Raymond Evelyn
The Sun Maid: A Story of Fort Dearborn

“Ugh! Are a coward, eh? Never mind. There are other lads at Muck-otey-pokee, and plenty of plunder in my wigwam.”

“All right. Come along, Dark-Eye. Might as well be Dark-Brow, too, for he looks like a night without stars. What will you do with his horse, Man-Who-Kills?”

“Let you ride it for me, sometimes.”

“I can do it”; and without further delay, leading the utterly passive and disheartened Gaspar, the Indian lad set off for Wahneenah’s home. The captive had no expectation of anything but the most dreadful fate, and his tired brain reeled at the remembrance of what he might yet undergo. Yet, what use to resist?

Meanwhile, Osceolo, confident that all the braves whom he need fear were still absent from the village, started his charge along the trail at a rapid pace, and reached the wigwam of the Woman-Who-Mourns at the very moment when Black Partridge, White Pelican, and the Sun Maid came riding to it from the prairie.

She was alive, then! She was, in truth, a “spirit”! His mischievousness had had no power to harm her, she was exempt from any ill that might befall another, she had come back to – How could such an innocent-appearing creature punish one who had so misled her?

He had no time to guess. For the child had caught sight of the stupid lad he was leading, and with a cry of ecstacy had sprung from the Snowbird and landed plump upon the prisoner’s shoulders.

“Gaspar! My Gaspar, my Gaspar! Mine, mine, mine!”

It was a transformation scene. The white boy had staggered under the unexpected assault of his old playmate, but he had instantly recognized her. With a cry as full of joy as her own, he clasped her close, and showered his kisses on her upturned face.

“Kitty! why, Kitty! You aren’t dead, then? You are not hurt? And we thought – oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!”

Clinging to each other, they slipped to the ground, too absorbed in themselves to notice anything else; while Osceolo watched them in almost equal absorption.

But he was roused sooner than they. A hand fell on his shoulder. A hand whose touch could be as gentle as a woman’s, but was now like a steel band crushing the very bones.

“Osceolo!”

“Yes, Black Partridge,” quavered the terrified lad.

“You will come to my tepee. Alone!”

CHAPTER VII.
A THREEFOLD CORD IS STRONGEST

“She is a spirit. I know that nothing can harm her. Yet many things can harm me. I have no desire to suffer any further anxiety. Therefore – this. My Girl-Child, my White Papoose, come here.”

The Sun Maid reluctantly obeyed. It was the morning after her perilous ride on the back of an untamed horse and her joyful reunion with Gaspar, her old playmate of the Fort. The two were now just without the wigwam of Wahneenah, sitting clasped in each other’s arms, as if fearful that a fresh separation awaited them should they once relinquish this tight hold of one another; and it was in much the same feeling that the foster-mother regarded them.

“But why, Other Mother? I do love my Gaspar boy. I did know him always.”

“You’ve known me two years, Kitty,” corrected the truthful lad. “But I suppose that is as long as you can remember. You’re such a baby.”

“How old is the Sun Maid – as you white people reckon ages?” asked Wahneenah.

“She is five years old. Her birthday was on the Fourth of July. We had a celebration. Our Captain fired as many rounds of ammunition as she was years old. The mothers made her a cake, with sugar on the top, and with five little candles they made themselves on purpose, and colored with strawberry juice. Oh, surely, there never was such a cake in all the world as they made for our ‘baby!’” cried the lad, forgetting for the moment present troubles in this delightful memory.

“Well, there are other women who can make other cakes,” said Wahneenah, with ready jealousy.

“Oh, but an Indian cake – ” began Gaspar, then stopped abruptly, frightened at his own boldness.

Wahneenah smiled. For small Kitty was swift to see the change in her playmate’s face, and her own caught, for an instant, a reflection of its fear. The foster-mother wished to banish this fear.

“Wahneenah likes those who say their thoughts out straight and clear. She is the sister of the Man-Who-Cannot-Lie. It is the crime of the pale-faces that they will lie, and always. Wherefore, they are always in danger. Take warning. Learn to be truth-tellers, like the Pottawatomies, and you will have no trouble.”

A quick retort rose to Gaspar’s lips, but he subdued it. Then he watched what was being done to Kitty, and a faint smile brightened his face, that had been so far too gloomy for his years. Wahneenah had made a long rope of horsehair, gaily adorned with beads and trinkets, and was fastening it about the Sun Maid’s waist. The little one submitted merrily, at first; but when it flashed through her mind that she was thus being made a prisoner, being “tied up,” she burst into a paroxysm of tears and temper that astonished the others, and even herself.

