CHAPTER II.

We must go back two days before this incident occurred. In a large wigwam were two persons. The one, a young, pale woman, seated on a mat. The white lips and the black shadows beneath the eyes, told of watchings and despair. No tear moistened the colourless eyelids, no sigh relieved the overburdened heart. Still as death itself, the young mother gazed on the unconscious cause of her agony.

There it lay, peaceful and calm, against her throbbing heart. There it lay, as it was wont, when seated on the high rocks by the Mississippi, it heard the sweet tones of a mother's voice. There it lay, never to hear even them again.

Absorbed in her grief, the mother knew not that there was another in the wigwam. She was recalling, as she gazed on the crushed flower thus rudely torn from her love, the many and strange changes of the past year. She had once looked forward to the future, as the young always do. She loved and was promised to the one she loved.

Fiery Man came from afar, with his powerful, athletic frame, and his deep and piercing eyes, and his voice so low and solemn. He stopped at her father's village, returning from a successful expedition against the Sacs; and he was full of proud boastings. He said he was "a great warrior, and hunter too, for his lodge was always full of game; that he had taken more scalps than any brave of his band; that when he held his enemies, they were like children in his large hand."

In an evil hour his eye fell upon White Moon. He loved her because she was the opposite of himself. He fancied the gentle and submissive way in which she received the directions of her parents. When he saw her eyes droop and her cheek mantle when the warriors danced--when he watched her and marked that she only looked at one--when he inquired, and learned that to that one was she destined, then did he mark her for his own; he was as cool and determined as if he had been aiming his arrow at the frightened grouse; as sure of his prey as if the bird lay already bleeding at his feet.

He went to her mother, and showed her the rich crimson cloth he had received from the traders on his way.

Other presents he laid before her, very valuable then; for traders were just coming in the country, and articles for use or adorning were rare among the Sioux.

The mother told him her child was promised,--that White Moon loved the noble young warrior she was to marry, and she could not break her daughter's heart.

The father came in, and Fiery Man showed him his new gun,--they were scarce then, and were deemed wakun (supernatural). Fiery Man enlarged upon its merits, and he pressed on the foolish old man the advantages of securing him as a friend, by giving him his daughter in marriage.

White Moon's mother interfered, saying, "her daughter was a good girl, and deserved to be happy. She was not like the other girls, always running away to look among the rocks in the water for young beavers; but she was steady and industrious, and should make herself happy by marrying the man she loved."

Fiery Man stamped, and his eyes were bloodshot with rage. He showed the parents his medicine-bag; he would make them know what it was to refuse a medicine-man; he would charm them; he would dry up the red rivers of life; he would make their steps feeble.

Already would White Moon have trembled, had she been present.

Fiery Man saw his advantage, and continued: he was the friend of Chat-o-tee-dah, the forest god, and he could go where no other Indian could, protected by this powerful friend. He was strong and brave, and it was well for the woman who married him, and for her family too.

The old man had kept his eyes fixed on the gun. Fiery Man told him to follow him; he did so, but could hardly keep pace with the strides of the tall warrior. Fiery Man led him towards the lowlands, where, among the trees, the woodcock were in numbers. They seated themselves on a mound, the work of their more enlightened ancestors; they were quiet at first, only listening to the passing of the birds through the low trees.

Fiery Man pointed the gun, and fired; the birds fell to the ground. The old man laughed, and Fiery Man showed him the powder and shot.

He took the gun and explained to his companion the mode of preparing it to fire. "Ha!" said he, "you cannot shoot as well as I; but try and bring down one." The old man pointed, and fired; his aim was sure: again a bird fell before his astonished gaze.

"It is yours," said Fiery Man, "and the girl is mine. We will go back and tell her mother what we have agreed upon."

Again he led the way, and the old man followed him back to the wigwam. There they found mother and daughter. There were tears upon the cheek of the latter; she was soon to know how vainly they were shed. She turned away from the gaze of her tall lover, and hid her face against her mother's bosom.

"Tell her," said Fiery Man to White Moon's father; but the old man knew of the bitter dregs he would stir up in the fountain of life before him: he could not find words to tell the young maiden her doom.

Fiery Man could not brook the delay. He laid his brawny hand on the young head that had not yet been lifted from its refuge-place. "She is mine," he said to the mother; "I have bought her. That wakun gun is her father's, that red cloth is yours. White Moon must go with me to my lodge: she must give me warriors like myself for sons. She will be obedient and happy, because her husband is powerful, and feared."

White Moon raised her head and looked in his face; for hope? as well might she have asked it in the glancing of the tomahawk of a Chippeway.

That dark, stern face was softened, it is true: but it was from the contemplation of her attractive features; pride was changed to satisfaction: but it was because he knew that the graceful figure which clung to her mother for protection would soon lean only on him. She sighed and turned away her face; she trembled and sank upon the mat with weakness; no hope--all her bright visions changed: darkness and gloom had come where day had presided in all her brightness.

A short time saw Fiery Man lead to his wigwam his sad young wife, wearied to death with her long journey. Could love have consoled her, she had been happy: for she was as dear as life to the heart of the passionate, overbearing man. As he led her into the wigwam, he pointed to its present occupant. He said she was his sister, but the first glance did the same. There was the tall, gaunt figure; the fierce, flashing eye; the passionate, commanding countenance; but far more repelling in her than in him. White Moon read her own fate; she was to endure hatred as well as love. She could see no shelter from the storm that was settling over her head.