--all these were unnoticed and indeed unheard by Fiery
Man.
Even his stout heart quailed before the silent and gloomy appearance of
his lodge. There was not even an evidence of habitation.
The lodge on which White Moon had been engaged lay heaped up near it;
but there was no one there to welcome him.
He threw up the door and looked in; then started almost affrighted at
what he saw. His sister lay dead--and the only creature near her was
the small dog that had been always by her side during life. He could
not mistake the horrible symptoms,--the fallen jaw, the dark-looking
blood, the face calm and composed in its expression, as it never had
been in life.
He turned again from the lodge to seek his wife and child,--the former
with her timid and almost fearful salutation, the latter with his merry
infant laugh, as he reached forth his hands to be taken close to his
father's heart.
He looked around among the groups talking here and there. They were
gazing at him, with doubt and consternation in every countenance;
for who would dare tell him of all?--who would expose himself to the
violence of his wrath?--who but feared to see that iron frame bowed
with the tale of horror he must hear?
He hastened towards them, and shook Harpstinah roughly by the arm.
"Where is my wife?--my child? Speak!" he said, as the woman, in her
fright, seemed to have lost the power of speech.
An old man, who had not accompanied the hunting party, on account of
his age, came forward. "There is your son," he said, pointing to the
burial-ground. "Your wife left him asleep, and your sister--"
Harpstinah, having recovered herself, interrupted him: he had but a
confused notion of the state of things. She told Fiery Man all the
circumstances, even to her going to the lodge, drawn thither by the
continual crying of the dog, and finding his sister there in her
death-pangs. She had tried to make Harpstinah comprehend a message to
her brother, but had expired with the effort. Previous to that she had
told several persons that White Moon had killed her child, but no one
believed it. The affectionate care of the mother was too well known;
besides, the girl who had been left in charge of her, said the infant
had awakened a short time after White Moon had left, and had then
fallen asleep again.
White Moon had been seen as she hurried from the village, but no one
had seen her return. Harpstinah had heard angry words passing between
them, but did not know that anything more serious had occurred,
until some time after, when she entered the lodge, as she had before
described. All presumed it must have been the act of White Moon, as she
had expressed previously her intention of remaining at home, in order
to finish her lodge.
This was the substance of the intelligence, to which Fiery Man listened
with an ashy countenance and a trembling frame. His wife, whom he had
so loved--his boy, the noble, healthy child, whose growth he had
watched day by day! As he bent forward to listen, large tears rested on
his cheek. The women moved off affrighted at the spectacle, that tears,
such as women shed, should be seen there.
There was one who still remained beside him. Fiery Man had not heard
the charge brought against his wife of the murder of her child. So
stricken was he, that he only heard and felt that they were gone.
The Fawn still remained beside him: she had loved Fiery Man, and had
hoped to be his wife. She waited to speak when he should arouse from
the first stupor of his grief. He turned to go, he knew not where; he
heard his name called, and saw the Fawn beside him. "Your sister said
that White Moon had never loved you, and was now revenged; that you had
torn her from all she had loved; that even her old mother had wept, and
asked you to leave her with her, but in vain; and it was for this White
Moon had killed your child, that you might have sorrow too."
Then came back the colour to the bronzed cheek of Fiery Man, and the
flashing to his eye. Then did he stand erect, like one that had never
known grief--then did love change to bitter hatred. The wife of his
bosom was his worst enemy. There were no more tears, but loud threats
of vengeance--no trembling, but firm purposes of revenge.
He went again to the lodge, to look at his sister's body. He left her,
and stood by the grave of his child. He laid his hand upon the little
body, and stood thus while he decided what to do. He shouted for the
young men, and told them to go and hunt for his wife, and bring her
back to him.
It was fearful to see the paroxysms of his hot anger. He lay down on
the grass near his child; he rested, but not with sleep. He sought his
wife through the night, but in vain. He went into the thick forests;
he remembered Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, was his friend; he
prayed to the god; he sacrificed to the wakeen-stone; but still he was
unsuccessful.
He knew neither sleep nor rest until the evening of the next day, when
he was forced to yield to his overtaxed condition. There did he stand,
by the Laughing Waters, where she had stood. The White Moon was making
her way, slowly and sadly, but clinging to life--full of grief, but
fearing the avenger--living on the berries of the woods, and sleeping
where the red deer and its young lie down to rest.