“I will not be ‘tied up!’ I was not a naughty girl. When I am bad, I will be punished, and I will not cry nor stamp my feet. But when I am good, I will be free – free! There shall nobody, nobody do this to me! Not any single body. Gaspar, will you let her do it?”

The boy’s timidity flew to the winds. His dark eyes flashed with indignation, and his heavy brows contracted in a fierce scowl. At that instant, he appeared much older than he really was, and he advanced upon Wahneenah with upraised hand and threatening gesture.

She might easily have picked him up and tossed him out of the way; but there is nothing an Indian woman admires more greatly than courage. In this she does not differ from her pale-faced sisters, and, instead of resenting Gaspar’s rudeness, she smiled upon him.

“That is right, Dark-Eye. It is a warrior’s duty to protect his women. You are not yet a warrior, nor is the Sun Maid yet a woman, but as you begin so you will continue. Hear me. Let us make compact. I was fastening the child for her own good, not in punishment. Is that a white mother’s custom? Well, this is better. Let us three pledge our word: each to watch over and protect the other so long as our lives last. The Great Spirit sent the Sun Maid into my arms, by the hands of Black Partridge, my brother and my chief. The meanest Indian in Muck-otey-pokee brought you to the village, and the meanest boy to my wigwam. But when the chief saw you, he took you by the hand, and gave you, also, to me. A triple bond is the strongest. Shall we clasp hand upon it?”

It was a curious proceeding for one so much older than these children, but it was in profoundest earnest. Wahneenah recognized in Gaspar a representative of a race whose wisdom exceeded that of her own, even if, as she believed, its morality was of a lower standard. But her brother and the other braves had already told her of his great courage on the day before, and of his wonderful skill with the bow and arrow. He had done a man’s work, even though a stripling, and she would accord him a man’s honor. As for the Sun Maid, despite her very human-like temper, she was, of course, a being above mortal, and therefore fit to “compact” with anybody, even had it been the case with one as venerable as old Katasha. So she felt that there was nothing derogatory to her own dignity in her request.

Gaspar fixed his piercing eyes upon Wahneenah’s face, and studied it carefully.

The penetration of a child is keen, and not easily deceived. What he read in the Indian woman’s unflinching gaze satisfied him, for after this brief delay, he lay his thin boyish hand within the extended palm in entire trust. Of course, what Gaspar did Kitty was bound to do. To her it was a game, and her own plump little fingers closed about the backs of the lad’s with a mischievous pinch. Already her anger had disappeared, and her sunny face was dimpling with laughter.

“Kitty was dreadful bad, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t be tied up first, because she wasn’t naughty. Now she has been bad as bad, she did stamp and scream so; and she may be tied, if Other Mother wishes. Do you, nice Other Mother? It is a very pretty string. It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

But Wahneenah’s desire to fasten her ward to the lodge-pole had vanished. She would far rather trust the true, loving eyes of the boy Gaspar than the stoutest horsehair rope ever woven.

“We will tie nobody. But hear me, my children, for you are both mine now. In this village are many friends and more enemies. Braves and their families, from other villages and other branches of our tribe, have raised their tepees here. It is easier for them to do this than to build villages of their own, and we are hospitable people. When a guest comes to us, he must stay until he chooses to go away again, and there are none who would bid them depart. Some of other tribes than our own are also here. It is they who are stirring up much mischief. They are giving the Black Partridge anxiety; they will not be wise. They will not learn that their only safety lies in friendship with the white faces. Therefore the heart of our chief is heavy with foreboding. He has the inner vision. To him all things are clear that to us are quite invisible. This is his command to me, ere he departed in the dawn of this day, to seek our friends who were of the Fort, and help them in their need, if need again arises. Listen to the words of Black Partridge:

“‘Have these white children trained to ride as an Indian rides. The boy Gaspar is to be given the black gelding, Tempest, for his very own. I shall see the man who owns it, and I will pay his cost. The White Snowbird belongs to the Sun Maid. Let nobody else dare touch the mare, except to handle it in care. The day is coming when they will need to ride fast and far, and with more skill than on yesterday. The Snake-Who-Leaps is the best horseman in our tribe. I have bidden him come to this tepee when the sun crosses the meridian. He is friendly to these prisoners, because they are mine, and he will guide them well.’”

