"Our old chief is full of the right spirit. He is losing power with the
young men, but I think he can still guide them. I will hope so, and we
will return as soon as we can."
Poor Nazinred! If he had known that his only and beloved daughter, even
while he spoke, was on her way to the mysterious icy sea in company with
one of the despised Eskimos--driven away by the violence of the
fire-eaters of the camp--he would not have smoked or spoken so calmly.
But, fortunately for his own peace of mind, he did not know--he did not
dream of the possibility of such a catastrophe; and even if he had known
and returned home at full speed, he would have been too late to prevent
the evil.
For a long time these Indians lay side by side on their outspread
blankets, with their feet to the fire, gazing through the branches at
the stars, and puffing away in profound silence, but probably deep
thought. At least a sudden exclamation by Mozwa warrants that
conclusion.
"You think," he said, "that our old chief has the right spirit. How do
you know what is the right spirit? Alizay and Magadar, and many of our
braves--especially the young ones--think that a fiery spirit, that
flares up like powder, and is always ready to fight, is the right one.
You and our old chief think that gentleness and forbearance and
unwillingness to fight till you cannot help it is the right spirit. How
do you know which is right? You and the war-lovers cannot both be
right!"
There was an expression of great perplexity on the Indian's face as he
uttered the last sentence.
"My son," replied Nazinred, who, although not much older than his
companion, assumed the parental _role_ in virtue of his chieftainship,
"how do you know that you are alive?"
This was such an unexpected answer that Mozwa gazed fixedly upwards for
a few minutes without making any reply.
"I know it," he said at length, "because I--I--know it. I--I _feel_
it."
"How do you know," continued the chief, with perplexing pertinacity,
"that the sun is not the moon?"
Again Mozwa became astronomically meditative. "Because I see it and
feel it," he replied. "The sun is brighter and warmer. It cheers me
more than the moon, and gives me more light, and warms me. It warms the
bushes and flowers too, and makes them grow, and it draws the beasts out
of their holes. Even a rabbit knows the difference between the sun and
the moon."
"My son," returned Nazinred, "I have not lived very long yet, but I have
lived long enough to see, and feel, and know that the kind spirit is the
right spirit, because it warms the heart, and opens the eyes, and gives
light, and it is the only spirit that can make friends of foes. Is it
not better to live at peace and in good-will with all men than to live
as enemies?"
"Ho!" responded Mozwa, by way of assent.
"Then the peaceful spirit is the right one," rejoined the chief, with a
long-drawn sigh that indicated a tendency to close the discussion.
As Mozwa felt himself to be in a somewhat confused mental condition, he
echoed the sigh, laid down his pipe, drew his blanket round him, and,
without the formality of "Good-night," resigned himself to repose.
Nazinred, after taking a look at the weather, pondering, perchance, on
the probabilities of the morrow, and throwing a fresh log on the fire,
also wrapped his blanket round him and lost himself in slumber.