Gaspar’s eyes had opened to their widest extent. The words he had heard seemed incredible; yet he was shrewd and practical by nature, and he promptly inquired:

“Why? Why will the Indian chief bestow so rich a gift upon his white boy-prisoner? For if he buys Tempest from the Captain he will have to pay big money. There isn’t another like the black gelding this side that far-away Kentucky where he was bred.”

“Hear me, Gaspar Keith; prisoner, if you will. But I would rather call you an adopted son of the Black Partridge, and by your new name of Dark-Eye. This is the reason: In these troubles which are coming, you may not only serve yourself, the Sun Maid, and me, by having as your own the gelding Tempest, but you may help the helpless, also. In this one village of Muck-otey-pokee are many old and many very young. The Spotted Adder was the oldest man I ever knew, and though he has died just now, there are others almost of his age. They ought to die, too, and not burden better people. But nobody dies who should while those who should not are snatched away like a feather on the breeze.”

Here Wahneenah became absorbed in her own reflections, and was so long silent that Kitty stole her arms about the woman’s neck and kissed the dark face to remind her that they were still listening.

“Yes, beloved, Child of the Sunshine and Love! You do well to call me back. Let the dead rest. You are the living. I will remember only you,” and she laid the little one against her heart.

“Gaspar, too, Other Mother,” suggested the loyal little maid.

But Gaspar was quite able to speak for himself.

“No decent white person would wish the old to die!” he exclaimed, hotly. “There was a grandmother at our Fort, and she was the best loved, the best cared for, of all the women. That is what a white boy thinks, even if he is an Indian’s prisoner!”

“Ugh! So? You are an odd youth, Dark-Eye. As timid as a wild pigeon one minute, and the next – flouting your chief’s sister.”

“I don’t mean that, Wahneenah. I – I only – I don’t just know what I do mean, except that it seems cowardly to wish the old should die. If you should grow very, very old some day, and Kitty and I should not be – be nice to you, then you would understand what I feel, if I cannot say it rightly.”

Wahneenah laughed.

“Your halting speech makes me happy, Dark-Eye. Kitty and you and I; still all together, even when age shall have dimmed my sight and dulled my hearing. It is well. I am satisfied. But hear me. Herein lies the trouble: when folks are young they forget that they will ever be old. That is a mistake. One should remember that youth flies away, fast, fast. They should teach themselves wisdom. They should learn to be skilled in the things which will make them lovely when they are old. For, despite your judgment, there are some among us whom we would keep till all generations are past. Katasha, the One-Who-Knows; and the Snake-Who-Leaps – why, he is older even than Katasha. Yet there is nobody can ride a horse, or shoot a flying bird, or bring in the game that he can. He is the friend of his chief. He is the most honored one in our whole village. Why? Because he makes few promises, and breaks none. He has never lowered his manhood by drinking the fire-water that addles one’s brains and sets the limbs a-tremble. He has talked little and done much. He is One-To-Be-Trusted. That was his name in his youth, when he began to practise all his virtues. The other name came afterward, because of the swift punishment he can also inflict upon his enemies. You would do well to pattern after your teacher, Dark-Eye.”

Gaspar listened respectfully; but this sounded so very much like the “lectures” he had received at the Fort that it had less originality than most of Wahneenah’s conversations; and, besides that, he had just espied, approaching over the village street, a tall Indian leading the black gelding and Snowbird. Behind this man walked Osceolo; but greatly changed from the bullying youth whom Gaspar had met on the previous day.

Whatever had occurred in the closed tepee of Black Partridge, when its door flaps fell behind himself and the lad he had ordered to accompany him, nobody knew; but, whatever it was, Osceolo was certainly – at least for the time being – a changed young person.

He walked along behind the Snake-Who-Leaps in a meek, subdued manner quite new to him, but which immediately impressed Dark-Eye as being a vast improvement on his former bearing. He paused, when ordered to “Halt!” by the old man, as if he had been stricken into a wooden image, and only when requested to take the Snowbird’s bridle did he make any other motion.

“Why, Osceolo! What’s the matter?” asked the Sun Maid, running toward him in surprise.

But he did not answer, and she was hastily snatched back by the strong hand of the foster-mother.

“The Girl-Child speaks to none who is in disgrace.”

“But I will speak to anybody who is unhappy, Other Mother! I cannot help that, can I? One day, Osceolo was all laughing and clapping; and now – now he looks like Peter Wilson did after his father had whipped him with a musket. Did anybody whip you with a musket, poor, poor Osceolo?”

Not a sign from the disgraced youth.

“Has you lost your tongue, too? Well as your eyes, that you can’t look up? Never mind, Osceolo. Kitty is sorry for you. Some day Kitty will let you ride her beau’ful White Snowbird; some day.”

“The Sun Maid will first learn to ride the Snowbird, herself,” corrected the Snake-Who-Leaps. “She will begin now.”

With unquestioning confidence, a confidence that Gaspar did not share, she ran back to the old warrior’s side, and stood on tiptoe to be lifted into place.

“Ugh!” he grunted in satisfaction. “That is well. The one who has no fear has already conquered the wildest animal. But the White Snowbird is not wild. She has been given an evil name, and it has clung to her as evil always clings,” and the One-To-Be-Trusted turned to give his silent attendant a meaning glance. But Osceolo had not yet raised his gaze from the ground, and the reproof fell pointless.

Nobody had observed that, from another direction, another youth had quietly led up a beautiful chestnut horse, whose cream-colored mane and tail would have made it a conspicuous object anywhere; but Wahneenah had expected this addition to their equestrian party and, as she turned to look for it, exclaimed in pleasure at its prompt appearance.

The Snake-Who-Leaps heard her ejaculation, and evinced his disgust.

“Ugh! Is it to teach a lot of women and a worthless pale-faced lad that I have left the comfort of my own lodge this hot summer day?”

“The old forget. It was long ago, when I was no bigger than the Sun Maid here, that the One-To-Be-Trusted took me behind him on a wild ride over the prairie. It was the only lesson he ever gave – or needed to give —me. I will show him that I am still young enough to remember!” cried Wahneenah, with all the gayety of girlhood, and with so complete a change in her appearance that it was easy to see how she had come to be named The Happy.

Even before the teacher had settled the Sun Maid in her tiny blanket saddle, Wahneenah had sprung upon the chestnut’s back. As she touched it, a clear, determined, if very youthful voice, shouted behind her:

“I am a white man! No Indian shall ever teach me a thing that I can learn for myself!”

For suddenly Gaspar remembered the wrongs he had suffered at the red men’s hands, and leaped to Tempest’s back unaided. Another instant, and the trio of riders dashed away from Muck-otey-pokee in a mad rush that left their disgruntled instructor in doubt which was the better pupil of them all.

“Who begins slow finishes fast; but who begins fast may never live to finish slow,” he remarked, sententiously; then observing that Osceolo had, for the first time, raised his eyes, he promptly laid a heavy hand upon the youth’s shoulder and wheeled him about.

“To my wigwam – march!”

And Osceolo marched – exactly as if all his limbs were sticks and his joints mechanical.

“Ugh! So? Like the jointed dolls of the papooses, eh? Very good. Keep at it. From now till those three return, dead or alive, my fine young warrior, you shall be my pupil. You have set me the pace you like. You may keep at it. From the locust tree east of my lodge to the pawpaw on the west, as the branch swings in the wind, so shall you swing. Ugh! May they ride far and long. One – two – commence!”

It was noonday when he began that weary, weary automatic “step, step”; but when the last rays of the sun had disappeared beyond the prairie, Osceolo was still enduring his discipline, and making his pendulum-like journey from locust-tree to pawpaw, from pawpaw to locust. His head swam, his sight dimmed, but still sat stolid Snake-Who-Leaps in the entrance of his tepee, “instructing” the only pupil fate had left him.

CHAPTER VIII.
AN ISLAND RETREAT

Under the incentive of love and excitement – heightened by a tinge of jealousy – all Wahneenah’s former skill in horsemanship returned to her. When the Snake-Who-Leaps lifted the Sun Maid to the back of the Snowbird the woman felt an unreasoning anger against him. She could not patiently endure to have any other hand than her own touch the small body of her adopted child, upon whom had now centred all the pent-up affection of her starved heart.

“If my darling must be taught, I will teach her myself!” she suddenly resolved, and promptly acted upon the resolution. Previously, and when she ordered the chestnut to be brought to her tepee, she had merely intended to ride in company with the others and in a limited circle about the village. Now a mad impulse seized her to be off over the prairie, farther than sight could reach, and on half-forgotten trails once familiar to her. It was the first time she had mounted any animal since her widowhood.

When she heard Gaspar’s daring declaration, she thrilled with delight. All the savage in her nature roused to enjoy this wild escapade, and, catching firm hold of the Sun Maid’s bridle rein, she nodded over her shoulder to the lad, and led the way northward.

“It’s like that strange fairy story, in the book given Peter Wilson, that came from way over in England, and was the only one in the world, I guess. Was the only one at our Fort, anyway,” thought Gaspar, as he followed in equal speed, and at imminent risk of his life. For a night’s rest had restored the black gelding to all his spirit, and had the boy attempted to guide or control him there would have been serious trouble.

As it was, Gaspar confined his efforts to just sticking on, and had all he could do at that; but after a short distance, the three horses broke into an even lope, keeping well together, and all under the command of the Indian woman.

“Oh, I love it!” she cried, the rich blood flaming under her dusky skin, her eyes sparkling, and her long black hair streaming on the wind which their own motion created.

“Kitty loves it – too – Kitty guesses!” echoed the child, entering into the other’s mood with quick sympathy. Indeed, she was the safer of the three. There is a hidden understanding between horses and children, and numberless instances prove how carefully even an untamed beast will treat a little child – if nobody interferes. But let an adult attempt to avert a seeming danger, and the animal will promptly throw the responsibility on human shoulders, and act out its own mood at its own will.

Wahneenah understood this, and, simply leaving her hand upon the Snowbird’s rein, but quite without any pressure, rode where that frolicsome creature chose to lead. A strap, which the Snake-Who-Leaps had fastened around the waist of the Sun Maid, held her securely to her saddle, though her small hands clutched the flying mane of her mount so tightly that she could not well have been shaken off.

It was a rough school in which to learn so dangerous an art, but it sufficed; and that one day’s ride did more to help Gaspar and Kitty to good horsemanship than all the instruction they afterward received.

“How far – nice Other Mother?” asked the little girl, when the three horses of their own accord began to slacken speed.

“Not far now, papoose. See yonder, where the trees fringe the river? Among those trees is a wonderful spot I know. I’ve not seen it for years, but in its shelter my warrior and I spent many happy hours. There we used to take our son, and tell him the story of his people. It was a hiding-place, in the ancient years, when enemies of the Pottawatomies were on the war-path, and the chief would save his women and children. But nobody remembers that trail, at this late day, except those of my father’s house. Besides me, not one soul lives who could find his way thither, save Black Partridge. It is even many moons since he has talked with me about it, and he may not recall it still. Though he is a man who never forgets, and the knowledge is doubtless merely sleeping in his brain.”

Kitty Briscoe understood but little of this speech, but Gaspar’s interest was roused. Amid the discipline and routine of his old life at the Fort, his lighter, gayer qualities had lain dormant, but they were now rapidly awakening under the influence of his recent adventures. It was impossible, too, for anybody to be long with Wahneenah, in her present mood, without catching her spirit and gayety; and though the Sun Maid comprehended little save the liveliness of her companions, she could enter into that with all her heart.

Therefore, it was a merry party which came at last to the river bank, where the horses were glad to pause for rest, and where they would eagerly have slaked their thirst, had they been permitted.

“But that won’t do, Wahneenah, will it? At our Fort we never watered a horse when it was warm. The Captain said they would be ruined, so.”

“You do well to remember all the wisdom you have been taught, Dark-Eye. Here, let me show you something even a white man may not know. How to tether a horse with a rope of prairie grass, made in a moment, but strong enough to last for long.”

“Lift me off, Other Mother,” cried Kitty, from the Snowbird’s back, and Wahneenah swung her down.

“Now, Dark-Eye, pull as much of this rush grass as your arms can hold. It will take a heap for three ropes.”

“Have the pretty ponies been naughty? Must they be tied up, too?”

“Not because they are bad, but because they are good, papoose! That is the way of life. It is full of contradictions. But, don’t wrinkle your pretty brows puzzling what you cannot understand. Run and help the Dark-Eye pull the long grasses.”

It was so wonderful to see Wahneenah’s skilful fingers twist and turn and thread the slender blades in and out that both children were fascinated by her deftness; and though Gaspar could not at all catch the trick of this curious weaving, he resolved to practise it in private till he could equal, or excel, this example. Again his ambition arose to prove that a pale-face was always superior to an Indian, and his dark eyes gazed so fixedly upon Wahneenah’s flying fingers that she laughed, and demanded:

“Are you jealous, my son? But there’s no need. Nothing that I know will be hidden from you, if you choose to be taught. But, come. Take this rope that is finished. Twist it about the gelding’s neck – so; now pass it downward between his front legs and hobble him by the right hind one. No, he’ll not resist. Try it. Then you’ll see that he’ll neither nibble at his tether nor run away from us.”

Gaspar was too proud to show that he somewhat dreaded interfering with the restless legs of the spirited Tempest, and to his astonishment he found that the animal submitted very quietly to the tying. This may have been because Wahneenah stood by its beautiful head and murmured some soft sounds into its dainty ears. Though what the murmuring meant nobody save herself and Tempest understood. In like manner, and very quickly, all three horses were fastened in the shade of the trees, and as soon as they had cooled sufficiently, Gaspar was bidden to water them.

Then the Sun Maid was called from her play among the wild flowers that fringed the bank, and made to walk behind Wahneenah’s skirts.

“Cling close, my Girl-Child! We’re going into fairyland. Bow your pretty head till it is low – low – low down, like this”; and herself bending till her own head was very near the earth, the guide pushed forward into what appeared to be a solid tangle of bushes.

“Why, Wahneenah! You can’t go through there. It’s a regular hedge. But if you want to try, I have a little knife in my pocket, that my Captain gave me. Let me go first – I am the man – and cut the way; though I don’t see why. Isn’t there a better place?”

“There are many things a lad of ten cannot understand, Dark-Eye, even though he be as manly as you. Trust Wahneenah. An Indian never forgets, and never makes the haste that destroys. Watch me. Learn a lesson in woodcraft that will be useful to you more than once. Cut or broken twigs have tongues which betray. But thus – even a bird could find no trace.”

With infinite patience and accuracy of touch, the woman parted the slender, interwoven branches so delicately that scarcely a leaf was bruised, and little by little opened a clear passage into a downward sloping tunnel. This tunnel ran directly under the river bed, and was so steep in places that one might easily have coasted over it.

“Why, how queer! It’s like the underground passage from the Fort to the river, where we children used to peep, but were never allowed to enter. What is it? Why is it?”

“Let your eyes ask and answer their own questions. They are safer than a tongue, my son. But fear nothing. Where Wahneenah leads the way for the children whom the Great Spirit has sent her they may safely follow.”

Then, without further speech, she went forward for what seemed a long distance, through the half light of the tunnel, until it opened into a wide chamber, across which trickled a clear stream and which was fanned by a strong current of air.

The children were silent from curiosity, not unmixed with dread; and their guide had also become very grave and silent. Memories were crowding upon her soul, and banishing the present; but she was roused at length by the wild clutch of the Sun Maid’s arms, as something winged swept by them in the twilight.

“Other Mother! Other Mother! I – I don’t like it! Take Kitty, quick!”

“Ah! I was dreaming. My dead walked here beside me, and I forgot. But is the Sun Maid ever afraid? I did not think that. Well, it’s over now. The gloomy passage, the big, dark room – See?”

Suddenly, at a turn westward out of the chamber and beyond it, they entered upon what might, indeed, have been fairyland. The exit was another passage, rising gently to a rock- and tree-sheltered nook in the heart of a tiny island. From any outward point this retreat was invisible, and when they had emerged upon it the Indian woman’s spirits rose again. She caught up the Sun Maid and tossed her lightly upon a bending branch, that seemed to have grown expressly for a child’s swing.

“My warrior trained that bough for our son’s pleasure, and from it he rocked and danced as a tiny papoose. Now – in you, he lives again. Hold, Dark-Eye! What are you seeking?”

“Oh, just nothing! I was poking around to see – ”

“If you could find anything to eat? The wild blackberries should grow just yonder, and, wait – I’ll look.”

“For what will you look, Other Mother? Aren’t these the prettiest posies yet?” and Kitty held upward a cluster of cardinal flowers which she had pulled from a mass by the water’s edge.

“Ah, they are alive! They have the heart of fire. But, take care. It is always wet where they grow and small feet slip easily. If you were to soil your pretty clothes, old Katasha might be angry.”

“I’ll take care. May I have all I can gather?”

“All. Every one.”

Then Wahneenah returned into the cave and to a niche in its wall where, years before, she had put a store of dried corn, some salt, and a bit of tinder. The articles had been stored in earthen jugs, and it was just possible they might be found in good condition. If they were, she would show the man-child how to catch a fish out of the little stream in the cavern, where the delicate trout were apt to hide. Then they would make a fire as they had used in the old days, and she would cook for these white children such a supper as her own dear ones had enjoyed.